She isn’t a true Bravo—

And now she’s inheriting a temporary husband!

It’s shocking enough discovering she was switched at birth. Now, to fulfill the terms of his adoptive father’s will, Aislinn Bravo must marry Jaxon Winter or he loses his beloved ranch. Living together as husband and wife for three months only deepens Aislinn’s desire for her longtime crush. But how can she dream of a future with Jax when her whole life is a lie?

CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keep-ing a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at christinerimmer.com.

Also by Christine Rimmer

The Nanny’s Double Trouble Married

Till Christmas

Garrett Bravo’s Runaway Bride

The Lawman’s Convenient Bride

A Bravo for Christmas

Ms. Bravo and the Boss

James Bravo’s Shotgun Bride

Carter Bravo’s Christmas Bride

The Good Girl’s Second Chance

Not Quite Married

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Almost a Bravo

Christine Rimmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-07821-4

ALMOST A BRAVO

© 2018 Christine Rimmer

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

When Jaxon Winter entered the waiting room, every nerve in Aislinn Bravo’s body snapped to high alert. The housekeeper and the grouchy old foreman from Wild River Ranch followed in his wake. Aislinn hardly noticed them. All she saw was Jax.

He saw her, too. How could he miss her? She was alone in the waiting area and gaping right at him. He gave her that crooked smile, the one she’d never forgotten, the one that tucked a sexy little crease into his left cheek. Too bad there was a crease between his eyebrows, too—a crease that signaled the beginnings of a puzzled frown.

Aislinn shrank in her chair. She not only knew his crooked smile. She knew that almost-frown of his. He didn’t remember her. And he had no idea why she was gawking at him.

Stop staring, you idiot!

She tore her gaze free of his and focused hard on a large framed print of the Cape Disappointment lighthouse mounted on the wall opposite her chair. It was one of those mass-produced prints, the solitary lighthouse silhouetted against a wide, gray sky.

The print was dead boring in execution, but Aislinn focused on it anyway to keep herself from sneaking another glance at the tall, broad-shouldered rancher with the thick dark hair.

She heard the brush of footfalls on the carpet as he moved behind her. He spoke quietly to the receptionist. Aislinn stared blindly at that print—until Jax, the ranch foreman and the housekeeper filed into her line of sight and settled into chairs right below the lonely lighthouse.

Now she was staring over their heads, which felt totally awkward all over again. She shifted her gaze once more—downward this time. To her purse, which she grabbed and switched from her left side to her right.

That monumental task accomplished, she crossed her legs and smoothed the skirt of her short-sleeved summer-weight dark blue dress with its cute scattering of tiny white polka dots. The dress had taken her forever to choose. She’d settled on it because the conservative cut and dark color paired with the cheery polka dots said “serious, but with a touch of merriment” to her.

Okay, maybe the merriment part wasn’t exactly appropriate in this situation. But a girl had to have a sense of humor, especially at a time like this.

Was her face flaming red? It had better not be.

Stop being weird, she scolded herself. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.

At least her past obsession with Jaxon Winter was her secret, one she’d shared only with her closest friend, Keely, who would never betray a trust. Unfortunately, old Martin Durand, Jax’s uncle by marriage and also his adoptive father, had known, too.

That unforgettable summer five years ago, Martin Durand had seemed to make it his personal business to keep an eye on her. He used to watch her as if he suspected she might have a criminal past or something. At the time, she’d had no idea that Durand had somehow figured out how she felt about Jaxon.

She’d remained blissfully unaware that the old man knew about her desperate crush until a couple of months ago when Durand had called her out of the blue and announced that Jax’s divorce had been final for a year—just in case she hadn’t heard.

“He’s free now,” the old man had said. “You can go ahead and make your move.”

So bizarre.

At least Martin Durand was never going to say another word about what he knew. According to the letter from his lawyer, he’d died peacefully in his sleep ten days ago. And as for Jaxon, he clearly had no clue that she’d once imagined herself to be hopelessly in love with him.

He doesn’t know.

And he would never know.

And it was going to be fine. It was five years ago—yeah, okay. Back then, she’d shamelessly fantasized that he cared, too. But in real life?

Uh-uh. The man had been married. He’d been all about keeping his wife happy and he’d hardly known she existed.

As for her, she was so past all that, so over him.

Unwisely, she glanced up—and caught him looking at her with that same perplexed frown he’d worn when he walked in the door. Like she was a puzzle piece and he had no idea where she fit.

This was absurd and she’d had enough of it.

She rose, squared her shoulders and circled the waiting room’s central coffee table. Jaxon and the old guy, the foreman—Burt, wasn’t it?—got up as she approached. She held out her hand. “Good to see you, Jaxon.”

His baffled frown got more so. “I’m sorry,” he said in the lovely, low rumble that made her think of tangled sheets and sweaty skin. His eyes were the most beautiful blue swirled with gray, like the sky over the Pacific when the clouds start to gather. He took her hand—just long enough for an utterly unacceptable shiver to slither up her arm. “Do I know you?”

Her smile felt wide enough to crack her face in half. “Of course, you don’t remember me. I’m Aislinn Bravo. I worked for you one summer...” She turned to the foreman. “Burt, isn’t it?”

The old guy muttered, “Hiya,” squeezed her fingers in his rough paw and sat back down.

She aimed a smile at the housekeeper. “Erma, right?”

“Yes,” said the housekeeper. “Hello.” The older woman reached up and took Aislinn’s hand, too, quickly releasing it.

“Wait a minute,” said Jax. “I remember now. Ashlinn, but spelled in that odd way...”

“It’s Irish,” she replied, just as she had that first day five years ago. “People pronounce it several different ways. But yes, I prefer Ashlinn.”

Jax asked, “Aren’t you the one who just disappeared?”

Defensiveness made her draw her shoulders back. She faced him squarely. “I left a note.”

“Yes, you did.” He looked way too damn pleased with himself that he’d actually recalled some college girl who’d spelled her name oddly and then ran off without giving notice. “It’s all coming back to me now. You said in the note that there was a family emergency, that you had to go.”

“And, um, I did.” Not because of any family crisis, though.

“I hope it worked out all right?” he asked, his tone sincere and gentle now. Because he was not only hot and manly, he was also a good person who cared about others.

“Absolutely. Calamity resolved. Nobody died. Everything’s fine now.”

His frown reappeared. “So you’re here to...?”

She really didn’t get why she was here. But she shared what she did know. “I got a certified letter from one of the firm’s partners, Kip Anders, to attend the reading of Martin Durand’s will.” Truthfully, that she’d been summoned to the Astoria offices of the old man’s lawyer had made no sense at all to her. First off, she hadn’t known that he’d died. She felt sorry for that, as she would when anyone died. But why would he put her in his will? He hadn’t even liked her—or if he had, he’d had a really strange way of showing it.

She’d considered just blowing the whole thing off, not coming. If Martin Durand had left her something, somebody could mail it to her.

Plus, coming here had meant she was setting herself up for just what was happening now: seeing Jaxon again. It shouldn’t be awkward. They’d hardly known each other. Still, she’d had no doubt she would feel uncomfortable. She’d been so right.

And yet she couldn’t help but be curious. So here she was.

Burt muttered something under his breath and glared up at her. His unfriendliness didn’t surprise her. During those eight weeks she’d worked at Wild River, the foreman had been almost as squinty-eyed and suspicious of her as old Mr. Durand.

“I didn’t realize you knew Martin.” Jax eyed her warily now.

“I didn’t, not really.” She felt overwhelmingly defensive, though she had zero reason to be—at least not concerning Martin Durand. “I met him that summer at the ranch, that’s all. After I quit, I never saw him again.” It was true, but it wasn’t what you would call full disclosure. There’d also been that recent unnerving, out-of-nowhere phone call.

“Mr. Winter?” Saved by the receptionist. The pretty blonde stood in the arch that led to the inner sanctum. “Everyone.” She beamed a professional smile in their general direction. “Mr. Anders is ready for you now. This way, please.”

Jaxon gestured Aislinn ahead of him, so she went first. The receptionist led them back to a conference room with a large oval table and a credenza against the wall on which there was a coffee service, including a tray of pastries and doughnuts.

Kip Anders, a slender, balding guy in rimless glasses and a rumpled tan suit, shook Jax’s hand and introduced himself to the rest of them. “Please,” he said. “Help yourselves to coffee and a bear claw. Get comfortable and we’ll get started.”

Get comfortable? How long was this going to take? It was a quarter past ten and she’d agreed to help out at her best friend—and now sister-in-law—Keely’s art gallery starting at noon. The gallery was about a half hour away from Astoria, on the Oregon coast, in Aislinn’s hometown of Valentine Bay. This exercise in awfulness couldn’t go more than an hour, could it?

And seriously, why were they even here? Aislinn had worked for a lawyer’s office not that long ago. At Deever and Gray they never had will readings. Wills were delivered to the parties concerned. A reading of the will only happened in the movies, because it made for good drama.

Her stomach lurched. Was this about drama, somehow, then?

Oh, God, she really shouldn’t have come...

Jax sat at one end of the table. Burt and Erma got coffee and doughnuts and took seats on either side of their boss. Just to have something to do with her hands, Aislinn grabbed a bottle of water. She chose a chair midway down the table. The lawyer took the chair opposite Jax.

“Before you leave,” said Anders, tweaking his glasses so they sat more firmly on the bridge of his thin nose, “be sure you each get your copy of the will, which will be waiting for you at the reception desk.”

Aislinn almost popped out with, I think I’ll just grab that now and be on my way.

But she folded her lips between her teeth, set her water on the table and remained in her chair. She was already here and she could spare an hour. Maybe the will contained some complex terms or strange codicils that Kip Anders would need to explain. The lawyer picked up the first paper on the stack in front of him and began to read.

Martin Durand had left bequests of money—ten thousand dollars each—and a series of keepsakes for Burt and Erma. Erma wore a tender look. She seemed sad, but also touched that Durand had thought to leave her something. Who could even guess what that sourpuss Burt might be thinking?

Anders moved on to the next item on the stack. It consisted of several pages paper-clipped together. He removed the clip, set it on the table exactly parallel to the rest of the stack and glanced up to make eye contact—with Jax and then with Aislinn.

“Martin Durand chose to write a letter explaining the main elements of his will,” said the lawyer. “His wish was that I read this letter to you, Jaxon, and to you, Aislinn. He also requested that you, Burt, and you, Erma, be present while the letter is read. As you were longtime and faithful employees at Wild River, Martin felt that all four of you should fully understand what he intended and how it should be carried out. The bequests and conditions explained in this letter are also clearly laid out in his formal last will and testament.” Anders fell silent for an endless count of five.

Aislinn had the strangest feeling of complete unreality. Her throat felt dry. Sweat bloomed beneath her arms and her pulse raced. She uncapped her water and took a long drink.

Anders asked, “Any questions?”

“Just read,” said Jax.

Anders began, “‘Dear Jaxon and Aislinn, I never intended for you two to know each other.’”

What?

Aislinn shot a quick glance around the table.

Aside from Anders, serene behind his frameless glasses, they all looked as confused as she felt. How could Durand have intended anything when it came to her? He’d never set eyes on her until that summer five years ago.

Anders continued, “‘The sad truth, Aislinn, is that I spent the first twenty-one years of your life doing everything in my power never to come anywhere near you. I set myself firmly on pretending that you didn’t even exist. And I succeeded for the most part—until five summers ago, when you took the summer job that brought you back to Wild River Ranch.’”

“Back?” Aislinn couldn’t keep quiet for one second longer. “But I’d never been to Wild River before that summer, so there is no way that I could have—”

“I know this is bewildering,” Anders cut in mildly. “But if you will allow me to read the letter through to its conclusion, most everything will be explained.”

Aislinn felt kind of nauseated. She drew in a careful breath through her nose. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

With a nod and another quick adjustment of his glasses, Anders went on, “‘Such a simple thing you did, Aislinn, to turn my whole life upside down. You took a summer job working at my ranch. And that is how I came face-to-face with the result of the crime I had committed in a split second of opportunity the night of your birth, a crime I’ve kept hidden for all these years...’”

The night I was born?

She couldn’t not speak. “I don’t get it. Whatever he did, it’s got zero to do with me. I was nowhere near Wild River on the night I was born.” They were all frowning at her—and okay, yeah. She needed to stop interrupting.

But no. Just no.

Durand had it all wrong. Aislinn had been born in Europe, in a tiny principality called Montedoro, where her mother and father and four of her five brothers had traveled when her mom was pregnant with her.

“That right there,” she insisted, “what you just read? How could whatever he did involve me? It couldn’t. I was born in Montedoro, which is on the Côte d’Azur, in case you didn’t know. No way Martin Durand was there when I was born.”

Down the table, Burt glared at her. Erma sat silent, her expression unreadable. And Jaxon? He looked like he couldn’t wait for this to be through.

Well, neither could she.

And hold on a minute. The letter hadn’t actually said that this “crime” of Durand’s involved her, had it? So maybe this had nothing to do with her at all. She gulped. “I just don’t understand. Why am I here?”

Again, Kip Anders suggested, “If I might just finish...?”

“But it’s all wrong.”

Anders didn’t argue, he simply waited.

With a hard sigh, she gave in. “All right. Fine. Finish it, then.”

Anders granted her a nod. “Martin Durand writes, ‘The morning of the night you were born, Aislinn, George Bravo and his very pregnant wife, Marie, had driven out to Wild River from Valentine Bay to discuss the possibility of their investing in an expansion of our horse breeding and training operation.

“‘The investment never happened. But during George and Marie’s visit, there was a storm, a bad one. The roads were washed out. Marie went into labor—and so did our then-foreman’s wife, Paula Delaney.

“‘You see, Aislinn, I had cheated on my wife, Claudia, with Paula. I make no excuse for that. It was wrong. I did it anyway, with the classic result.’”

“What a complete SOB,” Aislinn cried. All eyes swung her way. “Sorry. Really.” She shot Anders a desperate glance. “And honestly, none of this can be true.” They all continued to stare at her. “All right.” She waved a hand. “Fine. Just go ahead.”

Anders read on, “‘When she realized she was pregnant, Paula had come to me. She swore that the baby was mine. She wanted to leave her husband and make a life with me and the child. I wanted none of that. I was happy with Claudia, for the most part. I loved my wife and I liked our life together—and Claudia owned Wild River.

“‘Jaxon, you were eight at the time. You’d been with us for four years by then. As I’ve explained to you many times, in honor of the long line of Winters who had owned and worked Wild River for generations, we had you keep your last name when we formally adopted you. But in all the ways that really count, you were our son. We were a family—you, Claudia and I. I told Paula no. I urged her to forget about me. Use your head, I said, stay with Lloyd where you belong. Paula wouldn’t listen. She said she loved me. I was sure there would be trouble, that she would come after me, demand a test that would prove her baby was mine. I would lose everything that mattered to me.

“‘I didn’t know what to do to get that woman to leave me alone. And then Marie Bravo showed up and went into labor at the same time Paula did. The perfect moment presented itself, both babies in makeshift cribs made of storage boxes, sharing the same room while Claudia, acting as emergency midwife, tended to the new mothers in rooms on either side.’”

Aislinn felt light-headed. Her stomach roiled.

Anders read on, each word painfully slow and clear. “‘I entered the babies’ room when no one was looking and discovered that the infants were similar in size, both with eyes of that same newborn blue. The hair color was different, one darker, one lighter. But there was so little of it on either tiny head, I dared to hope that no one would notice the difference. I saw my moment and I took it, switching the babies and their blankets, too.’”

Aislinn sat very still, her hands pressed to her churning stomach. She knew if she moved or even dared to breathe, she was going to be sick—just hack up her breakfast, spew it across the unblemished oval of the conference table.

It was all a lie. It had to be. Martin Durand couldn’t be her father. Her father was George Bravo, a good man, a loving husband and a doting dad, a man who made each of his sons and daughters feel wanted and secure.

She was a Bravo, born, bred and raised. Her parents had been deeply in love, wonderfully brave and adventurous—and more than a little bit foolish.

They’d had a passion for traveling the world, her mom and dad. They’d lost one son on a trip to Siberia. Finn, eight at the time, had simply vanished—kidnapped for ransom, they all assumed. But the ransom demand never came and Finn had not been seen or heard from again. And then her parents were lost, too, a few years later, on a romantic getaway to Thailand, where they were caught in a tsunami.

Her family had suffered. But they had gotten through it, together. Her oldest brother, Daniel, eighteen when their parents died, had won custody of all of them. He’d raised them the rest of the way, Aislinn and the six other remaining Bravo siblings. Their road hadn’t been smooth or easy, but they’d made it work. Together. And she loved them.

And they were hers, damn it. Her people. Not some unknown woman named Paula who’d cheated on her husband. Not crazy, bad-tempered old Martin Durand.

She wanted to scream at them—at Jaxon and Burt, at Erma and the lawyer. She wanted to shout at them, Stop this! Stop these lies! Stop right now!

But her voice had deserted her and her throat felt constricted, like brutal hands were squeezing it.

And Kip Anders just kept reading the lying words of Martin Durand.

“‘I left those babies, each in the wrong storage-box crib. I ran from that room and I didn’t look back—until later, of course, when it was too late, when I realized that if Paula did demand a paternity test, she would find out that not only was the baby not mine, it wasn’t hers or Lloyd’s, either. She would remember the night of the birth and the other woman’s child in the same room with her child. She would figure it out and I would be caught anyway, proved not only a cheater, but also a criminal.

“‘As it turned out, though, the crime I’d committed was completely unnecessary. Paula never came after me to take a father’s responsibility. Instead, she took my advice and let Lloyd think the child was his. And then a few months later, Lloyd got another job out of state and we hired Burt. I never saw Paula or Lloyd or the child who was really Marie Bravo’s daughter again.

“‘I told myself there was no harm done. Each woman had a baby—yes, all right, the wrong baby. But they didn’t know that, so what did it matter? Everyone was happy. I tried to forget.

“‘To Claudia, I was a faithful husband from then on. Twelve years later, when Claudia died, I missed her. I mourned her. She left everything to me with the understanding between us that it would all go to you, Jaxon, at my death. I steered clear of Valentine Bay and any chance I might see you, Aislinn, and know you as mine.

“‘But then you showed up at Wild River that summer, looking just like my mother, who had died before I ever set foot in Oregon. At first, I was certain you must somehow have found out who you were to me, that you’d come to make me pay for cheating on Claudia, for switching you with Marie Bravo’s child and then just walking away. I watched you, waiting, wondering how you planned to exact your revenge. But all I saw was a girl with my mother’s haunting dark eyes, a girl in love with Jaxon.’”

In love with Jaxon...

Aislinn stifled a groan.

Because, dear God in heaven, why?

Why that, too?

Martin Durand had no pity at all. He’d died determined to strip her of every last scrap of herself—to steal her identity, take away her family and then go blithely on to out her most shameful secret, that she’d once fallen so hard for a married man, she’d had to run away to keep from throwing herself at him.

Aislinn closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at any of them, closed her eyes, braced her elbows on the table and pressed her hands to the crown of her head. Another groan tried to escape her. She swallowed it down.

Anders made a throat-clearing sound.

“Aislinn,” Jaxon asked cautiously, “are you all right? Do you need a break?”

She ground her teeth together and refused to open her eyes. “Finish, damn you all. Get it over with.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Then at last she heard papers rustling and Anders finally got on with it. “Ahem. Let’s see—ah. Here we go. ‘And then one day, Aislinn, you simply quit. You vanished without claiming your last paycheck, leaving nothing but a brief note for Jaxon citing some vague emergency. The months went by and I began to accept the truth that you were innocent. You knew nothing. I began to see that I would have to do what I could to make things right.

“‘I hired an investigator to find Paula and the missing child who should have been Marie Bravo’s daughter. The Delaneys had named the child Madison.’”

At the sound of that name, Aislinn dropped both hands off her head and slapped them, palms flat, onto the table, causing Erma to let out a small squeak of alarm.

Madison Delaney?

No. Uh-uh. Not the Madison Delaney. Pure coincidence, it had to be.

Anders went right on. “‘My investigator reported that ten years after the Delaney family left Wild River, Lloyd Delaney died. Paula and her daughter then moved to Los Angeles, where Madison pursued a career as an actress—to great success, as it turned out.’”

“This has to be a joke, right?” The question escaped Aislinn without any help from her conscious mind. “This is all a prank. I’m being punked. I’m actually supposed to believe that Martin Durand switched me with the baby who grew up to be Madison Delaney? Do you know who Madison Delaney is? She’s won an Oscar. She’s America’s darling.”

And, dear God, she looks way too much like my sisters.

How had she never noticed that before? Madison Delaney had big blue eyes, like all three of her sisters. And the cutest dimples when she smiled, like both Harper and Hailey. The actress had worn her hair in a variety of colors and styles, but she was naturally blond, wasn’t she? Like Aislinn’s sisters. And she had a nose that turned up ever so slightly at the tip, just like her youngest sister, Grace.

The others were openly staring at her now.

“What?” she demanded. “Don’t you even try to tell me you’ve never heard of Madison Delaney.”

“Of course we’ve heard of her,” said Jax. He spoke gently, as though talking to a crazy person—and maybe she was crazy. Maybe she’d completely lost her mind.

Kip Anders made a throat-clearing sound. “May I go on?”

“Please.” Aislinn poured on the sarcasm. “Be my guest.”

With a dignified nod, Anders continued, “‘The sad news, Aislinn, is that Paula Delaney died not long after that summer you worked at Wild River. I’m sorry you will never have an opportunity to get to know the woman who gave you life. I haven’t tried to contact Madison Delaney, just as I never told you the truth during my lifetime. I have no idea how everyone will take this news. I’m an old man now. Forgive me, but I can’t predict what the fallout from these particular revelations will be. And I don’t have the energy to find out. So, I’m leaving all that to you and the Bravo family. The investigator’s full report will be available to you immediately.’”

Coward, she thought. He’d left all the tough work for others to do. She wished he hadn’t died—so she could kill him herself.

Anders kept reading, “‘And as for you specifically, Aislinn, I’ve had my eye on you since the summer you came to work at Wild River. You haven’t married or gotten seriously involved with a man. I wanted to know if you still held out hope that Jaxon might be yours. That’s why I called you recently to remind you that Jaxon is free now. I heard the longing in your voice when you demanded that I never try to call you again.’”

It was too much. Of a ridiculousness beyond all insanity. Aislinn straightened and announced, “Come on. As if that crazy old man could tell anything from one phone call, a very brief phone call, a phone call that he openly admits ended with me demanding that he leave me alone.”

They all just stared at her—as they’d been staring at her almost from the moment Kip Anders began to read Durand’s last letter.

Another sound of pure misery escaped her. She ducked her head once more and laced her fingers on top of it. “Sorry. Go on. Just...get it over with, please.”

Kip Anders did just that. “‘After that phone call, I knew I had to leave you what you want most of all—a chance at a life with my adopted son.’”

“What the hell, Martin?” It was Jax, his voice a rough whisper.

Kip Anders didn’t even pause. “‘Aislinn, you and Jax are to marry within a week from the date of the reading of this letter. You are then to remain married for at least the next three months. After three months of marriage, you, Aislinn, will receive fifty thousand dollars from my estate. And, Jaxon, you will get the deed to Wild River and all the rest of it, as you should, as I always promised you and Claudia. Once the three months pass, it’s up to the two of you whether you choose to stay together or not.

“‘You must mutually agree to these terms and carry through with them. Aislinn, if you do not marry Jaxon and live as his wife for three full months, you will get nothing.’”

Nothing. She wanted to throw back her head and laugh.

As if fifty thousand dollars meant squat to her right now.

As if all the money in the world could ever stack up against what Martin Durand had just stolen from her—her pride, her family, her very identity.

Anders droned on, “‘Jaxon, if you refuse to marry Aislinn for three months, Wild River Ranch and everything on it will be sold at auction. You will get the proceeds from the sale as well as everything else that belonged to me, minus any other bequests mentioned in my will. Jaxon, you are the son of my heart, and it has been an honor to be a father to you. I want you to have Wild River, but if that doesn’t happen, you will at least have plenty of capital with which to start over. I realize that will be little consolation to you, as we both know very well that you love Wild River more than your life. But believe it or not, I am doing this for you—for both of you. I think you will make a good match, that you will be good for each other. So I am giving you the opportunity you otherwise never would have had. I wish you both love and happiness and a successful future together. With all my deepest affection and my highest regard, Martin Durand.’”

Dropping her hands from their ludicrous protective position over her head, Aislinn popped up straight in her chair. “That’s it? That’s all?”

Anders blinked behind his glasses. “The, erm, end of the letter, yes. But we have yet to cover several specific conditions and particulars that you’ll both need to—”

“Stop.” She shoved back the chair and leaped to her feet. “As if I care about your so-called conditions. As if I care about that old man’s money. As if I care about any of this crap. I am...not that person. Not somebody who was supposed to be named Madison Delaney. I’m Aislinn Bravo. I was born in Montedoro at the villa of Tristan Bouchard, Count of Della Torre. You ask my brothers. They were there, they remember. They...” She lost track of her words as her gaze skittered around the table. They all looked at her as though she’d lost her mind—all of them, Jax most of all.

She could read his thoughts in that look on his face. She’s a nutjob, his expression said, and I am so screwed...

She went ahead and put it right out there, right in his face. “You think I’m crazy.”

Jax jerked back. “No. No, I...”

That made her laugh, a bizarre, deranged sort of sound. “Hey, come on. Be honest, Jax. You think I’ve lost my ever-loving mind. And maybe I have. Because who wouldn’t go crazy, after all I’ve just heard?”

“Aislinn, really, nobody thinks you’re—”

“Oh, yes, you do. And to be perfectly honest, you might be right. I’ve come unhinged. This is all too much and I just can’t take any more. I mean, it’s simply not possible, that my family isn’t my family, that my birth mother and the real Aislinn Bravo moved to Los Angeles, where she became a superstar named Madison Delaney. That all I know to be true about myself and my life is really just a big, fat lie.”

The lawyer suggested mildly, “How about if we take a few minutes and—”

“How ’bout if we don’t?” Aislinn pinned the lawyer with a hard glare.

It was all so far beyond too much.

Jax tried once more, “Aislinn, if you would just—”

“No.” She cut him off cold as she snatched her purse off the chair. “Uh-uh. I need a minute. I need a thousand minutes. I need a lifetime out of this room.” She turned for the door.

“Aislinn, wait!” Jax called after her.

She kept walking, not once glancing back, grabbing the door handle, flinging it wide and escaping down the hallway that led to the waiting room.

As she flew by the front desk, the pretty receptionist jumped up. “Ms., er, are you all right?”

“Not really.”

“Is there something I can—?”

“Thanks, but no.” Aislinn shoved open the entry door and went through it.

Out on the sidewalk under a cool gray sky, she kept walking right into the street. A guy in a red Mustang squealed to a stop just in time to avoid running her down.

“Watch out, you idiot!” he yelled out the window.

She ignored him and kept going until she reached the opposite sidewalk, at which point she suddenly ran out of steam. Halting just past the stop sign, she found herself in front of a three-story building of light-colored brick with a sign that read BPOE on the side.

With no idea where to go next, she ducked into the alcove that sheltered the entry doors. For a moment, she froze and stared at her faint reflection in the glass of the door—a dark-haired woman in a polka-dot dress, someone she hardly recognized.

She shook herself. She couldn’t just stand here blocking the entrance.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she slid into the corner on the right side of the door and tried to decide what to do next.

Chapter Two

“Give me a few minutes,” Jax said to the others. “I’ll talk to her. I’ll bring her back.”

He went through the door she’d left open and strode down the hallway toward the waiting area.

This was like some nightmare, his worst nightmare. Wild River could be lost to him because Martin had done something really bad way back when—and then decided he needed to make his own brand of twisted amends after his death.

And the woman, Aislinn. She’d seemed completely destroyed by what she’d just learned. It had felt downright evil to sit there at that table, a witness to her suffering, as Anders read that showboat letter of Martin’s that said she wasn’t who she’d always believed herself to be.

Damn Martin. Damn him to hell and back. Jax had loved the old reprobate, but this was one long, rickety bridge too far.

And then again...

Well, Martin was Martin. He’d always made life interesting. Jax and his Aunt Claudia, both serious, down-to-earth and a little bit shy, had secretly reveled in the excitement Martin brought to their lives. They always tried to hold him back when he got some out-there idea he was itching to pursue. At the same time, they loved it. They were his audience and Martin was the star of their cobbled-together family of three.

If Martin were here now in the flesh, what would he say? Jax knew: I love you, son. I never wanted to hurt you. But we both know some men need a good kick in the pants to get out there and get what matters most—and who around here needs a good kick? Martin would grin. Look in a mirror, Jaxon, my boy.

Jax felt all turned around. Wild River was in jeopardy. He needed to consider every possibility.

Was the woman really what she seemed? Could this be her doing, somehow?

That bit about being in love with him. What was that, anyway? Had Martin simply lost it in his last days—or had Aislinn Bravo somehow gotten to him? Had she managed, secretly, to cozy up to a lonely old man and whisper in his ear?

But whisper what? I’m your daughter and you owe me. I’ll take Jaxon.

No. Wrong.

This wasn’t the woman’s fault. It couldn’t be. Even with a possible fifty K in the mix, it didn’t quite add up that she was in on this horror show.

No. On the surface at least, this was pure Martin—the drama of it, the insanity and the out-there, over-the-top solution of Jax and Martin’s secret daughter getting married and remaining so for three months in order that said secret daughter would get her chance at her heart’s desire: Jax himself.

Completely bonkers.

Still, he had to keep his eyes open. That Aislinn Bravo might be the bad guy in this didn’t seem possible. But as of now, anyway, he couldn’t be 100 percent certain of her innocence, either. He barely remembered her from that summer five years ago, and he had no way to be sure who she was deep down, at heart.

And whatever she’d done, whatever her possible part in this lunacy, he needed her on the same page with him now. Unless Anders could come up with some way to break the terms of Martin’s crazy-ass last will and testament, Jax was going to need her to be married to him for the next three months.

It was that, or lose Wild River.

And that could never happen. His family had owned Wild River for generations. The ranch was his future and his past. It was everything to him. He would never let it go.

He strode fast across the lobby and pushed through the double doors out onto Exchange Street, glancing left first, then right and seeing no sign of her. Had she vanished around the corner? Disappeared into a Lyft?

But then he looked straight ahead.

And there she was across the street, huddled in the doorway alcove of the Elks building, her arms wrapped around herself, her delicate shoulders hunched. She seemed to be studying the pretty white sandals on her narrow feet.

He waited for a delivery van to go by and then jogged across the street, slowing his steps when he reached the sidewalk in order not to startle her.

She must have sensed him coming. Her shining chin-length curls bounced as her head came up. He stopped six feet from her, close enough to talk, but not so close he crowded her.

“What do you want?” Her eyes were enormous, dark as black coffee, brimming with hurt and confusion.

If she’s acting, she ought to be in movies—just like the other one, Madison Delaney. “Come back inside with me. Hear the rest.”

A wild shudder went through her. “Oh, God. There’s more?”

“Just the details. You need to hear them. We both do.”

“No.” She shook her head, setting the curls bouncing again. “No, I don’t think I need that. I don’t think I can.”

A redhead approached pushing a stroller. Her freckle-faced little boy waved at Jax as he rolled by.

Jax stole a step closer to the woman in the alcove. “You don’t have to decide anything today.”

She scrunched her eyes shut and swiped her inky hair back from her forehead. “I mean it, Jax. I really don’t think I can.”

“Can, what?”

“Go back in there. I mean, is this really happening? I’m not me. And crazy old Martin Durand is my biological father?”

“I hear you.” Another step. She didn’t bolt. “It’s completely insane.”

She pinned him with a shining, furious look. “I hate him. You must hate him about now, too, huh?”

He answered her truthfully. “No. I loved him. I miss him.”

She made a tight, angry sound. “You still love him? After what you just heard in there?”

“Hey. I didn’t say he was an easy man to love. But he made every day an adventure. And he was always good to me in his way.”

She scoffed outright. “Oh, please. I saw how he was that summer I worked for you. He let you do all the work while he sat on the front porch in his ratty old bathrobe.”

“I like doing the work. And Martin used to work hard, too, back when I was growing up.” He watched her closely as he spoke. Did his voice seem to soothe her? Maybe. And at this point, he would try anything to keep her from taking off again. He went on talking. “When I was a boy, we worked together, Martin and me. Aunt Claudia was sick a lot. Martin taught me everything I know about ranching and horses. And then he sent me to college, though I didn’t want to go. He said I needed to get out and see what the world had to offer, said I had to be certain that Wild River was my choice, not just the only thing I knew. He also got it right about Judy—my ex-wife?”

She looked at him, wide-eyed. “What about her?”

“Martin said Judy would never be happy at Wild River, no matter that she promised me she would love ranch life. Judy didn’t love it and she kept after me to move with her to the Bay Area, where her family lived. Eventually, she divorced me and went back to San Francisco.”

And whoa. Talk about too much information—bringing up Judy, babbling out private stuff that no one needed to hear. Soothing this woman was one thing, but the verbal diarrhea needed to stop.

Aislinn, still huddled in the corner by the door, was watching him. And now that he really looked at her, he could see Martin in her—in the soft, full shape of her mouth, the elegant line of her nose.

He held out his hand. “Come back in, won’t you?”

She looked at his outstretched fingers, considering. But she didn’t take them. “I’m sorry,” she said, as he gave up and dropped his arm back to his side. “I can’t do it—can’t go back in there. Can’t do...any of it.”

Oh, yeah, she could. She had to do it. Impatience coiled like a snake inside him. But he refused to give in to it. Impatience wasn’t going to help him get through to her. “What’d I say a minute ago? You don’t have to decide right now.”

Those doe eyes stayed locked with his. “I’m scaring you. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not scaring me,” he lied.

“Yes, I am. And I get it. You’d do anything, even marry a stranger, to keep the ranch you love.”

Damn straight, he thought but somehow managed not to blurt out. “Look. It’s three months. You live nearby, right?”

“In Valentine Bay.”

“A half-hour drive from Wild River. Just think about it. We get married. You live at the ranch, which isn’t that far from your job or whatever. Three months. And you’re fifty thousand dollars richer.”

She looked about to break down in tears. “It’s too much. I told you, I can’t—”

“Wait.” He put up both hands. “You’re right. Don’t decide now. Just come back inside. That’s all I’m asking.”

She drew herself up and said stiffly, “There’s something I have to say to you.”

“Go for it.”

“No matter what that crazy old fool thought, I am not in love with you.”

She wanted him to say he believed her? Not a problem. Whatever she wanted, he would damn well provide it. “I get that. I believe that. You’re not in love with me and you never have been.”

She frowned, as though judging his answer, turning his words over in her mind, weighing his sincerity. In the end, she nodded. “Good, then. I’m glad we have that cleared up, at least.”

A heavily inked couple in matching short-sleeved plaid shirts, bib overalls and Birkenstocks came toward him. He fell back toward the curb a little and nodded as they passed between him and the woman in the doorway.

When he stepped closer to Aislinn again, she was fiddling with the shoulder strap of her purse, all frustrated energy. And then she froze. Her soft mouth trembled. “I’m just having a little trouble processing, you know? I mean, if what that letter said is true, I’m not a Bravo. My sisters and brothers are not actually mine. At this moment, I have to tell you, I don’t even know who I am. And there’s a movie star living in Southern California who doesn’t know she’s got a whole family of amazing people she’s never even met. It’s all wrong. It can’t be true. I can’t even deal.”

“You’re getting way ahead of yourself.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true. Sometimes in life you just need to do the next thing—which, right now, is to go back inside and hear the rest of what Kip has to tell us.”

She chewed on her plump lower lip—and the miracle happened. She nodded. “All right. But I’m likely to be late for work, so I need to call in first.”

“Do it.”

She got out her phone. He turned and went to wait by the stop sign, giving her privacy. A minute or two later, she came up beside him. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Ever the gentleman, Jax opened the door for her. Aislinn went through reluctantly.

The receptionist gave her a too-bright smile as they passed her desk. In the conference room, Burt glared at her and Erma nodded, giving away nothing.

Kip Anders said, “Aislinn. Excellent,” as though she’d done something wonderful. “Anyone care for more coffee or whatever?” When no one moved toward the credenza for a refill, he straightened his stack of papers. “All right, then, let’s continue.”

Aislinn sat down and tried to ignore the frantic racing of her heart. Her hands were shaking. She folded them tightly in her lap to keep them still.

“A few important points.” Kip sent them each a cool smile. “As you will see when you go over your copy of the will, Martin instructs that the wedding must take place within a week from today, and that it must also be ‘more than in name only.’”

“What does that even mean?” Aislinn asked furiously.

“And how do you enforce it?” asked Jax.

“It is a gray area,” Anders replied. “In Oregon, there is no requirement for consummation by sexual relations. That means you will be legally married once you’ve acquired the marriage license and said your vows before a recognized official—be that a clergy person or a representative of the court. To be married ‘in more than name only’ in this case will include getting the license, going through with the ceremony and living together at Wild River for the full three months during which you must remain true to your marriage vows.”

I’m not marrying anyone, Aislinn thought with vehemence. But she pressed her lips into a thin line and kept quiet for once. Her embarrassing long-ago crush on Jax aside, she considered him a good man. She liked him and she didn’t want to mess him over. That ranch meant the world to him. She couldn’t quite bring herself to outright refuse to help him keep what he wanted the most. At least not right now, not yet.

She needed to think it over.

And she would. After she met with her brothers and they confirmed that this story about Martin Durand being her father had to be a complete fabrication. First and foremost, she needed to reassure herself of the truth from the ones who had been there in Montedoro at Villa Della Torre on the night she was born.

The lawyer said, “To further clarify, after the marriage ceremony, you two must be sexually monogamous for the required three months. You will cohabitate at the ranch house at Wild River. Martin has arranged for someone from Kircher and Anders to drop by randomly in order to confirm that you continue to live together for the entire three-month period required by the will.”

“I hate to speak ill of the dead,” muttered Aislinn, because she had to say something, “but that old man was a terrible, awful, horrible person and I sincerely hope he is rotting in hell.”

Burt grumbled something under his breath at that. Erma stared straight ahead. Jax only gave her a sympathetic glance and a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say, Yeah, I loved him, but I see your point.

Kip Anders went on to explain that after the wedding, he would need a copy of the license to prove they had met the requirement of marrying within the week and to begin the countdown to the three-month time limit.

At eleven forty, Kip Anders finally walked them out to the waiting room, where the receptionist gave each of them a blue folder containing copies of Martin’s infuriating letter and the will. Tucked in the front pocket of each folder was a contact sheet, which included a secure online address where they could access an electronic copy of everything in the folder.

On the list of contacts was the phone number and address of the Seattle private investigator Martin had hired to find Madison and Paula Delaney.

Aislinn cringed just at the sight of the PI’s name. That Martin had hired the man seemed yet another proof that his story might actually be true—though it wasn’t.

Absolutely not. So what if Paula and Lloyd Delaney had once worked at Wild River and even had a daughter who grew up to be the Madison Delaney?

All that could be true. And Aislinn could still be a Bravo by birth.

Out on the sidewalk again, Jax sent Burt and Erma back to the parking lot to get their vehicle.

Then he turned to Aislinn. “I’m sorry to push you, but we don’t have long to get going on this. Can you meet me at the Marriage License Bureau tomorrow to get the license? Just name a time that works for you and I’ll be there.”

In spite of the panic that kept trying to claw its way along every nerve she possessed, she grinned. “Nice try.”

He looked so weary. And worried. “Aislinn—”

“No. Please. I can’t agree to anything right this minute.”

“When, then?”

“I need a few days, at least.”

“We don’t have a few days.”

“I’m sorry, Jax. I know this isn’t your fault. But it isn’t mine, either, and I need to figure a few things out. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Aislinn.” For the first time since they shook hands in the waiting room, he touched her. His long fingers closed around her arm. “Wait.” The feel of his skin on hers made her heart race.

She froze, looked down at where he held her, and then back up at him. “Let go, Jax.”

“Sorry.” He released her.

“I’ll get back to you,” she promised because she didn’t know what else to say. Whirling on her heel, she headed for her car, walking fast, half expecting him to try again to stop her.

But he didn’t come after her. She kept her gaze forward, never once looking back. She knew that if she glanced over her shoulder and saw him standing there, so tall and strong and proud, in good black jeans, town boots and a crisp white shirt, she would give in and agree to do anything he needed her to do.

* * *

Keely Ostergard Bravo’s gallery, Sand & Sea, two blocks from the beach on Manzanita Avenue in Valentine Bay’s historic district, had a profitable afternoon that day.

It was August, after all. The morning fog had cleared, leaving the sky a pure, endless blue. Perfect tourist weather on the Oregon coast.

Aislinn had relieved the manager, Amanda Cruz, who went off to run errands. Aislinn spent the next few hours dealing with a steady stream of customers on her own. That was fine with her. Staying busy kept her mind off the abject awfulness of all she’d learned that morning.

Amanda came back in at four to close up. Aislinn went home to the cottage where she lived with her sisters Hailey and Harper. The two had recently graduated from OU down in Eugene.

The cottage was a family property built in the ’40s, a rambling collection of rooms, all on one level, with two baths and four bedrooms. Her ancient great-uncle Percy Valentine had given it to her as a gift for her twenty-fifth birthday with the understanding that she would welcome any siblings who needed a place to stay.

Neither of her sisters’ cars were out in front when she got there, which was good. She had this feeling that if they saw her face, they would know something was wrong and they would demand that she tell them everything. She wasn’t ready to talk about any of it—not until after she’d met with her brothers, anyway.

Before going inside, she visited Luna and Bunbun, her German angora rabbits. The pair had the run of half of her front porch, which was enclosed, rabbit-proofed and equipped with a roomy hutch they wandered in and out of at will—except on the rare occasions that she needed them caged.

Needing comfort, she got down on the porch floor with them and indulged in a long cuddle session. She buried her face in their enormous clouds of fur, lavished them with rubs and pets, all the while murmuring silly endearments.

Once she’d loved them up thoroughly, she filled their hay racks, refreshed their food and water and cleaned their litter boxes. And then, leaving them happily noshing away, she went on into the house.

It was far too quiet inside. All her fury and misery at what had happened in Astoria that morning came flooding back. She made herself a sandwich, sat at the table and cried for a while.

She really needed to talk to her best friend. Aislinn and Keely never kept secrets from each other. If Keely was here, Aislinn could get it all out, tell her friend everything.

But Keely was off on her honeymoon. Confiding in her would have to wait.

Glumly chewing her sandwich, Aislinn group-texted three of her brothers—Matthias, Connor and Liam—all of whom, so the story went, had been there in Montedoro when she was born. Daniel had been there, too. But he was with Keely in Bora Bora and Aislinn wasn’t bothering him, either. Daniel and Keely had had more than enough challenges to face in the past few months. They deserved their honeymoon in paradise, a beautiful time for just the two of them, 100 percent free of family drama.

There’s something important I really need to talk to you guys about, she texted her brothers. Beers at Beach Street Brews? Seven sharp. I’m buying.

Actually, she preferred a little bar called the Sea Breeze that Keely’s mother, Ingrid Ostergard, had bought, remodeled and reopened just a month ago, on Independence Day. But Keely’s mom would be there. And Grace, the youngest of the Bravo siblings, probably would, too. Gracie had started working for Ingrid during the Sea Breeze’s remodeling phase.

And the fewer family members around for this particular conversation, the better. Aislinn still hadn’t decided how much to tell her brothers. It was all a big mess. She was a mess.

A mess who had no idea who she really was.

Her brothers got right back to her. They would all three be there at the brewpub at seven o’clock.

That made her cry again. Who had such great brothers—big, handsome guys who dropped everything to be there if their sister needed them? They were the best. What if it turned out they really weren’t even hers?

* * *

Beach Street Brews was a barnlike place with scuffed wide-plank floors and rows of high-sided wooden booths lining the tin-paneled walls. The acoustics were terrible. On the weekends when they had live music, conversation was impossible.

But early on a Wednesday evening, it wasn’t so bad. Matthias had gotten there first. Matt was ex-military. Now he worked as a game warden with the Oregon State Police.

He was out of uniform tonight. When Aislinn slipped into the booth next to him, he poured her a beer from the pitcher he’d already ordered.

“You okay, Ais?” he asked. “You look kinda down.”

“Been better,” she admitted.

His golden-brown eyebrows drew together in concern, but before he could say anything more, Connor and Liam showed up.

Matt poured them beers and they talked about the warm weather and how Connor was doing over at Valentine Logging. He was running the family company while Daniel was on his honeymoon. Aislinn sipped her beer and watched their dear faces, their gold-kissed eyebrows and tawny hair.

George Bravo had had dark brown hair and blue eyes. Marie was blue-eyed, too, and a natural blonde. All of their children had blue eyes and none of them had hair any darker than medium brown.

Except Aislinn.

Her mom had always claimed that she was special, different. And her dad used to say she took after the Bravo side of the family. He’d had six brothers and a couple of them were dark-eyed with almost-black hair. Her mom used to say she looked French—a little French princess, born in a villa on the Cote d’Azur. Aislinn had loved that, loved being the different one.

Until today.

Matt asked, “So, what’s going on with you, Ais?”

“Is everything okay?” asked Liam, burnished eyebrows drawing together.

At home, she’d debated whether or not to tell all and decided she ought to be totally honest, offer full disclosure. But now, sitting in that booth, her gaze bouncing from one well-loved face to another, she just couldn’t go there, couldn’t tell them outright that she might not be their sister, that she’d taken their real sister’s place, while the true Aislinn had gone off to California to become Hollywood royalty.

Later for all that.

“I’ve been thinking about Mom,” she began. “About the story she always told me, that I was born in Montedoro.”

“The Montedoro trip.” Connor mock-saluted with his glass of beer. “Mom just had to go there, even though she was almost eight months’ pregnant with you.”

“And, of course,” Liam added, “she and Dad took us along—not that I remember a thing about it. I was what, three?”

And Matt had been five, Connor four. Daniel, seven at the time, would probably remember the most of the four of them. Too bad he was off somewhere in paradise with Keely.

Matt volunteered, “I kind of remember the Prince’s Palace. Huge and white, up there on that hill overlooking the harbor. And I remember meeting Uncle Evan and his wife, the princess.” Their dad’s brother, once an actor, had married Montedoro’s ruling princess. Matt went on, “But I’m drawing a complete blank on the villa we stayed at—the one where you were born, I mean. Didn’t you go to Montedoro to check it out, after college?”

She licked the beer mustache from her upper lip. “I did, yeah, the summer after my senior year. The old count and countess had died. The people living at Villa Della Torre invited me in for coffee and listened politely when I told them that I’d been born in their house. But they had nothing to tell me. They’d never even met the count or the countess. I stayed at the palace during that trip. Uncle Evan and Her Serene Highness were so nice to me. They remembered your visit all those years before, remembered that Mom had been pregnant, but they said that they hadn’t realized that Mom had given birth there, in the principality.” At the time, Aislinn had been kind of disappointed that they didn’t remember—disappointed, but not the least alarmed.

Not like now, when her whole world felt turned upside down, spinning in dizzying circles, way too fast.

She glanced at Connor again. “You sure you don’t remember anything?”

He took a gulp of beer. “Mom and Dad were always hauling us along with them to the far corners of the earth. The trips are kind of a blur to me. Sorry, I’ve got nothing.”

Liam said, “Something’s off with you...”

“Yeah,” Connor agreed. “What’s going on?”

Guilt took a good poke at her, for keeping them in the dark. But she just couldn’t go there. Not yet. “I was only wondering about how it all happened, you know, on the day I was born?”

Matt tipped his head to the side, studying her. “You’ve got a problem, haven’t you, Ais? And you don’t want to tell us what.”

She couldn’t outright lie to them—but she just wasn’t ready to tell what she knew. “It’s complicated. I don’t want to get into it, not right yet.”

“Anything we can do?” asked Liam.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth and shook her head.

Matt put his massive arm around her. “You call. We’re there.”

She let herself lean into him, as if he could ground her somehow, keep her tethered to dry land so she wouldn’t go bobbing wildly off into nowhere, a tiny boat set adrift in a churning, angry sea.

* * *

After the disastrous visit to Kircher and Anders, Jax had gone straight back to Wild River and spent several hours in his study finding out everything he could about Aislinn Bravo. She kept public profiles on social media, so he learned a lot there. He also called a few people he knew in Valentine Bay and pumped them for anything they knew about Aislinn and the Bravo family.

The next day, he returned to Kircher and Anders. Kip ushered him back to his corner office and shut the door.

“I’ve got questions,” Jax said, as he settled into a leather guest chair. “Starting with, can the will be broken?”

“I’m sorry, but no. Martin Durand had an absolute right to disburse his worldly goods in any way he chose and his will is legally airtight.”

“Wild River belonged to my aunt. She left it to Martin, but it was always supposed to go to me when he died.”

Anders adjusted his glasses, braced his elbows on the arms of his swivel chair and steepled his fingers. “There’s not a lot of hope in trying to hang a case on that.”

“But in his last letter, Martin admitted outright that he and my aunt had an understanding that the ranch should go to me.”

“Yes. You could argue that. And the rebuttal would be that he did leave you Wild River, just with certain stipulations.”

“What about Aislinn Bravo? Is she really his daughter?”

“Jaxon, I have no idea if she is or she isn’t. You would need a paternity test to get a definitive answer to that question. And even if such a test proved that she and Martin shared no DNA, the will would most likely stand.”

Was Anders hinting at an angle there? “‘Most likely’?”

“If you proved she wasn’t his daughter, then you could use his last letter as evidence that he included her in his will believing she was his biological child. It’s a stretch, but you might challenge the will by arguing that Martin would never have left her anything if he knew she wasn’t his.”

“That sounds weak.”

“Correct. It’s weak. And your suit would likely fail. Plus, by the time you obtained DNA samples not only from Aislinn Bravo, but from Martin’s remains and then hashed it all out in court, Wild River would already be sold, anyway.”

Jax sat back in the guest chair. “You’re my lawyer now.”

Anders granted him a thin smile. “And I’m pleased to help you in any way I can.”

“Got any suggestions to get me out of this mess?”

“As your lawyer, I would advise you to marry Aislinn Bravo and remain married to her for the next three months.”

“I didn’t need a lawyer to figure that out, Kip—and in spite of Martin’s claim that the woman was once in love with me, so far she’s not jumping at the chance to get my ring on her finger.”

“I’m sorry, Jaxon. Truly. But there is no way I can help you with that. Give her a little time.”

“Time? There are six days left until we have to be married.”

“Look at it this way. If she doesn’t agree from the goodness of her heart, maybe she’ll think of a use for the money. Not many people would turn down a chance at fifty thousand dollars.”

* * *

It was just after noon and Aislinn was selling a ceramic sculpture to a regular customer at Sand & Sea when Jaxon called. She had her phone right there on the register counter, set to vibrate. It spun halfway around and lit up with his name, because she’d programmed it into her phone, ready to go as soon as she felt she could deal with him.

“Go ahead,” said the customer. “Answer it. I’m in no hurry.”

But Aislinn was so far from ready to talk to Jax again. “I’ll call him back later.” She gave the customer a big smile and let the call go to voice mail.

Later didn’t come—not that day, anyway. It was rude of her not to pick up or even listen to the message he’d left, and she was sorry. But she needed more answers before she faced his demands.

When she got off at four, she called Valentine House, where her great-uncle Percy and great-aunt Daffodil lived. They were brother and sister, Percy and Daffy, the last of the Valentines. Neither had ever married and they still lived in the house where they’d grown up.

When Uncle Percy finally answered the phone, she asked him if she could drop by.

“Bring pizza,” he instructed. “With the works. Anchovies on the side.”

Half an hour later, bearing an extralarge pie with everything on it—except the anchovies, which had their own small separate tub—she mounted the chipped concrete steps leading up to the seven-thousand-square-foot mansion on the edge of Valentine City Park. Aunt Daffy’s garden was glorious if a tad overgrown. And to Aislinn, the Italianate Victorian itself looked like something transplanted from the Garden District in New Orleans. Built by Captain Aeschylus Valentine back in 1922, the house boasted a healthy helping of gingerbread trim, an excess of dentil moldings and acres of balconies framed in iron lace. The paint job needed freshening and some of the moldings could use repair, but still. It was a beautiful old house and it made her smile every time she saw it.

Daffy and Percy greeted her at the door.

“So good to see you, sweetheart.” Daffy’s thin, dry lips brushed her cheek, light as a cobweb. Aislinn got a whiff of the familiar vanilla and sandalwood scent of the old woman’s Arpège perfume. “You’re a lifesaver with that pizza. Letha’s off today.” Letha March cleaned the house and cooked for them. “Let me take that.” Daffy whisked the pizza away.

Percy led her into the parlor, where the red carpet had a dizzying pattern of closely woven white lilies overlapping each other. When Aislinn was little, she used to try to count those lilies.

They ate the pizza right there in the front room, paper plates in their laps, clutching paper napkins. Percy talked of the ongoing hunt for her brother Finn, lost in some frozen wilderness on the other side of the world.

He was so sure they would have Finn back home eventually. “We shall never give up the search, never surrender the quest,” he declared, like some latter-day Winston Churchill. And then he gave her his sweetest, dottiest smile and asked, “But how are you doing, my dear?”

Aunt Daffy, slim and straight even at eighty-plus, her silver hair in soft waves framing her narrow, wrinkled face, piped up with, “Yes. Tell us everything.”

Aislinn realized she wanted to—needed to—tell someone. Or maybe she was just ready to get it all out. “It has to be only between us, for now, anyway, until I figure out what I’m going to do next, until I’m ready to tell the whole family.”

“And so it shall be,” declared Daffy, sharing a nod with her brother.

It was so simple after that. She swore them to secrecy and then she told them. Everything. About her summer at Wild River Ranch, her college-girl crush on Jaxon, about Martin Durand, about that letter he’d written claiming to be her father and to have switched her with her mother’s real daughter on the day she was born, about the terms of his will—and yes, she had meant to keep all those secrets until after she’d shared everything with Keely. But she really needed answers now.

When she’d told it all, Daffy asked, “Will you marry the man?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is he a good man?”

“Yes. Yes, I do believe that he is.”

“And your feelings for him...?”

“Aunt Daffy, that was years ago.”

Daffy peered at her closely. “I think you still like him.”

“I do like him. And whether I decide to marry him or not in the next week, I’m counting on you two to keep my confidence about all of this.”

“We’ve given you our word,” Percy intoned.

Daffy promised, “We will not let you down.”

“Thank you. And what I really came here for was to ask you both if you recall how Mom always said I was born in Montedoro?”

Daffy waved a hand. “Ah, our Marie. So full of fun and fantasy.”

“But is it true? Was I born at Villa Della Torre?”

Daffy and Percy shook their heads in unison. Daffy said, “Your mother loved that story. Sometimes I think she even started to believe it.”

“Oh, God.” Aislinn felt sick to her stomach. “Just tell me the truth, please. I really do have to know.”

Daffy patted her shoulder, a touch meant to soothe her. “You were her firstborn daughter, her little princess—and of course you had to have been born in a villa overlooking the Mediterranean.”

“You’re saying she just made it up?” Her heart was a ball of lead in her chest.

“Well, it wasn’t only that Marie considered you her little princess, it was that you fell in love with all things royal,” Daffy said, as if that explained everything. “You do remember your princess phase?”

“Yeah, I remember.” She’d had three princess dresses, in pink, blue and yellow, each with a big tulle skirt and a train. Her mom had made her a princess room, with glittery stars on the ceiling and a bed like a throne. She’d had four tiaras, each more sparkly than the last. And a magic wand, too—because when you’re five, the line between princess and fairy is a blurry one.

“You loved the story of your Montedoran birth,” Daffy reminded her. “As did your mother. It just seemed harmless and sweet to indulge you both. And, well, the years went by, didn’t they? We lost Finn and then your mother and father, and the story simply stuck. Now and then you would mention it, but until now, you’ve never asked directly if it might actually be true.”

And that brought her to the next big question. “So, where was I born, then?”

Uncle Percy rose from the circular settee. When he reached her, she stood from her wing chair. He took her hand in his wrinkly one. His faded blue eyes held hers. “I’m afraid that this Martin Durand fellow had it right about that much, at least.”

“Oh, no...” The two words came out as barely more than a whisper.

Percy nodded slowly. “You were born at Wild River Ranch during a punishing storm with catastrophic flash flooding and power lines down across much of the state.”

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