“Maybe someday I’ll be rich enough to hire a cook,” Willa said with a smile in her voice. “Abram said he certainly hoped so, if I didn’t poison myself first.”
“I’d say you’ll probably realize that dream.”
At that foreboding omen, Sam stood and walked over to the casket. Willa gave a startled gasp. “How long have you been sitting there?” she demanded, her face turning red.
“A couple of hours.” He turned to Spencer. “I need to speak with you. Now.”
“Certainly,” the lawyer agreed, his neck reddening and his eyes going guiltily to Bram. “Shall we go into the office?” he asked, refusing to look at either of them as he turned and hastily walked out of the room.
“You jerk!” Willa hissed before Sam could follow. “You were eavesdropping!”
“I was sitting quietly, contemplating fate.”
“You could have coughed or something, to let me know you were here.”
“I suppose I could have.”
She looked as if she wanted to hit him but contented herself with a glare. Sam captured her face in his hands, kissed her right on her startled mouth, and walked out of the room.
Chapter Six
“Why the green flannel?”
“Because it’s warm and comfortable. Because Maureen, one of my workers, told Abram it went well with his hair,” Willa explained, her cheeks dimpled with a mischievous smile. She reached forward and gently mussed Bram’s hair. “There, that’s better. Now he looks more like himself, don’t you think?” she asked Jesse, who was loosening Bram’s tie while he unconsciously pulled at his own.
“Yeah. That’s Granddad, all right.”
“It was the first thing I noticed about him,” Willa told the three brothers, all four of them dressed to greet the guests who would soon be arriving to pay their respects. “When I opened my door, Abram was standing on my porch with my For Rent sign in his hand, his hair looking like he had just come through a hurricane.”
Sam was standing to the side, out of sight of Willa’s killer glares. She hadn’t forgiven him for eavesdropping that afternoon, but he was more amused than repentant. It had been an enlightening deception.
“The casket’s really beautiful,” Ben said, tugging on his grandfather’s collar. “Bram did a fine job.”
“I like the sketch on the inside of the cover,” Jesse added, undoing the top button of Bram’s collar. “Did he draw it?”
“Sort of. He copied one of my sketches,” Willa explained. “Levi designs the caskets, and I sketch scenes to be carved into them. The craftsmen do the woodwork, and the women install the lining.”
“You’re an artist,” Ben observed.
“Not formally. I just like to draw. I especially like working up custom orders with clients. You’d be surprised how happy people are to know exactly how their bodies will be spending eternity.”
“While his soul is haunting Rosebriar,” Jesse exclaimed, ghoulishly raising his hands at Willa, then smiling at Sam. “Trying to protect his home.”
“Rosebriar can weather anything,” Sam returned, smiling over the top of Willa’s head when she wouldn’t turn toward him. Yup, she was still in a snit.
At least she was wearing flats this evening, probably at Ben’s insistence on their shopping expedition. His brother also must have picked out the dress. Willa actually looked put together. Maybe even stunning.
The dress was appropriately black, with simple, sleek lines that accented her curves very nicely. The only adornment she wore was a small cameo Sam recognized as having belonged to Grammy Rose. Bram must have given it to her, which was telling.
The old wolf had chosen a new Sinclair bride.
But would that bride walk down the aisle of a church willingly, or would she have to be dragged down kicking and screaming?
Sam had finally coerced Spencer into showing him the will. Tomorrow afternoon, after the funeral, the will would be read to one and all. That was when the roof was likely to come off Rosebriar, because if his brothers didn’t raise it, Willa certainly would.
After reading Bram’s last will and testament, Sam had sat in stunned silence for more than two hours, marveling at the mind of the eighty-five-year-old man. He hoped he was still that sharp when he was that old—assuming he lived through tomorrow.
“People will be arriving soon,” Willa said, breaking into Sam’s thoughts. “I think I’ll go see how Peg’s doing.”
“Peg’s been our housekeeper for twenty years,” Jesse said, grabbing her arm before she could escape.
“Believe me, the woman has entertained more people than the pope has.”
“But she’s taken Abram’s passing hard,” Willa said, “and I don’t know anyone who’ll be here tonight. I’m better off in the kitchen.”
“All of the board members will be here,” Sam told her with ill-concealed delight. “Don’t you want to see them?”
She shot him a glare. “Not particularly.”
“If you wish to be helpful, you won’t abandon us,” Ben said with a ridiculous pout. “We need your support.”
Willa tried to stifle a snort as she looked at Ben. “And to think, I was going to choose you to be CEO.”
Emerson entered the den to announce the first arrival. Sam caught Willa’s elbow and escorted her to the foyer, ignoring her tugs for freedom. Ben and Jesse moved to flank them, making it impossible for her to escape.
“Emerson looks as if he just stepped out of an old Gothic novel,” Willa observed, watching the butler take coats and hats and umbrellas. “He looks older than Abram.”
“He was sixty-one his last birthday.”
“He must have gotten his white hair from living with all of you,” she shot back, giving another tug on her arm.
“I’m going to kiss you again if you don’t quit squirming,” Sam said, leaning closer.
“I suppose you do need the practice,” she drawled.
And so began Bram’s wake. Friends, enemies, business acquaintances, and foreign dignitaries all passed by Bram’s beautiful casket and smiling face; the parade lasted four hours. Willa lasted nearly three.
By then, her hair had escaped again, she had a small run in one stocking, and she’d spilled tea on her dress. Her forced smile had waned, and her shoulders were drooping. Sam escorted her to the office, sat her down in front of a roaring fire, stole her shoes, and propped her feet on an ottoman. He then placed a full glass of Johnnie Walker Black in her hand, telling her to relax, that they’d join her as soon as they could.
An hour later, the three brothers entered the office in desperate need of something to drink themselves.
“I’ve been trying to figure out this room,” Willa said as she held out her glass for Sam to refill. Picking up the bottle of scotch, Sam noticed it wasn’t her first refill.
“What’s to figure out?” Jesse asked.
“Why are there four desks in Bram’s office?”
“There are four of us who work here,” Ben explained, taking a seat across from her and immediately pulling off his tie.
“This room is bigger than my house. Heck, the desks are bigger than my truck.”
Willamina Kent was a little tipsy. She wasn’t slurring her words yet, but her eyes were glazed, and her
hand was waving at the desks under discussion.
“Bram set this office up when we came to live with him,” Jesse explained, pulling up another chair to face her. “He insisted we sit here evenings with him and do our homework. He gave us each a desk, a computer, and a phone,” he added, pulling off his own tie with a sigh.
“This room looks like a public library.”
“It practically is,” Sam agreed, handing her a much-watered-down drink. Her head was going to hurt come morning. He just hoped she was recovered by the time the will was read. A woman should be…all together to hear her fate.
“Was that guy really a duke? The one you introduced me to?” she asked, changing subjects randomly.
“Yup. His Grace, Peter of Kent,” Jesse said. “Any relation, Willa?”
“No.” She snorted just as she was about to take a sip of her scotch, showering her dress with another stain. Her eyes widened in disbelief.