To his credit, Cooper knew when to throw in the towel. “Are you kidding? Free, home-cooked meal along with Rockies Cactus League ball on the tube?” He sat back and again propped his feet up. “I’m there. What about you?”
“Yeah, I’m in, too.” He headed toward the door. “You want to share a ride?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow, we can hash out the details.” Reaching the doorway, he paused. “Hey, Coop?”
“What?”
“Thanks for the information. I appreciate it.”
“Easy for you to say,” the younger man groused, but without any heat. “You’re not the one left hanging.”
“I think you’ll survive,” he said drily. And with that, he headed down the hall toward his own office and what was sure to be a fat folder of items needing his attention, reassured by the knowledge that Cooper’s bad temper wouldn’t last past the next five minutes.
Knowing as well that while his brother’s concern for him had been misplaced, the younger Steele had been right about one thing.
Gabe wasn’t done with Mallory. Not by a long shot.
Three
“Are you all right, Miss Morgan?”
Mallory dragged her gaze from the rectangle of paper clutched in her trembling hand to stare blankly at the man seated across from her. “What?”
Mr. Cowden’s thin, intelligent face softened. “You seem a bit shaken,” the owner of Finders Keepers, the search firm she’d been contacted by the previous day, observed not unkindly. “Can I get you something? A glass of water? Some coffee?”
“No. I…It’s just…” Embarrassed to find herself babbling, she pressed her lips together and struggled for composure. “Please, could you explain to me again where this came from? You said it’s a behest from a relative?”
“Yes. According to the letter we received, the funds originated with—” he glanced down at the paper centered atop his glossy walnut desk “—one Ivan Mallory Milton. Your cousin, it seems, although most likely a distant one since it states here he was ninety-one at the time he expired. The family connection—” he adjusted his glasses and scanned further down the document “—was apparently through your maternal grandmother.”
“But I’ve never even heard of him.”
“Well, yes, that’s actually rather common with this sort of distant connection. And truthfully, as you might imagine, quite often inheritances go unclaimed for just that reason. In this case,” he said, tapping a finger against the paper, “it seems that Mr. Milton first realized the relationship after reading a newspaper article about your family.”
Mallory winced. Given her father’s notoriety and the extensive press coverage he’d received, she didn’t imagine that anything her late cousin had read would have been complimentary. Not that that appeared to have made a difference.
“The information was found among his belongings after he passed away, and since he had no other heirs, it was determined these funds should come to you. Although these days, with the popularity of the Internet, it is rather unusual for us to be contacted through the regular mail this way….”
Even as she told herself she should pay attention to what Mr. Cowden was saying, Mallory’s gaze drifted back to the cashier’s check.
Sure enough, right after Pay To The Order Of was her name, followed by the fabulous, wonderful, miraculous sum of four thousand, seven hundred, twenty-one dollars and forty-six cents.
A year ago, that amount wouldn’t have qualified as her monthly shoe allowance. Now it meant she could take a deep breath for the first time in months. And she owed it all to someone she’d never met, and never would.
Thank you, dear departed cousin Ivan.
Not, she thought hastily, that she was glad her long-lost relative was dead. But if the old guy had to go, she certainly couldn’t fault his timing.
“Miss Morgan?”
With a start, she realized her companion was staring at her quizzically, as though he’d stopped speaking some time ago and was waiting for a response. “I’m sorry,” she said hastily. “It’s just this—” she smoothed her thumb over the crease in the paper caused by the overly enthusiastic grip of her fingers “—I can’t quite take it in. It’s such a surprise.”
“But a welcome one, surely.” Smiling, Mr. Cowden came to his feet.
“Oh, yes.” It was so welcome she couldn’t quite believe somebody wasn’t going to pop out of the woodwork at any second, claim there’d been a mistake and snatch her windfall away.
“I can’t tell you how much that pleases me,” he went on as he came around the desk. “And how glad I am that we were able to be of assistance. Frankly,” his blue eyes gleamed cheerfully, “this is always my favorite part of the job.”
“I can understand why.” With a smile of her own, she carefully folded the check and slid it into the inner compartment of her purse for safekeeping. Since it was obvious from Mr. Cowden’s behavior that he considered their business done, she stood, as well. “Do I owe you something? Isn’t there a fee for you finding me?”
“Yes, of course there is, but it’s already been taken care of by Mr. Milton’s representative.” He held her coat for her, then ushered her through the door into the outer office. Minutes later, after signing a paper acknowledging receipt of the money, and a round of thank-yous, good lucks and goodbyes, she found herself standing outside on the sidewalk in the midmorning sunshine.
For one glorious moment, elation got the better of her and she actually did a twirl. Four thousand, seven hundred and twenty-one dollars! She couldn’t seem to wipe the smile off her face as she waltzed up the street toward the bus stop, her feet barely touching the ground, her mind filled with possibilities.
Where, oh where, to start? Tres Chic for a facial, a massage, a full day of beauty? Heaven knew, her pores would thank her. Or Mr. Kenneth’s to pamper her hair with some highlights and one of his signature haircuts? Should she make a trip to Marchant’s and pick up that to-die-for Moreno handbag she’d seen in the window last week? Or spring for a new pair of Merrazi wedges since a toddler with attitude had stomped on the toe of her favorites her first day at Annabelle’s?
Maybe the order of the day was to go out for a leisurely lunch. Or, even better, treat herself to an elegant dinner. It would feel good to get all dressed up. Although most of her clothes had gone for consignment, she still had a few nice things. She could catch a cab to Gambiolini’s and request her usual table, then while away a few hours sipping a glass or two of pricey red wine, flirting with Phillippe, her favorite waiter, indulging her months-long craving for the house specialty, shrimp tettrazini.
Except somebody she knew was bound to be there. Did she really want to deal with the whispers and repressive stares or, even worse, the humiliation of being treated as if she were invisible?
Okay, so maybe dinner out wasn’t the best idea, she decided, as her bus
