Nightway (24 page)

Chad walked briskly toward him. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Hawk’s smile was brash and uncaring, a wicked glint dancing in his eyes. “I was just leaving, Brother. Sorry I can’t stick around to see your face when you learn you are about to join the ranks of the disinherited.” With a wink and a broad smile, Hawk slapped him on the back and moved easily away, crossing in front of the car to the driver’s side.

“What are you talking about?” Chad snapped.

But Hawk just smiled and folded his length into the car. A side glance saw Chad hurrying toward the house, and Hawk laughed again.

It was a hot, dry wind that blew across the cemetery, whipping the minister’s prayer out of Lanna’s hearing range. Bare-headed, she stood on the outside fringe of the mourners gathered around the grave site. She hadn’t owned a black dress. Since it was no longer considered improper to wear another color to a funeral, she had worn a coffee-brown jersey, a shade that almost matched her dark, wind-blown hair.

The sky was a dusty haze, broken only by the glare of a burning sun. It scorched the dry earth and added particles of sand to the raw wind that blasted the
somber figures. Lanna’s skin was hot and sticky, unable to breathe through the clinging fabric, its dark color absorbing the sun’s smothering heat.

Past the heads and shoulders of the other mourners, she had a clear view of the polished casket surrounded by bouquets and wreaths of flowers, the cloying sweetness of their fragrance carried away from her by the wind. Turning slightly, she could see the row of family members facing the casket.

With his arms at his sides, Chad stared at the casket in grave silence. The sun had brought out the blond highlights of his brown hair, ruffled by the wind. Lanna saw how the loss of his father and the strain of the last few days had etched a grimness into his face. As if sensing her gaze, Chad looked her way. The muscles along his jaw flexed as it was clenched. Reading the message of profound sympathy in her eyes, his expression softened before he faced the front again.

Beside him, nearly hidden by his height, was his mother, John’s widow. Proudly erect, she looked fragile in black, hidden behind a long, black veil. Lanna guessed that Mrs. Faulkner was one of few women who could carry off such a dramatic touch so naturally.

The woman on the other side of Chad wore black, as well. Although she was without a veil, a black pillbox hat was perched on her shimmering gold hair. She was clutching the hand of the slender boy, standing next to her. Dressed in a dark suit and tie, he resembled John so much that Lanna guessed he had to be his grandson. A man was standing next to the boy. Lanna could see the dark shoulder of his suit, but her view of him was blocked by one of the mourners. She surmised it was John’s second son, the married one.

Her gaze wandered back to the casket, a tightness gripping her throat for the friend resting there. Unable
to hear what the minister was saying, she let her gaze stray back to the family. Something nagged at her. Then Lanna realized that she hadn’t seen Hawk. She searched the faces of the mourners without recognizing him among them. Why wasn’t he there? It seemed to Lanna that Hawk had been very close to the family.

The crowd began to stir around her. She realized the service had been concluded. People began to drift away, murmuring to each other. Some started to file toward the family to offer their sympathy. Lanna hesitated. She wanted to join the latter group, but she wasn’t certain if that was wise. She lingered for several minutes, trying to make up her mind before she finally turned away.

Her little Volkswagen looked out of place amidst the line of black limousines and Cadillacs. Lanna didn’t feel that she belonged there, either. As she started toward her car, walking between the graves, she searched through her purse for the keys.

There were footsteps behind her, but Lanna paid no attention to them until a hand caught at her arm to stop her. Startled, she turned around, brushing away the hair the wind whipped across her face. He said nothing as he held her gaze, his own probing deeply. Up close, the strain was more evident, the grimness more pronounced.

Lanna wanted to say something—to offer some words of comfort and understanding—but she was conscious of the slowly dispersing crowd of mourners that drifted by them. It seemed to her that circumstances dictated a less personal comment.

“It was a large turnout,” she offered.

“Yes. The mayor came. Even a representative of the governor and the senator,” Chad agreed with a vague dryness.

Chad partially turned and curved an arm around Lanna’s waist. “Come. I want you to meet the other members of the family.”

The line of friends offering their condolences to the widow had thinned to only a few when Chad ushered her forward. As two men lingered to speak to his mother, he guided Lanna to the blonde-haired woman and her son.

“This is my son, John Faulkner, and my wife, Carol.” The introduction sent a numbing wave of shock through Lanna. She tried desperately not to let her surprise show when she smiled at them. “This is Lanna Marshall.”

“How do you do, Miss Marshall.” His wife extended a slender hand to her in greeting and smiled with an aloof friendliness.

Lanna could only nod in response. The woman was beautiful in that delicate, china-doll way blondes often are. The combination of pale golden hair and green eyes was striking. Lanna felt distinctly plain in comparison.

It was much easier to greet the young boy. “You look very much like your grandfather, John,” she murmured.

“Yeah, everybody says that.” He shrugged, even while he studied her with curiosity.

It was hard for Lanna to look the blonde in the eye without remembering the way Chad had kissed her—or to forget the hand that remained on the curve of her waist. She felt uneasy and guilty because of the attraction for Chad that she had allowed to grow in her before she realized he was married.

“Mother.” Chad’s request for the widow’s attention allowed the black-veiled woman to excuse herself from the last man and join them. “I want you to meet Lanna
Marshall,” he explained. “This is my mother, Katheryn Faulkner.”

“I wish we could have met under other circumstances, Mrs. Faulkner,” Lanna said and held out her hand in greeting. She couldn’t see clearly the widow’s expression behind the web of black veil, but she sensed an air of stiff reserve in the cool touch of the woman’s hand.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Miss Marshall. I understand you were very close to my husband,” she returned in a cultured voice.

“Yes, we had become quite good friends,” Lanna felt honor-bound to insist, but her explanation was met with a cool reception.

“Yes, of course,” the widow replied, then smiled with stiff courtesy. “Would you excuse me? I’d like to have a word with the minister before he leaves.”

“Certainly,” Lanna murmured, but John’s wife was already withdrawing to seek out the black-frocked man. When she glanced at Chad, she was still trying to assimilate the knowledge that he was John’s
married
son. The question rose in her mind: Where was his other son? Her gaze strayed to the only other group of people around the grave site, which included Chad’s wife and son, and an older couple. In curious confusion, she glanced at Chad. “Where’s your brother?”

His head lifted, drawing back, as if the question startled him. “What do you know about him?” he questioned warily.

Lanna frowned at his reaction. “Nothing. … John said he had two sons, but I didn’t notice anyone else with the family.” The dark-coated shoulder she had seen next to Chad’s wife had turned out to be the male half of the older couple.

Chad didn’t immediately comment, as if deciding on
a response. “It isn’t something that’s widely known. You see, J. B. had an affair with another woman. I’m sure you can appreciate how sensitive my mother is about that subject.”

“Of course,” she murmured, taken aback by the discovery that John’s other son was illegitimate.

Mrs. Faulkner rejoined them and angled a glance at her son. “Have you told her yet, Chad?”

“No.” His low reply gave the impression he regretted that his mother had asked the question.

“Told me what?” Lanna wasn’t sure if she should ask as her gaze wavered between mother and son.

“Why, you are an heiress, Miss Marshall.” Mrs. Faulkner seemed to chide her for not knowing that. “J. B. left you a fortune.”

“What?”
She gasped the word. “There must be a mistake.” Lanna looked expectantly at Chad for his denial.

“It isn’t a mistake.” His faint smile seemed to be telling her she should rejoice at the news. “You’ll be receiving formal notice from the probate court any time now. The family has already been made aware of the contents of J. B.’s last will and testament. The weekend has merely slowed the legal process.”

“But—” Dazed, Lanna couldn’t remember what she wanted to say.

“Why don’t you give me the keys to your car? I’ll have Tom drive it over to the house,” Chad suggested. “You can ride with us. It will give me a chance to explain what all this means.”

Lanna hesitated, then gave him the car keys which he, in turn, handed to an older, thin man standing near them.

“ … He stirs, he stirs, he stirs, he stirs.
Now Talking God, he stirs, he stirs;
Now his white robe of buckskin, he stirs, he stirs;
Now in old age wandering, he stirs, he stirs;
Now on the trail of beauty, he stirs, he stirs.
He stirs, he stirs, he stirs, he stirs.

… Far off from me it is taken!
Far off you have done it!
Happily I recover!

… With beauty before me, I walk
With beauty behind me, I walk
With beauty below me, I walk
With beauty above me, I walk
With beauty all around me, I walk.”

It was a series of shocks, major and minor, that battered down her defenses: first John’s death; then the discovery that Chad was the married son; that John’s absent son was illegitimate; and, finally, that John had left her the bulk of his fortune. Three days after the funeral, Lanna fell prey to her neighbor’s influenza bug.

She was sick most of the following two weeks, unable to go to work and rarely leaving her apartment, but that didn’t stop the whirl of activity that went on around her. The telephone rang incessantly: reporters wanting an inside story on her relationship with J. B. Faulkner and her inheritance; salesmen with surefire investments; charities seeking donations. It didn’t stop until she had an unlisted number installed.

Her illness didn’t slow the legal process of administering the terms of John’s will, all of which was beyond her comprehension. Chad gave her a list of reputable law firms in the city and suggested she retain one to represent her. As the other interested party, he was present at any meetings. It was usually Chad who translated the legal jargon into language Lanna could understand, and her own attorney agreed with him.

Before three weeks were up, Lanna had crash courses in estate laws, inheritance taxes, accounting, and real estate practices. All the while, she had suffered the body aches and pains of influenza and drank her sassafras tea. At the end of the period, she was no more adjusted to her changed circumstances.

She would look around her apartment and visualize different styles and colors of furniture to redecorate it; then she would realize she could afford to buy a mansion. Why bother to fix up the apartment? She could return to college full-time and obtain her degree in business administration, but she was rich—she didn’t have to work anymore. She could take her Volkswagen to a garage and have an air conditioner installed, but she could also buy a Rolls-Royce. It was no wonder she was still confused even after she started feeling better.

And there was the Faulkner family. Initially, Lanna had expected resentment, justifiably so. She had been extremely wary in her first few meetings with the family before she had fallen ill. Chad’s wife, Carol, had been courteous in a friendly way. Lanna hadn’t been able to fault Katheryn Faulkner’s behavior, although she had been more distant. Since then, Chad had been the only one she was in contact with on a regular basis. Recognizing how susceptible she was to his charm, Lanna was more cautious with him than the other members of the family, but he had proved to be very helpful and cooperative, more concerned with making the change a smooth one than anything else.

Lanna ran a hand over the burgundy velour upholstery of the bucket seat and relaxed against its contoured padding, letting her head recline on the headrest. Outside the windows of the moving car, the sky was a clear blue, free of the haze that usually hung over the valley city. She turned her head to glance at the driver.

Studying Chad, she briefly questioned whether she should have accepted his invitation for a month’s rest at his family’s ranch in northern Arizona. Its distance from Phoenix promised peace and quiet. She would find little of it in the city where she was still the object of every reporter, charity, and fortune hunter in town.

She looked to the front again. It had been a very generous invitation. Lanna wanted to believe that it meant she was being accepted as a family friend. Remembering how close she had been to John, she wished she could achieve that same relationship with his family.

“Why did he do it?” She asked Chad the question that she had asked herself over and over again. “Why did J. B. make me the chief beneficiary in his will? Don’t you resent that?” She frowned.

He hesitated, sliding a look at her. “I did when I first heard about it, but not after I had time to think about it. I’m not exactly a pauper.” He smiled. “In his lifetime, my father made a point of transferring to me stock certificates and portions of the interest he held in various companies. He also set up a large trust fund for my mother and one for my son, Johnny. He was distributing his wealth instead of allowing it to accumulate until his death.”

“You mean that you believe you have already received your share of his estate?” Lanna sought clarification, hoping to ease some of her guilt.

“In a sense, I have,” Chad agreed. “You and I are partners in several ventures.”