Bombshell For The Black Sheep

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.

Hartley kept an arm around Fiona’s waist. “Hello, Jonathan.”

Mazie made a huffing noise. “For God’s sake. Hug each other.”

The brothers ignored her. At last, Jonathan held out his hand. “Welcome home, Hartley.”

Even without being privy to all the details, Fiona knew this moment was epic. It was written in Jonathan Tarleton’s wary expression and in the rigid set of Hartley’s posture.

“Thank you,” Hartley said quietly. “I’m glad to be back, but not for this reason. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when it happened.”

Mazie spoke up, her tears flowing again. “None of us were. Apparently, he died in his sleep. The housekeeper found him.”

“Hell,” Hartley said quietly. “I knew he wasn’t well, but I honestly thought he would go on forever.”

“So did we.” Jonathan glanced at his watch. “Would you like to see him?”

Fiona felt the shudder that racked Hartley’s body. “Yes,” he said gruffly.

Moments later, the four of them stood around the casket. Gerald Tarleton had been a large man. But in death, he looked old and frail. Fiona knew he had built a far-reaching shipping empire that would now pass on to his children. Again, she wondered about Mrs. Tarleton. Was she dead or alive?

Soon they were joined by J.B. Vaughan and Lisette, Jonathan’s wife. Mazie took care of the introductions. Her husband wrapped her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. “No more crying, honey. You’ll give yourself a migraine.” He dabbed his wife’s cheeks with a handkerchief.

Fiona felt a fierce stab of envy. Would any man ever look at her with such naked devotion?

Her stomach curled with tension. Dozens of floral arrangements flanked the casket and filled the walls on either side. The heavy scent of carnations made Fiona feel ill. A cold sweat dampened her brow.

Could she leave? Could she simply run away? This wasn’t her family crisis. Suddenly, she knew she needed a moment to gather her composure. But before she could make a break for it, the funeral home director appeared behind them and intruded with a hushed cough.

“Guests are arriving,” he said, his tone sepulchral. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you to an anteroom. We’ll open the doors, and then I’ll bring you in and arrange the receiving line.”

This was Fiona’s chance. In the transition, she darted down the hall and found the ladies’ room. Once in the stall, she retched and dry-heaved. Oh, God. She felt terrible. Her life was usually placid and peaceful. She liked it that way. Damn Hartley for pulling her into the middle of this mess.

When the crisis passed, she put a cold paper towel on the back of her neck and touched up her makeup. All her life she had never done well with confrontation and stress. Lack of stability in her formative years had left her with issues. Duh.

Her psyche craved calm, the kind of steady, peaceful existence her art gave her. She was happiest when she could lose herself in a creative project. Seeing Hartley again and having to negotiate his family storms made her a nervous wreck.

Still, he said he needed her. That had been enough to coax her into accompanying him during this difficult afternoon. She’d spent too many years ingratiating herself with different foster families to change her personality overnight.

She was independent now. She didn’t have to worry about housing or food or even winning a kind word from a stranger. But the desire to fit in...to be useful...was never far from the surface.

Fortunately, the crowds of visitors had already overtaken the room where the Tarleton family stood to greet friends and business acquaintances. Fiona was able to slip in unnoticed and take her place at Hartley’s side. He gave her a quick intimate glance, but immediately returned his attention to the seemingly endless line of men and women waiting to speak to him.

Fiona smiled and nodded, content to remain in the background. Occasionally, someone questioned Hartley about his long absence from Charleston. Each well-meaning query was deflected with a vague throwaway comment.

The man was a social genius, even if he did have more disappearing acts than Houdini.

At last, it was time to adjourn to the chapel. A couple of songs, some readings and a few words from Jonathan. Finally, it was over.

Fiona couldn’t wait to leave. Her stomach still felt iffy, and her head ached. Before she could plan her exit, Mazie appeared at her side.

The other woman’s eyes were red-rimmed, but she was calm. “A few of our friends have catered a dinner for us out at the beach house. We’ll be headed that way in a few moments. Don’t let Hartley escape.”

“Oh, no,” Fiona said. “This is your family time. I need to go home. It was lovely to meet you.”

Mazie frowned and strong-armed Fiona into a nearby corner. “Please, Fiona. You don’t know all the details.” She paused and grimaced. “To be honest, I don’t even know. But Jonathan and Hartley had a huge falling-out about something, something big. This is the first time they’ve been in the same room in over a year. They have to heal this thing. And we need you to be an impartial bystander.”

“Why?” Fiona asked, searching desperately for a polite way to make her excuses.

Mazie’s eyes filled with tears again, though this time perhaps not for her father’s passing. “I adore my brothers. They’ve been my supporters and protectors my entire life. It kills me to see them so stiff and polite with each other. Please, Fiona,” she said urgently. “Please have dinner with us.”

Hartley walked up to them, overhearing his sister’s invitation. “Of course she’s coming—right, Fee?”

Fiona knew she was trapped. She gnawed her lip. “If you’re sure I won’t be intruding.” She gave Hartley a pointed stare. “But I can’t stay too late. I have a huge project to begin tomorrow, and I want to be in bed at a decent hour.”

His gaze was inscrutable. “Understood.”

Hartley was no more communicative during the drive to the Tarleton home than he had been earlier en route to the funeral. The silence suited Fiona just fine. She leaned her head back against her seat and closed her eyes.

Unfortunately, shutting Hartley out was not so easy. His masculine scent teased her nose. Her fingers itched to cross the divide between them and stroke his thigh. She wanted to help him. She really did. And she wanted to be with him. But her sense of self-preservation warned her to keep her distance.

Instead, she was accompanying him to a meal and a social occasion that was sure to produce strong emotions and any one of a dozen possible outcomes, from uncomfortable silence to vocal recriminations.

If she was lucky, the Tarletons would be on their best behavior. Fiona would be able to return home and would never again answer her door to a tall, handsome lover.

Despite her misgivings, she was eager to see the beach house. Years ago, Gerald Tarleton had built a walled compound on the tip of a barrier island north of Charleston. Fiona knew of the property in general terms, but when Hartley steered the car through the front gates, she was both taken aback and enchanted.

The structure rested on massive stilts, of course. A sweeping staircase led up to the beautiful double-door entrance. Even from the driveway, Fiona could see the intricate stained glass that incorporated sea turtles, dolphins and starfish. As an artist, she was fascinated.

As a woman, she wanted to run far away.

Hartley shut off the engine and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead. “This feels so damned wrong.”

“I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate, but she didn’t know how else to help him.

The early evening light illuminated his drawn expression. “I grew up here,” he said quietly. “After 9/11, our father was paranoid. He barely let us leave the house for the longest time.”

“I can understand that, I suppose. He wanted to protect you.” She gazed up at Hartley’s family home. It was a far cry from the houses where she had been bounced around.

Her longest tenure was twenty-five months—with a family who had taken in four other foster children besides Fiona. When the wife eventually became pregnant with her own biological child, Fiona and her de facto brothers and sisters were reassigned.

Fiona had begged to stay. At thirteen, she was the oldest of the lot and capable of being a help around the house. But the pregnancy was high risk. The doctor said too much stress and chaos would threaten the mother’s health.

Fiona’s personality was quiet and self-abnegating. No chaos anywhere. But the doctor’s orders prevailed.

Fiona’s foster mom had cried and cried. She was too hormonal and stressed out to make a good decision. In the end, it was nobody’s fault, but Fiona had never again invested so much of herself emotionally.

Hartley touched her hand. “Ready to go inside?”

Even that one quick brush of his fingers against her skin sent shivers dancing down her spine. Why did he have this effect on her? “Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”

His low laugh held little humor. “My brother and I are civilized people. You don’t have to worry about fistfights.”

“I wasn’t,” she said. “Until now.”

Her attempt at humor took some of the darkness from his face. “C’mon,” he said. “You’ll like the house.”

Fiona’s sandals had spiky heels, so she didn’t protest when Hartley held her elbow as they ascended the stairs. His touch made her knees weak. She had missed him...so very much.

She tried to remember how angry she was about his cavalier treatment of their budding relationship. But the bitterness of his absence winnowed away in the pleasure of having him near again. It was sobering to admit she was perilously close to letting bygones be bygones.

Though it was frustrating not to be able to resist his winsome charm, she liked the woman she was with him. He made her feel sensual and desirable.

Before Hartley was forced to make a decision about letting himself in or ringing the bell, Lisette opened the door and greeted them. Fiona wondered if that was deliberate, so his siblings wouldn’t be in the position of welcoming him back to his own home.

“Everyone is gathered in the dining room,” Lisette said. “The food looks amazing. There’s enough for half a dozen families.”

When the six adults were settled around the table, the housekeeper began setting out the meal on the antique sideboard. The food had come from a top-notch restaurant in the city. Fresh seafood. Ribs. Roasted corn on the cob. The dishes were endless.

The meal and the accompanying conversation progressed in fits and starts. During one awkward pause as wineglasses were being refilled, Hartley leaned in and spoke softly to Fiona. “My siblings are both still relatively new to this marriage gig. Mazie moved in with J.B. after the wedding. Jonathan and Lisette are building their own place.” His warm breath brushed her ear, making her shiver. The arm he curled across the back of her chair hemmed her in intimately.

Jonathan overheard the quiet exchange and lifted an eyebrow. “You’re curiously well-informed for a prodigal son.”

The edge in his voice was apparent.

Hartley shrugged with a lazy smile. “I have my spies.”

Fiona forced herself to wade in. Someone needed to defuse the rising tension. “What will happen to the beach house?”

Three

Nobody said a word. As Hartley watched, Fiona’s face turned bright red. There was no way to avoid land mines with this family around the table. To her, it must have seemed like an innocuous question.

Jonathan spoke up, his smile careful but kind. “It’s a little early to be thinking about those decisions. This was our father’s fortress, his safe place. He didn’t ever tell me what he wanted to do with the house when he was gone, and I didn’t ask. I’m sure the lawyers will guide us through probate.”

Suddenly, Hartley had reached his limit. They were all on their best behavior because of the funeral, but one thing was certain. Jonathan wasn’t opening his arms to let Hartley back into the fold. The unspoken message was clear. Hartley had walked away, and true forgiveness was in short supply.

He stood abruptly. “It was good to see you all. Thanks for the meal. I’d like to take Fiona for a walk on the beach, and then we’ll head out.”

Mazie looked stricken. “Are you leaving town again?”

Again, that awkward silence.

Hartley shook his head slowly. “No. I’m back for good.” There was so much he wanted to explain...so many family secrets to unravel. But how could he upend his siblings’ lives for no other reason than to justify his own behavior? It wasn’t fair to anyone. Maybe he would never tell them.

Fiona stood as well. “It was lovely to meet all of you. Sorry it was not under better circumstances.”

Moments later, the ordeal was over.

Outside in the driveway, Hartley looked down at Fiona’s shoes. “You can’t walk in those on the beach.”

“Barefoot is fine.” She slipped off her sandals and tossed them in the car, adding her small clutch purse as well.

Hartley removed his jacket, tie, shoes and socks, feeling as if he were peeling away layers of frustration and grief. He had always loved the beach, and this house in particular. “The ground is rough between here and the gate,” he said. “Get on my back, and I’ll carry you to the sand.”

Fiona looked at him askance. “I can walk.”

He ground his jaw. “It’s a piggyback ride, not foreplay.”

“Don’t get snippy with me, Hartley. I’m not the enemy.”

She was right. He couldn’t let Fiona bear the brunt of his mood. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Climb on.”

He watched as she shimmied her skirt up her thighs. Maybe he was wrong about the foreplay. Fiona’s legs were enough to keep a man awake at night. When she moved behind him, he hitched her up on his back and curled his hands beneath her warm, supple thighs.

Fortunately for his self-control, the path beneath the house and out to the gate was not far. Fee reached around him to disengage the lock, and soon they were at the water’s edge. He let her slide off his back slowly, steadying her with one hand as she stumbled.

There was no moon. The water seemed dark and menacing. But the whoosh and roar of the waves was a familiar lullaby from his childhood.

He tried to empty his mind of all the sorrow and confusion that had consumed him since he heard the news that his father was dead. Gradually, the inexorable pattern of the tide soothed him.

Fiona stood at his side in silence, her presence both a comfort and a niggling frustration. Twice now, he had made love to her and walked away. The first time, he’d had no choice. The second, he’d been reluctant to embroil her in his family drama. Maybe he sensed that he was using Fiona as a crutch. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to let her get inside his head. In both instances, his behavior was logical if not particularly admirable. But what was going to happen moving forward?

If he still wanted to sleep with Fee, and he did, most emphatically, then he needed not only her absolution, but also some notion of what was ahead for him professionally. Anything beyond that was more than he wanted to contemplate right now.

Almost as if she had read his mind, Fiona spoke softly. “What do you do for a living, Hartley? We’ve flirted and slept together, but I don’t really know much about you at all.”

Her question prodded an unseen wound. He cleared his throat. “Well, before I left Charleston for an extended period, I was a full partner in Tarleton Shipping. We were working on a proposal to add a boatbuilding arm...pleasure craft. That whole deal was going to be my baby.”

“And now?”

He shrugged. “I doubt my brother has any interest in working with me after everything that has happened.”

“Because of this mysterious falling-out?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “Jonathan is one of the finest men I’ve ever known. A straight arrow all the way. But as alike as we are physically, our personalities don’t always mesh.”

“Why did you not live at the beach house?”

“I got tired of butting heads with my father over the business. Jonathan had a knack for handling him with kid gloves. Dad and I only yelled at each other. Several years ago I bought an investment property at a premier golf community north of the city. I was the one who would wine and dine clients. Play a few rounds with them on the course. I liked being outdoors, even if golf wasn’t really my thing. But I closed deals and grew the business.”

“Who has done that while you’ve been gone?”

It was a simple question. Not meant to inflict pain. But it hit at the heart of his guilt. “I don’t know.” Fiona hadn’t been the only one he hurt when he’d hared off to Europe. He’d left behind his family and the shipping business and cut all contact. He’d had his reasons. In retrospect, though, he honestly didn’t know if he’d done the right thing.

Fiona moved restlessly. “The beach is lovely, Hartley. I really do need to get home, though.”

“I promised you explanations. It’s late. I don’t suppose I could sleep on your sofa?” He threw it out there hopefully. Fiona’s little house represented the peace and comfort he had lost in this last year.

“No,” she said bluntly. Without another word, she started up the beach toward the gate in the high brick wall.

“Fair enough.” He loped up the incline and scooped her into his arms. It was a tougher slog through the loose sand this way, but he persevered. He needed to hold her.

Fiona didn’t fight him. As soon as they were back at the car, though, she insisted on wriggling out of his embrace. After smoothing her hair and brushing the sand from her feet, she put on her sexy sandals.

Then she stood, hands on her hips, and watched him re-dress. “You don’t owe me explanations. I told you that.”

He rounded the car and cupped her face in his hands. Lightly. Gently. “I want to tell you, Fee. And in the spirit of honesty, I’d like to sleep with you again.”

“Sleep?”

She had him there. “Sex,” he muttered. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a jerk. But he wouldn’t dress it up. He couldn’t offer her anything more. His life was total chaos. Besides, Fiona would demand full-on honesty and intimacy from any man who shared her life for the long haul. That wasn’t him.

Her expression was mutinous. In the glow of the security light, the stubborn tilt to her chin was obvious. “Sex isn’t the answer to all your problems, Hartley.”

“Maybe not, but it would be damned good, and if you’re honest, you’ll agree. I know I messed up. I won’t do that to you again.”

“How can I believe you?” Her low laugh held a hint of dismay. “It’s a painful cliché, but I’m a kid who came through the foster system. Never got adopted. I have a few abandonment issues. Your recent behavior hasn’t helped.”

How many women would have the guts to be so vulnerable? He had a lot to answer for and no clear idea how to fix the messes he had created. “I want to kiss you, Fee,” he muttered. “But I’m trying my damnedest to respect your boundaries.”

Tears glittered in her eyelashes. She sniffed. “Shut up and do it, you aggravating man.”

It was all the invitation he needed. He wanted to snatch her up and take everything she had to give. Instead, he kissed her coaxingly, softly. Trying to tell her without words how much he regretted his missteps.