Sweet Lake (Sweet Lake #1)

by Christine Nolfi

  Freddie regarded him with false sympathy. “A word to the wise. If the woman you love doesn’t share pertinent facts, turn a deaf ear to the wedding bells.”

  The jibe nearly ate through his composure. “If I’d known, I wouldn’t have agreed to play intermediary with the Reed family,” he said, forcing a level of calm into his voice. Cede to anger, and he’d give Freddie the upper hand. “What Linnie did or didn’t do is immaterial. You should’ve laid out the facts when you requested my help.”

  “As if it matters now. You are my legal representative. I’m grateful for your services. Devlin wouldn’t have scheduled Bryce’s surgery so quickly without your involvement.”

  The compliment didn’t placate him. “Will you sell your shares to Linnie? They’re worthless to you.”

  “Will you give Philip a stake in your law firm?”

  “He’s no more interested in practicing law than you are in running an inn.”

  “Do you know what interests me?” With evident pride Freddie smoothed the lapels of his blazer. “The inn carries my family name. For over a century, a Wayfair has been at the helm. A male heir.”

  Something about his insistence didn’t ring true. Why give a damn about a family legacy? Bad Seed Productions provided the sort of income Daniel never hoped to achieve in a small town. Not that he wished to trade places. Freddie lived well, but beneath the arrogance, he seemed unhappy.

  It was time to call his bluff. “Let me get this straight. You’re planning to close your film studio to claim your inheritance? Not much of a trade-off.”

  Freddie stared at him as placidly as a sphinx. “My ambitions are my affair. Not yours, Counselor.”

  The attempt to arrive at his true motives proved maddening. Philip was correct. Freddie’s actions weren’t governed by logic. He resembled a disenchanted teenager driven to foment chaos at every opportunity.

  Daniel inked his voice with deadly calm. “Then let me disclose my ambitions. You won’t gain control of the inn. Not now, not ever. Linnie will fight you—with my help. We’ll drag you through so many lawsuits you’ll end up making schlock movies from inside Ohio courtrooms. Better tell your crew in California to carry on without you. They won’t be seeing much of the boss.”

  “How chivalrous. Ready to defend my sister’s honor at the slightest provocation. Are you vying for sainthood?”

  Freddie wasn’t about to give up a lucrative film studio to carry on the family tradition. He’d implied as much. He did relish the distress he caused Linnie. If she believed he was intent on gaining control, the narrow confidence she’d recently mastered would disappear like mist.

  Another consideration? A man who’d amassed wealth might easily crave more. Greed fired the ambitions of many rich men. Was this a simple grab for more cash? Unsure of the true motive, Daniel silently tallied his personal assets.

  “How’s this? I’ll buy you out,” he said, naming a price. If the offer put Linnie in the clear, he’d gladly make the sacrifice. “Give me several days. I’ll put the cash together before the week’s out.”

  Freddie blinked. “You’re serious.”

  “Of course.”

  “Assuming I could sell, what would you do with the shares?”

  The answer was simple. “Gift them to Linnie.”

  More blinking, and the muscles in Freddie’s throat worked. Softly he said, “You do love my sister.”

  With all my heart. Daniel said, “Do we have a deal?”

  “We do not.” Despite the refusal, Freddie’s gaze lost its dull sheen of arrogance. Rallying, he doused his voice with acid. “I must admit I’m impressed. Saint Daniel, alive and well in small-town USA.”

  “Go to hell.”

  “In time.” He peered across the circle to the men he’d left crisping in the sun. “The contract you insisted I sign? I’ve fulfilled my obligation.”

  “You wired the ten thousand?” It was the good faith deposit on the money owed.

  Freddie smiled. “Even better.”

  Chapter 11

  Jada’s expression required no interpretation. She thought Linnie was a shoo-in for dunce of the year.

  They were locked together inside Linnie’s office with the contract spread out between them. Ten pages in length, it was written in dense legalese by the Gaylord & Simms law firm of Tampa.

  “I just don’t get it,” Jada muttered. “You signed this years ago. Who signs without reading the entire document? Granted, you weren’t very organized back then. But you’ve had your act together for a long time now.”

  “I meant to dig through this a million times,” Linnie hedged, reaching for another slice of German chocolate cake. Count on the thoughtful Jada to bring dessert to a secret meeting.

  Jada slapped her hand away. “Why didn’t you read every last sentence?”

  “Give me a break. I’ve been pulling seventy-hour workweeks since my twenties. Haven’t you ever put something off long enough to forget the task entirely?”

  “Not a contract forcing me to share half my life’s work with my deadbeat brother!”

  “Well, I was hurt. I wasn’t sure I could keep the Wayfair from going under. Brooding over my parents’ decision made me so depressed, I wanted to give up. The better solution? Forget about the contract and hope Freddie stayed in California forever.”

  “So you tossed the contract into a drawer? That’s about as dumb as it gets.”

  “C’mon, Jada. I didn’t know about the clause. Besides, Freddie was long gone. No one thought he’d ever come back. I didn’t think he’d show the slightest interest in claiming his stake. Why would he? Bad Seed Productions is a rousing success. He’s built a new life in San Fernando on the backs of weird aliens from strange planets and vampires jumping into time machines.”

  “Has he demanded a salary?”

  Linnie’s stomach clenched. “Can he?”

  Jada’s ebony gaze flashed. “Gee, I don’t know. Check the contract to find out.”

  “You and I would never take advantage of a hardworking sib, but Freddie’s made of weaker metal. He’s aluminum—no.” Linnie stared longingly at the cake. “He’s from another section of the periodic table. Rubber, maybe.”

  “Rubber isn’t on the periodic table. Shut up. I’m reading.”

  “Not anymore. Give me the contract.” She took the pages and dug in.

  Freed of the task, Jada stared absently into space. “There’s always greed. Maybe Freddie’s itchin’ for a new thrill.”

  “Shut up. I’m reading.”

  “Hurry up, pokey.”

  Turning to page seven, Linnie slowly gleaned the contents. Nearing the bottom of the page, she said, “Nothing here states he must work at the inn. Assuming I understand this correctly, he can demand compensation.” Her stomach did a nasty flip. If forced to pay a monthly stipend, there was no choice but to fire someone on staff. “I don’t care if greed holds the allure of ten bimbos trailing after him on a Friday night. If he asks, I’ll refuse.” The prospect of putting any of her employees out of work was unthinkable.

  “Talk to Daniel. He’ll find a solution.”

  “No can do.”

  “Why not?”

  “Whenever I run into him lately, I end up in his arms. I’d blame Daniel, but I’ve been using the same tricks on him.” She studied her palms. “Do I have blisters on my hands? I like playing with fire.”

  The disclosure nabbed Jada’s complete attention. “Gosh, Linnie. I can think of worse fates than falling in love.” Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “How far have you taken this? I won’t use baseball metaphors, but you know what I mean.”

  “Not that far.”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  A list of reasons came immediately to mind. “For starters, I wasn’t prepared for my feelings to deepen this quickly. I’ve been independent for a long time. It’s scary to discover how much I need Daniel. Then there’s the inn, which consumes my days. How can I fit a romance into the agenda? And let’s not forget the issue
of Daniel representing my brother. I wish he’d sought my approval before choosing to help Freddie out. Too late now, but a heads-up would’ve been nice.”

  “You don’t think their business involves the Wayfair, do you?”

  “No, there’s another reason for Freddie’s visit.” She recalled his puzzling comment about paying karmic debts. “Whatever drew him back to Ohio doesn’t relate to the family business. I have the sense . . . well, that he felt obligated to come back. If he feels an obligation, he cares about someone. Which would be a first. Besides, Daniel is too decent to get involved in something underhanded. He must believe Freddie is doing something good.”

  Jada smiled encouragingly. “Looks like you’re running out of excuses to put a damper on romance with Mr. Perfect.”

  Count on Jada to tap into her deepest feelings. For decades now, she’d been Linnie’s touchstone.

  The first time Linnie met the woman destined to become her best friend she’d cartwheeled from the swing set during the third graders’ recess, landing face down in the grass. Children flocked around her, laughing at her. Jada, newly arrived to Sweet Lake, pushed everyone back.

  Crouching beside Linnie, she’d said, “Don’t let them see you cry. I fall down too. I get right back up.”

  The fond memory of a childhood lesson in courage urged Linnie to admit, “Coming up with a dozen excuses is a lot easier than the alternative. The truth? I’m not sure I’m ready for the type of relationship Daniel has in mind.”

  “He is playing for keeps.”

  “How does that work? We marry, have a family?” Agitated, she rose from the table. Cutting a path across the Persian carpet, she considered the challenges she’d faced since her parents moved to Florida. “Don’t get me wrong. I want all the white-picket-fence dreams. But I was so angry when everything went south and I was forced to take charge. Now? I’ve fallen in love with the ghosts whispering through the rooms and the creaky old floorboards. I love every block of sandstone my ancestors dug from the fields to build this place.”

  Jada’s eyes softened with understanding. “Who says you can’t have a successful business and the perfect marriage?”

  “I can—someday. Not now.” She paused at the bay window overlooking the incline of lawn and a section of the beach. A glorious June day, and guests were out on the sands. Others swam in the lake with their children, carefree vacationers without a worry to burden them. “How can I expect Daniel to understand we’ll need to take it slow? If we go too far, too fast, we’ll consummate our relationship.”

  “Serious relationships do become intimate. What’s the big deal?”

  “If I take our relationship to the next level, he’ll start talking about marriage. He’ll beg me to set a date in a matter of months. We’re not kids. He’s been waiting a long time.”

  “Stop jumping to conclusions. Why not talk to him?”

  An option she’d considered then discarded just as quickly. Was there anything worth saying that wouldn’t hurt him? Or come across as holding him at arm’s length—which she didn’t want to do.

  “If we have a sit-down, he’ll get the impression I care more about my job than him. He’ll think I’m drumming up excuses or that I’m too invested in the Wayfair to give romance a fair shot.” An ache of longing centered in her chest, but she forced herself on. “I do care about him. Deeply. I’ve never felt this way about a man before.”

  “Then give him the benefit of the doubt. We’ve all seen how hard you’ve worked to save the inn. Everyone wants you to succeed, Daniel included. He won’t rush you.”

  “He’ll agree to hold off on marriage?”

  “If you set a reasonable timeline.”

  On a wave of hope, she returned to her chair. “Two years before we discuss forevers? We’ll have the inn on sure footing by then.”

  “I’m sure he’ll understand.”

  Drawing the discussion to a close, Linnie flipped to the contract’s next page. Her eyes landed on the first paragraph. “Jada, check this out.”

  “What is it?”

  “This is unbelievable.” Her mood plummeting, Linnie ran her finger beneath the offensive section. “Freddie can buy me out. He must wait until we’re both in our fifties, but he can force me to sell.”

  “What?”

  Linnie read the paragraph with her hopes deflating. “This can’t be right. Why would my parents force me to sell? Why let me assume control just to take it all away later on?”

  “Hey, it’s all right. You’re only thirty-two. This portion of the contract won’t become active for nearly twenty years.”

  “There’s an ‘out’ clause?”

  Jada’s expression darkened. “More like a noose. The next section states if either you or Freddie don’t abide by the contract’s stipulations, the shares in question revert to the trust of Treat and Sarah Wayfair. The executor of the trust will then decide whether to gift the shares to the other sibling or sell them in a public offering.”

  The trapdoor beneath Linnie’s world popped back open. “This is a noose,” she moaned. “I’m ruined.”

  “There’s time to fix this.”

  “How?”

  “Look at the contract’s date. This was written right after your Dad’s stroke.”

  Catching on, she straightened in her chair. “Right after his stroke . . . when I wasn’t thrilled about having the Wayfair dropped in my lap.”

  “Which you made patently clear. How many times did you call Florida pleading with your parents to sell the place? Freddie hadn’t been gone very long. Your parents might have thought they’d lure him back to Ohio if they gave him half of the inn with a guarantee of becoming sole owner later on.”

  The theory had merit. “They did want him to come home.”

  “Talk to your parents. Freddie’s back on good terms with them. Can’t they sway him to let you buy his shares? With luck, he’ll agree to a buyout over a reasonable amount of time—say, ten years.”

  Although the suggestion was sound, the familiar doubt surfaced. “You’re assuming I can sway my parents. I can’t recall one instance when I pushed for what I wanted. Cat’s right—I’m gutless. I’m a lightweight, and my parents steamroll right over me.” She pushed the contract away. “They want Freddie to own the inn. Not today or tomorrow, but eventually. That dumb tradition of leaving a man in charge. It’s right there, in black and white.”

  “Situations change. They wanted him to take over when they drew up the contract. Look at all you’ve accomplished. Thanks to you, the inn is solvent.”

  “Barely. We won’t see big profits until we reopen the south wing to guests. We have too many rooms sitting empty.”

  “At some point, we will open the south wing and the rest of the rooms in the main building. Think about it. If your parents had waited to write the contract, why wouldn’t they have given it all to you? They drew this up when you were upset about being left in charge. Freddie hadn’t been gone very long. They probably thought filmmaking was another one of his larks. They assumed he’d grow bored with it and come home.”

  “He didn’t,” Linnie supplied.

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “And I stuck around, made a go at running the inn.”

  “You’ve proven you deserve to own the place.”

  Was the observation correct? In the deepest part of her soul, Linnie wanted to believe. In the past, the inn passed from one male heir to the next because no daughters were born into the family. She was the first. She’d proven her qualifications, and her parents were enlightened people. If they supported her desire to become the inn’s sole owner?

  They’d convince Freddie to return his stake to the trust.

  For the next two days, she searched for ways to force her brother out of the picture. Blackmail? She didn’t have the funds. Open threats? She didn’t have the heart. No matter how she chose to confront him, her actions were sure to dissolve the fragile ties of affection in her family. Even if he relinquished his shares to the trus
t, there was no guarantee her parents would give her sole ownership. Not if she hurt their precious son in the process.

  Linnie was still ruminating on a solution when her cell phone buzzed. “Are you busy?” Daniel asked.

  “Always.” Completing the week’s payroll, she pushed the ledger across her desk.

  “Drop whatever you’re doing,” he remarked in an oddly jubilant tone. “Stop by my office. I have great news.”

  Mystified, she reached for her purse. “You’ve found a way to evict Freddie from Sweet Lake?”

  “Just get down here. You won’t be sorry you stopped by.”

  Two boxes, meant to hold bottles of Canadian whiskey, held a place of prominence on Daniel’s desk.

  “They’re from your brother,” he told Linnie. To spare her feelings, he added, “Leave it to Freddie to come up with a childish prank. We’ll all be in the grave before he reaches anything resembling emotional maturity.”

  “Tell your client I already have a liquor supplier.”

  Fortunately she didn’t follow the retort with a look of thunder. In fact, she seemed incapable of looking directly at him. Whenever her hazel eyes strayed in his general direction, spots of color warmed her cheeks. Daniel’s body gave an eager response to her pretty flush of arousal.

  If the pheromones building in the room got out of hand, he’d ask Kay for a bucket of ice water. He’d excuse himself and go soak his head.

  He found the presence of mind to say, “Go on. Open them.”

  Peering inside the first box, Linnie released a startled breath. Dazed, she withdrew a pack of one-hundred-dollar bills from the top of the stack.

  “I instructed Freddie to wire the money into an account I opened at Ohio Republic,” he explained as she ran her thumb down the crisp banknotes. “Obviously he thought this was a more amusing idea.”

  “Is this . . . ?”

  “I’ve counted each box. This represents everything he took from the inn plus interest. There’s an additional twenty thousand. If I were you, I’d regard the extra cash as restitution for pain and suffering. If anyone paid for his reckless behavior, you did.”