His By Any Means. Maureen Child

incredible? She had liked her job well enough, but now that her dream was within her reach, she didn’t mind at all saying goodbye to the private agency. “Until I get my practitioner’s license, I’m officially unemployed.”

      “All right then,” he said, coming to some internal decision. “We’ll start day after tomorrow. You come up to my ranch and stay for a few days. We’ll go up the mountain from there.”

      “Stay? At your ranch?” Heat sizzled through her veins, and even while a delicious tingle settled deep inside her, Colleen felt a tiny niggle of worry.

      He was going to teach her to survive in the mountains. But who could teach her how to survive a broken heart when this time with him was over?

      * * *

      Logan Whittaker was handsome, friendly and professional. Late thirties, he was tall, with nearly black hair, warm brown eyes and when he smiled, a disarming pair of dimples appeared in his cheeks. He wore a sports coat over a pair of black jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt, black cowboy boots betraying his Texas heritage.

      As a partner at Drake, Alcott and Whittaker, he was able to meet with Colleen the next morning, when Walter Drake was busy elsewhere.

      She walked into his office and took a quick, admiring look around. The room was huge, befitting a partner. Neutral colors, with navy blue accents, including a navy blue sofa and matching visitor chairs situated on one side of his massive desk. There was a blue-and-white-tiled fireplace on one wall with an empty mantel over it. No family pictures to clutter up his office.

      The windows along the hallway boasted electric shades that were in a halfway-down position. It was all very businesslike but hospitable, much like Logan himself seemed to be.

      “I really appreciate you seeing me on such short notice.”

      “Not a problem,” Logan said, stepping forward to take her hand in a firm shake before steering her toward one of the visitor’s chairs. “Walter and I are sort of working a tag team on the Lassiter will. We’re each dealing with different angles, and sometimes the lines cross.”

      She had to smile. The slight hint of a Texas accent flavored his speech, but couldn’t hide the fact that he seemed agitated and a little harried. “Having some trouble with J.D.’s will?”

      He blew out a breath, took a seat in his chair behind the wide desk and then shot her a heart-stopping grin. “Is it that obvious?” A short laugh rumbled from his throat as he shook his head. “Let’s just say there are some issues with the estate that I’m not at liberty to discuss and leave it at that.”

      “Well, that sounds frustrating.”

      “Oh, it is.” He pushed one hand through his hair and said, “But I’ll get it done.”

      The look in his eyes was sheer determination, and Colleen didn’t doubt for a minute that he would succeed.

      “Now, how can I help you, Ms. Falkner?”

      “Colleen, please.” She scooted forward to the edge of the leather chair and leaned her forearm on his desk. “Walter helped me set up a line of credit at a local bank, but—”

      “What is it?” He gave her his full attention, and Colleen thought at any other time, she might have been mesmerized by his eyes. The man was exceptionally good-looking and when he looked at a woman with his complete concentration, she could only assume that most women melted into a puddle at his feet. As it stood now, though, Logan Whittaker, as handsome and compelling as he was, couldn’t hold a candle to Sage Lassiter.

      Letting go of that train of thought, she brought herself back to the business at hand. The reason she’d come here.

      “I really just wanted to make sure everything is going through without any trouble.” Shrugging, she added, “I’m about to sell my condo so I can buy something closer to where I will be working, and—”

      He gave her a knowing smile. “And you’re worried that something might go wrong with the dispersal of the will.”

      “Exactly.” It was nice that he understood her concerns and didn’t make her feel silly for having them.

      “You have nothing to worry about,” Logan told her. “J.D. set this will up in such a way that it would be almost impossible to contest it.”

      “Almost?”

      He grinned. “Caught that, did you?”

      “I did, and it’s a little scary to think about. If someone contested the will, all of the bequests might be nullified, right?”

      “It’s possible, yes,” he admitted, then leaned back in his oversize leather swivel chair. “But highly unlikely. J.D. was competent when he made his will. And it was his estate to divide how he saw fit. I know some of the family are upset with what that will said, but there’s not much they can do about it. So to answer your question, I don’t see any problems looming. Go ahead and sell your place. Buy the one you want.”

      Colleen released a breath she really hadn’t been aware she was holding. Somehow she felt even more reassured than she had when talking to Walter. Maybe it was because the older lawyer tended to speak more in legal terms, and Logan made the process seem less confusing. “Thanks. I feel better.”

      “Happy to help,” Logan said, rising to come around his desk. “I know this must be strange, suddenly coming into so much money. But it’s all real, Colleen. You can trust it.”

      She stood up and offered her hand. This was what she’d needed to hear: the confirmation that her new life was about to begin. For some reason, she’d been half expecting someone to pull the rug out from under her and leave her sprawled, broken and bruised, on the floor. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

      Now though, she would reach out and grab hold—with both hands—of the changes headed her way.

      Logan walked her to his door and smiled. “Try to relax and enjoy all of this, Colleen. J.D. clearly wanted that for you.”

      “I think he did,” Colleen agreed as she shook Logan’s hand one last time. “I really appreciate your time.”

      “If you have any more worries, feel free to come back.”

      But she wouldn’t be worried now. At least not about the bequest. Instead, she would worry about Sage Lassiter and how important he was becoming to her. When just the thought of his name sent an electrical charge buzzing through her, she knew she had plenty to worry about.

       Seven

      “Wow,” Jenna chirped later that day. “According to Google, Sage Lassiter is worth about ten billion dollars.” She glanced up from the laptop and fanned herself with one hand. “I mean I knew he was rich...but that is seriously rich.”

      The two of them were in Colleen’s bedroom at her condo. The room was small but neat, with cream-colored walls, a bright quilt on the bed and dozens of jewel-toned pillows stacked against the headboard. Colleen looked at her friend, sitting cross-legged on her bed. “You’re supposed to be checking real estate on the mountain for me.”

      “I am, on another webpage,” Jenna said with a shrug. “But I can multitask. Besides, I had to look him up. You’re going to stay at his ranch for a few days and I want to see what my friend’s getting into. You know, I bet there are rich serial killers, too.”

      Laughing, Colleen said, “He’s not a serial killer.”

      “No harm in checking,” Jenna told her. “So, according to this website that is all gossip all the time, Sage made his first million by investing in some thingamajig for computers that his college roommate invented.”

      “Well, that tells me he believed in his friend, so that’s nice.”

      “And made a boatload off that investment,” Jenna