his arms. “Arrogant jerk.” Blessed with a cleft and dimples? How unfair! Her grandfather had talked about the Drakes, how they’d swept into town decades ago, buying up acres of land. What had once been miles and miles of empty fields eventually became Paradise Cove, incorporated by Walter’s son, Ike Drake Sr., and his highbrow friends.
“They’re a bunch of self-absorbed, bourgie possums, Gramps, just like you said.” But what he hadn’t told her was how handsome a Drake man could be, or what to do when just five minutes in his presence had made her heart go boom.
Chapter 3
“Son! This is a surprise.” Jennifer Drake stood back from the door so that Warren could enter the oversize foyer.
“Hello, Mom.”
She reached up to give him a hug. “Where are Richard and Jackson?”
“Dropped Richard back off at his apartment. As we were wrapping up, Boss got a phone call that forced him to cancel his plans to join us.”
“From whom?”
“Diamond. She flew up to surprise him with a romantic weekend in San Francisco.”
“Oh, that’s a lovely thing for his wife to do.”
Warren’s father, Ike, came around the corner, a predinner tumbler of scotch in hand. “Hey there, Warren. How’d it go today?”
“It was interesting.”
“Son, can I fix you a drink?”
“Sure, Mom. Thanks.”
“Will you be staying for dinner? The twins are coming over.”
“Don’t they always?” They could consume a whole pig between the two of them, but it was no secret that neither Terrell nor Teresa, Warren’s younger siblings by two years, liked to cook. “What about Niko?”
“Out on a date.” Jennifer didn’t try and hide her chagrin for Warren’s older brother’s choice.
“He must be with Ashley.”
“I don’t know why he can’t see what’s painfully obvious. That girl is chasing dollar signs.”
“Now, Jennifer,” Ike said, his voice somber and a tad chiding. “He’s a grown man. We’ve done our job in raising him. He has to make his own way.”
Jennifer prepared to say something, thought better of it and left the room to get Warren’s scotch.
“Come on, son.” Ike headed into the great room. Warren followed behind, noting the vases of colorful and fresh flowers they passed on the way, evidence of his mother’s artistic hand. When he married, Warren wanted someone like her: beautiful, strong, intelligent, classy.
His father took a seat in one of two leather wingback chairs. Warren took the other one. “So you say your day was interesting. How so?”
“I met my neighbor.” Ike took a sip as he nodded, listened. “She wasn’t too happy to see me.”
“She?”
“That was my reaction.” He paused as Jennifer brought in his tumbler of scotch. He took a taste as his mother sat on the nearby couch. “Her name is Charli Reed.”
“Reed?” his parents said at once.
He looked from one to the other and didn’t miss their raised-brow exchange. “What’s up with that reaction?”
“Just surprised, son, that’s all. We thought the Reeds had sold that place a few years ago, after Charles died.”
“Who’s Charles?”
“He used to be in business with your grandfather,” Jennifer offered, placing her crystal flute of sherry on the table.
“It was after he was honorably discharged from the service.”
“After his injury?”
Ike nodded. “They had another buddy who told him about the property, which at that time went for pennies on the dollar. They bought up all one thousand acres and at one time had a modestly profitable dairy farm.”
“Then on a trip back home to New Orleans he met your grandmother and moved back home.” Jennifer sat back on the couch and wiped a nonexistent wrinkle from her slacks. “But you’ve heard this story, Warren. I’ve heard Grandpa sharing it with you boys.”
“I guess I wasn’t paying attention.”
“What happened when you met the woman?” Ike asked.
“She came galloping up on this impressive-looking horse, dismounted and demanded I move my fence. Said her cattle needed access to the stream on our land.”
“Ike, do you think that’s his granddaughter?”
He nodded at Jennifer. “Sounds like it. You said her name is Charli?”
“Yes,” Warren replied.
“Then that’s her.”
“So our grandfathers owned a business together once. That still doesn’t explain her nasty attitude.”
Ike leaned back, stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Their parting, which started out amicably, soured over the years.”
“What happened?” Both parents were slow to respond. “Wait, this doesn’t have anything to do with the gold, does it?”
“Not really,” Jennifer said. “They found what little bit of gold there was when the property was owned jointly and split it fifty-fifty.”
“So what was it then?”
“When Daddy decided to move back to New Orleans, the dairy was doing fairly well but the cash flow wasn’t exceptional. He helped Charles by buying up the acres that weren’t being used—”
“Six hundred acres, right?” That’s how many acres there had been before Warren had purchased several hundred more.
“Seven hundred initially,” Ike continued. “Daddy bought the land, Charles kept the business. They shook hands and all was well.”
Jennifer continued the story. “Several years later, Charles came to your grandfather and asked to buy back some land. Daddy Walter wasn’t keen on it but Charles was persistent, saying that he needed more land for the cows. Finally, Daddy Walter agreed to sell him one hundred acres—at a price well below market value I might add—but that was it. Later, when the dairy farm experienced an exceptionally good year financially, he asked to buy back more of the land. Charles knew how well your grandfather had done in real estate and didn’t see why he was interested in holding on to property he didn’t even visit. He asked more than once. Each time Daddy Walter refused, finally letting him know in no uncertain terms that what he’d purchased would remain Drake property. Their relationship was never the same after that.”
“Daddy
