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  Blake deeded the place to you. Even if Sutter forgot to put through the paper work. He wanted you to have it.

  But Jillian was a lawyer. She knew how to fight. She was a prosecuting attorney from Houston; she was accustomed to bare-knuckled brawling. She’d slice him to ribbons in a court of law. Unless he could find proof Blake had deeded him the property, he was going to lose the place that had meant so very much to his beloved Aimee.

  One thing was clear—he had to get Jillian out of his house.

  Chapter Eight

  Jillian and Mutt ended up bedding down in one of the upstairs bedrooms after the ten o’clock news. She’d heard Tuck come in around midnight, and she’d tried unsuccessfully not to picture him stripping off his clothes and tumbling onto the couch.

  She’d seen him in the nude in her dream and then almost naked in real life, and the man certainly lived up to the fantasy. She’d heard him. Thought of him. And then she’d touched herself in the darkness and pretended it was his hand.

  Jillian awoke at seven feeling unsettled and out of place, with the smell of fresh-brewed coffee luring her downstairs. She found Tuck in the kitchen fully dressed, making eggs. She felt oddly disappointed to see him in blue jeans and flannel instead of the way she’d pictured him in her mind.

  It’s official. You’re a pervert.

  “Coffee,” she demanded.

  “My, you’re bright-eyed in the morning.”

  She just glared. “Coffee?”

  Tuck chuckled, filled a cup, and pushed it gingerly toward her. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Do I look like a lightweight to you?”

  “Black it is.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I need to take Mutt out,” she mumbled after she’d had a few sips. “And give him some kibble.”

  “Already taken care of.”

  “That was nice of you.”

  He shrugged. “Mutt wouldn’t leave me in peace until I did. How do you like your eggs?”

  “You’re cooking? For me?”

  “Why not?” His grin dazzled.

  All at once, she felt a little woozy, like she’d been running too hard and too long. She couldn’t ever remember any man cooking for her, other than Blake.

  Jillian plunked down on the barstool across from the stove and sipped her coffee. She couldn’t help but notice Tuck’s long, masculine fingers.

  “Eggs?” he asked.

  “Over easy.”

  Their eyes met; then Tuck looked away, but not before she caught the lingering glance he slid down her body. The look ignited the sparks shooting between them.

  Suddenly she realized she was still in her pajamas, and her hair was mussed, and she just felt … exposed. Her hand trailed to her collar, and she fastened the top button.

  “Are you cold? ’Cause I can crank up the heater.”

  “No, no. I’m fine.” Sitting here, looking at him, she was the antithesis of cold. She was a bonfire.

  He dished up the eggs on a blue Fiesta ware plate and slid them across the bar toward her.

  “Gracias.”

  “You speak Spanish?”

  “I’m a lawyer from South Texas. Even when you don’t speak Spanish, you speak a little Spanish.”

  He put his eggs on a green plate, leaned his back against the counter, and ate standing up. Was he that reluctant to take the barstool next to her?

  “So how come you’re really here?”

  She shrugged. “I thought I’d inherited this house.”

  “If that’s the only reason you came here, why not just sell it through Blake’s lawyer?”

  “I’m the executor of his will. I came here to settle things.”

  “In a U-Haul?”

  “Hey, you wouldn’t tell me about the Magic Man thing. Why should I tell you my sob story?”

  “Point taken.”

  “These are good eggs.”

  “Thanks. I added shredded cheddar.”

  They ate in a silence punctuated only by the clinking of forks against Fiesta ware.

  “Now that you know the place isn’t legally yours, what are you going to do?” he asked.

  “I don’t know that. I haven’t seen this mysterious deed.”

  “You calling me a liar?”

  “I’m just saying that in the eyes of the law, at this moment in time, you have no proof Blake deeded you the property, and I have a copy of his will that gives it to me.”

  “Okay,” he said, tossing his plate in the sink and crossing his arms over his chest. “Let’s play what if. What if we can’t find the deed? What if you take me to court and win and the place is yours? Then what? You’re seriously planning on living in Salvation?”

  “Yes,” she said mildly, although her muscles tensed, and she didn’t know why.

  “What are you going to do for work?” Tuck asked. “It’s pretty hard to make a living up here, especially during the winter.”

  “You seem to manage.”

  “My needs are modest.”

  “Mine are too.”

  He raked his gaze over her and snorted. “Not if your hundred-dollar haircut is any indication.”

  Irritated, Jillian ran a hand through her hair and glared. “In answer to your earlier question, I’m setting up a law practice. I have to take the Colorado bar first, but until then, I have some money socked away.”

  Tuck’s eyebrow raised in surprise. “You’re going to open a law practice in Salvation?”

  “Why not? Is that so far-fetched? If Sutter’s the only lawyer, the town is in desperate need of competent legal counsel.”

  “Sutter’s competent.”

  “The man’s over eighty and healing from a broken hip.”

  “Most people go to Boulder for their legal needs.”

  “With me here, they won’t have to.”

  “Listen,” he said abruptly. “I’ve gotta get going. New job starting today.”

  “Um, okay. Thanks for breakfast.”

  “No big deal.” He headed for the door, turned, paused.

  “What?”

  “Maybe you could find another place to stay. There’s plenty of motels in Boulder, or you can try contacting Jefferson Baines. He’s a local realtor. He’d know if there was anything for rent in Salvation at this time of year.”

  “Excuse me? Wasn’t it just yesterday that you asked me to stay?” She tried to sound teasing, but damn if it didn’t come out accusatory.

  “I’m unaccustomed to roommates,” he said gruffly. “Of course, you can stay until you find a place of your own. I’d just appreciate if it was sooner rather than later.”

  “I understand,” she said, even though she was a bit confused by his about-face.

  After Tuck left, Jillian took Mutt for a walk, then came back inside to wash the breakfast dishes before jumping into the shower. Showering was a bit tricky, since the faucet handle was broken off and she had to use a pair of pliers she found on the bathroom counter to adjust the water temperature.

  “Totally brilliant, Jillian. If you really do end up inheriting this place, it’s going to cost a small fortune to get it renovated.” Maybe she should just let Tuck have the lake house and forget all about it.

  And do what? Go where?

  A sudden rush of grief washed over her, and she bowed her head against the flow of hot water, sucking in great sobs of air. Her entire body shook. She fisted her hands against the pain. She missed Blake so damned much.

  She wished he were here. Wished she could ask him what he’d been trying to do by willing her the lake house in Colorado. Making her think it was the answer to her prayers, then getting here and discovering he’d given the place away to someone else.

  It hurt.

  Another betrayal in a lifetime of betrayals.

  If he’d just bothered to change his will, she would never have gotten her hopes up, never had any expectations, never dared to start wanting something she’d always been afraid to want.

  A
place to call home.

  Her throat constricted. Despair wasn’t like her. She was tough, she was resilient, she didn’t wallow in self-pity. And she wasn’t going to give up without a fight. All her life she had to scrap for everything she’d ever gotten. Why should this be any different?

  Determination pushed out the grief. Tenacity dried her eyes. A sense of purpose stilled the echoes of past hurts and betrayals.

  She got out of the shower, dressed, and found her cell phone. Steeling her jaw, she called the courthouse in Boulder and identified herself as the executor of Blake’s will and asked if the lake house deed had been filed to Tucker Manning. Once she determined that it had not, she dialed Hamilton Green’s number.

  His secretary answered and put her on hold. Jillian paced the living room while she waited, palm splayed against her forehead.

  Finally, Hamilton came on the line. “Miss Samuels?”

  She didn’t bother with pleasantries; she just launched right in and told him about Tuck and his claims on the house Blake had willed to her.

  “But you said Mr. Manning doesn’t have the document and his lawyer didn’t file it.”

  “That’s correct. He can’t find the deed.”

  “If he doesn’t have a deed, he doesn’t have a case,” Hamilton said. “The house is yours. Of course, you know he can choose to contest the will. My guess is that it’s a shakedown.”

  “His lawyer backs him up.”

  “The lawyer could be in on it. Be careful, Jillian. People in small towns stick together, and they’re distrustful of outsiders.”

  “I’m not getting that kind of vibe from him. Are you certain Blake never said a word to you about deeding the property to his son-in-law?”

  “Never. I didn’t even know Blake had a son-in-law. That’s what makes me so suspicious. Why would Blake go through some small-town attorney to deed the property instead of coming directly to me? Why not then change his will?”

  “That’s what I keep asking myself.”

  “Are you certain this guy was Blake’s son-in-law?” Hamilton asked. “Maybe he’s an imposter. Stranger things have been known to happen where money and property are involved.”

  Was he? Jillian frowned. She remembered Blake telling her Aimee was married, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember him mentioning Tuck’s name. Could Tuck just be some guy living in the lake house, pretending to be Aimee’s husband?

  She dismissed the idea as soon as it occurred. Something bizarro like that might happen in Houston, but not in Salvation. It was too small, too insular. Unless the whole town was in on the subterfuge, and that thought was too ridiculous to entertain for even a second.

  “I’m sure he’s Aimee’s husband, and I imagine that he’s telling the truth about the deed. It’s probably buried somewhere in his lawyer’s hellhole of an office,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  Quickly, she explained about the ransacked condition of Sutter’s place of business.

  “Egads,” Hamilton said. “Incompetence at its finest.”

  “The guy’s old and recovering from a fractured hip,” Jillian said, feeling an unexpected urge to stick up for Sutter. “And his secretary apparently plundered the place. There are extenuating circumstances.”

  “So he let you into his office carte blanche?”

  “Yes.”

  “That doesn’t sound very prudent.”

  “I was with Tucker at the time.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what?”

  “Nothing … just …”

  “Just what?”

  “If you had access to his office and he never actually filed the deed, you have the power to make sure it’s never found.”

  “Are you suggesting I destroy the deed if I find it?” Jillian put steel in her voice, unable to believe what he was hinting at.

  “No, no, of course not,” Hamilton backtracked. “That would be unethical.”

  “Not to mention criminal.”

  “Right, right. Just pray you don’t find the deed.”

  “And if I do?”

  Hamilton paused. “When did this Manning say Blake deeded him the property?”

  “About four months ago.”

  “That’s about the same time Blake learned he had a brain tumor.”

  Jillian could see where Hamilton was headed with this. “You’re going to claim Blake wasn’t in his right mind when he deeded the lakehouse to Tuck.”

  “If he was in his right mind, why not go through me?”

  “I can’t answer that, but we both know Blake wasn’t mentally impaired.”

  “Do we?”

  She considered what Hamilton was saying. Blake had been forgetful before his death. Distracted. But who wouldn’t be with a diagnosis of an inoperable brain tumor hanging over them?

  “Honestly, Jillian, you’re in the driver’s seat. This man doesn’t have a deed, and unless it’s found, he has no legal claim on the house. And even if the deed is found, we can take him to court on the grounds Blake didn’t know what he was doing when he deeded him the property. We stand a good chance of winning based on Blake’s brain tumor and the fact that he, a lawyer, didn’t draw up a new will to reflect the deed change. Question is, do you want to fight?”

  Did she?

  Jillian stopped her pacing and glanced out the window at the supreme beauty of the lake stretching out in front of her. Just looking at the calm water, the pine trees, the purple-blue of the snowcapped mountains instantly quieted her mind. Serene, peaceful, the place called to her soul in the way no place ever had.

  Home.

  “I want to fight.”

  “Then get in that house and set up camp there. You’ve got the power of the will on your side, and right now he’s got nothing. Remember, possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

  AFTER SPENDING the remainder of the morning unloading her possessions from the U-Haul into the garage, Jillian drove to Boulder and dropped off the trailer as prearranged with the moving company.

  Then she returned to the lake house, stopping to pick up a fast-food salad for her and a junior-sized hamburger for Mutt on the way. After finishing her lunch, she dressed in a gray wool suit, white silk blouse, red Hermès scarf, red and gray Jimmy Choos, and conservative gold jewelry. Perfect attire for winning over a jury. Hopefully it would have the same effect on Sutter Godfrey.

  As Jillian motored up Enchanted Lane, heading toward town, it occurred to her that no one here knew her. She could become anyone she wanted. This was truly a fresh start. A clean slate. No one had to know about her past. A liberating thought.

  Jillian parked in front of the Bluebird and went inside. It was almost two, but the place was still half full with customers, most of them over sixty. The minute she stepped through the door, every eye in the place was glued to her.

  “Afternoon,” several people called out. She noticed a bunch of old coots were giving her legs the once-over.

  Note to self: In the future, wear pants.

  She raised a hand. “Hi.”

  “You looking for Tucker?” asked Evie from behind the counter.

  “Actually, I’m looking for Sutter. Is he here?”

  “Always.” Evie nodded toward the back room and the sound of dominoes being shuffled.

  “Thanks.”

  She found Sutter Godfrey in exactly the same position he’d been in the previous day, surrounded by his cronies. The doctor was gone, but in his place sat another buddy. She wondered if Sutter ever moved from the spot.

  Sutter glanced up at her, but the welcoming light that had been in his eyes when she was with Tucker had vanished.

  “Hello, Mr. Godfrey.”

  “Miss Samuels.” He played a domino, earned ten points.

  Jillian shifted on her heels, suddenly feeling very awkward. “Might I have a few minutes of your time in private?”

  He paused, and for the longest moment, she thought he was going to refuse. An unexplained panic grabbed hold of her, but
she forced herself to remain calm on the outside. She’d had lots of practice cloaking her feelings.

  “Fellas,” he said to his companions, “can you give us some space?”

  They all looked at her a bit suspiciously but got up from the table and headed into the main part of the café. She was beginning to feel like the business suit had been a huge miscalculation, clearly marking her as a foreigner in their community. Jillian took the vacant seat to Sutter’s right.

  Sutter steepled his fingers. “How might I help you, Miss Samuels?”

  She forced a smile. “The question is, Mr. Godfrey, how can I help you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “You don’t need to pull any of those big-city sales tactics with me, young lady. Just tell me what you want.”

  Okay, so he wasn’t going to be the pushover she’d imagined. That was fine. She lived for challenges. “I want to work for you.”

  “I’m not hiring.”

  “You’re not even going to hear me out?”

  He pressed his lips into a straight line and leaned back in his wheelchair. “Let’s have it.”

  “You need an assistant.”

  “Maybe,” he said grudgingly.

  “No maybe to it. I saw the inside of your office yesterday with Tuck. It’s in shambles.”

  “So Tucker told me.”

  “A man of your stature—”

  He held up a hand. “Normally, I am a fan of flattery, but cut the bullshit. What do you want, and why?”

  “I need a job, and I’m trained as a lawyer.”

  “Exactly. Why would you want a position as my assistant?”

  “For one thing, I haven’t taken the bar in Colorado. For another, I want to start a legal practice here in Salvation, and when I do, I think it would work out to both our advantages if you agreed to take me on as a partner and mentor me in family law, as opposed to me setting up a competing practice.”

  He laughed. “Sweetie, all it would take from me is one word, and no one would darken your door.”

  “Are you that sure of yourself?” she asked. “You’re over eighty, in a wheelchair, and you never filed Tuck’s deed. Some people—especially the young people—in this town just might think you’re losing your touch.”

  “Spoken like a true lawyer.” There was admiration in his voice.