Rogue's Revenge (7 page)

“Me? Take on this place?” The words were a gusty exhale. “Are you crazy?”

“You’ve got a responsibility to Jack’s memory.” He strode over to the percolator and took a mug from a cupboard above it. “What did you leave behind in Toronto? A high-priced chrome-and-glass apartment and an office with a view of the next high-rise? Maybe some stiff-assed boyfriend with about as much guts as a worm?”

“That coffee is for lunch.” She snatched the cup from his hand.

“Fine. Maybe it’s time I hit some of Jack’s twelve-year-old Scotch.”

He started toward the dining room, but she dashed to block his way.

“Oh, no, you don’t! I won’t have whiskey on your breath when the lawyer arrives.”

“Stop giving orders.” His eyes glinted gold fire. “You don’t own this place yet.”

“Technically, no, but actually, yes. Watch it, Mister God’s Gift to Women, or I’ll fire you here and now!” She was on tiptoes trying to get face to face with him as she sputtered out her threat, and suddenly he burst out laughing.

“You do that,” he chuckled finally. “You just do that, boss lady. There’re guests arriving in two weeks, and you haven’t one sweet clue how to deal with them.”

Before she could catch her breath, he caught her by the shoulders, pulled her close and brought his mouth down over hers in a mouth-consuming, breathtaking kiss. Drawn full length against his body so fast she didn’t have time to conjure a response, her instincts took over…and she kissed him back, full mouth, tongue to tongue.

“Vehicle.” He pushed her out at arms’ length, head tilted, listening. “Probably the lawyer.”

He turned and strode out to meet the newcomer. As the door slammed shut behind him, Allison collapsed against a counter.

Wow! Oh, good lord, no! Not wow. Definitely not wow.

****

Matthew Chamberlain was a tall, handsome, gray-haired man, well groomed and professional. He took the place Allison indicated at the head of the dining room table, declined the sandwiches, accepted a cup of black coffee, then opened his brief case and took out his reading glasses.

As the attorney began to sort through the papers inside his satchel, Allison, seated on his right, took the opportunity to narrow her eyes and purse her lips at Heath, seated across from her. He responded with a syrupy smile that made her blood pressure surge.

“Ah, here it is.” Matthew Chamberlain drew out a document and opened it on the table. “There is, of course, the usual sound mind, etc., preamble, which I’m sure you’re both familiar with and so I’ll leave it unread. Then Jack—Mr. Adams—goes on to mention a particular salmon rod, one with some special significance to you, I believe, Mr. Oakes.” He paused and looked at Heath over his glasses.

“Yes.” He leaned back in his chair, looking smugly vindicated.

“Well, it’s yours.”

Allison stifled a sigh of relief. The rest of the estate would be her mother’s inheritance.

“Now, here it gets a bit involved.” The lawyer settled deeper into his chair and adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Adams was adamant that his real estate, namely this area known as the Chance, be maintained as pristine wilderness and an educational area to enlighten future generations to the need for preservation of it and all places like it. As well…” Matthew Chamberlain raised his gaze from the papers and looked sharply at first Heath and then Allison.

Yes, yes, go on! Get to the point
.

“Mr. Adams wanted the Chance to remain in his family in perpetuity. With this in mind, he left forty-nine percent to his granddaughter, Allison Armstrong, and…”

“Fifty-one percent to his daughter, Myra,” Allison finished and leaned back in her chair, lips drawn firmly into a smug smile.

“Good.” Heath started to rise. “I know Myra will do the right thing by this place.”

“A moment, please.” The lawyer gestured Heath back into his chair. “You’re both mistaken. Mr. Adams did not leave the remaining fifty-one percent to Mrs. Armstrong.”

“What? But you said he wanted the Chance to stay in the family!”

“And, according to his thinking, it will, Ms. Armstrong.” The attorney glanced briefly over at her before turning to Heath. “He left another forty-nine percent to his acquired son, Heath Oakes.”

“Acquired son?” Allison was on her feet, her breath coming in outraged, incredulous gasps. “What in hell does that mean? You can acquire a new dress, or a new car, but not a son!”

“It’s merely the adjective Jack Adams chose to explain his relationship with Mr. Oakes.” Matthew Chamberlain remained unruffled. “He never legally adopted him, but he’d come to regard him as his own child.”

“I don’t believe it! Gramps must have been ill or on medication when he made that will. Otherwise, he’d never have left almost half of the place he cherished to a…a jailbird!”

She was on her feet, leaning across the table toward Heath who’d remained stone silent since the announcement of his inheritance.

“If you’re referring to Mr. Oakes’ past…er… unfortunate brush with the law, I can assure you Jack was convinced nothing of that nature would ever again occur.”

“Well, I’m not. I don’t even know what he did. He could have robbed or pillaged or raped or…”

“I stole a car.” Heath cut off her ranting.

The hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth further infuriated her. Plopping herself back down into her chair, she crossed her arms on her chest with such violence she felt the shoulder seams at the back of her shrunken jacket rip.

“If you’d care to proceed, Mr. Chamberlain, I believe Ms. Armstrong is prepared to listen.” Heath’s smile turned condescending. “Although she seems to have ignored the fact—or perhaps is not yet aware of it—there remains an outstanding two percent of ownership, which is all important when you consider they hold the balance of power.”

Of course! That two percent belongs to Mom. The Armstrongs are back in the driver’s seat!
She shot him what she hoped was her most triumphant look.

“This is where the will becomes…ah…shall we say, a bit original.” Matthew Chamberlain looked from one to the other over his glasses.

“Original? What do you mean, original?” Allison was leaning toward him, hands gripping the edge of the table. “Those controlling shares have to belong to my mother.”

“Actually, no.” The attorney returned his attention to his papers. “They were left in a trust, to be administered jointly by its members.”

“A trust? Members? What members? Who?”

“That I can’t tell you, Ms. Armstrong. Mr. Adams made the concealment of their identities a top priority. Oh, and there is another stipulation. No one of the property holders can sell their shares unless all parties are in agreement. Now, if you’ll both just sign here where it states that you’ve heard and understand…”

He slid the sheaf of papers toward Allison, indicated where she was to sign, and offered her his pen.

“I’m not signing anything until I have my corporate lawyer examine the document.” Allison stood and put her hands on her hips.

“Ms. Anderson, I assure you it’s all perfectly legal and unshakeable.” Matthew Chamberlain, QC, got up to face her. “Jack Adams spent time and effort making this will. It’s one of the most ironclad I’ve ever encountered.”

“Nevertheless, I insist on further legal advice.”

“Very well.” The lawyer gave an exasperated sigh and began to gather up his papers. “You can pick up a copy from my office when you come into town. I’ll have my secretary prepare one for you.”

“Thank you.” She glanced defiantly over at Heath. The calm coolness on his handsome, sun-bronzed face made her hate him even more.

Five minutes later, Allison watched as Matthew Chamberlain got into his rented Tracker and drove away.

“Seems we finally have something in common.” Heath turned from watching the lawyer out of sight and looked up at her.

She stood on the top step of the Lodge’s back porch, leaning against the door, her hands clasped behind her, her head thrown back so that she gazed skyward.

“There has to be a mistake. Gramps would never do anything this crazy.”

“It’s what he wanted, and we owe it to him to try to make it work.”

“Maybe you owe him. I certainly don’t!”

She whirled and would have strode into the Lodge had he not bounded catlike up the steps and seized her arm. He spun her to face him, eyes narrowed.

“Oh, yes, you do, Miss High-and-Mighty! You owe him for years of neglect and loneliness. Jack understood the reason for your mother’s absences—her fundraising for needy sick kids—and he was proud of her. But you! You had lots of time for vacations at all the holiday hot spots. He showed me the postcards. But not a single day to visit your grandfather. There’s no excuse good enough for what you did.”

“Let me go! Don’t you dare try to heap guilt on me. Not when you’re responsible. Not when you were the last one to see him alive!”

“Oh, so we’re back to that, are we?” Their faces were inches apart as they stood glaring at each other against the kitchen door. “I suppose the will further strengthens my culpability as a murder suspect, does it?”

“Your vocabulary may have gotten better, but not your manners,” she shot back. “I’m catching the afternoon plane to Toronto. My corporate lawyer will have this mess straightened out by the weekend. My mother will own this place, lock, stock, and barrel, and you’ll be out on the street!”

She shrugged free of his restraining hand, yanked open the screen door, all but knocking him off the step, and strode into the Lodge.

****

What was he going to do about her? Heath stood on the back steps and drew a deep breath. That will had landed him and her in a fine mess. Bound like Siamese twins in ownership of the Chance, they’d have to find some way to coexist until they discovered who held that powerful two percent. Then, and only then, could they begin to resolve the situation.

Too bad it had to be her entangled with him. She hadn’t changed. She was still one stuck-up rich girl with no appreciation of this place Jack Adams had taught him to love and respect. And the way she’d treated Jack all those years, refusing to visit him, leaving him alone after his wife had died… Heartless little bitch.

Loosening his tie and yanking it off over his head, he strode toward his cabin. Who had he been trying to impress by wearing this stupid monkey suit? Had he been stupid enough to think he could throw her for a loop by showing her he could look as sharp as any of those corporate types she worked with at the supposedly impressive job in the city?

Hell!
I’m not some city dude
.
I could see the contempt in her eyes when she looked at me at the church.
I dressed for the funeral in remembrance of Jack and the good times. He wouldn’t have recognized me in this getup. Damn it, he’d be laughing if he could see me now.

He took the steps to his home two at a time and strode inside. The homey ambience of the place had a calming effect. He removed his jacket and let the peace of the small kitchen restore his equilibrium. What did it matter what he’d done, what he wore? In a few hours she’d be on a plane back to Toronto. With any luck, the lawyers would handle everything, and he’d never have to see her again.

He went into his bedroom, pulled off his clothes, hung his suit in the closet, and headed into the bathroom. He’d showered that morning, but the encounter with Matthew Chamberlain and Allison had left him hot and sticky.

As the water gushed over him, he tried to keep the thought of her as a royal pain, as a burr in his side, but the image of her in those stupid pink pajamas flooded across his mind, and he couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at his lips. Another image formed and more than his lips reacted. The image of her in his arms, the sensation of her lips, her body molding into his…

She’s a miserable, money-grubbing little witch. Don’t go getting hot after her. That would be just plain stupid.

His body didn’t listen. It had a mind of its own where beautiful, sexy Allison Armstrong was concerned. And he hated it.

He was pulling on his bush pants when a knock sounded at his door.

“Heath?”
Damn it, what now
?

“Yeah?”

“I’m ready.”

“Ready?”

“To go to the airport. You have to drive me. Well, that is, unless you want me to take the Cherokee and leave it there for you to pick up…which would be difficult since then you’d have two vehicles in town…”

“Okay, okay, I’m coming.” He pulled a clean white T-shirt over his head and grabbed a plaid shirt from the closet.
Man, I’ll be glad when she’s gone.

In the kitchen, she stood by the door in a shaft of afternoon sunlight and a soft orange turtleneck that accentuated her peaches-and-cream complexion and the soft, shining, artistic tangle of her chestnut curls. Some brand of expensive, hip-hugging jeans highlighted the alluring curves below.
Oh, hell, and double hell. Body behave…just for another hour or so.

****

“Do you date much?”

“What?” His head jerked to face her. They were driving down the highway toward the airport a half hour later when she broke the silence they’d maintained all the way from the Chance.

“I asked if you date much. Women must be pretty scarce, away back in the woods. Available women, that is.” He caught the innuendo.

“I don’t fool around with guests, married or otherwise.” He returned his attention to the road and fought to control the annoyance that had formed a sharper retort. “Don’t try to be subtle about asking.”

“What about the local ladies?” Head held high and slightly cocked, she stared through the windshield into the spring sunlight.

“I don’t see how my social life is any concern of yours.” He gripped the wheel until his knuckles were hard as walnuts.

“I guess it isn’t, not really. I’m just curious to see if you’ll be leaving any romantic interest when I terminate your position. Or maybe you’ll stay in Portage and get a job cutting timber or guiding hunters.”

“You’re really trying to get to me, are you?” He tried to ignore the anger swelling in his gut. “You hate me that much?”