Текст книги "The Man Must Marry"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 2 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“Where in hell did Bram find her?”

“InMaine .”

“Figures. What did she say? When’s he coming home?”

“He’s not,” Sam said softly.

“Never?”

“He’s dying, according to Ms.Kent .”

Sam sat quietly in the corner of the car, letting his statement sink in. Jesse was sitting facing him, Ben beside him. All three were dressed in casual evening attire, on their way to pick up their dates for dinner. Willamina was Sam’s date.

“He can’t just run off and die on us,” Jesse whispered. “Can he?”

“It seems he has. Ms.Kent said he’s too proud for us to see him die.”

“That’s bullshit. The man literally brought us up. He’s been more of a father than a grandfather. He has no right to die without us,” Ben said, his fists clenched on his knees. “We’ll get her to tell us where he is, and then we’ll go get him. He belongs home.”

“She won’t betray him. I tried.”

“Maybe you didn’t try hard enough.”

Sam gave his brothers a wry grin. “Don’t underestimate Ms.Kent , gentlemen. She may look like a meek little partridge, but she won’t break her promise to Bram.”

“We know he’s inMaine . We’ll track him down,” Ben said.

Sam looked at his brothers’ anxious faces in the soft interior lights of the limo. “Do we really want to go against Bram’s wishes?” he asked, his voice betraying his reservations. “He’s of sound mind; it’s his body that’s failing him. And he doesn’t want us to see that.”

“Damn. I didn’t realize he was sick. I thought we had more time,” Jesse choked out, dropping his gaze to stare at his hands.

Ben wouldn’t let go of his anger. “Why in hell couldn’t he have just faxed us his vote? The woman obviously doesn’t know a spreadsheet from a bedsheet.”

Sam snorted. “Guess.”

Both brothers blinked at him, then started cursing.

“Bram is still trying to marry us off from his deathbed!” Jesse snapped, shaking his head in disgust.

“Yes,” Sam agreed. “That, and to prepare us.” Sam cocked his head. “I’d guess that Ms. Kent has

fallen in love with Bram. Why else would she be doing this for him?”

“To land a rich husband,” Ben spat out.

“That woman couldn’t land a goldfish, much less a rich husband,” Jesse said.

“Don’t underestimate her.” Sam looked at his brothers with haunted eyes. “She owns a casket-manufacturing business. And she told me Bram’s been building his own casket.”

“What?”

“She says it’s been comforting for him.”

“Then she’s as sick as he is!”

“No. She’s softhearted. And the bravest woman I’ve ever met,” Sam countered.

“Brave?” Ben repeated.

“It was obvious that Tidewater’s boardroom was the last place Ms.Kent wanted to be today. And I assure you, she is not looking forward to this evening. It takes a hell of a lot of courage to messenger the imminent death of a man to his family. I honestly can’t say that I could do what she’s doing.”

The car fell silent after that, until they stopped to pick up Jesse’s date for the evening. With legendary Sinclair willpower, the three men forced themselves to throw off their gloom and smile at Darcy as she sat next to Jesse.

Darcy was the epitome ofManhattan womanhood. Tonight she was dressed in elegant black and cultured coolness. She wore three-inch heels, which were necessary if she didn’t want to be dwarfed by her escort. Jesse and Darcy had been seeing each other for three months, which was about the limit of Jesse’s female attention span.

Sam guessed his brother would soon be moving on, which was probably just as well. For all of Darcy’s beauty, she didn’t have much depth of character. Traveling, shopping, and spending her trust fund were the extent of her interests.

They picked up Ben’s date next. Paula wasn’t a steady; Ben enjoyed the company of several different women. He’d been burned badly a couple of times already; first when he was nineteen and then again four years ago.

The last time had been close. Bram had thought he was finally going to get a granddaughter-in-law, and Jesse and Sam had thought they were going to get the pressure lifted from finding their own wives. But just when it had looked as if Ben might propose, he’d broken off the relationship, not telling anyone why. It would take a stalwart woman to marry a Sinclair. She would have to be intelligent, strong, and forgiving. She’d also have to be brave. The Sinclair men were not known for their patience. People generally treaded carefully around them, especially Bram. And he’d brought up his grandsons to be just as ruthless, just as relentless, just as driven.

Sam, Ben, and Jesse had been orphaned when Sam was twelve. Their parents had died in a plane crash returning from an overseas meeting that had doubled as a romantic vacation. His shoulders slumped in

defeat with the news that his third and last surviving son was dead, Bram had arrived with Grammy Rose at the boys’ home and collected them. A powerful bond had been formed that day between the three lost, confused children and their grieving grandparents. Deep, desperate love had blossomed, along with friendship and respect.

That was why Bram hadn’t been able to choose among them. He didn’t want to turn his business over to just one of his boys; they all owned shares in Tidewater, and they all were wealthy men in their own rights, thanks to the Sinclair drive. To pick one to head his company was clearly too hard for the old man.

The limo pulled up to the Marriott, where Willa was waiting in the lobby. She reminded Sam of an absentminded professor, whose body was having trouble keeping up with her brain. Willamina Kent ’s head was too far into the clouds to see the everyday details of life. And her heart, apparently, was her own worst enemy. Why else would she have come on this mission for a man she’d only known for six weeks?

As soon as she saw him get out of the car, she headed for the revolving door. She’d traded her saddlebag of a purse for a clutch with a long strap that dangled from her fist. Sam watched in stoic resignation as she pushed through the door, snagging her purse in the sweep of the door behind her. The strap snapped, and the purse landed on the ground, unceremoniously pushed along by the door behind her.

Her ankles wobbled as she reached down to get it. Sam grabbed her elbow to steady her, then retrieved the purse himself.

“Thank you,” she murmured, clutching the mangled purse, the long strap dangling like a tail as she headed for the car.

Sam settled her into the silent limo. Getting in beside her, he saw her cheeks were flaming red. They matched her dress.

The dress looked as if it had come from a thrift shop, the style even older than the suit she’d worn earlier, with a high collar in danger of choking her. Ruffles grazed her chin, and the hem was nearly at her ankles.

At least her shoes were better this time. They were black, again with two-inch heels, and matched the wide belt cinching her waist. The purse she was industriously trying to repair was tan. Sam reached over and took it from her. Upon examination, he quickly decided the thing was a lost cause and broke off the strap. “Now you have a hand clutch,” he said, handing it back to her. Her gaze, which had widened when he’d popped the useless strap, lowered to her lap. Turning the small handbag over and over, she finally looked up at the others in the car and gave them a shy smile.

“Hello again,” she said to Jesse, who couldn’t quit staring. Ben quietly kicked him.

“Ah…hello,” Jesse answered. “I guess I should make the introductions. This is my friend, Darcy. And this is Paula, Ben’s friend. Ladies, this is Willamina.”

Everyone smiled graciously, then Willa turned to Sam. “Are we going to pick up your date next?” she asked.

“No. I drew the short straw.”

Her face flushed, and her head bent down, causing her precarious topknot to loosen. Aw, hell. He hadn’t really meant to say that. He knew she didn’t want to be there any more than they did. But despite what he had said to his brothers about Willa’s courage, she was also husband hunting. Only someone hoping to marry into the Sinclair wealth would agree to come toNew York to vote on something she knew nothing about.

Well, by the end of this evening, Willamina Kent would be more than ready to fly home after a triple dose of confirmed bachelorism. They’d all sent better women than she down the road shaking their heads. Bram was going to have to go to his grave without getting a granddaughter-in-law. Sorry for hurting her feelings but determined to stand firm against the threat she posed, Sam turned away and stared out the window.

The man may as well have slapped her face. She didn’t want to be the arrogant jerk’s date. She didn’t want to be anyone’s date. Especially not one of these three puffed-up baboons parading as men. They were just like their grandfather—and Willa didn’t consider that a compliment. Abram Sinclair was a bossy, arrogant old goat, even if she did love him. But that didn’t mean she had to love his grandsons. She didn’t even have to like them.

She was there on a mission of mercy and nothing else, despite what Abram hoped. Oh, she knew he had matchmaking up his sleeve. He’d been blatant enough with his praise and subtle hints that his boys were all lonely, misunderstood men.

Well, they could damn well find their own wives. Which shouldn’t be hard; they were gorgeous. But even if they were butt ugly, they were wealthy enough to have women drooling at their feet. Willa eyed the women in the car. They were beautiful. Elegant. Skinny. Everything she was not. She hated them; she hatedNew York . And she hated anyone named Sinclair. The restaurant they arrived at was over-the-top fancy and the only nonlimos pulling up were foreign and expensive. Willa felt like a wren in a house of predatory cats. Sam Sinclair wasn’t helping matters.

“If you take my elbow again, I’m going to drive my heel into your shin,” she softly warned when he reached for her.

He drew back as if she’d bitten him, then his eyes narrowed. “If you fall flat on your face, I’m going to leave you there.”

Chin raised and with all the dignity she could muster, Willa followed the other women inside—into an Asian country.

Damn. Foreign food. And if they expected her to use two little sticks to eat with, she’d starve first. She was aMaine girl; she ate meat and potatoes and seafood. Pronounceable seafood. They were soon seated around a large circular table in a room so dimly lit she could barely see across it. Not knowing what else to do with her…clutch purse, Willa set it on her lap, only to have it slide down her satiny dress, fall onto the floor, and bounce off her foot. She heard Sam sigh. The damn purse could damn well stay where it was; all it held were some tissues. Willa hated purses. Doing errands at home, she wore jeans and sneakers and a small fanny pack. She didn’t have time to chase down a purse whenever she wanted something. Since she’d leftMaine , she’d spent more time babysitting her purse than anything else. The floor sweeper could have this one. They were given menus, and everyone ordered drinks. Willa got stared at again when she ordered a Johnnie Walker Black on the rocks. A double.

Thank God it came quickly. Willa took a large, throat-burning sip, then opened her menu. She didn’t recognize anything. She could see the words shrimp and chicken and beef , but there were other, more ominous words associated with them, which everyone pronounced competently as they placed their orders.

The dinner from hell, that’s what this was.

“Do you have plain lobster?” she asked the waiter when he looked at her. He nodded.

“What is today’s price?” she asked, knowing it was rude but too curious to care. He told her, and Willa’s eyes nearly crossed. “Shrimp, then. Just sauteed. With steamed rice.”

The waiter nodded and left, and Willa looked up to see everyone staring at her again. She gave them her most brilliant smile, no matter how painful it was for her. “I buy lobster off the boat nearly every week. Even during peak season, I don’t pay more than five dollars a pound.”

“Really?” Darcy commented.

“A hundred years ago inMaine , lobster was considered a poor man’s food.”

“You don’t say,” Darcy purred.

Willa sighed. A shallow dish, that one. She looked at Ben. “Abram tells me you all like to sail and that he owns a Sengatti sloop,” she offered conversationally.

“That’s right,” Ben guardedly returned.

“I sail,” she told him with waning brightness. “As a matter of fact, I grew up not far from the Sengatti Yacht Yard.”

“Have you sailed on one?” Ben asked, looking interested despite himself.

“Oh, sure. My dad was a sea captain. We owned a schooner and plied the tourist trade. Dad often took new owners out for lessons on the Sengatti they’d just purchased, and I went along.”

“Bram upgraded his sloop eight years ago,” Jesse interjected. “She’s forty-two feet long and fast. I believe she was the last boat Emmett Sengatti himself actually built.”

Willa smiled at his enthusiasm. “What’s her name?”

“Bram christened her the RoseWind , after Grammy Rose.” Ben’s face sobered. “Until Gram died five years ago, the two of them loved to go out sailing.”

“Tell us about your father’s schooner,” Sam interjected.

“She was named Cat’s Tail , because Dad said she sailed like a cat whose tail had just passed over a candle flame. She was two-masted and sixty-seven feet long. She slept ten, assuming a few couples didn’t mind cuddling. In the winter, we sailed her down to theCaribbean and hired out for weeklong charter tours.”

“What about school?” Jesse asked.

“Mom taught us.”

“Us?” Sam asked.

“My sister and me. We crewed for Dad. Mom cooked.”

“You must live fairly close to Prime Point, then,” Ben piped up, looking pleased. “That’s where Sengatti Yacht is located.”

“Not that close,” Willa shot back, shooting down his hopes of learning where his grandfather was. The food arrived, and while Willa eyed hers suspiciously, Darcy tried to continue the conversation.

“So you’re a sailor? Is that what you do for a living?”

“No,” Willa told her with anticipated relish. “I build caskets.”

Bingo. Both Darcy and Paula choked on their first bites of food. The men didn’t bat an eyelash, so Sam must have told them already.

“Caskets?” Paula squeaked, her eyes wide in horror.

“Yup, and we do a lot of custom orders. We use local wood and carve beautiful scenes into them.” She beamed at her stunned audience, who had set down their forks. “Our caskets hold the remains of some of the world’s most eccentric people. We ship all over the world. You’d be amazed at some of the requests we get.”

Nobody moved. Nobody spoke. Finally, Sam started to push his food around on his plate.

Okay. That had been a nasty shot, and she was a little ashamed of herself. But dammit, they all deserved it. They all had been looking down their noses at her.

“What do you do, Darcy?” Willa asked.

“Do?”

“For work?”

“Work?”

Willa sighed.

“I’m thinking of going back to school,” the woman offered.

“School’s important,” Willa confirmed, smiling at Jesse, who suddenly started eating.

“I do charity functions,” Paula piped up.

“That’s important, too,” Willa agreed.

Wow. And these intelligent Sinclair men were attracted to them?

“Shouldn’t we be discussing Tidewater?” Ben interjected. “That is the reason we’re here.”

“No, it’s not. We’re here so I can get to know each of you better.”

“We’re not biting, Ms.Kent ,” Sam said softly, leaning closer. “No matter what Bram told you, you’re trolling in barren water.” “Fine,” Willa shot back. “Then maybe I’ll just draw straws tomorrow.”

Sam snapped his brows together at Willa’s not-so-subtle reminder of his rudeness. If she was fishing, she wasn’t baiting her hook. She didn’t talk like a woman trying to snag a husband; she talked as if she couldn’t wait to be done with the entire lot of them.

Sam repressed a shudder, imagining Willa on a ship full of ropes and pulleys and sails. He wondered how often she unexpectedly went swimming or how many guests she’d drowned. CaptainKent must have the patience of a saint or nerves of steel.

The dinner table returned to silence as everyone ate. Ben and Jesse seemed to be realizing the truth of Sam’s earlier warning that Willa was not an easy mark. She had a disarming answer for everything and refused to be trounced on. She wasn’t above hitting low, either. Had Bram realized that? Most likely.

Dinner was interrupted twice by acquaintances who stopped by the table to say hello. Willa always quietly looked on with interest, assessing all of them in that disconcerting way of hers. Finally, the waiter brought over the dessert cart.

Willa eyed the cart with enthusiasm. “Oh, boy!Black Forest cake. I was afraid they'd only have strange

desserts.”

Darcy and Paula looked askance when the waiter placed a huge, creamy, decadent piece of cake in front of Willa.

“You’re going to eat that?” Darcy blurted, only to blush at her own rudeness.

“I sure am. Desserts did me a huge favor once. I owe them.”

“What kind of favor?” Paula asked.

“They helped get me a divorce.”

Sam, who had just taken a sip of coffee, nearly spit it out. Jesse and Ben set their cups down with a clank.

“Dessert got you a divorce?” Jesse asked.

Willa turned unreadable eyes on him. “I tried for more than a year to talk my husband into a simple, amicable divorce, but he refused to go down without a fight. Finally, though, I got him to give me one.”

“How?” Paula asked, leaning over her plate and looking intrigued, not noticing that her scarf was trailing in her food.

“I got fat.”

“Fat!”

“David was a rather superficial man,” Willa explained. “I got so fat he couldn’t stand to be seen in public with me. Bingo. Divorce.”

Paula blinked. Several times. “How fat were you?”

“What I am now.”

“The man divorced you because of what you weigh now?” Darcy asked, darting a frantic look at Jesse. Jesse was too busy staring at Willa to notice. Ben had picked up his coffee again, and Sam figured that was to hide his smile behind it; Sam, however, was purely amazed. The partridge had been married?

“Oh, no. I’ve gotten food on my scarf!” Paula cried. She stood up. “I have to go to the powder room.”

“I’ll go with you.” Darcy offered, standing up.

The men looked at Willa. She stayed sitting.

As soon as the women left, Willa set down her fork. “I wish to clear the air, gentlemen,” she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “You do realize your grandfather sent me here hoping one of you would capture my matrimonial eye? And that I might…interest one of you?” Her smile widened. “He was looking for a miracle, I’d say.”

Sam snorted before he could stop himself.

“I explained to Abram that I never intend to walk down a church aisle again. All three of you could crawl toMaine on your knees, your hearts in your hands, and I wouldn’t marry any one of you.”

“I don’t remember any of us asking,” Sam snapped.

“As long as we understand each other,” she returned simply, picking up her fork and returning to her cake.

“Then why in hell are you here?” Jesse asked sharply.

“Because your grandfather asked me to do this favor for him,” Willa said with tired patience.

“But why, if Bram knew you didn’t want to get married?”

She stared at her half-eaten dessert. Finally, she looked around the table. “Abram claims I have an inherent sense of character. He hoped that I could meet you, get to know each of you a little bit, and objectively choose.”

“Then choose!” Jesse growled.

“Tomorrow!” Willa growled back, stabbing her cake and making one of the cherries shoot off her plate. It landed on Jesse’s white shirt.

Chapter Three

Darcy and Paula wantedto go dancing next.

Would the evening never end?

Willa could dance about as well as she could walk in heels. And her date must have realized exactly how she felt about it, because Sam’s eyes lit up when everyone agreed they would go to a favorite nightspot. Well, she’d simply have another drink and watch from the table. She wasn’t about to step into his arms naively, because Sam Sinclair downright disconcerted her. He made her palms sweat. He made her arm tingle whenever he took hold of her elbow. And she had a hard time breathing properly whenever he looked directly at her with those impaling ice-blue eyes of his. He was a good head taller than she was, although that didn’t exactly make him a giant. His shoulders did that. But it was his broad, masculine chest that really made her want to throw herself into his arms. That was why she wouldn’t dance with him. She was afraid she’d get wrapped up in his arms, against that chest, and start to drool. He also smelled much too good. She wasn’t about to get close to a well-built, handsome, broad-chested, nice-smelling man. It had simply been too long for her. Since her divorce five years ago, Willa had persuaded her hormones to hibernate, but the damn things had woken up when Sam took her elbow to escort her to the boardroom. Now they were practically jumping up and down in anticipation.

“Where’s your purse?” he asked when the car pulled to the curb to pick them up.

Willa looked him right in the eye. “On the floor in the restaurant.”

He heaved a mighty sigh and turned to go back in.

She grabbed his sleeve. “Leave it. It’s got three tissues and a comb in it.”

He looked at her, his blue eyes intent. Suddenly, he grinned and helped her into the car. Once again, Willa found herself sandwiched between Ben and Sam, across from Jesse, the two women on either side of him. And once again, the silence became awkward.

“What have you and Bram talked about these last six weeks?” Jesse asked.

“Everything,” she answered honestly. “About life. And death. About accepting both. He told me that he buried all three of his sons. And he says he misses Rose very much.”

“Our father was Bram’s middle son. His oldest son, Michael, died in a fire at the age of six. And Peter, his youngest, died at age twenty in a skiing accident,” Jesse explained. “Our father and mother died in a plane crash more than twenty years ago.”

“He told me Rose passed away five years ago.”

“Yes. Our home, Rosebriar, is named for her.”

“Bram also talked about you three. About how ‘damn proud’ he is of you,” Willa said with a sincere smile. “And about how stubborn you all are for not getting married,” she added, darting an apologetic smile at the two women across from her.

“We’ll marry in time,” Jesse said. “But on our terms—not Bram’s.”

“Abram told me he made the mistake of raising you all to be just like him.”

Jesse gave Willa a roguish grin. “That’s quite a compliment.”

“Not really. I think all of you, Abram included, should have been drowned at birth.”

Darcy and Paula gasped. Jesse’s grin broadened. Ben snorted. Sam’s shoulders shook, which shook her

.

“How long were you married?” Sam asked.

“Three long, long years,” she admitted with a sigh.

“And you’re sure it was your size that got you divorced?”

“I think, Mr. Sinclair, that ultimately it was the huge rottweiler David found in our bed.”

“You didn’t!” Jesse sputtered on a choked laugh.

“I was getting desperate. A friend owned a very sweet rottweiler who happened to dislike men. David

came home one night a little too late, a little too drunk, and a little too perfumey.” Willa smiled. “I think he still walks with a slight limp.”

Darcy and Paula looked incredulous, but both sides of Willa started shaking, until Ben and Sam couldn’t hold in their laughter any longer.

“A partridge.” Jesse snorted. “More like a falcon, Sam.”

Willa frowned. “What are you—”

The limo driver suddenly cursed as the car swerved hard to the right, throwing them off balance. More curses erupted from the men as it swerved again, and Willa was suddenly slammed up against a stone-hard chest. Bands of steel tightened around her as everyone was tossed like clothes in a washing machine, all three women screaming.

The wild ride stopped with unbelievable force, throwing Willa to the floor. A heavy weight landed on top of her. Though her head was protected by the large hand cupping it, her body felt as if a tank had just slammed into it. And she couldn’t breathe.

Old ghosts rose in Willa’s mind, filling her with terror. She shoved at Sam with all her might. “Out! We have to get out. It’s going to burn!” she cried, still shoving. “Everyone out!”

“Easy, Willamina. It’s okay. We’re not on fire,” Sam said close to her ear. Feet and arms and legs poked at her, as more cursing ensued. A back door opened.

Willa shoved at Sam again. “We have to get out! It could still burn. Get off me!”

“Easy, we’re getting out,” Sam said calmly, trying to quell her panic. “Are you hurt?”

“Just get me out of this car!” she shrieked, scrambling for the open door. Sam lifted her out, helping her stand as he visually inspected her. She broke free and whirled suddenly, looking at the limo on its side in the ditch. “Is everyone out? Is everyone out?” she shouted, trying to run back to the car.

Sam pulled her against him, walking them away from the limo. “We’re all out, Willamina. And the car’s not on fire. Take it easy.”

Ghost eyes met his; then she started looking around for the others. Ben had taken Paula a short distance away and was sitting with his date on his lap on the grass, cradling her against his shoulder. Jesse was trying to get Darcy to sit on the coat he’d thrown onto the ground for her, but she appeared too unsettled. Finally, he picked her up and simply sat down with her. Sam looked back at Willamina. She wasn’t panicked by just this accident. “Are you okay?” he asked, lifting her face so he could see her eyes.

She didn’t answer, shaking silently. Ronald came over with his jacket and put it on her shoulders. Sam wrapped it tightly around her and embraced her again, tucking her head under his chin. “What

happened?” he asked Ronald.

Their driver motioned up the road, and Sam saw several cars in the ditch ahead. People were stumbling out of them as other vehicles stopped to help.

“The sports car cut off that blue SUV, which braked suddenly. I could only head for the ditch, boss,”

Ronald explained.

“Good driving.”

“We pretty near rolled,” he confessed.

“Like I said, good driving. Have you called it in?”

Just then, Sam heard sirens coming from a distance. Ronald’s teeth flashed white in the darkness.

“Everyone’s got cell phones.”

“See if there’s a blanket in the trunk.”

“There is,” Ronald assured him, hurrying to get it.

“Don’t let him near the car!” Willamina cried, trying to pull out of Sam’s embrace.

“There’s no fire, Willamina. Come sit down here with the others. You’re shaking. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“Don’t patronize me!” she snapped, shrugging out of Ronald’s jacket and letting it fall to the ground.

“That car could burst into flames at any minute. It’s happened before!”

“It won’t happen this time,” he promised, grabbing her and sitting down with her on his lap. Hell, if it worked for his brothers…

“It—it’s happened to me before,” she whispered against his chest, shaking uncontrollably. “I barely got her out before it exploded.”

“Got who out?” he asked softly.

She wouldn’t answer and quietly started sobbing. Ronald returned with a blanket and tried to hand it to Sam. He shook his head, shrugging out of his evening jacket. “Take it to the others. And tell me as soon as an ambulance gets here.”

Sam wrapped his jacket around Willamina and simply held her while she fought her ghosts. He rested his chin on her head, liking the feel of her snuggled against him. He remembered how she’d had them all laughing not long ago, telling them how she’d gotten rid of her husband. Willamina Kent was an enigma. She was sassy and clumsy, short and plump, and apparently contented that way. She was compassionate and empathetic, and she loved Abram Sinclair. For all of that, Sam admired her. Even in terror, she’d remained level-headed enough to want everyone out of the car. Sam could hear Darcy and Paula wailing about their torn dresses and run stockings.

Sam smiled. Willamina probably had runs in her stockings and rips in her dress, but she wasn’t complaining. He ran his fingers through her hair, undoing the last of her topknot. Soft, silken curls cascaded over his hand, making him shiver.

Sam sighed as he looked toward his brothers, who had stood up and were staring down at the two women huddled together on the blanket.

Ronald was back with his beloved car, and Sam could see him muttering to himself as he walked around it. The headlights were still on, and from the expression on Ronald’s face, the front end was not a pretty sight. The chauffeur looked as if he was going to cry.

The police arrived, along with several ambulances. Willamina wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, wincing when she moved to get off his lap.

“Where do you hurt?”

“I’m just lame.”

“Can you sit here while I talk with the police?”

“Of course,” she said, wiping her cheeks again. “I’m fine. Go.”

Sam set her on Ronald’s coat, taking the time to snug her up in his own jacket. “Stay right here until you can be checked out by the paramedics,” he told her, not leaving until she nodded agreement.

As soon as he walked away, Willa stood up and went to Darcy and Paula, keeping Sam’s jacket wrapped tightly around herself. Damn, she couldn’t stop shaking. It had been five years, but it could have been yesterday for the terror she felt. Last time, it had been just her and her niece, Jennifer, but it had been dark then, too, and Willa had also been forced off the road. Only her car hadn’t landed safely in a ditch; it had hit a culvert and rolled, stopping against a ledge and bursting into flames. Bruised and bleeding, Willa had needed all of her strength to get Jennifer out before it had exploded. Willa still had scars from the incident, but none as deep as the one she carried in her heart for her niece.

“How is everyone?” she asked, sitting on the grass in front of the women. Jesse and Ben were talking to a policeman nearby. Sam was with another officer and Ronald, looking over the car.

“Nothing’s broken, except my bracelet,” Darcy answered, holding her arm up. Willa could tell it was made of diamonds and likely cost more than the car. She’d probably be a little upset herself if she had broken something that expensive. “At least you didn’t lose it,” she offered.