Wishes for Tomorrow. Brenda Jackson

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 focused on her. The possibility that some of his great-grandfather’s belongings might be inside that trunk intrigued him. But she intrigued him more.

      She was wearing jeans and a pretty pink blouse that added an ultrafeminine touch. He couldn’t help but notice the seductive curves outlined in those jeans. Walking behind her up the stairs to the attic had been hell. He was certain sweat had popped out on his brow with every step she’d taken.

      When she saw he hadn’t followed her, she turned and slanted him a glance. “Are you all right?”

      No, he wasn’t all right. One part of his brain was trying to convince him that, although she was an engaged woman, she wasn’t married yet, so she was still available. But another part of him, the one looking at the ring on her finger, knew to make a pass in any way would be crossing a line. But hell, he was tempted.

      She held his gaze, and he realized at that moment he hadn’t given her an answer. “Yes, I’m fine. Just overwhelmed.” If only she knew how much and the reason why.

      “I understand how you feel. What you said last night at dinner is true for me, as well. I consider family important. Although you never knew him, you want to know as much about your great-grandfather as you can learn. I think it is admirable that you want to do so.”

      She glanced down at the trunk and then back at him. “I just hope you don’t think you’re going to find out everything there is to know about your great-grandfather in one day, Dillon. Even after I open that trunk it might spur you to ask more questions, seek more answers.”

      “And if I need to come back here?” he asked, knowing she knew where he was going with the question.

      “You’re welcome to come back for as long as it takes.”

      His gaze held hers intensely as he asked, “Will Fletcher be okay with it? Like I said earlier, I don’t want to cause any problems between the two of you.”

      “There won’t be any problems. Now, aren’t you going to open this trunk? I’ve been dying to do so for years, but growing up we were always told it was off limits.” Her lips curved at the corners. “But I will admit to defying orders once and poking around in there. At that time, I didn’t see anything that held my interest.”

      Dillon smiled as he crossed the floor toward her. Like his at home, the attic here was huge. As a boy, the attic had been one of his favorite places to hide when he wanted some alone time. This room was full of boxes and trunks, but they had been arranged in a neat order, nothing like the way his attic looked back home. And there was that lone, small rectangular window that allowed just enough sunlight to shine through.

      Kneeling, he pulled off a key that was taped on the side of the trunk and began working at the lock. Moments later he lifted open the lid. There were a lot of papers, business books, a couple of work shirts that had aged with time, a bottle of wine, a compass and a tattered looking journal.

      He glanced up at Pam. “Mind if I take a look at this?”

      “No, I don’t mind. In fact, there’s a letter inside.”

      He lifted a brow as he opened the journal and, sure enough, a letter whose envelope had turned yellow, lay on the front page. The name on the envelope was still legible. It simply said Westmoreland. He glanced back over at her.

      “Like I said, although the trunk was off limits, I couldn’t help but snoop that one time. That’s how I knew about that letter.”

      Dillon couldn’t hide his smile as he opened the sealed letter. It read, “Whomever comes to get Raphel’s belongings just needs to know that he was a good and decent man and I don’t blame him for leaving and taking Portia with him.”

      It had been signed by Pam’s great-grandfather Jay. Dillon put the letter back in the envelope and glanced up at Pam. “This is all very confusing. Think you can shed some light on it?”

      She shook her head. “No, sorry. For a man not to hold any animosity against the man that took his wife is strange. Perhaps Raphel did Jay a favor if he didn’t want to be married to her anyway. But that theory is really stretching it a bit. A man’s wife is a man’s wife, and Portia had been Jay’s wife.”

      “And what about Lila Elms?”

      She shrugged. “I can’t tell you anything about her, other than they must have parted ways between Atlanta and here, because from all I’ve heard when Raphel arrived in Gamble he was a single man.”

      She glanced at her watch. “There are a few phone calls that I need to make, so I’m going to leave you for a while. Take as much time as you like up here, and if you need me for any reason, I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen.”

      “All right.”

      She moved toward the attic door.

      “Pamela?”

      She glanced back around. “Yes?”

      He smiled. “Thanks.”

      She smiled back. “Don’t mention it.”

      * * *

      Dillon released a deep breath the moment Pam left, closing the attic door behind her. Pamela Novak was a temptation he had best leave alone. All the while she had been in this room, he had tried keeping the conversation going, anything to suppress the desires that had run rampant through him.

      What was there about her that ruffled his senses every time she was within ten feet of him? What was there about her that made a number of unnamed and undefined sensations run through him? It had been hard as hell to maintain his composure and control around her.

      Perhaps his dilemma had to do with her understanding of his need to delve into his family’s history, his desire to know as much about Raphel Westmoreland as he could find out. Even some of his siblings and cousins didn’t understand what was driving him, although they did support him. He appreciated them for it, but support and understanding were two different things.

      However, he had a gut feeling Pamela did understand. She not only understood but was willing to help him any way she could...even if it meant stirring her fiancé’s ire.

      Deciding he needed to do what he’d come to Gamble to do, he pulled a chair out of a corner and placed it in front of the trunk. Picking up Jay Novak’s journal, he began reading.

      Chapter 4

      Pam glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Dillon had been up in the attic for over an hour, and she couldn’t help but wonder how things were going. More than once she’d thought about going up to find out but had talked herself out of it. Instead she got busy looking over scripts for new plays her students had submitted.

      The ringing of her phone interrupted her thoughts and she had a feeling who the caller was without bothering to look at caller ID. Sighing deeply, she picked up the phone. “Hello?”

      “How are you, Pamela? This is Fletcher.”

      “I’m fine, Fletcher. How are things in Laramie?”

      “They are fine, but I received a call and I’m going to have to leave here and go to Montana and