Lab’s hackles were up, and he was staring at somebody Jed couldn’t see. Max’s fangs gleamed white as he pulled his mouth back in a hostile snarl.
Warily, Jed edged forward, inch by inch, till he could peek around the corner—
The intruder was a woman. And one he had never seen before.
His astonished gaze flicked over her. Young and attractive, the stranger had a petite figure swamped in an oversize white shirt that billowed out over a pair of jeans. Her hair was honey-blond and long. Her face was heart-shaped and white. Her eyes were dark-lashed and gray.
And those dark-lashed gray eyes were fixed, with a wide look of terror, on Max.
Max was glaring, equally intensely, at her.
She took a cautious half step forward. Max growled.
She swiftly stepped back. Max barked.
She looked as if she was about to start crying.
Jed muttered, “Damn!” and walked into the foyer.
When she saw him, she almost jumped out of her skin. Good grief, he thought, she’s a bag of nerves. But what the hell was she doing in his house?
“Max, shut up!” He signaled and the dog slunk over. “Kitchen!”
The Lab departed. With obvious reluctance.
Jed turned again to the stranger and felt a jolt of alarm when he saw that her face had gone from deathly white to a sickly green. She was staring at him as if he were a specter. For the first time he noticed the purple shadows smudging the skin under her eyes—eyes that had taken on the glazed expression of somebody in deep shock.
Was she going to pass out? He poised to move and catch her if it became necessary.
She pressed the fingertips of her left hand to her throat. He saw she was wearing a plain gold band on her ring finger.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice came out in a raw whisper. “It’s just that…I thought for a moment…”
He glowered at her. “Thought what?”
“I thought—” she cleared her throat of its huskiness “—I thought…for a second…that you were…Chance.”
Chance? Now Jed was the one who was shocked. Shocked and utterly confused. What did this woman want? And why was she standing, in his house, talking about the one person in the world he hated with an obsession that bordered on insanity?
“Who the hell are you?” He clenched his hands into fists…and saw her flinch.
Drawing in a sharp breath, she stared at him. “I’m Sarah.” Her voice held a tremor. “Sarah Morgan.”
“Morgan?”
“Your…sister-in-law.”
“Sister-in-law?” He was beginning to sound like an imbecilic parrot.
“Yes.” Her voice had steadied somewhat. “I’m Chance’s wife—” she grimaced “—Chance’s widow, I mean. I find it difficult to get used to saying that, after—”
“Chance is dead?”
“He died, in a car accident, seven months ago.”
Sarah had never seen anyone lose color so quickly.
But even as she felt a surge of compassion for him, she struggled to regain her own equilibrium after the shock she had just received. It had never occurred to her that Chance and his brother would be so alike.
The hair was the same: coal-black, rich. The features were the same: lean, rugged. The eyes: green, deep set. The nose: ridged. The figure: tall, rangy…
The only difference she could see was one of attitude. Whereas Chance had had the con man’s built-in charm, his older brother had a dark, brooding aura reminiscent of a character in some Gothic novel.
“You just turn up here, out of the blue, to tell me my brother’s dead?” His tone was harsh with animosity. “Okay, you’ve told me.” His black eyebrows beetled down over his hostile eyes. “So now you can go.”
Good grief, the man was a Heathcliff clone! Sarah speared him with an incredulous glare. “You’d put us out in this storm?”
His lips thinned. “Ah, yes. Us. Two plates, two spoons. So…who did Goldilocks bring with her? A lover perhaps?”
Sarah’s mouth fell open. She’d just told this man her husband was dead and he was accusing her of—oh, unbelievable! Her outrage almost choked her.
“Not a lover?” He raised the dark eyebrows cynically. “Then just…a friend?”
“No.” She sent him a look as hostile as any of his own. “I have my children with me. Emma and Jamie. They’re sleeping, at the moment, in your sitting room.”
He looked at her for a long, stark moment, and then he laughed. It was not a pleasant sound. “So you’ve brought children with you. Chance’s children, I presume?”
“Of course!” Anger sent blood racing to her cheeks. “Of course they’re Chance’s children!”
“Then you have even more nerve than I’d imagined, Mrs. Sarah Morgan.’ His face had become completely devoid of emotion. “Now if you’ll tell me what you’ve really come for, we can get it over with and you can be on your way.”
Her expression must have told its own story.
His smile was grim. “How did I know? Well, if you’d just wanted to tell me my brother was dead, a phone call—even a letter—would have done the trick. So, Mrs. Morgan, what is it that you want from me?”
She hated him. Didn’t even know him but hated him already. “I need money,” she said in a frigid tone. “When your brother died, I discovered he’d left a mountain of unpaid bills. I can’t afford to pay them, and—”
“How cleverly put,” he jeered. “‘My brother.’ Let me put that another way for you. Shall we call him…your husband?”
Hateful, despicable…malicious. “All right,” she retorted. “My husband. But he was your brother.”
“So,” he said. “How much?”
It was a huge amount. She tried not to stumble over it.
He shrugged. “Fine. When you get where you’re going, send me the request in writing, and I’ll courier you a certified cheque.”
“Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I appreciate—”
“If that’s it—” his tone was brusque “—I’d like you to get in your car—I assume you came by car?”
“Yes, but—”
“I’d like you to take your children, and get in your car,
