Though he died suddenly, he had been conscientious—or perhaps grimly aware of his wife’s expensive habits. He had left his young son an inviolable trust fund that Meredith couldn’t touch.
Through wise investments over the years, Max had parlayed that inheritance into more money than one man—or ten—could spend in a lifetime.
The money didn’t matter to him. Abigail did. She had been his rock through childhood and he owed her at least some token effort to make sure she had been competent in her last wishes.
“You most certainly can fight over it! That house should belong to you, Maxwell. You’re entitled to it.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not entitled to anything.”
“That’s nonsense,” Meredith snapped. “You have far more claim on Brambleberry House than a couple of grubby little gold diggers. Did you contact Abigail’s attorney yet?”
He sighed, ready to pull the old bad-connection bit so he could end the call. “I’ve been in town less than twenty-four hours, Mom. I haven’t had a chance yet.”
“You have to swear you’ll contact me the moment you know anything. The very moment.”
He had a fleeting, futile wish that his mother had been as concerned when her son was shot down by enemy fire as she apparently was about two strangers inheriting a house she had despised.
The moment the thought registered, he pushed it quickly away. He had made peace a long time ago with the reality that his mother had a toxic, self-absorbed personality.
He couldn’t change that at thirty-five any more than he had been able to when he was eight.
For the most part, both of them rubbed together tolerably well as long as they were able to stay out of the other’s way.
“I’ll do that. Goodbye, Mom.”
He hung up a second later and gazed at the phone for a long moment, aware she hadn’t once asked about his arm. Just like Meredith. She preferred to pretend anything inconvenient or unpleasant just didn’t exist in her perfect little world.
If Brambleberry House had been some worthless shack somewhere, she wouldn’t have given a damn about it. She certainly wouldn’t have bothered to push him so hard to check into the situation.
And he likely would have ignored her diatribes about the house if not for his own sense of, well, hurt that Abigail hadn’t bothered to leave him so much as a teacup in her will.
It made no sense to him. She had loved him. Her Jamie, she called him, a nickname he had rolled his eyes at. James had been his father’s name and it was his middle name. Abigail seemed to get a kick out of being the only one to ever call him that.
They had carried on a lively e-mail correspondence no matter where he was stationed and he thought she might have mentioned sometime in all that some reason why she was cutting him out of her will.
He had allowed his mother to half convince him Sage Benedetto and Anna Galvez must have somehow finagled their way into Abigail’s world and conned her into leaving the house and its contents to them. It now seemed a silly notion. Abigail had been sharp as a tack. She would have seen through obvious gold-digging.
But she was also very softhearted. Perhaps the women had played on her sympathy somehow.
Or maybe she just had come to love two strangers more than she loved her own nephew.
He sighed, disgusted with the pathetic, self-pitying direction of his thoughts.
After spending the last hour with Anna Galvez, he wasn’t sure what to think. She seemed a woman of many contradictions. Tough, hard-as-nails businesswoman one moment, softly feminine chef with an edge of vulnerability the next.
It could all be an act, he reminded himself. Still, he couldn’t deny his attraction to her. She was a lovely woman and he was instinctively drawn to her.
Under other circumstances, he might have even liked her.
He heard a vehicle start up below and moved to the window overlooking the driveway. He saw her white, rather bland minivan carefully back out of the driveway then head south toward Lincoln City.
The woman was a mystery, one he was suddenly eager to solve.
CHAPTER FIVE
THIS WAS A STUPID IDEA.
Just after noon, Max slipped into the condiment aisle of the small grocery store in town, cursing his bad luck—and whatever idiotic impulse had led him to ever think he could get away with assuming a false identity in this town.
He must have been suffering the lingering effects of the damn painkillers. That was the only explanation that made sense.
It had seemed like such a simple plan. Just slip into town incognito, then back out again without anybody paying him any mind.
The idea should have worked. Cannon Beach was a tourist town, after all, and he figured he would be considered just one more tourist.
He had forgotten his aunt had known every permanent resident in town. Scratch that. Abigail probably had known every single person along the entire northern coast.
He felt ridiculous, hovering among the ketchup and steak sauce and salad dressing bottles. He peeked around the corner again, trying to figure out how he could get out of the store without being caught by the woman with the short, steel-gray hair and trendy tortoiseshell glasses.
Betsy Wardle had been one of Abigail’s closest friends. He knew the two of them used to play Bunco on a regular basis. If Betsy recognized him, the entire jig would be up.
He had met her several times before, as recently as four years earlier, the last time he stayed with his aunt.
He couldn’t see any way to avoid having her recognize him now. The worst of it was, Betsy was an inveterate gossip. Word would be out all over town that Abigail’s nephew was back, and of course that word would be quick to travel in Anna’s direction.
He had two choices, as he saw it. He could either leave his half-full grocery cart right here and do his best to hightail it out of the store without being caught or he could just play duck-and-run and try to avoid her until she paid for her groceries and left.
He shoved on his sunglasses and averted his face just in time as she rounded the corner with her cart. He pushed past her, hoping like hell she was too busy picking out gourmet mustard to pay him any attention.
To be on the safe side, he turned in the direction she had just come and would have headed several aisles away but he suddenly heard an even more dreaded sound than Betsy Wardle’s soft southern drawl.
Anna Galvez was suddenly greeting the older woman with warm friendliness.
He groaned and closed his eyes. Exactly the last person he needed to see right now when Betsy could expose him at any second. What was she doing here? Wasn’t she supposed to be in Lincoln City right now?
He definitely needed to figure out a way out of here fast. He started to head toward the door when Betsy’s words stopped him and he paused, pretending to compare the nutritional content of two different kinds of soy chips while he listened to their conversation one aisle over.
“How is your court case going against that awful man?” Betsy was asking.
“Who knows?” Anna answered with a discouraged-sounding sigh.
“The whole thing is terrible. Unconscionable. That’s what I say. I just can’t believe that man would work so hard to gain your trust and then take advantage of a darling girl like you. It’s just not fair.”
“Oh, Betsy. Thank you. I appreciate the support of you and Abigail’s other friends. It means the world to me.”
He wished he could see through the aisle to read her expression. She sounded sincere but he couldn’t tell just by hearing her voice.
“I know I’ve told you this before and you’ve turned me down but I mean it. If you need me to testify on your behalf or anything, you just say the word. Why, when I think of how much you did for Abigail in her last years, it just breaks my heart that you’re suffering so now.
You were always at Brambleberry House helping with her taxes or paying bills for her or whatever she needed. You’re a darling girl and I wouldn’t hesitate a minute to tell that Lincoln City jury that very thing.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Wardle,” Anna answered. “While, again, I appreciate your offer, I don’t think it will come to that. I’m not the one on trial, Grayson Fletcher is.”
“I know that, honey, but from what I’ve read in the papers, it sounds like it’s mostly his word against yours. I’m just saying I’m happy to step up if you need it.”
“You’re a dear, Mrs. Wardle. Thank you. I’ll be sure to let the prosecutor know.”
They chatted for a moment longer, about books and gardening and the best time to plant rhododendron bushes. Just as he was thinking again about trying to escape the store without being identified, he heard Anna say goodbye to the other woman. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Betsy heading to the checkout counter that was at the end of his aisle.
He turned blindly to head in the other direction and suddenly ran smack into another cart.
“Oh!” exclaimed Anna Galvez.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, keeping his head down and hoping she was too distracted to notice him.
No such luck. She immediately saw through the sunglasses. “Lieutenant Maxwell! Hello!”
“Oh. Hi. I didn’t see you there,” he lied. “This is a surprise. I thought you were going to be out of town today.”
Her warm smile chilled at the edges. “My, uh, obligation was postponed for the rest of the afternoon. So instead I’m buying refreshments for one of the teen book clubs that meets after school at By-the-Wind. They’re discussing a vampire romance so I’m serving tomato juice and red velvet cake. A weird combination, I know, but they have teenage stomachs so I figured they could handle it.”
“Don’t forget the deviled eggs.”
She laughed. “What a great idea! I wish I’d thought of it in time to make some last night.”
When she smiled, she looked soft and approachable and so desirable he forgot all about keeping a low profile. All he wanted to do was kiss her right there next to the organic soup cans.
He jerked his gaze away. “I guess I’d better let you get back to the shopping then. Your vampirettes await.”
“Right.”
He paused. “Listen, after I’m done here, I was thinking about taking a quick hike this afternoon. I know you said your dog could hang out with me but since you’re here, maybe I’d better check that it’s still okay with you.”
“Absolutely. He’ll be in dog heaven to have somebody else pay attention to him.”
“Thanks. I’ll bring him home about six or so.”
“Take your time. I probably won’t be done at the store until then anyway.”
She smiled again, and it was much more warm and open than the other smiles she’d given him. He could swear it went straight to his gut.
“In truth,” she went on, “this will take a big weight off my shoulders. I worry about Conan when I have to work long hours. Sometimes I take him into By-the-Wind with me since he loves being around people, but that’s not always the easiest thing with a big dog like Conan. You’re very sweet to think of including him.”
Sweet? She thought he was sweet? He was a lieutenant with the U.S. Army who had been shot down by enemy fire. The last thing he felt was sweet.
“I just wanted a little company. That’s all.”
He didn’t realize his words came out a growl until he saw that soft, terrifying smile of hers fade.
“Of course. And I’m sure he’ll enjoy it very much. Have fun, then. I believe there were several area trail guides among the travel information I left in your apartment. If you don’t find what you’re looking for, we have several others in the store.”
“I just figured I would take the Neah-Kah-Nie Mountain trail.”
She stared at him in surprise. “You sound like you’re familiar with the area. I don’t know why, but for some reason, I assumed you hadn’t been to Cannon Beach before.”
He cursed the slip of his tongue. He was going to have to watch himself or he would be blurting out some of the other hikes he’d gone on with Aunt Abigail over the years.
“It’s been a while,” he answered truthfully enough. “I’m sure everything has changed since I was here last. A good trail guide will still come in handy, I’m sure. I’ll be sure to grab it back at the house before I leave.”
“If you get lost, just let Conan lead the way out for you. He’ll head for food every time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He smiled, hoping she wouldn’t focus too much on his past experience in Cannon Beach. “Have fun with your reading group.”
“I’ll do that. Enjoy your hike.”
With a last little finger wave, she pushed her cart toward the checkout. He watched her go, wondering how she could manage to look so very delicious in a conservative gray skirt and plain white blouse.
This was a stupid idea, he echoed his thought of earlier, for a multitude of reasons. Not the least of which was the disturbing realization that each time he was with her, he found himself more drawn to her.
How was he supposed to accomplish his mission here to check out the situation at Brambleberry House when all his self-protective instincts were shouting at him to keep as much distance as possible between him and Anna Galvez?
* * *
THEY WERE LATE.
Anna sat at her home office computer, pretending to work with her spreadsheet program while she kept one eye out the window that overlooked the still-empty driveway.
Worry was a hard, tangled knot in her gut. It was nearly seven-thirty and she had watched the sun set over the Pacific an hour earlier. They should have been home long before now.
Without Conan, the house seemed to echo with silence. She had always thought that an odd turn of phrase but she could swear even the sound of her breathing sounded oddly magnified as she sat alone in her office gazing out the window and fretting.
She worried for her dog, yes. But she also worried about a certain wounded soldier with sad, distant eyes.
They were fine, she told herself. He had assured her he could handle Conan even at his most rambunctious. He was a helicopter pilot, used to situations where he had to be calm under pressure and he was no doubt more than capable of coping with any difficulty.
Still, a hundred different scenarios raced through her brain, each one more grim than the last.
Anything could have happened out there. Neah-Kah-Nie Mountain had stunning views of the coastline but the steep switchbacks on the trail could be treacherous, especially this time of year when the ground was soaked.
She pushed the worry away and focused on her computer again. After only a few moments, though, her thoughts drifted back to Harry Maxwell.
How odd that it had never occurred to her that he might have visited Cannon Beach before. Is that why he seemed so familiar? Had he come into By-the-Wind at some point?
But if he had, wouldn’t he have mentioned it at breakfast when she had talked about buying the store from Abigail?
It bothered her that she couldn’t quite place how he seemed so familiar. She usually had a great memory for faces. But thousands of customers walked through By-the-Wind in a given year. There was no logical reason she would remember one man, no matter how compelling.
And he was compelling. She couldn’t deny her attraction for him, though she knew it was completely ridiculous.
He was her tenant. That’s all she could allow him to be at this complicated time in her life—not that he had offered any kind of indication he was interested in anything else.
Breakfast had been a crazy impulse and she could see now how foolish. It created this false sense of intimacy, as if an hour or so together made
them friends somehow, when in reality he had only been at Brambleberry House a day.
No more breakfasts. No more chance encounters on the beach, no more bumping into him at the supermarket. When he and Conan returned safely from their hike—as she assured herself they would—she would politely thank him for taking her dog along with him, then for the rest of his time at Brambleberry House, she intended to do her absolute best to pretend the upstairs apartment was still empty.
It was a worthy goal and sometime later, when her pulse ratcheted up a notch at the sight of headlights pulling into the driveway, she told herself her reaction was only one of relief and maybe a little annoyance that he had left her to worry so long.
She forgot all about keeping her distance, though, when she saw him in the pale moonlight as he gingerly climbed out of his SUV then leaned on Conan as he limped his way toward the house.
CHAPTER SIX
SHE BURST THROUGH her apartment into the foyer just as he opened the front door, Conan plodding just ahead of him.
Max looked up with surprise at her urgent entrance, then she saw something that looked very much like resignation flash in his expression before her attention was caught by his bedraggled condition. Mud covered his Levi’s and he had a long, ugly scrape on his cheek.
“Oh, my word! Are you all right? What happened?”
He let out a long breath and she thought for a moment he would choose not to answer her.
“I’m fine. Nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about?” she exclaimed. “Are you crazy? You look like you fell off a cliff.”
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing and she could swear her heart stuttered to a stop.
“That’s not really what happened. Surely you didn’t fall off a cliff, did you?”
“Not much of one.”
“Not much of one! What kind of answer is that? Either you fell off a cliff or you didn’t.”
“I slid on a some loose rocks and fell. It was only about twenty feet, though.”
Only twenty feet. She tried to imagine falling twenty feet and then calmly talking about it as if she had merely stumbled over a curb. It was too big a stretch for her and her mind couldn’t quite get past it.
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