The Inheritance

Her mouth went dry. Greer was having a great deal of difficulty in not noticing just how lean and hard Rafe Maitland was, how his years in the saddle had left him with a body that seemed sculpted out of granite.

Greer dropped her eyes to study the lone pillow haphazardly thrown onto the sofa, pretending to be interested in its Navajo pattern.

“Well, not you alone. You and all the other Maitlands.” She raised her head and looked up at him, wondering if his older brother and sister were going to be this difficult. “Mrs. Maitland wants this to be a family reunion.”

He’d just bet she did. Rafe scowled. Well, he had better things to do than dance like a wooden puppet because some rich dowager wanted to amuse herself and pull the strings.

“Sorry, I’m not much on family and I’ve got all I can handle at the moment.” His fingers resting on the tongue of his zipper, Rafe looked at Megan Maitland’s messenger, feeling the last of his patience leaving. “Now, if that’s all…”

Greer knew that part of her problem was that she appeared to be a complete pushover. But, in a way, that was also part of her strength, her secret weapon, because no one expected her to doggedly dig in. And she did. “No, that’s not all. You’re supposed to say yes.”

Now she was getting him angry. “Why? Because some rich lady says I am?”

Greer’s chin rose triumphantly. “Then you do know who she is.”

For a second, his attention fixed on the hint of a cleft in Greer’s chin. He shook off the sudden, unexpected impulse to run his finger along the indentation. He’d made a slip and he didn’t like making slips. Making slips was sloppy.

His brows drew together as his eyes darkened. Lesser men had backed down from him when he looked like that. That she didn’t look afraid both surprised and impressed him. But impressed or not, he didn’t have time for any nonsense, and this very definitely came under the heading of “nonsense.”

“Whether I do or don’t doesn’t make any difference. I don’t have time for parties, or for sitting around twiddling my thumbs because some woman claiming to be my aunt wants to ‘get to know me.’” He shot her words back at her. Rafe had no use for people who didn’t do an honest day’s work for a living. That had been his father’s way, living off others. Scamming, conniving, until the day he met his demise in an alley behind a casino in what had all the earmarks of a syndicate hit. “In case you hadn’t noticed, this is a working ranch and I’m one of the ones doing the working.”

Standing over her, he was so close that he seemed to be taking up all the available air. Determined to make him agree, Greer was still having trouble keeping her mind focused.

“Mr. Maitland, Mrs. Maitland has her heart set on getting everyone together.”

What some society woman did or didn’t want made no impression on him. He had to make his living out here, in the real world. He turned away from Megan Maitland’s little pit bull of a messenger and began to walk toward his bedroom and the shower that was just beyond.

“Well, then, I’m afraid her heart’s going to be broken, but I suspect she’ll live.”

Moving quickly, Greer got in front of him again, blocking his way out of the room. “Why don’t you at least think about it?”

Rafe paused, cocked his head as if shifting something over from one side to the other, then said, “There. I thought about it.” He looked her right in the eyes. “No,” he enunciated very firmly.

She felt her knees becoming less than solid. Envisioning Megan’s disappointment, Greer somehow managed to hold her ground. “Why?”

What was wrong with this woman? Why couldn’t she take no for an answer? “Because I plain don’t have the time or the inclination.” He had to really work to hold on to his temper. “Look, I don’t know this woman, and if she’s my aunt like you say—”

“She is—”

The look in his eyes froze any further words in her throat. “Then where was she before?”

“Before?” Greer echoed, not sure what he was referring to.

“Before now,” he ground out. He was tired, he was hungry and the unseasonable humidity was making the shoulder he’d injured years ago when he’d spilled off his horse ache. “Why no cards at Christmas? Why no visits in the last twenty-five years? No word while I was growing up? For all I know, Greer, this is just some big hoax—”

The flash of temper came out of nowhere, like a quick summer storm in the desert. She didn’t like the way he’d said her name, as if it were something comical. “It’s not.”

“Why should I go?” he wanted to know, looming over her again, his eyes holding hers. “Because you say so?”

She was utterly aware of him. The youngest of Mrs. Maitland’s long lost family was standing much too close to her. The fact that he was also bare-chested and sweaty was making it increasingly difficult for her to breathe. Telling herself that it was the heavy September air and not the man was a flat-out lie and she knew it.

Still, like a loyal terrier, she hung in. “No, because it’s the right thing to do.”

The right thing. What did someone with smooth, pampered hands and unbroken fingernails know about the right thing? What would she know about how hard it was to make a living in a hostile world? His lips curled in a sneer.

“The right thing, Greer, would be for you to retreat and tell Her Majesty that one of her relatives can’t be summoned to the gathering.” He paused at his bedroom door, his hand on the doorknob. “I’m sure I won’t be the only one sending his ‘regrets.’”

She wasn’t accustomed to lying, but she was beginning to think that perhaps there was a time and a place for everything.

“Yes, you will be,” Greer called after him.

He laughed under his breath and then turned to look at her over his shoulder, sincerely doubting her statement. “Well, I always did like standing out. Now, you’ve used up your five minutes, Greer, and I’d like to get on a first-name basis with my shower, so I figure you can see yourself out.”

With that he withdrew, leaving her flabbergasted and alone in his living room.

He shed his jeans as he walked toward his bathroom shower stall. Damn, where did she get off, being pushy like that? He had a hell of a lot more important things on his mind than prancing off to some society bigwig’s party and being treated like the long lost black sheep of the family.

Rafe turned on the water full blast and let the steam envelop him, kneading the tight, aching muscles.

Tilting his head up under the showerhead, he laughed to himself. Hell, the whole side of his family could be thought of as black sheep when it came to the Maitland clan. And he supposed he was the blackest for not having anything to do with any of them.

But there were reasons for that.

Besides, he thought, lathering quickly, he had more than enough to deal with, what with Rory and Lil dying and leaving him to care for Bethany. Him, a confirmed bachelor without a clue what to do with a baby that didn’t have four legs and a tail. If that wasn’t enough, Lil’s aunt and uncle had suddenly turned up after years of silence, demanding custody of the little girl.

He washed the soap from his body, turning up the heat another notch and standing there to absorb the hot water. Maybe he would even have let them have Bethany, if he hadn’t given his word to Lil that he wouldn’t. With almost the last breath in her body, she’d begged him not to let the pair get their hands on Bethany. Not to put her baby through the hell she’d lived through and barely survived as a child. Lil wanted something better for Bethany. And it was up to him to see that she got it.

So he’d gone to a lawyer, first thing, and plunked down his hard-earned money, knowing that he needed help to allow him to keep his word. That stuck in his throat a little, not being able to do it alone. He was used to fighting his own battles, cleaning up his own messes. He’d been doing it ever since he could remember, raising himself because his parents were either too busy fighting or too busy living their own lives to take any notice of him.

Well, strictly speaking, he supposed his mother had tried her best. But the former showgirl was far more suited to dancing in skimpy outfits than to being a mother. She hadn’t the faintest idea what a kid needed. But Veronica Maitland had given him love and he supposed she had done her best.

He didn’t fault her. He faulted his father, who actually was a Maitland. In Rafe’s book, they were all probably like his old man. Out for themselves, self-serving. There had to be some kind of gimmick behind this invitation, he thought, and he wasn’t about to play along. Not if there wasn’t anything in it for him.

As seductive as standing under the shower was, Rafe forced himself to hurry. He didn’t want to greet the new cook’s daughter in his birthday suit. He’d seen the way the cook could swing a cleaver and wanted to take no chances on being on the receiving end of that.

Getting out, Rafe quickly toweled himself dry and slid on a clean pair of jeans. Alyssa, he figured, would be here with the baby any minute. They had an arrangement. She watched the baby during the day while he worked, and he was teaching her to ride. He figured he was getting the better end of the deal.

His hair still damp from the shower, his clean shirt only half buttoned, Rafe opened his bedroom door and walked out of the room to find that the woman in the large glasses and sensible shoes was once again standing in his living room.

“What the hell are you doing back?” he demanded.

Her back to him, Greer jumped, startled. She hadn’t heard the door open. She’d been waiting for him, trying to string together her words so that she could make an effective argument, and he’d surprised her.

She bit her lower lip. She was better at delivering an argument on paper than in person, but it was time she learned how to talk.

“I never left.”

Rafe indicated the door behind her. “Well, leave now.”