Guarding the Heiress. Debra Webb

engine started on the first turn of the key in the ignition. Eddi shifted into reverse and backed up far enough to turn around. She had a full day ahead of her. She didn’t have time to waste worrying about husbands or boyfriends, or even dates.

      A choked laugh slipped past her lips. So what if she was about to turn twenty-five? There would be plenty of time for her to find a husband and start a family of her own later. With the supercenters located only a few miles away in Aberdeen, keeping the family hardware going was all she could manage, and she accomplished that by the skin of her teeth.

      Besides, a good-looking stranger was about as far from husband material, in her opinion, as a member of the male species could get. She knew nothing about the man. So what if he was intriguing? Handsome?

      Eddi shivered and pressed harder on the accelerator as she pulled onto the street. She headed toward the town’s square and the hardware store. She didn’t need a husband. All she needed was the promise of plenty of work to make ends meet the rest of the month.

      A little tingle beneath her belly button instantly belied her words.

      Eddi stiffened her spine and put a stop to that foolishness. Irene and her buddies were getting to her, that’s all. No tall, dark and handsome stranger was going to roll into town and sweep her off her feet. She’d been a good girl her whole life, she wasn’t about to start making mistakes now. It didn’t take experience in the “sex” department to know that knights in shining armor didn’t exist.

      She parked in front of the hardware and shut off the truck’s engine. The best she could hope for from the handsome stranger was that he’d have some sort of plumbing emergency that required her expertise. With a dry laugh that was a touch too brittle, Eddi strolled through the old-fashioned double doors and into Harper’s Hardware, established 1918 by her great-grandfather.

      “Hey, Dad.” Eddi stepped behind the scarred counter and pressed a kiss to her father’s waiting cheek. “Been busy?”

      She knew the answer before she asked the question. Small-town hardware stores were nearly a thing of the past. The supercenters had all but put them out of business. But the Harpers hung on, just barely. They weren’t going down without a fight. Not as long as Eddi was still breathing.

      “’Bout the same as usual,” her dad offered his routine reply as he handed her a couple of messages.

      Eddi stared at him for a long while before her gaze moved down to the messages in her hand. His gray hair was cut short, his brown eyes more solemn than usual. Her father had always been such a pleasant and jovial man, but when bills piled up, his expression grew more and more grave. She knew he worried, even more so lately. He was worried particularly now. Another three months like the past three and they’d have to consider selling out. She did all she could, just as he did, and most times it managed to be enough. But that little bit of luck had run entirely too thin of late. They’d never make it through the winter if business didn’t pick up. There would be no more loans from the bank. Barring a miracle, this time next year…well, she wasn’t going to think about that.

      She would not give up. Knowing how her father worried always got to her, but she had to be strong. She inhaled a big, bolstering breath. Now was not the time to be a wimp.

      She gave her father the brightest smile in her repertoire of masks and produced an optimistic tone. “Well, I’ve been busy all morning. If this keeps up, by the end of the week we’ll be in good shape.”

      His smile was slow in coming, but it came. “We always get by. Thanks to you.”

      Eddi quickly shifted her focus to the messages so her father wouldn’t see the tears shining in her eyes. They would make it, she would see to it. Mrs. Fairbanks’s commode tank probably still wasn’t filling properly. Sometimes those fill valves could be a major pain. Eddi shuffled to the next message. Colleen Patterson needed a leak stopped in her bathtub faucet. Eddi could handle those before calling it a day, making today’s tally pretty darned good.

      She gathered a new fill valve and the seals Mrs. Patterson’s faucet most likely needed. Before too long Mrs. Patterson was going to have to surrender to the inevitable and spend the money for a new faucet. Eddi wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep that ancient contraption working. But she’d give it her best shot.

      “Almost forgot,” her dad said abruptly. “Your mom called. She needs you to come by the house before you go anywhere else.” He frowned. “She sounded a little odd. Swore there was nothing wrong, but insisted I send you home the next time you stopped in for your messages.”

      Eddi nodded and beamed another smile. “I’m on my way.” She gave her father a little salute and headed for the door. Her forced smile slipped into a frown. Her mother rarely interrupted Eddi’s workday. She hoped nothing was wrong. Three days after Eddi’s thirteenth birthday her mother had been involved in a horrendous car crash. Though she’d survived, the accident left her with debilitating physical consequences. She could walk with a cane and only short distances at that. Even after dozens of surgeries and years of therapy she couldn’t manage any of the housecleaning or cooking that involved more than a minimal amount of walking or standing. She was, however, a woman of perpetual optimism. Eddi scarcely remembered a day in her life that her mother hadn’t worn a smile.

      Eddi clung to that optimism, made it her own. It was all that got her through the really tough days since she’d learned a long time ago that fairy godmothers didn’t exist any more than knights in shining armor did and that all the wishes in the world wouldn’t change what was meant to be.

      DOUG PRESSED THE DOORBELL a third time and waited for an answer. Next to him on the wide veranda, Mr. Thurston, the D’Martine attorney, adjusted his tie and looked immensely put out by having to wait past the first summons of the home’s door chimes.

      “I knew we shouldn’t have called to warn the woman that we were coming,” Thurston muttered. “She’s probably made a run for it already.”

      Choosing to ignore the pretentious attorney, Doug used the time to catalog his surroundings. The Harper home was a small craftsman bungalow with an inviting veranda and a neat, well-kept appearance that made one feel immediately at ease. Well, Doug amended, perhaps anyone but a man like Thurston who likely equated time with money and had already tallied a significant total since leaving Martha’s Vineyard.

      Like the Harper home, the yard was immaculately maintained. Autumn’s first castoffs lay sprinkled about on the lush green grass and bursts of colorful pansies overflowed several pots bordering the four steps that divided the lawn from the veranda.

      Finally, the painted door swung inward and a frail woman, wholly dependent upon the cane in her right hand to stay vertical, peered guardedly at them. “Why are you here?”

      Millicent Harper. He recognized her from the case files he had reviewed. Her once honey-colored hair was now gray and her brown eyes looked dull with worry as if she expected the worst news. Doug suffered a moment of regret for what he was about to be a party to. But, unfortunately, it was necessary. Edwinna Harper could be in danger when the media discovered her true identity. If someone close to the family had recognized her and rushed to tell Mrs. D’Martine, it was only a matter of time before the right person from the media circus that followed the rich and famous stumbled into Meadowbrook and did the same.

      “Mrs. Harper,” Thurston said, manufacturing a smile that made his face look as if it were about to crack. He extended one well-manicured hand and added, “I’m Brandon Thurston, attorney for the D’Martine family. My associate, Mr. Cooper—” he gestured vaguely to Doug “—phoned you earlier.”

      Millicent Harper’s demeanor grew even more guarded at the mention of the D’Martine name. She made no move to shake the attorney’s outstretched hand. “What do you want?”

      “Mr. Cooper is an investigator from Chicago,” Thurston said pointedly, leaving out the pertinent details for intimidation purposes. “Mrs. Harper, we’d like to come in. We have a very important matter that should be discussed in private. I think you know the subject.”

      She nodded,