Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(44)

She realized as she went out that she’d only been half joking. And that she’d better shake that off.



* * *



After checking the time, Deuce walked back, past his father office, past his son’s assistant’s office where Jill clicked away at a keyboard, and into what had been the kitchen when he’d grown up in the house.

Now, transformed, it served as his son’s office, with a view of the backyard through the windows. Trey sat at a desk Collin had given him when Trey passed the bar. A desk from the manor’s attic, and one Trey had lovingly refinished himself.

Trey held up his index finger as he talked on the phone, so Deuce took a seat. As he did, the dog dozing beside the desk got up, stretched heroically, then walked over for a pet.

Even as he scratched the dog between the ears, he could see his mother at the old stove, stirring up oatmeal she claimed would stick to his ribs before he walked to school. See himself sitting with his father at the kitchen table having his first (legal) beer.

See himself and Collin sneaking cookies from the jar on the counter.

Now where the counter had been, a shelf held law books.

A good old house, he thought, and as a good old house should be, full of memories. It served a new purpose now, made new memories now, and had for nearly as long as his son had been alive.

And he was glad of it.

Trey hung up, puffed out a breath. “Heidi Gish got another speeding ticket.”

“Lead foot.”

“She wants to take it to court and sue the state trooper who clocked her doing ninety-four because, she claims, he was rude. She’s going to have her license suspended this time. She doesn’t want to hear it, or that, this time, it’s going to cost her more to try to fight it than to suck it up.

“Anyway. How’s your day going?”

“I just met with Sonya.”

“Right.” Trey looked at the time. “Forgot.”

“I can’t fault the way she’s handling this. But I find myself annoyed with my dead friend for not reaching out to her, talking her through it, answering her questions before he died.”

“He might have down the road. He had to think he had plenty of time left.”

“Did he?”

Trey sat back. “Dad. There’s nothing that says it was anything but an accident.”

“Nothing but hindsight. The last conversations we had.” Absently, he patted the dog’s head when Mookie laid it on his knee. “I told you, he’d bring her up, ask me to be sure to convince her to come, to take over the manor. He wasn’t sad, and I never thought suicidal, but he was … absent somehow. As if he’d already left. Still, I couldn’t convince him to contact her. He’d just smile, tell me he would when the time was right.”

“Which goes back to him thinking he had that time.”

Deuce just nodded. “Ah well. You’ll keep looking after her.”

“I wouldn’t call it that. I’m betting she wouldn’t like calling it that.”

“You’re right there. Just check in on her now and then.” He cupped the dog’s face, rubbed. “Take this one. She’s thinking about getting a dog. You should send her the information for where you got this mutt right here.”

“I can do that.”

“Good. I’ll let you get back to work.”

“Dad,” Trey said as his father rose. “She strikes me as a capable, self-reliant woman.”

“Yes. And she’ll need to be.”



* * *



Sonya’s phone rang just as she pulled up to the manor. She pulled it out as she parked, held her breath as she saw Anna Doyle on the ID.

“This is Sonya. Hi, Anna.”

“I was working, so I didn’t get to the phone. Then when I did, I had to look at everything, then look at it again. And again. I love it. I love it all. You’re a genius.”

Sonya let out the breath. “That’s true, but it’s always nice to have my genius recognized.”

“I want Option One—the whole package. I love the use of color, the streamlined style that still manages to be friendly. And! How it looks on my phone!”

Sonya shook a fist in the air, as she’d hoped for Option One. “Putting you on speaker so I can get the bags out of my car.”

“Oh, I can call you back.”

“No, that’s fine.” She hauled the bags out of the back seat of her car, juggled them and the phone while she dug for the house keys. “I need all the photos and descriptions to build the shopping pages, then the shopping cart. We need to finalize your bio and so on—that list I attached—and we’re ready to—”

She broke off as something drew her eye up. As on the first day, she saw a shadow at the window. She’d have sworn the curtain moved. Then she shifted a bag, and it was gone.

“Ready to?”

“Sorry, distracted.” Just the way the light hits the window at this angle, she decided, and walked to the portico.

“Ready to launch your social media.”

“Yeah, that’s my hitch.”

“I can get it up and running, and keep it updated for you. As long as you give me those updates. But you need that presence.”

She unlocked the door, dumped the bags.