A Baby For Emily
“Apparently.” He polished off his coffee and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Can you be ready to leave by ten-thirty?”
“Leave?”
“You have an eleven o’clock appointment to meet with your attorney. I’ll drive you.”
Emily groaned. “Do I have to? I know what the will says. Everything comes to me.”
“I’m afraid you don’t have a choice. Life goes on, and the first of the month is coming up.”
“So?”
“So you’ll have to pay bills—car payments, mortgage payment, utilities, that sort of thing. Then there’s the funeral costs. Your attorney will have to file the will with the Probate Court before all the assets can be released to you.”
“I suppose you’re right. Oh, Lord, I have no idea where to start. Keith always handled those things.”
Dillon frowned. “Are you telling me that you have no knowledge of your personal finances? How much you have? What you owe? What your investments are? Dammit, Emily, that’s crazy.”
“You don’t have to act as though I’m a twittery fluffbrain. I did offer to take on the job after we married, but Keith insisted on turning everything over to Bob Larson. He’s our tax attorney and business manager and an old friend of Keith’s.”
“Yeah, I know who Bob Larson is. He and Keith went through public school and college together.”
Emily shot Dillon a curious look. He’d made the statement matter-of-factly, but something in his voice told her that Bob Larson wasn’t one of his favorite people.
“That’s right. Anyway, Keith said he didn’t want me to be burdened with boring financial matters and he didn’t have the time to handle them himself.”
Actually, the arrangement had bothered Emily a great deal when she and Keith had first married. By then, at age twenty-two, she had been on her own for years and had been accustomed to paying bills and handling her own finances. That discussion had sparked one of the few serious arguments that she and Keith had ever had.
“Still, Keith should have kept you up to date on your financial picture,” Dillon insisted.
“I know,” she said wearily. “I tried to convince him of that, but whenever I brought the matter up it always seemed to anger him, as though he thought I didn’t trust him.”
“Well, you’re going to have to jump in with both feet now. Whether you take over your finances or you continue to retain Larson, you’ll need to familiarize yourself with your fiscal situation.
“Within a week or so you’ll have to start dealing with whatever obligations you have. You can probably access your joint accounts, but if there are any others solely in Keith’s name, neither you nor Larson can access those until the will has cleared probate.”
Propping her elbows on the table, Emily dropped her head in her hands and groaned again. “I can’t deal with this right now.”
“You don’t have a choice. Look, if it’ll help, I’ll sit in on the meetings with you. But this has to be handled.”
Emily raised her head and found herself looking into her brother-in-law’s intense blue eyes. She had never expected the time would come when she would be grateful for Dillon’s company. “You’d do that?”
“Sure. That’s what I’m here for.”
Emily stared at the attorney in disbelief. “What do you mean, there’s nothing left? There has to be. My husband was a physician with a highly successful practice.”
Bob Larson shifted in his chair, and looked at her pityingly. “I’m sorry, Emily.”
“But…we had investments—stocks, bonds, real estate, that sort of thing.”
“All gone.” Bob’s mouth compressed into a grim line. “I did advise Keith not to sell off his assets. Actually, I pleaded with him, but he wouldn’t listen. Over the past four years, one by one, he liquidated almost everything.”
“There was a sizeable life insurance policy. What about that?”
“He cashed it in about a year ago.”
“Our savings?”
“That, too. I’m afraid all you have is whatever is in your checking account.”
“Oh, dear Lord.” Emily sagged against the chair back, dazed. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a bad dream. Surely she would wake up soon.
But it was real. Horribly real. Her husband had not only been unfaithful, he had deceived her in other ways as well. And apparently he’d left her penniless.
“Wait a minute,” Dillon said, leaning forward in his chair beside Emily. “How could Keith sell his stocks and other investments without Emily’s knowledge? Wasn’t she co-owner? If so, her signature would have been required, too.”
“Yes, of course. And I assure you, the documents were properly signed and executed.”
Dillon looked at Emily. “Did you ever sign anything for Keith without knowing what the document was?”
Emily shook her head slowly, still too stunned to speak.
“You must be mistaken, Emily,” Bob insisted. “Keith couldn’t have sold those assets without your signature.”
“Not unless he signed her name to them himself,” Dillon stated.
“Oh, I hardly think Keith would do that.” Bob gave a dismissive chuckle, but a look from Dillon turned the sound into an embarrassed cough.
“Apparently he did.”
Emily’s stunned gaze fixed on her brother-in-law. “Are you saying he forged my name?”
“Looks like it.”
She felt sick. Just when she thought she’d learned the worst of Keith, she discovered yet another layer of duplicity.
Emily felt as though she been beaten to a bloody pulp, knocked to the ground, then kicked while she was down.
“If that’s the case, let me assure you, I had no idea,” Bob asserted. “Had I even suspected such a thing, I would have done everything in my power to stop him.”
He drummed his fingers on the desktop and heaved a sigh. “I hate to give you more bad news, but I’m afraid you will be held responsible for all of Keith’s outstanding debts. As soon as I file the will with the Probate Court, the people to whom Keith owes money will be coming to you for restitution.”
“Yes, I know. Dillon has already reminded me to make the mortgage and car payments.”
Bob cleared his throat. “Well…uh…I’m afraid there are considerably more debts than that. Keith has several outstanding loans.”
“He borrowed money? Without telling me?”
“I’m afraid so. Of course, I had no way of knowing that he hadn’t consulted you.”
“I’d like to see those loan documents,” Dillon said in a brusque voice. “You do have them, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but, uh…I’m sorry, Dillon, but I can’t turn them over to you. That would be a breach of attorney-client confidentiality.”
Dillon drilled him with a narrow stare. “Your client is deceased. Emily is his sole heir and, as you pointed out, liable for his debts and obligations. I am here at her request to advise her. Now, you can either give us all records related to Keith now, or we’ll get a court order. Either way, you will hand them over.”
Bob’s mouth compressed. It was obvious that he wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t quite muster the nerve. “Very well, if you insist.” He flipped through a thick file folder, withdrew a single sheet of paper and handed it across the desk to Dillon. “Here is a list of all of Keith’s loans.”
Dillon barely scanned the sheet. “These are just totals. I want the loan documents and every other scrap of paper pertaining to my brother. Now,” he added when Bob’s expression turned mulish.
For several seconds the two men engaged in a silent battle of wills, their gazes locked, but Bob Larson was no match for Dillon.
“Oh, all right,” he snapped finally and shoved a thick file folder across the desk toward him.
“I don’t understand,” Emily said as Dillon flipped through the folder. “Why on earth did Keith need so much money? Where did it all go? Surely he didn’t spend it all on…on that woman.”
“I’d like to hear the answer to that, too,” Dillon said. “And don’t try to tell me you didn’t know what was going on. You and my brother were old friends.” He tapped the file folder with the back of his knuckles. “And with this kind of extravagant spending you must have questioned him.”
Bob’s face turned pink and he squirmed in his chair. Then he heaved a weary sigh, like a man about to come clean and unburden his conscience.
“All right. I guess there’s no reason to keep his secrets now. I’ve known for years that Keith was doing some risky financial maneuvering—taking out high-interest, short-term personal loans to pay off credit cards and other debts, sometimes to pay off a previous loan. He was always just a step ahead of disaster—what my grandmother used to call, robbing Peter to pay Paul. He did spend a lot on women, but—”
“Women?” Emily gasped. “You mean there was more than one?”
“I’m afraid so. Over the years Keith had a string of mistresses. For a time, each one occupied the town house.”
“I see.” The words hit her like a fist to the midsection. Emily’s heart contracted with pain, but she somehow managed to hold her head high.
“But that’s not where all the money went,” he continued. “It was a combination of things, really. As I’m sure you know, your husband had very expensive taste.”
“Yes, that’s certainly true.” Their home was a prime example. From the first, Emily had thought it too large and ostentatious, and much too expensive. She had wanted to purchase something a bit smaller, but Keith had insisted that a doctor of his standing needed a showplace home.
“While he made an excellent living, Keith insisted on enjoying a lifestyle far beyond his means,” Bob went on. “In addition to the condo and the Lexus he purchased for his mistress, there was the beach house and the boat, expensive cars for himself and you. And there was Keith’s gambling.”
“Gambling? My husband gambled?”
“Oh, my, yes. Last year alone he made five trips to Las Vegas. He bet heavily with local bookies, as well.”
If Bob Larson had leaped across the desk and hit her with a club Emily couldn’t have been more stunned. Or more devastated.
Keith had gone on gambling trips and she hadn’t even known. Thinking back, she realized that all those times he’d told her he was attending a medical convention he’d actually been gambling in Las Vegas. No doubt his mistress of the time had been with him.
Lowering her head, Emily cupped her hand over her eyes. She couldn’t bear this.
“I’m so sorry, Emily,” Bob said softly. “I didn’t want to be the one to tell you. I tried to reason with Keith. Honestly I did. But he wouldn’t listen.”
She shook her head, unable to reply.
“Dammit, Larson,” Dillon growled. “What kind of friend are you? You knew all about Keith’s carousing and extravagance and his gambling addiction, yet you never alerted his family to the hole he was digging himself into.”
“I…it wasn’t my place to interfere,” Bob blustered. “What did you expect me to do? Go tattling to his wife behind his back? So he was cheating. So what? That’s no big deal. A lot of husbands do it. As for his gambling, that was his business.”
“You should have come to me and explained what was going on. I would have stepped in.” Dillon snapped the file folder shut. “Is there more we should know? Anything else you’re covering up for my brother? Any other nasty little surprises?”
“Uh, no…no, that about covers everything.”
“Good. Then we’re done here. I’m sure you won’t mind if we take this folder with us.”
The other man looked as though he were about to object, but Dillon silenced him with a look. Tucking the folder under his arm, he stood and gently assisted Emily to her feet.
Normally she would have flinched when he slipped his arm around her waist, but she barely noticed. Moving like a zombie, she allowed him to lead her out of the office.
At the door, Dillon stopped and looked back at the attorney. “By the way, your services will no longer be needed. I’ll have my attorney file the will with the Probate Court.”
Chapter Three
Dillon glanced at Emily’s ashen face. She hadn’t spoken one word since they left Bob Larson’s office. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure she’d heard him.
She sat in his pickup on the opposite side of the bench seat, huddled in a ball of misery against the passenger door, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle. She stared straight ahead at nothing, her expression blank.
No small wonder, he thought. These past five days she’d received one blow after another.
“Emily? Emily, answer me. Are you okay?” he asked again, a little louder this time.
She started and turned her head, blinking at him. “Wh-what? Oh.” Facing forward again, she replied in an emotionless voice, “Yes. I’m okay.”
“You sure? You’re not feeling any pain or anything, are you? Any nausea?”
This time the look she shot him held even more confusion. “What? No, of course n— Oh. Oh, I see. You’re concerned about the baby.” Her mouth twitched. “Don’t worry. Your niece or nephew is safe. Physically I’m doing fine.”
Dillon ground his teeth, angry that she’d put that interpretation on his concern, but he forced himself to speak gently. “The baby’s well-being is important, but I’m more worried about you. This week has been rough.”
The bitter laugh that burst from her was tinged with hysteria. “Yes. You could say that.”
Dillon parked in the driveway and ushered Emily inside. He watched her shrug out of her coat and hang it in the entry closet then turn without a word and walk into the living room.
When Dillon had shed his own coat and followed he found her in the bay window alcove, staring out the window at the bleak winter landscape. She stood with her arms folded tight across her midriff, as though she feared she might fly apart at any second and was trying to physically hold herself together.
He stopped a few feet behind her. Everything about her telegraphed desolation—the angle of her head, the rigid set of her shoulders, her paleness. She looked fragile and tragic, and absolutely alone.
“Emily, we need to talk.”
“Not now, Dillon. Please.”
“I know you don’t feel like doing this now, but it’s urgent. You have to take stock, get an idea where you stand before you can make a plan.”
Her upper body began to jerk. Lowering her head, she hunched her shoulders and hugged herself tighter, but the convulsive jolts came stronger and faster. A small, choking sound tore from her throat. Then another, and another.
The hair on Dillon’s nape stood on end. “Emily?”
Unable to subdue the sobs any longer, she raised both hands and covered her face, and gave in to the gut-wrenching tears she had been holding back for days.
“Aw, Emily.” In two long strides Dillon closed the space between them, spun her around and snatched her into his arms. “It’s okay. Everything will work out,” he insisted. “You’ll get through this. You’ll see.”
The gruff pep-talk had no effect. Clutching his shirt with both hands, she wept uncontrollably against his chest. The wrenching sobs tore from her, so raw and raspy he knew that they hurt her throat. Her entire body shook with each agonized cry.
Dillon felt so helpless. He longed to banish her pain, to shield her from all the ugliness and betrayal, but he could not. At that moment he came close to hating his brother.
Powerless to do anything except let her grief run its course, he rubbed his hands in slow circles over her back and rocked her from side to side. “That’s right, let it all out. You’ll feel better when you do.”
His words made her cry even more forlornly. The great, wracking sobs seemed to come from the depths of her soul. They tore at Dillon’s heart and made him wince, and he held her closer still, as though doing so would allow her to absorb his strength.
Finally her tears ran dry and her sobbing slowed to watery sniffles and shudders, then to hitching little breaths.
“Oh, Dillon,” she mumbled against his wet shirt. “Wh-what am I going to d-do?”
Before he could answer he heard her sharp intake of breath, and he realized that she’d suddenly become aware of their position. She stiffened and scrambled back several steps, her expression horrified. “I—I…I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”
“I think you reached critical mass. After all that’s happened, a meltdown was probably inevitable. Don’t worry about it,” he said in a gravelly voice. “You’re entitled.”
Running a trembling hand through her hair, Emily pushed the long, auburn mass back until it cascaded over her shoulder, all the while eyeing him warily.
Dillon ground his teeth. Clearly, she did not expect sympathy from him.
“Well, uh…thank you for being so understanding.” Her eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed and her eyelids puffy. Tears glistened on her cheeks and streaked her makeup. The tip of her nose was red and her face was pale and blotchy from crying. Her misery broke Dillon’s heart.
“No problem. And to answer your question, you’re going to get through this one step at a time. And I’m going to help you.
“The first thing you’re going to do is go upstairs and wash your face, maybe take a nap.” Taking her arm, he started leading her toward the stairs in the entry hall. “After that crying jag you probably need one.”
“But you said—”
“I know, but I changed my mind. You’re in no shape to dive into the legalities right now. Just go get some rest. I’ll take a look at Keith’s financial records. When you’re ready, we’ll sit down and go through everything together and figure out where you stand financially.”
Emily made a feeble attempt at a chuckle. “I can tell you that now. I have no money, no insurance settlement, no investments and no income.”
“Yeah, well, don’t worry about it,” he growled. “We’ll figure something out.”
“We?” She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned.
Dillon could see her pulling herself together. Drawing in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and tipped up that delicate chin.
“Look, Dillon, I appreciate all you’ve done, but this isn’t your problem. It’s mine. There’s no reason why you should be burdened with it. I’ll deal with it by myself.”
“How?”
“I…I’m not sure. But I’ll think of something. My point is there’s no need for you to concern yourself.”
“Really?” he snapped, struggling to contain his impatience. “I can think of several.”
Her chin came up another notch. “Such as?”
“Such as, it’s because of my brother that you’re in this fix.”
“So? You’re not responsible for Keith’s actions.”
“Maybe not legally, but that’s beside the point. You’re still a part of this family. And don’t forget, the baby you’re carrying is a Maguire.”
“All the same, I—”
“It’s no use arguing about it, Emily. I’m going to help.”
His implacable blue gaze bore down on her. She met that laser stare in silent frustration. She wanted to scream. She didn’t want to be around anyone, least of all him.
She felt guilty for the thought, but it was true. Ever since she’d received the news of Keith’s death, Dillon had been there for her, like a rock, offering silent support during the unpleasant meetings with the doctors and the police, making all the funeral arrangements, running interference between her and the gossipmongers. During the past four days he’d talked with her more and in gentler tones than he had in all the years she’d known him. In truth, she didn’t know what she would have done without him these past few days.
Even so, he was still a tough, taciturn man. And he still made her uncomfortable.
Emily sighed. No matter how she felt, the sad truth was, she needed help. She was still reeling and too depressed and bereft to function, much less deal with legal matters on her own. And there was no one else to whom she could turn.
“All right, you win,” she huffed finally.
“Good. Now why don’t you go get some rest?”
She shook her head. “No. I’d rather get this over with. Anyway, I doubt that I could sleep for worrying. I’ll just go up and wash my face. I’ll be right back.”
Dillon watched her climb the curving stairway, his gaze zeroing in on her erect posture and the proud tilt of her head.
A smile tugged at his lips as he pictured the way she’d tipped her chin up at him. The action was typical of Emily.
On the outside she was gracious and soft-spoken, but she had a backbone of tempered steel. He had recognized that about her within minutes of their first meeting, seven years ago.
Emily was the kind of woman, Dillon mused, who in days gone by, would have stepped in without a qualm and taken over running the family farm while her man marched off to war, even if she had to plow the fields herself with a baby on her hip and a rifle slung over her shoulder.
That strength and indomitable spirit was one of the many things he had admired about her from the beginning.
Emily hadn’t known that grief could be so debilitating. Or was it the anger that seethed at her core? Either way, she felt drained. Just climbing the curving stairway took tremendous effort. It was as though every cell in her body were weighted with lead. It didn’t help that she could feel Dillon’s laser-beam stare boring into her back.
In her bedroom she stripped off the cashmere suit she’d worn for her meeting with the attorney. Her panty hose came next. Wearing just her panties and bra, she went into the bathroom. Catching sight of herself in the mirror above the sink Emily groaned. She looked a fright. She had cried away most of her makeup and her mascara had run in streaks over her cheeks, making her look like a red-eyed raccoon.
Twisting her hair into a loose knot at her crown, she secured it with a couple of small combs and creamed away what was left of her ruined makeup, then splashed her face with cold water. As she patted her skin dry she winced at her reflection. She was so pale she looked anemic.
A dusting of powder, a sweep of blush and a quick dab of lipstick provided only marginal improvement, but it would have to do. What did it matter, she thought. The only person who would see her was Dillon, and she wasn’t trying to please him.
She paused and frowned at her reflection, remembering the way he had held her close and comforted her.
Funny. She had always found his size and ruggedness intimidating, but being held against that brawny chest with those strong arms wrapped around her had felt surprisingly good. And safe. As though nothing in the world could harm her in the shelter of Dillon’s embrace.
She shook her head and wrinkled her nose at her reflection. What a fanciful thought. You must still be in shock if you’re starting to think of Dillon as a knight in shining armor.
She returned to the bedroom and donned a pair of casual navy slacks and a cream turtleneck sweater, slipped her feet into a pair of classic loafers and headed downstairs.
When Emily entered the kitchen, she found that Dillon had brewed a pot of coffee. Before taking her to the attorney’s office he had changed into a suit. Now he’d removed his coat and tie and unbuttoned the collar and rolled up the sleeves. He sat at the table with the file folder spread open, scowling as he read. In his right hand he held a steaming mug of coffee.
Dillon looked up and arched one eyebrow as she crossed the room and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Feeling better?”
She turned and leaned her hips back against the counter and took a sip of coffee. “Not really, but I’ll manage.” She nodded toward the folder. “How’s it going?”
“I was on the phone with my foreman for a while, so I just got started. I’m going to need some paper to write on so I can total everything up as I go.”
Emily pulled a legal pad and some pencils from a drawer and sat down beside him at the table. Immediately her nose was assailed with a mixture of smells—coffee, soap, the clean, woodsy scent of his aftershave, even a hint of starch from his crisp dress shirt. And underlying it all, was that unique masculine scent that was his alone. It was not an unpleasant combination, yet it made her uncomfortable. Breathing in his scent seemed so…so intimate, somehow.