Son of a Preacher Man - By Arianna Hart Page 0,8

Hornblower?”

“Yes indeedie. Why don’t you sit down here and have a glass of tea while I get your papers in order?”

“Thank you.” Nadya bit back the urge to tell him to get on with it. This was the South, and there was no such thing as getting straight to business. She’d have to make polite chitchat for close to half an hour before he finally got to the point as to why she was here. Might as well sit in the uncomfortable guest chair and bide her time.

Her gaze wandered the room as she sipped the sweet tea. It had enough sugar in it to keep ten dentists employed full time, but was ice-cold and refreshing. She sat up straighter when she spotted a fairly modern computer right next to a printer/copier/fax machine similar to the one she had in her office.

She’d been had.

“Excuse me, Mr. Hornblower? I thought you told me you couldn’t fax me the paperwork I needed to sign? I see you have a fax machine right there.”

“I didn’t say I couldn’t. I said I was unable to. My client wished for you to receive the information in person.”

“Really? When, exactly, did my mother retain you? She hasn’t been in Dale for twelve years, and I don’t remember there being a lawyer’s office here when we left.”

“Wasn’t your mama who retained me. It was your daddy.”

All the blood drained out of her head as she stared at the old man. Her ears heard the words, but her brain couldn’t process the information. Her father had retained the lawyer? What? If she could have felt her legs, she’d have gotten up and walked right out of the office, but she was afraid she’d fall on her face, her legs were so numb.

“I thought you said you had paperwork I needed from my mama?” was all she managed to say.

“No, I said I had some paperwork from your deceased parent. You jumped to the conclusion it was your mama, and I didn’t correct you.”

“I see.” Sneaky bastard. What would her father want with her now? She was thirty years old. “Wait, you said deceased parent. Does that mean my father is dead?”

“I’m ’fraid so. Your daddy was a good friend of mine, and it was his dying wish that I contact you with the details of his will. I have a letter here for you from him.”

“I don’t want it. I didn’t care what he had to say when he was alive. I damn well don’t care what he has to say now that he’s dead.”

“Don’t you even want to know who he is? What he left you in his will?”

“No. If that’s all, I’ll be leaving now.” Her legs were wobbly when she stood, but they held her up.

“Now just hold on there a minute. Tell you what I’m gonna do. You’ve had a mighty big shock. Why don’t you think about things for a day or two, and if you decide you want to hear what your daddy had to say, well, I’ll be here. If you don’t have the courage to face the truth, you can just run on back to New York and I’ll lock the papers in my safe.”

Her temper flared at the insult, but she bit her tongue before she could respond to the bait. She’d had years of practice controlling her temper; she wasn’t going to blow her top because this hillbilly called her a coward.

“Good day, Mr. Hornblower. I’ll see myself out.” Nadya gathered her purse and fled the office with all the decorum she could considering her brain was on autopilot.

The sun and heat assaulted her once again, but this time she barely registered the attack. All she wanted to do was get away before she did something stupid like turn around and beg the old bastard for the information. She was on the road to her former home before she realized it.

Old habits are hard to break.

Whenever she’d felt confused or upset, she’d always retreated to the safety of the woods and her special spot. Here she was again, heading for her sanctuary without even realizing it. The cabin was as good a place as any to regroup though, so she continued on to Deer Creek Road.

The twists and turns were as familiar to her as an old shoe. This part of town had never had any stores or development so there was nothing to fall on hard times. The trees might be a little taller, but they were

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