The Man Must Marry

by Janet Chapman

  She had spent the last three hours feeling sorry for herself, crying, raging, and worrying. She’d packed twice and was now making her third attempt to leave. This time, she’d actually reached the top of the stairs.

  Now she was sitting on them. Listening.

  And crying again—but for a different reason.

  The door to the office was closed, but she could still hear what was going on inside. The laughter was interspersed with stories, outrageous memories of three boys growing up in a home filled with love and plenty of pranks.

  Each tale began with “Do you remember when we” and ended in laughter. Abram had been the butt of most of the boys’ escapades, and of course, he had retaliated, sometimes with well-deserved punishments, sometimes with even more devious pranks. Abram’s boys” were giving their own eulogy as they came to terms with their grandfather’s death.

  That was why she was sitting there, undecided. She’d dearly love to get to know Sam and Ben and Jesse better, to understand what made them tick. Not one of them had batted an eyelash when they’d learned Abram was leaving his entire fortune to her. They’d definitely been surprised, but they hadn’t been outraged or hurled accusations at her or threatened reprisal.

  They’d simply accepted it.

  As if they’d expected Abram to do something outrageous.

  As if they didn’t care.

  Abram actually expected her to marry one of them?

  They scared her spitless. Not physically—even though she suspected each of them had a formidable temper, she also knew they’d never use it against a woman. No, what scared her was their fortitude, their confidence, and their arrogance. All three of them overwhelmed her without even trying. Their very ability to walk away from Tidewater and start over left her speechless.

  Willa had realized years ago that she was a little more clumsy than most people. About the only place she felt confident was surrounded by the sea and her senior citizens. Take her out of her element, and she turned klutzy. She’d embarrassed David so many times in the three years they’d been married it was a wonder he hadn’t considered putting her out of her misery.

  Most likely, he’d been waiting for her to do it herself.

  And she almost had, the day she’d stopped by David’s office and found a red-headed bombshell missing some clothes sitting on his lap. Willa had taken Jennifer’s hand, turned and walked away, and gotten into her car and driven off. At least she’d remembered to fasten Jennifer’s seat belt. Otherwise, her niece would likely be dead.

  A normal woman would have screamed and torn that bimbo off her husband’s lap, then sued David for divorce, along with every dime she could get from the slimy worm. Instead, she had maimed her innocent niece.

  Recovering in the same hospital as Jennifer, only to walk out eventually, had made Willa realize that her own children were better off unborn. She’d been known to poison people with her cooking, she’d broken more dishes than she could count, and she’d gotten into enough mishaps as a child to gray her mother’s hair prematurely.

  She couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t marry a man and watch him grow exasperated, then impatient, and eventually angry. Indifference would follow shortly, and the marriage would finally die a bitter death. And this time, with a man as good and strong as any of the Sinclair men, Willa would die with it.

  She stood up finally and squared her shoulders for the coming battle. She was leaving Rosebriar. Tonight. She was going home, locking all the doors, and keeping the world at bay. Maybe next week, she’d be able to think clearly enough to find a way to make sure Tidewater International remained intact and the grandsons got their rightful inheritance.

  Yes. She would fix this mess or die trying.

  Chapter Nine

  Willa’s nose woke up before her eyes did, to the pungent aroma of a sour-mash distillery. She tried to wipe the odor away but couldn’t seem to move her hand. Nor could she feel her arms. Apparently, they didn’t want to wake up, either.

  She finally forced her eyes open, only to snap them shut with a groan. Oh, Lord, she was waking up in bed with the grandsons. Thank God she was fully dressed.

  Still, Willa was reluctant to open her eyes again and find out exactly whose arm was pinning her down. And whose leg was thrown over her thighs. No wonder most of her body was asleep; the man weighed a ton.

  Oh, God, was it Sam?

  The men had led her up to Abram’s room, pulling her into the celebration of their grandfather’s life with drunken charm. Another bottle of brandy had come upstairs with them, but she had refused to drink any, still queasy from her previous night’s scotch marathon.

  Instead, she had climbed onto Abram’s massive bed and leaned against the headboard while the men had sprawled around her, and she’d listened to their tales of a strong man who had lived every one of his eighty-five years to the fullest. Sometime around two in the morning, she’d fallen asleep. A short while later, she’d half awakened to see somebody stumble out of the bed with a curse and go over and stop the pendulum on the clock on the opposite wall. She’d slept more peacefully then. She’d actually snuggled into the closest man with a sigh, feeling warm and protected and utterly content.

  Now, though, nature was calling. She was also mad that she had so easily been talked out of leaving last night. She wasn’t any closer to a solution to her problems, either. If anything, she had one more.

  She was falling in love with the Sinclairs, every damn last one of them.

  Finally finding the courage to open her eyes, Willa lifted her head to see Jesse on the far side of the bed, his mouth open and one arm thrown over his eyes. Ben was snoring beside him.

  Which meant it was Sam’s chest she was snuggled against.

  Figures. He volunteered to be the one to marry me. That’s what they’d told her last night. For the good of Tidewater, Sam Sinclair would sacrifice himself to a dead man. He was even up to the task of getting her pregnant, too.

  How noble of him.

  Well, he could damn well walk down the aisle by himself. She was going to find a bathroom, then the kitchen, and then she was stealing a car and driving to Maine. She wasn’t flying on one of those commuter planes again.

  Praying he wouldn’t wake up, Willa carefully tried to move Sam’s hand. It immediately tightened, then started kneading her softly. Despite herself, she moaned.

  Dear Lord, she had to get out of there!

  She tossed his hand away, scrambling off the bed before any of the men could get their bearings. Sam shouted when she pushed off his chest. He bumped into Ben, pushing Jesse off the bed with a yelp of alarm. Ben sat bolt upright, his eyes wild, his hair standing on end, his fists raised for battle.

  Then all three of them grabbed their heads and started cursing.

  Willa couldn’t help but smile. Hangovers were such just rewards—and really handy when a woman wanted everyone to overlook the fact that she’d just spent the night with them.

  “What in hell is all the hollering?” Sam hissed with obvious restraint, slits of blue fire escaping his bloodshot eyes.

  Bolstered by the fact that she couldn’t possibly look any worse than he did, Willa gave him a smug smile. “Go back to sleep. It’s still early,” she said, determined to brazen her way out of this. At the very least, she hoped to buy herself time.

  Sam dropped his head into his hands with a groan. Ben flopped back onto the pillow, whimpering in agony. Jesse remained sitting on the floor and simply laid his head on his knees, quietly cursing.

  Willa escaped.

  Realizing she was limping because she was wearing only one shoe, she slipped it off when she reached the hallway, then tried to decide which direction to go. She was in the family wing, which meant her room was at the opposite end of the house. She headed down the hall at a run, determined to be long gone before anyone realized she was missing. She smiled again, thinking about the shoe she must have lost in Abram’s bed, and she wondered if Sam would show up on her doorstep in Maine, seeking the p
rincess it would fit.

  Willa suddenly scowled. As fantasies went, Abram Sinclair was the fairy godmother from hell—and Sam was not her Prince Charming!

  Standing under a hot shower until the water ran cold went a long way toward making Sam feel human again. He had even greater hope that the coffee he smelled would go just as far toward restoring his memory. He was more than a little ashamed of getting so drunk last night and even more worried about what he might have said.

  “Please, God, don’t let me have proposed to Willa,” he whispered. “And if I did, let her be so hung over that she doesn’t remember.”

  Sam stopped at the kitchen door and slowly cracked it open. Ben and Jesse were seated at the staff table, their hands curled around mugs of steaming coffee, staring at nothing. Peg was just setting a large platter of dry toast on the table, and Emerson was perched on a stool at his desk, scribbling in his journal.

  Emerson took more notes than a field scientist, and Sam suspected the man saw his employers more as a social experiment than a job. Either that, or he was planning to write an exposé when he retired.

  “It’s safe to come in,” Ben said, his voice sounding as haggard as he looked. “Willa hasn’t come down yet.”

  Sam entered the restaurant-style kitchen and took a seat at the table. They’d given everyone the next few days off, but Peg, Emerson, and Ronald lived at Rosebriar.

  Peg immediately set down a mug of coffee in front of Sam—black, steaming, and smelling less strongly of maple syrup than he usually liked. “Thank you,” he said, wrapping his hands around it and blowing on the surface. He eyed the platter of toast. “Do you have any maple spread?” he asked as Peg walked to the stainless-steel island that ran the length of the kitchen.

  “You slather that toast with anything sweet, and you’ll throw up.” Peg picked up a piece of paper and glanced at it briefly, then reached under the island, grabbed a couple of jars of spices, and placed them in a box on the counter. “That’s why I only put a drop of syrup in your coffee. It’s going to take a whole loaf of dry toast to sop up all that brandy you boys drank last night.” She headed into the pantry, returned with an armful of canisters, and set them in the box with the spices.

  “What are you doing?” Sam asked, picking up some toast when his stomach growled.

  “I’m packing what supplies I want to take with me.”

  Jesse and Ben came out of their stupors and frowned at her. “Um, Peg,” Ben said. “You’re supposed to stay working for the next three months before you go to your cottage.”

  She turned to look at the table of men. “I will be working, just not here. I only have four, maybe five days to get myself up to Maine and get familiar with my new digs.”

  “Maine?” Jesse said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Miss Kent became my boss when she inherited Rosebriar,” Peg said, placing some packets in the box, then picking up the box and setting it by the door that led to the garage. She walked back to the island with an empty box in her hand and looked at her list again.

  “You’re going to Maine with Willa?” Sam asked, confused as well as surprised.

  “Then who’s going to take care of us?” Jesse asked before Peg could answer.

  She smiled. “Poor babies,” she said with mock sympathy. “The kitchen staff is capable of feeding you, and I’m not taking any of the house staff with me, so you don’t have to worry about dust bunnies attacking in your sleep. Emerson will watch over everything here. Willa said her house is too small for more than just me to take care of, so I’m going to Maine alone.”

  “You’ve spoken to Willa about this already? When?” Sam asked.

  “This morning. She got all flustered when I said I intended to go keep house for her and tried to talk me out of it. But when I started listing some of the dishes I can cook and told her that I’ve always wanted to see the Maine coast, she finally relented.” Peg’s face reddened slightly. “I might have bullied her a bit, but that poor thing needs looking after right now. She’s had quite a shock. She was in such a hurry to leave before you boys came down, she finally just scribbled her address on a paper, told me to be in Maine in five days, then left.”

  “She’s gone!” Sam yelped, standing up.

  “When did she leave?” Ben asked.

  “How did she leave?” Sam asked right behind him.

  “Ronald took her,” Emerson interjected, swiveling his stool to face them. “They left in the Stutz Bearcat. Ronald told Willa she had only three months to enjoy it.”

  Jesse strode over to the desk and picked up the phone. “I’m calling him to bring her back here this minute.”

  “When did they leave?” Ben asked.

  “Nearly three hours ago.”

  “And you guys just let her?” Jesse said, angrily punching numbers on the phone.

  “What were we supposed to do?” Peg asked. “Lock her in the pantry until you boys sobered up?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve done that to one of us,” Sam drawled. “Hold up, Jesse,” he said, going over and hitting the off button on the phone. “We knew Willa would likely leave today. Maybe we should let her. It’s going to take her some time to come to terms with what’s happened, and we’re probably the last people she wants to see this morning.”

  “But what about Cobb?” Jesse asked.

  Sam shrugged. “Willa’s as safe with Ronald as she would be with any of us. And we know where she’s going and how she’s getting there. I’ll give her a few days to calm down, then show up on her doorstep and tell her that I’d like to rent her cottage.” Sam warmed to his idea as he formed it on the fly. “I’ll tell her I need a little vacation myself and that I want to use up whatever remaining rent Bram had.”

  “That’s perfect,” Ben said, grabbing a piece of toast. “It’ll be easier courting her on her own turf.”

  Sam was thinking the same thing, until Ronald walked in the back door.

  “Where’s Ms. Kent?” Sam asked. “I thought you were driving her to Maine.”

  Ronald’s face took on a dark tinge. “She’s on her way home.”

  “On her way how?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say. She asked me not to.”

  Sam took a step toward him. “But I’m asking you to.”

  “I’m sorry, Sam, but I work for Willa now.”

  Sam gritted his teeth against the throbbing in his head. “Ronald, there’s a chance one of Cobb’s grandsons might bother Willa because of Bram’s bequest. How about you go back to wherever you left her, pick her up, and drive her to Maine yourself?”

  Ronald’s face paled. “I never considered Cobb or his grandsons might bother her.” He suddenly brightened. “It’s okay, though. Nobody can get to Willa for the next few days. By then, I can be in Maine to look after her.”

  “I’m going to look after her in Maine,” Sam growled. “And what do you mean, nobody can get to her for the next few days? Where the hell is she?”

  “I promised Willa I wouldn’t say. I can only assure you she’s safe.”

  The phone suddenly rang, and Jesse answered it. “Sinclair residence,” he said. He listened to what the caller had to say. “What!”

  Jesse paled as the caller repeated what he’d just said. “How long ago? And nobody stopped her? Where in hell was security?”

  Sam made a lunge for the phone, but Jesse hit the off button. “That was the marina,” he said. “They said that when they went to move the RoseWind to its summer mooring just now, they were told a lone woman had taken her out.”

  All three brothers turned in unison to glare at Ronald.

  Ronald took a step back, his hands raised in supplication. “She’s a world-class sailor. She told me she grew up on a schooner.”

  “She can’t get off an elevator without tripping over her own feet,” Sam snapped. “She’s probably hanging from the rigging by now, if she hasn’t fallen overboard!”

  “I went down to the dock and helped her get under way,
” Ronald said. “She was as nimble as a cat from the moment her feet hit the deck. And she sure as hell knows her way around a sailboat.” He actually stepped closer. “She told me she needed to spend a few days at sea, alone, to think. I think it was cruel, what Abram did to her. The woman was nothing but nice to him, and he blindsided her on that video tape. I really feel sorry for her.”

  Sam’s anger instantly evaporated. “Yeah. Bram may have thought he was helping Willa, but he really screwed up her life. And that’s why I’m going to fix this.” He looked at Jesse. “Call our helicopter pilot, and have him pick me up on the front lawn in an hour.”

  “You’re flying to Maine?” Jesse asked. “But it’ll take Willa several days to get home.”

  Sam headed to the back staircase leading to the family wing. “I’m not flying to Maine, I’m sailing.”

  “How? Willa took the boat,” Ben said.

  Sam stopped with his foot on the bottom step. “She’ll only be a few hours out by the time I find her. I’ll board the RoseWind and sail up with her.”

  “And just how are you going to board from a helicopter?” Ben asked in alarm.

  “I’ll have our pilot get as close and as low as he can, and I’ll jump into the water.”

  Jesse snorted. “You’re assuming Willa will stop and fish you out. She’ll more likely throw you the anchor.”

  “She won’t let me drown,” Sam assured the five incredulous people gaping at him. “She’s too softhearted.”

  Chapter Ten

  Willa was so involved plotting her course on the nautical chart that it took her a while to realize the comforting drone of the radio she’d tuned to the NOAA weather station was being drowned out by a familiar noise she couldn’t immediately identify. She scanned the horizon behind her from west to east, noticed some boats scattered several miles away, and finally decided the source of the sound was the helicopter in the distance. It seemed to be on a zigzag course, flying from one boat to the other, then moving on to the next one as if searching for something. Only it wasn’t orange, nor was it large enough to be a Coast Guard helicopter.