“Someone like you?” Natasha whispered.
It was Anne’s turn to pale. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You have to believe me,” Natasha said. “I’ve asked Ben for a divorce on several occasions, but he won’t even talk about it. I came here this afternoon to try one more time.”
“What happens if he says no? Will you go ahead and marry Tom anyway?” She shook her head in disgust. “Women like you belong in jail.”
Anne tried to shake off Natasha’s hold, but she couldn’t let the woman go. Not when she didn’t know what she would say or to whom.
“Please listen to me. I’m telling the truth. There’s nothing between Ben and me but a barely legal piece of paper. It’s Tom I love. Please don’t ruin things for us. Please don’t tell Tom about the marriage certificate. I don’t think Ben even believes it to be real. He won’t discuss it, and he won’t divorce me. All he does is pretend it doesn’t exist. What am I supposed to do?”
“How about honoring your legally wed husband?” Ben said. “Is that too much to ask?”
The two women spun to face him.
“Ben?” Natasha whispered.
“I’ll get the soup.” Anne turned and fled, leaving Natasha to the weight of Ben’s glare.
“I came to tell you about Tom,” she said as reasonably as she could.
“To tell me what? That he doesn’t know you’re already married?” For some reason, his clean-shaven face made him appear even more disturbed.
“We aren’t married, Ben. Not in reality. It was all pretend, and you know it. Don’t misunderstand me—I owe you my life, and you will always be a dear, dear friend, but I don’t love you.” She held out a hand in supplication. “You don’t love me either.”
“So, you can read my mind now too?”
“You don’t acknowledge our marriage! I can’t even get you to talk about it, so I’d say that was a strong indication of your feelings toward me.”
“I was giving you time to fall in love with me,” he roared, making Natasha cower from his rage.
The door burst open, and Mr. MacCabe rushed in. He glanced nervously between them before wetting his lips. “Are you all right, miss?”
“Yes, thank you.” There was nothing else to say. “I think it’s best that I leave now,” she told Ben. “We’ll talk about this another time.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets to hide their shaking.
“Aye, we will,” Ben said, and it sounded like a threat.
Without looking at her friend or saying goodbye, Natasha let Mr. MacCabe lead her from the room. For the first time since they’d met, Natasha was fearful of being alone with Ben.
As they made their way down the stairs, they passed the housekeeper returning with a tray of food.
Natasha placed a hand on the young woman’s arm to stop her. “Be careful,” she whispered. “He isn’t himself.”
Anne hesitated, then nodded. “I understand now,” she said quietly before climbing the rest of the stairs.
Quietly, Natasha and Mr. MacCabe let themselves out of the Baxter farmhouse.
33
Brodie had been kicked out of his own house and told to wait by the car for Katya. Apparently, his pacing was annoying his brothers. Well, boo-bloody-hoo for them. They hadn’t been locked out of their own bedrooms by their estranged wives and politely told to take it elsewhere by her best friend.
He’d spent a crappy night tossing and turning on a sofa with less padding than Paris Hilton’s backside, and hardly an area on his body wasn’t in pain. What the sofa hadn’t bruised had already been bashed by either nature, stupidity, or an Aberfoyle cross kick.
His nose hurt, the bruises around his eyes had turned a fetching shade of puke-yellow, an itchy rash covered chunks of his back and bum, and his head throbbed from where he’d hit it on a plane. A plane. Even he knew that was a new kind of low. And on top of all his many aches and pains, Katya was now giving him the silent treatment—over an apology.
Aye, Brodie wasn’t having a good day. And they hadn’t even made it to the lawyer’s office.
Leaning back against the driver’s side of his SUV, he crossed his ankles and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. To add insult to injury, he was wearing his funeral suit. His charcoal-gray trousers and jacket, paired with a matching white shirt, was the best suit he owned, and he figured he needed all the help he could get to make a good impression at the lawyer’s.
Not that it mattered when his face resembled a bag of plums, he had trouble sitting still for more than two minutes, and his feet were developing blisters in his rarely worn dress shoes.
“Katya,” he roared at the house, losing patience with, well, everything. “Katya, get out here.”
The door opened, and she stepped outside, glaring at him. “Keep your hair on.”
Whatever irritation he’d felt melted away at the sight of her. Holy crap, she was gorgeous. She wore a form-fitting dress that came to just below her knees. It wasn’t low cut, had sensible cap sleeves, and didn’t cling to her like cellophane. And yet, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. He didn’t have a clue what it was made of, but it flowed with her every movement, skimming over her body in a blue wave that reminded him of water over pebbles.
“Shut your mouth, Brodie. With your luck, you’ll swallow a fly and choke.” Her hips swayed with every step she took toward him, and his gaze slid down her body to her feet.
“Matching high-heeled sandals?” With little crisscross buckles that begged to be undone.
“Denise dressed me.” She folded her arms as she stopped in front of him, daring him to comment.
He swallowed hard. “What’s in the teeny wee bag?”
“Mace.”
Aye, that was his girl.
She tossed her hair over her shoulder, letting it flow down her back in a cascade of silken waves. “Are we going or what?”
That’s when he noticed the ring on her left hand. The matching partner to the silver Celtic knot band he’d dug out of the box at the back of his underwear drawer and slipped on his finger that morning.
“You still have your ring?” The world seemed to wobble beneath his feet.
“So?” She planted her hands on her hips in challenge.
Brodie leaned away from the car. Suddenly, the day wasn’t looking as bad as he’d feared. He’d just remembered something important about Katya—it wasn’t what she said you needed to pay attention to, it was what she did.
“Where did you store the ring?” He took an oh-so-casual step toward her.
Her cheeks turned pink. “At my parents’ house.”
He took another step. “Whereabouts in your parents’ house?”
Katya’s eyes narrowed. “Why does it matter?”
“You can’t remember?” he challenged, standing a hair’s breadth away from her now.
“Of course, I can remember. It was in the…box.” She couldn’t look him in the eye.
“The box?”
“You know. The jewelry box.”
“Kat,” he teased, knowing she wouldn’t answer him if he came across too heavy. “Have you been carrying my ring around with you? Did you hold it as you fell asleep and think of me?”
Her frown was adorable. “I took it with me in case I needed something else to sell.”
“Aye, so you did.” Brodie clasped her nape. “I’m going to kiss you now. Please do me a favor and don’t knee me in the balls. It’s one of the few places I have left that doesn’t hurt.”
His lips found hers before she could argue. For a split second, it was touch and go with his balls, but then she melted into him. Arms wrapped around his shoulders, and he couldn’t resist turning to press her up against his car. Their kiss was slow, and sensual, and lingering…and tinged with desperation—well, on his part.
“You’re going to be late for the lawyer,” one of his brothers shouted.
Reluctantly, Brodie ended the kiss, pleased when Katya whined her displeasure. Darach w
as leaning out their living room window and Brodie shot him the one-fingered salute before walking Katya around to the passenger side and opening the door for her.
“The ring doesn’t mean anything,” she lied through kiss-swollen lips.
“I know,” he said, humoring her before practically tap dancing around to the driver’s seat.
Catherine Baxter wore a twinset and pearls to accompany the smug smile on her face. Her hair was in a pristine French knot, and she was bookended by two expensive-looking lawyers who wore matching black suits. The older woman should have seemed diminutive between the men, instead, she came across as queen to their knights.
“As you can see from the statements and evidence I’ve put together this past week,” Lawrence Mayburn said from their side of the table in his small conference room, “Mr. and Mrs. MacGregor are very much in a full, committed marriage.”
The lawyer to Kitty’s left slid the documents folder back to Lawrence. “It would certainly appear that’s the case,” he said.
Katya almost squealed with glee, but Brodie’s hand on her knee stopped her. When she caught his eye, he didn’t appear as convinced as she was that they’d won.
“However,” his matching lawyer said, “I’m afraid it isn’t this past week that’s in question. It’s the past ten years.” He opened the much thicker folder on the table in front of him. “We have substantial proof that, although married in name, the MacGregors have not lived as a couple for almost a decade.”
Lawrence didn’t appear fazed, making Katya think he was worth every penny she’d paid him—on a monthly installment basis—to cover anything that came up while she’d been away. “Many modern couples spend substantial amounts of time apart. Mrs. MacGregor had to travel for work, and it took her away for long periods. Who are we to judge what does or doesn’t constitute a stable marriage?”
“It isn’t the stability of this marriage that’s under question, it’s the reality of it.” The lawyer turned to a page close to the start of the folder. “In his notes about this gift, Mr. Benjamin Baxter made it crystal clear that it hinged on the couple remaining in a committed marital relationship. Mr. and Mrs. MacGregor have spent no time together in a decade.” He passed Lawrence a sheet of paper. “This is a list of their acquaintances who’ve signed statements for our client on this account. Of course, if this case goes to court, we will call on closer friends and family to testify under oath as to the amount of time the couple has spent in each other’s company.”
To Katya’s dismay, Lawrence said nothing to refute their argument.
“Further to this matter,” lawyer two continued, “the MacGregors have separate bank accounts, emergency contacts, and home addresses.” As he slid another piece of paper across the table, Catherine practically preened with glee.
“This isn’t evidence of a complete breakdown in their marital relationship,” Lawrence said. “Many couples maintain separate accounts and emergency contact details. Some even keep separate homes.”
“True,” lawyer one said. “Although, we also have sworn statements from women Mr. MacGregor has had relationships with over the past ten years. Documents that clearly state Mr. MacGregor referred to Mrs. MacGregor as his ex-wife and to their marriage as being over in all but name.”
“We also have witness accounts of an argument between Fraser Savage and Joseph MacGregor in the Scottie Dog pub three years ago,” lawyer two added. “Several witnesses recall both men shouting that their children were only staying legally tied together to keep the land.”
Katya’s hand covered Brodie’s, and he turned his to thread their fingers together.
“Look,” lawyer one said, “no one wants this to go to court. It would involve hefty costs for both of our clients. It would be best for all concerned if we could resolve this situation today to prevent that from happening.”
“You can’t win,” lawyer two said with obviously fake sympathy. “You’ve openly flaunted the terms of the gift for ten years. Our client has lost patience with the situation and would like the deed to her land returned immediately. We all know that if this goes to court, you don’t have a hope of proving the MacGregors haven’t lived as a divorced couple for years.”
“This past week—” Lawrence started.
“Is irrelevant,” lawyer two finished.
Smiling like a cat about to devour a mouse, Catherine leaned forward. “If you don’t mind, I’d like a word with Brodie in private.”
“What?” Katya and Brodie said at the same time.
Brodie’s hand tightened on hers as he faced off against Catherine. “Anything you want to say to me can be said in front of my wife.”
Catherine chuckled dryly. “I’d prefer this was a private conversation. Are you sure you want to dismiss what I have to say without even hearing what it is first?”
“Our firm wishes to make it clear we have advised Ms. Baxter against this course of action,” lawyer one said without emotion.
Katya didn’t know what to think, and from the look on Brodie’s face, neither did he. They turned to Lawrence.
“It’s up to you,” he said helpfully.
“I won’t wait forever, Brodie.” Catherine Baxter stood. “You have five minutes, and then I’m leaving. In the meantime, I’ll let my lawyers deal with the details while you decide whether it’s worth taking me on in court. Lawrence, may I wait in your office?”
Her question must have been rhetorical, because Kitty strode from the room without waiting for an answer.
34
There was a moment’s silence after Catherine Baxter’s exit before lawyer one addressed the room. “Shall we schedule a follow-up meeting for tomorrow?”
“Speak to my receptionist on your way out,” Lawrence said. “She’ll set something up.”
Catherine’s lawyers both stood and simultaneously buttoned their jackets.
“We’ll refrain from filing papers with the Sheriff Court until we meet tomorrow,” lawyer one said. “You have until then to decide whether you wish to contest this before a judge. Good afternoon.” He nodded at them before they both let themselves out of the conference room.
“It doesn’t feel like a good afternoon,” Brodie muttered.
As the door closed behind them, Katya’s hands began to shake. “We’re going to lose our land, aren’t we?” Her throat tightened, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to burst into tears or kick the nearest wall. “The witch is going to take it from us.”
“We don’t know that for sure.” Brodie ran a hand up and down her arm in a caress meant to comfort. Unfortunately, he sounded about as optimistic as she felt.
“Lawrence?” Katya asked. “What do we do?”
“You have a couple of options.” He stacked the papers in front of him. “You can fight this in a court, or you can give her the deed to the land. Only you can make that decision.”
“But you have an opinion, right?” Katya said. “What would you advise?”
Lawrence rested his clasped hands on the table. “I’d advise you take time to discuss this before making a decision. It would be remiss of me to give you hope in this instance, which means I have to impress upon you both that your chances of winning this case are slim at best.”
“Slim?” All Katya heard was that they had a chance. “That means there’s a possibility we could win and keep our land?”
Lawrence ran a hand through his hair, leaving it remarkably unruffled. “I said there’s a slight chance you’d win. The case would hinge on Ben’s intent, which is difficult to prove. The wording in the conditions attached to the gift isn’t as airtight as I would like, which means there’s room for interpretation. They have a note, written in Ben’s hand, that makes it clear he intended for you to use the land together, as a happily married couple. That won’t help our case. Add to that, the slew of witnesses to both Ben’s intention and your estrangement this past decade, and the pursuer has a solid case for you breaking the conditions of the gift.”
“But we
could win?” Katya asked again, a desperate sinking sensation in her gut. “If we fought? I mean, we could supply our own witnesses and bring up Catherine’s unnatural hatred of all things Savage-family related. If we were anyone else, she wouldn’t be doing this. I know of at least three other people Ben gifted parcels of land to, and she hasn’t said a peep to them since.”
“Yes, we could go that route.” Lawrence was solemn. “Although, you need to take into consideration that it would be a lengthy and, most likely, costly course of action. With no guaranteed outcome.”
“Lawrence,” Brodie said, “friend to friend, what do you think?”
Their lawyer sat back in his seat and gave them a pitying smile. “Friend to friend? I’d have to say you’re screwed. My best advice is to return the land and carry on with your lives, because Ms. Baxter is out for blood, and she won’t stop until she gets it. She will bankrupt you both out of pure spite.”
Katya couldn’t sit still any longer. As she paced the length of the room, she tried to think of a way out of their situation. There had to be something they could do to make Catherine back off. When she stumbled over Lawrence’s ancient rug for the third time, she kicked off her borrowed shoes, wishing she could do the same with the dress Denise made her wear. If she was about to lose her future, she’d rather be in her favorite comfortable jeans when it happened.
“What if we countersued her for persecuting my family? This isn’t the only time she’s gone after us.” Even she knew she was grasping at straws.
“I’d have to repeat my earlier advice,” Lawrence said. “It would be a difficult case to bring before the court, and it could be lengthy and expensive. Also, I’m uncertain what it would achieve. She would still carry on with her plans to take the land from you.”
“Could we pay her to make her go away?” Brodie asked grimly.
Katya wanted to scream at the hopelessness of it all. “I don’t have anything to pay her. Pretty much everything I own is wrapped up in my plane.”
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