LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

Mine. Yours.

       And to all the wonderful, irritating moments

       we share with them.

Prologue

      Christian Hanford refused to sit in a dead man’s chair.

      So instead, he walked to the front of Don Jarrod’s desk and perched uneasily on the edge. The old man’s study was in the family living quarters on the top floor of Jarrod Manor. Here at Jarrod Ridge resort, everything was luxurious. Even a study that the public never saw. Paneled walls, thick carpets, original oils on the walls and a massive fireplace built of river stones. Of course, there was no cheerful blaze in the hearth, since summer had settled over Colorado.

      He imagined none of the people in the room felt cheerful anyway. How could he blame them? They’d lost their father only a week before and now, they’d just had the proverbial rug pulled out from under them.

      Years ago, each of the Jarrod children had left Jarrod Ridge, the plush resort that had been in their family for generations, to make their own way. Their father had pushed them all so hard to succeed that he’d managed to drive them away, one by one. To come back now, when it was too late to mend fences, was a hard thing to accept.

      Not to mention the fact that in death, Don had figured out a way to not only bring them all home—but to keep them there. Something he hadn’t been able to do in life.

      The huge Jarrod estate was to be divided equally among his children—on the condition that they all move home and take over running their legacy. Each of the Jarrod siblings had been slapped hard and none of them were happy about it. The old man had found a way to control them from the grave.

      Which wasn’t sitting well.

      Christian watched them all, understanding how they must feel, but sworn to abide by his late client’s wishes. God knows he’d tried to talk Don out of this, but the old man had been nothing if not stubborn.

      Blake Jarrod and his brother Guy were the oldest. Though not identical, the twins each carried the stamp of their father. Blake was more the buttoned-down type, while Guy was a bit more easygoing. Gavin was two years younger than the twins, but he and Blake had worked together for quite a while out in Vegas.

      Trevor Jarrod was the most laid-back of the bunch—or at least that was the demeanor he showed

      the world. Then there was Melissa. The youngest and the only girl.

      Or so she thought.

      Christian sent a mental kick out to his now deceased mentor for leaving him in this position. But even in death, Don had wanted to rule the Jarrod clan and no doubt, wherever he was now, he didn’t really care that it was Christian getting stuck with the dirty work.

      Blake stood up as if he couldn’t bear sitting still another minute. Just a week since Don Jarrod’s death, none of his children had had a chance to come to terms with his passing. And now they’d all been sucker punched.

      They’d left the cemetery just an hour before and after reading through most of the will’s bequests, emotions were running high. Well, Christian thought, they were about to go even higher.

      “Why are we still here, Christian?” Guy asked from his seat, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You’ve read the will, what’s left to say?”

      “There’s one more thing to cover.”

      “What haven’t you covered?” Trevor asked, shifting a glance around the room at his brothers and sister. “Seems pretty clear to me. Dad’s arranged things to get us back to Jarrod Ridge. Just like he always wanted.”

      “I still can’t believe he’s gone,” Melissa whispered.

      Gavin dropped one arm around her shoulders and gave her a supportive hug. “It’ll be okay, Mel.”

      “Will it?” Blake asked. “We’ve all got lives separate from the Ridge. Now we’re supposed to walk away

      from whatever we’ve built to come back home and take over?”

      “I understand how you feel,” Christian said softly and waited until all eyes were on him. “I do. I told Don this wasn’t the way to handle things.”

      “Let me guess,” Guy interrupted, “Dad wouldn’t listen.”

      “He had his own ideas.”

      “Always did,” Trevor mused.

      “The point is,” Blake said, voice loud enough that everyone settled down to hear him, “Dad split the estate up equally between the five of us. So what’s left to talk about?”

      There was his opening, Christian thought, bracing himself for what would come in response to his next statement. “The fact that the estate’s been split, not into five equal shares, but six.”

      “Six?” Gavin repeated, glancing around at his siblings as if doing an unnecessary head count. “But there are only five of us.”

      “Don’s last surprise,” Christian said quietly. “You have a sister you’ve never met.”

One

      “Please send him in, Monica.” Erica Prentice checked her hair and smoothed the front of her sleeveless black dress. She turned to glance out the narrow window behind her desk and took a quick moment to enjoy the pitifully small glimpse of the ocean afforded her.

      Situated firmly at the bottom of the totem pole at Brighton and Bailey, a PR firm in San Francisco, Erica didn’t exactly rate the best view. But that was okay, she told herself. She’d prove herself—both to her employers and her father, no matter how long it took.

      But right now, she was meeting with an attorney who had refused to tell her what he wanted to see her about. Which accounted for the jangle of nerves in the pit of her stomach. She was enough her father’s daughter to realize that the sudden appearance of a lawyer rarely heralded good news. The Prentice Group, one of the largest clothing manufacturers in the country, were constantly dealing with attorney-led problems. Briefly, she thought about calling her father to ask him if he knew anything about a lawyer from Colorado, but then realized she didn’t have time for that.

      Behind her, the office door opened and she turned to greet her visitor. But whatever she might have said died unuttered at her first look at the man standing in the doorway.

      The elegantly cut dark blue business suit he wore only emphasized the muscular body beneath. His shoulders were broad, his legs were long and his dark brown eyes were narrowed on her. He had a strong, square jaw, neatly trimmed brown hair and a mouth that looked as though it didn’t smile often.

      It only took seconds for Erica to get an impression of cool confidence. It took even less than that for her to feel an attraction to him that sent what felt like champagne bubbles shooting through her veins.

      When she was sure she could speak without making embarrassing gulping noises, she held out her hand and said, “Mr. Hanford, I’m Erica Prentice.”

      He crossed the room, shook her hand and then held on to it for just a bit too long before releasing her. “Thanks for seeing me.”

      As if she’d had a choice, she mused. He’d arrived at her office ten minutes ago, unannounced, to claim to have something important to discuss with her. The fact that he hadn’t even hinted at what that might be made her wary even as her hormones continued to do a dance of appreciation.

      Erica waved him to one of the two chairs opposite her desk. “I have to admit, I’m intrigued. Why would a lawyer from Colorado come all this way to see me?”

      “It’s a long story,” he said, glancing around her office.

      She

Скачать книгу