The Right Moment

by Heatherly Bell

  She shook her hair out of her eyes as she slid the phone back in its pocket and took out a business card and a pen instead.

  * * *

  “What’s she doing out there now?”

  Jed frowned, looking out one of the square, high-set windows. “Still sitting on the step.” She’d been there a solid thirty minutes now. As if she were waiting for Otis to drive up the broken road. He glanced at his boss. “Next time you think twice about keeping a meeting you arranged, cancel it yourself.”

  Otis sucked at his teeth as he rocked in his wood-slatted rocker. For anyone else, the rocker would sit on a front porch. For Otis, it sat in front of the woodstove. No cushion for comfort. The ancient knitted blanket on his knees was a recent addition. Along with the hacking cough that was never going to go away. “I didn’t expect a girl.”

  Jed looked out the window once more. From his angle, he could see the back of her copper-colored head and a bit of shoulder outlined in sleek black leather. If she sat there five more minutes, he was going back out there, no matter how pissed off Otis got.

  “Man. Woman.” Which April Reed definitely was. “Does it make any difference, Otis? We both know you’re not gonna sell. Particularly to a developer.” God knew they’d had enough arguments about it, especially in the last few years.

  The only sound that came from Otis’s direction was the rhythmic creak of wood runners on the wood floor.

  Jed grimaced. “Stubborn old man.”

  The creaking didn’t hesitate. “Keeps me alive, boy.”

  For how much longer?

  Jed didn’t ask the question. He didn’t want to hear the answer. Ornery or not, Otis was the last thing left in the world that Jed cared about and he was dying. Dying because he wouldn’t seek the medical care that he’d probably needed since before Jed had met him five years ago.

  But he didn’t have to test Otis’s temper, because the redhead was moving finally. Standing.

  She walked back to the door and he expected to hear a knock, but none came. Instead, after a moment she headed back to the steps, avoiding the rotten boards that Jed needed to repair once the weather finally improved. Then he caught a glimpse of her again, walking toward the road.

  Tall. Slender. Dressed in a trim jacket and sexy-as-hell boots.

  She looked like she belonged on a magazine cover. Or in an office cracking out orders to her minions.

  Instead, she was being snubbed by a cantankerous old man.

  As he watched, she slung her briefcase strap across her chest like a messenger bag and pulled something from it.

  A cell phone, he realized, watching her hold it out in front of her. She was obviously taking pictures. Maybe recording video. Her arm panned around until she was aiming it toward the cabin. He didn’t worry about her seeing him from his vantage point inside.

  Eventually, she panned the other direction and started making her way down the road again. When she was out of sight entirely, he went to the front door and pulled it open.

  The business card she’d tucked in the doorjamb slid free and landed on the floor near his boot.

  He picked it up and read the embossed black printing. It told him little more than what she’d told him outside. April Reed. Stanton Development. Denver, Colorado.

  On the reverse, she’d written a telephone number and a brief note.

  “She’s going to be back,” he told Otis. He wasn’t sure if he was glad about that or not.

  “How do you know?”

  He flicked the business card onto Otis’s lap. “She told you so.”

  Otis harrumphed. He looked at the note. “You can deal with her.”

  “She’s not my problem.”

  “She is if I say she is.” Otis smiled slyly. “That bother you for some reason? Been a while since you’ve gotten off the mountain to see a woman.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve gotten off the mountain because I’ve been stuck up here all winter with you.”

  “All the more reason.” He waved the note. “You know how to make a business deal. Or have you forgotten?”

  Jed ignored the dig. “You’re not going to make a deal with anyone and we both know it. I run the Rad for you, Otis. But that doesn’t make me your lackey.” He headed out of the room.

  “Where you going?” Otis’s querulous voice followed him.

  “To take care of the stuff you do pay me for.”

  Copyright © 2020 by Allison Lee Johnson

  Keep reading for an excerpt from The Magnolia Sisters by Michelle Major.

  The Magnolia Sisters

  by Michelle Major

  CHAPTER ONE

  HOW DID ANY sane person survive the South’s oppressive humidity?

  As Avery Keller surveyed the landscape surrounding the gas station just outside Magnolia, North Carolina, she tried to draw in a deep breath. It felt like sucking air from a hot oven. Thick forest bordered the concrete parking lot, the trees more the pine variety than the town’s namesake. She glanced up at the water tower looming in the distance, the word Magnolia emblazoned on it in thick block letters. The bold designation mocked her, a lofty reminder that her past had been here waiting, even if she’d known nothing of it until a few days prior.

  Almost a week now. One late-August week to process that the story of her life had been a lie because the truth was too callous, even for her aloof and ambitious mother. Avery had struggled with her identity as the daughter of a single mom, whose reckless decision had left her pregnant from a one-night stand with a nameless, random hookup.

  Or not so random after all. As it turned out, Avery’s father knew about her, at least enough to leave her an inheritance after he died.

  Maybe the humidity wasn’t to blame for the prickly heat crawling under her skin. More likely the bitterness that had festered like an open sore on her cross-country trek for the reading of the will. She would have preferred to ignore the summons, to remain unaffected by the news that she wasn’t the fatherless, unwanted girl she’d thought herself to be.

  Fatherless, no. Unwanted, most definitely.

  She shoved the gas pump nozzle into the tank of her Lexus sedan and stalked toward the convenience store, needing caffeine and chocolate in equal measure.

  The stale air inside the shop carried the scent of hot dogs and processed nacho cheese, but it was blessedly cool. She reached for a water but changed her mind at the last moment and pulled a Diet Mountain Dew from the commercial refrigerator at the back of the store, immediately shoving the bottle under her shirt. She gasped at the bite of cold plastic against her skin.

  “Normally people drink that stuff,” a deep voice said from a few feet away. “Although, the color’s too reminiscent of antifreeze for my taste.”

  She rolled her head to glare at whoever was offering an unwanted opinion and stifled another gasp. Over six feet of gorgeous man stared back at her. As if the thick brown hair, piercing green eyes and rock-hard body weren’t enough, he was wearing the crisp blue uniform of a firefighter. Avery had always been a sucker for a man in uniform, although she wasn’t about to admit that now.

  Apparently she didn’t need to because one side of his sexy mouth pulled up, like his effect on the fairer sex was a given. No doubt, which only fueled Avery’s irritation. She’d spent the past two and a half days on the road, steaming asphalt and satellite radio her only companions. She’d given up the guise of healthy choices midway across Missouri, and she wasn’t in the mood to take crap from anyone.

  She made a show of studying the slim container of beef jerky dangling between his fingers. “Those who live in meat-stick houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

  His half smile widened into a full grin. “Now, darlin’,” he drawled, “I don’t even know your name. Seems a bit premature for you to be discussing my meat stick.”

  She felt her cheeks flame at the blatant
innuendo but managed only a lame “in your dreams” as a response.

  He chuckled. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t get out much anymore.”

  “Shocker,” she muttered before heading for the cash register. She added a pack of M&M’s—the peanut variety for protein—and paid the gum-smacking attendant. Halfway to her car, Mr. Beef Jerky caught up with her.

  “I really am sorry for the lousy joke,” he said, matching his stride to hers. His voice was gravelly, the vowels drawn out in typical Southern fashion, and she fought the immediate prick of attraction skittering along her skin at the unnecessary apology for some silly teasing.

  The unsolicited bit of kindness didn’t make him a decent guy and shouldn’t matter either way. She was here to discover why the father she never knew had reached out to her now when he’d never bothered to during his life. And collect her inheritance and put this tiny dot on the map in her rearview mirror.

  Too bad she had no plan for what came next. She’d essentially blown apart her entire life a month ago with her stupid choices. One particular choice involving one specific man.

  Avery wanted to believe she hadn’t inherited her mom’s self-destructive streak when it came to men. The facts—and the lives ruined in her wake—told a different story. She wasn’t about to take a chance again, even for a moment of harmless flirting.

  She stopped next to her car and turned to face him. “Listen, Jim-Bob or Billy-Bob or Bubba or whatever your redneck name is,” she began, loosening the reins on the anger, irritation and misplaced grief she’d been tamping down for days, “you might be hot but I’m not interested in some good ol’ boy who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”

  He cocked a thick brow, but she continued before he could speak. “So why don’t you just saunter off to whatever god-awful watering hole this town has to offer and ply your tired charms on a woman who’s too drunk to care whether this—” she wagged a finger up and down in front of him “—is all you have to offer.”

  When his eyes flashed with something that looked like pain before narrowing, she sucked in a ragged breath. Oh, no. She’d just ripped into a perfect stranger who didn’t deserve her unbridled animosity. Talk about kicking the dog. Shame and regret bubbled up inside her, as familiar as a worn pair of shoes. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he held up a hand.

  “It’s ten in the morning and I’m on duty,” he said, his tone stony. The Southern drawl sounded even more pronounced when laced with temper. “But I sure do appreciate the advice and I’ll keep it in mind for later, darlin’. This was just the reminder I needed of why women like you are a bad bet.”

  Women like her.

  Ouch. She didn’t understand the exact meaning of his words, but they were obviously an insult of the highest order. And one she deserved more than he could realize.

  Which was why she didn’t go after him when he stalked toward the hulking black truck parked near the front of the building, even though guilt ate at her insides. Let him believe she was a raving bitch. Most people from her old life did.

  She glanced at her watch and stifled a groan. She was late for the meeting at the attorney’s office. After her outburst with the hottie firefighter, she had half a mind to skip the reading of the will. With the maelstrom of emotions rioting through her, there was no telling what kind of trouble she’d get into next.

  She put away the gas nozzle, then climbed into the car, leaning into the dash as the air from the vents turned cool once again. Blond hair clung to her sticky neck, and she took the elastic band off her wrist and pulled her hair into a messy ponytail. She’d woken today at a hotel in Raleigh and gotten ready like she was heading to the most important business meeting of her life.

  She’d ruthlessly straightened her hair, although she quickly realized how much of a waste of time that had been. No amount of product was going to beat the impact of the late-August heat and humidity. The Calvin Klein pantsuit that normally made her feel confident now seemed like overkill, especially as sweat beaded at the backs of her knees and trickled between her shoulder blades.

  She turned out of the service station parking lot, following the route programmed into the car’s GPS. She’d done her research on Niall Reed. He was commercially successful, critically eviscerated and not man enough to claim his bastard daughter while he was alive.

  Her stomach twisted as she pulled to the curb in front of a brick building near the center of downtown Magnolia. Although the town was picturesque, with colorful flowers bursting from planter boxes along the sidewalk and a predominance of Greek Revival architecture that showcased the area’s history, the streets seemed almost deserted.

  Avery didn’t bother to fix her messy ponytail or reapply makeup. At this point, what did it matter? She took another swig of Mountain Dew and walked toward the redbrick building, clutching the Italian leather portfolio she’d splurged on after her first promotion. The knots in her stomach tightened with each step.

  An older woman with a cotton-ball head of hair looked up from her desk as Avery entered. The receptionist gave her a long once-over, then pointed to a closed office door. “They’re waiting for you.”

  “I’m Avery Keller,” Avery told her automatically.

  “Yes, dear,” the woman agreed. “I know who you are.”

  Of course she did. Avery stared at the door like it was a portal to hell. She was being ridiculous. Her life had already been smashed to bits. One meeting wasn’t going to change things that much. Maybe she’d get money. Maybe a painting or two. Perhaps her father left a letter for her, something that would explain why—

  “They’re waiting,” the receptionist repeated. “Mr. Damon has to be at the courthouse at eleven.”

  “Right.” Avery straightened her shoulders and moved forward, entering the office as quietly as possible. Not that it mattered. Three sets of eyes turned to her.

  Douglas Damon sat behind an enormous mahogany desk, files piled high on the credenza behind him. He was roughly sixty years old, with a meaty build and salt-and-pepper hair. He stood, pulling a pair of reading glasses from his nose. “You must be Avery.”

  She nodded.

  “Have a seat,” he told her, indicating the empty chair in front of his desk. Avery had never been sent to the principal’s office growing up, but she imagined it felt very much like this moment. Why was she so nervous? She’d done nothing wrong.

  Maybe it was the two women glaring at her from where they sat on either side of the unoccupied chair. But why were there two?

  She recognized Carrie Reed from her photos on the internet. Based on Avery’s research, Niall’s legitimate daughter had served as his assistant and the manager of his art gallery here in Magnolia. Carrie was her half sister. It felt odd...even though Avery had always wanted a sibling. She wasn’t what she’d pictured, a woman with shoulder-length chestnut hair and a pinched mouth who clearly wanted this meeting as much as Avery did. Had Carrie known about her father’s other daughter?

  Who was the third woman? Unlike Avery in her stifling suit and Carrie, who wore a flowing, flowery skirt and soft peasant blouse, the petite brunette wasn’t dressed up for this meeting. On the contrary, her rumpled T-shirt, jeans and heavy-duty work boots seemed like a thumb of the nose to the formality of Douglas Damon’s office. Avery hadn’t discovered anything about a third sister but got the impression that Carrie and the other woman weren’t complete strangers. So what was going on?

  She could feel each of the women throwing some wicked side-eye as she lowered herself into the chair. Her skin itched like it was suddenly a size too small for her body, as if she were shrinking under the weight of the critical stares from these two strangers.

  But Avery wasn’t about to show weakness. Not now. Not when she’d held her head high through the scandal in San Francisco. Through Tony’s wife confronting her in the office, hurling vile accusations. Through the public humiliati
on of being reprimanded in front of her entire risk assessment department at Pierce and Chambers, the financial firm where she’d been so proud to work. Through the tragedy of what came next.

  She kept her gaze fixed on a spot beyond Damon’s left shoulder as his words washed over her. Apparently the attorney had been her father’s closest friend in addition to his attorney so he’d been named executor of the will and would shepherd the estate through probate. He talked about Reed’s accomplishments, his mistakes and regrets and the hope he’d had that his three daughters would come together after his death to preserve his legacy.

  Three. Daughters.

  Both of these women were her sisters—half sisters. To Avery, who’d grown up alone, the fact that she shared only one parent with each of them hardly counted. Rage swept through her at all the potential withheld from her. Of course, there was no guarantee knowing her father and sisters would have changed anything. But it remained a possibility.

  One Niall Reed had stolen from her.

  Blood roared in her head as the attorney detailed the terms of the will. It was difficult for Avery to follow along with her emotions threatening to take over. Her focus sharpened when Carrie let out a tiny gasp.

  “I get his gallery?” Avery asked, forcing herself to take a steadying breath.

  “No,” Carrie whispered next to her.

  Douglas Damon nodded. “Along with a sizable mortgage. Unfortunately, the house and the commercial buildings both come with a tremendous amount of debt attached. Julie Martindale over at the bank will discuss the particulars, but the colloquial phrase to describe the situation would be ‘mortgaged to the hilt.’”

  A snort came from Avery’s left as the other sister leaned forward. “How about the phrase ‘he screwed us’?”