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Copyright © February 2013 by Taryn Elliott

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eISBN 9781623001001

Editor: Jana Armstrong

Cover Artist: Dar Albert

Published in the United States of America

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The paper in her hands trembled. Creases from the number of
times she’d read and reread this single sheet of paper left it looking old and
worn. But the summons was only two days ago and had come as a complete
surprise. Lawrence Justice had been absent since her kindergarten graduation.
Her only memory of her father was broad shoulders and blond hair so light it
looked like goose down.

The same hair she saw in the mirror every morning.

Kendall Proctor adjusted one of the many pins it took to
contain her hair into the knot at the base of her neck. Instead of highlights
like most of the female population, she’d added in hints of honey gold to cut
the startling near-white color. Ever the reminder that she was so very
different from her mother’s dark, Italian features.

She jammed the paper back into her bag and swung her feet
out of the compact car she’d rented. Monterey, California was a far cry from
Bradley, New York. Even the scent of water on the air was different—briny and
metallic somehow. Maybe she’d sneak away after the reading of the will and find
the coastal road she’d read about during her eight hours in the airport today.

Three cars lined the moss-ridden half wall that hugged the
hillside property. She climbed the steep walk-up, her shoes clicking on
flagstone. Worrying the strap of her purse, she ducked under the trumpet-shaped
blooms that hung from an arbor at the end of the path. Honeysuckle and jasmine
scents drew her ever closer to the massive, dark house. She didn’t know quite
how that could be possible with all the windows, but it was. It looked like a
sterile page from
Architectural Digest.

The wide wraparound porch was slate-gray stone filled with
shadows.

Nothing said welcome. Not even a happy little wreath on the
door.

Not that this was a happy-little-wreath kind of place.
Probably too passé for the California set. She had one for every season. What
did that say about her?

She stopped at the base of the stairs. What the hell was she
doing here? The letter burning a hole in her purse was a formal request for her
attendance at the reading of Lawrence Justice’s will. She wasn’t even aware her
father remembered her name, let alone put her in his will.

Hell, the only reason she knew he’d passed away was because
of the letter. He might’ve been a big name on the West Coast, but in Bradley, New
York, he damn well hadn’t rated a news bulletin.

She tucked the unruly lock of hair behind her ear once more.
This was a mistake. She should turn around and go back to the airport. Sitting
by the ocean would be better. Another eight hours in the airport would be
better. Anywhere but here. She wanted nothing to do with the man who skipped
out on her mother—skipped out on her without even a good-bye. The only good
thing he’d done for them was give them the Heron. She didn’t want anything else
from him.

But no, her mother had impulsively bought a plane
ticket—nonrefundable, of course—to send her one and only baby girl to see what
Kendall’s rich father had left her.

She rubbed the tip of her middle finger between her brows,
wishing away the brewing headache. She didn’t give a rat’s ass what her father
had to say. As far as she was concerned, graveside admissions were bullshit.
She’d never been his daughter in any way. Why on earth had he decided to add
her to the will?

If the Heron weren’t in such financial distress, she would
have told the lawyer who’d contacted her to take a dive off the nearest cliff.
And there were plenty in Monterey to leap off. Again, her mother had fielded
that call.

She’d been too busy on the trawler. Bradley Lake had a
wealth of perfect spots for fishing. The lake had even been mentioned in a few
fishing magazines. It was the only thing bringing any money into the
bed-and-breakfast these days. All her dreams of lovely rooms and community
evenings around the dinner table had been buried under fishing tackle and bait.

She sighed and smoothed her hand over her hips to straighten
any wrinkles in her suit. The flight had been eternal, and the flight back
tonight would be even worse. But she couldn’t afford a hotel room. Not when her
mother had cleaned them out to buy the absurdly expensive ticket to the
frigging West Coast.

Kendall took a deep breath and buttoned the hidden hook of
her lilac jacket. The suit felt like a straitjacket. She was getting too used
to cargo pants and T-shirts. If she kept this up, she was going to have to turn
in her girl card.

She lifted her gaze to the porch again and found
disconcerting dark eyes studying her from the shadows. “Hello.” When he didn’t
say anything back, she swallowed. “I’m Kendall Proctor.”

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.