Ladd Fortune (31 page)

She heaved a sigh. “That was the
problem. I didn’t have much fun. I worked,” she said, and slid her
gaze down to his chest. “A lot.”

“
All work and no fun?” He
tipped her chin back up, noting the blue of her eyes had deepened.
“I don’t believe it. Fun is your middle name.”

Lacy rewarded him with a smile. “Not
everyone is as fun as you, Malcolm. In fact, some people are
downright stick-in-the-muds.”

He chuckled. Dropping his elbow, he
relaxed onto his arm, placing his opposite hand over her narrow
hips. Her denim skirt was still damp, though her tank had almost
completely dried. No pink bra today, it was beige and not nearly as
charming. “Speaking from experience, are you?” Lacy nodded, but
didn’t elaborate. “Well, let’s not dwell on the stick-in-the-muds.
Tell me about the young and rebellious Lacy, the one who moved to
Atlanta with Jeremiah in a mad dash out of town.” Lacy frowned.
“What? Do you regret it?” She stilled, and a fleeting shame swooped
into her expression. Caught off guard by the change, Malcolm
tensed. Brief, but it had been there, he was sure of it. Was she
hiding something undesirable? “Lacy?”

“
Do we have to talk about
the past? I’d rather talk about the future, about Serenity Springs
and all the new jobs you’re going to offer me.”

Malcolm tried to smile, but remained
tripped up by her reaction. What had she done that she wasn’t
willing to share? Couldn’t share? She had no record. There was
nothing in her past with regard to arrests, no legal trouble of any
kind that he could find. Not that he liked snooping on women, but
Malcolm had been burned once, badly. Ten years ago, he’d fallen for
the wrong woman and she had nearly taken him for everything he was
worth. And it wasn’t the woman’s first time. California divorce
records revealed she had three previous marriages and then there
was the lawsuit for fraud—all readily accessible had he the
presence of mind to search for them beforehand. But he didn’t.
Malcolm relied on her word and learned a hard lesson.

It was a lesson in testosterone,
stupidity and youthful inexperience. A lesson he would not repeat.
Yet oddly, Malcolm felt as though it were happening all over again.
He delicately turned her jaw until he could look her in the eye.
“Lacy?” She blinked. “It’s not like you to clam up.” A sadness
swamped her gaze. “Talk to me. What happened in
Atlanta?”

“
Oh, Malcolm. Do we have to
talk about Atlanta?”

“
Is there a reason we
can’t?” She looked away and he swore she was about to cry. “I’ve
fallen head over heels for a woman and she can’t talk about her
past?” Part of Malcolm felt the brunt of the statement like a kick
to the gut. Another part of him was swimming in dread. The steady
pound of the waterfall reverberated in his chest as he held his
breath.

“
Will you still love me if
I’m not perfect?”

Spurts of relief erupted inside him.
“No one’s perfect, Lacy. We all make mistakes.”

She pursed her lips, as though
pondering whether or not she should divulge her particular
mistakes, her secrets. “I wouldn’t call them mistakes,
exactly.”

He cocked a brow. “What would you call
them?”

“
Pictures.”

“
Pictures?”

Lacy nodded and gnawed on her lower
lip.

“
What kind of pictures?”
Tears filled her eyes, instantly tearing at his heart. “Are they
bad?” Suddenly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to that
question.

“
Not terribly,” she replied,
her voice shaky. “I was young, they paid well. They weren’t vulgar
or anything and they helped me save—”

Malcolm pressed a finger to
her lips. He didn’t want to hear anymore.
Pictures
.

For a moment, they only stared at one
another. Water rushed and crashed as the past flowed over them,
between them, down the river. The power of nature, the quiet of
solitude. One man, one woman, choices swept away, cleansing the air
between them. Malcolm had always known there was something. Without
roommates to split the cost of living, minimum wage would barely
scrape the rent for a modest one-bedroom apartment in Atlanta. He
tried to imagine what had been going through her mind as she posed,
why she hadn’t decided to return home, instead. But second-guessing
the past was a fool’s game. He’d made his share of mistakes,
decisions he’d wished he could take back, emotions he’d wished he
never experienced. But that was life. You lived, you learned, you
did the best you could. You tried to keep your eye on the ball,
keep the ball up in the air, but sometimes it dropped.

Lacy was clearly upset by her choices.
It was a part of her life she’d rather forget. But she had
survived. She’d survived the city and done so with minimal scars.
An amazing feat really, when he thought of everything that could
have happened and didn’t. Posing for pictures wasn’t illegal. It
might prove haunting, but not illegal. Malcolm couldn’t help but
wonder if the pictures had been widely distributed. Would he run
across them one day? In a magazine, on the internet?

As he traced Lacy’s cheekbone, her
jawline, she remain transfixed. Malcolm wondered if she ever
thought the same thing. Would those pictures show up when she least
expected them? Would they upset her? They wouldn’t upset him. Lacy
Owens was a beautiful woman. He bet her pictures were
gorgeous.

Lacy drew his hand from her face and
whispered, “Do you hate me?”

“
No.” He shook his head,
pained by the naked fear in her eyes. It was unnecessary. “I
couldn’t hate you, Lacy.”

“
Not even for what I
did?”

“
You did what you had to
do.” Tears pricked his eyes. He hated to think she had been put in
that position, but once there, she’d done what she had to do to
survive. “I admire you for that.” He paused. “Unless, there’s
something else you’re hiding from me.” Shock peppered her
expression. “You don’t have a husband you’re hiding somewhere, do
you?”

Realization slammed into her eyes and
she punched him. “I most certainly do not.”

“
Then I don’t hate you.” He
grinned and pecked her nose. “I love you.”

Relief unlocked her joy with a genuine
smile. She wrapped her arms around his body and cried, “Oh,
Malcolm, I love you!”

He laughed. “It’s about time!” He’d
said the words, but this was the first time Lacy had said them
back. As he gazed into her eyes, Malcolm’s heart swelled. Words he
believed she meant. “C’mon.” He pushed up from the rock. “I’m
taking you home.”

She looked up at him.
“Home?”

“
Well, maybe not
home
.” Lacy was staying
with her Aunt Fran but Malcolm wanted her all to himself. “We have
a dinner date to make up for, remember?” Lacy squealed with delight
as Malcolm offered a hand, pulling her to her feet. Her red toe
polish snared his attention. Lively red for a lively girl. And
though Lacy felt more girl than woman, he believed that deep down
she was every bit as woman as any other, perhaps more so. He
chuckled. She simply kept her wise old woman hidden in her back
pocket, preferring to cater to the child in her—which suited him
just fine. He like spirited and spontaneous.

“
Can we go dancing?” she
asked.

“
Absolutely. Twirling you
around the dance floor is something I’ve wanted to do since the
picnic.” Then he’d twirl her around his hotel room for even more
fun.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Nick and Delaney sat huddled together
on the leather sofa in her cabin, the space quiet and comfortable
between them. Nestled warmly in the crux of his arm, Delaney found
the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest soothing, the muscular wall
of his body reassuring. Nick was on her side. He was in her corner.
He wanted what she wanted. Granted they were her decisions to make,
but he was here to support her in those decisions. Decisions. Seems
like that’s all she’d been doing of late—making decisions. From
deciding how to convince Ernie to stand by his promise to figuring
out a way to keep Annie and Jeremiah’s greedy hands off the title,
the decisions just kept coming.

Jeremiah concerned her the most. He’d
fight for the entire thousand acre tract, then kick the lot of them
out. He wasn’t interested in tradition or family. Back home for
less than a week and he was already threatening everyone from her
and Annie to his very own father—his dying father. Images from the
encounter earlier curdled in her heart. Jeremiah was a disgrace. He
only wanted Ladd Springs for the money. He’d sell it to the highest
bidder so he could pay off his gambling debt. Years of family and
history would be gone. In the scratch of his signature, Jeremiah
could end the Ladd legacy.

Delaney dropped her head back onto
Nick’s shoulder. Life had become a mess of decisions, and she was
tired of making them. Though there remained one decision she
couldn’t ignore. Staring at the wooden beams above, the rough-hewn
slats of the ceiling sloping steeply from the peak, she said,
“Annie sounds pretty sure of Casey’s paternity.”

“
That she does,” Nick
agreed.

Delaney’s gaze lowered, glazing over as
she stared out a side window. “With him in town, I think she’ll
finally get that paternity test.”

“
Easier when he’s in
jail.”

Delaney grunted. “And if he sues us for
the deed to Ladd Springs?”

“
With no money?”

“
What if he gets the
money?”

“
Law suits require money and
they require grounds for challenge,” Nick said, stroking her hair.
“If Jeremiah decides to take it to court, then he’s got two years
to do so.” Nick’s hand stilled and gently squeezed her arm. “But
Ernie signed the property over to Felicity in a life estate. It’s a
done deal. He had every legal right to sign it over to whomever he
chose and he chose her. In the eyes of the law, once Ernie passes,
Felicity is the owner of Ladd Springs. Your only concern at this
point is paying the back taxes.”

Delaney heaved a sigh. “Which I need
you for.”

He gave her a mild shake. “I thought we
were in this together?”

“
We are.” She blew out her
breath, the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I’m
just worried about Jeremiah interfering.”

“
He won’t,” Nick said
firmly. “We won’t let him.”

The thought gave her pause. If they
were successful in stopping Jeremiah, there was still the issue of
Casey. If she really was Jeremiah’s daughter, it would make her
Ernie’s granddaughter, same as Felicity, and every bit as entitled
to Ladd Springs. Shutting her out didn’t seem right. “Casey
shouldn’t be penalized because of her parents,” Delaney remarked
quietly.

“
I agree.”

Nick’s voice was faint, like an echo of
her thoughts. Had he been thinking the same thing she’d been
thinking? “But Annie is another thing,” Delaney said defiantly.
Where she may feel Casey equally entitled to Ladd Springs, she did
not feel that way about her mother. Delaney was a Ladd. Annie was
not.

“
What do you want to do
about it?” Nick asked.

Her gaze shot to the ceiling. “I don’t
know. I haven’t gotten that far in my thought process.”

Nick chuckled. “Give it time. I daresay
we’re not in a hurry. From what I witnessed today, Ernie is still
in prime fightin’ condition. A paternity test will take time. I say
we pay the taxes and take it from there. Malcolm and I can draw up
site plans, architectural designs and when the day comes, we’ll be
positioned to put them into action.”

Good thinking. Steady, calm, Nick was
fast-becoming Delaney’s rock.

“
Don’t look now,” Nick
announced softly, “but we’ve got company.”

Delaney jumped. “What?” Her gaze
latched onto the dark figure walking across her porch. She twisted
to him. “The police are here.”

“
I see that.” He rose,
gently guiding her up with him.

Staring up into Nick’s dark gaze, she
asked, “Do you think they arrested Jeremiah?

“
I think we should answer
the door and find out.”

The rap was quick and succinct. Delaney
hurried to answer, hopeful the police had Jeremiah in custody, but
nervous it could be something else. Nick and Malcolm seemed a
little too cool when Jeremiah asked about their involvement. They
told her they’d been out on business last night. Could that
business have had something to do with Jeremiah? Delaney tamped
back the quick patter in her breast and exclaimed, “Hey, Gavin.”
Recognizing Ida Shore’s son instantly, Delaney was relieved for the
friendly face. “How can I help you?” she asked, standing aside to
let him in.

“
Hey, Delaney,” he greeted
with a smile, followed by a nod to Nick. Gavin was fair-skinned and
boyish-faced, his receding blond hair the only outward indication
to his almost forty years. Thankfully his hazel eyes were friendly,
suggesting no ill intent for his visit.

“
Gavin, this is my friend,
Nick Harris. Nick, Gavin Shore.”

“
Nice to meet you,” Gavin
said and extended a hand. “Your uncle told me to come up here and
talk to you about this.” He pulled out a worn black wallet and
handed it to her.