The Inheritance. Marie Ferrarella
sent out all the invitations, but when Robert Maitland’s estranged branch of the family had not responded, she’d taken it upon herself to ferret them out even before Mrs. Maitland had said anything. She saw it as a challenge. Rafe Maitland, the youngest, had been her first target.
She felt her palms grow just the slightest bit damp. This was about Christmas, she told herself, the time for peace and goodwill toward men. Even somewhat hostile ones like this one appeared to be.
“I’m not selling anything,” she told him firmly, watching as he opened the door to his small ranch house. Very quickly, she scooted inside before he had a chance to close it. The interior was sparsely furnished, and what furniture there was, was dark, wooden and massive. It suited him, she thought. She turned to look up at him. “I’m Greer Lawford—”
She got no further than that. Rafe raised one brow quizzically as he looked at her.
“Greer?” It sounded like the name of some long-ago screen siren. “What kind of a name is that?”
“A short one,” Greer answered tersely.
She gripped her briefcase more tightly, her knuckles aching a little. The man looked like one of those rough-and-tumble cowboys who used to populate the Saturday morning serial westerns of long ago. The kind who brooked no nonsense and listened only to his inner voice, rather than to anything anyone around him had to say. An alpha male, carved out of rock. That, no doubt, included his head.
But Mrs. Maitland wanted this man at the party and Greer was bound and determined to prove herself invaluable to the matriarch she had come very quickly to hold in the highest regard.
A look of disinterest and dismissal slipped over his face and he began to walk away from her. Surprised, Greer strode quickly to catch up and placed herself in front of him.
“My name,” she continued, “isn’t important—”
The look in his green eyes darkened. “And, no offense, unless you’re here to hand me a million dollar check, neither is your reason for being here.”
He wanted her gone and his temporary solitude restored. Pulling the tails of his work shirt out of his jeans, Rafe started unbuttoning it, figuring that would be the end of it.
Greer blinked at being so summarily dismissed. She tried not to watch the progress his fingers were making with the buttons on his shirt, or take any note of the hard, smooth chest that was beginning to emerge from beneath the parting material.
Feeling just the slightest bit shaky, she cleared her throat. It was obvious the man hadn’t gotten the invitation, otherwise he would have guessed the reason for her sudden appearance.
“Aren’t you even mildly interested why I’m here?”
“Nope.” And he meant it. Being curious just got you in trouble and he’d had more than his share of trouble in his life. Like now. “What I’m interested in is getting cleaned up.”
Finished unbuttoning his shirt, Rafe looked at her expectantly. Why wasn’t the woman with the improbable name taking her cue and leaving? He couldn’t be any clearer about his disinterest unless he gave her the bum’s rush.
The woman, her eyes rather wide behind her oversize light-gray-rimmed glasses, remained where she was.
Rafe unnotched his belt and loosened it.
Greer noticed a shift in the temperature within the room. It was definitely getting warmer. She could feel a blush beginning to climb up her body. The embarrassment that caused just heightened the color altering her skin tone.
“Are you planning on getting undressed?” She congratulated herself on not swallowing nervously before she asked the question.
His eyes met hers as he sat down on the arm of the overstuffed wine-colored leather sofa. The aged furniture creaked slightly. Rafe gripped one boot and pulled it off. “Never took a shower with my clothes on if I could help it.”
The second boot came off. Her nerve endings frayed a little more as it hit the floor with a thud.
Oh, God, the next minute he was going to take off his jeans. She wasn’t sure which way to avert her eyes and called herself an idiot for feeling this unsettled at her age. But the feeling wouldn’t leave.
“Please,” Greer said rather loudly, her hand on his arm, stilling any further progress that would fuel her embarrassment, “if you’d just hear me out.”
He had to admit that he found the pink blush that was even now furiously climbing up her neck rather intriguing as well as amusing. If he’d been given to placing bets, the way his late father had with a remarkable and unalterable passion, Rafe wouldn’t have guessed that the pushy woman before him was a blusher. The women of his acquaintance didn’t turn pink unless they’d spent too much time in the sun.
Time was running out. Alyssa would be here shortly with Bethany and he wanted to get cleaned up before then. He damn well wouldn’t get a chance once he was alone with the toddler. At a little more than one, Bethany had conquered walking a month ago and was into everything from the moment she set foot in the house unless he deposited her in her playpen. He knew he was living on borrowed time. Any day now, Bethany was going to discover a way to escape the small, confining area.
“All right—” he glanced at his watch “—you’ve got five minutes. Talk.”
Despite her background in the high-tech professional world she used to inhabit, Greer wasn’t accustomed to talking fast. That was why she enjoyed working for Megan; she liked having time to lay things out.
“You’re going to time me?”
“Yup.” His eyes returned to his watch. “And you’re wasting it.”
Like a marathon swimmer who’d heard the gun go off, Greer took a deep breath and plunged in. “I represent Megan Maitland—”
A muscle twisted in Rafe’s rigid jaw. “Never heard of her.”
The abrupt dismissal pulled her up short. It took Greer a little more than a beat to recover. “She’s your aunt.”
Rafe moved his shoulders in an indifferent shrug, his eyes flat. As were his feelings regarding that distant side of the family. Contrary to what he’d just said, he had heard of Megan Maitland. And her family. And her clinic. He’d made the connection after tossing away the invitation he’d received in the mail nearly a month ago. He didn’t want to get dragged into anything, especially not now.
Denial seemed the best way to go.
“Sorry.”
Greer supposed it was possible that the man hadn’t heard of Megan Maitland. If he’d been living in a cave for the last twenty-five years. Still, it wasn’t her place to call him a liar.
Ever the diplomat, she pretended she believed him and patiently explained, “She and her family run Maitland Maternity in Austin, Texas.”
Greer watched his generous lips draw together in slight disdain. She couldn’t tell if it was in response to her, her tone, or what she’d just said.
“I know where Austin is. Don’t know where the Maternity is and don’t rightly think I’ll be needing that information anytime soon.” He peeled off his thick gray socks and let them drop over his discarded boots.
Panic made a second appearance, assaulting her stomach. Any second, the man was going to start taking off his jeans, she just knew it. Desperation fueled her determination. “Will you listen to me and stop talking for a minute?”
Rafe’s eyes gave nothing away as he offered her a small salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
Greer pressed her lips together, trying not to dwell on how much she despised hearing that term applied to her. She’d heard it, time and again, years before she ever thought she deserved it. Years before she was ready for it. She hated the idea that she’d grown into a “ma’am” without ever having been a “miss” in anyone’s