The Ashtons: Paige, Grant & Trace. Roxanne St. Claire

contracted a Halloween event to launch Symphonics’ new karaoke computer product, the VoiceBox,” she said. “Maybe you two will come back up here for it. A costume party—come as your favorite musician.”

      Lilah reacted with a delighted coo. “How creative! Let’s see…” Her blue eyes twinkled as she looked fondly at Tamra. “You could be Cher.”

      For a moment, Tamra’s cheeks darkened, then she grinned. “She’s a Cherokee, Lilah. I could never pull off Cher.”

      “Plus she must be near sixty by now,” Walker added and held up his cup as Irena entered the room with a pot of coffee.

      “I hope you’re not talking about me, Mr. Walker.” The housekeeper spoke quietly, but the comment elicited smiles all around.

      “Not a chance,” Walker reassured her with a teasing wink. “You’re nowhere near sixty, Irena.”

      “As a matter of fact I am, Mr. Walker,” she said as she poured coffee into his cup. “But you’re sweet to say that.”

      Her warm smile was directed to Walker, but a sudden good feeling filled Paige as she watched the exchange. They had their quirks and problems, but this was her family. Extended and otherwise. And so, she remembered, were the virtual strangers at Louret Vineyards. Regardless of their father’s deceptions and dalliances.

      Once again she vowed to visit her half siblings in the next few days, but before she could take another sip of coffee, she felt Walker’s intense dark stare return to her. When he wanted to know something, there was very little escaping.

      “So,” he said. “I take it your client contact will be the CEO himself.”

      She simply nodded and focused on the rim of her coffee cup.

      “Be careful, little cousin,” he said. “You can get burned when you play with fire.”

      Her head shot up. “I’m not playing with anything.”

      Lilah smoothed a strand of Merlot-colored hair and attempted a concerned frown. The Botox made forehead creases a thing of the past for her. “What are you talking about, Walker? What is she playing with?”

      Paige felt the blood rise to her cheeks. “Nothing, Mother.” She shot Walker a warning look. “Walker is imagining things.”

      He said nothing, but pinned her with that impassive stare, his half-Sioux blood evident in the sheer power of his look. Tamra put a gentle hand on his arm. “We really have to be going if we want to be back in San Francisco before noon,” she said softly.

      Walker nodded, his expression automatically softening at Tamra’s touch.

      Paige thanked Tamra for the reprieve with a quick look of appreciation. But part of her desperately wanted to know why Walker thought she was playing with fire. She’d ask him…sometime.

      In the meantime that “fire” had warmed and attracted her. More than anything—or anyone—she’d ever met. She kept remembering the gentle kiss and how she wanted to open her mouth and take him in. The way her whole body just tingled when he looked into her eyes. The sound of his voice, so deep and low it vibrated her every cell when he said her name. The way he made her laugh and all their verbal volleying. His strong, clever, musician’s hands. What they could do to her…

      “Don’t you think, Paige?”

      She looked up at her mother’s question and took a cue from her smiling face. Whatever they’d been discussing, it sounded like something she should agree to. She nodded and sipped, blessedly saved by Megan’s familiar voice in the hall, followed by the sound of their brother Trace coming down the main steps and greeting her.

      In a moment the Ashton dining room was filled with more family, and Paige quietly watched the interplay between them all. Megan’s green eyes sparkled as she rubbed the rounded swell of her tummy. Walker and Tamra settled in to stay a few minutes longer and, without anyone seeming to intentionally steer the conversation, the talk automatically turned to Spencer Ashton’s will and the investigation of his murder.

      “Stephen is confident the discovery of these letters will be a major turning point in the case,” Lilah said, referring to the family attorney who’d spent so much time at the estate lately. “He’s meeting with investigators every day and keeping me informed every step of the way.”

      Paige’s brother Trace leaned against the wall, stoic and strong as always, and deeply unhappy about the situation. He ran a hand over his jaw and blew out a frustrated breath. “There’ve been a lot of dead ends.”

      “There could be DNA on those letters, regardless of the fact that some are nearly ten years old.” Megan’s husband, Simon, held out a chair for Megan and casually brushed her long blond hair as he offered his opinion. “We need to give them time to run every possible test.”

      “It’s taking too long,” Lilah said with such disdain Paige could imagine her making a tsking sound. “I’m going to ask Stephen to pressure the investigators for more attention on the case.”

      “We need closure,” Trace agreed, his green eyes—so like Megan’s—narrowing. “Both families do.”

      Paige listened, as always, hearing and weighing each opinion. As the youngest and the quietest, her voice was rarely heard, but when she spoke, her siblings and cousin gave her their attention.

      “I’m going to Louret on Tuesday,” she announced, surprising herself with her definitive air. “I want to talk to Mercedes again.” And meet my little brother, she added in her head. She didn’t mention her father’s illegitimate child in front of her mother.

      Her comment sparked a flurry of discussion, but Paige just stood and took her coffee cup back into the butler’s pantry.

      Her mind wasn’t on family issues today, she told herself as the heated voices droned on. Her mind—and her body—were elsewhere.

      Maybe Matt was sincere in his attraction, she thought for the fiftieth time that morning. She’d find out today. And if she trusted him, if she believed him, she was more than ready to—

      “Why are you grinning?” Megan had come up behind her in the hallway and slid a sisterly hug around Paige’s waist. “These discussions usually get you tearyeyed or passionate about fairness, sweetie. I demand to know what—or who—put a smile on your face.”

      Paige turned and gazed at her sister. Pregnancy had only made her prettier, but obviously it hadn’t dampened her controlling nature. “You demand to know?” Paige laughed lightly. “My mood seems to be of interest to everyone this morning.”

      Megan leaned against the granite counter of the butler’s pantry and eyed Paige. “How did the meeting go last night?”

      The emphasis was not lost on Paige. “Fine. We got the event.”

      “You look a little—” Megan’s finger skimmed lightly under one of Paige’s eyes “—tired.”

      Paige pulled back. “I’m doing the work of two people, remember? By the way, how’s the morning sickness?”

      “Getting better,” Megan admitted, rubbing her tummy again. “I can keep down broth and crackers. Don’t change the subject.”

      “I’m not.” Part of her wanted to confide in Megan, to tell her the insane feelings that Matt Camberlane had evoked. But she held back. The rest of her family was twenty feet away, and she just wasn’t ready to share anything. Maybe after this afternoon.

      “Simon and I are going to drive up to Calistoga this afternoon and look for baby furniture in the antique stores,” Megan said. “Come with us.”

      Paige shook her head. “No, thanks. I’m busy.”

      “Doing what?”

      “Work,” Paige replied, purposely vague.

      “On a Sunday?”