Authors: Rochelle Alers
Deborah sat, enjoying the aromas of the shop before her gaze lingered on Mabel’s customer. He was a tall, slender, middle-aged black man. Though he was dressed casually in khakis, long-sleeved light blue button-down shirt, and black leather slip-ons, Deborah couldn’t take her eyes off the handsome stranger. He didn’t look familiar, so either he was a newcomer, visitor, or tourist. Cavanaugh Island didn’t get many tourists during the winter months, but the balmy seventy-degree temperatures attracted a few snowbirds from the Northeast and Midwest.
Without warning, he turned and caught her staring. Their gazes met and fused, and they shared a smile. He continued to stare and Deborah couldn’t control the rush of heat in her face; she lowered her eyes and didn’t glance up again until the wind chime tinkled when the door closed behind the very attractive man.
“I like what you’ve done with the shop,” Deborah said to Mabel when she joined her at the table.
“We don’t have a Starbucks here in the Cove, so Lester and I decided to offer something other than regular coffee to go along with the muffins. Business has really picked up since we put in the tables. We mostly get retirees who order their favorite muffin, coffee, and read the newspaper whenever it gets too hot to sit in the square or during rainy weather. It’s a big hit, especially with the snowbirds.” Mabel bit her lip. “If it wasn’t for the snowbirds, businesses in the Cove would really have a hard time staying open.”
“It’s that bad?” Deborah asked.
“Just say it could be better. Most of us are hanging on by the skin of our teeth, waiting for the summer season. Take Asa Monroe, the man who just left.”
“What about him?” she asked. For a reason she couldn’t fathom, Deborah wanted to know more about the stranger who unknowingly intrigued her.
“He rents a suite at the Cove Inn, been here about six weeks. He eats lunch at Jack’s, sends his laundry out, and comes in every day for his black coffee with a shot of espresso. Multiply that by twenty or thirty snowbirds and it’s enough revenue to keep small shopkeepers afloat until the summer season.”
Deborah nodded. “I noticed a few more vacant stores since the last time I was here.”
“The gift shop closed up last month.”
“I just rented it.”
A beat passed before Mabel said, “You’re kidding?”
“No I’m not. I’m moving to the Cove and—”
“Permanently?”
Deborah nodded again. “Yes. I’m also moving my bookstore. I called the chamber and they gave me a listing of the vacant stores. Once I found out the gift shop had closed, I realized it would be perfect. It has more square footage than my Charleston store and having a second floor is a bonus.”
Mabel leaned closer. “What about your kids?”
“Nothing’s going to change, Mabel, except that they’ll live here instead of in Charleston. They’ll still go to the same high school and hang out with their same friends.”
“What are you going to do with your house on the mainland?”
“I’m putting it up for sale. I know the real estate market is soft,” Deborah said quickly when Mabel opened her mouth, “but I’m willing to accept a reasonable offer because I don’t want to rent it.” She glanced at her watch, then stood up, Mabel rising with her. “I have to get back to the house. I’ll drop by again in a couple of days.”
“How long are you staying?”
“I’m leaving New Year’s Eve. I promised the kids I’d be back in time to bring in the new year with them.” Extending her arms, Deborah hugged Mabel.
She left the Muffin Corner, stopping again at the vacant store on Moss Alley that was soon to be the new home of The Parlor bookstore.
Kara Newell has been named the sole proprietor to a gorgeous estate in South Carolina.
But the sudden change in her fortune has made her a target.
Will the charming sheriff sent to protect her keep her safe?
Please turn this page for an excerpt from
Chapter One
G
ood morning, ma’am. May I help you?”
Kara returned the receptionist’s friendly smile with a bright one of her own. She’d recently celebrated her thirty-third birthday, and it was the first time she’d ever been called “ma’am”; but then she had to remind herself that she wasn’t in New York but in the South. Here it was customary to greet people with “yes, ma’am” and “sir,” rather than “missy” or “yo, my man.”
“I’m Kara Newell, and I have a ten o’clock appointment with Mr. Sullivan,” she said, introducing herself.
The receptionist’s smile was still in place when she replied, “Please have a seat, Miss Newell. Mr. Sullivan will be with you shortly.”
Kara sat down in a plush armchair in the law firm’s waiting area. The walls were covered with a wheatlike fabric and artwork depicting fox hunting scenes. She’d planned to take a break from her social worker position at a New York City agency by visiting her family in Little Rock, Arkansas. She never anticipated having to travel to Charleston, South Carolina, instead.
The certified letter from Sullivan, Webster, Matthews and Sullivan requesting her attendance at the reading of a will had come as a complete shock. When she’d spoken to Mr. David Sullivan Jr. to inform him that she didn’t know a Taylor Patton, the attorney reassured her that his client had been more than familiar with her.
Kara had called her parents to let them know she wouldn’t be coming to Little Rock as scheduled because she had to take care of some business. She didn’t tell her mother what that business was because it was still a mystery to her as to why she’d been summoned to the reading of a stranger’s will. It was only when the attorney mentioned it had something to do with a relative she wasn’t familiar with that she’d decided to make the trip.
She unbuttoned the jacket to her wool pantsuit. Although the temperatures had been below freezing when she’d boarded the flight in New York City, it was at least fifty degrees warmer in Charleston. One of the things she’d missed most about living in the South was the mild winters. By the time the jet touched down, Kara barely had time to hail a taxi, check into her downtown Charleston hotel room, shower, and grab a quick bite to eat before it was time to leave. She sat up straight when a tall, slender black man approached her.
“Miss Newell?”
Pushing off the chair, Kara smiled. “Yes.”
“Good morning, Miss Newell. David Sullivan,” he said in introduction, extending his hand.
His hand was soft, his grip firm, which took her by surprise. As she took in the sight of him, she realized he didn’t quite fit the description she’d had. The one time she’d spoken to Mr. Sullivan, there was something in his tone that made her think he was much older than he looked. Now she realized they were about the same age. Conservatively dressed in a navy blue pin-striped suit, white shirt, blue-and-white dotted tie, and black wing tips, he released her hand.
“It’s nice meeting you, Mr. Sullivan.”
David inclined his head. “Same here, Miss Newell. It’s nice having a face to go along with the voice.” Taking her elbow, he led her out of the waiting room and down a carpeted hallway to a set of double ornately carved oak doors at the end of the hallway. “I’d like to caution you before we go in. I don’t want you to reply or react to anything directed toward you. Taylor Patton was my client, and that means indirectly you are also my client.”
A shiver of uneasiness swept over Kara like a blast of frigid air. What, she mused, was she about to walk into? For the first time since she’d read the letter, she chided herself for not revealing its contents to her mother.
“What do you mean?” Kara asked.
“I can’t explain it now, Miss Newell. But I want you to trust me enough to know that I’m going to make certain to protect your interests.”
When the doors opened, Kara suddenly felt as if she were about to go on trial. The room was filled with people sitting around a massive rosewood conference table. She heard a slight gasp from the man sitting nearest the door, but he recovered quickly when she stared at him. The hazel eyes glaring at her—so much like her own—were cold, angry. The resemblance between her and the man was remarkable. So much so that they could have been brother and sister. But Kara didn’t have a brother—at least not one she was aware of. She was an only child.
David directed her to a chair at the opposite end of the room, seating her on his left while he took his place at the head of the table. He still hadn’t revealed to Kara why he’d wanted her to attend the reading of the will of Taylor Patton, but his cautioning was enough to let her know she was involved in something that was about to change her life. The fact that she resembled several of those in the conference room led Kara to believe there was a possibility she just might be related to the deceased.
Resting her hands in her lap, Kara listened as David informed everyone that a stenographer would record the proceedings, asking those present to introduce themselves for the record. Kara glanced at the stenographer sitting in a corner, fingers poised on the keys of the stenotype machine resting on a tripod.
David touched her hand, nodding. “Kara Elise Newell,” she said, beginning the introductions. One by one the eleven others gave their names.
The men were Pattons, while the women were hyphenated Pattons, with one exception. Kara glanced at Analeigh Patton’s hands. Unlike the others, her fingers were bare. A hint of a smile inched up the corners of Analeigh’s mouth, and a slow smile found its way to Kara’s eyes.
Everyone’s attention was directed toward David when he cleared his voice, slipped on a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses, and opened the folder in front of him. “ ‘I, Taylor Scott Patton of Palmetto Lane, Cavanaugh Island, South Carolina, do hereby make, publish, and declare this to be my Last Will and Testament, hereby expressly revoking all wills and codicils, heretofore made by me.’ ”
Kara felt her mind wandering when David mentioned that as the executor he would judicially pay the deceased’s enforceable debts and administrative expenses of Taylor’s estate as soon as possible. Taylor hadn’t married; therefore, there was no spouse to whom he would have bequeathed his belongings. All of the Pattons leaned forward as if the motion had been choreographed in advance when David paused briefly. Then he continued to read.
“ ‘I do give and bequeath to my daughter, Kara Elise Newell, all my personal effects and all my tangible personal property, including automobiles owned by me and held for my personal use at the time of my death, cash on hand in bank accounts in my own name, securities, or other intangibles.’ ”
Kara went completely still, unable to utter a sound as pandemonium followed. The room was full of screams, tears, shouts of fraud, and threats to her person. Another two minutes passed before David was able to restore a modicum of civility. “Ladies, gentlemen, please restrain yourselves. Remember, this proceeding is being recorded, so please refrain from threatening my client. By the way, there is more.”
The man who’d glared at Kara stood up. “What’s left? My uncle has given this
impostor
everything.”
“Please sit down, Harlan. I can assure you that Miss Newell is not an impostor,” David said.
Kara wanted to agree with the Pattons. Austin Newell, not Taylor Patton, was her father. She closed her eyes, her heart pounding a runaway rhythm, as David outlined the conditions of what she’d inherited: She must restore Angels Landing to its original condition; make Angels Landing her legal residence for the next five years; and allow the groundskeeper and his wife, who would receive a lump sum of fifty thousand dollars, to continue to live out their natural lives in one of the two guesthouses. In addition, she could not sell any parcel of land to a nonfamily member without unanimous approval of all Cavanaugh Island Pattons, and the house and its contents could only be deeded to a Patton.
She opened her eyes and let out an inaudible sigh when David enumerated names and monies set aside in trust for three grandnephews and two grandnieces for their college education. This pronouncement satisfied some, but not all. There were yet more threats and promises to contest the will.
Forty-five minutes after she’d entered the conference room, Kara found herself alone with Taylor Patton’s attorney. Holding her head in her hands, she tried to grasp what had just happened. She hadn’t risen with the others because she wasn’t certain whether her legs would’ve supported her body. David had warned her not to say anything, and she hadn’t, but only because she couldn’t. Reaching for the glass of water that had been placed before each chair, she took a sip.
David removed his glasses and laced his fingers together. “So, Miss Newell, you are now the owner of a house listed on the National Register of Historic Places and two thousand acres of prime land on Cavanaugh Island.”
Kara’s eyelids fluttered as if she’d just surfaced from a trance. “I’m sorry to inform you, but Taylor Patton is not my father.”
David’s eyes narrowed. “Did your mother ever mention Taylor Patton’s name?”
She shook her head. “No. The only father I know is Austin Newell.”
“Well, I can assure you that you
are
Taylor’s biological daughter. In fact, you are his only child.”
Kara closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were filled with fear and confusion. “How is that possible?” The query was a whisper.
“That is something you’ll have to discuss with your mother.”
She would talk to her mother, but not over the phone. What she and Jeannette Newell needed to discuss had to be done face-to-face. Combing her fingers through her hair, Kara held it off her forehead. “Please tell me this is a dream.”
David sat on the edge of the table, staring at Kara’s bowed head, a look of compassion across his features. “Even if I did, it still wouldn’t change anything.” Reaching into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, he took out a small kraft envelope, spilling its contents on the table in front of her. “These are keys to the house in Angels Landing, Taylor’s car, and his safe-deposit box in a bank in Sanctuary Cove.”
Kara released her hair, the chin-length, chemically straightened strands falling into place. “Where’s Sanctuary Cove?”
“It’s on Cavanaugh Island, southeast of Angels Landing. You only have ten days to transfer the accounts from Taylor’s to your name. By the way, do you have a rental?”
“No. I took a taxi from the airport to the hotel.”
“Good.”
“Good?” Kara repeated.
David smiled. “Yes. It means I don’t have to get someone to drop it off for you. I’m going to have our driver take you back to the hotel so you can pick up your luggage, and then he’ll take you to Angels Landing.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m planning to leave for Little Rock tomorrow.”
“Can you hold off leaving for a few days?”
“David. May I call you David?” He nodded. “When you wrote and asked me to come here, I never could’ve imagined that the man I’ve believed was my father all these years is not my father. Not to mention that I now have a bunch of cousins who can’t wait to put out a hit on me so they can inherit my unforeseen assets, assets I don’t need or want.”
“Are you saying you’re going to walk away from your birthright?”
“A birthright I knew nothing about.”
David leaned in closer. “A birthright you need to protect, Kara. If you walk away from this, then you’ll be playing right into the hands of the developers who’ve preyed on the folks who’ve lived on the Sea Island and who’ll turn their inhabitants’ birthright into a playground for millionaires.”
Kara felt as if her emotions were under attack. “But… but the will states I can only sell the land to a Patton.”
“Pattons who want to sell more than half of Angels Landing.”
“Why would they want to do that?” A pregnant silence filled the room as she and David stared at each other.
“Greed, Kara. If they can get you to go along with their way of thinking and you sell your two thousand acres, the monies they’ll receive for the sale will be divided among them evenly.”
An expression of confusion crossed her face. “How many acres do they hold collectively?”
“Probably about four hundred,” David said.
“Hypothetically, if I decide to hand over my shares and we sell twenty-four hundred acres at let’s say a thousand dollars per acre. Are you telling me two-point-four million will be divided among twelve of us?”
He didn’t respond. Instead, she did the calculations in her head. Instead of $2 million she would get $200,000. “The split seems a little inequitable, especially if I hold the majority shares.”
David’s dark eyebrows lifted a fraction. “They see you as an outsider, someone who will take the money and run. Please don’t prove them right.”
“What do you expect me to do?”
“I’d like you to give yourself a week to think about it. Stay at the house, tour the island. If you decide you prefer the Big Apple to the Lowcountry, then you walk away and…”
“I walk away and what?” Kara asked when David didn’t finish his statement.
“The surviving heirs will contest the will, it will go into probate, and after the state of South Carolina gets its share, the family will get what’s left.”
She gave the dapper attorney a long, penetrating stare. He was asking for a week while her supposed biological father had asked her for five years. Right now Kara had three weeks of vacation time: one she could spend in Angels Landing and the other two in Arkansas before returning to New York. She hadn’t told her parents when to expect her, so Kara decided to change her travel plans yet again.
“Okay. I’ll try it for a week.”
David blew out an audible breath. “Thank you.” He stood, walked over to the wall phone, and pushed the speaker feature. “Please tell Linc I need him to drive a client to her hotel. He’s to wait for her to check out, and then I want him to take her to Taylor Patton’s house.” He ended the call and came over to cup Kara’s elbow when she stood up. “I’m going to call my cousin, Jeffrey Hamilton, who’s the island’s sheriff and have him stop in to check on you. I’ll be in court for the next two days, but as soon as there is a recess, I’ll come out to see you. Meanwhile, Jeff or one of his deputies will help you if you need anything.”