she needed help. She was still reeling and too depressed and bereft to function, much less deal with legal matters on her own. And there was no one else to whom she could turn.
“All right, you win,” she huffed finally.
“Good. Now why don’t you go get some rest?”
She shook her head. “No. I’d rather get this over with. Anyway, I doubt that I could sleep for worrying. I’ll just go up and wash my face. I’ll be right back.”
Dillon watched her climb the curving stairway, his gaze zeroing in on her erect posture and the proud tilt of her head.
A smile tugged at his lips as he pictured the way she’d tipped her chin up at him. The action was typical of Emily.
On the outside she was gracious and soft-spoken, but she had a backbone of tempered steel. He had recognized that about her within minutes of their first meeting, seven years ago.
Emily was the kind of woman, Dillon mused, who in days gone by, would have stepped in without a qualm and taken over running the family farm while her man marched off to war, even if she had to plow the fields herself with a baby on her hip and a rifle slung over her shoulder.
That strength and indomitable spirit was one of the many things he had admired about her from the beginning.
Emily hadn’t known that grief could be so debilitating. Or was it the anger that seethed at her core? Either way, she felt drained. Just climbing the curving stairway took tremendous effort. It was as though every cell in her body were weighted with lead. It didn’t help that she could feel Dillon’s laser-beam stare boring into her back.
In her bedroom she stripped off the cashmere suit she’d worn for her meeting with the attorney. Her panty hose came next. Wearing just her panties and bra, she went into the bathroom. Catching sight of herself in the mirror above the sink Emily groaned. She looked a fright. She had cried away most of her makeup and her mascara had run in streaks over her cheeks, making her look like a red-eyed raccoon.
Twisting her hair into a loose knot at her crown, she secured it with a couple of small combs and creamed away what was left of her ruined makeup, then splashed her face with cold water. As she patted her skin dry she winced at her reflection. She was so pale she looked anemic.
A dusting of powder, a sweep of blush and a quick dab of lipstick provided only marginal improvement, but it would have to do. What did it matter, she thought. The only person who would see her was Dillon, and she wasn’t trying to please him.
She paused and frowned at her reflection, remembering the way he had held her close and comforted her.
Funny. She had always found his size and ruggedness intimidating, but being held against that brawny chest with those strong arms wrapped around her had felt surprisingly good. And safe. As though nothing in the world could harm her in the shelter of Dillon’s embrace.
She shook her head and wrinkled her nose at her reflection. What a fanciful thought. You must still be in shock if you’re starting to think of Dillon as a knight in shining armor.
She returned to the bedroom and donned a pair of casual navy slacks and a cream turtleneck sweater, slipped her feet into a pair of classic loafers and headed downstairs.
When Emily entered the kitchen, she found that Dillon had brewed a pot of coffee. Before taking her to the attorney’s office he had changed into a suit. Now he’d removed his coat and tie and unbuttoned the collar and rolled up the sleeves. He sat at the table with the file folder spread open, scowling as he read. In his right hand he held a steaming mug of coffee.
Dillon looked up and arched one eyebrow as she crossed the room and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Feeling better?”
She turned and leaned her hips back against the counter and took a sip of coffee. “Not really, but I’ll manage.” She nodded toward the folder. “How’s it going?”
“I was on the phone with my foreman for a while, so I just got started. I’m going to need some paper to write on so I can total everything up as I go.”
Emily pulled a legal pad and some pencils from a drawer and sat down beside him at the table. Immediately her nose was assailed with a mixture of smells—coffee, soap, the clean, woodsy scent of his aftershave, even a hint of starch from his crisp dress shirt. And underlying it all, was that unique masculine scent that was his alone. It was not an unpleasant combination, yet it made her uncomfortable. Breathing in his scent seemed so…so intimate, somehow.
If Dillon was equally aware of her he gave no indication.
Taking the yellow legal pad, he divided it into two columns with a vertical line down the center and scrawled Assets at the top of one side and Liabilities at the top of the other.
“Okay, this first document is a short-term bank loan for ten thousand dollars that he took out just last week,” he said, recording the outstanding balance in the liabilities column.
For the next couple of hours they went through every piece of paper and document in the folder. There were numerous personal loans with various banks around town. Most, according to Bob Larson’s records, were used to pay off Keith’s bookie, but in recent months it appeared that Keith had taken out loans to pay off earlier loans.
“Larson was right about one thing,” Dillon commented tersely. “Keith was operating just one step ahead of disaster. His finances were a juggling act.”
There were at least four credit cards that Emily had known nothing about, all with astronomical balances. An examination of the charges showed he’d purchased several luxury items for a woman—perfumes, jewelry, flowers, a fur—none of which had come to Emily. There were charges for restaurants and nightclubs and tickets to theater productions that she had not attended. In addition, the sailboat was only half paid for and there were the mortgages on the house, the beach house and, most galling of all, on Keith’s little love nest.
When they were done Dillon’s face was grim and Emily felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach.
“Dear Lord. It’s worse than I thought.” She stared at the figures on the pad, feeling sick. The liabilities column stretched almost to the bottom of the page, and the total was staggering. The only items listed in the assets column were the house and her car, a three-year-old Cadillac that Keith had been badgering her to trade in on a new one for the last six months. Thank heaven she had resisted.
“Damn,” Dillon spat. “What the hell was he thinking? He made an excellent living but he’d been trying to live like a billionaire.”
Groaning, Emily lowered her face into her hands. “You know Keith. Self-denial was never in his vocabulary.”
“Yeah. We have Mother to thank for that. She spoiled him rotten his whole life. By the time he was in his teens he was sure the world revolved around him. To tell the truth, I was amazed when he had the self-discipline to stick it out through medical school and his internship and become a doctor. If he hadn’t loved medicine so much he would never have done it.”
Unable to sit still any longer, Emily bounded out of the chair and started pacing the kitchen. “There’s only one thing to do. I’ll have to sell the house.”
“Whoa. Wait a minute. There must be another way.”
“Really? What
