A Husband Worth Waiting For. Grace Green
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a second…that you were…Chance.”
Chance? Now Jed was the one who was shocked. Shocked and utterly confused. What did this woman want? And why was she standing, in his house, talking about the one person in the world he hated with an obsession that bordered on insanity?
“Who the hell are you?” He clenched his hands into fists…and saw her flinch.
Drawing in a sharp breath, she stared at him. “I’m Sarah.” Her voice held a tremor. “Sarah Morgan.”
“Morgan?”
“Your…sister-in-law.”
“Sister-in-law?” He was beginning to sound like an imbecilic parrot.
“Yes.” Her voice had steadied somewhat. “I’m Chance’s wife—” she grimaced “—Chance’s widow, I mean. I find it difficult to get used to saying that, after—”
“Chance is dead?”
“He died, in a car accident, seven months ago.”
Sarah had never seen anyone lose color so quickly.
But even as she felt a surge of compassion for him, she struggled to regain her own equilibrium after the shock she had just received. It had never occurred to her that Chance and his brother would be so alike.
The hair was the same: coal-black, rich. The features were the same: lean, rugged. The eyes: green, deep set. The nose: ridged. The figure: tall, rangy…
The only difference she could see was one of attitude. Whereas Chance had had the con man’s built-in charm, his older brother had a dark, brooding aura reminiscent of a character in some Gothic novel.
“You just turn up here, out of the blue, to tell me my brother’s dead?” His tone was harsh with animosity. “Okay, you’ve told me.” His black eyebrows beetled down over his hostile eyes. “So now you can go.”
Good grief, the man was a Heathcliff clone! Sarah speared him with an incredulous glare. “You’d put us out in this storm?”
His lips thinned. “Ah, yes. Us. Two plates, two spoons. So…who did Goldilocks bring with her? A lover perhaps?”
Sarah’s mouth fell open. She’d just told this man her husband was dead and he was accusing her of—oh, unbelievable! Her outrage almost choked her.
“Not a lover?” He raised the dark eyebrows cynically. “Then just…a friend?”
“No.” She sent him a look as hostile as any of his own. “I have my children with me. Emma and Jamie. They’re sleeping, at the moment, in your sitting room.”
He looked at her for a long, stark moment, and then he laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “So you’ve brought children with you. Chance’s children, I presume?”
“Of course!” Anger sent blood racing to her cheeks. “Of course they’re Chance’s children!”
“Then you have even more nerve than I’d imagined, Mrs. Sarah Morgan.’ His face had become completely devoid of emotion. “Now if you’ll tell me what you’ve really come for, we can get it over with and you can be on your way.”
Her expression must have told its own story.
His smile was grim. “How did I know? Well, if you’d just wanted to tell me my brother was dead, a phone call—even a letter—would have done the trick. So, Mrs. Morgan, what is it that you want from me?”
She hated him. Didn’t even know him but hated him already. “I need money,” she said in a frigid tone. “When your brother died, I discovered he’d left a mountain of unpaid bills. I can’t afford to pay them, and—”
“How cleverly put,” he jeered. “‘My brother.’ Let me put that another way for you. Shall we call him…your husband?”
Hateful, despicable…malicious. “All right,” she retorted. “My husband. But he was your brother.”
“So,” he said. “How much?”
It was a huge amount. She tried not to stumble over it.
He shrugged. “Fine. When you get where you’re going, send me the request in writing, and I’ll courier you a certified cheque.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate—”
“If that’s it—” his tone was brusque “—I’d like you to get in your car—I assume you came by car?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’d like you to take your children, and get in your car, and get off the mountain right now.”
Sarah tried not to wither under his glittering green gaze. “The children are exhausted. Could we possibly stay here, just for tonight?”
“And have me risk being stuck with you if the track gets washed out before morning? No way!”
“Please?” She hated begging, but hated even more the prospect of waking Emma and Jamie and then trying to maneuver the Cutlass downhill in the stormy dark. And where to go from there? She suppressed a shudder. “I promise,” she said, “I’ll be out of here first thing in the morning.”
His lips compressed so tightly they almost disappeared.
“All right,” he snapped. “You can use the sitting room and the main floor powder room, just for tonight. But in the morning, you’re history. Understood?”
“Heard and understood.” She almost added a sarcastic ‘sir,’ but thought better of it. He was, after all, doing her a favor. So she just said, “Thank you. And thank you for agreeing to pay Chance’s debts—I’ll pay you back no matter how long it takes….”
But he’d already taken off, heading for the kitchen. His steps were purposeful. The steps of a man who knew where he was going and would let no one stand in his way.
Sarah slumped, feeling as if she’d been put through a wringer. But she’d achieved one goal—though it wasn’t the main one that had drawn her here, the one that was far more important than borrowing money to pay off Chance’s debts.
He’d never know her real reason for seeking him out. He’d never know how she’d hoped and prayed that Jedidiah Morgan would turn out to be a kindly man. A man who’d give his brother’s family a warm welcome and let her stay at his home, with her children, till such time as she could once more cope with the difficult time that lay ahead.
What a fool she’d been. ‘Kindly’ was the very last word anyone would use to describe Jedidiah Morgan. The man was heartless. And whatever the cause of the estrangement between him and his brother, it was obvious the bitterness of it still remained, even now that Chance was gone.
Jed stared out into the dark, his hands braced against the side frames of his bedroom window.
Chance was dead.
It was the last thing he’d expected to hear.
Six years now since Jeralyn’s death. Six years since his younger brother had fled and disappeared without a trace. Six years during which time he’d let his hatred of Chance build and build and build till now it almost consumed him.
His lips twisted in a bitter smile. So…Chance had never changed. Even in death, he left trouble in his wake. “A mountain of unpaid bills,” she’d called it. Well, to Sarah Morgan it might seem like a mountain; to him it was peanuts. And he was glad to pay the bill. Anything to get rid of that woman and her family, get them off the mountain.
All he wanted, in this life, was to be left alone.
CHAPTER TWO
SARAH woke next morning to the sound of a terse voice saying, “I’m going down the mountain to check that