The Man Must Marry(14)

She was polishing the wood so hard Sam expected it to start smoking.

"I can't ever have children," she blurted. "I explained that to you. And   you laughed at me," she finished on a whisper, dropping her forehead   onto Bram's chest with a sob. Bram had laughed at her despair? That   wasn't like him at all. If he'd scoffed at whatever she'd told him, it   was because Bram considered it baseless.

Another mystery. Or a dragon to slay? A letter would have been nice.   Just a note explaining what this dragon looked like, as well as how   formidable it might be.

"Oh, Abram. What have you done to me?" Willa cried.

Bram had definitely done something that was going to cause them all a   world of trouble. Sam could feel it just as surely as Willa could. The   ball would likely drop when the will was read in two days, after the   funeral. Knowing Bram, that's where he'd stage his final farewell to   them all. He'd better get Spencer aside and find out what was in that   will before it was read to anyone. He had an ominous feeling that Willa   might go into shock when she discovered Bram's ultimate plan. He had no   doubt Abram Sinclair hadn't gone to his grave peacefully. The old man   would be fighting the whole way, as he had his whole life, to win.

And Willa, Sam was beginning to fear, was the prize.

At the sound of someone else entering the room, he looked back into the   window's reflection. Spencer was saving him the trouble of hunting him   down. The aging lawyer walked up to Willa and gathered her in his arms,   rocking her tenderly.

Another man who had fallen for the angel's charm.

"I'm sorry, Willa," Spencer crooned. "I know how much you cared for Bram."

"Yes," she said.

"I also know you wanted to be there for him."

"It's almost like he planned this, Spencer."

"He probably did," Spencer agreed, setting her away. "But he told me to   ask your forgiveness. You've been so kind to him these last six weeks.   Will you forgive the old man his scheming?"

"Maybe," she whispered, looking at Bram as she wiped her eyes. "I just didn't want him to be alone."                       
       
           



       

"He wasn't. I was with him."

"How come Richard brought him home? Why not you?"

"I had urgent duties to see to back here."

"For another client?"

"No, Bram's been my only client for years now. The casket's beautiful," Spencer said, running his hand over the shining wood.

"Thanks to my crew," Willa said with a snort, taking a swipe with her   rag. "Abram was about as talented at working with wood as I am at   cooking."

"That bad, huh?" Spencer teased. "Bram told me about some of your meals."

"Maybe someday I'll be rich enough to hire a cook," Willa said with a   smile in her voice. "Abram said he certainly hoped so, if I didn't   poison myself first."

"I'd say you'll probably realize that dream."

At that foreboding omen, Sam stood and walked over to the casket. Willa   gave a startled gasp. "How long have you been sitting there?" she   demanded, her face turning red.

"A couple of hours." He turned to Spencer. "I need to speak with you. Now."

"Certainly," the lawyer agreed, his neck reddening and his eyes going   guiltily to Bram. "Shall we go into the office?" he asked, refusing to   look at either of them as he turned and hastily walked out of the room.

"You jerk!" Willa hissed before Sam could follow. "You were eavesdropping!"

"I was sitting quietly, contemplating fate."

"You could have coughed or something, to let me know you were here."

"I suppose I could have."

She looked as if she wanted to hit him but contented herself with a   glare. Sam captured her face in his hands, kissed her right on her   startled mouth, and walked out of the room.

Chapter Six

"Why the green flannel?"

"Because it's warm and comfortable. Because Maureen, one of my workers,   told Abram it went well with his hair," Willa explained, her cheeks   dimpled with a mischievous smile. She reached forward and gently mussed   Bram's hair. "There, that's better. Now he looks more like himself,   don't you think?" she asked Jesse, who was loosening Bram's tie while he   unconsciously pulled at his own.

"Yeah. That's Granddad, all right."

"It was the first thing I noticed about him," Willa told the three   brothers, all four of them dressed to greet the guests who would soon be   arriving to pay their respects. "When I opened my door, Abram was   standing on my porch with my For Rent sign in his hand, his hair looking   like he had just come through a hurricane."

Sam was standing to the side, out of sight of Willa's killer glares. She   hadn't forgiven him for eavesdropping that afternoon, but he was more   amused than repentant. It had been an enlightening deception.

"The casket's really beautiful," Ben said, tugging on his grandfather's collar. "Bram did a fine job."

"I like the sketch on the inside of the cover," Jesse added, undoing the top button of Bram's collar. "Did he draw it?"

"Sort of. He copied one of my sketches," Willa explained. "Levi designs   the caskets, and I sketch scenes to be carved into them. The craftsmen   do the woodwork, and the women install the lining."

"You're an artist," Ben observed.

"Not formally. I just like to draw. I especially like working up custom   orders with clients. You'd be surprised how happy people are to know   exactly how their bodies will be spending eternity."

"While his soul is haunting Rosebriar," Jesse exclaimed, ghoulishly   raising his hands at Willa, then smiling at Sam. "Trying to protect his   home."

"Rosebriar can weather anything," Sam returned, smiling over the top of   Willa's head when she wouldn't turn toward him. Yup, she was still in a   snit.

At least she was wearing flats this evening, probably at Ben's   insistence on their shopping expedition. His brother also must have   picked out the dress. Willa actually looked put together. Maybe even   stunning.

The dress was appropriately black, with simple, sleek lines that   accented her curves very nicely. The only adornment she wore was a small   cameo Sam recognized as having belonged to Grammy Rose. Bram must have   given it to her, which was telling.

The old wolf had chosen a new Sinclair bride.

But would that bride walk down the aisle of a church willingly, or would she have to be dragged down kicking and screaming?

Sam had finally coerced Spencer into showing him the will. Tomorrow   afternoon, after the funeral, the will would be read to one and all.   That was when the roof was likely to come off Rosebriar, because if his   brothers didn't raise it, Willa certainly would.                       
       
           



       

After reading Bram's last will and testament, Sam had sat in stunned   silence for more than two hours, marveling at the mind of the   eighty-five-year-old man. He hoped he was still that sharp when he was   that old-assuming he lived through tomorrow.

"People will be arriving soon," Willa said, breaking into Sam's thoughts. "I think I'll go see how Peg's doing."

"Peg's been our housekeeper for twenty years," Jesse said, grabbing her arm before she could escape.

"Believe me, the woman has entertained more people than the pope has."

"But she's taken Abram's passing hard," Willa said, "and I don't know   anyone who'll be here tonight. I'm better off in the kitchen."

"All of the board members will be here," Sam told her with ill-concealed delight. "Don't you want to see them?"

She shot him a glare. "Not particularly."

"If you wish to be helpful, you won't abandon us," Ben said with a ridiculous pout. "We need your support."

Willa tried to stifle a snort as she looked at Ben. "And to think, I was going to choose you to be CEO."

Emerson entered the den to announce the first arrival. Sam caught   Willa's elbow and escorted her to the foyer, ignoring her tugs for   freedom. Ben and Jesse moved to flank them, making it impossible for her   to escape.

"Emerson looks as if he just stepped out of an old Gothic novel," Willa   observed, watching the butler take coats and hats and umbrellas. "He   looks older than Abram."

"He was sixty-one his last birthday."