Samantha’s eyes flickered with surprised amusement. “What? The perfect boy rebels in secret against his beloved mentor?” One of her pale eyebrows danced upward mockingly. “I must say, I’m shocked. I didn’t know you had it in you.”
Her tone irritated him. She was so certain he was nothing but a shadow of Jamison, so certain he was nothing but a bore, an uptight prig. He leaned forward and encircled her wrist with his fingers. He felt the rapid beating of her pulse beneath his index finger.
“You might be surprised at what rebellious, unseemly fantasies occasionally rush through my head,” he said softly. Immediately he felt an increase in her pulse. The knowledge that his words had somehow stimulated her, aroused a dangerous fever.
He released her wrist and drew a steadying breath. “However, I pick and choose my rebellions very carefully, and I know fantasies are best left as unfulfilled illusions.” Tyler’s blood thickened, heated with the sexy secretiveness of her smile.
“Now that’s where you’re wrong, Tyler,” she replied, her voice husky and low. “Some fantasies make wonderful reality. You just have to know which ones to reach out for and which ones to leave alone.”
“Are you sure you know the difference?” he asked, vaguely wondering how in the hell he’d lost control of the conversation.
She shrugged, the little smile still playing at the corners of her lips. “My judgment wasn’t very good when I was younger, but I’ve learned a little discernment in the last couple of years.” She leaned forward and he caught a whiff of her perfume. The scent reminded him of primal forests and clean rain—an earthy scent that stirred something primitive in him.
Tyler drained the last of his coffee and stood. “I’ve got to get to the office,” he said.
Samantha stood as well. “Yes, and I need to get over to the courthouse and let the appropriate people know I’m Tony’s counsel of record.”
They each threw a dollar on the table, then left the café together. Once out on the sidewalk, Samantha placed a hand on his arm, her expression sober. “Don’t worry, Tyler. I don’t intend to mess up the reputation of Justice Inc. I intend to enhance it by proving Dominic is innocent.”
“And how do you expect to do that?” he asked, amused at her confidence, her neophyte bravado.
“I’m going to find the real killer,” she declared.
Before Tyler could react to her words, before he could tell her how dangerous such intentions could prove to be, she whipped around and walked toward her car.
Her short skirt swayed and bounced with each step, reminding Tyler of all the fantasies he’d ever entertained about her.
When she reached her car, she turned back to him, a grin still curving her lips. “Maybe later we can compare fantasies,” she said, her voice carrying easily on the light autumn breeze. “I’d be more than happy to tell you which of yours are worth pursuing.” She wiggled her fingers in a wave goodbye, then got into her car and pulled away from the café.
Tyler watched her go, his hands clenched at his sides. Drawing a deep breath, he forced himself to relax and headed for his own car. He wondered what she would say or do if he took her up on her offer, told her about the fantasies he’d once entertained about her? He had a feeling she wouldn’t be amused to discover herself the central focus of his repressed sexual drive.
There had been a time when Samantha had occupied a space in his dreams—erotic dreams that had left him feeling frustrated and angry. At the time, he hadn’t followed through on the fantasies because he’d respected Jamison too much, owed the man his very life and wouldn’t repay that debt by sleeping with his wayward daughter.
Although Jamison was gone now, Tyler didn’t want to become entangled in Samantha’s life. Her life—her choices in life—represented the very sort of chaos Tyler had left behind.
Samantha had the ability to inspire passionate responses from those around her. She functioned out of emotion, thrived on anarchy.
Tyler had once been very much like Samantha, carrying around a burden of self-destructive anger. It had taken him years to put his past behind him, to learn to control the emotions that for too long had controlled him.
Tyler knew all too well the danger of passions exploding unchecked. He couldn’t allow Samantha to take him back to that time of madness and murder. Those distant memories were what made it impossible for him to represent Dominic. And those same memories were what made any personal relationship with Samantha equally impossible.
Chapter 4
The Wilford Country Club was the town uppercrust’s attempt to provide an exclusive playground for themselves. Surrounded by the golf course, the white, two-story building was a sprawling facility that offered an expensive restaurant on the first floor and gym facilities on the second. The yearly fee to maintain membership in the club was enough to feed a family of four for at least two years.
Samantha had never felt comfortable here, but her father had loved this place. He’d spent what free time he had in the dark, smoky bar adjoining the restaurant, where the ranking males gathered to discuss town politics and world affairs.
Although it shouldn’t be so, nerves jangled inside Samantha at the prospect of lunching with her sister. The realization that seeing Melissa made her nervous, brought with it a tinge of sadness. It shouldn’t be this way, she thought as she used the rearview mirror to fix wayward tendrils that had escaped the confines of the twist at the nape of her neck.
It saddened her that she and Melissa had gone such separate ways, fallen so completely out of each other’s lives. Melissa was all the family Samantha had left, and as Samantha got out of her car, she hoped it wasn’t too late to pick up the pieces and glue back some semblance of a sisterly relationship.
There were few diners in the restaurant at this hour of the day. A tableful of women sat in one corner, enjoying a round of drinks before ordering their lunch.
A good stiff drink would taste good, Samantha thought, but instantly dismissed the idea. She’d learned over the last several years that she had little tolerance for alcohol, and a huge tolerance for stupidity after a couple of drinks.
Samantha instantly spied her sister, sitting alone, her gaze trained out the window next to her. As Samantha made her way toward her, she realized Melissa had changed little over the past six years.
Her hair was still pale blond, cut short to emphasize her dainty features and large eyes. Clad in a beautiful long-sleeved dress, Melissa looked as if she belonged in the elegant surroundings.
Samantha tamped down an edge of old childhood resentment. Melissa had often served as their father’s hostess at parties and dinners. She’d displayed a natural poise and refined deportment, and that, coupled with her prettiness, had made her Jamison’s favorite.
“Why can’t you be more like your sister?” How many times had those words been thrown in Samantha’s face by their father? Too numerous to count. Samantha shoved these thoughts aside as she reached the table. “Hi, Missy,” she said softly, repeating the nickname their mother had used.
Melissa’s head whipped around and for a moment an unexpected warmth lit her eyes. “Sammie.”
In that second of greeting, they were two little girls again, sisters and best friends. A hundred memories raced through Samantha’s head—pleasant memories of togetherness, and love.
“Sit down.” Melissa indicated the chair across from her. She took a sip of water and when she looked back at Samantha the warmth in her eyes had disappeared. “So, back in town for less than twenty-four hours and already you’re in the eye of a hurricane.”
“You mean the Marcola case?” Melissa nodded. “How’d you hear about it so fast?”
“Small town. Tales of your escapades always make their way from one side to the other. I heard about it from the checker in the grocery store this morning.”
“This isn’t one of my escapades,” Samantha replied, aware of the defensive tone in her voice. “This is a job, a cause I believe in.”
“You’ve up
set Tyler by taking this case.”
Samantha smiled. “I upset Tyler by being alive.” She shrugged. “He’ll get over it.”
“The only reason you took the Marcola case is because Tyler told you not to.”
“Is that what Tyler told you?”
Melissa toyed with her water glass. “Tyler told me he didn’t want you to take the case. I’m the one who made the final assessment that it’s your perverse nature at work.” She leaned forward, her gaze hard and intent. “Don’t hurt him, Samantha.”
Samantha stared at her in surprise. She leaned back in her chair, an edge of resentment sweeping through her. “Hmm, I guess things have changed. There was a time you hated Tyler as much as I did. We both thought of him as the interloper, the encroacher.”
“You left, Samantha,” Melissa replied. “You turned your back and ran as fast as you could from here.” She took another sip of her water. “Tyler’s been kind to me.”
The arrival of the waiter interrupted the conversation. They placed their orders and when the waiter left, a stifling tension rent the air.
Samantha studied Melissa, wondering if her sister had a thing for Tyler, if perhaps that might be what had broken up her marriage. A sick feeling roiled in her stomach as she thought of Tyler and Melissa together. It felt a little like jealousy, but she dismissed it as hunger pangs.
She didn’t care who Tyler was with, as long as it wasn’t her. She frowned as she remembered their conversation earlier. The slightly flirtatious nature of their talk had stimulated her, excited her. Again she’d had the feeling of depths unplumbed where Tyler Sinclair was concerned.
Fantasies. If Tyler entertained them at all, she had a feeling his revolved around perfect clients who paid on time or perhaps a little woman who would iron his shirts just the way he liked them.
She snapped her attention back to her sister, irritated that Tyler could so easily sneak into her thoughts. “I understand you’ve recently separated from your husband,” she said.
Melissa’s eyes darkened painfully as she nodded. “Although Bill isn’t happy about the situation. He doesn’t want a divorce.”
“What do you want?” Samantha asked.
Melissa unfolded her linen napkin and carefully placed it in her lap. When she looked back at Samantha, her eyes were still darkened by inner shadows. “I don’t know. Some days I know the separation is for the best, and then Bill will call and sweet-talk me and I’m not sure if it’s right or not. Being alone is so hard.” Melissa laughed with an edge of bitterness. “But of course, you probably don’t know about that. You’ve always seemed very comfortable being alone.”
Samantha said nothing, although Melissa’s words couldn’t have been more wrong. She’d never been happy in her aloneness, which was why she’d so often sought the cemetery and the non judgmental company of Jeb. But, that was a vulnerability she couldn’t expose to anyone, not even Melissa.
“Where are you living?” Samantha asked.
“A little apartment on the north side of town,” Melissa replied.
“Why not the house, Melissa? Why didn’t you just move home when you separated?”
Melissa shrugged. “Moving back home felt like going backward. I needed time to think, to decide what I want. I didn’t want to be influenced by anyone.”
The waiter appeared with their lunch. A large salad and iced tea for Melissa and a burger and fries for Samantha.
As they ate, the tension between them eased somewhat. The conversation turned lighter as Melissa filled her in on harmless local gossip. “Margaret Bromswell still drinks too many martinis at community functions and ends the night by singing arias from Carmen. Mr. Watkins still wears that horrible toupee, and Bertha Hinke still fixes that awful chicken salad for every potluck dinner she’s invited to.”
Samantha laughed and stabbed a golden fry with her fork. “I guess some things never change.”
Melissa’s smile faded and her delicate brow creased with a frown. “Some things have changed. Father’s dead.”
Samantha nodded. “And we need to decide what to do with the house. You want to sell?”
“I don’t know. Things are so unsettled right now in my life. Can we just let things ride for a month or two, then make a decision?” Melissa asked.
“That’s fine with me,” Samantha agreed. She paused a moment, wanting to broach another subject, but aware that it was an unpleasant one. “Melissa, I intend to investigate Father’s death.”
Melissa’s eyes flared in surprise. “Why? What’s to investigate?”
“Don’t you find it odd that a man who hated heights, a man who’d lost his wife by a fall from a balcony, would go out on that same balcony and fall through a rotting railing?”
“I find a lot of things odd,” Melissa returned, her voice uneven. “I find it odd that the person most likely to break a law has now become a lawyer. I also find it particularly odd that you wanted to meet me for lunch after six years of silence.”
Melissa dabbed her mouth with her napkin and refused to meet Samantha’s surprised gaze. “Who knows what was going on in Father’s mind the night he fell?” she continued.
“But what if he didn’t fall?” Samantha countered. “What if he was pushed?”
Melissa looked at her, shadows once again darkening the blue depths of her eyes. “Why would you even think such a thing?”
“Why not?” Samantha retorted. “Father wasn’t exactly a beloved figure in this town. I’m sure he had more than a few enemies.”
“I’m sure he did,” Melissa agreed. “But I can’t see any of them sneaking into the house and chasing Father out onto the balcony, then pushing him to his death.”
Samantha shook her head. “I don’t know what happened. All I know is that something isn’t right, and I intend to investigate, find out if it was really an accident or not.”
Melissa placed her napkin on the table next to her. “Why can’t you just let things rest? You’ve already entangled yourself in the Marcola mess. Isn’t that enough controversy for you?”
“I don’t find defending an innocent man against false charges controversial,” Samantha replied, her voice cool against the resentment in Melissa’s.
Melissa stood. “Samantha, my life contains enough turmoil right now with my marital problems. I don’t need you poking and prodding, stirring up things about Father’s death.”
“Don’t you want to know the truth?” Samantha demanded.
“The truth is I think you should sell your half of Justice Inc. to Tyler. He worked for it, he deserves it. The truth is, I think Dominic Marcola would be better off with any other lawyer than you, because when the going gets tough, you have a tendency to run.” She paused to draw a breath.
“Gee, it’s nice to be home,” Samantha said sarcastically.
Melissa flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say all that. I’ve got to go. I told the waiter to put the meal on my tab when I made the reservation. I’ll talk to you later.”
Samantha didn’t say a word to stop her sister as she turned and walked away. She finished her coffee, ignoring the curious glances of the matrons at their nearby table.
On some level she was unsurprised by Melissa’s explosion of anger toward her. While Melissa had never, ever breathed a hint of any resentment she might harbor against her older sister, there had been times before Samantha had left home when she’d felt that emotion simmering just beneath the surface in her sibling.
What she hadn’t understood then and what she didn’t understand now was why Melissa resented her. What had happened? What had caused the chasm to widen between them, when they’d once been so close?
As she replayed Melissa’s words in her mind, an overwhelming sadness descended over her. She’d hoped they would be able to rebuild what they’d once shared in their childhood, the family closeness they’d experienced when their mother was still alive.
Too late. It might be too late for her and Melissa, but it wasn’t too late for Samantha to
prove both her and Tyler wrong where Dominic was concerned.
She hadn’t taken Dominic’s case just to be perverse, and she was finished running when things got tough. She threw her napkin on the table and stood. She had too many things to do to sit and ruminate on her problems with Melissa. She had a defense case to prepare and in the process perhaps she could redeem herself in the eyes of her sister and Tyler Sinclair.
Within fifteen minutes she walked into the offices of Justice Inc. for the second time since returning to Wilford. This time a red-haired older woman occupied the receptionist’s desk.
“There’s my girl!” the busty, slightly overweight woman exclaimed as she came around the desk and embraced Samantha in a hug and a cloud of perfume.
“Oh, Edie, it’s so good to see you again,” Samantha told her, returning the hug warmly. Edie Burgess had been Jamison Dark’s secretary for as long as Samantha could remember.
It had been Edie who had taken Samantha shopping for her very first bra, Edie who had bought birthday and Christmas gifts for the two motherless girls.
“Let me have a look at you.” Edie released her and stepped back, gazing at Samantha with sharp, critical eyes. Her ruby lips curved up into a wide grin. “You’re looking just fine, sweetheart.”
Samantha laughed. “My hair’s a mess and my skirt is too short.”
“I wouldn’t care if you were bald and naked,” Edie replied. “I’m just glad you’re finally home where you belong.” She took Samantha by the hand and led her to the chair next to her desk. “Here, sit down. We’ve got years of catching up to do.”
Samantha had always been rather amazed that a man as conservative, as stodgy as her father had hired a woman who wore her clothes a little too tight, her lip-stick a tad too bright, and had hair the color of bottled flames.
“So, tell me all,” Edie demanded as Samantha sank down in the chair next to her. “Nobody has told me if you’re married or divorced, in love or brokenhearted.”
“None of the above,” Samantha replied. Oh, in the past six years there had been dates. She’d enjoyed the company of a fellow law student and had entertained a brief infatuation with a sexy pizza deliveryman, but neither had lasted long. When the men had tried to deepen the relationship, introduce intimacy, she’d broken it off. She had no desire to fall in love, didn’t believe in it. All she wanted was a good time, where she stayed in control and her emotions didn’t get involved.
Reluctant Wife Page 5
