wasn’t sure if he would ever forgive his father. He understood his father’s motives, but no matter what Caine thought Madelyn had done, he’d had no right to cut her out of their lives.
Regardless of how many times Jack told himself it was wrong, he couldn’t mourn his father. Caine Stockwell had been a real bastard. From earliest childhood, Jack had known his father hated him. His feelings were evident in every word, every slap, every brutal act directed Jack’s way. Caine had not once had a loving or kind word for his oldest son. Indeed, he never missed a chance to belittle Jack.
As he had so many times before, Jack wondered what it was about him that had caused his father to hate him so much. Angry that this question continued to bother him when he should have come to terms with it long ago, he shoved it aside. What did it matter? Caine was gone. The wrongs he had perpetrated against Jack could never be changed.
“It’s still hard for me to believe that Daddy didn’t at least try to find out if Gabriel Johnson was telling the truth,” Kate said, her dark blue eyes meeting Jack’s. She was referring to the fact that she and her brothers had—in going through their father’s papers—discovered a series of letters from Gabriel Johnson in which he accused their grandfather Stockwell of stealing Gabriel’s father’s fortune. He’d said he had proof and had demanded restitution. “After all,” Kate continued, “the Johnsons are our mother’s family!”
“Hell, Kate, why is it hard for you to believe? Look at what our father did to us!” Even though it would have given Kate some measure of comfort if they all pretended their father had been unaware of the possibility that a long-ago Stockwell really had cheated their mother’s family out of its rightful inheritance, Jack refused to do it. First of all, he didn’t believe it for an instant. Secondly, he wouldn’t lie to Kate. Hell, his father didn’t deserve any whitewashing of his actions. Caine Stockwell had been ruthless in his business dealings. He would not have wasted one moment of sympathy on the Johnson family, even if he thought Gabriel Johnson’s claims were legitimate.
Caine’s philosophy and that of his cronies echoed that of the jungle: survival of the fittest. If the Johnsons couldn’t hold on to their fortune, that was their problem, not his.
And yet, even as Jack knew his father was entirely capable of turning a blind eye to any shady business deals that might have happened in 1900, as Gabriel Johnson claimed, Jack had some doubts about the authenticity of Gabriel Johnson’s claims himself. If this Johnson man really had proof of being cheated, wouldn’t he have produced it? Wouldn’t he have taken Caine to court to try to get back what was rightfully his? No, something was odd about this business, and even though Jack was prepared to believe the worst about his father, he was too familiar with the way people twisted the truth to suit their own purposes to believe Gabriel Johnson’s claims simply because he’d made them.
Still, if there was any possibility their ancestors really had stolen his mother’s ancestors’ property, the only right thing to do was make restitution. They were all agreed on that point.
In investigating, Jack had discovered Gabriel Johnson was dead, and that he’d had only two direct descendants of that original Johnson, a boy and girl who lived with their mother on a rose farm in Rose Hill, Texas.
So tomorrow Jack would leave for Rose Hill.
“What’re you going to tell this Beth Johnson when you see her, Jack?”
Jack shrugged. “I’m not sure. I’m just going to nose around, see what I can find out, then play it by ear.”
Cord nudged Rafe with his elbow. “See? What’d I tell you? Jack flies by the seat of his pants.”
“I’ve been thinking on my feet for a long time now,” Jack answered mildly. He was referring to the fact that he’d been a mercenary specializing in hostage negotiation and rescue missions for the past fourteen years. The only way a mercenary stayed alive was by thinking fast.
“I know,” Cord replied. “I was just kidding. Rafe and I trust you to make the right decision about the Johnsons, don’t we, little brother?”
Rafe rolled his eyes. Cord never missed a chance to remind him that he was eight minutes older. “Yes.”
“I trust your judgment, too,” Kate was quick to add.
Jack smiled at her. “Thanks. When are you leaving for Massachusetts?”
Months ago, after finding out their mother might still be alive and that there was a possibility they had a sibling they’d never known about, Jack and his brothers and sister had started trying to find them. One lead led to another, and last month Jack had gone to France to follow up on the latest information. While there he’d found a painting of a woman and a young girl who strongly resembled Jack’s sister, Kate. The painting led them to a woman named Madelyn LeClaire, who lived on Cape Cod. They were fairly certain this woman and their mother were the same person, and now that their father’s funeral was over, Kate planned to go back to Massachusetts to try to arrange a meeting with Mrs. LeClaire.
“On Monday.” For the first time since their meeting had begun, the sadness faded from Kate’s eyes. “Brett has some things he has to take care of first.” Brett Larson was Kate’s fiancé.
“What about you? Got any idea where you’ll be staying once you get to Rose Hill?” Rafe asked, directing his question to Jack.
“No, but I’ll call you once I get settled.”
That decided, the four of them turned their attention to their father’s will. Cord had been named executor and would work along with the family lawyer to make sure all the specific bequests were taken care of.
“You don’t mind, do you, Jack?” Cord asked.
Jack shook his head. “No.” Even though, by rights, as the oldest he should have been named executor of the will, he had no interest in any aspect of his father’s estate. He had turned his back on the Stockwell money long ago, preferring to make his own way in the world. Besides, for once, Caine had been right to pass over Jack. Cord had been working in the family business for years. He was the logical choice to oversee distributions under the terms of the will. Rafe, a Deputy U.S. Marshal, was like Jack and had no interest in the Stockwell businesses. Nor did Kate, who was an art therapist.
With no other business to discuss, the meeting broke up and the siblings prepared to go their own ways.
“Take care,” Cord said, shaking Jack’s hand.
“Remember what I said about the will,” Jack reminded him.
“Jack, I am not going to—”
Cutting him off, Jack said, “I don’t want any of the money.”
“That’s ridiculous, Jack,” Kate said.
“It is ridiculous,” Rafe agreed. “You’re a part of this family, just like we are.”
Not just like you are.
“Jack,” Kate said softly, touching his shoulder. “We can’t not give you the money. It wouldn’t be right. You’re our brother.”
Jack’s jaw tightened. “I don’t want it. I’ll just give it away.”
“Fine,” Cord said. “If you want to give away, that’s your business. My business is to follow the terms of our
