Her Forever Man. Leanne Banks
influx of traffic at the Triple L, especially during calving season.”
“You think I’m nuts. Go ahead and admit it,” she dared him. “You think I’m teetotally crazy,” she said, choosing an expression she’d heard Bree use.
“You’re not thinking about your heritage—” he began.
“I have no heritage,” she said. “I refuse to have the same kind of marriage my parents had. They led separate lives, and I was a disappointment to them. I was a clumsy, shy little girl with crooked teeth who liked to read a lot. I played the piano, but not quite well enough to be a concert pianist. I made good grades, but I wasn’t gifted. And socially, I didn’t sparkle.” She straightened her shoulders. “Sharing my wealth is the one way I can make my mark, the one way I can do something good and productive.”
Brock sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “I didn’t want to ask this,” he muttered. “Why are you down here?”
“I told you. My lawyers—”
“Why did they send you to me?”
“It wasn’t specifically to you,” she told him. All the same, she thought, his broad shoulders could handle anything.
“It was specifically to get you out of their hair for a while. Why did they send you away?”
“Because I hired a financial consultant to help me set up a foundation.”
“Douglas,” Brock said.
Regret and anger roiled through her. Felicity frowned. “Yes. Doug. He once worked for the firm my father used. I met him at a social function, and he told me he’d gone into business for himself. He called me a few times and appeared genuinely interested in helping me. I began to transfer funds for the foundation. Three weeks ago, he took that money and left for South America. My attorneys don’t trust my judgment. At the moment, I don’t trust myself either. I need someone I can trust. Someone who isn’t interested in me. Someone with integrity,” she said, looking at him thoughtfully.
“After you dump your money, what will you do?” Brock asked.
Felicity shrugged. She had only a vague picture of her future. “I don’t know. Enter a convent or buy a cottage on the coast of Maine and read and have three cats. I’m not sure it’s all that important. What’s important is that I set up this foundation.”
“They’re not going to let you in a convent with your body,” Brock muttered.
Her stomach took a little dip. She ignored it. “Then Maine it is,” she said wryly, then turned serious. “Would you help me?”
He shot her a wary look. “You just met me. Why would you trust me?”
“Several reasons. Gut feeling.” She wouldn’t tell him she had an odd sense of fate about Brock. Nothing romantic, of course. He was trustworthy. “You’re solid and responsible. You give the impression that you were born forty years old. You come highly recommended,” she said. “Your daughter says you’re the best. You kept your end of a bargain you didn’t make by letting me stay in your home. Plus there are the other reasons.”
“And they are?” he prompted in a skeptical tone.
“You don’t like me. You don’t want me here. In fact,” she said, pushing aside her little twinge, “you don’t want me, period.”
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