"Check my backside," she said quickly, twisting as if to look behind her. "I think I fell on some glass."
When he let her go so she could turn around, Willa bolted for the foyer. She came to a skidding stop in the doorway, utterly stunned to see Sam throw Richard against the wall, then grab him by the throat. Richard brought his knee up, and Sam barely deflected a blow to his groin. Richard swung his arms up to break the choking hold and took a swing at Sam's face.
A porcelain statue was knocked over when Richard slammed into a chair and it crashed into another table near the stairway. A picture fell off the wall. Grunts and flesh-bruising blows echoed throughout the grand foyer, accented by heated curses.
"Stop it! Now!" Willa shrieked.
She might as well have been screaming at two rocks. She flinched when Richard's fist connected with Sam's shoulder.
Sam was about the same height as her brother-in-law, but he definitely was the more powerful of the two. Richard, however, was probably more experienced.
When Richard took an obviously painful blow to his stomach, only to give a retaliating kick to Sam's knee, Willa grabbed the only remaining unbroken vase and pulled out the flowers. Just as Richard was about to take another swing, she threw the water, hitting him in the face. He halted in mid-swing, and Sam's fist connected with his jaw, dropping him into a heap on the floor.
"That was a dirty shot," Willa squeaked, horrified.
"But effective," Sam growled, taking a step toward her.
Willa took a step back.
"Get her the hell out of here," he said through gritted teeth, looking past her. Willa took another step back and bumped into Ben. "No. Wait. What about-"
"Not now," Ben said in a hushed voice, moving her toward the stairs. "Let him calm down."
Willa looked over the railing as she ascended to see that Sam hadn't moved, standing like a cat over his kill. Several of his shirt buttons were missing, exposing his broad, heaving chest. His fists were clenched at his sides, and every muscle in his body was taut, making him appear ready to deal a deathblow should Richard so much as move.
She looked over at Ben. "But-"
"Hush," he said as they reached the top of the staircase, putting a finger to her lips. "You go change into dry clothes and make sure you didn't get cut anywhere, and I'll help Sam clean up the mess downstairs."
Willa looked into Ben's hard eyes, which were in sharp contrast to the softness of his voice. "He's my brother-in-law. He drove Abram down fromMaine ."
"Sam and I heard you arguing as we came down the stairs, and then you screamed. It looked to us as if he was attacking you."
"Um … Richard was trying to argue, and I was trying to get away from him. He was accusing me of trying to talk my sister into divorcing him."
"Are you?"
"Well, yeah. But I don't know how Richard found out. I've been very careful."
"Why do you want her to divorce him?"
"Because he's a jerk."
"What's all the commotion?" Jesse asked, walking from the left wing of the house.
"Just a small misunderstanding," Ben said. He turned Willa toward the guest wing and gave her a nudge.
"Go change. We'll send Richard on his way. Come on, Jesse. Let's go help Sam clean up."
Willa silently walked to her bedroom as she heard the steel in Ben's voice again. She'd gotten off easy that day in the boardroom. The Sinclair men were just as ruthless as Abram had alluded to. But they'd been courteous to her and guarded, curious, and compassionate. Ben had been a good host on their shopping expedition yesterday, and despite the gloom hanging over the house, Jesse actually had her laughing last night with stories of their boyhood antics. And other than that kiss two nights ago at the hotel, Sam had been a gentleman with her.
Sort of. Most of the time.
Willa saw now what Abram had tried to explain to her without outright saying it. All three of his grandsons wore a thin veneer of civility. Sometimes it slipped though, as it had when Sam thought Richard was attacking her.
She had learned two very important things this morning. One, Sam Sinclair was not a man she ever wanted mad at her. And two, he had a positively gorgeous chest.
"Abram Sinclair, you old poop. You promised to wait for me to get back."
Sam stilled when he heard Willa's voice. He was sitting in a high-backed chair pulled around to face the window, his feet propped on the windowsill. It was a dismal day of hard late-May rain. A fire had been set in the hearth, and two lights had been lit over Abram, who was lying peacefully in his own wondrous creation of solid cherry wood and forest-green flannel bedding. Sam had been sitting in quiet contemplation, the casket across the room at his back, and he was able to see the entire room reflected in the rain-soaked window. Willa had come in carrying a huge bouquet of spring flowers she'd filched from the garden; she was also carrying a rag and what he suspected was wood wax.
"We had a deal," Willa continued. Sam watched in the window as she set down her flowers on a nearby table and walked up to Bram. "I promised to come here and do your dirty work, and you promised to let me be with you, come time. You tricked me, Abram. You planned it," she accused. Willa slowly reached out and feathered her fingers over Bram's cheek. Sam couldn't see her face, but
he'd bet she was smiling and crying at the same time.
Her voice proved him right. "You look damn good, Abram. I bet you left instructions with the undertaker to give you that smile, didn't you? Your grandsons are rascals," she told the old man, touching Bram's hair. "Right down to their arrogant smiles. Chips off your own block, aren't they?
"I'm sorry you had to come home with Richard as your escort, but your grandsons sent him packing. You should have seen Sam this morning, Abram. He was magnificent. He actually rescued me." She loosened Bram's tie. "I've never been rescued before in my life."
Sam had a pretty good idea that Willa didn't realize Bram had begun rescuing her the moment they met. It must be Sinclair fate to slay Willa's dragons-whatever they were. Sam knew she had them, and he knew Bram had recognized that fact immediately. He just wished his grandfather had left him a hint to exactly what they were.
Willa was dressed in worn jeans and an oversized sweatshirt this afternoon. Her hair was once again escaping its clip, waving in tendrils around her face, making her look like an angel who had come to help them through this time. Sam thanked God, and Abram, for her, as she was indeed making this easier-though he guessed she didn't realize it.
"Your casket looks good," she continued, opening the can of wax. "Except maybe that ship. I told you to let me transfer my sketch to the wood, instead of your trying to copy it freehand. Your cargo ship is listing, Abram."
Sam silently chuckled to himself.
"I like your rose, though. You did a great job putting it on your foot cover. I can't believe the inscription, though. You added that when I wasn't watching."
Sam heard Willa snort. "Been there. Done that. Had fun, " she read aloud. "Hope to come back and do it again. "
Sam held in his own chuckle. All three brothers had had a good laugh when they'd read Bram's little epitaph. And not one of them would put it past the old man to come back and haunt them.
"If you do come back, Abram, it'll likely be as a goat," Willa scolded. "Just so you can keep butting into people's business, like you have mine."
She began polishing Bram's casket, working industriously. "What could you have been thinking, sending me down here?" She stopped and pointed her rag at him. "Your grandsons are first-class rogues, Abram. And I don't care if Sam's kisses do curl my toes, either," she hissed. Sam smiled. Curled her toes, had he?
"I'm on to you, Abram. You've got something up your sleeve, I can feel it. But I'm telling you right now, I'm not going to be part of whatever it is. And I don't care what you think; I'm not ever getting married again. I can't, and you know it. You said you understood."