Picking up the bottle of scotch, Sam noticed it wasn’t her first refill.
“What’s to figure out?” Jesse asked.
“Why are there four desks in Bram’s office?”
“There are four of us who work here,” Ben explained, taking a seat across from her and immediately pulling off his tie.
“This room is bigger than my house. Heck, the desks are bigger than my truck.”
Willamina Kent was a little tipsy. She wasn’t slurring her words yet, but her eyes were glazed, and her hand was waving at the desks under discussion.
“Bram set this office up when we came to live with him,” Jesse explained, pulling up another chair to face her. “He insisted we sit here evenings with him and do our homework. He gave us each a desk, a computer, and a phone,” he added, pulling off his own tie with a sigh.
“This room looks like a public library.”
“It practically is,” Sam agreed, handing her a much-watered-down drink.
Her head was going to hurt come morning. He just hoped she was recovered by the time the will was read. A woman should be…all together to hear her fate.
“Was that guy really a duke? The one you introduced me to?” she asked, changing subjects randomly.
“Yup. His Grace, Peter of Kent,” Jesse said. “Any relation, Willa?”
“No.” She snorted just as she was about to take a sip of her scotch, showering her dress with another stain. Her eyes widened in disbelief.
Tipsy, Willa’s eyes turned crystalline blue, making Sam think he was looking deep into the ocean’s soul.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” Jesse asked, studying her with narrowed eyes.
“Not much.”
“You’re going to have to carry her up the stairs, Sam, if you don’t take that glass away from her,” Ben warned.
Willa snorted again. “We’d both be killed when his legs gave out halfway up. How is your knee?” she asked Sam, referring to the vicious kick he’d received from Richard Bates.
Then her eyes suddenly widened, and she sat up straight. “Ohmygosh! That reminds me, Shelby called. What happened to Richard?” she asked Ben.
“What do you mean?” He studied the swirl of the ice in his glass.
“He didn’t arrive home. What did you do with him?”
“You said you’re trying to talk your sister into divorcing him, so Jesse and I bought you a little time alone with her.”
Willa’s face paled. “How?” she squeaked.
“Richard Bates is on a slow boat to Italy,” Jesse said. “You’ll have a couple of weeks to talk some sense into your sister, what with the red tape he’ll have to go through for not having a passport.”
“You shanghaied him?”
“Tidewater had a cargo ship leaving port this morning.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Well, Willa, we did,” Ben said with a sigh as he stood up. “So, do you want help to your room or not? I’m beat.”
“But what am I going to tell Shelby?”
“Tell her to get the hell out of her marriage. She’s got two weeks to start divorce proceedings in peace.”
“But she’s got two kids!”
“Is Richard Bates a jerk or not?” Sam growled, removing the drink she was clutching in her hands.
“He’s a first-class jerk.”
“Does she love him?”
“She…she might,” Willa admitted, her eyes pained.
“Then your interference is unwelcome.”
“But he’s mean to Shelby—and she just takes it.”
“Then she will have to deal with him. You can’t divorce Richard for her, Willa. Shelby’s got to do that herself.”
“But what about the kids?”
“Will they be better off with Richard or without him?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered, looking down at her lap. “I just don’t know.” She looked back up at Sam. “Shelby’s really pretty, and she used to be so full of life. She’s six years older than me, and I’ve always looked up to her. That’s why it’s so hard to see her like this.”
“Like what, exactly?” Ben asked. “Does he abuse her?”
“Emotionally, I think. Shelby’s become withdrawn. Especially since…the accident.”
“What accident?” Sam asked.
“The accident where I crashed my car and maimed my niece for life.”
Only the ticking of the mantel clock broke the silence.
Small pieces of what Sam saw as a very complicated puzzle suddenly began falling into place. Willa felt guilty for driving the car that had crashed, for crippling her niece, and for her sister’s unhappiness now. Willamina Kent had spent the last five years as crippled as her niece.
A guilty conscience could be a debilitating thing. And of all the dragons to slay, it was probably the hardest.
Abram Sinclair had known exactly that when he’d written his will; when he’d decided to send Willa three knights to rescue her.
Sam blew out a tired sigh. He looked at his brothers, who were staring at the woman they’d all come to care for in only three days. The little partridge from Maine had roosted in their hearts, guilelessly and without intent but packing a small nation of troubles.
No wonder Bram was smiling. The old man had known his bequest would keep all four of them so mad at him they’d be too busy to mourn him.
In just three months, it would be over. Then Sam would take his bride to visit Bram’s grave—where, if they listened hard enough, they’d probably hear the old wolf laughing his head off.
Chapter Seven
Apparently unwilling to leave anything to chance, Abram Sinclair had written his own eulogy. It was succinct and as arrogant as the man himself. Spencer read it at graveside before an impressively large assembly.
Some of you here have been waiting for this day to come, while some of you have been dreading it. I may be dead, but I promise I won’t be forgotten. Don’t any of you cry for me. I’m with my Rose now. And with my sons. Hopefully.
I had a good life and enjoyed myself for the most part. I knew the love of a good woman and the joy of raising my three grandsons to manhood. Just so you’ll know, I’ll be watching you boys, so don’t disappoint me. Take the empire I’ve built, and triple it. Get married, you rogues. Have lots of babies, and tell them about me.
And you damn well better be kind in the telling.
Smile for me. Hell, laugh if you like. That’s what I’ll be doing.
And Willamina? You’d better get your thinking straight, girl. I’ve already started you on the right path; take my gift in the spirit I’ve given it.
Good-bye. And good luck to you all.
Willa sighed as Spencer’s voice trailed off. Oh, how she had come to love Abram Sinclair. Fate, in the form of a white-haired, eccentric old man, had finally caught up with her.
Abram’s cryptic last words still echoing through the beautiful little cemetery, the mourners began a slow procession back to the house. She didn’t want to go back to that imposing office and listen to Spencer read Abram’s will. But the lawyer had told her that she must attend, ignoring her protests.
She just wanted to go home to her safe and simple life. She wanted to put this last month and a half behind her and put the hopes and dreams Abram Sinclair had conjured up behind her.
Willa suddenly realized that she was alone with Jesse, Ben, and Sam. They were looking at her, their faces drawn and their shoulders stiff. “Will you put this on his casket for me, please?” she asked Jesse, holding out the rose.
He set it over the rose Abram had carved in the wood, and they all walked back to the house in silence.
There were several more hours of condolences and handshakes. Willa heard comments on Abram’s casket, on the eulogy, and on Rosebriar. Speculation was whispered about what would happen now. The consensus seemed to be that Tidewater International would be divided up among the three grandsons. It was also agreed that an era had ended.
&nb
sp; But for all the strain of the afternoon, it went by much too quickly. Within minutes, it seemed, Willa found herself sitting in one of the four chairs Spencer had placed facing a television in the office. Staff, distant relatives, and even some board members of Tidewater were sitting and standing around the room. Ben, Jesse, and Sam were seated beside her.
It was clear that they were going to see Abram Sinclair one last time, in living, breathing color on a video tape. Just what she needed, to hear Abram’s voice again, probably in a lecture. She didn’t want any bequest beyond the cost of his casket, and even that was unnecessary.
Sam sat in stony silence beside Willa. He knew what was coming, and he didn’t like it. He’d decided to keep the contents of the will to himself, giving Bram the pleasure of breaking the news to Jesse and Ben. He’d only read the written terms; he hadn’t seen the video. Spencer had somehow “forgotten” to tell him there was one. To the end, Bram’s old friend had remained loyal.
Spencer cleared his throat, and Sam grabbed hold of Willa’s hands.
She stopped wringing them and looked up at him with a white face. “I want to leave,” she whispered.
“It’ll be okay, Willa.”
“I don’t belong here.”
“You will,” he said, giving her a wink, then turning to nod at Spencer.
“Everyone here today has been asked to be here,” Spencer said, going to the television and turning it on.
“Even Warren Cobb?” Jesse asked, glaring at the man leaning against Bram’s desk, his cane resting beside him.
Warren Cobb was founder and majority shareholder of Starrtech, Tidewater’s closest rival. Warren was also Bram’s childhood friend. They had worked their way out of poverty together, but sometime during the building of their separate empires, they’d become enemies. The reason for this had gone to the grave with Bram, and Sam doubted that Warren would be any more forthcoming. But having read the will, he understood Warren’s interest in the proceedings today.
“Even Cobb,” Spencer acknowledged. “He’s here at Bram’s request.”
“Then let’s find out why, Spence. Start the tape.” Ben tugged at his tie.
Sam did the same. Not one Sinclair was comfortable in a tie, especially Bram. Which is why Sam had taken his grandfather’s tie off just before they’d closed the casket that morning. And, as Bram was wont to do, Sam had balled it up and stuffed it into the old man’s jacket pocket, giving it a final pat for Peg. She was forever fishing out those ties and having to press them, and tonight she’d probably be pressing three more. Jesse had already shed his, and by the looks of things, Ben was not far behind him. Sam had loosened his own tie and unbuttoned his top button, but before this meeting was over, he’d want to use his tie to strangle someone.
Or more likely to gag Willa; she was going to scream the plaster off the walls.
Spencer started the tape. The video had been made in Maine, the ocean showing in the window behind Bram as he sat at a battered table in a small, eclectically furnished cottage.
Sam felt Willa tremble, and he wrapped his arm over her shoulders, pulling her snugly against his side. She stared at the television, her eyes misted.
“He looks damn happy,” he whispered.
“I’m going to miss him,” she whispered back, not taking her eyes off the screen.
Abram cleared his throat, then pointed a finger at them and scowled. “Does that red light mean they can see me?” he asked the cameraman.
“It does, Bram. They can hear you, too,” came Spencer’s voice from somewhere off camera.
“Then listen up, people,” Bram said, still pointing his finger. “This is my last will and testament. And I’m of sound mind, so don’t any of you go trying to change it, you hear?”
“They hear you, Bram,” came Spencer’s voice again. “Don’t worry. Everything is documented.”
Sam glanced at Spencer now, sitting off to the side, his shoulders hunched. This was hard for him. Spencer had been a good friend to Bram, as well as a damn good lawyer. And he was still determined to be a good friend, even if he might not agree with Bram’s scheme.
Sam would have liked to have been a fly on the wall of that cottage this past month. There must have been some hair-raising arguments over this will.
“Okay, then. Spencer said I should start with the smaller stuff, so listen up,” Bram growled. He didn’t take his eyes off the camera, giving everyone the uncomfortable feeling that he was looking straight at them. Sam heard more than one body shift nervously behind him.
“Peg. You first, you old mother hen. I’m giving you the deed to that little cabin up on Wagon Wheel Lake you like so much. You’ve gone on and on enough about it all these years. Well, you can damn well retire there and shrivel away, if that’s what you want.” Bram pointed his finger. “But not for three months. You’ll continue housekeeping for the next three months if you want that cabin.”
There was a loud gasp from the back of the room, but no one turned to see if Peg was blushing or fuming.
“And Ronald. The Stutz Bearcat is yours, lock, stock, and steering wheel. You keep driving for three months, and Spencer will give you the title. You’ve been drooling over that car since I got it, always pestering me to take it out for a drive. Well, my friend, drive it wherever you want—in three months.”
An embarrassed cough came from near the door. Ronald had fallen in love with the Bearcat the day Bram had taken him to the auto auction. Sam figured his grandfather had bought the car more for their chauffeur than for himself. Ronald was one proud puppy when he was behind the wheel, delivering Bram to some meeting.
“Emerson, you fussy old woman,” Bram boomed next. “I’m leaving you my antique toy train collection since you can’t seem to keep your paws off it.” Bram cackled. “In three months, you can sell it for enough to take an honest-to-God real train ride around the world, if you want.”
Sam turned in his seat, along with Ben and Jesse, to see Emerson slowly walk out of the office, his bearing proud and his face red.
“And now for all you shirttail relatives who’ve been coming out of the woodwork for the last forty years. Spencer’s got the list of the lot of you. I’m giving you each one thousand dollars, which is a hell of a lot more than I had when I started. Go get jobs, you parasites.”
Several gasps erupted around the room. Jesse’s shoulders began to shake, and Ben barely stifled a snort. The parade of beggars had been endless at Rosebriar. Bram had been generous with some, miserly with others, and downright rude to most of them. In one month, Sam figured, the parade would start again.
“Now for the best part. Can I tell them now, Spencer?”
“No, Bram. You’ve forgotten the charities,” Spencer replied patiently.
Bram waved that away. “I already signed the checks. Just send them out after I’m planted.”
“Willamina Kent.” Bram’s voice shot out from the television, making her jump. “I’m setting up a trust fund for that spitfire niece of yours, so you can just stop worrying about Jennifer.”
Willa let out a deep sigh of relief and sagged tiredly. Sam gripped her more firmly. She thought she was off the hook, but there was much more.
“Right now, Jennifer is taking delivery of a brand new SUV that’s specially equipped so she can learn to drive. And don’t you worry. The title is in Jennifer’s and Shelby’s names, not Richard’s.”
Two huge tears fell onto Willa’s clasped hands. Sam undid the clip that held her hair, letting it fall around her face to give her privacy. She turned to him and tried to smile, and Sam kissed her forehead.
“Since you three boys already have your trust funds in place, that leaves Rosebriar, my Tidewater shares, and my bankbook,” Bram said. “And I’m bequeathing them all to you, Willamina. Every last acre and every last share and every last dime.”
Willamina shot out of her chair as if she’d been electrocuted. “What?!” she shouted at Bram, who was leaning back on his creaky chair and smiling.
Snorts, gasps, and shouts of indignation erupted around the office. Only Sam was smiling. Ben and Jesse sat stone still, their faces blank.
“Now, Willa. Don’t jump up and down thanking me yet,” Bram drawled, his smile widening. “There are some conditions to this little bequest.”
Willa stood staring at the television, her fists balled at her sides, her hair all but standing on end.
“Rosebriar’s yours, Willa,” Bram continued more softly, his expression serious. “The deed’s already been put in your name, all of the land, the buildings, and the contents. And Spencer’s got a bankbook with your name on it.
“The RoseWind is also yours, girl. Enjoy her. All I ask is that you don’t rechristen her.”
Sam saw Willa sway on her feet, and he jumped up to steady her.
“My stocks in Tidewater are yours, too, Willa. But here’s the catch. You own them only for three months. If you haven’t married one of my grandsons by then and turned them over to him as a wedding gift, then they will be sold to Warren Cobb for ten cents on the dollar.”
Ben and Jesse jumped up and started cursing, but they were hardly heard over the booming laughter coming from the back of the room.
“Over my dead body!” Jesse shouted, turning to glare at Warren Cobb.
Ben stared at Sam. “You’re not surprised by this.”
“I found out twenty-four hours ago,” Sam told him, his arms protectively around Willa, who still hadn’t moved.
“Then why didn’t we find out twenty-three hours ago?” Jesse took a step toward him.
Ben did, too. “How did you find out?”
“I cornered Spencer yesterday. My only reason for wanting to see the will was to protect Willa.”
“Protect her from what?”
“Bram.”
Jesse kicked one of the chairs, knocking it into another one. Willa flinched, and Sam glared at his brothers.
“Calm down. There’s more,” he softly told them, nodding to Spencer, who had stopped the tape.
Sam pulled Willa back to her chair. Jesse straightened the chair he’d kicked and sat down. Stone-faced, Ben took his chair again. Sam decided to stand behind Willa, keeping his hands firmly on her shoulders.
The Man Must Marry Page 8
