The Man Must Marry(19)

"What about Rosebriar? Don't you want it?"

"We can build elsewhere on the estate," Jesse said. "Sam will probably be busy making caskets inMaine most of the time, anyway."

"Just as long as Warren Cobb and his damned grandsons are out of the picture," Sam growled.

"Have you met any of his grandsons?" Spencer asked.

"Yup. And if you thinkWarren 's bad, you should see them."

"He's got four, hasn't he?" Ben asked.

"Warrenhad six children," Spencer told them. "Four daughters and two   sons. And several grandchildren now. I don't remember the exact number."

"The old bastard didn't pine for Rose long," Jesse drawled.

"He married about four years after Bram did," Spencer said. "And he married money. That's how he got his start."

"Then I can't imagine them holding a grudge for sixty years."

"It was heated at first, until they both got busy building their   empires. It's only been minor skirmishes for the last thirty years."

"Then Willa shouldn't be in any danger," Jesse speculated.

"Don't bank on it," Spencer offered. "One of his grandsons, Barry Cobb,   is ten times worse than old man Warren. And he hopes to gain his   grandfather's favor. It would be my guess that most of the battles   Tidewater has fought lately have been because of Barry."

"But why? The feud's two generations removed from him."

"All of the children were raised on stories tainted withWarren 's   bitterness," Spencer explained. "Most of them could care less, but with   Barry, it took. He'd like nothing better than to bring down Bram's   company for his grandfather."

"So, now we know where to look for trouble," Sam said. "We keep Willa safe, and we keep a close eye on Barry Cobb."

"We'll do the watching, brother-you concentrate on wooing your bride.   Then you can start making a baby. Fifteen months isn't all that long,"   Ben said.                       
       
           



       

Sam gave his brother a challenging grin. "One million bucks says I get her pregnant within two months of our wedding."

Ben's eyebrows climbed into his hairline. "A million?"

"Each."

Jesse's eyebrows went the way of his brother's. "Pretty cock sure, aren't you?"

"Eleven months from the wedding, I'll consider accepting your christening gifts."

"You're on!" Jesse said. "One million each, to be set in trust for your   kid. One day past eleven months, though, and you set up trusts for our   future offspring."

"Fair enough."

"Deal."

"Deal."

Three hours of crying hadn't helped, and the laughter Willa heard coming   from the office only added to her anger. It had begun drifting up the   stairs two hours ago in increasingly boisterous waves. It was obvious   that those three pitiful excuses for grandsons were getting roaring   drunk. They'd put Abram in the ground not ten hours ago, and now they   were carrying on like uncivilized baboons. The ungrateful wretches.

Bram included.

The old goat had trapped her smartly. He'd known she wouldn't be able to   turn her back on a company full of people who depended on it for   survival. Just as he'd known she was too damned softhearted to let

Tidewater fall into the hands of a man whose lifelong ambition was to   make anyone named Sinclair suffer. If she married one of the grandsons,   it would become her name too, and her war. But if she walked away,   everyone suffered. Warren Cobb would destroy Tidewater. Jobs would be   lost. Sam and Ben and Jesse would have lost not only their grandfather   but their heritage. And if that happened, she would never be able to   live with herself.

She had spent the last three hours feeling sorry for herself, crying,   raging, and worrying. She'd packed twice and was now making her third   attempt to leave. This time, she'd actually reached the top of the   stairs.

Now she was sitting on them. Listening.

And crying again-but for a different reason.

The door to the office was closed, but she could still hear what was   going on inside. The laughter was interspersed with stories, outrageous   memories of three boys growing up in a home filled with love and plenty   of pranks.

Each tale began with "Do you remember when we" and ended in laughter.   Abram had been the butt of most of the boys' escapades, and of course,   he had retaliated, sometimes with well-deserved punishments, sometimes   with even more devious pranks. Abram's boys" were giving their own   eulogy as they came to terms with their grandfather's death.

That was why she was sitting there, undecided. She'd dearly love to get   to know Sam and Ben and Jesse better, to understand what made them  tick.  Not one of them had batted an eyelash when they'd learned Abram  was  leaving his entire fortune to her. They'd definitely been  surprised, but  they hadn't been outraged or hurled accusations at her  or threatened  reprisal. They'd simply accepted it.

As if they'd expected Abram to do something outrageous. As if they didn't care.

Abram actually expected her to marry one of them?

They scared her spitless. Not physically-even though she suspected each   of them had a formidable temper, she also knew they'd never use it   against a woman. No, what scared her was their fortitude, their   confidence, and their arrogance. All three of them overwhelmed her   without even trying. Their very ability to walk away from Tidewater and   start over left her speechless. Willa had realized years ago that she   was a little more clumsy than most people. About the only place she felt   confident was surrounded by the sea and her senior citizens. Take her   out of her element, and she turned klutzy. She'd embarrassed David so   many times in the three years they'd been married it was a wonder he   hadn't considered putting her out of her misery.

Most likely, he'd been waiting for her to do it herself.

And she almost had, the day she'd stopped by David's office and found a   red-headed bombshell missing some clothes sitting on his lap. Willa had   taken Jennifer's hand, turned and walked away, and

gotten into her car and driven off. At least she'd remembered to fasten   Jennifer's seat belt. Otherwise, her niece would likely be dead.

A normal woman would have screamed and torn that bimbo off her husband's   lap, then sued David for divorce, along with every dime she could get   from the slimy worm. Instead, she had maimed her innocent niece.

Recovering in the same hospital as Jennifer, only to walk out   eventually, had made Willa realize that her own children were better off   unborn. She'd been known to poison people with her cooking, she'd   broken more dishes than she could count, and she'd gotten into enough   mishaps as a child to gray her mother's hair prematurely.                       
       
           



       

She couldn't do it again. She couldn't marry a man and watch him grow   exasperated, then impatient, and eventually angry. Indifference would   follow shortly, and the marriage would finally die a bitter death. And   this time, with a man as good and strong as any of the Sinclair men,   Willa would die with it. She stood up finally and squared her shoulders   for the coming battle. She was leaving Rosebriar. Tonight. She was  going  home, locking all the doors, and keeping the world at bay. Maybe  next  week, she'd be able to think clearly enough to find a way to make  sure  Tidewater International remained intact and the grandsons got  their  rightful inheritance.

Yes. She would fix this mess or die trying.

Chapter Nine

Willa's nose woke upbefore her eyes did, to the pungent aroma of a   sour-mash distillery. She tried to wipe the odor away but couldn't seem   to move her hand. Nor could she feel her arms. Apparently, they didn't   want to wake up, either.

She finally forced her eyes open, only to snap them shut with a groan.   Oh, Lord, she was waking up in bed with the grandsons. Thank God she was   fully dressed.

Still, Willa was reluctant to open her eyes again and find out exactly   whose arm was pinning her down. And whose leg was thrown over her   thighs. No wonder most of her body was asleep; the man weighed a ton.

Oh, God, was it Sam?

The men had led her up to Abram's room, pulling her into the celebration   of their grandfather's life with drunken charm. Another bottle of   brandy had come upstairs with them, but she had refused to drink any,   still queasy from her previous night's scotch marathon.