Midnight Son
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Barbara Dunlop
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11
One
“You’ll just have to learn how to be rich, Sophie,” my friend Tasha Gillen stated as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
We were standing on the breezy deck of a house for sale just north of Seattle. The bright blue Pacific Ocean spread out in front of us, edged by a steep slope of jagged rocks. The deck held a cozy cluster of rattan furniture with burgundy cushions, slatted teak side tables and a brick barbecue nook. Behind us, a high wall of glass fronted a lavish great room.
“What would I even do with six bathrooms?” I was single and feeling that singleness more and more each day.
Last year, my three closest girlfriends had been single right along with me. But they weren’t anymore, none of them, and it was hard not to feel abandoned.
“You don’t need to use them all at once,” she said, her tone telling me I was being obstinate.
It wasn’t on purpose, but she wasn’t wrong about my attitude. “I can’t see myself rotating through them.”
“You’re going to have guests, Sophie.”
“Who? All my best friends have new lives.”
Tasha, Layla and Brooklyn had all fallen in love, gotten married and relocated away from Seattle.
“You’re playing the sympathy card?” Tasha chided.
“A little,” I admitted.
Deep down, I was happy for my friends. I truly was. But they’d always been my support system, and my life had taken a very odd turn. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was scrambling to catch up.
I’d helped create a new technology last summer. Called Sweet Tech, it produced fancy desserts for high-end restaurants. It was very successful—far more successful than any of the creators had ever imagined.
With the help of Tasha’s husband, Jamie, we’d sold the patent to a Japanese company for a whole lot of money. The deal included royalties, which meant the checks just kept coming and coming. Having all that money turned out to be trickier than I’d expected.
“Poor little rich girl?” Tasha asked with a lilting laugh to her voice.
“Yes,” I said.
She’d hit the nail on the head.
“I’m all alone,” I complained. “I’m at loose ends. I’m bored.”
I didn’t have a job. I didn’t feel productive. I didn’t have any reason to go anywhere or do anything, and that was more than a little unsettling.
Tasha turned to gaze at the house again. “This would be a great place to be alone and bored. It’s stunning.”
I turned to take it in again. “I find it daunting.”
“Don’t be such a chicken.”
“I’m not afraid of it.” I wasn’t—at least not exactly.
“You’re intimidated by it,” she said, and she was right.
“How would I even keep it clean?” Doing the floors alone would take an entire day.
“Sophie, you get people for that.”
I laughed at the thought of getting “people.” I mean, there was embracing the wealth, and then there was going full-on pretentious about it.
“You really do suck at being rich,” Tasha said.
“Yeah? Well, it sounds like you’ve gone completely over to the dark side.”
Tasha and her economist husband, Jamie, had tapped into some genius-like investment abilities and were making a ton of money in the stock market.
“I never said I had people,” she said.
“You have people,” I countered, certain of it.
She’d tossed the idea out way too casually to not be doing it herself.
“Okay, I have a couple of people. The point is you can afford a nice house like this. You can afford to live on the waterfront. I know you love the waterfront.”
“I do.” I did. And this house was pretty much my dream.
“You can do whatever you want now, Sophie. You should do it.”
“But what is it?” I didn’t quite keep the desperation out of my voice.
Sure, I could do whatever I wanted. Trouble was, I hadn’t figured out what that was. And I’d tried pretty hard.
I’d donated to charity. Because if you had any kind of a soul at all, that’s the first thing you did with an influx of unexpected money. Our local literacy organization, the hospital and the animal shelter were grateful for my support. They’d sent me thank-you letters and toasted me at parties.
But it wasn’t a day-to-day gig. They didn’t need me to help run things. And even if they did, I didn’t have expertise in health care or teaching or animal care for that matter. I hadn’t even had a pet since I was six and my bunny, Snuggles, died.
It was just me and my mom while I was growing up, and her job as a nurse didn’t pay all that much. That meant we rented. She told me apartments were a lot easier to find if you didn’t have a pet. So, Snuggles was my first and last pet.
“You’re not going to find a small house on the waterfront,” Tasha injected into our paused conversation. “The property is way too valuable.”
Our house-hunting efforts had definitely proved that correct.
This was the tenth waterfront house we’d toured this week, and it was a showplace like all the rest. But I had to admit I really loved this one, even if I would have to draw myself a map to keep from getting lost between the master bedroom and the kitchen.
It was hard to wrap my head around the fact that I could buy it on a whim—just whip out the old checkbook and write down a number with a whole lot of zeros from a bank account with even more zeros.
“Maybe I could live in the garage suite,” I said. “Rent the rest of it out to a family with five kids.”
Tasha spread her arms. “And give up the deck?”
“I do love this deck.”
Anybody would love this deck. It ran for sixty feet in three sections across the front of the living room, dining room, den and the master bedroom. Beneath it, on the lower floor, a giant games room opened to a patio with a pool and hot tub. You’d get shade down there on hot summer days, plus privacy.
“The place comes furnished,” Tasha said.
I wasn’t sure if that was a plus or a minus. “I already have furniture.”
“You have a sofa, a kitchen table and a bed.”
“It’s a great sofa.”
I thought about my comfy leather sofa—how long I’d saved up for it, how I’d thought such a fine and expensive piece of furniture would last me for decades.
That was one of the things about unexpected money. It obliterated most of your previous life efforts. I could buy ten leather sofas now, or a hundred leather sofas. Or I could just move into a place like this where a professional decorator had coordinated the sofas, armchairs, tables and everything else.
“Can you see yourself living here?” Tasha asked. “That’s the real question. Does rich Sophie see herself sipping morning coffee on the deck or curled up in front of the stone fireplace reading a book?”
I could see that. Trouble was I couldn’t see anything else. I couldn’t just read and drink coffee for the rest of my life.
“I thought about park beautification,” I said.
“Excuse me?” Tasha was clearly confused by my swing in topics.
I tried to explain. “After the charities, I thought about getting involved in the community. City beautification is a big thing right now. It turns out I can adopt a park.”
“Or you could buy a house,” Tasha said.
“And just stand around inside it all day long?”
“It’s a house, Sophie. You do the same things as you do in your apartment right now, only better, bigger, more beautiful and very comfortable.”
“You like gardening more than I do,” I said, casting my mind back to the park adoption website. “I’m really not crazy about gardening.”
I did enjoy being in gardens. They were beautiful and they smelled so nice. But I didn’t particularly like digging around in the dirt. I didn’t see the appeal of that.
Tasha glanced over her shoulder at what served as the house’s yard. “Those rocks down there look pretty low maintenance to me.”
“I meant in the park.”
“Why are we still talking about a park?”
“Because buying a house is the easy part. I’m thinking about what else rich people do. Now that I think of it, you should get involved in city beautification. You’re the gardener. And you have time on your hands. You’d like the park thing.”
“I’d also like the library thing.”
That made sense since Tasha had a degree in library science.
“I joined the library board,” she said.
“Really?” I don’t know why it surprised me. It was a perfect fit.
“We’re starting an outreach literacy enrichment program into elementary schools,” she said.
“See, I need to find something like that.”
“You will. You’ll get the hang of being rich.”
“Maybe,” I said. I wasn’t convinced. “I’ve got all this money.”
Tasha smiled. “So, buy a house. Buy this house. I can tell you love it.”
It was true. I did love it. Its size made me twitchy, but I found I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay right here and enjoy it. I supposed that meant I should.
“And then what?” I asked.
Tasha shook her head in sympathy. She looped her arm around me and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “It’s too bad you don’t have a few impoverished relatives.”
“So, they could come and live with me in this big place?” I said it as a joke. But I wasn’t joking.
If I had any family, I’d definitely help them out somehow. It would be great if I had siblings or cousins, or maybe some nieces and nephews who needed a good college education.
But my mom had been adopted and an only child. Her parents were dead now, and she hadn’t known anything about her birth history or her adoptive parents’ extended family.
On my dad’s side, well, she’d told me he was a one-night stand. She’d been pretty up-front about it. He was a married pilot with the Australian Air Force.
They’d met at a hospital in Germany, where she was on a six-week assignment. He’d flown relief supplies for the UN in Bosnia and had suffered a head wound when his plane came under fire, and he was forced to crash land. His copilot hadn’t been so lucky and had died.
My biological father had been far away from home, injured and despondent. My mom had comforted him in his grief. They’d spent a weekend together that she swore she never regretted—especially because it gave her me.
“Have you ever looked?” Tasha asked.
I struggled to remember the conversation thread. “Looked for what?”
“Your family.”
“I really don’t think there’s anyone out there to find.”
I had absolutely no intention of messing up my biological father’s life.
Still, for a moment I pictured myself as an amateur sleuth digging into my heritage. Come to think of it, sleuthing might be fun. Maybe my rich future was in solving mysteries. I could set up a command centre in the games room. There was plenty of space down there.
“Go to one of those family history websites,” Tasha said. “Take a DNA test.”
It took me about half a second to decide it was a good idea.
“No harm in finding out,” she continued. “If they look dangerous, you don’t have to contact them.”
I felt a surge of excitement. But behind it came a healthy dose of reality. Something like a fifth cousin twice removed—which was who I’d most likely find—wasn’t exactly close family.
Still...
I was on a plane to Alaska—Anchorage to be precise. I was in first class because Tasha told me that’s what rich people did. At first, she’d told me rich people would charter a private jet.
Seriously? First class was perfectly fine, thank you very much.
It was more than perfectly fine. It was champagne and orange juice, white linens, hot towels, delicate croissants with apricot jam and feeling guilty about the people squished into the coach seats fine.
It had turned out I had a first cousin, well a likely first cousin. We were a 13 percent DNA match. According to the website, that was very significant. His name was Mason Cambridge. He was thirty-five years old, born in Alaska, and he worked for an Anchorage-based company called Kodiak Communications.
I’d looked him up and found a few photos. He didn’t have much of a social media presence, although the local newspapers had a few articles about him attending civic events. I was guessing it didn’t take all that much to gain notoriety in a place like Alaska.
I’d found his physical address, but no phone number or email.
I knew I could probably track him down through Kodiak Communications, but I’d decided I wanted to meet him in person.
If he was going to send me packing, I’d rather have a short face-to-face conversation with my only known relative. Better that than a cryptic email or phone call brushing me off.
I knew I was taking the chance of being disappointed, of wasting a long trip. But it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of other things to do with my time.
The purchase agreement on the new house wouldn’t clear escrow for a few more days. And Tasha was back in LA now.
I might as well have an adventure.
As the plane started its descent, I was feeling sufficiently full, sufficiently pampered and more than sufficiently nervous about showing up unannounced at Mason Cambridge’s house.
I rented a car at the airport and discovered Anchorage was a whole lot bigger than I’d expected—with a towering downtown, sprawling suburbs, plus green spaces and mountain vistas. If it wasn’t for the GPS, I’d have gotten lost in the maze of streets.
The route eventually took me south of the city and soon the houses disappeared. Trees closed in from the hillsides to the east. From the west, waves from the inlet lapped the shore.
I saw a fox in the grass beside the highway. Then I saw a moose. When I saw two bears cross the road in front of me, I nearly pulled a U-turn and headed back to the airport. There wasn’t much traffic on the stretch of road, and I had a momentary vision of breaking down and having the little SUV attacked by rogue grizzlies.
But then I came to a gravel road, and the GPS told me to turn. I was grateful the rental clerk had given me a four-wheel drive.
The road was smooth enough, considering it was gravel. But it was a winding climb through towering spruce, fir and birch trees. I started to picture Mason Cambridge as a mountain man with a grizzled beard and buckskin clothing.
He hadn’t looked that way in the two newspaper photos. But maybe he dressed up to go to town. It was possible he spent most of his life traipsing around in the bush, only shaving and showering for monthly forays into Anchorage for supplies—I was guessing maybe beans, bacon and hardtack.
Then I crested the hill and came out of the trees. The gravel road ended and turned to smooth pavement.
I was surprised, shocked really, to see an expansive lush lawn dotted with tidy flower beds and sculpted shrubs. The odd pine tree rose around the edges, blending with the surrounding forest.
In the middle of the yard was a house so big it took my breath away.
Made of huge, polished logs with towering windows, peaked roofs and impressive stonework, it sprawled across the lawn two stories high, stretching out in two separate wings. It looked like a five-star hotel. In fact, I wondered if it was a five-star hotel. There were no fewer than ten vehicles parked out front.
I pulled in and parked at the end of the row.
It was possible Mason Cambridge lived in a hotel. It was odd, but definitely possible.
I set the brake and shut off the SUV.
I slung my purse over my shoulder and opened the driver’s door, stepping outside.
There was a chill in the fresh-smelling air. A breeze caught me, blowing my hair into my face. I wished I’d thought to put it in a ponytail or a braid. It was too long to be loose in wind like this.
As a temporary fix, I raked it back and held it at the base of my neck as I crossed the parking lot.
I had to fight the feeling I didn’t belong here. The place had a hushed air about it that didn’t invite random interlopers. If I had to guess, I’d say it catered to the very rich and the very privileged.
I might have money in the bank now, but I couldn’t pull off rich and privileged. My jeans were from a department store, and my purse had been on sale for twenty dollars. I didn’t even want to think about my ankle boots. They were scuffed brown leather with low blocky heels. They’d seen a lot of miles. But I’d expected to need practical footwear in Alaska.
I owned my fair share of high-heeled pumps and sandals, but they were all back in my apartment in Seattle.
The place seemed to grow bigger as I got closer. The porch was at least thirty feet wide, five steps up leading up to an oversize set of wooden double doors.
I climbed the stairs and stared at the doors for a minute, wondering if I should knock or just walk in.
If it was a hotel lobby, nobody would hear a knock.
If it was a private home, it would be insufferably rude and probably illegal to just walk right in.
I thought about it and decided if it was a private home, the door would be locked.
That made sense.
I liked the analysis.
Conversely, if the door was unlocked, it was a hotel lobby.
I pressed my thumb on the latch.
It gave.
I pushed a little, and the door swung easily open to the entry. Beamed ceilings soared out over a beautifully appointed lobby.
I stepped inside. Beyond the entrance and beyond several groupings of cream-colored leather furniture, I took in a wall of glass that revealed amazing views. To the west, I could see over the cliffs and down to the ocean. South and east, a grassy meadow stretched for what looked like miles. I saw a fence line and squinted closer to eye brown animals dotting the grass.
“Can I help you with something?” The voice was deeply masculine.
“Yes,” I said, giving myself a shake and closing the door behind me.
When I met his gaze, my heart took a funny beat and my lungs suddenly tightened in my chest.
He took a few steps toward me, looking like a jungle cat, all smooth motion and fluid limbs, with an arresting stare that was assessing me as—I don’t know—prey?
He was darkly handsome with tousled hair, intense blue eyes, a Mediterranean tan and a whisker shadow covering his square chin. Tall, with broad shoulders and a confident stance, he was everything a woman might expect if looking for perfection.
His brow rose in a question. “Help you with...?”
“I...uh...”
He waited, while I felt more awkward by the second. I mean, it was maybe seven or eight seconds altogether, but they sure seemed long.
“I’m looking for Mason Cambridge,” I finally said.
“Is Mason expecting you?”
“No. Is he here?”
“Not at the moment.”
“But he lives here.” I looked around again.
Mason Cambridge had to be very wealthy to live in a hotel like this.
It didn’t seem like he was going to need my money for anything.
That was a small disappointment, but he was too old for college anyway. So, I couldn’t have sponsored him in that.
“This is the Cambridge house,” the man said.
It took a second for his words to sink in.
I felt a rush of mortification. “This isn’t a hotel?” Oh, man. I’d just walked right on into a private home.
“Are you looking for a hotel?” the man asked.
“I’m looking for Mason Cambridge. I didn’t mean to walk in on you. I thought...” I was looking around again and realizing this didn’t really look like a hotel lobby. There was no check-in desk, no reception or bell staff anywhere.
“What do you want with Mason?” the man asked.
I wasn’t about to explain myself to a stranger. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“None of your business.”
Neither of us were about to win any etiquette awards here. But I was entitled to my privacy, and I had a legitimate purpose in looking for Mason.
“If you met him at a bar—”
“I did not meet him at a bar.” I knew who was losing the etiquette battle with that crack.
“At a party?” the man asked.
“Why does your mind immediately go there?” I challenged.
He looked me up and down. His expression told me he liked what he saw. He didn’t even try to hide it.
Wow. No manners whatsoever.
“Because you’re his type,” the man said.
“I’m not his type.” I paused. “At least... I mean... I’ve never met him.”
The man gave a calculating smile.
“What?” I asked, puzzled.
“I’m glad to hear he doesn’t have dibs.” There was a glow of appreciation in his eyes.
“Seriously?”
He thought he could flirt with me?
He shrugged. “So, shoot me.”
“Would you please just tell me what time Mason will be back? I’ll go away and try this again later. I’ll knock next time, I promise.”
The man’s smile widened. He was enjoying my embarrassment. “Sometime later today.”
“Fine,” I said.
“Where are you staying?”
The question took me aback.
“In case Mason wants to call you. You don’t strike me as an Alaskan. I’m Nathaniel Stone, by the way.”
“Sophie Crush. I’m not an Alaskan.”
“Are you staying at the Tidal, the Mountainside?”
“I haven’t decided.” I supposed I could have made a hotel reservation before I left Seattle. But I hadn’t considered that Anchorage would be such a hotbed of tourism that I couldn’t find a place once I got here.
“Then I’d recommend the Tidal. Or if you’re on a budget, the Pine Bird is nice.”
I choked back a laugh at that, thinking about my recent conversations with Tasha. No, I wasn’t on a budget.
“Something funny?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Not at all.”
“Random laughter? I’d feel obligated to warn Mason if you’re...pulling some kind of prank...”
“I’m not...pulling some kind of prank. And I’m not on a budget. I’ll try the Tidal.”
“Good choice. What do you want me to tell Mason?”
It was a fair question. I tried to frame something innocuous to say. But then the door opened behind me, and Nathaniel’s focus moved there.
“Oh, good,” he said to whoever had entered. “You’re early. Mason, Sophie Crush is here to see you.”
My stomach fluttered in anticipation. I took a swift bracing breath and turned to find another fit, good-looking man standing in the doorway.
“Hel...lo,” he said, drawing out the word like it was a compliment.
“She won’t tell me what she wants,” Nathaniel said.
Mason gave a carefree grin. “I don’t care what she wants.” His gaze met my eyes. “The answer is yes.”
I knew I had to nip this flirtatious thing in the bud. If I didn’t, we were both going to be very embarrassed.
So I just came out with it. “I’m your cousin.”
Mason’s expression froze.
“What?” Nathaniel asked from behind me.
After my revelation, they hustled me into a private room.
I presumed it was the den, since most of the small mansions I’d viewed had dens. They tended to be decorated with bookshelves, writing tables and oversize chairs, with warm light that beamed against gleaming wood-paneled walls.
This one was no different, and Mason closed its door behind the three of us.
The ceiling was lower than in the great room—it was twelve feet high instead of twenty-four. I sat down in an armchair facing a set of windows that overlooked the pretty front yard and the forest beyond.
Outside, everything was fresh and green. The air was crystal clear, the sky blue with a few wispy clouds. I didn’t see any more wildlife scampering around the lawn, but it felt like something interesting could emerge from the forest at any moment. Alaska felt surreal—like I’d wandered up to the edge of the earth.
I was sitting on one of four brown-and-butter-yellow plaid armchairs. Mason was across a low glass-topped table from me. Nathaniel was next to him.
I couldn’t help checking out Mason’s features and comparing them to mine.
His chin was different, square where mine was narrow. His nose was bigger, but in the ballpark of the same straight shape. His eyes were lighter brown. Mine were espresso dark. His hair was almost black, full and thick to my golden brown.
If I had to pick one thing, I’d say his lips looked familiar. There was something about the way he smiled and their shape when he talked.
“Can I get anyone a drink?” Mason asked.
“Seriously?” Nathaniel put in with an edge to his voice.
“Well, you sure look like you could use one,” Mason said to Nathaniel. He looked to me. “Sophie? We have wine, red or white. Or whiskey if you need it.”
“I’m not the one who’s been shocked by the news,” I said. “I’m fine. I don’t need anything to drink.”
“Whiskey, Stone?” Mason asked Nathaniel as he rose. “I’m having one. Personally, I am a little shocked by the news.”
“Fine,” Nathaniel said.
It was clear they weren’t thrilled to meet me. They’d obviously had no idea that I might exist, which got me to thinking through the possible relationships.
If the genetic connection was on my mother’s side, she might have been a shameful secret who was adopted out years ago and kept under wraps all this time. If it was my father’s side, then maybe he wasn’t an Australian air force officer. Maybe he was a black sheep that the family had shipped off to Australia years ago over a scandal. And now I was coming back to haunt his family.
The possibilities were endless, really. And some of them could be bad. It might be best for me to leave before I caused any real trouble. I didn’t want to cause any trouble.
Mason dropped ice cubes into two heavy glasses. Then he poured the whiskey from a bottle at a wet bar.
Nathaniel was glaring at me.
I tried not to look back while we waited.
He seemed more disturbed by my appearance than Mason did.
That got me wondering who he was and how he fit into the family. His eyes were deep blue, and he looked nothing like either of us.
“Does the test say for sure that we’re cousins?” Mason asked as he sat back down.
“She could be making the whole thing up,” Nathaniel said.
“In this day and age?” Mason asked him. “It won’t take long to prove it one way or another.”
“She can do a lot of damage along the way.”
“I don’t want to do any damage,” I felt compelled to say. “I thought this might be good news, fun news.”
“Fun for you,” Nathaniel said. “Announcing you’re a long-lost cousin to the owners of the biggest telecommunications company in Alaska.”
The statement took me by surprise. It was the first I’d heard about the family owning anything, never mind Kodiak Communications. But that certainly explained the huge house. It also meant nobody in the family would need my financial assistance... Ever.
I tried not to be disappointed by that. “I didn’t know they owned it.”
Nathaniel coughed out a laugh of disbelief.
“We can give her the benefit of the doubt,” Mason said to him.
“I’m not here to cause you any grief.” I said to Mason, ignoring Nathaniel.
“So, cousins for sure?” Mason asked.
“I could be your great-aunt or you could be my great-uncle based on the common DNA percentage. But given our ages, first cousins seems a whole lot more likely.”
“First cousins,” Mason said and seemed to ponder.
“That’s what the report said.” I didn’t have anything more to add.
Maybe I should have gone for the deluxe DNA package. It hadn’t seemed worth the extra cost at the time, since I was only looking for the basics.
“What report?” Nathaniel asked. “From where? Who did it? Do you have a copy?”
“Stone,” Mason said in a warning voice.
“If this is a shakedown,” Nathaniel said back.
I stood. “Listen, I didn’t do this to cause trouble for anyone.” I looked at Mason. “I just wanted to meet you. I’ve met you. Clearly, I’m not a happy surprise, so I’ll just head on back to Seattle before—”
“Don’t,” Mason said.
“Mason.” Nathaniel turned Mason’s name into a warning.
“Please sit down,” Mason said.
I found myself looking at Nathaniel. I wasn’t seeking his permission, but I was gauging his mood.
His brow was furrowed, and his mouth was turned down in a frown.
Okay, mood gauged.
“Ignore him,” Mason said.
Nathaniel’s voice sounded strangled. “You know what this will—”
“Sending her away won’t change anything,” Mason said.
“We have to protect the family.”
Mason gestured to the armchair behind me. “Please.”
“I want to do the right thing.” I truly did.
I didn’t know what I’d expected to find in coming to Alaska—maybe to be greeted with open arms, to find a big, cheery extended family sitting around a kitchen table sharing pot roast, a fiftysomething aunt who baked sugar cookies, a jovial uncle who told rambling stories. I realized my imagination had a distinct Norman Rockwell bent to it.
“Sitting down is the right thing to do.” Mason looked sincere.
I sat.
“My mother was an only child,” Mason said. “My father only has a brother, Braxton. I take it you’re in your late twenties?”
I nodded.
“Then logic says you were conceived while my uncle Braxton was happily married to Aunt Christine. That’s the only way I can see where I end up with a first cousin.”
“Could your mother have had a brother?” I asked Mason.
“Definitely not. She lived in Alaska her whole life. Everybody knew the family.”
“A secret half brother?” I asked, covering all the bases.
“That would make you a half cousin. The DNA percentage would be different.”
“Do we really need to walk through hypotheticals?” Nathaniel asked, his tone revealing frustration. “Do you want money? Is that it?”
“Stop it,” Mason barked at him.
Nathaniel’s suspicions revealed his own nature, since dishonest people always looked for dishonesty in others. So, mood noted and ethics noted.
“Let’s find out what she wants and get on with it,” Nathaniel said.
“Don’t judge me by your standards,” I responded.
His eyes narrowed and his jaw went tight.
“She’s got you there,” Mason said. Then he took a swig of his whiskey.
“I’ll write you a check right here and now,” Nathaniel said.
I stood. “Well, see, that’s the fatal flaw in your logic. The very last thing I want is money.”
Before I could make a dramatic march from the room, the door swung open.
I turned to see a fiftysomething man filling the opening.
He was tall with a distinguished bearing and a stern expression. He wore a charcoal blazer over a white dress shirt. His streaked gray hair was combed back from his forehead, while his face was shadowed by a short graying beard.
“What’s going on here?” he asked in a commanding voice.
Both Nathaniel and Mason came to their feet.
“Uncle,” Mason said with a nod.
“Hello, Braxton,” Nathaniel said.
Braxton’s gaze shifted to me. His eyes were just like mine—espresso dark.
“And who’s this?” he asked.
