Bombshell For The Black Sheep. Janice Maynard

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