by Cari Quinn
He stepped forward, and the diffused light gave way to a furrowed brow with a week’s worth of stubble shading a strong jaw. Everything was so angular and harsh—everything but his mouth. No, his mouth was lush in comparison. Even with the unwelcoming pinch to it.
She squared her shoulders and climbed the steps. “I hope you’re not the welcome wagon.”
“Who are you?”
“I just told you.”
The front door opened, and a tall man in an expensive gray suit stepped out. “Ah, there you are. Miss Proctor, I presume?”
Kendall nodded.
He held out his hand and helped her up the last step. “I’m Jonas Murray, Mr. Justice’s lawyer. We’ve been waiting for you.”
She spared a glance at her phone. “I’m not late.”
“No, we’re just anxious to get started. It’s been a long week.”
“Right, I’m sorry.” She followed the lawyer inside but could still feel the man’s deep, dark eyes on her. What? Did she have a stain on her skirt? On her jacket? She glanced down and paused at the entryway to the house. Dark wood floors spread as far as her eye could see. More dark wood climbed up stairs and around the doorways like a greedy vine. All of it spoke of money and the obvious influence of Frank Lloyd Wright.
California crawled with his houses. The few design courses she’d been able to take were filled with the fascinating architecture. But this didn’t have the same magic she’d imagined while poring over her textbooks. She’d been in museums with more warmth.
She was led into what had to be a study. More of the dark wood flowed from floor to built-in bookcases. A huge conference table in the same hue dominated the space. Hadn’t they ever heard of complementary colors? The constant darkness was claustrophobic. Mr. Murray waved her to a chair beside a sandy-haired man in his fifties who looked like he’d just stepped off a construction site. The lawyer settled opposite her with a fat sheaf of papers before him and a smaller stack to his left.
She lowered into the chair. The brooding grouch from the porch came in finally and settled into the chair beside her. Oh, why did he have to sit there? Intensity rolled off him like a scent. The tips of her fingers tingled in response, and a rush of goose bumps swamped her skin.
Not good.
Mr. Murray cleared his throat. “Thank you all for coming. I know it’s been a very difficult few days. Lawrence’s sudden passing left all of us a little stunned.”
She glanced at the stranger beside her. His jaw clenched once, and his hands went very still on the table. He was almost wooden both in stance and lack of emotion. His face was completely blank. His eyes, however, were not. No, they burned with anger. Just who was he?
“I have his will. It was very specific. That’s why there are only a few of you here to witness the reading.”
“We’re all very interested in the cryptic letter that was sent out, Jonas,” the sandy-haired man said.
“I know, and I’ll explain everything in a moment. Now, would you like me to read the will aloud?”
“I can’t wade through that legal mumbo jumbo, Joe.”
The slip of familiar in the sandy-haired man’s voice gave Kendall pause. Maybe they weren’t as distant as it felt. Everything about this mausoleum screamed cold and remote. She may not remember much about her father, but she did recall a booming laugh and charm. So much charm.
The lawyer looked at her. “Miss Proctor?”
“The gist of things would be fine.”
“Shane?”
Shane. So that was his name. He nodded curtly. Her gaze drifted to the subtle tap of his forefinger on the conference table. Not so stony. She had the strangest urge to cover his hand and curl her fingers around his. Ridiculous, of course. He’d probably snap her hand off at the wrist.
“Lawrence had a new will notarized six months ago, so there are some changes to the terms you knew before.”
“What kind of changes?” Again, the sandy-haired man spoke up.
“Justice Construction has been through some ups and downs. The latest venture has hit a few…hitches.”
Shane stopped tapping. “What kind of hitches?”
Kendall dropped her hands into her lap and twisted them tight. Shane’s voice was biting and hoarse. What exactly had she walked in on?
The lawyer straightened his spine. “Financial hitches, Shane. There’s no good way to say this. Justice Construction will be dissolved to pay back taxes, the double mortgage on this house, and the company’s outstanding debts.”
“What?”
“Now, Gerry. Hear me out.”
The sandy-haired man—Gerry—stood so fast the chair scraped over the polished floor. “What’s to hear out? What do you mean dissolved? I’ve given twenty years to this company!”
“I understand that. Larry did everything to make sure there would be no burden to the shareholders. But I’m sorry, that’s all he was able to do. There will be just enough to cover the sale of the business and the house.”
Shane stood and paced. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from him. Paced was too passive a word; no, he was prowling. His jaw was granite, and his eyes blazed with a rage that crackled in the room.
Kendall turned back to the lawyer.
As if reading her mind, Mr. Murray turned his gaze to her. His voice slid back into the professional and distant lawyer mode. “Miss Proctor, you also have one of Mr. Justice’s remaining properties.”
“No.” Kendall’s lungs emptied, and a thick buzz filled her head. All her work. Her home—everything she’d done to keep her mother safe and taken care of. “No, you can’t.”
Mr. Murray lifted his hand. “No, you don’t have to sell the Heron.”
She pressed her forehead to the cool wood. Relief opened the buckles that had snapped around her chest. She dragged in a breath.
“As Lawrence’s sole blood relative, you will share the property with Shane Justice, his son.”
Her head snapped up, and Shane came to a stop behind her chair. Blood relative? Wouldn’t his son be a blood relative?
He swung her chair out. Kendall gripped the arms as it tilted, then slammed her down to face him.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hazel eyes bore into her. The gold seemed to glow with all the seething anger that was boiling inside him.
Her skin buzzed as if energy were roiling out of him in its purest form. “I’m Lawrence Justice’s daughter,” she whispered.
He hovered over her. “He doesn’t have a kid. He only has me.”
“You’re my brother?” She recoiled to the back of the chair. No. No, he couldn’t be her half-brother.
He reared back as if she’d slapped him. “No. I’m Larry’s stepson, but he raised me as his.”
Her father had left her but stayed for this man? She hadn’t thought she could feel any more pain when it came to Lawrence Justice, but she’d been wrong. God, so wrong.
Shane looked up at Mr. Murray. “She has no hold on anything of Dad’s. I didn’t even know about her.”
“That’s because he left us when I was five.” She pushed Shane out of her space and stood. He was too close, too big, too everything. She focused on Mr. Murray, his face emotionless, his eyes steady. “Lawrence bought that house for my mother.”
“Yes, he did. But Lily Proctor never signed the deed over into her name.”
Kendall dug her fingertips into her brow. “No,” she whispered. It would be just like her mother to pull a stunt like that. She’d loved Lawrence and having his name on something would be the ultimate way to keep him tethered to her. Crap. Crap. Crap. As with everything that had anything to do with her father, Kendall would be paying for it.
“It would be too much to hope for that he left us the Heron.”
“No, not too much to hope for,” Mr. Murray said kindly.
She fell back into her chair. “Thank God.”
“But it’s a shared property with Shane.”
“What?” Both of them shouted and stared at the lawyer.
“He can’t.” The Heron had been the one constant in her life. “I’ve run the bed-and-breakfast since I was sixteen. That’s my life!”
“Larry and I did everything we could to make sure the two of you would be taken care of. This is all he could do for you, Shane.”
And as usual, all Lawrence did was take from her. She crossed her arms over her churning gut. She wanted to curl into a ball. Even twenty-two years later her father managed to take everything away from her.
Again.
Shane Justice backed into the bookcases that lined his father’s meeting room. Justice Construction never had an official home base. His dad liked the informality of his house with a touch of the grandeur to show off how well they’d been doing. Except it was all smoke and mirrors.
Gerry sat heavily. The fight had drained out of him. Gerry had followed his father into every insane scheme and now had nothing to show for it. Shane had known they were in a little bit of trouble, but his father would’ve turned things around. He always did.
It was the way of things for Larry Justice. Gerry had believed in him, and Larry had never let him down. Until now. Shane listened with half an ear as Jonas listed all the properties that were sold and the debt that would be absorbed. The only thing left was the lakeside B and B in Winchester Falls, New York. And a woman he’d never heard of. He’d have happily killed to be his father’s flesh-and-blood son, but Larry had never made him feel less. And here she was staring back at him with rum-colored eyes and his father’s angel-white hair. As frustrating as Larry Justice could be, one thing was always apparent. Family was his focus.
The fact that he had a daughter he’d never spoken of was insane.
Some of what Jonas was saying finally sank in, dragging him from the mystery woman sitting at the table.
If the house was double mortgaged, there was no way to cover the expenses. He looked at his lawyer. Through every contract, Jonas had been there to keep his father on the straight and narrow. Larry with a wild idea was a dangerous thing. He could convince anyone to follow him.
All except Jonas.
He was the only source of reason in their life.
Kendall Proctor’s wide, shattered eyes flamed up the anger brewing inside him again. More secrets, and more lies from his father.
When Gerry stumbled out the door, Shane whispered, “Fuck,” and followed. “Gerry, wait.”
Gerry got as far as the front door before he stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “Don’t, kid.”
Shane shrugged out of the suit jacket and tossed it on the bench beside the door. “Dad fucked up. But you know he always tried to fix things.”
“He didn’t talk to me about this at all, Shane. Not one fucking word.”
Shane closed his eyes. “He didn’t talk to either one of us.”
“I’m fifty-eight fucking years old. It’s too late for me to start over.”
“Come back inside. There’s got to be something more to this will thing.”
Gerry shook his head. “I need air and a smoke. I’ll be in touch.” The door slammed behind him.
“God dammit, Dad. What the fuck were you thinking?” He yanked at the noose around his neck. Formality was fucked at this point. He rolled up his sleeves. None of this made sense. He headed back into the room. “Jonas, I need more of an explanation. Obviously Dad talked to you.”
Jonas’s friendly eyes flicked into lawyer mode. No emotion, not even a clue to the knowledge he held. “Larry didn’t want you to know the specifics, Shane.”
Shane pointed at Kendall. “Evidently. A fucking daughter?”
“Do not point at me like I’m a dog, Mr. Justice.”
He looked down at her. All hints of the docile woman who had been shaking beside him during the will reading were gone. “You don’t get to talk yet.”
She stood. “Okay, that’s enough. I’ve been sitting here listening to you people talk about taking my home—the only thing that man ever gave me, mind you—like you have any right to it. Where the hell were any of you for the last twenty-two years?”
Shane stalked forward until they were millimeters apart. “Just because my father paid your mother off with a house doesn’t mean you have—”
The crack of the slap across his cheek echoed through the room.
Her eyes filled with tears as she covered her mouth with her hand.
His cheek burned, and his anger struggled around in his chest like a wild animal. It would be so easy to take every ounce of pain out on her. She was nothing to him. “You get one freebie, Miss Proctor.”
She flung her shoulders back. “That’s my mother you’re talking about. She loved your useless excuse for a father. He’s the one who left us.”
Lock it down. He stared at her. She was a buck fifteen with her clothes on and didn’t even reach his chin, but she might as well have boxing gloves and a title belt around her waist. Men twice his size shrank from him in a fight, and this little one wanted to take him on? “There must have been good reason.”
She stumbled back a step, but her dark eyes never lost their fierce glare.
That one little step sliced at him.
Dammit.
He took a step back of his own and focused on Jonas’s surprised face. Shame crawled up his shoulders and settled like a blanket, stamping out most of his rage. This wasn’t her fault, and his mother would have had his hide if she’d ever heard him speak to a woman like this.
“I want to read the will myself.”
Jonas pushed the smaller stack of papers his way. Instinct made him shake his head. “No, I want the full document, not the layman’s-terms version.”
“You might be good with contracts on the surface, Shane, but this is all courthouse jargon.”
Every job they’d ever had that had gone hinky gave him the same tingle in his palms. “I don’t care.”
He could see the indecision in Jonas’s face and knew he’d made the right call. There was something in the papers, even a small thing that would help make sense of this ridiculous will. Jonas laid his hand on top of the stack, then finally let it go.
“I want to read it as well.”
He turned to Kendall. “This is none of your concern.”
“Considering you now own fifty percent of my house, it sure the hell is my concern.” Spite and anger coated every word.
Jonas gathered his briefcase and jacket. “I’ll leave you to it. Call me if you need anything explained.”
Shane had trusted Jonas in every way but this. If his father asked Jonas to do something, he’d do it. No matter how close Shane and Jonas had become, he knew the man’s loyalty was with Larry. Even in death.
He followed Jonas out, stopping him at the door when they were alone. “Why didn’t he want me to know?”
“You know your father. There was always a reason for the things he did.”
Shane stared down at his too-new shoes as they blurred before he put the grief aside, letting anger back out. At least anger got things done. “He should have trusted me.”
“Please don’t press this issue, Shane. Let it go.”
“I can’t.”
“What he did was for the good of his employees and to make sure you could have your freedom someday.”
Shane’s shoulders stiffened. “What does that mean?”
“Lawrence knew about your furniture business. He knew your heart wasn’t in the construction business.”
He stepped back, folding his arms, digging his thumbs into his chest to keep from shaking Jonas. No one knew about his workshop. The pieces he sold were mostly out of state, out of his father’s realm of influence. They were just his, built and sold under his mother’s last name—without the charm and easy salesmanship of Lawrence Justice. He’d wanted—no, needed—to prove something to himself. Not because he was a Justice of California.
“This is a way to start over. Away from all this. Lawrence’s people will be all right. I promise.”
Shane frowned. “What does that me
an?”
Jonas shook his head. “Just think about it.”
Shane closed the door after him. He needed a drink, needed a way to extinguish a little of the insanity that crawled under his skin. Everything he’d ever known was being taken from him. He wandered the lower level and found himself in his father’s study. The heavy scent of leather and the tang of lemon were so familiar they were as effective as a blow. He grabbed the decanter of whiskey off the bar and fled the room.
He found her in the conference room. The heavy mass of curls that hung over the back of the chair surprised him. Her head was resting on her hand as she flipped through the papers. She seemed at ease, until he noticed the fingers gripping her hair. His palm tingled in reaction.
A fondness for long hair could be ignored. Plenty of women had long hair, but the pale, almost white strands shot with gold lured him closer. Like moonlight and sunshine rippling together. He banged the decanter down on the table. The fanciful thoughts died with the clatter.
She jerked to a sitting position, steel rebar replacing her spine. She didn’t turn to face him. Instead, she pushed a half dozen pages down the table. “When Mr. Murray said this was full of legal jargon, he wasn’t kidding. It’s like reading Shakespeare with a side of Latin for footnotes.”
He bit back a biting comment and sat down next to her. None of this was her fault, and he had to control himself. The only way they could make it through this mess was to cooperate with each other. “We’ll have to do the best we can.”
“Yeah, well, I forgot my legalese decoder ring.” She didn’t meet his gaze, keeping her eyes on a spot near his hands.
“Why do you care?” He fisted his fingers. “I mean, I know why I do.”
Her attention finally latched on to his face. The fierce light was back in her eyes. “I don’t want you near me or mine, Mr. Justice.” The shaky woman from earlier was gone as if she’d never been.
“Then it’s in your best interest to find what I need to know, Miss Proctor. Because if this will is right, you and I will be living out of each other’s pockets until we come to a decision on what to do with our property.”