Fire and Flame (8 page)

“‘To my closest confidant, I will one third of my remaining assets.’” Curt paused, clearing his throat with a noisy rasp. “‘With the qualifier that Brenton Conley will personally see to my beloved daughter’s duty.’”

Sara’s reaction was a sharp inhalation of breath while Brent’s had escaped his lungs in a shocked gush.

“‘Let it be known that neither party will receive their inheritance until the deed is done, a Healer has given testimony that a child grows, and both parties have sworn under honored oath that my final wish has been carried out. If my wishes aren’t heeded within two months, the inheritance passes to my nieces and nephews as stated in my addendum.’”

Brent’s neck heated for a far different reason. It flared hotter when Sara shot up from the chair, jabbing an angry finger at him.

“You did this!” She growled the words deep within her lovely elongated throat. “You persuaded him to write this nonsense into his will!”

“I didn’t,” Brent exclaimed as the blood rose in his face. “I never wanted to be the one!”

Her mouth dropped wide even as hurt filled her blue eyes. Brent spread his lips for the explanation that he’d never wanted to be the one, but that he wanted to be
The One
. The words froze in his throat.

Sara’s golden lashes fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings as he mutely worked out what to say to fix this. She inhaled the ragged breath he’d heard her make at Fintan’s funeral.

The sound tore at his heart. Brent held out a hand to her.

“Stay away from me,” she hissed.

Helplessly he watched her dash out of the lawyer’s office.

Chapter Ten

If she’d ever been this furious in her life, Sara could not recall it. She’d always known Brent was a bully but he’d gone too far this time. And that Daddy had gone along with it…

No. She couldn’t think about it.

She rushed out the door, barreling through the witches who had lingered. No doubt they were still here to gossip about what had gone on behind closed doors.

“Watch it,” a sharp female voice snarled to her left.

She pinned a glare on the source. Dimpled-cheeked and glossy-haired Vanessa Aine was ready with a glare right back. The brunette hoyden had dressed for a movie premier rather than the somber occasion it was. Her olive dress was sleeveless, short, and had a zipper that travelled in an inviting way around and down the garment. Vanessa was beautiful by all standards with her perfectly dainty little nose, swooping crimson lips, and wide bronze eyes. Sara had always disliked her and it was only partially because the girl two years her senior was bitchy.

“Sara.”

She tore her glare from the female and fixed it on the male that had emerged from the office. With a wavy forehead and crinkled eyebrows, Brent had never looked more beseeching. She could almost believe he was innocent of any wrongdoing.

Sara swung away from him before she could fall prey to his seeming remorse. She searched out a kind face in those who hovered around the law office’s doors in the warmth of the spring sun. None of her friends had stayed for support. It shouldn’t have surprised her after the way they’d treated her with begrudging shows of feigned sympathy at the funeral. But it did.

In a small group to the right, she found what she’d been looking for. The only truly sympathetic face belonged to one of her father’s old friends, a woman who may or may not have been his lover at one point. Without needing to be asked, Jess Ignacia took Sara’s hand in hers and led her to a nearby sedan.

“Sara, wait,” Brent called after them.

Though they were all technically subservient to Brent now, Jess didn’t stop. She made quick work of unlocking the doors and even putting the car in drive. Seconds later they pulled out of the parking lot. Brent grew tinier in the side mirror by the breath.

Jess—a stately woman with burnished copper hair that was beginning to gray, eyes the color of a fresh lime, and flawless alabaster skin—made no mention of the scene they’d recently fled. Instead, she offered silent solace and a single squeeze of her hand. It was what Sara needed. For a while.

Jess drove around the city until she reached a small bistro with plenty of outdoor tables. Sara decided she could eat. It was certainly preferable to going home.

Her teeth clenched tightly when she thought of home. Words tumbled from her mouth as they sat around a small round metal table beneath a broad navy canvas umbrella. “He willed the house to me on the condition that I let Brent continue living there.”

Jess kept her expression placid while she sipped her iced tea. She nodded as if she weren’t surprised to hear the news.

“And he willed two thirds of his assets to me,” Sara continued. “The other third goes to Brent.” Sara inhaled a slow, furious breath that lifted her temperature. “But neither of us gets any of it unless I do my duty…with Brent.”

The older woman’s finely shaped eyebrows lifted slightly. She set her iced tea aside with a thoughtful motion. After a moment of silence, she asked, “That was a stipulation written into the will?”

Sara gave a slow nod.

Jess’s gaze scanned over Sara’s face. Her lips parted but she didn’t speak.

“Brent made him do it,” Sara declared when her friend remained silent.

The woman’s head cocked to the left. “He admitted this?”

“Of course not. He’s not stupid.”

Jess spoke at a cautious speed. “Fintan wasn’t easily influenced.”

“Fintan didn’t call everyone the ‘son of his soul’,” Sara replied sourly.

“He called Brent that?”

“Yes. In the will. The son of his soul. His most trusted confidant.”

Sara didn’t realize how tightly she’d clenched her arms until Jess’s gaze dropped to where they dug into Sara’s chest. It was difficult to ease her pose while she was still furious.

“If Fintan’s will called Brenton these things, then there are only two possible explanations,” Jess said in her calm way. “Either the will wasn’t written by Fintan. Or Fintan truly respected and cared for Brenton.” After a thoughtful pause, Jess continued, “We all saw Curt open the will. It was locked away. And that was Fintan’s signature. I’ve seen it many times.”

Sara had as well. And it had looked like her father’s handwriting. As had the scrawl on the interior of the document. Fintan hadn’t simply dictated the will. He’d personally hand-written it in ink on fine parchment.

She had to admit her daddy
had
respected and cared for Brent.

Sara slammed her back against the metal bistro seat. “But by respecting and caring for Brent did he have to disrespect me?”

Jess’s lips softened into a small smile. “I am sure Fintan did what he thought was best for all. He always did.”

Yes. He always had.

But not this time.

****

Seven o’clock was too early to go home but Sara had run out of things to do without buying twice as many shoes as she already had. Though she had savings, it wouldn’t keep her long if she didn’t get any more money from her father’s estate and she was also forced to delay her career. Especially not if she continued buying designer shoes. Limited Sunday hours certainly helped with the money issue.

And so at a few minutes past seven, her cab pulled up to the driveway of the two-story ice gray house with maroon shutters that had featured daily in her childhood. An unfamiliar hybrid was parked behind Sara’s Lexus. Perhaps one of her father’s acquaintances had stopped by to extend their condolences. Could she get away with only speaking to them for a few moments?

Usually shopping was the cure for whatever ailed her. But after hitting the fashion mall as well as two others, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach had only increased. It was time to go inside and face whatever Brent had to say to her.

She handed the fare plus a tip over to the waiting cab driver and then gathered her bags. Lethargically she made her way up to the side door that would enter the kitchen. The scent of food—beef to be specific—tickled her nose as she neared the wooden deck steps.

Brent was visible through the side door’s glass window, resting lazily on his forearms at the kitchen island. The new priest’s attention was fixed on the female sautéing food in a pan on the stove. The female turned, revealing that none other than brunette hoyden Vanessa Aine was messing up
her
sauté pan. Sara drew in a long, angry breath through her nose.

A smug smile spread across Vanessa’s mouth when she caught sight of Sara outside. She leaned forward in a move that displayed far too much of the breasts within her low collared dress. Brent took his fill of looking.

It was the final straw. Sara burst through the door, attempting to breeze past them as if she hadn’t a care in the world. But she was far too angry to succeed. One of her shoe purchases smacked Brent. He grunted even as he scrambled up guiltily.

“Sara,” he called after her exactly as he’d done outside the lawyer’s office. “We need to talk.”

“Can’t talk.” Her voice echoed in the stairwell. Sara winced at the roughness she heard in the echo. “I’ve got to get ready to go out.”

“You were just out.”

She’d started this lie. She had no choice but to see it through. Attempting a flippant tone, she said, “No, I was gathering supplies to go out. Now I’m preparing to go out.” Sara bit down on the urge to snarl that he should go back to the bitch in the kitchen.

Brent, however, was not one to control his urges. He snarled every bit as sourly as she’d tried to avoid. “Your father not in the ground two days and you’re already gallivanting around the city?”

She faced him with a shaky swivel. Her loot was a satisfying barrier between them. But Brent ignored the bags—his piercing gaze fixed on her face as though nothing could shield her.

“Daddy would have wanted me to be happy.” Sara inhaled a shaking breath upon recalling his final wish. Whirling back around, she ground out, “Final wish aside.”

And then she slammed the door to her pink bedroom in his face.

Sara dropped her bags where she stood. Dramatically she threw herself on her full sized bed, shoving her face into her pillow. She didn’t want to cry but there was no avoiding it.

An inheritance contingent upon Brent hadn’t been bad enough. No, Brent had to invite the foulest witch in the entire region over for dinner the very same night.

As if he had any room to criticize her!

She pressed the pillow tightly to her eyes. Sara didn’t want to remember that kiss—the amazing, mind-scrambling kiss. But she’d been unable to get it out of her head. Why did it have to come from him?

There was only one way to forget about a kiss like that. Find someone who kissed better.

****

The whole kissing replacement scheme had been a good idea in practice. However, in execution Sara found her heart simply wasn’t in it.

She was in mourning.

The backbone of her existence was gone. What would become of her life without her father? Fintan had played a role in all of her hopes and dreams. He’d encouraged her in everything from the smallest whim right on up to her grand vision. And even though she’d intended to move to New York, she’d always known she would spend holidays back home. Now holidays would be empty without her family.

Sara stared out the Lexus’s windshield at the lights of downtown. The brief trip to her favorite sports bar had been uneventful. She’d ordered a single beer then sipped it in silence as she’d watched the highlights of the day’s games. Two guys had tried to talk to her. She’d ignored them.

It was Sunday, far too late to call up her school friends. They all had careers and real jobs that would start early in the morning. If life had continued on her prescribed course, she would have joined their ranks in a few weeks. Now she hadn’t the first idea what would happen next week, let alone in a month.

Minutes past ten o’clock was a pathetic time to return to the house after a “night out”. Coffee at an all-night restaurant would kill some time.

Perhaps she’d come to some sort of decision about where to go from here.

She couldn’t focus her thoughts on anything but Brent. Irritated with her brain, Sara checked her email for news about the internship applications she’d submitted as she sipped from her coffee. She spent the remainder of her time scouring the Internet for information about new ones.

Scrolling through descriptions of the different opportunities sent her thoughts in a whirl. Did she truly want to wake every morning before the sun to be a production assistant simply so she could get her foot in the door? While she wasn’t afraid of working hard for what she wanted, she was no longer sure becoming a minor celebrity among vanilla humans who knew nothing about her would make her happy.

But what would make her happy?

An image of Brent flashed in her mind’s eye. Sara’s nostrils flared angrily. He wouldn’t make her happy. He’d make her miserable. In fact if it weren’t for him, she would be snug in her comfortable bed at this very moment, far less unhappy.

His behavior today had been beyond insulting. How could he have invited Vanessa of all people back to Fintan’s house? What did she have that Sara lacked?

Sara didn’t care. Or she wasn’t going to care. Perhaps a few more cups of coffee would make it true.

Chapter Eleven

Brent paced the back bedroom at McKenna House with increasing agitation. It was past midnight. And Sara wasn’t home.

Who had she gone out with?

Dozens of faces paraded through his thoughts, each lifting his ire more than the last. He would be furious if he learned she’d been out with another witch. If she’d refused him her duty only to give it to someone else…

Brent didn’t know what he’d do. And that scared him.

He clawed at his scalp while inhaling a strained breath. He’d barely heard the knock on the door because of it.

Brent shot to the door, wrenching it open with a growl, “Where have you been?”

The doe-like bronze eyes that met his did not belong to Sara. His shoulders slumped more than he’d like to admit.