The Man Must Marry Page 4

  The dinner table returned to silence as everyone ate. Ben and Jesse seemed to be realizing the truth of Sam’s earlier warning that Willa was not an easy mark. She had a disarming answer for everything and refused to be trounced on. She wasn’t above hitting low, either.

  Had Bram realized that? Most likely.

  Dinner was interrupted twice by acquaintances who stopped by the table to say hello. Willa always quietly looked on with interest, assessing all of them in that disconcerting way of hers. Finally, the waiter brought over the dessert cart.

  Willa eyed the cart with enthusiasm. “Oh, boy! Black Forest cake. I was afraid they'd only have strange desserts.”

  Darcy and Paula looked askance when the waiter placed a huge, creamy, decadent piece of cake in front of Willa.

  “You’re going to eat that?” Darcy blurted, only to blush at her own rudeness.

  “I sure am. Desserts did me a huge favor once. I owe them.”

  “What kind of favor?” Paula asked.

  “They helped get me a divorce.”

  Sam, who had just taken a sip of coffee, nearly spit it out. Jesse and Ben set their cups down with a clank.

  “Dessert got you a divorce?” Jesse asked.

  Willa turned unreadable eyes on him. “I tried for more than a year to talk my husband into a simple, amicable divorce, but he refused to go down without a fight. Finally, though, I got him to give me one.”

  “How?” Paula asked, leaning over her plate and looking intrigued, not noticing that her scarf was trailing in her food.

  “I got fat.”

  “Fat!”

  “David was a rather superficial man,” Willa explained. “I got so fat he couldn’t stand to be seen in public with me. Bingo. Divorce.”

  Paula blinked. Several times. “How fat were you?”

  “What I am now.”

  “The man divorced you because of what you weigh now?” Darcy asked, darting a frantic look at Jesse.

  Jesse was too busy staring at Willa to notice. Ben had picked up his coffee again, and Sam figured that was to hide his smile behind it; Sam, however, was purely amazed. The partridge had been married?

  “Oh, no. I’ve gotten food on my scarf!” Paula cried. She stood up. “I have to go to the powder room.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Darcy offered, standing up.

  The men looked at Willa. She stayed sitting.

  As soon as the women left, Willa set down her fork. “I wish to clear the air, gentlemen,” she said, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “You do realize your grandfather sent me here hoping one of you would capture my matrimonial eye? And that I might…interest one of you?” Her smile widened. “He was looking for a miracle, I’d say.”

  Sam snorted before he could stop himself.

  “I explained to Abram that I never intend to walk down a church aisle again. All three of you could crawl to Maine on your knees, your hearts in your hands, and I wouldn’t marry any one of you.”

  “I don’t remember any of us asking,” Sam snapped.

  “As long as we understand each other,” she returned simply, picking up her fork and returning to her cake.

  “Then why in hell are you here?” Jesse asked sharply.

  “Because your grandfather asked me to do this favor for him,” Willa said with tired patience.

  “But why, if Bram knew you didn’t want to get married?”

  She stared at her half-eaten dessert. Finally, she looked around the table. “Abram claims I have an inherent sense of character. He hoped that I could meet you, get to know each of you a little bit, and objectively choose.”

  “Then choose!” Jesse growled.

  “Tomorrow!” Willa growled back, stabbing her cake and making one of the cherries shoot off her plate. It landed on Jesse’s white shirt.

  Chapter Three

  Darcy and Paula wanted to go dancing next.

  Would the evening never end?

  Willa could dance about as well as she could walk in heels. And her date must have realized exactly how she felt about it, because Sam’s eyes lit up when everyone agreed they would go to a favorite nightspot.

  Well, she’d simply have another drink and watch from the table. She wasn’t about to step into his arms naively, because Sam Sinclair downright disconcerted her. He made her palms sweat. He made her arm tingle whenever he took hold of her elbow. And she had a hard time breathing properly whenever he looked directly at her with those impaling ice-blue eyes of his.

  He was a good head taller than she was, although that didn’t exactly make him a giant. His shoulders did that. But it was his broad, masculine chest that really made her want to throw herself into his arms.

  That was why she wouldn’t dance with him. She was afraid she’d get wrapped up in his arms, against that chest, and start to drool. He also smelled much too good. She wasn’t about to get close to a well-built, handsome, broad-chested, nice-smelling man. It had simply been too long for her.

  Since her divorce five years ago, Willa had persuaded her hormones to hibernate, but the damn things had woken up when Sam took her elbow to escort her to the boardroom. Now they were practically jumping up and down in anticipation.

  “Where’s your purse?” he asked when the car pulled to the curb to pick them up.

  Willa looked him right in the eye. “On the floor in the restaurant.”

  He heaved a mighty sigh and turned to go back in.

  She grabbed his sleeve. “Leave it. It’s got three tissues and a comb in it.”

  He looked at her, his blue eyes intent. Suddenly, he grinned and helped her into the car.

  Once again, Willa found herself sandwiched between Ben and Sam, across from Jesse, the two women on either side of him. And once again, the silence became awkward.

  “What have you and Bram talked about these last six weeks?” Jesse asked.

  “Everything,” she answered honestly. “About life. And death. About accepting both. He told me that he buried all three of his sons. And he says he misses Rose very much.”

  “Our father was Bram’s middle son. His oldest son, Michael, died in a fire at the age of six. And Peter, his youngest, died at age twenty in a skiing accident,” Jesse explained. “Our father and mother died in a plane crash more than twenty years ago.”

  “He told me Rose passed away five years ago.”

  “Yes. Our home, Rosebriar, is named for her.”

  “Bram also talked about you three. About how ‘damn proud’ he is of you,” Willa said with a sincere smile. “And about how stubborn you all are for not getting married,” she added, darting an apologetic smile at the two women across from her.

  “We’ll marry in time,” Jesse said. “But on our terms—not Bram’s.”

  “Abram told me he made the mistake of raising you all to be just like him.”

  Jesse gave Willa a roguish grin. “That’s quite a compliment.”

  “Not really. I think all of you, Abram included, should have been drowned at birth.”

  Darcy and Paula gasped. Jesse’s grin broadened. Ben snorted. Sam’s shoulders shook, which shook her.

  “How long were you married?” Sam asked.

  “Three long, long years,” she admitted with a sigh.

  “And you’re sure it was your size that got you divorced?”

  “I think, Mr. Sinclair, that ultimately it was the huge rottweiler David found in our bed.”

  “You didn’t!” Jesse sputtered on a choked laugh.

  “I was getting desperate. A friend owned a very sweet rottweiler who happened to dislike men. David came home one night a little too late, a little too drunk, and a little too perfumey.” Willa smiled. “I think he still walks with a slight limp.”

  Darcy and Paula looked incredulous, but both sides of Willa started shaking, until Ben and Sam couldn’t hold in their laughter any longer.

  “A partridge.” Jesse snorted. “More like a falcon, Sam.”

  Willa frowned. “What are you—”


  The limo driver suddenly cursed as the car swerved hard to the right, throwing them off balance.

  More curses erupted from the men as it swerved again, and Willa was suddenly slammed up against a stone-hard chest. Bands of steel tightened around her as everyone was tossed like clothes in a washing machine, all three women screaming.

  The wild ride stopped with unbelievable force, throwing Willa to the floor. A heavy weight landed on top of her. Though her head was protected by the large hand cupping it, her body felt as if a tank had just slammed into it. And she couldn’t breathe.

  Old ghosts rose in Willa’s mind, filling her with terror. She shoved at Sam with all her might. “Out! We have to get out. It’s going to burn!” she cried, still shoving. “Everyone out!”

  “Easy, Willamina. It’s okay. We’re not on fire,” Sam said close to her ear. Feet and arms and legs poked at her, as more cursing ensued. A back door opened.

  Willa shoved at Sam again. “We have to get out! It could still burn. Get off me!”

  “Easy, we’re getting out,” Sam said calmly, trying to quell her panic. “Are you hurt?”

  “Just get me out of this car!” she shrieked, scrambling for the open door.

  Sam lifted her out, helping her stand as he visually inspected her. She broke free and whirled suddenly, looking at the limo on its side in the ditch. “Is everyone out? Is everyone out?” she shouted, trying to run back to the car.

  Sam pulled her against him, walking them away from the limo. “We’re all out, Willamina. And the car’s not on fire. Take it easy.”

  Ghost eyes met his; then she started looking around for the others. Ben had taken Paula a short distance away and was sitting with his date on his lap on the grass, cradling her against his shoulder. Jesse was trying to get Darcy to sit on the coat he’d thrown onto the ground for her, but she appeared too unsettled. Finally, he picked her up and simply sat down with her.

  Sam looked back at Willamina. She wasn’t panicked by just this accident. “Are you okay?” he asked, lifting her face so he could see her eyes.

  She didn’t answer, shaking silently. Ronald came over with his jacket and put it on her shoulders. Sam wrapped it tightly around her and embraced her again, tucking her head under his chin. “What happened?” he asked Ronald.

  Their driver motioned up the road, and Sam saw several cars in the ditch ahead. People were stumbling out of them as other vehicles stopped to help.

  “The sports car cut off that blue SUV, which braked suddenly. I could only head for the ditch, boss,” Ronald explained.

  “Good driving.”

  “We pretty near rolled,” he confessed.

  “Like I said, good driving. Have you called it in?”

  Just then, Sam heard sirens coming from a distance. Ronald’s teeth flashed white in the darkness. “Everyone’s got cell phones.”

  “See if there’s a blanket in the trunk.”

  “There is,” Ronald assured him, hurrying to get it.

  “Don’t let him near the car!” Willamina cried, trying to pull out of Sam’s embrace.

  “There’s no fire, Willamina. Come sit down here with the others. You’re shaking. Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

  “Don’t patronize me!” she snapped, shrugging out of Ronald’s jacket and letting it fall to the ground. “That car could burst into flames at any minute. It’s happened before!”

  “It won’t happen this time,” he promised, grabbing her and sitting down with her on his lap. Hell, if it worked for his brothers…

  “It—it’s happened to me before,” she whispered against his chest, shaking uncontrollably. “I barely got her out before it exploded.”

  “Got who out?” he asked softly.

  She wouldn’t answer and quietly started sobbing. Ronald returned with a blanket and tried to hand it to Sam. He shook his head, shrugging out of his evening jacket. “Take it to the others. And tell me as soon as an ambulance gets here.”

  Sam wrapped his jacket around Willamina and simply held her while she fought her ghosts. He rested his chin on her head, liking the feel of her snuggled against him. He remembered how she’d had them all laughing not long ago, telling them how she’d gotten rid of her husband.

  Willamina Kent was an enigma. She was sassy and clumsy, short and plump, and apparently contented that way. She was compassionate and empathetic, and she loved Abram Sinclair.

  For all of that, Sam admired her. Even in terror, she’d remained level-headed enough to want everyone out of the car. Sam could hear Darcy and Paula wailing about their torn dresses and run stockings.

  Sam smiled. Willamina probably had runs in her stockings and rips in her dress, but she wasn’t complaining. He ran his fingers through her hair, undoing the last of her topknot. Soft, silken curls cascaded over his hand, making him shiver.

  Sam sighed as he looked toward his brothers, who had stood up and were staring down at the two women huddled together on the blanket.

  Ronald was back with his beloved car, and Sam could see him muttering to himself as he walked around it. The headlights were still on, and from the expression on Ronald’s face, the front end was not a pretty sight. The chauffeur looked as if he was going to cry.

  The police arrived, along with several ambulances. Willamina wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, wincing when she moved to get off his lap.

  “Where do you hurt?”

  “I’m just lame.”

  “Can you sit here while I talk with the police?”

  “Of course,” she said, wiping her cheeks again. “I’m fine. Go.”

  Sam set her on Ronald’s coat, taking the time to snug her up in his own jacket. “Stay right here until you can be checked out by the paramedics,” he told her, not leaving until she nodded agreement.

  As soon as he walked away, Willa stood up and went to Darcy and Paula, keeping Sam’s jacket wrapped tightly around herself. Damn, she couldn’t stop shaking. It had been five years, but it could have been yesterday for the terror she felt. Last time, it had been just her and her niece, Jennifer, but it had been dark then, too, and Willa had also been forced off the road. Only her car hadn’t landed safely in a ditch; it had hit a culvert and rolled, stopping against a ledge and bursting into flames. Bruised and bleeding, Willa had needed all of her strength to get Jennifer out before it had exploded.

  Willa still had scars from the incident, but none as deep as the one she carried in her heart for her niece.

  “How is everyone?” she asked, sitting on the grass in front of the women.

  Jesse and Ben were talking to a policeman nearby. Sam was with another officer and Ronald, looking over the car.

  “Nothing’s broken, except my bracelet,” Darcy answered, holding her arm up.

  Willa could tell it was made of diamonds and likely cost more than the car. She’d probably be a little upset herself if she had broken something that expensive. “At least you didn’t lose it,” she offered.

  “That’s true. How about you? Did you get burned or something? I heard you yelling about a fire.”

  “No. I’m fine. And there wasn’t any fire.”

  “Ladies, can you walk to the ambulance?” a young man asked, hunching down to shine a flashlight over them.

  “With help,” Darcy answered, taking another man’s extended hand.

  “I think my ankle’s sprained,” Paula said. “It hurts too much to get up.”

  “Send a basket down here,” the young man called to the man helping Darcy up the slope. “And you, ma’am. Can you walk?” he asked Willa.

  “I don’t need to be checked. I’m not hurt.”

  “I’d like to make sure of that,” he countered, shining his light over her, smiling as he carefully brushed back her hair. “You have a bump on your forehead.”

  Willa raised a hand to her forehead. “It’s just a small bump.”

  “Your wrist’s bleeding,” he said, taking her hand.

  “Maybe you can give me a Band-Aid.”

/>   “Maybe I should just bring you to the ambulance and see what else I find,” he persisted.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Here we go, ma’am,” a burly young man said as he and another set a long basket down beside Paula and prepared to put her in it.

  “You go help them,” Willa suggested to her medic. “I’ll go to the ambulance eventually.”

  He reached into his box and pulled out a large Band-Aid. He carefully put it over the cut on her wrist, then narrowed his eyes at her. “This is just temporary. Until you eventually come to the ambulance.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank me at the ambulance,” he shot back, jogging over to another accident victim.

  The strobe lights, the sounds of police radios crackling, the smell of gasoline brought back all the painful, horrific memories.

  But especially the ambulance.

  She couldn’t bring herself to go sit inside it. The last time she’d been in one had been with Jennifer, who hadn’t been moving and hadn’t opened her eyes. Her eleven-year-old niece had become trapped in the car, and her foot was crushed when Willa had pulled her out. Now sixteen years old, the girl wore a prosthesis where her right foot used to be.

  No. She couldn’t go up to that ambulance.

  She walked away from the sights and sounds and smells but couldn’t outwalk the piercing strobe lights. She sat down in the grass about a hundred yards from the chaos, her body sore and her bare feet cold. She tucked them beneath her and sat in silence, watching the people running around.

  She could see several more vehicles in the ditch past the limousine. There had been no other cars involved five years ago. The driver who’d forced them off the road had continued on, leaving her and Jennifer to their fate.

  Sam’s angry voice suddenly intruded into her thoughts. “I told you to stay put.”

  She looked up at him, not blinking.

  “You’re supposed to be getting checked out.”

  “I already was,” she said, lifting her arm to show him her bandage.

  “That’s it? They gave you a Band-Aid?”

  “Is she hurt?” Ben asked, coming up behind Sam, followed by Jesse.