He said her name again, but she was desperately trying to close her suitcase. The zipper was torn beyond use. "Help me," she pleaded, her face hidden by her hair, tears falling in splotches onto the suitcase.
Sam pulled off his belt, gently pushed her aside, and wrapped it around the overnight bag to cinch it closed. He picked it up and carried it out of the room. "Don't forget your purse."
She grabbed her large purse and went out ahead of him, all but running to the elevator. In silence, they rode down to the street, where Ronald was waiting. Sam gave him the suitcase and opened the back door for Willa, handing her in.
"Can I take your helicopter to the airport? I need to hurry, Sam."
"That won't be necessary."
"Is he at my cottage or in the hospital? Do you know?"
"He was at the hospital," he answered stonily.
Ronald got in and started them on their way. Sam turned to Willa and stared at her hands, which she was wringing.
"Willa-"
"His timing stinks. He was supposed to wait for me to get back," she whispered without looking up.
"That was the deal. If he wouldn't let the three of you be with him, he promised me I could." She looked
up suddenly. "No one should be alone, Sam. No matter what, Abram shouldn't be alone."
"He wasn't."
"He's made friends of my workers," she told him. "They'll stay with him until I get there."
"They did. Bram wasn't alone."
"You mean isn't ."
"Willa," Sam said, putting his arm over her shoulder, "Abram died early this morning."
Every drop of blood drained from her face as she looked up at him with wide eyes. Huge tears suddenly spilled down over her cheeks, then she snapped her head down and hid behind the curtain of her hair. With his own groan of agony, Sam pulled her to him, pressing her wet, hot face against his chest.
"I was supposed to be there. That was the deal," she cried into his shirt. "He promised ."
"Bram loved you, Willa. He wasn't about to let you see him die, any more than us, honey," Sam crooned hoarsely, rubbing her back. "He was a proud man."
"But he only knew me for six weeks. I'm a stranger to him. It was going to be okay for me to be there."
"I imagine Bram fell in love with you the moment he met you," Sam told her as he stared straight ahead, resting his chin on her hair. "No matter what you thought, he wouldn't have let you be there. It's almost as if he timed this."
She lifted her tear-soaked face, looking up at him with pained eyes. "What happened?"
"He had a heart attack yesterday afternoon, Spencer said."
"I know Spencer. He visited Abram several times."
"He's been Bram's lawyer for forty years. Spencer called this morning."
"He's inMaine ?"
"Yes. The doctor contacted him yesterday. Bram had left instructions with one of your workers."
"W-was Spencer there this morning? When … when … "
"Yes."
"Good."
She rested her head against Sam's chest and gave another harsh sob. He wrapped her tightly in his embrace, and they rode in silence. Finally, she spoke again without lifting her head. "I should probably see to the arrangements. He had things worked out with a local funeral home to prepare him to ship here. His casket's already there." She raised her head and looked at him. "I-I'd like to come back for the funeral."
"Everything's being taken care of, Willa. That's what Spencer is doing now. Bram will be here tomorrow morning. He'll lie in state at Rosebriar, then be buried in the family cemetery on the grounds, next to Rose and his sons."
"Oh." She tried to wriggle away from him.
Sam held her in place. "I'm taking you to Rosebriar now," he said, lifting her chin to look at him. "It's up inConnecticut ."
"I can stay at a nearby hotel."
"No. Bram wanted you at Rosebriar."
"I'm not family, and I don't belong there."
"Jesse, Ben, and I want you there."
She thought for a moment. "I could help set everything up."
"You're our guest, Willa. You just have to be there. For us and for Bram. We feel better knowing he had you these last few weeks, you've made his little odyssey easier for us to accept. You've helped us … understand."
"He reminded me of my own grandfather," she said, relaxing against him. "Pops was a character right to the end, just like Abram. Your grandfather flirted shamelessly with my help. And he spoiled my cat rotten, bossed me around endlessly, and stuck his nose in every aspect of my business."
"I'm glad."
The rest of the ride to Rosebriar was quiet, Willa sighing occasionally as she fought her tears. Sam knew that she and Bram had bonded in a simple, elemental way. They had probably perked up at the first sight of each other, assessing each other's mettle. Interest had come next, and shortly after, love had blossomed. That's how it had always been with Bram. Within an hour of meeting someone, either he liked them or he didn't. Sam guessed it hadn't taken the old wolf ten minutes with Willa. The first slip she had made probably endeared her to him; her second would have sealed it. Sam's hand suddenly stopped stroking up and down her back, to double-check what he was feeling. Nothing. He wasn't feeling anything.
He should be feeling a bra. Willamina Kent had forgotten an important piece of clothing this morning. At least, it should be important to her, if she didn't want to be kissed senseless again. Hoping she hadn't noticed his delightful discovery, Sam pulled her onto his lap and began rubbing her soothingly again. This time, he put enough pressure against her back to push her chest against his. Yup, the partridge was missing some underwear.
When they turned onto the Sinclair estate, Willa sat up with wide eyes. Sam was afraid he'd been discovered, but she was looking out the window. She turned to him, her face lit with surprise. "Wow."
"Bram's legacy."
"It's beautiful."
"Once you see all of it, you'll really meet the man you've been harboring for the last six weeks," Sam told her, shifting her on his lap a little more comfortably.
She smiled at him. "Your legs go to sleep?"
"I hate to disappoint you, Willa, but you're not fat," he told her dryly.
"I most certainly am."
"No, you're built like a woman."
Just right, upstairs and down. Her expression turned as thunderous as when she'd caught him laughing at her at the Marriott, which reminded him … "That was a very unladylike gesture you gave me last night," he said.
"What gesture?" she asked, her expression turning guileless. "When you were in the elevator?"
Sam nodded.
"Why, I was pointing at the cable above your car. It looked frayed. I feared for your life, Sam-I really did."
The only thing that saved her from getting kissed again was the fact that Ronald had stopped the car and was opening the door.
Holy smokes! She couldn't take much more of this roller coaster. Since she'd arrived inNew York , she'd laughed and cried and given Sam an obscene gesture. Her mother in heaven must be hiding in shame. Locking herself out of her hotel room had been the final indignity. She'd still been pounding on her door when one of the hotel staff had arrived with another key. Now here she was at Sam's home, about to attend the funeral of a man she'd loved briefly but dearly. Abram had touched her heart by laughing at her nunlike existence. He'd claimed she was hiding behind her elderly crew of workers and her dysfunctional cat and that wearing her guilt like a hair shirt wasn't contrition but blasphemy.
So, in what she was discovering was typical fashion, the old goat had thrown her right into the fire by sending her down to his grandsons. And she was afraid Abram wasn't through with her yet; she wouldn't be surprised if he left her one of his "boys" in his will. Well, she could handle that, as long as it wasn't arrogant, sexy-as-hell Samuel Sinclair.
Willa ran from the car, right into another Sinclair.
"Whoa, little partridge," Ben said with a laugh, steadying her by the shoulders. "What sent you bolting?"
He looked behind her. "Has Sam been threatening your life and limb?"
"I was just … " She looked up at Ben. "I'm so sorry," she said softly.