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“I can’t, as Mr. Jenkins will undoubtedly confirm when he returns. However, I’d be interested in purchasing the shares belonging to your ward.”
“My niece,” she countered angrily. “Who also happens to be your sister.”
“I don’t have a sister. My father, unfortunately, had a daughter,” he muttered through clenched teeth.
Shannon thought of the solemn child who had come to live with her six months ago. Poor Chelsea didn’t have much of a family to look up to. Her mother had used her as a meal ticket. She would never know her father. Even Shannon, who did her best to provide a loving environment, had to admit she lacked maternal instincts. Add to that menagerie a brother who refused to acknowledge her and Chelsea didn’t have the makings of a happy life ahead.
Ian watched her, the rigid set of his jaw and his narrowed eyes barely concealing his irritation. He twisted his hands together in a gesture of impatience. “Well?”
“You want me to give you an answer right now?”
“You won’t get a better offer.”
“I’m not even sure what the company entails. You expect me to make a decision on Chelsea’s behalf, with absolutely no information and only your altruistic and unbiased promise that I’m being offered a fair deal? Do I appear to be stupid, Mr. Bradford?”
“Not at all, Ms. Moore. I’m sure you’re very smart.” His compliment sounded more like an accusation.
“Then don’t play me for a fool.”
“I was merely presenting you with the opportunity to hold the child’s inheritance in cash. After all, a lot of things can happen before she turns eighteen. Profitable companies have been known to fold for no apparent reason.”
Was he threatening her or only trying to frighten her into making an immediate decision? “How old are you, Mr. Bradford?”
His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Thirtythree. What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’re a little old to be playing If-I-can’t-haveit-all-no-one-can.” She collected the papers from the desk. “If you’ll excuse me, I have nothing more to say to you.”
Ian came to his feet at the same time as Shannon. “Well, I do.”
“Speak through your lawyer in the future. Your communication skills are lacking.”
“Meaning?”
“First of all, if you think you can scare me with your intimidation tactics, you’ve miscalculated.”
“And?” His insolent half grin sent a heated jolt of resentment surging through her. She fought a losing battle to maintain self-control.
“When you want something from someone, it’s advantageous to try being nice instead of insulting your victim.”
“Is that something you learned while growing up in the slums?”
Shannon drew in a deep breath. Obviously, he’d had her background investigated. Did he think that because her family had spent a couple of years financially strapped while her mother went back to school, she would jump at any offer of money? The inheritance didn’t even belong to her.
“This is getting us nowhere. Let me know when you’ve got something worthwhile to say.” She tucked the manila folder under her arm and left the office.
Ian watched her retreat with more interest than was healthy in his present situation. Her long, shapely legs and slim hips moved in a graceful stride despite her evident ire. Once she disappeared from sight, he lowered himself into the chair again. Reining in his disappointment was easier than bringing his hormone level back to normal.
Shannon Moore was one interesting contradiction. A controlled business facade hid the street fighter beneath. Her auburn, collar-length hair framed an oval face and a fringe of bangs drew attention to a pair of huge brown eyes that turned golden with anger.
“What did you say to her, Ian?” Jenkins asked as he came into the conference room. “She stormed out of here at gale force.”
“I made her an offer She wanted some time to think it over.” No doubt she was on the way to her attorney’s office right this moment. He shrugged. She was only a guardian of the trust. Once she learned that she had no say in the running of the company, his offer would start to look good to her.
“She’s nothing like her sister, I can say that for her.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
Jenkins grinned. “Sure you would. Tiffany Moore. She was the one who showed up at your second cousin’s wedding in the leopard bodysuit. Remember?”
Ian recalled the flashy, brassy blonde with the piercing laughter who had made several passes at him. To say his father’s date elicited more stares than the pregnant bride in the white wedding dress was an understatement. “You have to be joking. She was Shannon’s sister?”
While his father’s investigation into his mistress’s background had turned up Shannon’s childhood, as well, Ian had no idea how Shannon supported herself now. By her cool, articulate manner, he would guess she had risen above her humble beginnings. She had acquired the social skills and polish her younger sister lacked.
“We have a few things to discuss, Ian.”
He returned his attention to his father’s lawyer. “Get things started. If she hasn’t gotten back to you in a month, file the petition with the courts.”
“All right. Now, on to a different matter. Wesley paid child support to the mother. Am I to assume with both parties deceased, the arrangement is now terminated?”
Ian gave the question serious thought. He saw no purpose in antagonizing the woman until he knew precisely what she wanted. “No. Send the money to Shannon until she makes up her mind about the company.”
Jenkins cocked one eyebrow. “Shannon?”
“Miss Moore.”
“Be careful, Ian, or you might find yourself falling victim to the same weakness you despised in your father.”
Ian’s lips curved up in a sardonic smile. “There are two big differences. I’m not married and I stick to women born in the same decade as me.”
He closed the file and exhaled a groan. He would not allow the minor development of his attraction to Shannon steer him from his course of action. Westervelt Properties would be returned to his grandfather, no matter what he had to do to fulfill that promise.
Shannon tossed the folder and her keys on the hall table. The one-hour train ride from New York City had given her time to regroup before trying to deal with an energetic child. After checking her mail, she walked across the small front lawn to the house next door. A row of red tulips in the window box signaled the true arrival of spring. The aroma of baking bread lingered as she stepped into the kitchen.
“Oh, Betty Crocker. Where are you?”
“Just a sec.” A moment later Wendy Sommers strolled into the room. A mop of brown curls bounced to the spring in her step. “How was the meeting?”
Shannon rolled her shoulders to relieve the tension at the base of her neck. “More interesting than I had expected.”
Her friend held up a cup. “Coffee?”
“Please.” She dropped into a chair and rested her arms on the glass tabletop. “Chelsea’s brother was there.”
“And?” Wendy prodded.
“When I met Wesley Bradford, I thought no one could be more overbearing. Apparently arrogance is a dominant gene. He passed it on to Ian.”
“Ian seems to have made quite an impression on you.”
Shannon grimaced at Wendy’s inquisitive tone. He’d made an impression, all right. One she didn’t want to admit to, even to herself. “How was Chelsea?”
“She was great. But she missed her auntie Shane.”
“Did she?” she asked a bit uncertainly.
When Shannon had found herself the guardian of a toddler, she panicked. What she knew about children would fit on the head of a pin. To give Chelsea some semblance of a normal life she had returned to the small suburban town where she had spent her teenage years, armed with a library of parenting books.
Finding a high school classmate as her neighbor had eased her return. Wendy’s outgoing nature and blind acceptance of others’ imperfections gave Shannon her first real friend.
“What’s my little princess up to?” Shannon asked.
“She’s watching ‘Sesame Street’ with Anna.” Wendy placed a tray on the table and took a seat. “So tell me more about Mr. Bradford. If he’s Chelsea’s brother, does that make you his aunt?”
“Very funny. Actually, I was a little disappointed. I thought... well, never mind what I thought.” Taking a deep breath, Shannon pushed the troubling concerns from her mind. “He’s made it clear he plans to uphold that Bradford family tradition of ignoring Chelsea’s existence.”
Wendy stared thoughtfully, then let out a small giggle. “Why, Shannon Moore, you’re nothing more than a closet optimist. You figured he would learn about his sister and he’d be bursting with sibling love and pride.”
Hearing her delusional fantasies described like that, Shannon realized how naive she was. She took a sip of coffee and leaned back in the chair with a wistful sigh. “Maybe I did. But if you tell anyone, I’ll deny it. I have a reputation to maintain in this town as a high-powered, no-nonsense barracuda.”
“But a barracuda who shows us how to invest our money. And we love you for it. Not to mention that you keep a lot of us employed.”
“Because I can’t do anything pertaining to house maintenance by myself.” Shannon blessed the education and the business connections that allowed her to continue serving her clients and still be at home for Chelsea. Otherwise the upkeep on a house would have been beyond her means. “And this mothering thing is a whole lot tougher than Donna Reed and June Cleaver made it out to be.”
“Suzy Homemaker, you ain’t,” Wendy agreed. “Give up those ridiculous books on raising children and follow your instincts. As long as love is there, you’ll do fine.”
Shannon sighed. Where her friend’s house smelled of potpourri and fresh-baked pies, she usually had to air out the odor of burned cookies. As for following her instincts, she had none. Her own parents’ self-serving emotional tugs-of-war had left her unprepared for the role of a supportive parent.
“I’m glad I wasn’t looking for a sympathetic shoulder.” She could only hope her friend was right and her love for the little girl who had taken up residence in her heart would be enough.
“Do you want me to lie to you?” Wendy asked.
“Please. I’ve had about as much of the truth as I can stand today.”
“Lord, Shannon. I’ve never known you to let any man rattle you. Even when we were back in high school.”
“I’m not rattled. I’m in complete control.”
If that were true, why had Ian been able to provoke her into losing her temper, something no man had ever done before? How had his stone-cold glare generated an unfamiliar heat in her? She couldn’t be attracted to the man.
Then why couldn’t she banish his image from her mind?
Two
Ian glanced around the office. The old cherrywood furniture he’d dragged up from storage returned the room to the way he remembered it from his childhood visits. No matter how much of the past he tried to recreate, one fact could not be denied. His grandfather was not yet the sole owner of Westervelt Properties again.
In the past few weeks Ian had prepared himself for an inevitable showdown with Shannon Moore. Actually, he had been looking forward to another meeting. Why hadn’t she contacted him or Jenkins? He didn’t believe she would walk away from the inheritance without a fight. At the very least, he figured she would take the money. The only thing he hadn’t expected was her silence.
After twenty years, a two-week wait should be easy. It had been hell. What was her game? Instead of turning over the daily running of the company to his grandfather as he had planned, he had come in every day expecting to hear from her. He had to get back to his own business.
He scanned the mail then tossed it aside. His gaze returned to the pile. The top letter had no return address, but the Walton, New York, postmark struck a familiar chord. He slit open the top of the envelope and removed the contents. Between a folded slip of paper were two halves of a child support check written out to Shannon Moore.
Shannon sucked in a deep, calming breath. Her cream-colored slacks had a bright red stain on the leg and a pile of SpaghettiOs covered one suede pump. The plastic bowl Chelsea had tossed from the table rolled around the kitchen floor. Only yesterday the pasta dish had been the child’s favorite.
“That wasn’t nice, Chelsea. Say ‘I’m sorry.’ ” Shannon kept her voice quiet but stern.
“No.”
“You have to apologize or go to your room for a time-out.”
Chelsea folded her small arms across her chest and pushed out her chin. “No.”
Shannon tried to recall what the book said to do in this situation. Lose your temper and you lose control. Had Dr. What’s-his-name ever worn a bowl of spaghetti? Limit your admonitions to the deed, not the child.
She placed her hand on Chelsea’s shoulder. “I’m very disappointed by your behavior.”
An earth-curdling scream reverberated around the room. Shannon’s jaw dropped. How could such a horrific sound come from a little girl? She reached for the book on the counter and thumbed though the chapter on temper tantrums.
What was she doing wrong? Her every attempt to reach the petulant child had failed. Chelsea shied away from demonstrative gestures and met friendly overtures with wary silence.
Chelsea’s psychologist had assured Shannon that Chelsea would emerge from her introverted shell when she got used to her new surroundings. Was this show of defiance an improvement? During her years as a Wall Street broker Shannon had handled nervous and often angry clients with detached calm, yet one small child reduced her to near helplessness.
She tossed the book in the garbage and fell back on the same strategy she used when dealing with any irrational adult. She walked away for a coolingoff period. A headache pounded against her temples. To make matters worse, the doorbell rang. She had visions of the police breaking down the front door and arresting her on child endangerment charges.
Obviously, parenthood had taken what little sanity she had once possessed.
Just when she thought she had hit bottom, she opened the door to find Ian Bradford leaning against the support beam on her front porch. His deep blue eyes ran an appraising gaze over her unflattering appearance. His laughter topped off an already rotten morning. She glanced over her shoulder at the child, then back to him.
“Is this a family visit?” she asked.
“Are you having a bad day?” Did he have to look so damned pleased?
“No. I normally walk around the house covered in tomato sauce while Chelsea serenades me in the key of C.” Why didn’t those child-rearing experts with their psychobabble warn her to change out of her business clothes before feeding a child? “What do you want?”
“May I come in?”
She waved her hand with a flourish. “Be my guest.”
If nothing else, his arrival put an end to Chelsea’s vocal tantrum. Within seconds, Shannon had a pint-size appendage attached to her leg, hindering her as she tried to show Ian into the living room.
“Have a seat. I have to get changed.” Scooping the child up in her arms, she darted to her bedroom.
She plopped Chelsea on the bed and quickly shed her soiled slacks in favor of a brightly colored peasant skirt. Paired with her ruffled blouse, she looked like a Gypsy. She searched her closet for a better choice, then gave up. Why did she care? It wasn’t as if she wanted to impress the man.
“Who he is?” Chelsea asked.
Shannon ran a brush though Chelsea’s baby-fine hair and for the first time the child didn’t flinch away. “He’s your brother, Ian.”
“Chelsea wants a cookie.” Obviously, the discovery of a big brother was less appealing than Mrs. Fields’s chocolate chip cookies.
