The prestigious Westminster flat was an interior designer’s dream come true. Eggshell-colored walls were lined with exquisite abstract artwork. Ornate sculpture sat on top of marble pedestals. The decor was upscale and expensive. Subtle jazz played softly throughout the space and the sound of fingernails tapping against a computer keyboard resonated in the background.
The house phone rang three times, then clicked to an answering machine on a glass-topped table. The taped greeting suddenly drowned out all the other sounds.
“It’s me. I’m not answering, but then you already know that. If I need to tell you what to do, don’t waste my time.” BEEP.
A woman’s voice resounded loudly from the other end of the line. “Natalie! We’re headed to the pub for a pint of ale. Take a break and come meet us. I know! I know! You have a deadline. Well, screw that. If you don’t show up I will personally ring your doorbell at 3:00 a.m. and kick your skinny ass for ignoring your best friends—”
The answering machine beeped a second time, cutting the woman off midsentence. Across the room Natalie Renee Stallion was seated at an antique cedar desk typing diligently on her laptop. Amusement shimmered in her dark eyes. She smiled, her grin wide and full, as the telephone rang a second time, the machine picking it up again. Her best friend shouted at the device, her deep alto voice echoing about the room.
“Why don’t you have a machine that will let me speak until I’m finished? Even better, pick up the damn phone and talk to me because I know you’re there. I know you’re ignoring me. Hello? Hello? Natalie?”
Francesca “Frenchie” Adams sighed into her receiver before she continued. “Like I said before, Natalie, be there or I will wake your behind up. Love you. Bye. Call me on my cell if you have to,” Frenchie said just before being disconnected a second time.
Natalie continued to type. The third time the phone rang it surprised her because she wasn’t expecting any other calls and definitely not on her house number. Curiosity came over her. The male voice on the other end caught her completely off guard. Her fingers stalled against the keyboard.
“Natalie, it’s me. Noah. Your brother. When you get this, please call me back. You need to come home.”
There was a pause and she could hear muffled voices encouraging him.
“You really need to come home now,” he said before disconnecting the long-distance call.
A feeling of dread suddenly washed over Natalie’s spirit. She took a deep breath and then a second. Her expression changed, the easy lift to her mouth turned into a deep frown. She drew a hand through the length of her hair, twisting the silky strands into a loose bun at the nape of her neck. She stared toward the telephone for a brief moment before she resumed her typing, wanting to ignore the call that had just interrupted her.
An hour later she was still distracted, curious to know what had moved her estranged brother to even think about her. It had been years since she’d last seen him or any of her siblings. Natalie imagined that too much time had passed for any of them to just pick up where they’d left off, starting over as if nothing had happened. Because much had happened since they’d all parted ways. But Noah had said it was urgent for her to come home. For Natalie, home was London. Nothing about Utah remotely felt like a place where she belonged. At least, that’s what she’d spent years trying to convince herself of.
She heaved a deep breath and pulled her cell phone into her palm. Rising from her seat she crossed the room to the answering machine and replayed the message. She jotted down the telephone number Noah had left. With another deep breath she dialed it, then waited for him to answer.
It was close to midnight when Natalie climbed into her car and pulled into the late-night traffic. Across town she drove past the entrance of the Trafalgar Tavern. A crowd of partygoers was still straining to get inside. Natalie paused for a quick moment, peering through the driver’s-side window for a familiar face. When she saw no one she recognized, no one there to change her mind, she sped off, guiding her Jaguar XF toward London’s Heathrow airport. For the first time in twelve years, Natalie Stallion was headed back home.
* * *
“So, exactly when did we get this aunt?” Luke Stallion questioned. He looked from one brother to the other.
“And how come she had to die before we found out about her?” their sister Phaedra Stallion-Boudreaux asked.
Brothers Matthew, Mark and John Stallion all shrugged their broad shoulders. The three men turned to their cousin Travis Stallion who’d come bearing the bad news.
Travis’s wife, Tierra Braddy Stallion, changed the subject before her husband could answer. “I smell bacon. Do you think you can feed me and my family while Travis fills you all in?”
John chuckled ever so softly. “Sorry about that,” he said as he slipped an arm around the woman’s shoulder and gave her a quick hug.
Tierra laughed. “You should be. You invite us to family breakfast and then don’t want to feed us. What kind of mess is that?”
John’s wife, Marah, suddenly appeared in the doorway. “Especially since the food is ready,” she said, a bright smile filling her face, “so come and eat. And you all know the rules. Leave any talk of business right here in this room. We won’t be having it at the breakfast table.”
“They weren’t talking business,” Tierra said as she cradled her infant daughter in her arms. Her toddler son leaned against her pants leg, his thumb in his mouth as his wide eyes darted back and forth.
Marah looked from one stunned expression to the other and shook her head. “Do I even want to ask?”
Luke pushed past the others.
