Almost A Bravo. Christine Rimmer
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She felt overwhelmingly defensive, though she had zero reason to be—at least not concerning Martin Durand. “I met him that summer at the ranch, that’s all. After I quit, I never saw him again.” It was true, but it wasn’t what you would call full disclosure. There’d also been that recent unnerving, out-of-nowhere phone call.
“Mr. Winter?” Saved by the receptionist. The pretty blonde stood in the arch that led to the inner sanctum. “Everyone.” She beamed a professional smile in their general direction. “Mr. Anders is ready for you now. This way, please.”
Jaxon gestured Aislinn ahead of him, so she went first. The receptionist led them back to a conference room with a large oval table and a credenza against the wall on which there was a coffee service, including a tray of pastries and doughnuts.
Kip Anders, a slender, balding guy in rimless glasses and a rumpled tan suit, shook Jax’s hand and introduced himself to the rest of them. “Please,” he said. “Help yourselves to coffee and a bear claw. Get comfortable and we’ll get started.”
Get comfortable? How long was this going to take? It was a quarter past ten and she’d agreed to help out at her best friend—and now sister-in-law—Keely’s art gallery starting at noon. The gallery was about a half hour away from Astoria, on the Oregon coast, in Aislinn’s hometown of Valentine Bay. This exercise in awfulness couldn’t go more than an hour, could it?
And seriously, why were they even here? Aislinn had worked for a lawyer’s office not that long ago. At Deever and Gray they never had will readings. Wills were delivered to the parties concerned. A reading of the will only happened in the movies, because it made for good drama.
Her stomach lurched. Was this about drama, somehow, then?
Oh, God, she really shouldn’t have come...
Jax sat at one end of the table. Burt and Erma got coffee and doughnuts and took seats on either side of their boss. Just to have something to do with her hands, Aislinn grabbed a bottle of water. She chose a chair midway down the table. The lawyer took the chair opposite Jax.
“Before you leave,” said Anders, tweaking his glasses so they sat more firmly on the bridge of his thin nose, “be sure you each get your copy of the will, which will be waiting for you at the reception desk.”
Aislinn almost popped out with, I think I’ll just grab that now and be on my way.
But she folded her lips between her teeth, set her water on the table and remained in her chair. She was already here and she could spare an hour. Maybe the will contained some complex terms or strange codicils that Kip Anders would need to explain. The lawyer picked up the first paper on the stack in front of him and began to read.
Martin Durand had left bequests of money—ten thousand dollars each—and a series of keepsakes for Burt and Erma. Erma wore a tender look. She seemed sad, but also touched that Durand had thought to leave her something. Who could even guess what that sourpuss Burt might be thinking?
Anders moved on to the next item on the stack. It consisted of several pages paper-clipped together. He removed the clip, set it on the table exactly parallel to the rest of the stack and glanced up to make eye contact—with Jax and then with Aislinn.
“Martin Durand chose to write a letter explaining the main elements of his will,” said the lawyer. “His wish was that I read this letter to you, Jaxon, and to you, Aislinn. He also requested that you, Burt, and you, Erma, be present while the letter is read. As you were longtime and faithful employees at Wild River, Martin felt that all four of you should fully understand what he intended and how it should be carried out. The bequests and conditions explained in this letter are also clearly laid out in his formal last will and testament.” Anders fell silent for an endless count of five.
Aislinn had the strangest feeling of complete unreality. Her throat felt dry. Sweat bloomed beneath her arms and her pulse raced. She uncapped her water and took a long drink.
Anders asked, “Any questions?”
“Just read,” said Jax.
Anders began, “‘Dear Jaxon and Aislinn, I never intended for you two to know each other.’”
What?
Aislinn shot a quick glance around the table.
Aside from Anders, serene behind his frameless glasses, they all looked as confused as she felt. How could Durand have intended anything when it came to her? He’d never set eyes on her until that summer five years ago.
Anders continued, “‘The sad truth, Aislinn, is that I spent the first twenty-one years of your life doing everything in my power never to come anywhere near you. I set myself firmly on pretending that you didn’t even exist. And I succeeded for the most part—until five summers ago, when you took the summer job that brought you back to Wild River Ranch.’”
“Back?” Aislinn couldn’t keep quiet for one second longer. “But I’d never been to Wild River before that summer, so there is no way that I could have—”
“I know this is bewildering,” Anders cut in mildly. “But if you will allow me to read the letter through to its conclusion, most everything will be explained.”
Aislinn felt kind of nauseated. She drew in a careful breath through her nose. “Sorry. Go ahead.”
With a nod and another quick adjustment of his glasses, Anders went on, “‘Such a simple thing you did, Aislinn, to turn my whole life upside down. You took a summer job working at my ranch. And that is how I came face-to-face with the result of the crime I had committed in a split second of opportunity the night of your birth, a crime I’ve kept hidden for all these years...’”
The night I was born?
She couldn’t not speak. “I don’t get it. Whatever he did, it’s got zero to do with me. I was nowhere near Wild River on the night I was born.” They were all frowning at her—and okay, yeah. She needed to stop interrupting.
But no. Just no.
Durand had it all wrong. Aislinn had been born in Europe, in a tiny principality called Montedoro, where her mother and father and four of her five brothers had traveled when her mom was pregnant with her.
“That right there,” she insisted, “what you just read? How could whatever he did involve me? It couldn’t. I was born in Montedoro, which is on the Côte d’Azur, in case you didn’t know. No way Martin Durand was there when I was born.”
Down the table, Burt glared at her. Erma sat silent, her expression unreadable. And Jaxon? He looked like he couldn’t wait for this to be through.
Well, neither could she.
And hold on a minute. The letter hadn’t actually said that this “crime” of Durand’s involved her, had it? So maybe this had nothing to do with her at all. She gulped. “I just don’t understand. Why am I here?”
Again, Kip Anders suggested, “If I might just finish...?”
“But it’s all wrong.”
Anders didn’t argue, he simply waited.
With a hard sigh, she gave in. “All right. Fine. Finish it, then.”
Anders granted her a nod. “Martin Durand writes, ‘The morning of the night you were born, Aislinn, George Bravo and his very pregnant wife, Marie, had driven out to Wild River from Valentine Bay to discuss the possibility of their investing in an expansion of our horse breeding and training operation.
“‘The investment never happened. But during George and Marie’s visit, there was a storm, a bad one. The roads were washed out. Marie went into labor—and so did our then-foreman’s wife, Paula Delaney.
“‘You see, Aislinn, I had cheated on my wife, Claudia, with Paula. I make no excuse for that. It was wrong. I did it anyway, with the classic result.’”
“What