by Regina Duke
Grace was his mother’s older sister. Before his parents drowned, every visit with Grace and Jerry had been a joyful occasion. His grandmother had never shown any affection to her daughter-in-law’s family. She’d complained bitterly and loudly about her son’s choice of a wife. And yet, she was a gracious hostess when they visited the estate in Eagle’s Toe. After his parents died, she did not prevent Grace from visiting Jason at school. He never really understood what motivated his grandmother. She sent him away, and yet she made sure he had a generous allowance. She never seemed happy to see him, but she refused to give over custody to his aunt and uncle. Jason didn’t understand it as a child, nor did it make sense to him as an adult. He considered it his grandmother’s one saving grace, that she allowed Grace and Jerry to be a part of his life.
Grace and her husband were childless. They had adored Jason from the moment of his birth. They poured all their latent parental affections in his direction. He felt he wouldn’t have survived the loss of his parents if it hadn’t been for them. As he grew older and came to understand exactly how generous his allowance was, he used it as often as he could to make their lives easier. He made sure their house was paid off. He helped with medical expenses. And he’d bought his uncle the car of his dreams.
Jason opened the driver’s door now and slipped behind the wheel. It was a fitting place to open the envelope the Coach had left for him.
Inside, he found the Jaguar’s title. He also found a letter. It was typed, but his uncle had signed it, and by the legibility of the signature, Jason knew the Coach had prepared his message months before he died.
Dearest Jason,
If you’re reading this, I’m dead. No point in pussyfooting around it. I want you to have the car. It made me happier than I ever thought a sick man could be. You take it and enjoy it. Grace wants you to have it, too.
There’s not a lot for me to say in this letter, because we talked real good when I was alive. You and me, we sure could talk. I’m going to miss that. There’s just a couple of things I want to remind you about.
First, I love you, son. Couldn’t love you more if I tried. Gracie, too. You’re the kid we could never have.
Second, don’t turn your back on your grandmother. Old Dolores didn’t do things the way Grace and I would have done them. But she had her reasons.
Third, don’t walk away from your birthright. Do whatever you have to do to take control of your family fortune. You were always a good boy, and now you’re a good man. If you want to honor my memory, do it by living a good, clean life, and by letting yourself enjoy the good fortune of being born a Darby. Think of all the good you can do with that money.
Until we meet again,
Coach Jerry
Jason read the letter half a dozen times. It sounded just like his uncle. He frowned a bit at the second item, but he wasn’t surprised by it. Down through the years, Grace and Jerry had never said a bad word against his grandmother. They would see him off at the airport at the beginning of summer break, when he’d go home to Colorado for a long visit, and they’d pick him up again when he returned to California. Even when he confided that he wished he didn’t have to go, they would simply say, “She’s your grandmother. Blood is blood, just like with us. She loves you in her own way.”
Jason smiled as he read the third item. Do whatever you have to do to take control of your family fortune. He was born a Darby, like it or not, and the money came with the name. What more did he have to do?
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out and groaned when he saw the caller’s name. Well, he should at least let her know his uncle had died.
“Hello, grandmother.”
“If you’re not in Eagle’s Toe in two days, I’m cutting you out of the will.”
CHAPTER THREE
Eagle’s Toe, Colorado
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. That’s my motto,” said seventy-year-old Dolores Darby as she hung up the old-fashioned phone. “That went well, Gloria. Jason is coming home. I knew he’d want to protect his inheritance.”
“That’s excellent. Your plan is working.”
Gloria Mercer, dark haired and efficient, moved around Dolores’ room and tidied up as they talked. Her red pantsuit hugged her compact figure. She finished making up the bed, then picked up the tea things and set them on a tray by the door. Next she went to the tall dresser and began moving things around.
“Why aren’t we in the parlor?”
“Oh, I found a mouse, so I asked an exterminator to stop by. I thought you’d rather stay in your room than risk anyone eavesdropping on your phone call.”
“Good thinking. Are they still here?”
Gloria went to the window and gazed down at the enormous circular driveway. Not a vehicle in sight. She turned to Dolores and said sweetly, “Yes, their truck is still parked out front.”
Dolores frowned. “Go down and tell them to hurry,” she snapped. “Leave these chores for the maid.”
Gloria returned to Dolores’ bed and fluffed her pillows. “Your maid retired, remember?”
“Then let Cook do it.” Dolores checked her reflection in the dresser mirror. Today her white hair was swept up in a Victorian do that complimented her high-necked lace blouse and ankle-length flowery skirt. The brooch at her throat sparkled with diamonds, rubies and gold. She smiled with satisfaction. “Jason is on his way to Colorado at this very moment. When he gets here, I’ll make it clear that his inheritance is dependent on complying with my wishes. I’ve already worked it out with the lawyers. This plan will ensure that my fortune is well cared for after I’m gone.”
“Yes, you just told me that.”
Dolores looked doubtful. “Did I?”
“Three times,” said Gloria smoothly. “But who’s counting.”
“Guess I’m getting forgetful in my old age,” said Dolores. “Tell Alistair to come up, will you? I want to talk to him about hiring a new maid.”
“The butler is on vacation, remember?”
Dolores frowned. “In September?”
“It’s October,” said Gloria. “Now you relax and I’ll go down and see how Mrs. Johnson is doing with dinner.”
“Tell her I want hot cocoa before bed,” said Dolores. “It’s getting chilly at night.”
“I’ll bring your cocoa. Cook lives in town now. It’s saving you a lot of money.”
Dolores frowned. “I’m tired of this recession. Too many cost-cutting measures, Gloria. Tomorrow I want to talk to my bankers. Write that down on my agenda.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Gloria moved to Dolores’ dresser, opened her agenda, and scribbled in it.
Dolores was primping her hair, and she didn’t even notice that Gloria hadn’t bothered to click her ballpoint into writing mode.
CHAPTER FOUR
Monday, October 21
The engine hum of the Jaguar did little to ease the raw grief Jason Darby still carried inside. He gripped the wheel and skillfully maneuvered around the trucks and cars on the highway, struggling to concentrate on traffic.
A semi honked and he jerked his attention back to the road. He would have to be more careful if he didn’t want a heavenly reunion with Coach that afternoon.
His cell phone rang. With a resigned sigh, he picked it up. “Yes, Grandmother?”
“Are you near Pueblo? I need you to do me a favor.”
“Of course.”
“The daughter of an old friend is supposed to pick up a musician at Pueblo Memorial, but she’s having car trouble. I thought you might be able to stop long enough to meet the flight.”
“Sure. Anything you say.” His tone was grim.
There was a heavy silence. Then, “Jason, I know we haven’t been close, but I’ve had very good reasons for everything I’ve done. We have much to discuss about your future. Meanwhile, this little detour shouldn’t be too much trouble.”
Jason took a calming breath and softened his tone. “Sure. I’m just approaching Pueblo now. Who am I picking up?”
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“She was speaking really fast so I may have missed a detail or two, but she said it was a musician. Probably some old boyfriend. Should be easy to spot. Most of those flights only carry a few people.” She gave him the flight number.
“Okay. See you in a couple of hours.” He tossed the phone onto the passenger seat and shook his head. “Not too much trouble, my—” A large livestock truck roared by and the rest of his commentary was drowned out by mooing. “Yep, I’m back in Colorado.”
Pueblo Memorial Airport was small but efficient. The orange and yellow facade of the small terminal had always felt welcoming. It filled him with distant memories of his parents. His dad would bring the family out to fly his Husky. He wondered if the plane was still here and who had been taking care of it. He’d flown a Husky to get his pilot’s license, and he knew it was those childhood memories that fed his desire to fly.
He parked the Jaguar carefully, several spaces away from any other vehicles, and caressed the steering wheel before he got out. He spent a few seconds gazing down at the car, remembering Jerry’s smile the first time he got into it, then headed for the terminal.
****
Vicky was grateful for her sunglasses. No need for the other passengers to know she’d spent two days crying. She clutched the hand rail of the Big Pond Airlines nineteen-passenger plane and descended to the tarmac. Knuckles as white as her face, she made a mental note to strangle Madlyn for booking her flight clear to Pueblo. She should have rented a car in Denver. With the three-hour layover, she could have driven to Eagle’s Toe before the Beechcraft even took off and she wouldn’t have had her wits scared out of her for the last forty minutes. On the other hand, she’d been exhausted by the time she reached Denver. So Madlyn had her best interests at heart. Still, she could have warned her about the last leg of the trip.
The pilot stood at the bottom of the short stairway and tipped his cap. “Sorry about the bumpy ride. Are you all right, miss?”
Vicky nodded, not ready to trust her voice. She reached up to secure the black beret over her French twist. She felt an urge to kiss the ground but didn’t think she could get up again. Besides, burying her fingers into the surface of the runway would probably end her budding career as a concert pianist before it even began. Her mind filled with images of emergency workers cutting through the pavement to free her hands, leaving her with blocks of runway at the ends of both wrists. Not good for playing the piano.
But great for pounding the skull of that no good pig of a boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, as if she needed to remind herself. How could he do what he did? How could he be so evil, so self-centered, so hateful? What had she ever done to him?
The other passengers seemed unaffected by the journey. They chatted with each other as they headed toward the long low building before them. It didn’t look like any airport Vicky had seen before. It looked more like a self-storage building with a glass wall so people could watch the planes take off. Or more likely, watch the passengers stagger between the planes and the baggage claim.
She was about to ask where that might be when she spotted the sign. She took a deep breath and followed the others in that direction. One good thing about a tiny airport, she thought. Baggage unloads quickly, especially when there are only nineteen people on the flight.
As the carousel began to turn, she fumbled in her shoulder bag for her cell phone and turned it on.
“Six missed calls? From who?” She thumbed the screen. The area code was 415. San Francisco. But it wasn’t Darius’ cell phone number. He must have been calling from his mother’s house to gloat over the competition. Not that she would ever speak to him again. She cleared the list of missed calls and checked her text messages. Only two, both from Madlyn. The first one officially ruined her day.
“Having car trouble. Can’t pick you up.”
The second one helped a little, but not much.
“Sending a driver to meet your flight. No worries. See you at the house as soon as I get the car repaired.”
Glumly, Vicky texted back. “Got message. Just landed in Pueblo. See you soon.”
She put the phone away as luggage began traveling along the carousel. She wondered what the driver looked like. She didn’t see anyone in the terminal who remotely resembled a chauffeur or a bus driver or even a race car driver, for that matter. Just some male model slouching against the wall by the door.
Ten minutes later, she watched the last of her fellow passengers being greeted and escorted to a waiting car. The carousel was empty. There was no sign of either her suitcase or her most prized possession.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jason leaned against the wall and watched a stream of people enter through the baggage door. A couple of them were wearing suits and ties. Up and comers in the business world, he figured. A few others were dressed like ranchers but had no wear and tear on their boots. He guessed that they were the wealthiest of the crowd. Some of his grandmother’s billionaire friends liked to dress the part of gentleman ranchers. Only a couple of them actually worked a ranch.
The last person through the door was a distraught-looking blond-haired woman, delightfully trim and shapely in a white blouse, black formfitting slacks and a black beret.
No one on the flight looked like a musician boyfriend. He pressed his lips tightly together and crossed his arms. It wouldn’t do to get angry with his grandmother before he even arrived. But his vexation was difficult to quell.
Meanwhile, he watched the girl. She paced back and forth, waiting for the baggage carousel. Her eyes were concealed behind sunglasses, but her mouth was a tempting pink and her complexion was perfect. Her nose tipped up ever so slightly, and she was tall and lean. Her hands were marvelous, long and elegant, with graceful fingers that suggested a hidden strength with every movement.
He was caught off guard by the intensity of his attraction to her. For a few moments, the leaden weight of his grief had lifted. The girl was sparking something deep inside him.
Jason reminded himself that in the past when he’d met beautiful women, the prettier they were, the worse things turned out. But there was no harm in looking. It became obvious that she was not having a good day. Suitcase after suitcase was claimed, and the passengers began leaving the terminal, until at last she was the only one left, staring at an empty carousel.
Frowning, Jason left the terminal and stood outside, surveying the passengers as they got into waiting cars or headed for the parking lot. He stopped one of the men dressed as a rancher.
“Excuse me, was there a musician on your flight?”
The rancher looked like a bodybuilder, tall, dark-haired, and self-assured. “Not that I know of.”
“No one with an instrument case?”
The rancher shrugged. “Probably would have gone in the baggage compartment. Those Beechcraft don’t have much room for extra luggage inside.”
“Right. Thanks. Sorry to bother you.” Jason went back inside. The girl was still there, looking more and more upset. She moved to the check-in desk where one woman was busily typing at a terminal. Jason maneuvered closer so he could hear what was going on.
The girl threw words at the clerk as if they were stones. “Where is my luggage? I had two pieces and they’re not here.” Her elegant fingers trembled and her rosebud of a mouth was pressed into a thin line. Angry and fearful at the same time.
“Sorry, ma’am, but your instrument case was an overload and they put your bags on different flights.”
****
Vicky’s hands flew faster than her words. “What do you mean, my luggage didn’t get on the plane? There was a three hour layover, for God’s sake!”
The woman behind the counter gazed at Vicky over the top of her glasses. Her words were tinged with sarcasm. “You had a three-hour layover, ma’am. Your connecting flight did not. And like I said, they would have been overweight if they took all the luggage. You’re not the only one, you know. Your instrument case should be on the carousel in about five minutes. Your suitcase will
arrive first thing in the morning, on the commuter flight from Denver. If you’ll give me the address where you’ll be staying, we’ll have it delivered.”
“And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Her tone was sharpened by the troubles she had endured during the last two days. She knew she was taking it out on the poor baggage clerk, but she couldn’t stop herself. She tugged at her beret and wondered if she’d lost some hairpins. “That electric piano is very valuable. And what am I supposed to sleep in?”
The clerk’s mouth twitched at one corner. “I find a bed is the most comfortable option.”
Two spots of color smoldered on Vicky’s cheeks. She glared at the woman. Her voice dropped into its darkest register. “I am a concert pianist, and if anything happens to that keyboard—”
A man interrupted her. “Excuse me.”
Vicky turned her anger in his direction, her lips set in a tight line, ready to lambast him for daring to interrupt her.
She was not ready for the sight that met her eyes. It was the male model she’d noticed earlier, the most handsome man she’d ever seen. He was taller than her by a head. His hypnotic brown eyes were darker at the edges than near the iris. He had a perfect nose, a light tan, and his dark sun-streaked hair was brushed straight back with careless waves tumbling over the tops of his ears. His sensitive mouth was movie star quality. He had a barely visible five o’clock shadow and the hint of a cleft in his strong chin.
Vicky’s anger drained away, replaced by an irrational desire to run her fingers through the stranger’s hair. She gazed up at him, mouth open.
His voice was a perfect match for the rest of him, silken and deep, with a hint of a rugged edge. “Did you say you’re a pianist?”
