Читать книгу Seduction Of The Reluctant Bride - Barbara McCauley - Страница 9

Two

Faith watched Sam’s face go blank as he stared at her. His eyes, filled with impatience only a moment ago, were empty now, void of any emotion.

Then he began to laugh.

It started off as a low rumble in his broad chest, then spread to a rolling wave of hilarity. He sat in the pew, shaking his head, and the sound of his laughter echoed in the now empty church.

Faith had no idea how to respond to Sam’s display of amusement. She’d negotiated million-dollar deals with the toughest clients in Boston and Colorado, calmed an entire room of excited stockholders, settled disputes between employees and management. Those things were all in a day’s work. She thrived on it, flourished in the order and control she executed. And still, at this moment, she couldn’t seem to manage one discomposed cowboy.

Why was this one man throwing off her equilibrium so badly?

Certainly not because he was handsome. She met handsome men all the time. Faith Courtland was not the type to be influenced by a pretty face. Sam McCants might have the darkest, most extraordinary eyes she’d ever seen, and maybe there was an aura of blatant sexuality she’d never encountered before. That cute shock of black hair falling over his forehead might even tempt a weaker woman. But not her. No way.

“Twenty...million...dollars,” he managed between guffaws. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s ripe. You’re good, I gotta tell you. Real good. You almost had me there.”

Almost had him? He still didn’t believe her? Exasperated, she tucked her hair behind her ear and straightened. “Mr. McCants, let me assure you—”

Faith let out a small squeak as Sam grabbed her hand and pulled her down beside him. “Sweetheart, I’ll let you do anything you like to me. Just tell me, was it Jared or Jake? Both, right? I don’t know where they found you, but you’re one sweet filly. Damn, those boys are good.”

This was going all wrong. Every rehearsed statement, every carefully developed stage of her agenda here was being shot to hell. She had no idea what this man was talking about, and with his chest suddenly pressed up against her, pushing her back against the pew, she suddenly found it difficult to think at all.

She felt the heat of his body seep through her silk jacket and slide over her skin. His mouth hovered mere inches from hers, those sexy eyes of his half closed, barely revealing a mixture of amusement and desire.

“Mr. McCants, Sam, please.”

His breath fanned her earlobe, then her cheek. “I love the way you say please,” he murmured huskily. “Say it again.”

She almost did, then stopped herself, pressing a hand to his chest and pushing him away. Heart pounding, she stood on shaky knees and tugged at her jacket.

“I don’t know anyone named Jared or Jake,” she said, embarrassed that her voice cracked. “And no one ‘found me,’ as you so crudely put it. I’m here as vice president of Elijah Jane Corporation, and whether you believe it or not, Digger Jones does—did—indeed own the company.”

Her fingers were shaking as she reached inside her purse and pulled a business card from her wallet. Sam held his gaze on hers as he took the card.

“Elijah Jane Corporation,” he read aloud. “Boston, Massachusetts. Faith Alexis Courtland, Vice President.” He glanced back up at her. “So the Stone brothers didn’t hire you to snooker me?”

Snooker? Faith wasn’t sure what it meant, but she didn’t like the sound of it one little bit. “A man’s funeral is hardly the time to ‘snooker’ anyone, Mr. McCants. Elijah Jane Corporation is devastated over Mr. Montgomery’s tragic accident.”

She was serious, Sam realized, taking in the firm set of her upturned lips and the fixed look in her pretty eyes. Completely serious. This woman really believed what she was saying.

There was a mistake here, of course, Sam knew. Some bizarre twist of fate had mysteriously mixed up Digger Jones of Cactus Flat with some other fellow, who just happened, by some weird coincidence, to have the same name: Francis Elijah Montgomery.

But bizarre or not, who was he to question fate? She’d find out soon enough she had the wrong man. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too soon. This time of the year was slow at the ranch. A little diversion—especially one with bottomless blue eyes and enticing curves—would be more than welcome.

Faith snapped her purse shut and tossed back her neatly trimmed, shoulder-length blond hair. “In case you haven’t heard of us, we have fifty restaurants across the country, plus an extensive frozen food line carried by most grocery stores. We’re famous for our steaks and ribs,” she said proudly.

Sam might have mentioned to Faith that he had a freezer full of Elijah Jane’s Hearty Homestyle Meals for the nights that Gazella, his housekeeper, had off, but that clipped, cool tone had crept back into her voice and he wouldn’t give Miss Faith Courtland, Vice President, the satisfaction. And he wondered what she might say if he told her that he supplied the beef, through a distributor, for those steaks Elijah Jane was so famous for.

He pocketed her business card, then settled his arms over the back of the pew as he looked up at her. Damn, but this woman was easy on the eyes...and hard on the hormones. “I believe I’ve heard the name before, once or twice.”

He was making fun of her, Faith was certain of it. But in spite of herself, and as hard as she wanted to be offended, she found the glint of humor in his eyes fascinating, and much to her distress, extremely appealing.

“Mr. McCants—” she began, clearing her throat “—Mr. Montgomery, Digger, has always been reclusive. A mystery owner who preferred to stay in the shadows and let his carefully selected employees run his company. His only demands were the highest quality food, absolute best service, and detailed weekly reports.”

He watched her for a long moment, his arms draped casually over the pew, a mixture of interest and disbelief in his eyes. She resisted the urge to look away from his penetrating gaze.

“So you’re telling me,” he said finally, “that you’ve never even met this guy, your boss. Never even seen him.”

She glanced at the front of the church, at the empty coffin, her chest tightening at the realization she never would. “That’s right.”

“How did you communicate?”

“There was a post office box in Midland, but the majority of communication was by computer and fax.”

“Computer? Fax?” Sam gave a bark of laughter. “Digger didn’t even own a cash register at the café. Said they were too much trouble. Sorry, sweetheart, but you’ve got the wrong man. You should have called and saved yourself a trip.”

She blew out her irritation, then drew in a slow, calming breath. “Mr. Montgomery left your name and address only, with instructions to contact you at the Circle B if anything happened to him. It wasn’t uncommon not to hear from him for a few weeks, but after a month, we contacted the local authorities here and found out that Francis Elijah Montgomery, alias Digger Jones, had been lost in the mountains after a flood. As vice president of Elijah Jane, it’s my responsibility to meet with you and Mr. Montgomery’s attorney to go over the details of his will and estate.”

Sam snorted. “An attorney? Digger? I wouldn’t even repeat his opinion of lawyers to a lady. ’Course, I wouldn’t repeat most of Digger’s opinions to a lady.”

“No lawyer?” She frowned. “But that’s impossible. He must have had a lawyer draw up a will.”

Sam shook his head. “’Fraid not. Digger drew up his own a few months back, sealed it and gave it to me to handle for him when the time came. The bank’s closed on Saturday, but we can check it out Monday morning. Until then, it’s safe and sound in my safe deposit vault.”

Jaw slack, all she could do was stare at him. “He drew up his own will and just handed it over to you, without any legal advice or representation?”

Annoyance flashed quickly in his eyes, the humor gone now. “This isn’t Boston, Ms. Courtland. Folks trust each other here.”

She hadn’t meant to insult him, it was just so ..so preposterous. “Twenty-million dollars is a lot of trust by anyone’s standards, in any city. A man doesn’t just scribble away that kind of money in a hand-written will.”

“You didn’t know Digger very well, did you?” Sam said, his tone mocking.

“I told you, I never met the man.” She let the burn of his words pass, then lifted her chin. “But then, it appears that you didn’t know him so well yourself.”

“Perhaps.” He stood, regarded her carefully. “I’d say, Ms. Courtland, under the circumstances, that we both have a lot to learn.”

The reception for Digger was held in the banquet room of the Cactus Flat Hotel. Tables stretched from one end of the Spanish-style hall to the other; baskets and plates and pots filled with food had been supplied by the local ladies. The smell of fried chicken, barbecued ribs and Hattie Lamotts’s honeyed ham filled the air. Chocolate cakes, warm cookies and frosted brownies enticed even those with the strongest willpower to give in. Food was a means of bringing people together, whether sharing conversation, joy or tragedy. It fed the stomach, and the soul as well.

Sam watched Faith nibble on one of Savannah Stone’s Georgia-spiced chicken wings and decided it also fed another equally important aspect of the human species.

Lust.

Her perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth nipped delicately at the seasoned meat, then she daintily licked her passion-pink lips with the tip of her tongue. Sam might have groaned out loud if Jared, Jake and Dylan hadn’t been standing next to him, watching him like proverbial hawks since he’d walked into the hall with the glamorous Faith Courtland at his side. Annie, Savannah and Jessica had Faith surrounded at the moment, talking as if they’d known each other for years.

Sam had warned Faith that it might be better not to discuss exactly who she was with anyone else, or why she’d come to Cactus Flat. He’d also suggested that when she was asked, as she most certainly would be, she simply explain she was the niece of one of Digger’s old friends who’d been unable to attend. Faith had stiffened at his suggestion, in that prim little manner of hers, but had relented, agreeing that it might be best not to discuss Digger’s financial situation, or the reason for her visit, just yet.

Sam still didn’t believe it, of course. Digger Jones, owner of a multimillion-dollar company? Sure. Next thing he knew, Faith Courtland would be selling him beach-front in Abilene. Lord knows, he just might buy it, too. If she’d been in his arms one minute longer back there in the church, he’d have bought cow hats if she’d wanted him to.

He’d seen the flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat when he’d pulled her close, felt the sudden rise of heat from her smooth skin. And those soft, firm breasts pressed against his chest had him aching to the point of pain. He’d been close enough to kiss her—nearly had, in fact, until she’d pushed him away. And in spite of her indignant formality with him, he’d had the distinct feeling that she’d wanted him to kiss her.

Sam looked at her now, at her squared shoulders, her long, lovely neck held high with all the grace of royalty. It gave him extreme satisfaction to know that he’d rattled the cool Ms. Courtland’s cage, if only for a moment. He’d have to work on stretching that moment out. Like, an entire night. Or two, he thought with a smile. She’d be stuck here at least until Monday morning, when he could prove to her Digger’s “estate” consisted of little more than some restaurant equipment and mining supplies. Once she realized she’d made a mistake, she’d be on the next plane out of Midland Airport. A pity, he thought, his gaze skimming over the curve of her hips and long legs.

The ladies joined the men and Jake, almost as if he’d been reading Sam’s mind, asked Faith how long she’d be staying.

She slid her baby-blue eyes in Sam’s direction. “Actually, that depends on Sam. I wouldn’t want to impose, but my...uncle, being an old friend of Digger’s and unable to travel since his surgery, asked if I would take a few days and visit with those people who knew Digger well. He thought I might bring back a few stories.”

A few days? Sam lifted a brow as he held Faith’s gaze. She could be out of here before noon day after tomorrow. Why would she stay longer than that? Not that he minded, of course, but it just didn’t make any sense. This woman was getting harder to read by the moment.

“Come for Sunday dinner tomorrow night,” Savannah offered. “We’ve all got a story or two you can take back to your uncle. We’re about as close to family as Digger ever had.”

Though it was subtle, Sam noticed Faith’s hesitation, the tightening of her body, the imperceptible narrowing of her eyes. She’d been caught in her own web of fabrication, Sam thought, and that pristine sense of propriety of hers refused to let her turn down Savannah’s invitation. She had gotten herself into it, he thought with annoyance. He had no intention of bailing her out. More than likely, she was already imagining an evening that would be more boring than watching a tree grow.

Still, as she thanked Savannah, Sam heard a slight tremble in Faith’s voice that had him wondering.

“Couldn’t help but overhear you were looking to talk to some of Digger’s friends.” Irv Meyers, the deputy sheriff, strutted into the tight circle. “Digger and me were best buddies.”

Best buddies, my eye.

Sam frowned at the owl-faced man. “Was that before or after Digger chased you down the street with a baseball bat?” he asked.

Irv tugged defensively at the belt circling his thick waist. “I warned him plenty before I gave him that parking ticket. Digger knew that. He never held a grudge.”

Everyone laughed at that, causing Irv’s face to redden. Anyone who knew Digger at all, knew damn well he hadn’t spoken to Irv in two years.

“Thank you, Deputy Meyers.” Faith held out her hand and Irv nearly tripped over his feet as he took it. “I’ll be sure to call you.”

The list of Digger’s “best buddies” kept growing, much to Sam’s annoyance. With the word out—and the word did travel fast—that Faith wanted to talk to people about Digger, every unmarried male in town, not to mention a few married ones, suddenly had a story.

Sam was about to step in and break up the crowd when he felt a hand on his arm. Carol Sue, with her fiery red hair and seductive smile, held out a slice of chocolate cake.

“Thought you might like some sweets,” she said with a throaty whisper, batting her big green eyes at him, suggesting she was offering more than cake.

With a smile that came to Sam as automatically as a heartbeat, he took the cake and sniffed at it. “Umm. You always been a mind reader, Carol Sue?”

Her lips curved upward slowly, like a cat who’d just spied a mouse. “I bet I could guess what you’re thinking right now,” she purred.

He hoped not. Sam knew if the redhead had even an inkling that while he was accepting cake from her he was thinking about Faith Courtland’s luscious lips, he’d be washing chocolate frosting out of his hair for a week. “My thoughts might shock you, darling,” Sam said with a wicked gnn.

“Why don’t you call me later and we’ll see who shocks whom.” She walked away, waggling her fingers. When Sam turned back to the circle of men who’d surrounded Faith, he noticed she was gone.

Frowning, he set about looking for her in the hall—casually, of course—but she was nowhere to be seen. He strolled nonchalantly to the lobby of the hotel, wondering if she’d gone to the ladies’ room, when he spotted her sitting by herself outside in the covered courtyard.

She looked small in the oversized wicker chair. Her shoulders were hunched slightly forward, her eyes cast downward, her expression one of absolute despair. He had no idea what had prompted her sudden melancholy, but it appeared that she wanted to be left alone.

As he continued to watch her, despite his good sense and scruples, he couldn’t shake the lure of her vulnerability. There were two women here: one cool and distant, in control; the other crestfallen and weary. Both of them were extremely appealing.

The sadness in her eyes drew him to her. He sat beside her, and she immediately stiffened. He could see her struggle to compose herself. It was a battle hard-won.

“Tired?”

She started to shake her head, then smiled softly. “Maybe a little.”

He gave her a sly, half grin. “I’ve got just the thing.”

Her expression was guarded now, but curious. “And that is?”

“Chocolate ”

He leaned close, stabbing a big bite of cake along with a healthy dose of frosting and holding it to her lips. She eyed it like a penniless child outside a candy store, then put up a hand and shook her head.

He waved it under her nose, watched her stiff shoulders melt as she breathed in the exquisite fragrance. Her eyes closed halfway, as if she were floating on a sea of physical delight.

He’d only meant to comfort her, ease whatever mood had overcome her. But now, as he watched her willpower succumb to the rich scent of the chocolate, he knew he wanted this woman, wanted her under him, with that same expression, his name on her lips, her hands on his skin.

And when she gave in and opened her lips for a taste, then moaned softly, he thought he just might drop to his knees right there.

“Sinful,” she whispered, her voice filled with an ecstasy that had Sam grinding his back teeth.

He wanted to taste her—taste the chocolate mingling with her own warm, sensuous flavor—with a desperation that nearly brought a sweat to his brow. He eased back, shocked by the force of the need ripping through him, and angry with himself that just when he’d finally gotten this woman to let down her guard, if only a little, all he could think of was getting her into his bed.

“Sam.” She’d closed her eyes and the sound of his name, spoken so softly, rippled through him like a heatwave. “Can we go upstairs?”

This time he did break out in a sweat. Was she suggesting what he hoped she was suggesting? Damn. He would have brought the entire cake over if he’d known chocolate was the pass key.

“Uh, sure.”

“Do you have the key?”

Why would he have the key to her room? “Don’t you?”

She opened one eye, then the other and sat up straight Her brow knotted as she stared at him. “Why would I have a key to Digger’s room?”

Damn, damn, damn. That’s what she meant. “Oh, right. I can, uh, get the key from Jerome, the desk clerk.”

She watched him for a moment. “Did you think I was asking you up to my room?”

That cool tone was back now, the vulnerability and sadness gone; a fierce, accusatory look glinted in her eyes. “Mr. McCants, I’ll have you know I’m an engaged woman. And even if I weren’t, I don’t invite strange men up to my room.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her if she invited men she knew, but somehow he didn’t think she’d appreciate the humor. Damn. Engaged.

But not married. He stood and offered her a hand. “Is the ring on a layaway plan?”

Ignoring him, she rose and brushed past him. “It’s not quite official yet. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Just making conversation.” Grinning, he followed her. “So who’s the lucky guy?”

She stopped and turned so abruptly he nearly ran into her. “Let’s just get the room key and get this over with, all right?”

An elderly couple, Ed and Thelma Winters, walked by just then, and stared. Sam smiled at them and nodded. Faith blushed.

“Red’s a lovely color on you, Faith,” he whispered. “You should wear it more often.”

With a groan, she turned on her heels and walked to the front desk. He followed, cursed his bad luck and Faith Courtland’s not quite official fiancé, whoever the hell he was.

The two-room “suite,” as the desk clerk had called it, was no bigger than a closet, Faith thought as Sam opened the door and she stepped inside. Late-afternoon sun peeked through the blinds into the dark, stuffy room. The faint aroma of old cigars lingered in the stale air.

“No one’s been in here except Jerome since Digger disappeared.” Sam flipped up the blinds and opened a window. Light poured into the room, illuminating dust motes that scattered as the breeze rushed in carrying the scent of honeysuckle vine. He turned back to her, brushing off his hands. “Hardly the residence of a multi-millionaire.”

Yes, indeed, Faith agreed, glancing around. The furniture was sparse, nothing more than a simple blue couch and scarred coffee table, a fat easy chair, a large brown metal desk and mismatched chair. In the bedroom, a king-sized bed and small dresser. Simple was the only word to describe it.

She walked around, trying to imagine why he lived like this. He could have bought a villa in Spain. A chateau in France. An estate in Cape Cod. He could have lived anywhere he wanted, bought anything he wanted. Yet he chose to stay here in Cactus Flat, to work in a coffee shop, to mine for silver, and to live in a rented hotel room.

“You still think this is the same Digger Jones you’re looking for?” Sam asked, watching her as she walked back into the living room. He’d pulled off his suit jacket, tugged off his tie, and settled his long, muscular frame in the easy chair, slinging both arms over the back.

The I-told-you-so look in his eyes annoyed her, but then she was still smarting from his believing that she’d suggested they go to bed together. And they’d just met, for heaven’s sake!

The nerve of the man. The arrogance. So what if he was good-looking and had a certain...charm. That certainly didn’t mean a woman was going to drop her knickers if he crooked a finger.

But there was that woman at the reception, that redhead who had fawned all over Sam, batting her eyelashes and leaning up against him. And that blonde who’d come up to Savannah and asked where Sam was. She’d had a predatory look in her eyes, too. No wonder the man had a swelled head.

Forcing her mind back to the issue, Faith moved to the desk in the corner. Under a white tablecloth sat what appeared to be a computer—the only incongruous article in the modest room. She pulled the dusty cloth off the large monitor and turned to grin at Sam. “My, my. What have we here?”

The computer, and a monitor, were top-of-the-line, stateof-the-art equipment. A laser printer—color, no less—and also first-class, sat beside the computer. Sam’s eyebrows lifted and the surprise in his eyes gave Faith a certain sense of satisfaction. “There’s a fax, too,” she said somewhat smugly. “Now what do you think an old silver miner would want with all this equipment?”

“Games?” Sam rose and moved closer, peering down at the computer as if it were an alien spaceship.

“War games, maybe.” She pulled a pair of glasses out of her purse, slipped them on, then flipped on the computer and monitor. “This baby could launch a missile.”

The computer hummed and the monitor flashed a soft amber light. She entered her password, then pulled up the file labeled EJCORP. Sam stood behind her, watching as she pulled up file after file, accounts with suppliers, stats on the eastern chain of restaurants, profit-and-loss statements on the division that handled the frozen food division.

“This is the main office,” she explained, pulling up the Boston file. “Mr. Montgomery—Digger—had the entire company at his fingertips here.” She laughed softly. “I’d always imagined a large, elegant office somewhere, surrounded by rich woods, lush carpeting and silver paperweights.”

Frowning, Sam picked up a baseball-sized chunk of granite sitting on top of several thick manila file folders and stared at it. “Looks like he had a lot of people imagining wrong.”

She glanced up at him over her shoulder. She’d been so immersed in pulling up the files that she hadn’t realized how close he’d moved in behind her, that one hand rested on the back of her chair, brushing her shoulder. She forced herself to ignore the jolt of heat that shot through her body. “So you finally believe me?”

He shrugged, setting the rock back on the desk. “I’m not sure what I believe. I’ve known Digger Jones my entire life. As far back as I can remember he’s been mining silver, frying burgers and grilling steaks. Nobody could cook like that man. He makes—made—an apple cobbler that made you want to cry, it was so good. The only other cobbler I ever had that even came close was at—”

He stopped and Faith twisted around to face him, her lips slowly turning up at the corners. They said it at the same time. “Elijah Jane.”

Could it be? Digger Jones, hardened, crusty old miner and café owner, owner of a multimillion-dollar business?

Sam sat on the edge of the desk and dragged his hands through his hair. This was too incredible. Impossible. Sam looked up at Faith, who was watching him with a touch of amusement in her eyes. He thought her glasses made her look adorable.

“His apple cobbler was how it got started, actually. Almost thirty years ago.” She pressed one slender fingertip on a button and only the amber light remained on the screen. “Rumor had it Digger had a cousin in Boston, Leo Jenuski, who wanted to open a sandwich shop in the business district. Leo talked Digger into loaning him the money, then skipped out three months after he opened his doors. It was either forget the money, or come in and make it successful himself. Within six months, the shop was packed from opening to closing, with customers arguing over Digger’s apple cobbler.”

“Well, that much hasn’t changed.” He wondered if she had any idea how her eyes softened and voice deepened when she talked about Elijah Jane. Or how damn appealing he found it. “There’ve been fistfights at the Hungry Bear over that cobbler. I think I even started one or two.”

“Our competition would kill for that recipe. They’ve tried to infiltrate several times.” Intent, she leaned forward and whispered, “I’m one of only three people who know the entire recipe.”

He had to swallow the sudden lump in his throat at her closeness. Several strands of pale blond hair curled around her delicate face, and her soft blue eyes shone with mystery. He leaned in, nearly brushed his lips against her. “God, women in power really turn me on.”

“Jerk.” She pushed on his chest and shoved him back. When she started to stand, he laughed and took hold of her arms.

“Lighten up, Faith. I’m teasing. Now finish telling me what happened in Boston with Digger.”

With a sigh, she settled back, her demeanor subdued. “He left one day, supposedly on a trip to Texas. But he never came back. He gave all his recipes to Parnell Grayson, his manager, and told him to run the shop. Parnell was a brilliant businessman. Before long there were several sandwich shops, all successful. Then one year later, the first Elijah Jane Restaurant. Digger held onto ownership, managed the financial end from Texas, worked out new recipes and items for the menus, but he also gave Parnell exclusive control. The rest, as they say, is history.”

It was possible. He’d only been a kid at the time, but Sam remembered some talk about Digger living in Boston for a few months. “What happens now, with Digger gone?”

Faith shook her head. “No one really knows. Parnell is retiring as president, the board is in an upheaval and all new projects are being shelved for the time being. Until Digger’s death is official and his will is read, everything is on hold.”

“So the wolves are all waiting to see how Digger’s millions get split up,” he said tightly. “How much do you expect to get, Miss Courtland?”

“There’s a lot more at stake here than money, Mr. McCants.” Fire sparked in her cool blue eyes. “I’ve worked at Elijah Jane since I was sixteen. Weekends, nights, summer vacations. After I graduated, sixty-hour weeks were short hours for me. I’m the one who started the frozen food line, who brought advertising to TV, who personally opened ten restaurants in three states.”

Sam raised a brow. “You’re an ambitious woman, Faith. Or should I say Madam President?”

Her cheeks turned pink and that cute little chin of hers lifted. “I’ve worked for it, I was next in line. But only Digger had the power to appoint a new president. If the board votes, my chances are somewhere between slim and none.”

“If you’ve worked as hard as you say, earned the position, why wouldn’t they vote you in?”

The look she gave him was indulgent, and more than a little patronizing. “In case you haven’t noticed, and I do believe you have, I’m a woman, and I’m young. Even on a ranch, I’m sure that would be a disadvantage.”

Not for what he had in mind, Sam thought, but was smart enough to keep that thought to himself.

She was holding something back, playing some kind of game here. He was certain of it. He accepted that she thought him a country bumpkin, a cowboy who thought the term stock meant cattle and marketing meant buying groceries. He didn’t much give a damn what Faith Courtland thought about his business acumen, but he sure as hell didn’t like being made to look like a fool.

“None of this really answers why you’re here,” he said evenly. “Wills are legal documents. It would have made more sense if one of Elijah Jane’s lawyers had met with me. So tell me what made you, a busy woman with a lot of responsibility, decide to come all the way out here?”

She stared at the computer for a long moment, then sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Without a body, Digger can’t be declared legally dead until the State approves the petition. The company will be in chaos, the board will battle for control, stock prices will plummet. I intend to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

Evening had veiled the room in near darkness now. The light from the computer screen cast a golden glow on Faith’s soft features. Sam could see the exhaustion in her eyes, but there was an underlying determination. “And just how do you intend to do that, Miss Courtland?”

Determination overcame exhaustion as she leaned forward and looked up at him. “I intend to find Digger’s body.”