Almost A Bravo. Christine Rimmer

still huddled in the corner by the door, was watching him. And now that he really looked at her, he could see Martin in her—in the soft, full shape of her mouth, the elegant line of her nose.

      He held out his hand. “Come back in, won’t you?”

      She looked at his outstretched fingers, considering. But she didn’t take them. “I’m sorry,” she said, as he gave up and dropped his arm back to his side. “I can’t do it—can’t go back in there. Can’t do...any of it.”

      Oh, yeah, she could. She had to do it. Impatience coiled like a snake inside him. But he refused to give in to it. Impatience wasn’t going to help him get through to her. “What’d I say a minute ago? You don’t have to decide right now.”

      Those doe eyes stayed locked with his. “I’m scaring you. I’m sorry.”

      “No, you’re not scaring me,” he lied.

      “Yes, I am. And I get it. You’d do anything, even marry a stranger, to keep the ranch you love.”

      Damn straight, he thought but somehow managed not to blurt out. “Look. It’s three months. You live nearby, right?”

      “In Valentine Bay.”

      “A half-hour drive from Wild River. Just think about it. We get married. You live at the ranch, which isn’t that far from your job or whatever. Three months. And you’re fifty thousand dollars richer.”

      She looked about to break down in tears. “It’s too much. I told you, I can’t—”

      “Wait.” He put up both hands. “You’re right. Don’t decide now. Just come back inside. That’s all I’m asking.”

      She drew herself up and said stiffly, “There’s something I have to say to you.”

      “Go for it.”

      “No matter what that crazy old fool thought, I am not in love with you.”

      She wanted him to say he believed her? Not a problem. Whatever she wanted, he would damn well provide it. “I get that. I believe that. You’re not in love with me and you never have been.”

      She frowned, as though judging his answer, turning his words over in her mind, weighing his sincerity. In the end, she nodded. “Good, then. I’m glad we have that cleared up, at least.”

      A heavily inked couple in matching short-sleeved plaid shirts, bib overalls and Birkenstocks came toward him. He fell back toward the curb a little and nodded as they passed between him and the woman in the doorway.

      When he stepped closer to Aislinn again, she was fiddling with the shoulder strap of her purse, all frustrated energy. And then she froze. Her soft mouth trembled. “I’m just having a little trouble processing, you know? I mean, if what that letter said is true, I’m not a Bravo. My sisters and brothers are not actually mine. At this moment, I have to tell you, I don’t even know who I am. And there’s a movie star living in Southern California who doesn’t know she’s got a whole family of amazing people she’s never even met. It’s all wrong. It can’t be true. I can’t even deal.”

      “You’re getting way ahead of yourself.”

      “You keep saying that.”

      “Because it’s true. Sometimes in life you just need to do the next thing—which, right now, is to go back inside and hear the rest of what Kip has to tell us.”

      She chewed on her plump lower lip—and the miracle happened. She nodded. “All right. But I’m likely to be late for work, so I need to call in first.”

      “Do it.”

      She got out her phone. He turned and went to wait by the stop sign, giving her privacy. A minute or two later, she came up beside him. “Let’s go.”

      * * *

      Ever the gentleman, Jax opened the door for her. Aislinn went through reluctantly.

      The receptionist gave her a too-bright smile as they passed her desk. In the conference room, Burt glared at her and Erma nodded, giving away nothing.

      Kip Anders said, “Aislinn. Excellent,” as though she’d done something wonderful. “Anyone care for more coffee or whatever?” When no one moved toward the credenza for a refill, he straightened his stack of papers. “All right, then, let’s continue.”

      Aislinn sat down and tried to ignore the frantic racing of her heart. Her hands were shaking. She folded them tightly in her lap to keep them still.

      “A few important points.” Kip sent them each a cool smile. “As you will see when you go over your copy of the will, Martin instructs that the wedding must take place within a week from today, and that it must also be ‘more than in name only.’”

      “What does that even mean?” Aislinn asked furiously.

      “And how do you enforce it?” asked Jax.

      “It is a gray area,” Anders replied. “In Oregon, there is no requirement for consummation by sexual relations. That means you will be legally married once you’ve acquired the marriage license and said your vows before a recognized official—be that a clergy person or a representative of the court. To be married ‘in more than name only’ in this case will include getting the license, going through with the ceremony and living together at Wild River for the full three months during which you must remain true to your marriage vows.”

      I’m not marrying anyone, Aislinn thought with vehemence. But she pressed her lips into a thin line and kept quiet for once. Her embarrassing long-ago crush on Jax aside, she considered him a good man. She liked him and she didn’t want to mess him over. That ranch meant the world to him. She couldn’t quite bring herself to outright refuse to help him keep what he wanted the most. At least not right now, not yet.

      She needed to think it over.

      And she would. After she met with her brothers and they confirmed that this story about Martin Durand being her father had to be a complete fabrication. First and foremost, she needed to reassure herself of the truth from the ones who had been there in Montedoro at Villa Della Torre on the night she was born.

      The lawyer said, “To further clarify, after the marriage ceremony, you two must be sexually monogamous for the required three months. You will cohabitate at the ranch house at Wild River. Martin has arranged for someone from Kircher and Anders to drop by randomly in order to confirm that you continue to live together for the entire three-month period required by the will.”

      “I hate to speak ill of the dead,” muttered Aislinn, because she had to say something, “but that old man was a terrible, awful, horrible person and I sincerely hope he is rotting in hell.”

      Burt grumbled something under his breath at that. Erma stared straight ahead. Jax only gave her a sympathetic glance and a one-shouldered shrug, as if to say, Yeah, I loved him, but I see your point.

      Kip Anders went on to explain that after the wedding, he would need a copy of the license to prove they had met the requirement of marrying within the week and to begin the countdown to the three-month time limit.

      At eleven forty, Kip Anders finally walked them out to the waiting room, where the receptionist gave each of them a blue folder containing copies of Martin’s infuriating letter and the will. Tucked in the front pocket of each folder was a contact sheet, which included a secure online address where they could access an electronic copy of everything in the folder.

      On the list of contacts was the phone number and address of the Seattle private investigator Martin had hired to find Madison and Paula Delaney.

      Aislinn cringed just at the sight of the PI’s name. That Martin had hired the man seemed yet another proof that his story might actually be true—though it wasn’t.

      Absolutely not. So what if Paula and Lloyd Delaney had once worked at Wild River and even had a daughter