Bombshell For The Black Sheep

Hartley didn’t call him out on the awkward, unnecessary explanation. “I see that,” he said mildly.

The kid, barely twenty at most, tried to peer inside the house. “Fiona needs to sign for this delivery.”

Hartley’s territorial instincts kicked in. “Ms. James is in the shower.”

The young man recognized the veiled rebuke. His face flushed. “You could do it, I suppose.”

“I supposed I could.” Hartley scrawled his name and handed back the electronic clipboard. “I’ll tell her you said hello.”

Three large boxes changed hands. Hartley gave the poor schmuck a terse nod and closed the door firmly. He couldn’t blame the kid for having a crush, but Fiona deserved a man in her life.

The irony of that didn’t escape him. In fact, now that he had Fee in his corner, he could spare a moment to wonder what she had been up to in the weeks and months he had been traveling the world. Was there a man somewhere who would protest Hartley’s current involvement in her life?

His stomach-curling distaste for that thought told him he was more invested than he wanted to admit. It seemed impossible he could be obsessed with a woman he had known for less than a week, collectively. Yet of all the people in his life who could have been persuaded to accompany him to his father’s funeral, Hartley had chosen Fiona.

The momentary peace he experienced deep in his heart told him he had made the right decision.

A lot of things were going to change in the next weeks and months. Even if his brother didn’t trust him and his sister would reproach him for being gone so long, the three of them would have to work together to settle their father’s affairs.

Only Hartley knew how very difficult that was going to be.

A noise in the hall brought his head up. His breath caught in his throat. “Fiona,” he croaked. “You look amazing.”

Her classic black dress was sleeveless and knee length. Sexy black sandals showcased slender legs. She had tried to tame her medium-length hair with two antique tortoiseshell combs. Now fiery curls framed her elfin face. “Is this okay?” she asked. “To be honest, I haven’t been to a funeral in a very long time.” She toyed with the simple pearl earrings that matched the necklace at her throat.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

Two (#u65a9cba7-6c0a-5646-8ed5-a73741a91e1b)

Fiona avoided funerals on a good day. Attending this particular one on the arm of the man who had treated her so shabbily didn’t make sense.

Yet here she was.

Charleston, in all her low-country charm, basked in the summer sun. The city was a unique amalgam of Southern gentility and a lingering painful past. Palm trees and horse-drawn carriages. Elegant secluded courtyards. And everywhere, the patina of old money. Farther out from the city, pockets of poverty existed, but here in the historic district, wealth and social position held sway.

By the time Fiona and Hartley made it to the upscale funeral home in the heart of town, she knew she was in trouble. Hartley had barely spoken a word the entire time, but she was hyperaware of him at her side.

He drove with careless confidence despite the tightness in his jaw and his palpable air of tension.

It was impossible not to think about the other times they had been together. At least it was impossible for her. Presumably, Hartley was too distraught to think about sex.

She was having second and third thoughts about her role this afternoon. “So what do I need to know?” she asked. “I don’t want to say anything I shouldn’t.”

Hartley shot her a sideways glance before spotting an empty spot down the street and parallel parking with ease. “Just follow my lead. My sister will be emotional. For several reasons. She doesn’t know why I’ve been gone.”

“Join the club,” Fiona muttered.

Hartley ignored her sarcasm. “Mazie’s husband is J.B. He’s been a friend of ours since we were kids. He and Mazie reconnected recently and fell in love. And to further confuse you, J.B. is my brother’s best friend.”

“Got it.”

“Jonathan, my twin, had serious brain surgery not too long ago, but he’s made a complete recovery. His wife is Lisette. She’s been working for Tarleton Shipping a long time.”

“And your mother? I haven’t heard you speak of her.” Fiona got out and smoothed her skirt with damp hands. Meeting strangers was not her forte. In this situation, the stakes were much higher than usual. Hartley got out as well and closed his door, resting his arms on the roof of the car as he stared at her. “My mother is not in the picture. The only people you’ll have to deal with today are my siblings and their spouses.”

If his words were meant to reassure her, they failed. Hartley’s air of mystery told her the Tarleton family had more than one skeleton in the closet. Why else would Hartley be so worried about seeing his brother and sister? It was beginning to dawn on Fiona that his brief though startling contact with her was not the only relationship he had abandoned.

They arrived at the funeral home early. Hartley wanted time to speak with his family before the receiving of friends began. When he took Fiona’s hand in his as they mounted the steps to the red-brick and white-columned building, she wasn’t sure he even noticed.

She tugged him to a halt before he opened the door, squeezing his fingers, trying to extend her support. “It’s going to be okay,” she said softly. “Every family goes through this. You’ll make it. You all will.”

His expression was grim. “Death is one thing. Handling the living is something else again.”

His odd words stayed with her for the next half hour, illuminating the awkward family reunion.

Mazie was the first person to spot her brother. She ran up to him and threw her arms around his neck, her face wet with tears. “I swear I shouldn’t forgive you, but I’m so glad you’re here.”

Fiona hung back as Hartley embraced his classically beautiful sister. Mazie’s skin was fairer than her brother’s. And though the family resemblance was strong, her eyes were more golden amber than brown. Her elegance made Fiona feel dowdy in comparison. Mazie wore emeralds that must have cost a fortune.

Hartley reached back and drew Fiona into the small circle. “Mazie, this is my friend, Fiona James. She was kind enough to be my date today.”

Fiona grimaced. “I told him no one needs an escort to a funeral, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Mazie smiled through her tears. “That sounds like Hartley. Wait a minute,” she said. “Fiona James the artist? My husband and I have a couple of your paintings. The Salt Marsh at Sunset. The Bridge at Twilight. I treasure them. You’re incredibly talented.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said. It still startled her to be recognized.

Mazie dried her face with a tissue. “Jonathan is just around the corner. You might as well get this meeting over with.”

Hartley’s gaze darkened. “Is he really going to be okay?”

“Right as rain,” Mazie said. “He didn’t even freak out when Lisette told him she had been keeping you in the loop. Apparently, staring death in the face mellows a man.”

Hartley curled an arm around Fiona’s waist. “Jonathan was misdiagnosed in the beginning, but fortunately, the mistake was caught in time.”

“How scary,” Fiona said.

Mazie nodded. “Terrifying. We thought we were going to lose him.”

They turned down a hallway and more or less ran into the third Tarleton sibling. Jonathan had clearly overheard the end of their conversation.

He lifted a shoulder, his smile laconic. “Apparently, I’m hard to kill.”

The two brothers sized each other up. The tension was painful. They were definitely identical twins. No hiding that. But even an outsider would have no problem telling them apart.

Olive skin. Dark brown eyes. Chestnut hair. Those were the commonalities. Hartley’s hair was longer...untamed...sun-bleached. And he had the look of a man who spent a lot of time outdoors. Jonathan, on the other hand, was GQ handsome. Sculpted jaw. Expensive haircut. Conservative suit.

Two stunningly handsome men in their prime.