The Man Must Marry(4)

better, he would figure, for one of his grandsons to marry? Willamina   seemed like a sympathetic creature, if a person could get past her   antics.

Although her chosen profession was … weird.

Well, hell. He guessed somebody had to build caskets.

But Bram was building his own. Sam still couldn't shake off that macabre vision.

"Do you need help checking in?" he asked when they pulled up to the Marriott.

"No, thank you. I'll be fine." She frowned down at her purse, then   started shoving everything back into it. "Will we all be going to dinner   tonight?"

"We'll pick you up at seven," Sam told her. He stepped out of the car   behind her and watched with wry amusement as Ronald handed her defeated   luggage to the porter, noticing some kind soul had wound it shut with   packing tape. The porter, bless his training, didn't even bat an eye   when he took it. Once Miss Kent was safely on her way, Sam climbed back   into the car and headed back to the office. Maybe he could salvage   something of this hellacious day-as well as do an Internet search for a   casket company inMaine .

As the elevator doors were closing back at the parking garage, Sam saw a   scrap of material caught in the door track. Shoving against the doors   to open them again, he reached down and retrieved what turned out to be  a  pair of iridescent lilac panties.

They were a little larger than he was used to.

With a smile of anticipation for the evening to come, Sam shoved them   into his pocket. It appeared the little partridge didn't always wear   brown.

Chapter Two

Willa dropped her ruinedbag onto the floor of her hotel room, only to   watch it break open and spill her laughable wardrobe onto the carpet.

What a mess. And not just her clothes, either, but the bigger mess she   was in-including what was sure to be the evening from hell. She was   going to have to sit through dinner facing three hostile men who likely   wanted to tar and feather her and put her on the first plane north.   After each one tried to charm her vote.

Damn Abram Sinclair. This was all his fault. She didn't belong here.   Those people in that boardroom today, and his grandsons, they were all   way out of her league. She was a small-town girl. The biggest business   decisions she made were what new designs she could carve into the covers   of her caskets. She had no business deciding who should head a   multibillion-dollar company. Willa moaned in frustration, kicked off her   shoes, collapsed onto the bed, and rubbed her forehead. She'd gotten a   pounding headache within minutes of sitting between those monstrous   props on the plane, and she still had the damned thing, only now it had   gone from pounding to splitting. Hell, even her hair hurt.                       
       
           



       

And her day was not over. Willa opened her eyes and squinted at her   watch. In four hours, there would be three angry men taking her to   dinner. Oh, they'd be civil enough, considering that each one wanted her   vote. They all would probably spread on the charm so thick she'd  likely  drown in it. Except maybe Sam Sinclair. He hadn't tried very  hard to  hide his feelings about the situation-or her. She didn't blame  him.  Abram had run away from home, hurting all three of his grandsons.  They  obviously loved the old man and needed to say good-bye to him.  Willa  understood both the grandsons'

points of view and Abram's; she also understood everyone's pain. To top   everything off, Sam clearly considered her a slap in the face. Abram  had  brought a stranger onto both the familial scene and the business  scene.  And not just a stranger but a klutz. Willa had never worn heels  in her  life and couldn't seem to get the hang of them. The ones she had  on  today had belonged to her mother. And she hated elevators. If the   boardroom hadn't been on the thirtieth floor, she would have walked up   the stairs-though thirty floors was a bit much. Then her luggage had   been eaten. And when she'd gone to the bathroom and gotten a look in the   mirror, she'd nearly screamed.

She'd laughed instead, until she cried. She'd come toManhattan , to a   high-powered meeting, looking like something her cat had dragged up from   the beach. No wonder everyone had been horrified to think she had the   tie-breaking vote. She'd been horrified herself.

Now she was simply scared.

And that was unnatural for her. She was twenty-nine years old and   considered herself fearless. She had confidence in her ability to read   situations and people. She made her own decisions. And even if those   decisions turned out to be wrong, she always stood by them.

That was why she was there, facing Abram's three grandsons. When the   wild-haired, sharp-eyed old man had appeared on her doorstep, asking to   rent her cottage, he'd stolen her heart with his disgraceful charm,   atavistic arrogance, and failing body. He'd told her bluntly that he'd   come toMaine to die and that he wanted to do it on his own terms. And   Willa, being a pushover for anything in need, had taken him in and given   him love and understanding-and her promise to come tell his grandsons   he was dying. She should have guessed they would be younger versions of   Abram. All three grandsons were gorgeous-tall, imposing, and downright   intimidating. Willa was sorely tempted to write her vote on a piece of   paper and leave it at the front desk, so when they came to pick her up   that evening, she would already be on a plane back toMaine . She  didn't  want to be near either of the losers when they realized the  results.

With more willpower than ambition, Willa forced herself to crawl off the   bed and strip out of the suit she'd borrowed from Maureen, one of her   senior employees. Rummaging around in the mess on the floor, Willa  found  the dress she'd bought for this trip. Shaking it out with a growl  of  disgust, she fished a hanger from the closet and hung the dress in  the  bathroom. Then she turned on the shower, hoping the wrinkles would  leave  the dress while she steamed the wrinkles out of herself.

"Where in hell did Bram find her?"

"InMaine ."

"Figures. What did she say? When's he coming home?"

"He's not," Sam said softly.

"Never?"

"He's dying, according to Ms.Kent ."

Sam sat quietly in the corner of the car, letting his statement sink in.   Jesse was sitting facing him, Ben beside him. All three were dressed  in  casual evening attire, on their way to pick up their dates for  dinner.  Willamina was Sam's date.

"He can't just run off and die on us," Jesse whispered. "Can he?"

"It seems he has. Ms.Kent said he's too proud for us to see him die."

"That's bullshit. The man literally brought us up. He's been more of a   father than a grandfather. He has no right to die without us," Ben said,   his fists clenched on his knees. "We'll get her to tell us where he  is,  and then we'll go get him. He belongs home."

"She won't betray him. I tried."

"Maybe you didn't try hard enough."

Sam gave his brothers a wry grin. "Don't underestimate Ms.Kent ,   gentlemen. She may look like a meek little partridge, but she won't   break her promise to Bram."

"We know he's inMaine . We'll track him down," Ben said.

Sam looked at his brothers' anxious faces in the soft interior lights of   the limo. "Do we really want to go against Bram's wishes?" he asked,   his voice betraying his reservations. "He's of sound mind; it's his body   that's failing him. And he doesn't want us to see that."                       
       
           



       

"Damn. I didn't realize he was sick. I thought we had more time," Jesse choked out, dropping his gaze to stare at his hands.

Ben wouldn't let go of his anger. "Why in hell couldn't he have just   faxed us his vote? The woman obviously doesn't know a spreadsheet from a   bedsheet."

Sam snorted. "Guess."

Both brothers blinked at him, then started cursing.

"Bram is still trying to marry us off from his deathbed!" Jesse snapped, shaking his head in disgust.

"Yes," Sam agreed. "That, and to prepare us." Sam cocked his head. "I'd guess that Ms. Kent has

fallen in love with Bram. Why else would she be doing this for him?"

"To land a rich husband," Ben spat out.

"That woman couldn't land a goldfish, much less a rich husband," Jesse said.

"Don't underestimate her." Sam looked at his brothers with haunted eyes.   "She owns a casket-manufacturing business. And she told me Bram's been   building his own casket."