The Lost Daughter Of Pigeon Hollow. Inglath Cooper
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then handed it back to Willa.
“Everything all right?” she asked, concern threading the words.
“Same ole. Gum stuck to my shoe. No matter how much I’d like to get rid of him, I can’t seem to scrape him off.”
“You’ll scrape him off when you want to.” Willa put a hand on her friend’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “And by the way, if it’s not too late for my dreams, it’s not too late for yours.”
“Yeah,” Judy said, her expression uncharacteristically somber.
“I’ve got to run to the bank,” Willa said. “Back in a few minutes.”
“Oh,” Judy said, her voice perking up, “if that delectable man comes in again while you’re gone, maybe I’ll hit on him. How’s that for dream fulfillment?”
Willa smiled. “Have at it.”
CHAPTER TWO
OWEN MILLER SLID behind the wheel of his dark green Range Rover, shutting the door just as Willa Addison came out of the diner and crossed the street. She never looked his way, so he took advantage of the moment, sat back and watched her.
Medium height. Fair skin. Slim. Straight blond hair, tucked behind her ears, hung to her shoulders.
Very attractive. In those few moments at the register, he had seen Charles in her, mostly the eyes, the high cheekbones.
She stopped to speak to an older woman a half block from the diner. Laughing at something the woman said, she tipped her head back, her hair catching the sunlight.
They talked for a minute or two, and then Willa Addison disappeared through the doors of the bank at the corner.
Owen pulled out of the parking lot and followed the street he’d driven down earlier, spotting the bed-and-breakfast where he’d reserved a room. He turned in, parked out front and grabbed his overnight bag from the back seat.
The owner introduced herself as Mrs. Ross. A round woman, partial to flowers judging by the tulips on her shapeless dress and the magnolia wallpaper lining the foyer and stairwell, she checked him in and directed him upstairs. The room was small, but immaculately clean. The open curtains framed a view of tree-lined Bay Street.
Owen set his laptop up on the desk by the window. He logged onto the Internet, checked his e-mail, took care of a few business-related matters, then opened an e-mail from his brother.
Just thought you’d like to know, the debate continues. See attached.
Cline
Owen downloaded the file. A few seconds later, an article from the Lexington Daily Record popped up. His photo accompanied the headline Marriage Or The Farm?
The article below began:
The single days of well-known bachelor and thoroughbred commercial breeding heir Owen Miller may be numbered.
Sources say the will left by his father, Harrison Miller, provides that if he is not engaged by his thirty-third birthday—some ten days from now—Winding Creek Farm and all its subsequent holdings will revert to his younger brother, Cline Miller.
Owen clicked out of the file, disgust hitting him in the gut. He moved the cursor to Instant Messaging and typed in:
You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?
Cline answered a couple of seconds later:
The entertainment value is huge, you have to admit.
Owen pictured his brother, seated in front of the laptop, and a wave of affection flooded through him.
For you, I suppose.
So, have you found her?
Who?
Your new wife.
I’m not looking for one.
<Big sigh> Just pick out one and get it over with.
Like shopping for a new tie?
The noose-around-your-neck association does not go unappreciated. <grin> You know in the end, Dad always won. And besides, if you hand the mantle over to me, I’m not making any promises about maintaining the family name.
Hmm.
BTW, Pamela called. Again. Have I heard from you? Asked with notable irritation, I might add, leading me to think she hasn’t heard from you.
I’ll call her.
Good. Unless you find another prospect first. <bigger grin>
Bye, Cline.
See ya.
Owen logged off, leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. Cline’s question wasn’t exactly out of left field. Why hadn’t he asked Pamela? She expected it, and probably had a right to. They’d been going out for a year. Her expectations weren’t unreasonable, considering his position.
When his father died three years ago, Owen had never thought the will provision would actually interfere with his life. It had seemed more of an annoyance, although totally in character, that his father would continue to pull strings, even from the grave.
Maybe Owen had assumed he would be engaged or married by this point, anyway. At least that he would have met someone who made him want to be. But here he was. Time nearly up.
Not married.
He glanced at the phone. He really should call Pamela.
But then there was the red flag. He should call her. Later. He’d call her later.
IT WAS THE PERFECT DAY to be at the lake.
Katie considered pretty much any day perfect if it involved skipping school.
Maybe the principal would eventually give up and just kick her out, putting an end to her useless arguments with Willa. A girl could dream.
A jam box sat at one corner of the dock, D-12 blasting. She could feel the throb of it through the backs of her calves. Beside her, Eddie lay staring at the sky, holding a joint between his thumb and index finger, his expression dreamy. He took another long pull. “God, that’s good stuff,” he said, his voice raspy with smoke. He passed it to her.
She took a small puff, then handed it back to him.
He laid it on the dock, turned on his side and propped up on his elbow. She looked at him through half-open eyes. He was hot, in a rebel-with-a-cause kind of way. Eddie’s cause was whatever pleased him at the moment. A few weeks ago, it had been the hammerhead shark tattoo now etched into his right bicep.
For now, it was her.
He touched her face. “Come here.”
She complied, not so much because she wanted to, but because being with Eddie fueled her need to reach for whatever it was she thought would piss Willa off the most.
For now, that was Eddie.
He leaned over and kissed her, heavy duty from the get-go. She followed him for a few moments, and he pushed her back onto the dock, half lying across her. He picked up the pace of the kissing, the lower half of his body moving in suggestion.
Her bikini top slipped. She turned her head, pulling the bathing suit back in place. “Easy, okay?”
“What? You don’t want to?”
Katie raised up on an elbow, dropped her head back and blew out a sigh.
“You’ve been a real drag all day. Maybe I should have brought someone a little more fun out here.”
“Maybe you should have.”
Eddie put a hand on her thigh, massaged the muscle, his touch experienced. “Hey, I didn’t want to bring anybody else. So what’s the deal?”
Katie sighed. “My