Wishes for Tomorrow: Westmoreland's Way. Brenda Jackson

was silent as she led him up the stairs and she couldn’t help looking sideways to gaze at his profile. What was it about him that affected her in a way Fletcher didn’t? Her heart rate accelerated when she noticed he even climbed the stairs with an ingrained sexiness that made her senses reel.

      When they reached the top landing he moved slightly ahead of her, as if he knew where he was going. “If I didn’t know better I’d swear you’ve been here before,” she said as they continued to walk toward the end of the hall that led to the attic stairs.

      He glanced down at her and smiled. “This might sound crazy but this house is very similar to mine back in Denver. Was it built by your great-grandfather?”

      “Yes.”

      “Then that might explain things, since the house I live in was built by Raphel. I’m thinking he liked the design, and when he decided to build his home he did so from his memory of this one.”

      “That would explain how you knew about our secret window.” She regretted the words the moment they left her lips. She had just admitted to spying on him out the window when he’d arrived.

      “Yes, that’s how I know about it. I have one of my own just like it and in the same place.”

      “I see.” But, in a way, she didn’t see, which made her as eager to find out about Raphel as Dillon was.

      She then walked on and he joined her. When they reached the door that led to the attic she opened it. Judging from the expression on his face, it was as if he’d seen the view before, and that made her determined to know why his home was a replica of hers.

      Unlike the other stairs in her home, the attic steps were narrow and Dillon moved aside for her to go up ahead of him. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her back. She was tempted to glance over her shoulder but knew that wouldn’t be the appropriate thing to do. So she did the next best thing and engaged him in conversation.

      She broke into the silence by saying, “At dinner you mentioned that you were the oldest of Raphel’s fifteen great-grands.” She glanced briefly over her shoulder.

      “Yes, and for a number of years I was the legal guardian for ten of them.”

      Pamela swung around so quickly, had she been standing on a stair she probably would have lost her balance. “Guardian to ten of them?”

      At his nod, she blinked in amazement. “How did that come about?” She stepped aside when he reached her, noting there still wasn’t a lot of room between them, but she was so eager to hear his answer she didn’t make a move to step back any further.

      “My parents and my aunt and uncle decided to go away for the weekend together, to visit one of my mother’s friends in Louisiana. On their way back to Denver, their plane developed engine trouble and went down, killing everyone on board.”

      “Oh, how awful.”

      “Yes, it was. My parents had seven kids and my aunt and uncle had eight. I was the oldest at twenty-one. My brother Micah was nineteen and Jason was eighteen. My other brothers, Riley, Stern, Canyon and Brisbane, were all under sixteen.”

      He braced a hip against the stair railing and continued. “My cousin Ramsey was twenty, and his brother Zane was nineteen and Derringer was eighteen. The remaining cousins, Megan, Gemma, the twins Adrian and Aiden, and the youngest, Bailey, were also all under sixteen.”

      She also leaned against the rail to face him, still full of questions. “And family services didn’t have a problem with you being responsible for so many little ones?”

      “No, everyone knew the Westmorelands would want to stay together. Besides,” he said, chuckling, “no one around our parts wanted to be responsible for Bane.”

      “Bane?”

      “Yes. It’s short for Brisbane. He’s my youngest brother who likes his share of mischief. He was only eight when my parents were killed and he took their deaths pretty hard.”

      “How old is he now?”

      “Twenty-two and still hot under the collar in more ways than one. I wish there was something holding his interest these days other than a certain female in Denver.”

      Pam nodded. She couldn’t help but wonder if there was a certain female in Denver holding Dillon’s interest, as well.

      “Do all of you still live close to one another?” she asked.

      “Yes, Great-Grandpa Raphel purchased a lot of land back in the thirties. When each Westmoreland reaches the age of twenty-five they are given a hundred-acre tract of land, which is why we all live in close proximity to each other. As the oldest cousin, I inherited the family home where everyone seems to congregate most of the time.”

      He then asked her, “How old were you when your great-grandfather passed?”

      “He died before I was born, but I heard a lot about him. What about Raphel? How old were you when he passed?”

      “He died before I was born, too. My great-grandmother lived until I was two, so I don’t rightly remember much of her, either. But I do remember my grandparents, Grampa Stern and Gramma Paula. It was Grampa Stern who used to tell us stories about Raphel, but never did he mention anything about past wives or other siblings. In fact, he claimed Raphel had been an only child. That makes me wonder how much he truly knew about his own father.”

      Pam paused for a moment and then said, “I guess there are secrets in most families.”

      “Yes, like Raphel running off with the preacher’s wife,” he said.

      “And you think Raphel eventually married her?”

      “Not sure of that, either,” Dillon replied. “Since she was legally married to the preacher, I don’t see how a marriage between them could take place, which is why I’m curious as to what happened to her once they fled Georgia.”

      “But her name, as well as Portia’s, are shown as former wives on documents you’ve found?” she asked, trying to get a greater understanding of just what kind of life his great-grandfather may have led.

      “Two of my Atlanta cousins, Quade and Cole, own a security firm and they did a background check, going as far back as the early nineteen-hundreds. Old land deeds were discovered for Raphel and they list four separate women as his wives. So far we know two of them—the preacher’s wife and Portia Novak—were already legally married. We can only assume Raphel lived with them pretending to be married.”

      He paused a moment and then glanced around and asked, “Do you come up here often?”

      His question made her realize they had been standing still long enough and were awfully close, so she shifted toward the attic door. “Not as often as I used to. I just moved back to Gamble last year when my father passed. Like you, I’m the oldest and I wanted to care for my sisters. I am their legal guardian.”

      Dillon nodded and stepped back when she opened the attic door. He had noticed the way she had interacted with her sisters last night at dinner. It was obvious they were close.

      “That’s my great-grandfather’s trunk over there. It’s my understanding that he and your great-grandfather were partners in a dairy business, which was very profitable at the time. I know there are a lot of business records in there, as well as some of Raphel’s belongings. It seems he made a quick getaway when he left Gamble.”

      Dillon shot her a glance. “You have some of Raphel’s belongings?”

      “Yes,” she said, moving toward the trunk. “I didn’t mention it at dinner last night.”

      He understood the reason she hadn’t done so. Her fiancé probably would have had something to say about it. It was quite obvious the man could make an argument out of just about any subject.

      Instead of immediately following her over to the trunk, Dillon stood back for a moment and watched her go. His gaze was