Burned by a Kiss (4 page)

Sierra began to cry. Santana was shocked, as were his brothers. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her like this. She could be sad, she could be wistful, but the deep, shuddering sobs that racked her now spoke to the bone-deep pain he would have given his arm to shield her from, as would his brothers. The secretaries went into action again with tissue and more wine, which they poured in Sierra’s glass, but to Santana’s great astonishment, Nick Marshall got to his feet and handed Sierra a white handkerchief.

It had his initials embroidered in black on one side and right then, he knew that Nick Marshall had grown up quite differently than the Darks had.

“Thank you,” Sierra said, handing it back to him. “If you don’t mind, and not to be rude, but I don’t want anything from you. Ever.”

“I understand,” Nick said, taking himself back to his seat. He turned his entire body to face the skyline now, not just his head. Luke and Romero comforted their sister from their seats next to her.

Santana expelled a heavy breath from the depths of his tense body. “I assume you’re sure of this. And are convinced Dad was of sound mind.”

“We are,” Fairfax said gravely. “Absolutely. Your father’s estate is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of five million dollars, thanks to land appreciation largely. He was very careful to make certain that everything was taken care of in the event anything happened to him. Obviously that was very much on his mind, given the kind of work he did, both before and after,” Fairfax finished, fumbling a bit as he referenced both the CIA work they’d never known of, and the firefighting which had ultimately taken his life.

“Jesus Christ,” Cisco said, “is that it? Are you finished? Because from the sound of things, the five of us need to find a place to live.”

But the second Cisco said it, they all looked at each other.

They weren’t even related to each other.

They were a family in name only, and even that name hadn’t been real. Their father had given all of them a fake name, courtesy of the CIA, but still—

Damn Dad, you could have given us a heads up on this amazing life story you had.

But of course Sonny couldn’t have. And now, Nick Marshall was taking over the place they’d always thought was home.

And suddenly Santana realized, though the fog of shock, grief, and yes, even a little fear, that he had nothing, absolutely nothing, to offer Emma Glass.

He wasn’t the man he’d thought he was just an hour ago.

Santana Dark wasn’t real, not in any way, shape, or form. Neither were the rest of them.

Which meant from this moment on, they were almost reborn—whether they liked it or not.

• • •

Nick Marshall left as soon as he could, without doing more than nodding in the Dark family’s direction, and receiving five glares from the other end of the table. He couldn’t blame them. Their whole lives had just been ripped apart.

Not only that, but to learn that your father had owed every last penny, every last stick of furniture, to a brother they’d never heard of, had to have been the ultimate insult to the memory of their father.

And since his father had passed away, he was the sole heir.

He got into his black Range Rover, locked the doors, slumped into the seat.

Jesus, what an awful day. It was the last thing he’d expected when he’d come here today. The attorney had been vague when he’d summoned him, telling him that there were estate details that needed to be settled.

He’d thought the attorney had meant his own father’s vast estate. Thanks to Nicholas Marshall’s business instinct, the Marshall estate was large. Marshall Industries, Inc., owned office buildings and real estate in several states, and some in various locations around the world. He had a helicopter and two jets at his disposal around the clock. A driver was part of his staff, although Nick did much of his own driving. There were “help managers” on every property the Marshall empire owned, just to keep the properties in top shape.

Those people he’d just left—the four brothers and the silver-haired girl—were now homeless because of him.

And it was just the kind of thing Nicholas Marshall III would have done, taking advantage of a brother who was down on his luck, to make a deal, acquire a new property.

Nick could just hear his father. He wouldn’t loan or give anybody a dime, so letting his brother have some shred of dignity at death wasn’t Nicholas’s style. Santiago Quinto Marshall—Sonny Dark—had needed money, and Nicholas had purchased his brother’s freedom from debt.

It was all business. His brother’s unfortunate life decisions had not been his. That’s what Nicholas would say.

In fact, Nicholas would have felt that he’d been plenty charitable allowing the family to stay on the ranch until the day Sonny died. Now it was just a matter of disposing of the ranch and its contents, which Nick Marshall now owned.

He didn’t know the first thing about a ranch. He’d grown up living between Dallas, New York City, and Los Angeles. They had home bases in those three cities that were mainly for comfort, and some tax avoidance.

He’d felt Sierra’s accusing gaze on him, and felt terrible. Empty somehow. He couldn’t blame her for being angry and upset. Devastated, as anyone would be in similar circumstances.

He couldn’t even offer to let them stay longer to get their affairs settled, because he already owned the house. According to his father’s wishes, he could move in and keep it, similar to the arrangement they had with the three home bases they already owned. Outfit it with staff, etc.

If he didn’t want it, the ranch would be liquidated within a year of his father’s passing. The brothers had died within two months of each other, but Sonny had passed first. Nicholas would have known of his brother’s horrific passing, and yet he hadn’t said a word to Nick.

Now, Nick stood to gain a lot of money.

I already have more money than I could ever spend.

His father had set this up so it was all very simple. Cut-and-dry for Nick.

He couldn’t imagine ever wanting to live this far from a big city. Had no desire for ranch life. Didn’t even have any curiosity about it. Frankly, it wouldn’t make sense—too far from the epicenters of big business.

A lake house or beach house, some kind of vacation property, might have made sense. But a working ranch—no.

Strangely enough, he was very curious to see where the beautiful blonde called home. She’d disliked him on the spot, and he couldn’t blame her—but he wished he’d met her under far different circumstances. She was just about the most petite, big-eyed thing he’d ever seen.

Nick thought he’d forever be haunted by the pain in those big eyes.

The family hunkered down in the living room. Cisco slumped on the leather sofa, and Luke stoked a fire in the massive stone fireplace, though Santana wasn’t sure his mind was on the task. Romero poured whiskey into glasses. Santana stood next to Sierra at the window, looking out over the vast Dark property. Cattle moved in the distance, but Santana was more worried about his usually noisy, effervescent sister.

“Do we have any legal recourse?” she asked suddenly, turning from the window.

“Dad had the estate trust air-tight. That’s why an irrevocable trust was set up, so that he could meet Nicholas Marshall’s terms. A trust makes certain that the estate is disposed of the way in the individual wants, in this case, Uncle Nicholas. Our own St. Nick, who rescued our father from debt and cleaned up his mess.” Romero handed each of them a glass. “Basically, we’re screwed.”

“We’re not screwed,” Sierra said angrily. “I don’t care what those idiot lawyers said. We are still a family. And we’re sticking together.”

Santana nodded. “I agree with Sierra. We’ll go somewhere else. Together. Whatever Pop’s problems were, they’re not ours.”

“Except we don’t have a roof over our heads,” Luke said.

“It’s just a roof,” Santana said. “There’s millions of roofs in the world. We’ll find another.”

Cisco turned from beating the firewood into submission with the cast-iron poker. “He’s right. There’s no reason for us to leave Star Canyon. This is our home.”

“I think I’m going,” Luke said, his voice soft.

They stared at Luke.

“Going where?” Sierra demanded.

Luke glanced around the house, almost as if he no longer wanted to be in this room. “Think I’ll hit the road.”

Santana’s heart sank. “Let’s not make decisions tonight. We’re all still in shock.”

That was an understatement. He ought to be able to offer comfort and an alternate plan of action to his family.

All he felt was empty.

“I can’t believe Dad never told us,” Romero said. “He never let on.”

“He was of upstanding character our whole lives, at least as we knew him,” Luke said. “That’s what I’m struggling with the most. In the end, Dad was a liar and maybe worse, to hear the attorneys tell it.”

Sierra gasped. “Don’t talk about Dad like that! You don’t know! Lawyers can be very slimy with the truth.”

Santana shrugged. “Let’s not let anyone steal the memories of the happy home life we had growing up. Dad loved us, Mom loved us. He worked hard to keep us together. Let’s not let that be destroyed on this new path we find ourselves on.”

“Agreed,” Sierra said. “We can’t let him beat us. He’s not going to win.”

“Who?” Santana demanded.

“That weasel Marshall.” She plopped down in front of the fire, crossing her legs, holding her glass. “I’ve never met a bigger weasel.”

Santana didn’t know about weasel, but Nick was as different from them as night was from day.

“He seemed pretty freaked out,” Cisco said.

“I don’t care about him. He didn’t argue that he shouldn’t have what was ours,” Sierra said. “I hate Nick Marshall and his stupid Marshall Industries, Inc. Isn’t that what the attorney said his father did? Owned some big-ass company, which is why Dad knew his brother could help him out?”

“Nick didn’t argue,” Romero said, “because he owned every bit of this the moment Dad died. That’s how irrevocable living trusts work. The estate moves on to the person who is designated executor, and that executor must adhere to the terms of the estate trust. In our case, everything goes to him, by prior arrangement with Dad’s brother. In fairness, we’ve been living on his dime during the time it took the estate to be worked through by the attorneys. I suppose we should have thanked him.”

“Bullshit,” Sierra muttered, and Luke poured more whiskey into her glass.

“It’s so strange we never knew we had an uncle,” Luke said. “Dad didn’t mention it. As far as we knew, it was just Mom and Dad, and us.”

“I get the sense the brothers didn’t get along, but I don’t know why I feel that way.” Santana gulped his whiskey, taking a deep breath. “It must have been hard as hell for Dad to admit he screwed up and go to his brother for a bailout.”

“I think Dad got taken advantage of.” Sierra wiped her eyes, and Romero handed her a tissue. “Surely his debts weren’t so high that he had to sign away everything. It’s all that CIA bullshit, and Marshall probably knew he had Dad beat. I feel sorry for Dad.”

Santana shook his head. “It doesn’t matter now. What we have to focus on is what we’re going to do.”

“We’re going to stick together,” Sierra said, “and that means you, too, Luke. No one is going to tear us apart. We’re a family, no matter what.”

They sat silently, considering the new world they found themselves inhabiting. Sierra was right: they had to stick together, no matter what the future held.

“I can start looking for a place tomorrow,” Santana said. “It won’t be big, and it won’t have land. We’ll have to rent, I would imagine, because none of us have the credit or funding to buy a house.”

“Unbelievable,” Cisco said. “But I’m twenty-five, healthy, and strong. I can join the military, learn a trade, see the world. Some of it, anyway.”

Luke nodded. “I’ll join you. They’ll be happy to take a twenty-three-year-old.”

Sierra gasped. “I’m twenty-two.”

They all looked at her.

“Yes, you are,” Santana said, nodding. “I’m twenty-nine, and Romero’s twenty-seven. We’ll all young enough to get over this, start over, build again. If Dad could do it with all the challenges he had, we can, too. We’ll support each other.”

Sierra looked hopeful. “Maybe we have parents somewhere who might want to—”

“No,” Santana told his sister gently. “Most likely not. If they’d wanted us to know, they would have found us. Or Dad would have told us.” He brushed his sister’s long hair over her shoulder and put her head against his chest. “Enough has been stirred up already. I vote we move forward.”

“Seconded,” Luke said. “I don’t really care to find someone who gave me up in the first place.”

“That’s harsh,” Sierra said. “We don’t know the circumstances.”

“Sorry,” Luke said, a touch of bitterness in his tone. “I just don’t care about anyone outside of this room.”

They sat quietly in front of the fire, lost in their thoughts. It wasn’t going to be easy, Santana knew—but they’d get through it.

Their father had left them a legacy, which included independence. Strength. And love.

It was enough.

• • •

There were three weeks until Christmas, the days marching swiftly toward the holidays. Star Canyon was in a festive mood. Pets who came in to see Emma wore cheerful bandanas with candy canes or trees on them. But Emma hadn’t seen Santana again. She’d heard about him only through the Star Canyon grapevine.

The grapevine had been humming.

Mary Chapman handed her two bags of leftover scraps for Gus and Bean. “There’s no reason to let these go to waste. It’s just some bones and a few bits of leftover things that your new babies might like.”

Emma smiled. “Thank you. They’ll appreciate it.”

“There might be some extra in case you have any new strays come in,” Mary said.

It happened often enough that Star Canyon stayed on the lookout for animals that had been dumped by uncaring owners. And what was in the bag wouldn’t be scraps so much as Mary’s weekly offering of chicken and other meats to try to lessen the burden on Emma’s clinic. “You have a generous heart, Mary Chapman.”