Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,18
were hard and clipped this time, even as his continued proximity made butterflies burst from cocoons in the centre of her body.
“Still a little cranky from our scuffle this morning, are we?” She pulled herself out of his sphere of control and sauntered across the kitchen to take coffee spoons from a drawer. Getting back in the game, girl. Good for you.
“Old news. Right now I’m concerned about seeing Jack’s wishes carried out.”
“I assume my mother, being his only child, will inherit everything…except the legendary salmon rod.” She swung to face him. “When she does, she’ll have no choice but to sell. She’s not about to leave my father in order to operate this place, and he can’t relocate here.”
“Jack wanted the Chance to stay in his family.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“You could take it over.” He moved to tower above her. “You’re supposed to be a financial wizard, a pioneer female executive in that company of yours, according to Jack.”
“Me? Take on this place?” The words were a gusty exhale. “Are you crazy?”
“You’ve got a responsibility to Jack’s memory.” He strode over to the percolator and took a mug from a cupboard above it. “What did you leave behind in Toronto? A high-priced chrome-and-glass apartment and an office with a view of the next high-rise? Maybe some stiff-assed boyfriend with about as much guts as a worm?”
“That coffee is for lunch.” She snatched the cup from his hand.
“Fine. Maybe it’s time I hit some of Jack’s twelve-year-old Scotch.”
He started toward the dining room, but she dashed to block his way.
“Oh, no, you don’t! I won’t have whiskey on your breath when the lawyer arrives.”
“Stop giving orders.” His eyes glinted gold fire. “You don’t own this place yet.”
“Technically, no, but actually, yes. Watch it, Mister God’s Gift to Women, or I’ll fire you here and now!” She was on tiptoes trying to get face to face with him as she sputtered out her threat, and suddenly he burst out laughing.
“You do that,” he chuckled finally. “You just do that, boss lady. There’re guests arriving in two weeks, and you haven’t one sweet clue how to deal with them.”
Before she could catch her breath, he caught her by the shoulders, pulled her close and brought his mouth down over hers in a mouth-consuming, breathtaking kiss. Drawn full length against his body so fast she didn’t have time to conjure a response, her instincts took over…and she kissed him back, full mouth, tongue to tongue.
“Vehicle.” He pushed her out at arms’ length, head tilted, listening. “Probably the lawyer.”
He turned and strode out to meet the newcomer. As the door slammed shut behind him, Allison collapsed against a counter.
Wow! Oh, good lord, no! Not wow. Definitely not wow.
****
Matthew Chamberlain was a tall, handsome, gray-haired man, well groomed and professional. He took the place Allison indicated at the head of the dining room table, declined the sandwiches, accepted a cup of black coffee, then opened his brief case and took out his reading glasses.
As the attorney began to sort through the papers inside his satchel, Allison, seated on his right, took the opportunity to narrow her eyes and purse her lips at Heath, seated across from her. He responded with a syrupy smile that made her blood pressure surge.
“Ah, here it is.” Matthew Chamberlain drew out a document and opened it on the table. “There is, of course, the usual sound mind, etc., preamble, which I’m sure you’re both familiar with and so I’ll leave it unread. Then Jack—Mr. Adams—goes on to mention a particular salmon rod, one with some special significance to you, I believe, Mr. Oakes.” He paused and looked at Heath over his glasses.
“Yes.” He leaned back in his chair, looking smugly vindicated.
“Well, it’s yours.”
Allison stifled a sigh of relief. The rest of the estate would be her mother’s inheritance.
“Now, here it gets a bit involved.” The lawyer settled deeper into his chair and adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Adams was adamant that his real estate, namely this area known as the Chance, be maintained as pristine wilderness and an educational area to enlighten future generations to the need for preservation of it and all places like it. As well…” Matthew Chamberlain raised his gaze from the papers and looked sharply at first Heath and then Allison.
Yes, yes, go on! Get to the point.
“Mr. Adams wanted the Chance to remain in his family in perpetuity. With this in mind, he left forty-nine percent to his granddaughter, Allison Armstrong, and…”
“Fifty-one percent to his