Dynasties: The Jarrods

Two

“You must be crazy,” Erica said fifteen minutes later.

The outdoor Italian café sat at the corner of a busy intersection in downtown San Francisco. Only a few of the dozen small round tables covered in bloodred tablecloths were occupied by people stopping for an early lunch. Inside the restaurant there were less hardy souls, diners not wanting to deal with the capricious wind. Fabrizio’s was one of Erica’s favorite places, but now she was sure this visit was going to forever take the shine off the restaurant for her.

Staring across the table at the man who watched her through steady eyes, she repeated what she’d said only moments before. “You’re wrong. This is crazy. I am not Donald Jarrod’s illegitimate heir.”

Their waiter came up to the table just as she finished speaking and Erica felt heat rush up her neck and fill her cheeks. She only hoped the man hadn’t heard her. That would be perfect. She was known here. People would talk. Speculate.

They would anyway, she realized. The Jarrod family, much like the Prentice family, was big news. Even if this wasn’t true—which, she assured herself silently, it wasn’t—word would get out and soon Erica would be the subject of tabloid gossip and whispered innuendos from those she knew.

She could just imagine the reactions from her father and stepmother, Angela. Walter Prentice loathed scandal. He’d raised his children to believe that family business was private and that getting one’s name in the paper was not something to be desired. Now, Erica thought, ancient dirty laundry would be spread out for the world to read about and enjoy and she and her family would be the punch line to mean-spirited jokes told at cocktail parties.

Oh, God, this just couldn’t be happening.

“Iced tea for the lady,” the waiter was saying as he divested his tray of drinks, “and coffee for the gentleman. Have you decided on lunch?”

“No,” Christian said. “We need a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” the young man told him, then gave them each a smile and left them alone with their menus.

Erica didn’t even glance at hers. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be hungry again. She grabbed her tea, took a long drink to ease the dryness in her throat and then set the glass down. Keeping her voice low enough that Christian was forced to lean across the table to hear her over the discordant hum of traffic, she said, “I don’t know what this is about, or what you’re up to, but …”

“If you’ll hear me out, I’ll try to explain.”

He looked as if he wished he were anywhere but there and Erica knew exactly how he felt. She wanted nothing more than to jump up, vault over the iron railing separating the café tables from the sidewalk and disappear into the crowds. But since that wasn’t going to happen, she told herself to remain calm and listen to him. Once he was finished saying his piece, she’d simply walk away and put this hideous conversation out of her mind forever.

He threw a quick glance at the table closest to them as if to assure himself he wouldn’t be overheard, then he looked back to Erica. His dark chocolate eyes shone with determination as he said quietly, “I realize this is a shock—”

“It would be if it were true,” she allowed.

“It is true, Ms. Prentice.” His voice dropped another notch. “Would I be here if this were all some elaborate joke?”

“Maybe,” she said. “For all I know this is some sort of extortion attempt or something.”

Now those dark eyes of his fired with indignation. “I’m an attorney. I’m here at the behest of my late employer. It was his final wish that I come to you personally to deliver this news.”

Erica nodded, seeing the insult her jibe had delivered and said, “Fine. It’s not a joke. But it is a mistake. Believe me when I tell you, I’m the daughter of Walter Prentice.”

“No,” he said tightly. “You’re not. I have documentation to back me up.”

She took a breath of the cold, clear air, hoping it would brace her for what was coming. If this was a mistake, she’d find out soon enough. If it was all true, she needed to see proof. “Show me.”

He delved into his briefcase and handed her a smaller manila envelope than the one he’d shown her earlier at her office. Warily, she took it, her fingers barely touching it, as if she half expected the thing to blow up in her hands. But it didn’t and she opened the clasp and slid free the three sheets of paper inside.

The first document was a letter. Written to Don Jarrod and signed by … Erica’s mother. Her heart lodged in her throat as she stared at the elegant handwriting. Her mother had died in childbirth, so Erica had always felt cheated out of a relationship with the woman her brothers remembered so clearly. Danielle Prentice had kept a journal though, one that had been passed on to Erica when she was sixteen. She’d spent hours reading those pages, getting to know the mother she’d never known. So she recognized that beautiful, familiar handwriting and it was almost as if her mother were there with them at the table.

The note was brief, but Erica felt the grief in the words written there.

My dear Don,

I wanted you to know that I don’t regret our time together. Though what we shared was never meant to last, I will always remember you with affection. That said, you must see that you can never acknowledge our child. Walter has forgiven me and has promised to love this child as he has our sons. And so I ask that you stay away and let us rebuild our lives. It’s best for all of us.

Love,

Danielle

Shock faded into stunned, reluctant acceptance as Erica’s eyes misted over with tears. Not once in her journals had Danielle ever even hinted at the affair she had had with Don Jarrod. Yet these few, simple words were impossible to deny even as the page before her blurred and she blinked frantically to clear her vision. Slowly she traced the tip of one finger across the faded ink, as if she could actually touch her mother. Though a ball of ice had settled in the pit of her stomach, she realized that this letter explained so much.

Walter had never been an overly affectionate father, even with Erica’s older brothers. But with her, Walter had been even more … distant. Now at least, she knew why. She wasn’t his child. She was, instead, a constant reminder of his wife’s infidelity. Oh, God.

Christian was sitting there across from her and not speaking, and for that she was grateful. If he tried to say something kind or sweet or sympathetic, she’d lose what little control she was desperately clinging to.

She lifted her gaze to look at him and said in a last-ditch attempt to avoid the inevitable, “How do I know my mother actually wrote this letter? For all I know you’ve had it forged for your own reasons.”

“And what could those be?” Christian asked. “What possible reason could the Jarrod family have for lying about this?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted as she frantically tried to come up with something, anything that might explain all of this away. Her family wasn’t a close one, but they were all she had. If she accepted this as truth, wouldn’t that mean she would lose them all?

“Look at the other two papers,” he urged, taking a sip of his coffee.

She didn’t want to, but didn’t know how to avoid it. Pretending this day had never happened, that Christian Hanford had never appeared at her office, wouldn’t work. Hiding her head in the sand wouldn’t change anything. If this were actually true, then she had to know. And if it were all some elaborate lie, then she had to know that, too.

Nodding to herself, she looked at the next paper and froze in place. It was a letter from her father to Donald Jarrod and it managed, in a few short lines, to completely disintegrate the last of her doubts.

Jarrod,

My wife is dead, delivering your daughter. This letter is as close as you’ll ever get to the child, make no mistake. If you try to get around me, I’ll see to it that you regret it.

Walter Prentice

“Oh, my God.” Erica slumped against her chair and looked at Christian.

“I’m sorry this is so hard.” His voice was without inflection, but she thought she caught the sheen of sincerity in his dark brown eyes. Still, his being sorry didn’t change anything.

“I don’t even know what to say,” she whispered, staring at her father’s handwriting. She’d have known that scrawl anywhere. She knew it was genuine because as her older brothers had long said, what forger could ever reproduce such hideous writing?

God. Her brothers.

Half brothers.

Did they all know? Had they been lying to her, too, all these years? Was nothing in her life what she’d thought it was? If she wasn’t Erica Prentice, then just who was she?

“Ms. Prentice … Erica,” Christian said, “I know you’re having a hard time with this.”

“I don’t think you could have the slightest idea,” she told him.

“Fair enough,” he said. “But I do know that your biological father regretted never being able to know you.”

“Did he?” She shook her head, unsure just what she felt about Donald Jarrod. What kind of man was it who slept with another man’s wife? Who created a child and then never made an attempt to acknowledge it? Had Walter’s letter really kept Don Jarrod away? Was he that easily put off? Had his affair with Danielle and Erica’s birth meant nothing to him?

As if he knew exactly where her thoughts had taken her, Christian said, “Donald’s wife, Margaret, died of cancer, leaving him with five children to raise alone when the youngest, your sister Melissa, was only two.”

“My sister,” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said, “and Melissa is eager to meet you, by the way. She’s delighted she’s not the only girl in the family anymore.”

“I’m the only girl in my family, too—” Erica laughed shortly as she looked at him. “But then, apparently I’m not.”

An icy wind blasted down the street and the sun slipped behind a bank of gray clouds. Erica shivered, but didn’t know if it was the emotional reaction or the sudden drop in temperature that caused it.

Christian said, “Don met your mother at a vulnerable point in his life—”

“And that excuses him?”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said, his features tightening even as his voice grew clipped. “I’m simply trying to explain it to you the same way Don did for me. He knew how you’d feel hearing this news.”

“I’m surprised he gave it a thought,” she said. “Not one word from him my whole life and now I’m supposed to be grateful that my biological father is popping up after his death?”

“He didn’t contact you because he thought it would make your life more difficult.”

“Putting it lightly.”

“Exactly. Don’t think you weren’t on his mind, though.” Christian folded his hands around his coffee cup. “I knew him for a lot of years and I can tell you that to him, family was most important. It must have driven him insane knowing you were here and completely out of his reach.”

“So my father’s—Walter’s—threat worked. Donald stayed away from me to avoid scandal.”

“No.” Christian smiled a little at that. “Don wasn’t worried about what other people thought of him. My guess is he stayed away out of respect for you and your father. He wasn’t the kind of man to go out looking to destroy marriages.”

“And yet …”

Christian shook his head. “Just before he died, Don talked to me about all of this because he knew I’d be the one coming to see you.”

“So even when he knew he was dying, he didn’t get in touch with me.” Erica wasn’t sure how she felt about that. If Donald Jarrod had contacted her, would she have believed him? Would she have welcomed him? She couldn’t say. Her relationship with her father had never been a good one, but she did love Walter. He was her father. The only one she’d ever known.

Didn’t she at least owe him loyalty?

Frowning, the man across from her admitted, “I argued with him about that. I thought he should talk to you. Tell you this himself. But he refused to go back on his word. He’d sworn to Walter he would stay away and he did, though I believe it cost him a great deal to keep that promise.”

“I’ll have to take your word for that, won’t I?”

“I guess so.” Their waiter appeared with a coffeepot to refill Christian’s cup, but when he would have stayed to take their order, he was waved away again. “Look,” Christian continued when they were alone again. “Just do me a favor and read the last letter in that envelope before I say any more.”

She really didn’t want to. What more was there to tell? What in her life was left to shake up and rearrange? Yet, morbid curiosity had a grip on her now and Erica knew she’d have to satisfy it.

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised when she glanced at the bottom of the page and saw the name Donald Jarrod in a bold signature. Lifting her gaze to the top of the paper, she read,

My Dear Erica,

I know how you must be feeling right now and I can’t blame you. But please know that if I had been given the opportunity, I would have loved you as I cared for your mother.

People—even parents—aren’t perfect. We make mistakes. But if we get the chance we try to correct them. This is my chance. Come to Colorado. Meet your other family. And one day, I hope you’ll be able to think of me kindly.

Your father,

Donald Jarrod

Again her eyes misted over. She had never known her mother. She’d grown up with a stepmother, Angela, who had been as distant in her own way as Walter had. Now, it turned out, she’d never known her father, either.

“Did you read these letters?”

“No. Don gave them to me in the closed envelope and they’ve stayed sealed up until just now.”

She looked at him. “And I’m supposed to take your word for that, too?”

He met her gaze. “I’ll never lie to you, Erica. That is one thing you can depend on.”

Since she’d only just discovered that her entire life had been based on a lie, that should have been a comforting statement. On the other hand, she didn’t know if the statement itself was a lie.

A headache burst into life behind her eyes and Erica knew it was only going to get worse. So it was best if she just finished this meeting as quickly as possible. Then she could get away. Think. Plan. Try to make some sense out of this insensible situation.

Pushing her hair out of her eyes as the wind whipped it into a frenzy, she said, “All right. Say I believe you. I’m Donald Jarrod’s daughter. What now?”

He reached down for his briefcase, opened it and extracted the manila envelope he’d shown her earlier. “As a beneficiary of Don’s will, you receive an equal share of his estate.”

“What?”

He gave her a small smile. “The estate’s been split between all six of his children.”

Erica sighed and took a gulp of her iced tea. “I can imagine how news of me went over at the reading of the will.”

“As you might guess. Surprise. Shock.”

“Sounds like we’ll have a lot in common,” she said wryly, still reeling from the information overload she’d experienced.

“More than you might think,” he told her as he slid the envelope across the table toward her. “There’s a catch to your inheritance, though.”

“Of course there is,” she mused, laying her fingertips atop the will as if she needed the physical contact to assure herself that this was all for real.

“Each of you has to move to Aspen to help run the family business. If you don’t …”

“If we don’t, then no inheritance.”

“Basically.”

“Move to Aspen?” She glanced around her at the city she’d grown up in and loved. The city sidewalks were at the bottom of canyons built of steel and brick. Sly sunlight poking through gray clouds appeared and disappeared as if performing magic tricks. Crowds of pedestrians hustled along, everyone hurrying, fighting the wind and the snarls of traffic. Car horns blared, music from a street corner musician peeled out and somewhere close by, a tiny dog yapped impatiently.

The city was hers.

What did she know about Colorado?

But was that even the point? How could she not go? Yet, if she did, how would her father and brothers react?

Christian watched her features and knew just by looking at her that her thoughts were tumultuous. Why wouldn’t they be, though? He’d known that what he’d had to say to her would shake the foundations of her life. Make her question everything she had ever known.

And he still resented the hell out of the fact that Donald had left this mess in his hands.

“You don’t have to make any decisions right now,” he said after a few long minutes had passed.

She gave him a reluctant, halfhearted smile. “That’s good, because I don’t think I could.”

Nodding, Christian offered, “Why don’t you take a few days? Make your decision, then call me.” He scribbled his cell number on the back of his business card, then handed it to her. “According to the will, you’ve got a couple of weeks to take up your place at the resort. Use the time. Think about what you want to do.”

She held his card and ran her thumb over the embossed lettering in a slow stroke that mesmerized Christian. His body stirred and he shifted uncomfortably on his chair. He didn’t need this attraction to her and wished he could shut it all down.

Unfortunately, the longer he was with her, the stronger that attraction became. What he’d like to do was blow off the business talk, take her for an elegant meal and then off to his hotel where he could lay her down across his bed and they could spend a couple of hours enjoying themselves. If she was any other woman, that’s exactly what he would do.

That thought made him even more uncomfortable than he had been before.

Erica Prentice was off-limits and if she ended up going to Aspen—which he thought she would—then his body had better get used to living with disappointment.

“A decision,” she said softly, locking her gaze with his. “We both know what that decision will be.”

“I think I do,” he told her. “You’re going to accept the conditions of the will.”

“How can I not?”

He smiled in approval. “You have more of your father in you than you know.”

“Which one?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” he countered.

Christian studied the woman across from him and tried once again to take a mental step back from the raging lust pounding through him. He’d never had such an immediate reaction to any woman before, and it was disconcerting as hell when he was trying to concentrate on business.

Her face was an open book. Every emotion she felt was written there for the world to see and he had to admit that he liked that about her. There were no artifices. What you saw with Erica Prentice was what you got.

She was strong, as well. The kind of news he’d just delivered might have flattened most women, but she was already finding a way to deal with it. Might not be easy, but he didn’t think she was the kind of woman to run from a challenge. Her whiskey-colored eyes shone with tears she refused to shed and that, too, struck a spark of admiration in him. She could control her emotions, which would be good once she hit Aspen.

Dealing with a whole new family wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to bet she’d make it work. But he had to wonder how the Jarrod siblings were going to handle it. They’d all been shocked of course, but he’d expected that. He hadn’t counted on the outright hostility he’d sensed from Blake and Guy. If they tried taking their outrage at their father out on Erica, Christian would just have to stop them.

Surprised at the thought, he realized that he was feeling … protective of her. Which didn’t make a bit of sense since he’d only just met her. But there it was. She’d had her whole life turned upside down and inside out and damned if he’d let the Jarrod twins make her feel even worse about it.

“Is there something else you’re not telling me?”

He looked at Erica. “What? No. Why do you ask?”

“Because you suddenly looked fierce enough to bite through steel.”

“Oh.” Apparently his legendary poker face, his ability to mask his emotions, was slipping today. “No, it’s nothing. I was just thinking about some business I have to take care of back in Aspen.”

“Right. You live there, too.”

“I do.” He smiled to himself, thinking about the home he had built on the Jarrod property. “I’ve got a house on the resort grounds. Don wanted his lawyer close by.”

“Handy.”

“It has been.” He shrugged and expanded on that a little. “I grew up in Aspen. Worked at the Jarrod Resort as a teenager.”

“So you knew my—” she stopped and rephrased what she’d been about to say “—Don Jarrod a long time.”

“Since I was a kid.”

“So you know his children, too.”

“Sure. We didn’t hang out together as kids, but I knew them. Got to know them better later on.”

“What’re they like?”

“You know,” he said, glancing around for the waiter that had apparently given up on them ordering lunch, “we should get a meal while we talk.”

“I’m not hungry, thanks.”

“Oh.” He should have figured she’d still be too shaken to eat. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Just tell me how they took this news. Are they furious? Am I going to be facing a firing squad in Colorado?”

He gave her a smile he hoped was reassuring. “Nothing so dramatic. I admit they were as stunned as you. But they’re nice people. They’ll deal with it.”

She took a deep breath and blew it out again. “I suppose we’ll all have to.”

There it was, he thought, that thread of steel running through her slender, feminine body. “I have to say, I’m surprised at how well you’re taking this. I actually expected you to need more convincing.”

She shook her head and thought about that for a moment before answering. When she did, her voice was soft and low. “I’ve just discovered that my entire life has been built on lies.” Her eyes met his and Christian felt the power of her stare slam into him. “I have to know the truth. I don’t expect you to understand this, but I feel as though I have to go. Not for the inheritance. I don’t need Don Jarrod’s money. I have to go for me. I have to find out who I really am.”

He had the oddest urge to reach across the table and cover her hand with his. His palm actually burned to touch her, but he resisted, somehow knowing that one touch would be both too much and not enough. Instead, he kept his voice deliberately businesslike as he said, “I do understand. You need to see both of your lives to be able to accept either one.”

She tipped her head to one side and studied him. “You do understand.” After a long moment, she turned her head to look out at the street pulsing with life behind them. “Until this morning, I thought my life was pretty dull. Routine. The biggest problem facing me this morning was getting through the morning meeting at the office. Now, I don’t know what to think.”

“Maybe you should give yourself a break. Don’t try to figure anything out yet.” He saw confusion and hurt in her eyes and he didn’t like the fact that it bothered him. “All I’m saying is, wait. Go to Aspen. Meet your other family. Take some time.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Before I can do that, I have to go see my father,” she said. “I need to hear what he has to say about this.”

“Of course.” He stood up as she did and held out one hand toward her. When she slid her palm against his, heat skittered up the length of his arm to reverberate through his chest. Oh, yes, touching her was an invitation to disaster. Instantly, he released her hand again. “I’ll be flying back to Aspen tomorrow, so if you have any other questions, I’m at the Hyatt at the Embarcadero.”

She smiled. “I love that hotel. Good choice.”

“Nice view of the bay,” he admitted. As she picked up her purse and the manila envelopes he’d given her, Christian heard himself say, “Call me when you’re ready to come to Colorado. I’ll tell you what to expect when you arrive.”