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“I hope I’m not too early,” he said in a deep, husky voice, breaking into her thoughts.
“No, you’re fine. I was just having my morning coffee. Would you like to join me?”
With an ultrasexy shrug of his massive shoulders, he smiled as he removed his hat. “Umm, I don’t know. I feel I’m taking a lot of your time already.”
“No problem. Besides, you want to know about Raphel, right?”
“Yes. Is there something you can tell me other than he was your great-grandfather’s partner and that he ran off with your great-grandmother, Portia Novak?”
Pam chuckled as she led him through the house and headed toward the kitchen. “Portia wasn’t my great-grandmother,” she corrected. “A few years after she’d run off, he met my great-grandmother and they married.”
When he sat down at the table, she said, “I’m sure you’ve heard some stories about Raphel and Portia.” She proceeded to pour him a cup of coffee.
“No, in actuality, I hadn’t. I’d always assumed my great-grandmother Gemma was my great-grandfather’s only wife. It was only after my Atlanta Westmoreland relatives showed up and explained how we were related that I found out about Portia Novak and the others.”
Pam lifted a brow. “There were others?”
He nodded. “Yes, Gemma was his fifth wife.”
Dillon was more than curious about what had happened to a preacher’s wife, a woman by the name of Lila Elms. Although she was already legally married to the preacher, had she and Raphel pretended to be married for a spell before he dumped her for Portia, the wife of Jay Novak?
And then what happened to Clarice, wife number three? And Isabelle, wife four? All four women’s names were rumored to be connected to Raphel in some say. If what they’d discovered so far was true, Raphel had taken up with the four women before his thirty-second birthday, and all had been married to another man or engaged to marry someone else. It seemed Raphel’s reputation as a wife stealer was legendary.
Dillon took a sip of coffee, deciding for the moment not to inform her that the others, like Portia, were women who belonged to other men, legally or otherwise. But he would throw out the name of one she might have heard about already. “My goal is to find out what happened to Lila Elms.”
“The preacher’s wife?”
So, she had heard about Lila. “Yes.” He took another sip and then asked, “How do you know so much about this stuff?”
She chuckled as she sat down at the table with him after refilling her own cup of coffee. “My grandmother. As a little girl we would spend hours and hours on the porch outside shelling peas, and she would fill my ears about all the family history. But the one subject she didn’t shed a lot of light on was Portia. For some reason, any conversation about her was taboo. Jay wanted it that way and my great-grandmother respected his wishes.”
Dillon nodded, trying to concentrate on what she was saying and not on how smoothly her lips would part each time she took a sip of her coffee. How the bottom lip would hang open a little and how the top one would fit perfectly around the rim of the cup.
He felt his gut tightening and took a sip of his coffee. When he had been standing out in her yard and he’d turned and seen her staring at him, he had tried not to speculate just what was going on in her mind. He didn’t want to even consider the possibility that it had been close to what had been going on in his.
Her gaze had touched him deeply, in a way he doubted she even realized. Something about Pamela Novak was calling out to him in the most elemental way, and that wasn’t good. Since his divorce, he had dated on occasion. But if the truth be told, he’d made it a point to date only women who, like him, weren’t interested in anything long term. All of those women had been unattached.
“Are you ready to go up to the attic?”
Her question reined his thoughts back and he glanced over at her and immediately wished he hadn’t. Every muscle in his body immediately seemed to weaken yet at the same time fill him with an intensity that made him draw in a long breath. It was time to acknowledge it for what it was. Sexual chemistry.
He had heard about it but had never actually experienced it for himself. He’d been attracted to women before, but it never went further than an attraction. What he was beginning to feel was an element of something greater than a mere attraction. There were these primitive vibes he was not only emitting but was also receiving. That meant Pamela Novak was in tune to what was going on between them, although she might choose to pretend otherwise. Of course, he understood her reluctance to acknowledge such a thing. After all, she was an engaged woman. And she didn’t come across as one who would deliberately be unfaithful to her fiancé.
But still...
“Yes, I’m ready,” he finally said. “But first I want to clear the air about something.” He watched her lips quiver nervously before she set her cup down and met his gaze. He tensed, trying to ignore the sensations rolling through him every time their eyes met.
“Clear the air about what?”
He’d been too busy watching her lips to pay any attention to the words flowing out of them. He fought back the urge to lift the tip of his finger and run it across those lips.
He cleared his throat. “About last night. My showing up here without calling first. I think I may have rattled your fiancé a little, and I regret doing that. It was not my intent to cause any problems between the two of you.”
He watched as her shoulders gave a feminine shrug. “You didn’t cause any problems. Don’t worry about it.”
She then stood. “I think we should go up to the attic and see what’s there. There’s a trunk that contains a lot of my great-grandfather’s business records.”
Dillon nodded. She had responded to his question and in the same breath, had effectively switched topics, which let him know the subject of her relationship with Fletcher Mallard was not up for discussion.
He pushed his chair back and then got on his feet. “I’m ready, just lead the way.”
She did and he couldn’t help but appreciate the backside that strolled in front of him as he followed.
* * *
With his long legs, it didn’t take Dillon long to catch up with her, Pamela thought. Not that she was trying to leave him behind. But for a few moments she’d needed to get her bearings. The man had a way of making her not think straight.
He was silent as she led him up the stairs and she couldn’t help looking sideways to gaze at his profile. What was it about him that affected her in a way Fletcher didn’t? Her heart rate accelerated when she noticed he even climbed the stairs with an ingrained sexiness that made her senses reel.
When they reached the top landing he moved slightly ahead of her, as if he knew where he was going. “If I didn’t know better I’d swear you’ve been here before,” she said as they continued to walk toward the end of the hall that led to the attic stairs.
He glanced down at her and smiled. “This might sound crazy but this house is very similar to mine back in Denver. Was it built by your great-grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“Then that might explain things, since the house I live in was built by Raphel. I’m thinking he liked the design, and when he decided to build his home he did so from his memory of this one.”
“That would explain how you knew about our secret window.” She regretted the words the moment they left her lips. She had just admitted to spying on him out the window when he’d arrived.
“Yes, that’s how I know about it. I have one of my own just like it and in the same place.”
“I see.” But, in a way, she didn’t see, which made her as eager to find out about Raphel as Dillon was.
She then walked on and he joined her. When they reached the door that led to the attic she opened it. Judging from the expression on his face, it was as if he’d seen the view before, and that made her determined to know why his home was a replica of hers.
Unlike the other stairs in her home, the attic steps were narrow and Dillon moved aside for her to go up ahead of him. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her back. She was tempted to glance over her shoulder but knew that wouldn’t be the appropriate thing to do. So she did the next best thing and engaged him in conversation.
She broke into the silence by saying, “At dinner you mentioned that you were the oldest of Raphel’s fifteen great-grands.” She glanced briefly over her shoulder.
“Yes, and for a number of years I was the legal guardian for ten of them.”
Pamela swung around so quickly, had she been standing on a stair she probably would have lost her balance. “Guardian to ten of them?”
At his nod, she blinked in amazement. “How did that come about?” She stepped aside when he reached her, noting there still wasn’t a lot of room between them, but she was so eager to hear his answer she didn’t make a move to step back any further.
“My parents and my aunt and uncle decided to go away for the weekend together, to visit one of my mother’s friends in Louisiana. On their way back to Denver, their plane developed engine trouble and went down, killing everyone on board.”
“Oh, how awful.”
“Yes, it was. My parents had seven kids and my aunt and uncle had eight. I was the oldest at twenty-one. My brother Micah was nineteen and Jason was eighteen. My other brothers, Riley, Stern, Canyon and Brisbane, were all under sixteen.”
He braced a hip against the stair railing and continued. “My cousin Ramsey was twenty, and his brother Zane was nineteen and Derringer was eighteen. The remaining cousins, Megan, Gemma, the twins Adrian and Aiden, and the youngest, Bailey, were also all under sixteen.”
She also leaned against the rail to face him, still full of questions. “And family services didn’t have a problem with you being responsible for so many little ones?”
“No, everyone knew the Westmorelands would want to stay together. Besides,” he said, chuckling, “no one around our parts wanted to be responsible for Bane.”
“Bane?”
“Yes. It’s short for Brisbane. He’s my youngest brother who likes his share of mischief. He was only eight when my parents were killed and he took their deaths pretty hard.”
“How old is he now?”
“Twenty-two and still hot under the collar in more ways than one. I wish there was something holding his interest these days other than a certain female in Denver.”
Pam nodded. She couldn’t help but wonder if there was a certain female in Denver holding Dillon’s interest, as well.
“Do all of you still live close to one another?” she asked.
“Yes, Great-Grandpa Raphel purchased a lot of land back in the thirties. When each Westmoreland reaches the age of twenty-five they are given a hundred-acre tract of land, which is why we all live in close proximity to each other. As the oldest cousin, I inherited the family home where everyone seems to congregate most of the time.”
He then asked her, “How old were you when your great-grandfather passed?”
“He died before I was born, but I heard a lot about him. What about Raphel? How old were you when he passed?”
“He died before I was born, too. My great-grandmother lived until I was two, so I don’t rightly remember much of her, either. But I do remember my grandparents, Grampa Stern and Gramma Paula. It was Grampa Stern who used to tell us stories about Raphel, but never did he mention anything about past wives or other siblings. In fact, he claimed Raphel had been an only child. That makes me wonder how much he truly knew about his own father.”
Pam paused for a moment and then said, “I guess there are secrets in most families.”
“Yes, like Raphel running off with the preacher’s wife,” he said.
“And you think Raphel eventually married her?”
“Not sure of that, either,” Dillon replied. “Since she was legally married to the preacher, I don’t see how a marriage between them could take place, which is why I’m curious as to what happened to her once they fled Georgia.”
“But her name, as well as Portia’s, are shown as former wives on documents you’ve found?” she asked, trying to get a greater understanding of just what kind of life his great-grandfather may have led.
“Two of my Atlanta cousins, Quade and Cole, own a security firm and they did a background check, going as far back as the early nineteen-hundreds. Old land deeds were discovered for Raphel and they list four separate women as his wives. So far we know two of them—the preacher’s wife and Portia Novak—were already legally married. We can only assume Raphel lived with them pretending to be married.”
He paused a moment and then glanced around and asked, “Do you come up here often?”
His question made her realize they had been standing still long enough and were awfully close, so she shifted toward the attic door. “Not as often as I used to. I just moved back to Gamble last year when my father passed. Like you, I’m the oldest and I wanted to care for my sisters. I am their legal guardian.”
Dillon nodded and stepped back when she opened the attic door. He had noticed the way she had interacted with her sisters last night at dinner. It was obvious they were close.
“That’s my great-grandfather’s trunk over there. It’s my understanding that he and your great-grandfather were partners in a dairy business, which was very profitable at the time. I know there are a lot of business records in there, as well as some of Raphel’s belongings. It seems he made a quick getaway when he left Gamble.”
Dillon shot her a glance. “You have some of Raphel’s belongings?”
“Yes,” she said, moving toward the trunk. “I didn’t mention it at dinner last night.”
He understood the reason she hadn’t done so. Her fiancé probably would have had something to say about it. It was quite obvious the man could make an argument out of just about any subject.
Instead of immediately following her over to the trunk, Dillon stood back for a moment and watched her go. His gaze was focused on her. The possibility that some of his great-grandfather’s belongings might be inside that trunk intrigued him. But she intrigued him more.
She was wearing jeans and a pretty pink blouse that added an ultrafeminine touch. He couldn’t help but notice the seductive curves outlined in those jeans. Walking behind her up the stairs to the attic had been hell. He was certain sweat had popped out on his brow with every step she’d taken.
When she saw he hadn’t followed her, she turned and slanted him a glance. “Are you all right?”
No, he wasn’t all right. One part of his brain was trying to convince him that, although she was an engaged woman, she wasn’t married yet, so she was still available. But another part of him, the one looking at the ring on her finger, knew to make a pass in any way would be crossing a line. But hell, he was tempted.
She held his gaze, and he realized at that moment he hadn’t given her an answer. “Yes, I’m fine. Just overwhelmed.” If only she knew how much and the reason why.
“I understand how you feel. What you said last night at dinner is true for me, as well. I consider family important. Although you never knew him, you want to know as much about your great-grandfather as you can learn. I think it is admirable that you want to do so.”
She glanced down at the trunk and then back at him. “I just hope you don’t think you’re going to find out everything there is to know about your great-grandfather in one day, Dillon. Even after I open that trunk it might spur you to ask more questions, seek more answers.”
“And if I need to come back here?” he asked, knowing she knew where he was going with the question.
“You’re welcome to come back for as long as it takes.”
His gaze held hers intensely as he asked, “Will Fletcher be okay with it? Like I said earlier, I don’t want to cause any problems between the two of you.”
“There won’t be any problems. Now, aren’t you going to open this trunk? I’ve been dying to do so for years, but growing up we were always told it was off limits.” Her lips curved at the corners. “But I will admit to defying orders once and poking around in there. At that time, I didn’t see anything that held my interest.”
Dillon smiled as he crossed the floor toward her. Like his at home, the attic here was huge. As a boy, the attic had been one of his favorite places to hide when he wanted some alone time. This room was full of boxes and trunks, but they had been arranged in a neat order, nothing like the way his attic looked back home. And there was that lone, small rectangular window that allowed just enough sunlight to shine through.
Kneeling, he pulled off a key that was taped on the side of the trunk and began working at the lock. Moments later he lifted open the lid. There were a lot of papers, business books, a couple of work shirts that had aged with time, a bottle of wine, a compass and a tattered looking journal.
He glanced up at Pam. “Mind if I take a look at this?”
“No, I don’t mind. In fact, there’s a letter inside.”
He lifted a brow as he opened the journal and, sure enough, a letter whose envelope had turned yellow, lay on the front page. The name on the envelope was still legible. It simply said Westmoreland. He glanced back over at her.
“Like I said, although the trunk was off limits, I couldn’t help but snoop that one time. That’s how I knew about that letter.”
Dillon couldn’t hide his smile as he opened the sealed letter. It read, “Whomever comes to get Raphel’s belongings just needs to know that he was a good and decent man and I don’t blame him for leaving and taking Portia with him.”
It had been signed by Pam’s great-grandfather Jay. Dillon put the letter back in the envelope and glanced up at Pam. “This is all very confusing. Think you can shed some light on it?”
She shook her head. “No, sorry. For a man not to hold any animosity against the man that took his wife is strange. Perhaps Raphel did Jay a favor if he didn’t want to be married to her anyway. But that theory is really stretching it a bit. A man’s wife is a man’s wife, and Portia had been Jay’s wife.”
“And what about Lila Elms?”
She shrugged. “I can’t tell you anything about her, other than they must have parted ways between Atlanta and here, because from all I’ve heard when Raphel arrived in Gamble he was a single man.”
She glanced at her watch. “There are a few phone calls that I need to make, so I’m going to leave you for a while. Take as much time as you like up here, and if you need me for any reason, I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen.”
“All right.”
She moved toward the attic door.
“Pamela?”
She glanced back around. “Yes?”
He smiled. “Thanks.”
She smiled back. “Don’t mention it.”
* * *
Dillon released a deep breath the moment Pam left, closing the attic door behind her. Pamela Novak was a temptation he had best leave alone. All the while she had been in this room, he had tried keeping the conversation going, anything to suppress the desires that had run rampant through him.
What was there about her that ruffled his senses every time she was within ten feet of him? What was there about her that made a number of unnamed and undefined sensations run through him? It had been hard as hell to maintain his composure and control around her.
Perhaps his dilemma had to do with her understanding of his need to delve into his family’s history, his desire to know as much about Raphel Westmoreland as he could find out. Even some of his siblings and cousins didn’t understand what was driving him, although they did support him. He appreciated them for it, but support and understanding were two different things.
However, he had a gut feeling Pamela did understand. She not only understood but was willing to help him any way she could...even if it meant stirring her fiancé’s ire.
Deciding he needed to do what he’d come to Gamble to do, he pulled a chair out of a corner and placed it in front of the trunk. Picking up Jay Novak’s journal, he began reading.
Chapter 4
Pam glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Dillon had been up in the attic for over an hour, and she couldn’t help but wonder how things were going. More than once she’d thought about going up to find out but had talked herself out of it. Instead she got busy looking over scripts for new plays her students had submitted.
The ringing of her phone interrupted her thoughts and she had a feeling who the caller was without bothering to look at caller ID. Sighing deeply, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“How are you, Pamela? This is Fletcher.”
“I’m fine, Fletcher. How are things in Laramie?”
“They are fine, but I received a call and I’m going to have to leave here and go to Montana and check on a store there. A massive snowstorm caused a power failure that lasted a couple of days, and a lot of our refrigerated items were destroyed.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“So am I. That means I’ll be flying to Montana to meet with the insurance company representative. It may take a few days and I might not be back until the end of the week.”
She could lie and say she was sorry to hear that, but she really wasn’t. She had felt the two of them needed space and this was a way she could get it. Since agreeing to marry him, he’d made it a point to see her practically every day.
“You can make me happy and come spend some time with me here.” His words intruded into her thoughts. The two of them hadn’t slept together. Although he had brought up the idea several times, she had avoided the issue with him.
“Thanks for the invite, but I have a lot to do here. Besides, I need to be here for my sisters.”
She didn’t have to see him to know his jaw was probably tight from anger right now. This was not the first time he had tried to talk her into going out of town with him since they’d become engaged.
He didn’t say anything for a moment and when he did speak again, she was not surprised by his change in subject. “And where is Westmoreland? Did he show up today?”
She had no reason to lie. “Yes, he showed up. In fact, he’s still here, upstairs in the attic going through some things.”
“Why couldn’t he take the stuff with him and go through it back at the hotel?”
Fletcher’s tone, as well as his words, annoyed her. “I saw no reason for him to take anything back to the hotel. I regret you evidently have a problem with it.”
“I’m just looking out for you, Pamela,” he said after a brief pause. “I still feel you don’t know the man well enough to be there alone with him.”
“Then I guess you just need to chalk it up as bad judgment on my part. Goodbye, Fletcher.”
Without waiting for him to say anything else, she hung up the phone. He would fume for a few hours and then he would call her back later and apologize once he realized just how controlling he’d acted.
Pam eased back to the table and picked up the papers once again, determined to tuck Fletcher and his attitude away until later. She had agreed to marry him and she would marry him, since her sisters’ futures and not losing her family home meant everything to her.
* * *
Dillon closed the journal and stood to stretch his legs. He was used to being dressed in a business suit every day, instead of casual jeans and a shirt. That morning he had checked in with Ted Boston, his business manager, to see how things were going at his real estate firm and, not surprisingly, Ted had everything under control. He had made his firm into a billion-dollar company with hard work and by hiring the right people to work for him.
He glanced at his watch, finding it hard to believe that two hours had passed already. He looked down at the journal. At least part of his curiosity had been satisfied as to what had happened to Lila, the wife of the preacher from Georgia.
According to what Raphel had shared with Jay, the old preacher had been abusing his young wife. Church members had turned their heads with the mind-set that what went on behind a married couple’s closed doors was their business, especially when it involved a preacher.