Their Lusty Little Valentine [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  “Miranda Barnes Kendall is an amazing woman. And your fathers are noble men. They’re genuinely concerned for those boys—those men. And the man behind that”—Samantha nodded to the papers that Charlie was in the process of copying—“is neither.”

  Charlie finished duplicating and collating the papers, and handed them out. Samantha accepted the invitation to sit behind one of the desks—Martin’s, she quickly learned. Preston, Taylor, and Charles pulled chairs up so that they more or less formed a semicircle in front of her.

  It didn’t escape her attention that they let her have the traditional position of power. She imagined, in a heartbeat, that this very desk had been the center of several serious father-son moments over the years. Her father’s desk had certainly been the setting over which she and the honorable Judge Kincaid had discussed matters.

  She recalled what Preston, Taylor, and Charles had said about letting her be in charge outside of the bedroom. They’ve at least as much integrity as their fathers. It was good to know.

  She turned her focus to the documents and began to read. Two minutes later, she raised her head. “This looks familiar—I perused a few of my father’s law books, and I’m thinking this document was drawn up from the chapter on torts 101.”

  “With a couple of misspelled words thrown in for variety,” Taylor said.

  Samantha nodded. She flipped ahead to the last page. “The seal looks legitimate, as does the registration number—I think this case has indeed been filed with the court.” Then she frowned. “The address of the law firm is one I don’t recognize at all.”

  “New York is a big city,” Charlie said.

  “Yes, it is, and I’ve lived close to it all of my life. I’m probably as familiar with it as you would be with Waco or Houston.”

  “So what you’re saying is, we’re not dealing with a high-power law firm here?”

  “I’ve never heard of Peter Nolan Associates,” Samantha said. “Of course, that doesn’t mean anything. Let me call my Dad. He’ll be in his office, just finishing up his workday. I know he has an American Bar Association directory there. He can look them up.”

  Preston nodded toward the phone. “Please, feel free to call anyone at any time.”

  It didn’t take her long to be connected to the judge.

  “Sam, I’m glad you called, honey. Though your mother will be upset you phoned the office and not home. Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine, thanks, Dad. I’ll call Mom later tonight, I promise.” She raised her eyebrow and looked to Preston. She supposed she should have asked permission first.

  The man across the desk from her seemed to read her mind. He wagged his finger at her. She guessed he meant what he’d told her, twice now. Then he said, just above a whisper, “You can call whomever you want, whenever you want.”

  “Good,” her father said. “She’ll appreciate hearing from you. Any word on your car?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. Baby needs a new engine. Mr. Jessop, the mechanic here, has ordered a new one. He thinks I’ll be on the road again by Sunday.”

  “I’ll give your hosts a call tonight to express my appreciation for all they’ve done for you. I know you’ve expressed your gratitude. I’ll make sure they know that if they ever need anything from us, they’ve only to ask.”

  “Actually, that’s sort of why I’m calling.” She told her father the entire story, but with a slight bit of editing. The only detail she left out was that Martin and Nicholas were not only brothers, but co-husbands to the same woman. She did say they’d both been named in the suit because the plaintiff wasn’t sure which man to name.

  Only as the words were coming out of her mouth did she consider that the Kendalls may not be very happy to have their laundry hung out for this man they’d never even met to see. But when she looked at the triplets, not a one of them seemed upset with her.

  “Give me the name of the firm that’s filed this suit, and the address, please.”

  Samantha read from the document she held.

  “Hmm. Something there, but I can’t quite bring it to mind. Let me have a look in the directory. I can already tell you that address is in the Bronx. Now, there’re a lot of fine businesses in that borough—”

  “But we’re not talking prime real estate,” Samantha finished.

  “No. Do you have a name and address for the plaintiff?”

  She gave him the name, but she had no address. She also gave him the rest of the concrete information they had—Judith’s name, and the names of her sons, who were listed in the document.

  “I’m going to get Brian working on this in the morning,” her father said. Brian was his law clerk, a fastidious young man who her father had hoped she’d take an interest in.

  Fortunately, there’d been no sparks whatsoever between them. Also fortunately, her father wasn’t one to push her—about anything.

  So his next words surprised her. “Samantha, I’ve deposited two thousand dollars into your bank account. Don’t argue. We bought you that car, and the repairs are on us. Period.”

  She felt her face heat. “We’ll discuss that the next time we see each other,” she said.

  “No, daughter. It’s done. Pick your battles.”

  How often had that been his advice to her in her life? She thought about the situation facing people who, in such a short time, had come to mean so much to her. “I think I’ve done that, sir. Thank you for looking into this for me. It means a lot.”

  “I know it does, sweetheart. Give me a call tomorrow afternoon sometime for an update. I don’t have court. And don’t forget to call your mother after dinner.”

  “No, sir, I won’t. Bye for now.” She hung up the phone and looked at the brothers Kendall. “Dad is going to pull some strings. He has rather a lot to choose from.”

  “Good. I hope he knows how grateful we are.”

  Samantha grinned. “He had the same message for your family.” At the last moment she substituted the word she’d been going to use, “y’all” with “family” because, really, she didn’t think her father would necessarily be grateful for what these three men had done for her that very day. “Now let’s see what we can come up with from the only lead we have.” She raised her copy of the complaint.

  “Yes, let’s,” Preston said. “I’m more pissed than I can say that some…carpetbagger…thinks he can shake down our fathers. Not to mention the upset he’s caused our mother and grandmother.”

  “We’ll get him. I know I’m not a lawyer yet, and I’m young. But I have absolute faith in the system.”

  Charlie grinned. “Mortimer Robbins has no idea who he’s taken on. I’d bet your faith over his machinations any day.”

  “Me, too,” Taylor said. “Okay, let’s get to it.”

  * * * *

  Taylor shared a knowing look with his brothers as he lifted his gaze up from the papers he read. There could be no doubt about the dedication with which Samantha was pursuing this “case.” Did she know that the Kendalls, en masse, were more than capable of handling this lawsuit without her help?

  Most likely, she did. The fact that her emotions had been roused on the behalf of his family felt more than good. It felt right.

  Just as making love with her that afternoon had felt right. He’d been warned by his fathers, and his grandfathers. They’d told him, and his brothers, that when they met the woman meant to be theirs—whether they shared a wife or pursued love singly—they’d know.

  Taylor was already in love with Samantha Kincaid. He knew with a kind of very prescient knowledge that she was going to be the mother of their children.

  He was grateful to his fathers for giving them a means by which to really connect with Samantha. Working on this “case,” he had no doubt, would bring them just that much closer. She already felt loyal to his family. Right then he was happier than he’d ever been in his life.

  Taylor had distributed paper and pens to them all, and with copies of the document in hands, they’d
set right to work.

  “I have a friend in the law library at NYU. I’m not familiar with all the statutes governing torts, and there’re likely some differences between New York State and Texas when it comes to civil law.”

  “As we take apart whatever the plaintiff’s so-called case is, we can list any points we need clarification on,” Taylor said. “Good thinking.”

  “Did Judith’s letter mention this man? We might need to cite it as evidence.” Samantha met his gaze and shrugged. “I hate mentioning that, because that’s a very personal communication from a dying woman to your dads.”

  “It is, but I think they’d be the first to come to the conclusion that her letter is, indeed, evidence. Going forward, it may even need to be entered as such into the official record.”

  “I hate asking.” Samantha frowned. “I’m a stranger, and I can’t imagine they’d want me pawing through such an intensely personal—and, I think for them, painful—matter.”

  “We haven’t known you long, but I wouldn’t call you a stranger, Samantha.”

  Samantha started at the sound of his father, Martin’s, voice. Clearly, she hadn’t heard the door open, or him step into the room. Then he smiled at her, and she seemed to relax just a little.

  “It occurred to Nick and me that you’d need that letter so you could have Judith’s side of things, as it were.” Martin walked over to a file cabinet that stood in the corner adjacent to his desk. It only took him a moment to find what he was looking for. He looked at the packet he held in his hands for a few seconds, and then handed it over to Samantha. “Miranda was ticked when this letter showed up—but only for about five minutes. We’d told her about Judith, of course—as she mentioned earlier, we told her about Judith within days of our meeting her.”

  The look on Samantha’s face didn’t surprise Taylor—he’d already discerned her to be a woman of compassion—but it did perplex him.

  “You and Nick were hurt when Judith returned home and never contacted you again, weren’t you? And you were determined that wasn’t going to happen with Miranda.”

  “Yes. We tried to reach her the very next weekend, after she left.” Martin looked out the window behind Samantha. Then he met her gaze, gave her a smile, and shook his head.

  “I can’t now regret that, because, as you know, not long after Judith left, we met our Miranda. Judith was nearly perfect for us, and I recall that we wondered between us if she was the one destined to be ours, and we’d let her slip away. Miranda, we knew as soon as we met her, really was the one for us. We never even had to discuss it. We just knew.”

  “I don’t know why popular culture paints men as not having tender hearts,” Samantha said. “All the men I respect certainly do.”

  His father actually blushed at that. Then he grinned. “It’s our fault, we men. That’s a secret too closely guarded and hidden behind our ‘machismo.’ Well, I’ll leave y’all to it.” He looked at each of his sons in turn. “Your mother says supper is in one hour.”

  Taylor had no trouble reading the look in his father’s eyes. He liked Samantha. Because his parents were such a tight triad, he knew that if one of them liked her, the others probably did, too.

  Martin closed the door as he left the room.

  Samantha held the envelope his father had given her as if she didn’t know what to do with it. She met his gaze. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “At this moment, Martin Kendall is one of your clients and he gave it to you, love. Not to any of us. I’d say that it’s you he wants to read it the most.”

  “Being a woman you might intuit what we, being men, would not,” Charlie said.

  Taylor looked at Preston. He wondered if his oldest brother would say the one thing that he himself was thinking, and that he knew Charlie was thinking, too.

  Their father had taken one look at the way they’d gathered themselves around Miss Samantha Kincaid here in his office, and he’d understood the significance of the arrangement.

  In other words, Martin and Nicholas Kendall’s sons were following in their fathers’ footsteps when it came to their relationship with their woman.

  Taylor figured that if it had worked for their dads for so many years, it would work for the three of them, too.

  Chapter 10

  The letter was dated July 1, 1971, and had been penned in New York City. Samantha scanned the cover letter that had accompanied Judith’s missive. Mr. Ronald Dorn had sent it the day after Judith’s passing. She’d died August first. The Kendalls would have received this, then, about three weeks ago.

  That’s not much time to take in such life-changing news.

  Very aware that Preston, Taylor, and Charles were waiting, Samantha began to read.

  Dear Martin and Nicholas,

  This is probably the most difficult letter I’ve ever written.

  My lawyer, Ronald Dorn, a good and true lifelong friend, is sitting in a chair beside my hospital bed as I pen these words. He’s promised to get this letter to you in its original, sealed envelope. I know he’d like to read it, but he won’t. Like the two of you, he is a man of integrity.

  This letter will be sent to you upon my death, which is going to be fairly soon, I’m sorry to say. I have cancer. Nothing more can be done for me, except to keep me comfortable as the end approaches.

  I’ve put off writing to the two of you for thirty years, and now, I can put it off no longer.

  I’ve never forgotten you, and it is my hope that I have been a not unpleasant memory for you as well. You may or may not recall that I was feeling unsettled and upset when we met in early March of 1941. I know I didn’t go into details at the time, as it’s never been easy for me to share problems or burdens with anyone. I recall that I did tell you that I was facing some difficult decisions at home.

  Basically, my father wanted me to marry a man I didn’t care for, a man of his choosing. It would have been a marriage more advantageous to him than to me, and though I loved my father, there was a limit as to what I was willing to do to please him.

  That revelation was a great shock to him.

  Marty and Nicky, the time we spent together in Virginia Beach was the second happiest time of my entire life. Topping those sweet days and even sweeter nights that we spent together at that secluded inn by the shore, was the birth of my sons, triplets, eight and a half months later.

  As my boys grew into teens, and then young men, I could see the both of you in them! They aren’t identical triplets, but looking at them there is no doubt they are brothers, and no doubt, really, that they are yours. Well, one of yours.

  I should have told you about them, and for that, I am truly sorry. As I face the end of my life, I understand that I cheated you and I cheated them, and now…God, now I don’t even know why I did that!

  I wasn’t alone, all these years. Please, please don’t form any dismal pictures in your heads of a homeless waif struggling to put food on the table for three hungry little children. That wasn’t my reality at all. A couple of months before they were born I met a man— well, I met a man. He knew I was enceinte, of course, and offered to marry me anyway. I accepted his offer, though I did not love him. My father attempted to disown me when he discovered my state, and actually succeeded for a few years in tying my hands, financially. But the inheritance left to me by his mother couldn’t legally be withheld and after years of diligent work by Ronald, I was finally able to secure my sons’ birthrights.

  Mortimer Robbins—the man I married—proved to be a man who should never have been a father. I left him, although I never divorced him. He never knew about the titanic battle between my father and me.

  Neither did he know about my inheritance from my grandmother.

  I didn’t have to do anything to protect that trust from him. Grandmother, God rest her, had no use for the males of the species. She stipulated the fund could only be inherited by my children or grandchildren.

  I’ve been fiscally careful over the years, as is my nature, and fortunate in my
investments. My sons have been provided for—and, they each of them have a very strong New England work ethic as well as very good careers. Financially, they’ll be fine without me.

  Just last night, I told them about you, and about your town. I explained to them that it was my choice and mine alone, that you’d not even been aware of their existence. I explained that you’d written, and called, and tried several times to reach me after the time we spent together, and that I deliberately avoided contact with you. And I told them why.

  I explained that I knew if you discovered I was pregnant, then one of you would have insisted on marrying me. I did enjoy the time we had, but I didn’t fall in love with either of you. I wanted to. Those deep feelings just were never there. I’ve come to believe they don’t exist within me. But I did care for you both a great deal.

  In fact, I cared about you too much to sentence either one of you to a loveless marriage.

  I’ve encouraged the boys to contact you after I’m gone. They’ve promised that they would, at a time when their grieving is not so raw. It gives me some comfort to think that in the future, they will seek you out. I regret I didn’t arrange such a meeting between you before now.

  It is truly one of but two regrets that I have in my life. The other is the marriage I did make with Mort Robbins. He’s since told me that he only married me to avoid the draft—we wed in the autumn of 1941, just a couple of months before Pearl Harbor. The winds of war were blowing strongly then, and as you recall we all knew it was coming. I married him in order to give legitimacy to my sons, a reason I never held back from him. Since I did achieve that as a result of the deal we made, I’ve stayed legally married to the man, although we have not shared a home for the past decade. I’ve made arrangements for a small inheritance for him, though I have no doubt he will neither appreciate, nor cherish, my gesture. Sadly, he’s a very selfish and self-centered man.