The closer she got to making the treatment work, the more Irwin grew to believe he was the one deserving of the accolades and a greater share of the wealth that would come with success. When Brian reported that it looked like Mya was successful at making the treatment work, Irwin and Adam had hatched a plan to steal TriGen’s research and claim it as his own. Irwin had enlisted the help of his son Adam, to eliminate the three people who could prove otherwise—Mya, Brian and Rebecca. It was just horrible timing that Adam made it to Mya’s townhouse at the same time as Rebecca. He’d slipped in after her and found her attempting to steal the server to give to her cousin, Shannon. Killing Rebecca right then hadn’t been part of Adam’s and Irwin’s plans, but it had worked out for them since it threw suspicion on Mya.
Rebecca and Brian’s betrayal stung, but Irwin’s betrayal had cut deeply. Mya had attempted to visit him in prison, to understand why he had gone to such unthinkable lengths, but he’d refused to meet with her.
Shannon Travers had been charged with theft for her part in having Rebecca funnel her TriGen proprietary research. But that was the least of her problems. The federal government had filed charges against Nobel and a number of its executives, including Shannon—for shareholder fraud and other corporate crimes. Nobel undertook its own media blitz blaming everything on Shannon.
Mya couldn’t help feeling just a little bit sorry for her former classmate. As much as she hated to admit it, Shannon had a brilliant scientific mind that could have been put to life-changing use. Instead, she had let avarice and jealousy prevail.
Mya shook off thoughts of Shannon and opened a box of protective goggles. She stacked them next to the gloves in the supply closet of her new lab.
She’d been able to convince one of the local universities to allow her the use of a vacant laboratory, a conversation that had gone much better than she’d expected with the renewed support of her investors. Partnering with the university had worked out in more ways than one. She’d found a new assistant one day over lunch, a brilliant woman at the end of her postdoc who had come highly recommended by several professors at the university. It would take time before Mya could trust her given what she’d just gone through, but together they were working night and day to start up the new lab.
Gideon’s job had also kept him working long hours. But they spent as much time as they could together, including nearly every night at his house, although the last three nights Gideon had insisted they sleep at her place.
She hadn’t questioned it, happy that he was just as comfortable in her space as she was in his. But it appeared he missed sleeping in his own bed. He’d sent her a text after lunch asking what time she planned to knock off for the night and to drop by his place when she did.
The front porch light was on when she arrived, but there didn’t appear to be any lights on in the interior of the house. Gideon’s Tahoe was in the driveway, and since they’d exchanged keys several weeks ago, she let herself into the house.
“Gideon?”
There was no response, but a faint glow of light drew her toward the kitchen. The French doors were open onto the back patio.
As she drew closer to the doors, she could see that white lights had been strung around the posts of the pergola. Paper lanterns hung from the overhead slats, and large vases of red and white roses sat on pedestals of varying heights, creating a narrow rose petal-strewn path to the patio’s edge.
Mya started down the path, curious as to exactly what was going on. She was at the halfway point when Gideon stepped out from the shadows, looking more handsome than she’d ever seen him in a dark blue bespoke suit. He held another dozen red roses in his hand.
She had to remind herself to breathe.
“What is all this?” she asked.
“Do you like it?”
She did a three-sixty, taking in all the lights, soaking up the romance of the moment, before turning back to him. “It’s gorgeous, but what’s it all for.”
“It’s all for you,” Gideon said, holding the roses out to her. She took them, the butterflies in her stomach fluttering.
“I wanted to do something special for you. The last time I proposed, it was less than romantic.”
She locked her knees so they wouldn’t give out. Had he really just said he was proposing again? The setting certainly was romantic enough for a proposal, but her brain didn’t seem to be able to keep up with current events. Her heart was, though. It pounded in her chest, and it was a fight to keep the tears that threatened from spilling over onto her cheeks.
“This time, I wanted it to be special,” Gideon continued. “Something you’ll remember for the rest of your life. Something you’ll tell our children about.”
“Our children?” She wasn’t able to hold the tears back any longer. They fell freely.
Gideon swiped his thumb over her cheek, whisking away the tears. “Our children. I got you a ring, but I wanted to give you something else.”
He slipped his hand in his pocket, and the strings of light and lanterns that had been strung through the large maple tree in the backyard sprang on.
A full-sized treehouse sat amongst the branches.
“You built me a treehouse,” she managed between tears.
“I had to hire a contractor. It took a little architectural magic to make it happen.”
Mya reached for his hand and squeezed. “You built me a treehouse,” she repeated in amazement.
“You want to see inside?”
She climbed the ladder.
A blanket was spread out on the floor, and champagne chilled in a bucket next to two flutes.
Mya tucked her legs under a heated blanket as Gideon ascended the ladder and sat across from her.
“This would have worked a lot better when we were kids,” he said.
“I still can’t believe you built this for me.”
Gideon slid the champagne to the side and drew her in close. “I’d build you a dozen more if that’s what you wanted. You deserve to have everything you want, and I want to be the man to give it to you. Because you’ve given me everything. Your love, loyalty and trust even when I didn’t deserve it. Even after I pushed you away.”
Tears streamed down her face again. “Gideon,” she choked out.
He pressed a finger against her lips and pulled a red velvet box from his pocket with the other hand. “I’ve loved you for most of my life. You are the most important, the most precious thing to me in the entire world. I know I don’t deserve another chance, but I’m asking you to give me one. Will you marry me?”
She was crying so hard she could barely see the massive square-cut diamond he slipped on her finger.
It didn’t matter. Her answer would be the same whether he slipped a sparkly rock or a barely there chip on her finger.
“Yes. Absolutely, yes.”
She sank into his kiss, wishing it would never end.
Gideon pulled his mouth from hers and pressed his lips to her earlobe. “What do you say we christen this treehouse?”
That sounded like a good idea to her.
* * *
If you missed the first two books in
K.D. Richards’s West Investigations series,
look for Pursuit of the Truth and
Missing at Christmas,
available now wherever
Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!
When her estranged father dies and leaves her his sprawling Texas ranch, Janessa Parkman must come to terms with the stipulations in his will and her past. This includes confronting what happened between her and rancher Brody Harrell all those years ago...and figuring out if the magic of the Christmas season can help them pick up where they left off...
Read on for a sneak preview of
Christmas at Colts Creek by USA TODAY bestselling author Delores Fossen.
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Christmas at Colts Creek
by Delores Fossen
Chapter One
“THIS IS LIKE one of those stupid posts that people put on social media,” the woman snarled. “You know the ones I’m talking about. For a million dollars, would you stay in this really amazing house for a year with no internet, no phone and some panty-sniffing poltergeists?”
Frowning at that, Janessa Parkman blinked away the raindrops that’d blown onto her eyelashes and glanced at the grumbler, Margo Tolley, who was standing on her right. Margo had hurled some profanity and that weird comment at the black granite headstone that stretched five feet across and five feet high. A huge etched image of Margo’s ex, Abraham Lincoln Parkman IV, was in the center, and it was flanked by a pair of gold-leaf etchings of the ornate Parkman family crest.
“Abe was a miserable coot, and this proves it,” Margo added, spitting out the words the way the chilly late October rain was spitting at them. She kicked the side of the headstone.
Janessa really wanted to disagree with that insult, and the kick, especially since Margo had aimed both of them at Janessa’s father. Or rather her father because he had that particular title in name only. However, it was hard to disagree or be insulted after what she’d just heard from Abe’s lawyer. Hard not to feel the bubbling anger over what her father had done, either.
Good grief. Talk about a goat rope the man had set up.
“Do you understand the conditions of Abe’s will?” Asher Parkman, the lawyer, asked, directing the question at Janessa.
“Yeah, do you understand that the miserable coot is trying to ruin our lives?” Margo blurted out before she could answer.
Yes, Janessa got that, and unlike the stupid social media posts, there was nothing amusing about this. The miserable coot had just screwed them all six ways to Sunday.
Twenty Minutes Earlier
“SOMEBODY OUGHT TO put a Texas-sized warning label on Abe Parkman’s tombstone,” Margo Tolley grumbled. “A warning label,” she repeated. “Because Abe’s meanness will surely make everything within thirty feet toxic for years to come. He could beat out Ebenezer Scrooge for meanness. The man was a flamin’ bunghole.”
Janessa figured the woman had a right to voice an opinion, even if the voicing was happening at Abe Parkman’s graveside funeral service. Janessa’s father clearly hadn’t left behind a legacy of affection and kindness.
Margo, who’d been Abe’s second wife, probably had a right to be bitter. So did plenty of others, and Janessa suspected most people in Abe’s hometown of Last Ride, Texas, had come to this funeral just so they could make sure he was truly dead.
Or to glean any tidbits about Abe’s will.
Rich people usually left lots of money and property when they died. Mean rich people could do mean, unexpected things with that money and property. It was the juiciest kind of gossip fodder for a small town.
Janessa didn’t care one wet eyelash what Abe did with whatever he’d accumulated during his misery-causing life. Her reason for coming had nothing to do with wills or assets. No. She needed the answer to two very big questions.
Why had Abe wanted her here?
And what had he wanted her to help him fix?
Janessa gave that plenty of thought while she listened to the minister, Vernon Kerr, giving the eulogy. He chirped on about Abe’s achievements, peppering in things like pillar of the community, astute businessman and a legacy that will live on for generations. But there were also phrases like his sometimes rigid approach to life and an often firm hand in dealing with others.
Perhaps those were the polite ways of saying flamin’ bunghole.
The sound of the minister’s voice blended with the drizzle that pinged on the sea of mourners’ umbrellas. Gripes and mutters rippled through the group of about a hundred people who’d braved the unpredictable October 30th weather to come to Parkmans’ Cemetery.
Or Snooty Hill as Janessa had heard some call it.
The Parkmans might be the most prominent and richest family in Last Ride, and their ancestor might have founded the town, but obviously some in her gene pool weren’t revered.
Margo continued to gripe and mutter as well, but her comments were harsher than the rest of the onlookers because she’d likely gotten plenty of fallout from Abe’s firm hand. It was possibly true of anyone whose life Abe had touched. Janessa certainly hadn’t been spared from it.
Still, Abe had managed to attract and convince two women to marry him, including Janessa’s own mother—who’d been his first wife. Janessa figured the convincing was in large part because he’d been remarkably good-looking along with having mountains of money. But it puzzled her as to why the women would tie themselves, even temporarily, to a man with a mile-wide mean streak.
A jagged vein of lightning streaked out from a fast approaching cloud that was the color of a nasty bruise. It sent some of the mourners gasping, squealing and scurrying toward their vehicles. They parted like the proverbial sea, giving Janessa a clear line of sight of someone else.
Brody Harrell.
Oh, for so many reasons, it was impossible for Janessa not to notice him. For an equal number of reasons, it was impossible not to remember him.
Long and lean, Brody stood out in plenty of ways. No umbrella, for one. The rain was splatting onto his gray Stetson and shoulders. No funeral clothes for him, either. He was wearing boots, jeans and a long-sleeved blue shirt that was already clinging to his body because of the drizzle.
Once, years ago on a hot July night, she’d run her tongue over some of the very places where that shirt was now clinging.
Yes, impossible not to remember that.
Brody was standing back from the grave. Far back. Ironic since according to the snippets Janessa had heard over the years about her father, Brody was the person who’d been closest to Abe, along with also running Abe’s sprawling ranch, Colts Creek.
If those updates—aka gossip through social media and the occasional letter from Abe’s head housekeeper—were right, then Brody was the son that Abe had always wanted but never had. It was highly likely that he was the only one here who was truly mourning Abe’s death.
Though he wasn’t especially showing any signs of grief.
It probably wasn’t the best time for her to notice that Brody’s looks had only gotten a whole boatload better since her days of tongue-kissing his chest. They’d been seventeen, and while he’d been go-ahead-drown-in-me hot even back then, he was a ten-ton avalanche of hotness now with his black hair and dreamy brown eyes.
His body had filled out in all the right places, and his face, that face, had a nice edge to it. A mix of reckless rock star and a really naughty fallen angel who knew how to do many, many naughty things.
A loud burst of thunder sent even more people hurrying off. “Sorry for your loss,” one of them shouted to Brody. Several more added pats on his back. Two women hugged him, and one of the men tried to give Brody his umbrella, which Brody refused. You didn’t have to be a lip-reader to know that one of those women, an attractive busty brunette, whispered, “Call me,” in his ear.
Brody didn’t acknowledge that obvious and poorly timed booty-call offer. He just stood there, his gaze sliding from Abe’s tombstone to Janessa. Unlike her, he definitely didn’t appear to be admiring anything about her or remembering that he’d been the one to rid her of her virginity.
Just the opposite.
His expression seemed to be questioning why she was there. That was understandable. It’d been fifteen years since Janessa had been to Last Ride. Fifteen years since her de-virgining. That’d happened at the tail end of her one and onl
y visit to Colts Creek when she’d spent that summer trying, and failing, to figure Abe out. She was still trying, still failing.
Brody was likely thinking that since she hadn’t recently come to see the man who’d fathered her when he was alive, then there was no good reason to see him now that he was dead.
Heck, Brody might be right.
So what if Abe had sent her that letter? So what if he’d said please? That didn’t undo the past. She’d spent plenty of time and tears trying to work out what place in her mind and heart to put Abe. As for her mind—she reserved Abe a space in a tiny mental back corner that only surfaced when she saw Father’s Day cards in the store. And as for her heart—she’d given him no space whatsoever.
Well, not until that blasted letter anyway.
She silently cursed herself, mentally repeating some of Margo’s mutters. She’d thought she had buried her daddy issues years ago. It turned out, though, that some things just didn’t stay buried. They just lurked and lingered, waiting for a chance to resurface and bite you in the butt. Which wasn’t a comforting thought, considering she was standing next to a grave.
Reverend Kerr nervously eyed the next zagging bolt of lightning, and he gave what had to be the fastest closing prayer in the history of prayers. The moment he said “Amen,” he clutched his tattered Bible to his chest and hurried toward his vehicle, all the while calling out condolences to no one in particular.
Most of the others fled with the minister, leaving Janessa with Brody, Margo and Abe’s attorney, Asher Parkman, who was also Abe’s cousin. It’d been Asher who’d called her four days ago to tell her of Abe’s death, and to inform her that Abe had insisted that she and her mother, Sophia, come to today’s graveside funeral. Both had refused. Janessa had politely done that. Her mother had declined with an “if and when hell freezes over.” That was it, the end of the discussion.
Christmas Data Breach Page 18
