There’s more than the inn at stake...

Logan MacArthur had to have grown up under a rock. Was anyone really that cold-blooded? Sure, Andy—the youngest Roman daughter—understood that attorneys had to be detached and analytical, but Logan took it to a whole new level. How could she make him see that acquiring her family’s beloved inn for his client—the State of California!—was so much more than just a real estate transaction?

She had only a few days, with Logan marooned by torrential rains at Ladera by the Sea, to figure out if he actually had a heart, and if she could thaw it just enough. For her family’s future. And maybe for hers...

“You want to buy Ladera by the Sea?”

It seemed to take him a moment to even remember that was the name of her family’s inn.

“The state does,” he corrected her.

Her father, Andy knew, would never sell the inn. The inn was like another member of the family to him. It was their heritage and had been for more than a hundred and twenty years.

It would be like asking him to sell one of his daughters.

“The inn is not for sale,” Andy informed the lawyer crisply.

“I’m afraid it has to be,” Logan contradicted her in a calm voice that was making Andy crazy. “I just don’t want to make this unpleasant.”

“Too late,” she told him coldly.

Dear Reader,

Looks like we’ve come to the end of our stay at Ladera by the Sea. I, for one, will miss wandering its sandy beach and sitting on the veranda, listening to the night sounds and the occasional whispers of young lovers.

This book belongs to Richard Roman’s fourth and youngest daughter, Andrea. One semester away from graduating, Andy still doesn’t know what career path she is going to take. Interested in everything—medicine, business, writing—she can’t make up her mind. The only constant in her life, other than her family, is the inn. But one day a lawyer named Logan MacArthur arrives threatening to take it away. The state of California, in the interest of bringing in more revenue, declares eminent domain over the land the inn is standing on and just like that, the Roman way of life is threatened with extinction.

Well, not if Andy can help it. She and her sisters—the very pregnant Alex and Cris and the bride-to-be Stevi—begin a letter-writing campaign inundating Logan’s senior law firm partners with stacks of letters of protest written by the friends and former guests of the inn. Logan comes by in person to make her cease and desist, but winds up being stuck at the inn himself, thanks to a flash flood making routes out of Ladera impassable. Logan begins to see firsthand what the inn means to the Romans and what they mean to the inn. He also learns that the impossibly infuriating Andy is not quite so impossible after all.

As always, I would like to thank you for taking the time to read my book, and from the bottom of my heart, I wish you someone to love who loves you back.

All good wishes,

Marie Ferrarella

Saving Home

USA TODAY bestselling author

Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MARIE FERRARELLA is a USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author who has written more than two hundred books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, marieferrarella.com.

To

Victoria

For

Her

Patience

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

EPILOGUE

Copyright

PROLOGUE

THE PATH FROM the back of Ladera by the Sea, the family-owned, one-hundred-and-twenty-one-year-old bed-and-breakfast inn, to the small, private family cemetery far below was a little harder for Richard Roman to negotiate lately. The fault wasn’t due to any subtle change in the inclined terrain, but to the less-than-subtle change in the way he’d been feeling of late.

It was as if someone had siphoned out all his available energy.

Still, he felt the need to make this pilgrimage down the hill so he could share his thoughts and feelings with the two people who had been so very close to him in life. The two people who still meant the world to him, even though both were now gone.

Richard was perfectly aware that he could do his “sharing” anywhere. All it took was the privacy of his own mind. But for him, it felt far more personal, as if he were still in touch with his Amy and with Dan, if he came here, to stand—or sit—between their two headstones and talk to them.

Reaching the bottom of the hill, Richard paused for a moment to catch his breath, something that had become trickier than it had been even a little while ago.

There was a seat carved into the base of the pine tree that stood like a sentry guarding the two graves. The seat had been created by his second daughter Cris’s husband, Shane, so that he could stay here longer, if he so chose. Richard eased himself into it now.

He still hadn’t caught his breath. Air seemed a little harder to draw in and out these days and he felt himself growing winded far faster than he was happy about. So far, he’d been able to keep this annoying change in his health from his four daughters, but he’d noticed that both Alex and Andy, his oldest and his youngest, had taken to looking at him thoughtfully.

Had they actually put the question to him, Richard would blame it on the fact that they were once more heading into their second busiest season of the year. Summers were first, but the approach of Christmas always ushered in a host of repeat guests who enjoyed celebrating at the inn.

And if that wasn’t enough to explain why he appeared to be more harried than usual, he was also anticipating the pending births of not just one grandchild, but two. Alex and Cris were due within days of each other. That made this simultaneously a time for joy and a time of immense tension.

It was enough to give a man an occasional irregular heartbeat—or two.

The cherry on the sundae was Stevi’s pending wedding. Mike, the former undercover DEA agent who had literally washed up on their shore at Stevi’s feet, had recently decided to settle down here because “here” was where Stevi was. Now a homicide detective for the local police department, he’d proposed to her right in front of the entire family a moment before Thanksgiving dinner was served.

Stevi had been the wedding planner for her older sisters’ double wedding but when it came to her own, surprisingly, she wanted something small and intimate.

“Knowing Stevi,” Richard said, addressing the two tombstones that perforce took the place of Amy and Dan, “she’ll probably wake up one morning, knock on all our doors and say something like, If you want to come see me get married, you’d better get a move on because it’s happening in half an hour.”

He laughed softly to himself. “That’s our Stevi,” he said fondly to Amy. “Unconventional and spontaneous.” He laughed again, but the laugh became a cough that took him several minutes to get under control.

“Sorry,” he murmured, doing his best to regulate his breathing again. “I want to see Stevi married,” Richard confided. “But between you and me, I’m hoping she holds off until after Alex and Cris have their babies. Maybe even after the first of the year,” he added with a half smile. “Things calm down in January. It would be a perfect time for the wedding.”

He rolled his eyes. “As if I could ever influence anything Stevi did. She’s even more headstrong than Alex.

“Speaking of Alex,” he continued, turning toward the headstone of his best friend, “it won’t be long now before you’re a grandpa, Dan. Who would have ever thought, during all those summers that you and your boy spent here, that someday Wyatt and Alex would be married, waiting for the birth of their first child? I certainly didn’t, not with the way they were always trying to outdo each other, playing tricks when they weren’t arguing.” He shook his head. “Funny how things turn out, isn’t it?”

The pain he’d been feeling off and on took a backseat to the ache he was experiencing right now. He would have given anything to spend even five more minutes in the actual company of his wife and best friend.

Richard’s mouth curved as he allowed himself to remember another time, a time when his life had been so full of promise, of hope. Now it felt as if—for him—everything was in the process of winding down.

“I know you’re probably sick of hearing this, but I miss you both so very much.” He looked from one tombstone to the other. “The girls are wonderful, the men they’ve married or, in Stevi’s case, are going to marry, are fine, upstanding young people, and my days and nights are filled with so many things to be grateful for. But I still miss you, still wish you were here to share in all this. Although, Dan, you trained me to only expect to see you a couple of times a year, with all those globe-trotting absences of yours, tracking down the next big story. Any more visits than that were a bonus.”

Sadness seeped into Richard’s smile. “Now there’re no more bonuses, no more expectations.”

Pausing, Richard blew out a breath. “Sorry, I didn’t have any intentions of sounding so negative when I started to come down here for our visit—and yes, before you say anything, I know that the visits haven’t been as regular but I seem to be lacking energy these days. Like the old joke goes, my get-up-and-go seems to have got-up-and-went. Guess I’m just getting old.” He sighed.

“Okay, older,” he amended, knowing that Dan would have taken him to task for that if he were here in more than just spirit. The late reporter maintained that “old” was always fifteen years older than the age you currently were.

Richard’s eyes shifted to the headstone of his beloved Amy. He knew exactly what she would say right about now. “Yes, dear, I’ll go see the doctor soon, but he’ll say the same thing. That it’s just old age. But to make you happy, I’ll give him a call. Soon,” he added with a wink.

Then, rising slowly to his feet, Richard glanced over to the path leading back up the incline to the inn and he squared his shoulders.

“See you two soon,” he murmured, glancing over his shoulder at the graves.

A sharp twinge cut through him. It was gone the next second.

Getting old was a bear, Richard silently lamented as he started back to the inn.

The sky had been looking ominous all day. He wanted to make it back before it decided to rain.

CHAPTER ONE

SHE HAD A PROBLEM.

As far back as Andrea Roman could remember, the month of December had been, by far, her very favorite time of year. The fourth daughter in a family of four girls, Andy had always been the effervescent one during the rest of the year, as well. She was always the one who not only saw the glass as being half full but who assumed it was about to be completely filled to the brim very soon.

Negativity and pessimism were just not part of her makeup.

That was why this strange, empty feeling gnawing away at her worried Andy as much as it did. She hadn’t even felt this kind of prolonged, almost debilitating malaise after her mother died.

Back then, she’d devoted herself to keeping her father’s flagging spirits up. Granted, Andy had been very young at the time, but her sense of family, of loyalty, had always been exceptional.

Family still meant everything to her.

But these days, her family—her three older sisters—had moved on in different directions and she felt as if she was being left behind. She highly doubted any of her three sisters, Alexandra, Cristina or the soon to be married Stephanie, realized how she felt.

At least she hoped they didn’t, Andy thought listlessly as she slowly walked around the inn.

Her insides ached and felt so hauntingly empty.

Empty despite the fact that the level of her activity had gone up several notches recently, the way it always did at this time of year. Empty despite the fact that both Alex and Cris were due to give birth very, very soon.

Or maybe the feeling of desolation was there because of all that.

Both of her oldest sisters were married, and although Alex and Cris—and Wyatt and Shane, their respective husbands—all lived at the inn, each couple was involved in the creation of their own little family unit. Satellite units of the family they’d been born to.

The only family she knew, Andy thought as she slowly moved across the grass that Silvio, their gardener, kept so lush.

Andy supposed that she wouldn’t have felt so desolate if Stevi was still unattached. Back before Mike had come into Stevi’s life, it had been two against two, so to speak. She and Stevi on the one side while Alex and Cris were on the other.

But now Stevi was on the other side of the fence with Mike, her pending husband. And she was left to feel like a kid with her nose pressed up against the candy store window, allowed to see, but not to join in.

Oh, for her part she was crazy about all three of the men in her sisters’ lives. She’d grown up with Alex’s husband, Wyatt. They all had. During all those wild, wonderful summers when they were kids, Wyatt had been like the big brother they never had.

But like them or not, having Wyatt, Shane and Mike here underscored that she was very much alone.

Of course, she’d dated a few guys herself, especially during the three and a half years she’d just spent in college—eclectically sampling several different majors and trying to find herself—but there had just never been anyone with that special something that told her this was the one. This was the guy she wanted to face forever with. A weekend, or a month, or even the summer, maybe. But forever? No, no way.

Maybe she’d been too picky. Andy turned around again, this time heading toward the back entrance. She’d promised Alex she’d take over the front desk and it was almost time to spell her very pregnant sister.

The dark rain clouds seemed to grow even darker with each step she took. It didn’t help her mood.

If she lowered her standards, Andy thought, still trying to wrestle this feeling of hopelessness to the ground, she’d be settling. And she didn’t want to settle. At least not when it came to choosing a partner for life.

Andy frowned.

She absolutely hated feeling like this.

“What’s up, Andy?” Alex asked, as she watched her making her way toward the reception desk. “You look like you’ve just lost your best friend.”

“I have,” Andy replied before she could censor herself. When was she going to learn to think things through before she spoke?

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Alex told her, instantly sympathetic.

If nothing else, Andy thought, marriage and this pending pregnancy had turned her sometimes waspish, dictatorial, type-A sister into a kinder, more thoughtful version of herself.

“Who was it?” Alex coaxed. “Did I know her?”

“Me,” Andy replied, looking away. She didn’t want to make eye contact.

“Excuse me?”

“Me,” Andy repeated. Resigned, she glanced up at Alex who was a shade taller than she was. “I just don’t feel like myself anymore. It’s like someone conducted a scorched earth policy inside me.”

The old Alex instantly returned with a vengeance. Andy watched as her tall, temporarily un-slender sister snorted and shook her head.

“You want to talk about not feeling like yourself?” Alex challenged. “I feel like the Spanish Armada every time I try to negotiate going from here to there—never mind just standing up.” She waved her hand. Since there were no guests in the reception area, Alex continued, working up a head of steam. “And my ankles, do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen my ankles? I have to take Wyatt’s word for it that they’re swollen because I certainly can’t see them. All I know is that walking anywhere these days is a challenge.”

Alex’s blue eyes narrowed as she shot her sister an accusation. “I look at you with your skinny little body and it’s everything I can do not to drag you down to the pier and toss you into the ocean.”

Andy forced a smile to her lips. She was deeply regretting having said a word to her sister.

But again, that still didn’t change anything about the way she felt, Andy thought in mounting despair.

She wasn’t exactly sure what possessed her, but Andy needed to make Alex understand. What she was experiencing had nothing to do with any sort of envy, but it was daunting and bordering on debilitating.

“Okay, I’m very sorry that you’re going through all this, Alex, and everything you just complained about is probably true—”

“Probably?”

The single word was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

“Probably?” Alex repeated, a flash of anger just beneath the surface.

Andy ignored all the very visible warning signs from her sister and pushed on. “But at the end of your temporary misshapen time as the Goodyear blimp’s stand-in,” she told Alex, “you’re going to have a really amazing, mind-blowing prize for all your trouble. You’re going to be holding a baby in your arms.”

She couldn’t contain the hopeless sigh that escaped her lips.

“Me, I’m going to go on feeling inadequate and adrift.”

“Adrift?” Alex repeated incredulously, mocking Andy’s choice of words. “Well, point your nose back toward home port, Melancholy Girl, because you’re supposed to be taking over this front desk so I can eat and put my feet up before they get way too heavy for me to lift.”

As Alex slid off the extra-padded, wide stool she’d been perched on, she caught a glimpse of Cris heading for the kitchen.

Perfect timing, Alex thought.

Cris had been the inn’s resident chef for several years now, but as her own pregnancy had progressed, she had slowly—and reluctantly—been relinquishing some of her duties to Jorge, her chief assistant. Not to mention they’d hired a couple of part-timers who were currently working alongside of her.

Still, Richard Roman’s second born was determined to continue working in at least a supervisory capacity for each and every meal prepared. Breakfast and dinner were included in the overall price of a room at the inn, lunch was not. But Cris still insisted on opening the kitchen in case any of the inn’s guests felt like dining in.

As far as Cris was concerned, the inn took the place of home for guests. In this she and their father were of like mind.

Catching Cris’s eye, Alex beckoned her over. She watched with a touch of envy as Cris seemed to maneuver with what appeared to be far less effort than she’d had to expend to cover the same ground.

This baby had her completely out of shape, Alex thought, frustrated.

When would this ordeal finally end so that she could have her life—not to mention her body—back? At this point, she was starting to feel as if she’d always been pregnant and there was no other way to be—no matter how much she wished there was.

“Hey, Cris,” Alex began before the latter reached her. “You’ve been through this before, right?”

Where was this going? Cris wondered.

Of course she’d been through this before. She’d given birth to a son six years ago. Ricky. Named him after his grandfather. It still hurt her that Ricky’s father had died halfway around the world, fighting for freedom, before he had ever set eyes on his son.

What was Alex getting at?

“I believe you know my son, your nephew,” she replied, waiting for Alex to continue.

“If you’ve already been through this once,” Alex said, underscoring the point, “how could you have willingly let it happen again? It’s like being possessed by some alien life form that makes you go to the bathroom every ten and a half minutes. Why would you want to go through all this a second time?”

Andy bent over and addressed the very large bump that was to be her future niece or nephew. “She doesn’t really mean it, Baby. Your mother’s just a very grumpy lady at times.”

Glaring at her, Alex shifted her stomach away from Andy.

“Because,” Cris told her older sister, acting as if the question was a perfectly logical one rather than something Alex’s haywire hormones had made her spit out, “there is nothing in the world to equal the feeling of holding a baby in your arms for the very first time.”

Alex was clearly not sold. “If that’s all it is, you could get a part-time job volunteering on the maternity ward at the local hospital,” she retorted.

Cris remained undaunted. “Talk to me after you’ve given birth to little whose-its-what’s-it and see if you feel the same way,” she told her older sister.

“I will,” Alex promised.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have special lunch orders to oversee,” Cris told them.

As she turned to continue to the kitchen, Cris glanced at the Christmas tree that the entire family—not to mention a number of the inn’s paying guests—had spent the better part of the weekend putting up and decorating. Her eyes narrowed as she weighed its appearance.

“That side seems a little barren,” she finally assessed, pointing toward a section that faced the kitchen rather than the front desk. She looked over her shoulder toward the only one of the three of them who could safely negotiate a ladder at this point. “Andy, could you do the honors?”

Andy was always one eager jump ahead of everything and everyone. So when she replied with a less than enthusiastic, “Sure, why not?” the response—more to the point, the tone of her sister’s voice—made Cris immediately halt in her tracks.

She gave her younger sister a lengthy scrutiny. “Is there something wrong, Andy?”

Before Andy had a chance to reply, Alex spoke up for her, summarizing what she viewed was the problem.

“Apparently our little sister is battling a case of the doldrums.”

Cris, her mothering instincts hardwired into her from birth, retraced her steps to Andy. She paused to press her lips against her younger sister’s forehead.

“You don’t feel unduly warm,” she judged, stepping back.

“That’s because I’m not running a fever,” Andy retorted, pulling her head back.

Cris stareded at her for what seemed like an eternity before she said, “No, you’re not. You’re also not smiling—or behaving anything like Andy.” She tried a little humor to alleviate the situation. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with our little sister?”

“She’s feeling sorry for herself,” Alex said matter-of-factly.

For one of the few times in her life, Andy felt her temper flare. She banked it down successfully. However, she wasn’t about to let the accusation go unanswered. “No, I’m not,” Andy firmly denied.

Cris put her arm around Andy’s shoulders in a move that fairly shouted camaraderie and protectiveness.

“Don’t worry, honey, we all feel a little sorry for ourselves once in a while. It comes with the territory.” Cris smiled broadly, glancing over in Alex’s direction. “After all, we’re related to Alex, which is enough of a reason for anyone to feel sorry for themselves.” She winked at Andy.

The wink was not lost on Alex.

“Great, two against one,” she complained to the world at large. Her eyes swept over the other two. “I can still take you on, you know.”

“No one’s taking anyone on,” Cris told her calmly. “Especially not around Christmas.”

Alex did her best to hide the knowing grin that was threatening to come out. “You’re just saying that because I’d win.”

Cris merely smiled the knowing smile that had always driven Alex crazy.

“If you say so,” Cris replied accommodatingly. Then she turned toward Andy. “You want to come help me in the kitchen?”

Alex suddenly came to life. It was one thing to banter, but business was business and she wasn’t in the mood to allow that to just slide. “Hey, Andy’s supposed to be taking over for me at the front desk, remember?” The last of her question was directed toward Andy.

“Wyatt got you that extra-wide stool. Use it,” Cris told her, nodding toward where it was parked beneath the reception desk.

Threading her arm around Andy’s shoulders again, Cris gently guided her in the direction of the kitchen.

“It is not extra-wide,” Alex cried defensively, raising her voice slightly. “It’s just extra-comfortable, that’s all.”

“Either way,” Cris answered without turning around this time, “use it. I need Andy. C’mon, I’ve got a chicken potpie in the refrigerator with your name on it.” She knew it was Andy’s favorite comfort food. “I’ll heat it up and you can tell me what’s bothering you.”

Andy sighed as she walked into the kitchen beside her sister. “I don’t really know what’s bothering me.”

That was, more or less, a lie. But she was not about to tell Cris that she was envious of her and the others, that she felt left out because she was a single to their doubles.

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” Cris proposed cheerfully. “Can’t have my baby’s godmother moping around like this, you know.”

Andy frowned, confused. “I’m not Ricky’s godmother.”

There was a mischievous glimmer in Cris’s eyes as she smiled and said, “No, you’re not.”

CHAPTER TWO

ANDY HESITATED JUST inside the kitchen door and suddenly reached for the counter to steady herself. Her breath caught in her throat as her brain kicked in, making the question she was about to ask Cris entirely unnecessary.

“Are you saying—?” Andy blew out a breath and tried again, this time hoping to be able to form a coherent, complete sentence. “You want me to be the new baby’s godmother?”

“Only if you promise to learn how to speak English and not garbled gibberish,” Cris qualified, doing her best to maintain a straight face.

“Absolutely!” Andy grabbed Cris’s hands, as if that would somehow help her discern if her sister was just having fun with her or on the level. “Is Shane okay with this? I mean, did you ask him? Maybe he’d rather have someone else, or—”

Cris pulled her hands free from Andy’s and placed her fingers against Andy’s lips in an effort to, at least for the moment, stop the torrent of words.

“Shane is fine with this,” Cris assured her. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s really crazy about this family.” Resting her hand on the baby, who must have been once more attempting to kick its way out of her belly—a rather regular occurrence recently—the smile on Cris’s lips widened. “I am an exceedingly lucky woman. To have two good men love me in one lifetime, well, it just doesn’t get any better than that.”

Andy saw that there were tears shimmering in Cris’s eyes. Happy tears.

“No, it doesn’t,” Andy agreed quietly.

The next moment, Andy felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Guilt because she caught herself being envious of Cris.

Her tall, willowy, gentle older sister had had two men pledge to love her forever. Two men who vowed to be there for her so she would have someone to lean on. Not that she didn’t think Cris deserved the love of both her late husband and Shane, the man she’d married last Christmas. She did.

But was it too much to ask to have someone like that come her way?

Apparently, Andy decided, it was. She struggled to suppress a deep sigh.

Cris pressed her lips together, knitting her eyebrows into one very thoughtful line. “For a second there, you seemed like the old Andy,” she told her sister. “But then this new Andy 2.0 version popped out again.” Cris gave her a penetrating stare—and a warning. “You might as well resign yourself to the fact that you’re not coming out of this kitchen until you get it all off your chest.”

Andy just looked at her.

Cris shook her head. “And sorry, I’m not a sucker for that sad, little girl lost face you just put on. Now talk to me, kid. Let it all out. You’ll feel better.”

Andy shrugged, watching Jorge, Cris’s sous-chef, move about the kitchen on what seemed like automatic pilot. Cris was the creative one in the kitchen. These days, as she was getting closer to her due date, Jorge had gone so far as to insist that he wouldn’t listen to a thing she said unless she was sitting down when she said it.

As independent as her sisters, but less vocal about it, Cris had no choice but to comply.

Apparently Jorge’s stubbornness was on the same level as Alex’s. Cris had lamented that she was outnumbered, but Andy believed her sister was secretly grateful for all the help she was getting. It was to the point where everyone was anticipating—correctly—her next order.

Andy blew out a breath, surrendering. “All right, if you really want to know...”

“I do,” Cris replied firmly.

It took Andy a second to gather her courage. She wasn’t one given to whining or complaining. “For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m the odd girl out.”

“Well, there’s no arguing that you’re a little odd,” Cris allowed, then she laughed, her eyes crinkling with unabashed humor. “In comparison to the rest of us, you’ve always been the one on an even keel, the one who was always happy. You’re the one who always makes the world seem a little brighter, a little happier because of your attitude.”

Cris grew more serious as she made her way to the industrial-sized refrigerator that her father had had installed two renovations ago, at the time it became clear that the one they had could no longer accommodate all the food they needed to feed their increased number of guests.

“Go on. Don’t stop,” Cris urged. “There’s got to be more to it than that.” She took out one of the potpies she’d made earlier that morning and popped it into the microwave. Hitting the appropriate numbers, Cris turned around to look at her sister. “You were saying—?” she coaxed.

Andy wet her very dry lips before continuing. “You and Alex and Stevi, you’ve got your men. You’re set for life, for having your own families.”

This wasn’t coming out right. It was making her seem petty and small, and she wasn’t, she thought, annoyed with herself. She would have gladly laid her life down for any of her sisters or her father. That list also included her brothers-in-law as well as her nephew.

She was feeling this way because she wanted to be just like them, to have the promise of love and a family—her own family.

“And me,” she continued out loud, “I’m going to be your kids’ crazy old Aunt Andy.”

“Wait,” Cris said. “Shouldn’t there be violins for this part? And a blizzard? Definitely need a blizzard to sell this.”

Andy flushed. “You’re making fun of me,” she complained dejectedly.

“Damn straight I am,” Cris answered, crossing back to her for a moment. “Andy, love doesn’t punch a clock or have some kind of a mysterious, preset timetable. Some people find the person they were meant to be with early on, others don’t until years later—”

“And some never do,” Andy pointed out. And she was certain that she belonged to that group.

“Granted, some never do. But that’s not going to be you, kid,” Cris said with complete conviction.

“There’s no guarantee on that,” Andy protested.

“Yes, there is. I guarantee that there’ll be someone for you soon enough,” Cris told her fiercely.

But Andy shook her head. She wasn’t a kid anymore. She didn’t believe in fairy tales.

“Don’t argue with a pregnant woman, Andy. Don’t you know that aggravation might make me go into premature labor?”

“No, it can’t.” Then Andy considered Cris nervously. “Can it?” she asked in a far less certain voice.

“She is pulling your legs,” Jorge interjected, taking pity on the youngest Roman sister.

“Leave my legs alone, Cris,” Andy said, picking up on Jorge’s slight mangling of the saying.

“Okay, I will,” Cris agreed. “But only if you cease and desist feeling sorry for yourself for no reason. Part of the fun in life, Andy, is the journey.” She patted her cheek. “Enjoy the journey and don’t be so impatient—”

“Said the woman who’s been staring impatiently at her belly. Don’t you know that a watched belly doesn’t go into labor?” Stevi asked with a grin, crossing over to the long worktable. She’d come into the kitchen in time to hear the last exchange and quickly made her own judgment on the nature of the discussion.

Looking at Stevi, Cris shook her head. “There’s so much wrong with that, I don’t even know where to begin. There you go,” she declared, momentarily changing the subject as she put a steaming, individual serving of chicken potpie in front of Andy, who was already seated on a stool at the long table. Turning back to Stevi, she asked, “And just what brings you here, invading my kitchen?”

“Other than the wonderful aroma of one of your chicken potpies?” Stevi asked, a deliberately innocent expression on her face.

“Other than that,” Cris conceded. “By the way, if you want one—”

“I do,” Stevi assured her with feeling.

“There just happens to be another one in the refrigerator. I’ll heat it up for you.” Moving slowly toward the fridge, Cris asked, “You were saying, Stevi?”

Her mind on lunch, Stevi had temporarily lost her train of thought. “I was?”

Cris turned to fix Stevi with a look. “About what drew you over here,” she prompted.

“Oh, right.” Stevi nodded. “Now I remember. Alex sent me in here, told me to tell Andy to get her sorry little behind out to the reception area pronto like she was supposed to.”

Andy began to rise, but Cris waved her back into her seat. “Tell our illustrious pregnant Napoleon that Andy will come out after she’s had her lunch.”

“Sure thing,” Stevi agreed, then added with a grin, “After I have mine.”

Cris exchanged glances with Stevi. They were all aware of what was going to happen next. “You do know that she’s going to come waddling in here, throwing her weight around and issuing orders.”

Stevi shrugged that off. For the most part, it was a given. Alex had a tendency to take on the role of team leader as well as unofficial mother ever since their mom had died. She frequently overstepped her boundaries, but her heart, the others reluctantly agreed, was in the right place.

“She’s not as fierce now that she’s eight and a half months pregnant,” Stevi commented with a laugh.

“Oh yes, she is,” Andy replied, rolling her eyes as she blew on her forkful of food.

Cris laughed and took out the second potpie. She gave it to Stevi, who happily dug in.

“Since when has the kitchen turned into a black hole?” Alex demanded as she stormed into the kitchen half a second after Stevi took her first bite.

Instinctively Cris put herself between Alex and their two younger sisters. “Black hole? What are you talking about?”

“Well, what would you call it?” Alex shot back. She gestured impatiently at Stevi and Andy. “People go in, but they don’t come out.”

“Offhand, I’d call it trying to get away from Alex’s mini reign of terror,” Cris answered, her eyes meeting Alex’s. The latter raised her chin as if bracing for another go-round.

Andy smiled to herself. She’d missed this, missed the bantering, the pseudo-bravado where each of them tried to outdo the others. But underneath it all, they didn’t really mean anything that was said.

Still, anyone listening in might be hard pressed to believe how quickly they could all be galvanized into a united front if one of them happened to be threatened from the outside.

Like the time Cris’s former in-laws wanted to take legal custody of Ricky, their late son’s child. The entire family, including Wyatt, had banded together to keep that from happening. They’d won, too.

Cris cast an eye toward Andy, aware that she’d fallen silent. Silent, but not sullen, Cris noted, pleased. Alex’s flare-up was temporarily placed on the back burner.

“I see that you’re smiling again,” Cris noted triumphantly.

Alex looked over at Andy, then made a dismissive noise. “That’s not a smile, that’s a grimace,” she said, correcting Cris. “She must have found a chicken bone in that pie you’re always making.”

“There are no bones in my chicken potpies,” Cris replied calmly and authoritatively.

Alex gazed down at the pies her sisters were systematically consuming. “I guess I’d better eat one to make sure.” She looked around. “If I can find a stool in here that’s built to accommodate someone larger than a Smurf.”

“Make that ten Smurfs,” Stevi murmured, under her breath but deliberately loud enough to be overheard.

Alex glared at Stevi. “Are you saying I’m fat?”

“No, I’m saying that you’re a little bigger than ten Smurfs. You are, you know,” Stevi pointed out with a straight face. “Can’t argue that.”

“Whereas you would give arguing with the devil a shot,” Andy said.

“Quiet, pipsqueak. Eat your pie,” Stevi ordered, gesturing to her plate. She turned her attention back to Alex, who was about to savor the first forkful of her own pie. “What about the reception desk?”

Alex raised one shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s not unattended.”

Cris glanced at the long worktable, although it wasn’t really necessary. All four of them were present and accounted for. That brought up a very logical question. “So who’s minding the reception desk?” The next second, the answer hit her. She glared at Alex. “You didn’t drag out poor Dad and tell him to do it, did you?”

“Of course not,” Alex said, taking offense. “Dorothy volunteered.” The inn’s head housekeeper had been with them for years. “Speaking of Dad,” Alex went on, “does anyone else think he’s looking rather pale lately?”

“Yes, but you know Dad. He always pushes himself too hard around this time of year,” Cris reminded them.

“I think keeping busy helps him cope with not having Mom around at Christmas,” Stevi’s face lit up as memories began to crowd her head. “Remember how special she always made the holidays? Even the little things. When she did them, they became almost magical,” she recalled fondly.

“I hope you’re right about Dad,” Alex murmured.

She worried about him a great deal. After their mother had died, there was a period of time when he’d fallen ill and they were all afraid that they would lose him, as well. He’d rallied, but the image of a frail man was never far from any of their minds.

“Still,” Alex continued, “I think we should all gang up on him and make Dad get a physical—just in case.”

“You know him,” Andy pointed out. “He’ll just tell us not to worry, that everything’s fine and that’ll be the end of it.”

“That used to be the end of it,” Alex said, then added with a touch of smugness, “but we’ve got muscle now.”

“What are you talking about?” Stevi asked, staring at Alex as if she had just gone off the deep end.

Alex gave her a look that all but said keep up.

“We could actually physically carry Dad to the doctor’s office.” Alex could tell she’d lost her sisters. “Don’t you see? We’ve got Wyatt, Shane and Mike. That’s three against one. They could certainly get Dad over to Dr. Donnelly’s office for a thorough check up.”

“You’re talking about kidnapping the man,” Cris said, shaking her head. “That’s a last resort,” she said, “using the guys to get Dad to the doctor’s office. You have to leave the man some dignity.”

“Dignity’s the last thing a person thinks about if they land in a hospital bed,” Alex insisted. “And I’m trying to prevent that.”

Stevi shook her head. “God, I hope the baby doesn’t get your optimism.”

Alex drew herself up a little taller. “I’m being realistic.”

“What you’re being,” Stevi countered, “is a dark cloud.”

Andy shook her head at that and laughed. “So what else is new?”

Instead of a defensive remark, or a put down from Alex the way she expected, Andy saw her oldest sister grow perfectly still, almost like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Alex?” Andy leaned in closer as she studied her sister’s tense face and rigid body. Alex was never this still for this long. “Talk to me. Is something wrong?”

“Is it the baby?” Stevi asked with a note of panic.

Jorge had abandoned the giant salad he was preparing to hurry over to the worktable. A father himself three times over, he watched Alex solicitously, ready to be of assistance.

“Say something,” Cris pleaded, taking her hand.

Alex squeezed back—hard—but only made a strange, unidentifiable noise. After another several seconds had passed, she let out a long, shaky breath. Her free hand was still possessively covering her belly.

She waited, but the pain didn’t return. Her relief was unimaginable.

“False alarm,” she told her sisters and Jorge, offering them a rather weak, tired smile to accompany the words. And then she added in a smaller, equally hopeful voice, “I think.”

CHAPTER THREE

THERE WAS A thin line of perspiration running along Alex’s hairline. “Maybe you should see your doctor,” Andy suggested, as they all remained huddled around the worktable in the kitchen, partially finished potpies forgotten in the scare of Alex’s possible labor pains.

Back to her old self, Alex shook her head. “I’m not due until the end of the month, and right now I don’t have the time,” she said, brushing the incident off.

“Make the time,” Cris told her pointedly.

“What I’m going to make is tracks before you all gang up on me,” Alex replied. Using the worktable for support, she began to push herself up to her feet.

“You’re as bad as Dad,” Cris continued. “How can you even think of forcing him to go to the doctor when you won’t consider going yourself?”

Stevi placed her hand gently but firmly on Alex’s shoulder. “Sit,” she ordered. “Finish eating.”

“I have to get back to the reception desk,” Alex argued.

“No, you don’t,” Andy said. She had finished both her impromptu lunch and feeling sorry for herself. It was time to make herself useful. “I’ll go.” She stood. “Take as long as you like. Great potpie, Cris—as always.”

Cris merely smiled as she reached for the empty pie plate.

Jorge managed to insert himself between the pie plate and the woman he considered his boss. He deposited it in the sink and proceeded to wash it.

“You are working too hard, Miss Cris,” he told her simply.

Cris knew better than to argue with Jorge. Given the opportunity, he could go on and on for hours until he won his point. It was far easier just to go along with him.

“Thank you, Jorge.”

It was the last thing Andy heard as she left the kitchen.

* * *

SHE HURRIED THROUGH the dining area, noting that several of the inn’s guests had trickled into the room. Jasmine, the college student who was their part-time waitress, was busy taking their orders.

It looked as if Cris was going to be busy for a little while, Andy mused. It was a good thing her sister had Jorge as her assistant. He was quick and competent and, most important, he wouldn’t allow Cris to work too hard no matter what she said.

The only person currently in the reception area when Andy got there was Dorothy.

Like most of the small staff at the inn, Dorothy had a story. The woman had checked into the inn for an overnight stay—the last one, she had believed, that she would spend on this earth. It had been luck that brought Richard Roman to her door to check on her before he turned in for the night.

And instinct that had kept him there, talking with the lonely, distraught woman until well past dawn.

That dawn had signaled a new beginning for Dorothy. Richard Roman had a knack for sensing who needed support and who needed nothing more than a meal and a pat on the back. He offered Dorothy a place to stay for as long as she needed it. More than that, he had offered the woman hope.

Twenty-five years later, Dorothy was still living and working at the inn. Along the way, she had become part of the family in every sense of the word.

Seeing Andy, the woman looked at her with concern. “Is Alex all right? She was a little pale when she left here.”

“Alex is pale. But I think she’s just very impatient to have all this behind her,” Andy confided.

Dorothy chuckled under her breath. “You’re probably right.” She tucked the well-worn paperback novel she’d been reading back into the oversized pocket of her apron. She didn’t like being idle for long. “What can I do for you?”

“It’s what I can do for you,” Andy corrected her. “I’m here to take over the desk.”

Had this been in the middle of the morning, she would have quickly relinquished the duty.

“If you have something else you need to do, I can stay here a little longer,” Dorothy said. “I don’t mind. All the beds are made, the rooms are cleaned.”

They were almost booked up, which meant that most of the various rooms and suites were filled.

“I don’t know how you do it, Dorothy.” Andy shook her head. “Anyone else would still be making beds. If I ever move away, I’m taking you with me.”

“Are you?” Dorothy asked before clarifying, “Moving away?”

“Maybe,” Andy replied.

Wasn’t that what people did after graduation? Moved away? Of course, none of her sisters had. They’d just become integrated into the business of running the inn. Alex handled bookings and the business end, Cris manned the kitchen and Stevi did the on-site event planning.

With her future in a state of flux, Andy shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. Everything’s such a big question mark.”

“You have one semester to go before you graduate.” It wasn’t a question. Dorothy kept close tabs on everything that went on in the lives of the family she’d adopted. The family that had taken her in when she most needed to attach herself to something solid. She was certain that Richard, and subsequently his daughters, had saved her life. As far as she was concerned, her life was theirs.

“I know,” Andy replied. Even to her own ears, her tone didn’t reflect an eagerness to get her degree and get on with her life. Her voice sounded rather hollow and empty.

“It’s only natural to be confused, dear, frightened of what lies ahead of you in the next few months and years.” Dorothy gave her a heartening smile. “Feeling that way, Andy, doesn’t mean that you’re going crazy.”

Andy’s eyes widened. “How did you know?” she asked incredulously.

“Because almost everyone goes through that—if they’re lucky. The future can be a scary place.”

“Lucky?” How could feeling this nameless confusion be considered lucky?

“Yes. The ones who aren’t lucky, who don’t feel scared, are the ones whose future has been dictated and sewn up for them right from the moment they first drew breath. They’re the ones whose choices are limited and whose options are nonexistent.”

Andy considered what she’d said. “Put that way, I guess I am lucky.”

“Absolutely,” Dorothy confirmed with a good measure of enthusiasm. “The whole world is opening up for you, Andy. You can be anything you want to be.”

“Anything, huh?” Andy asked, a touch of mischief shimmering in her eyes. “What if I want to be a six-foot-tall, skinny brunette model?”

“You can be almost anything you want to be,” Dorothy amended without skipping a beat. Twenty-five years in the family had taught the woman to be ready for anything.

Andy laughed, brushing her lips against the housekeeper’s soft cheek. “I love you, Dorothy.”

The housekeeper looked immensely pleased. She’d heard this declaration from the girls more than once. However, each time was special, as touching for her as the very first time she had ever heard the words.

Andy, barely a toddler, had been the first to say I love you. They were grown women now, but they were her grown women even if she didn’t share a surname or their blood.

“I love you right back,” Dorothy told her, slipping off Wyatt’s stool. “Remember, call me if you need anything.”

“Don’t I always?” Andy asked innocently.

Dorothy snorted in response. “You’re just as stubborn as your sisters so, no, I’m sure you don’t.”

“I’ll work on that,” Andy promised, and then a thought hit her. “Okay, here’s something you can do for me—and I’d really appreciate it if you did.”

“I’m listening.”

“I want you to quietly look in on Dad,” Andy told her.

“Because?” Dorothy asked.

Andy shrugged, knowing that the request sounded a little strange—maybe she was worrying for nothing. But having Dorothy confirm that would go a long way toward making her feel better. “Just to see if he’s okay.”

Dorothy cocked her head, scrutinizing her. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

Andy shrugged again. “Something is off about Dad. He’s slowed down lately, like there’s some big rock pressing down on him, taking the zip out of his step.”

Dorothy smiled indulgently. “It’s called getting older, dear.”

“Maybe,” Andy said. But she really didn’t believe it. Granted, her father could never have been accused of being an athletic go-getter. He certainly wasn’t anywhere near as full of life as Alex and Stevi. Still, her father had always been slow but steady, like the tortoise in the fable.

“But I’d feel better if you peeked in on him,” Andy said. She gave Dorothy a plaintive look, one that had never failed to melt the housekeeper’s kind heart.

As if Dorothy could ever say no to any of them. She nodded. “Consider him peeked in on,” she said as she left reception and went in search of Andy’s father.

There were no new guests checking in and, according to the roster, there wouldn’t be any arriving until around noon the next day.

It took Andy all of about thirty seconds to remember Cris’s comment about the Christmas tree needing more decorations on the one side.

That was easy enough to do, she thought. And while she enjoyed the camaraderie of decorating the tree with everyone else in the family, there were times when she savored doing things alone.

This felt as if she was carving out a niche for herself. Okay, it was only a niche partially filled with decorations and a couple of barren branches belonging to a Scotch pine. But it was her niche.

Andy dragged the ladder out of the hall closet where it had been stashed after they’d brought the tree in on the first of December and finished the decorating. Well, almost finished it.

Once she had the ladder next to the tree, she snapped it into place and made certain that all the tabs that needed to be locked were locked.

Arming herself with decorations, Andy carefully made her way up the aluminum ladder as far as she could. She stopped one step short of the very top.

With a critical, artistic eye, she went about hanging the decorations where she thought they would be the most effective.

As she worked, Andy silently upbraided herself for her earlier descent into a funk. She was well aware that life wasn’t all roses, gumdrops and music. But as far as things went, she knew she was one of the lucky ones and to regard her life as anything but privileged was just plain wrong.

Stretching up on the tips of her toes to reach a bare spot, Andy thought she heard the front door open.

Unable to see the entrance Andy listened intently, waiting to hear someone call out.

No one did.

When she didn’t discern anything further, Andy decided it had just been her imagination. She got back to critically analyzing where to place decorations.

“Excuse me?”

Andy was so wrapped up in what she was doing, the deep male voice coming from both behind her and beneath her made her jump.

It wasn’t advisable, she realized the next moment, for anyone perched on the next-to-the-top step of a ladder to jump.

The ladder started to wobble and tip. Andy saw too late that there was nothing to brace herself against. She couldn’t very well grab on to the Christmas tree to steady herself, not without bringing the tree down on top of her.

Faster than it took her to gasp, Andy found herself airborne, separating from the ladder, which was falling with her.

She braced herself for a hard impact, but while she was shaken and the air was knocked out of her, she did not come crashing down onto the floor.

Instead, she found herself in the very strong, outstretched arms of the man with the deep voice.

The man who was to blame for this embarrassing incident in the first place.

As she landed in his arms, she felt his forearms tensing, becoming so hard they could have been made of steel.

It took her a second to get her brain in gear. When she did, Andy found herself studying the face of an exceedingly handsome man of about thirty-two with intense sky-blue eyes, trim, dark blond hair and near-perfect chiseled features.

She had never seen him before in her life. His was not a face she would have forgotten.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Andy hated being caught off guard, hated being perceived as vulnerable in any way. It went against her own image of herself. This damsel-in-distress scenario was far from her liking.

“I would have been more all right,” she informed the man, “if you hadn’t snuck up on me.”

“Sorry. I left my noisy shoes at home,” he said matter-of-factly. “There didn’t seem to be anyone around.”

“Obviously your assessment of the situation turned out to be wrong.”

“Obviously,” he agreed.

Andy twisted her head and looked to see if the ladder had done any damage when it landed. Mercifully, it had managed to go straight down and was on the floor in front of the Christmas tree. None of the balls or decorations had been broken or dislodged.

That’s when Andy realized the stranger was still holding her. “Would you mind putting me down?” she asked.

“Is that a request or a question?”

He wanted to debate this? Andy felt her back go up. “What’s the difference?”

“If it’s a request, I have to comply. If it’s a question, all I have to do is give you an answer.”

Andy stared at him. Bemused and puzzled, she said, “And if it’s the latter?”

“Then I’d say yes, I do mind.”

Okay, she’d had about enough of this wise guy. Granted, he’d broken her fall, but he was the one responsible for it in the first place, so the two canceled each other out.

She narrowed her eyes. “Put me down.”

He inclined his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

Lowering her until her feet touched the floor, the stranger released his hold. Rather than say anything, he turned his attention to the ladder. He righted it with ease. “Looks like there’s no harm done to either you or the ladder,” he told her. Before she could contest his evaluation, he asked, “Could you tell me where I might find Mr. Richard Roman?”

Andy raised her chin. The guy couldn’t miss her combative stance, she hoped. “I could.”

After several moments had gone by without any further information from her, he asked, “Would you tell me where I can find Mr. Roman?”

“That all depends,” she told him.

His eyes narrowed uncertainly. “On what?”

“On the reason that you’re looking for him,” Andy answered.

“I’m afraid that’s between Mr. Roman and, for now, me.”

CHAPTER FOUR

UNDER ORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES, Andy would have just called someone—Dorothy most likely—to take this man to her father’s office, or in a pinch, taken him there herself.

But there was something about him, something that made her uneasy. And it wasn’t because he was probably the best-looking man she’d ever seen. Her brothers-in-law, Wyatt and Shane, and her future brother-in-law, Mike, were all very striking men, but this stranger had an almost classic air about him. A layer of polish that was impossible to miss.

At the same time, the stranger made her feel as if she needed to protect her father from him, despite the fact that she hadn’t a clue as to why the man wanted to see her father.

For all she knew, her dad might have won the lottery and this man was here to present him with a lump-sum check.

But she strongly doubted it.

Prepared to stare him down, barring his path and access to the rest of the inn until she had her answers, Andy heard a noise behind her.

A whiff of Alex’s perfume preceded her sister a moment before Andy heard Alex ask, “Is there a problem here?”

“I certainly hope not,” the tall blond stranger said politely, and then he smiled at Alex. “Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for Richard Roman.”

“I believe he’s in his office at the moment,” Alex said, sliding onto the stool behind the reception desk. “Andy, why don’t you bring this gentleman to Dad’s office?”

Andy didn’t move a muscle. “Is he expecting you?”

“I really don’t think so,” he replied, unfazed by the challenge in her voice and body language.

Just as she’d thought. The man was probably a pushy real estate agent. It wouldn’t be the first time a developer had attempted to buy the inn out from under them. She and her sisters all loved the inn, but to her father, it was a living, breathing entity, a piece of his heritage. The inn was part of him.

The suit this stranger had on was expensive. Obviously he was good at what he did.

Andy didn’t trust him a whit.

“Then why don’t you give me your name and number and I’ll have my father call you at his convenience,” she suggested.

“Andy, that’s not how Dad does business,” Alex chided. “I’m sorry. She’s still rather new at all this.”

“I understand,” he replied, offering a smile that went a long way to lighting up the immediate area.

“I’m glad you do, but I’m afraid I don’t—we don’t,” Andy said stubbornly, slanting an annoyed glance in Alex’s direction. “Now, if you’re not going to tell us why you want to see my father, I’m afraid we’re going to have to go back to plan B.”

“Which is?” the stranger asked gamely.

“You giving us your name and my father calling you when he has the time,” she repeated.

Andy didn’t care for the look that came over the man’s features. As if he knew something she didn’t. “Trust me, he’ll want to make time for this,” he assured her.

That was when she noticed that he was carrying a briefcase. A briefcase that he now patted.

The pieces came together in her head. “You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?”

His smile was incredibly sensual. Andy didn’t know which annoyed her more, his amusement or his sensuality.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

He didn’t bother denying that he was a lawyer. “Because only a lawyer could get under my skin this fast.”

Her eyes narrowed as she considered the stranger from an entirely different perspective. Now he wasn’t just an annoying person who wouldn’t give her his name, he represented a possible problem, the nature of which was still unclear.

“What’s this all about?”

“Currently, it’s about you not letting me see your father,” he replied calmly.

“He’s a very busy man,” Andy informed the guy coldly. She was aware that Alex was staring at her, but she ignored her sister. “We can’t just let anyone waltz in and interrupt what he’s doing. Now either state your business or give me your card and I’ll have him—”

“Give me a call at his convenience, yes, you’ve already covered that,” the lawyer said, clearly tiring of this game.

Well, he was the one who started the cat-and-mouse by not giving them his name. It was the oddest way to request a business meeting she’d ever heard of.

“I assure you that your father is definitely going to want to talk to me, Miss Roman. My name is MacArthur. Logan MacArthur.”

Andy glared at all six foot two of the man.

The lawyer cast an impeccable silhouette, and if she knew anything about clothes—and she did—the suit the man had on was roughly equal in price to her entire wardrobe.

He seemed to be someone born to privilege. Andy had an instinctive reaction to people who behaved that way.

She didn’t like them.

He looked her right in the eye. “Now may I see your father?”

“No,” Andy answered.

Her answer surprised her sister. The expression on Logan MacArthur’s face was impossible to read.

“Now you can tell me what this is all about and why you want to talk to him.”

“Is she always this protective?” Logan asked, turning to Alex.

“I don’t know,” Alex confessed with a vague shrug. “Most of the time she’s in school.”

Andy’s eyes blazed. She didn’t care for the way Alex’s reply reduced her to the state of an adolescent whose actions had no logic.

“Are you always this secretive?” she challenged MacArthur. Something was off, she could feel it. Why was he being so cagy?

Alex had had enough. “Andy, watch the desk. I’ll take Mr. MacArthur to Dad’s office.”

Andy frowned. Every step was an effort for Alex these past few weeks and seeing her ponderously make her way to the back of the inn would be an oppressive weight on her conscience.

Andy blew out a beleaguered breath. “You stay where you are, Alex,” she said curtly. “I’ll take him.”

Alex shifted off the stool and motioned Andy over.

“You’re sure?” Alex asked in a lowered voice, regarding her uncertainly. “You’re not going to lead him through the back entrance down to the beach, are you?”

“Don’t tempt me.” There wasn’t even a glimmer of a smile on her lips. Stepping away, she crossed directly in front of Logan and said, “Let’s go.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, falling in behind her. “Nice tree,” he commented as they passed the Christmas tree.

“Thank you!” Alex called.

Since she was the one he’d found on the ladder, putting the finishing touches on the oversize Christmas tree, he’d meant the comment for the firebrand who was leading him.

“Did you do all the decorating?” he asked. “Or are you the kind who delegates?”

Andy spared him one uninterested glance before looking straight ahead again. “You don’t have to make small talk.”

“I was just curious.”

“I guess a lot of questions aren’t being answered today,” she snapped.

He laughed in response, despite the fact that he could tell his amusement didn’t sit well with Andy. But at the moment, there was nothing she could do about it.

The door to her father’s office was closed. She knocked on it lightly. “Dad? Are you there?” When there was no reply, she knocked again, just as lightly as before. Still no answer.

The young woman turned and said, “Looks like you’re out of luck after all, MacArthur. He’s not in.”

She turned on her heel. He remained in front of the door.

“Where else would he be?” Logan asked.

If looks could kill, present company would have been reduced to a pile of smoldering embers. “I’m sorry, he didn’t file his itinerary with me this morning so I really haven’t a clue. Seems like you’re going to have to leave your card with me, after all.”

Oh, no. I’m not making it that easy for you, Logan thought. “I have a feeling if I did that, it might just inspire you to test out your shredder.”

“We don’t have a shredder,” she informed him. “But now that you mention it, that is something to think about.” Again she moved away from the door—and again, Logan didn’t follow.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll just sit in your father’s office,” he nodded at the door, “and wait for him there.”

She did not want this man in her father’s office, hovering about like some vulture waiting for its prey to die so it could start eating.

“No telling how long you’ll have to wait,” she warned him.

“I don’t mind,” Logan told her flatly. “I’m being well compensated for my time.”

Andy struggled to keep her temper in check, something that ordinarily wasn’t a problem for her.

But she absolutely hated not knowing why he was here. There was something about this man and his perfectly groomed exterior that made her nervous, as if something was going to happen, something that she wouldn’t be able to fix.

People with nothing to hide were far more open than he was being. Granted, he’d said he was a lawyer and lawyers were closemouthed unless they were on the floor of a courtroom, grandstanding and thrilling to the sound of their own voices. At least that was how they were portrayed on TV, which was the closest she’d come to seeing a lawyer before this.

But this was about her father, and whatever affected Richard Roman affected them all. They were a family that didn’t keep secrets from one another. That wasn’t what they were all about.

Obviously this man didn’t understand that simple concept.

She tried to approach the problem from a basic, practical perspective, hoping that would finally sink in. “Well, I can’t just leave you alone in my father’s office.”

Logan nodded and for one brief, shining moment, Andy thought she was finally going to get rid of the man. But then he said, “You could stay with me, make sure I didn’t make off with anything.”

“What I’m worried about,” she replied, doing her best to inject an eerie stillness in her voice that she hoped he recognized as the calm that came just before a huge storm, “is that you’re going to say something to upset my father. My father has enough to deal with these days.”

“Oh? Like what?” Logan asked, a bit too innocently in her opinion.

She gave him an answer steeped in practicality and logic. Something she felt would appeal to the man. “This is one of our busiest times of the year and my father prides himself on always making sure everyone who stays here has an exceptionally good time. That’s not nearly as easy as it sounds.”

“I’m sure it’s not.” He was nothing if not sympathetic sounding.

Andy saw his attitude as something else. “Do you get bonuses for patronizing people? Or is that just an extra you throw in?” she wanted to know.

The woman was clearly imagining things, but he wasn’t going to call her out on it. He had an endless supply of patience and he dug deep into it right now.

“I wasn’t aware I was being patronizing.”

“Well, now you know,” Andy informed him with finality.

“I do apologize,” Logan told her, trying to suppress his amusement. He couldn’t help himself. With her tough attitude, this very young woman should be working in the military. Or teaching self-defense somewhere, anyway.

As hard as he tried to choke back a smile, she must’ve sensed something in his expression. He watched her bristle. Uh-oh.

Andy found his smile unsettling, which in itself annoyed her to no end. Given half a chance, she would have liked to wipe it off the man’s chiseled face.

“If you’re really serious about apologizing,” she said, “just leave.”

From the way he crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, she could tell that was not about to happen. “I’m afraid I can’t,” he responded. “Not without first seeing your father.”

This was getting her nowhere. They were going around in circles and he looked as if he was enjoying the process.

“I could have our head of security make you go,” she threatened him.

It was an empty threat because there was no head of security, although in a pinch, she felt she could turn to Silvio. Their longtime gardener was well versed in things that a gardener had no business knowing. But then, Silvio hadn’t always been a gardener. The life he’d led before being forced to flee his native country was very different from his life here at the inn.

“He could try,” Logan told her in a mild voice. The expression on his handsome face told her that a mere head of security—even if one existed—couldn’t remove him from the premises.

Maybe it was because she felt so edgy, or maybe it was because she was struggling with those momentary twinges of envy, feeling the odd woman out. She really didn’t know. But whatever was behind her reaction to this man and his mysterious need to communicate only with her father, Andy felt her normally large supply of patience swiftly evaporating.

“Why won’t you tell us what business you have with my father?” she demanded.

“Because the business is with your father,” he underscored firmly without so much as raising his voice. “After I’ve discussed it with him, if your father chooses to include you in the matter, that’s his call to make and his business. My orders are to speak directly—and only—to him.”

“My father doesn’t keep secrets from his family,” she informed him.

“You’re very fortunate. Not all families are like that,” he added with what Andy felt was a momentary break in the cool, calm facade she’d been dealing with. “However, it doesn’t change a thing.”

Andy stood there for a long moment, struggling hard to keep her temper in check as well as banking down the torrent of words that felt as if they were rushing to her tongue.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to study the man before her.

Just what was it that made him tick? What was his story? she couldn’t help wondering.

There was no hard-and-fast reason for her to suspect that he would upset her father. She knew she was being overprotective because she worried about him. But, be that as it may, she still couldn’t shake the gut feeling that the man she was dealing with represented trouble with a capital T.

Get a grip.

The sooner this was over, the better for everybody, she decided. Opening the door to the office, she gestured inside, surprising Logan if his expression was any indication.

As he crossed the threshold, Andy took her cell phone out of her back pocket and tapped out her father’s number on the keypad. It was by far the fastest way she knew to locate her father and get him to come to his office.

This time, however, it proved an unproductive way to locate him. The moment she heard the call go through and the sound of ringing begin on her end, she also heard the corresponding sound of a ringing phone—and it was coming from the top drawer of her father’s desk.

Logan looked from the desk to her, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “I take it your father’s not hiding under the desk for some reason.”

Andy sighed, frustrated. She ended the call and slipped her phone back into her pocket. “No, he’s not under the desk. He has a tendency to forget to take his cell phone with him.”

“Like I said,” Logan told her, starting to make his way over to the padded chair in the corner of the office, “I don’t mind waiting.”

“Waiting for what, young man?”

Andy and the man she’s been verbally sparring with turned in unison to see Richard Roman standing in the hallway, less than half a foot shy of the office threshold.

CHAPTER FIVE

“WAITING FOR YOU, SIR,” Logan replied to the older man’s question. “I don’t mind waiting for you,” he said, stating the complete sentence so that the other man would understand. “If you’re Richard Roman, that is,” he qualified, although he was fairly certain that the man he was addressing was the same man he had been sent to speak with.

“I am,” Richard replied. He looked from the stranger to his daughter and made a natural assumption. “Why don’t you introduce me to your friend, Andy?”

“He’s not my friend.” The disclaimer shot across the room like a bullet when Andy bit the words out.

Crossing, Logan extended his right hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Roman. I’m Logan MacArthur.”

“Logan MacArthur,” Richard repeated as he returned the man’s firm handshake. He rolled the name over in his mind and came up empty. It was unfamiliar to him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Don’t jump to conclusions, Dad,” Andy was quick to caution. “This might not be a pleasure in the long run.” The warning left her father more puzzled than ever. He glanced quizzically at Logan.

“This won’t take up too much of your time, sir,” Logan promised, continuing as if Andy hadn’t said a word. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to speak to you privately.”

Richard shrugged as he responded, “I don’t see why not.”

Andy’s uneasiness refused to abate. Her protective instincts went up another notch. “Dad, maybe one of us should stay for this,” she suggested.

“One of us is staying, Andy,” her father pointed out with a touch of humor.

He knew what she meant, Andy thought, tamping down her exasperation. She was referring to herself and her sisters. It was hard protecting her father from whatever this man was up to if her own father was hindering her attempts to intervene.

“I meant one of us besides you, Dad,” she clarified tersely.

“It’s okay, Andy. Really,” Richard assured her with a warm, patient smile. “I’ll fill all of you in later.” And with that, the door closed, leaving Andy standing there, frustrated and exasperated beyond words.

She remained there for a few moments, wondering if there was some way she could listen in on what was being said. Her father’s health worried her and she didn’t want him facing any upsetting news alone. It didn’t matter that he’d been running the inn for a good many years, all that mattered was the immediate present and keeping her father healthy.

She didn’t know if it was the mood she’d initially been in, or the vibrations she was getting from this MacArthur person, but there was no denying she had a bad feeling about this.

After a few more seconds had passed and neither her father nor MacArthur had come out, Andy began to believe she was overreacting. If whatever that annoying man had to tell her father was really important, her father would tell her.

He’d tell all of them, just as he’d promised. Just as he always did. Richard Roman was not a man who was given to hoarding secrets—although, Andy recalled as she walked back to the main reception area, her father had kept the matter of his health a secret all those years ago until he was almost too weak to stand. That heart trouble had been triggered from overwork.

His excuse had been that he hadn’t wanted any of them to worry, she remembered, but that was exactly what happened when his health took a nosedive. Fearing the worst, they’d all worried.

Back then, fresh out of college, Alex had taken over, helming the inn and doing everything she could to keep it going until her father was well enough to get back to the job himself.

These days they were past rough patches like that, Andy thought, trying to find solace in that simple reality. These days the rough patches involved finding a way to be tactful when they had to turn guests away because the inn was booked up.

Not exactly a hardship. Andy smiled to herself. They had more business than they could handle and it was wonderful.

“Ah, if it isn’t Miss Grumpy-pants,” Alex declared as Andy walked into reception. “Did you take that gorgeous guy to Dad’s office or will the San Diego county police department be bringing the cadaver dogs out to the inn in a couple of days?”

She scowled. “Nice, Alex. Very adult. Don’t talk to me as if we were characters on some Saturday morning cartoon show. And, for the record, you were the one we used to call Grumpy-pants when we were kids. Not me...” She paused. “There’s something about that guy I just don’t trust.”

“So they will be bringing in the cadaver dogs?” Alex asked innocently.

Andy blew out a breath. “No dogs. I brought him to Dad’s office.” Her tone told Alex just how much she hadn’t wanted to run that particular errand.

Alex clearly wasn’t satisfied. “And was Dad there?”

Andy didn’t know why her sister was being so suspicious. She wasn’t the one under this roof who deserved the third degree. She gave a monotone, honest accounting. “Not at that moment, but then he turned up a couple of minutes later.”

“Then Mr. Gorgeous is still alive and breathing?”

Enough was enough. Just because the man was extremely attractive didn’t automatically negate everything else and make him a good guy.

“You keep calling him that and I’m going to tell Wyatt you were drooling over some stranger.”

“I’m not drooling, I’m paying attention. Besides, I’m married, not dead. I don’t expect Wyatt not to take note of other women. He can browse through any catalogue he wants,” she told Andy loftily. “As long as he doesn’t place an order, it’s okay with me.”

That was a really strange way to put it. But then, Alex had never been known as the conventional sister. “And Wyatt, he shares this little philosophy of yours?”

“He does,” Alex replied firmly, adding, “because he knows what’s good for him.” She punctuated her statement with a wide smile.

Andy just shook her head. Nothing was straightforward anymore. “It sounds way too complicated to me,” she said. She absently glanced down at her unadorned left hand. “Maybe not being married isn’t such a bad thing after all.”

“Just wait, Andrea Roman. Your time will come.”

The in-house line rang. Alex reached for the phone stored beneath the desk to make room for the ledger. “Hello?”

Andy was instantly alert. “Is it Dad?” she wanted to know. “Does he want to see me?”

Alex waved away both questions, concentrating on what was being said on the other end of the line.

“Yes, yes, of course. I’ll send someone to you right away. And don’t worry, I’ll call a doctor. It’s Dr. Donnelly. I’ve got his number right here. Hang on, help is on the way.” Hanging up, Alex looked straight at her sister. “You’re it,” she declared.

Andy wasn’t sure what had just happened or who Alex had been talking to. “As in tag?” she asked, bewildered.

Alex shook her head, her blond hair all but dancing around her face. “As in the help I promised.”

Andy felt something tighten around her heart. “Dad?” Alex’s earlier dismissal hadn’t fully convinced her.

“Ms. Carlyle,” Alex corrected. “I’d go myself but in my present shape, I don’t exactly inspire confidence and I’m not exactly built for speed, so you’re elected.”

“Ms. Carlyle?” Andy repeated. It took a second for the name to get past her concern for her father. Another full second to fully register. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Other than being in her late eighties, early nineties?”

No one really knew the woman’s exact age. And Ms. Carlyle made it clear she preferred it that way. She had pointed out a long time ago that the inn’s main objective was to make her stay with them as pleasant an experience as humanly possible. This automatically included allowing the woman to maintain both her secrets and her dignity if those secrets contributed to Ms. Carlyle’s sense of dignity.

“Yes,” Andy answered with as much patience as she could muster, “other than that.”

“My guess is that it might be her heart,” Alex speculated, going through the list of regularly used phone numbers to locate the doctor’s. “She confided in Wyatt that she’d been having occasional...flutters...I think she called them.”

The term, as far as Andy knew, covered a wide variety of complaints for the former elementary school teacher. “She’s still sweet on Wyatt, huh?”

Alex nodded, still searching. “Ever since he interviewed her for that book his father had been writing about the inn. Here it is,” she cried triumphantly, jabbing the number with her well-polished nail for emphasis. “I’ll call the doctor, ask him to please come here and see her.” She glanced up at Andy. “I just hope he’s up to it. He’s getting on in years, too.” Alex sighed. “Things aren’t supposed to keep changing like this,” she lamented.

“If they didn’t,” Andy pointed out even though she didn’t care for change, either, “you and Wyatt would still be exchanging barbs instead of making babies.”

“Go!” Alex ordered, pointing in the direction of their only live-in guest’s quarters. “You’re wasting time. She could be freaking out.”

The stately Ms. Anne Josephine Carlyle spent a good deal of her time in the Queen Mary Suite, one of the inn’s original rooms. It was on the first floor within easy walking distance of the dining hall as well as the back veranda. The latter had an incredible view of the ocean and at night, during a full moon, it appeared as if the moon and the ocean were enjoying a secret relationship built on affection and gentle caresses.

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