Bombshell For The Black Sheep. Janice Maynard

against her seat and closed her eyes.

      Unfortunately, shutting Hartley out was not so easy. His masculine scent teased her nose. Her fingers itched to cross the divide between them and stroke his thigh. She wanted to help him. She really did. And she wanted to be with him. But her sense of self-preservation warned her to keep her distance.

      Instead, she was accompanying him to a meal and a social occasion that was sure to produce strong emotions and any one of a dozen possible outcomes, from uncomfortable silence to vocal recriminations.

      If she was lucky, the Tarletons would be on their best behavior. Fiona would be able to return home and would never again answer her door to a tall, handsome lover.

      Despite her misgivings, she was eager to see the beach house. Years ago, Gerald Tarleton had built a walled compound on the tip of a barrier island north of Charleston. Fiona knew of the property in general terms, but when Hartley steered the car through the front gates, she was both taken aback and enchanted.

      The structure rested on massive stilts, of course. A sweeping staircase led up to the beautiful double-door entrance. Even from the driveway, Fiona could see the intricate 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