Mary Anne Wilson - A Question Of Honor

The change had occurred specifically when she’d run into Adam her first night in Wolf Lake. And another change was coming tomorrow.

“Everyone I know seems to be going through some sort of upheaval in their lives, some minor, some very major,” he said. She heard him exhale and instead of looking over at him, she turned to the side window and the night outside. “Jack and Mallory have endured huge changes and their lives will never be the same.”

She was uneasy with the conversation. She didn’t want to think about the way lives could be altered forever in a second. She was living through that horror. Her fingers were aching where they clutched her purse, and she forced her hand to relax on the worn leather. “Sometimes we don’t have choices in things like that,” she said softly.

“True, but I wish Jack would talk about what’s happening with him. He’s so closed, and handling it on his own. That’s no good for anyone.”

“It’s how he deals with things,” she said, knowing she had no choices about her actions. She’d had to leave, to keep moving and stay low. She never dreamed she’d end up in a truck in a small town with a cop and not be under arrest. That last thought made her want to either laugh or scream. She wasn’t sure which one was the right reaction. So instead, she said, “Everyone has to do what they have to do.”

Dear Reader,

A very dear friend of mine said something many years ago that I didn’t quite understand until I started to write and deal with characters on a personal level. “Adam and Eve had different kids.” I thought it was a flip way of saying everyone is as different as everyone else, which is probably true. But I didn’t fully appreciate the basic truth of that statement until I started writing about the Carsons of Wolf Lake.

Three brothers, Jackson, Gage and Adam, are heading in three different directions, all attached to their heritage, but each with his own unique needs and dreams for his future. Brothers who were raised by the same parents in the same place, Wolf Lake, yet brothers who embraced particular visions of what constituted “perfect.”

That is until they met the women who would change their lives for the better. It turns out the differences in each brother proves to be the foundation for a relationship that will survive just about anything. A happily-ever-after might be everyone’s goal from childhood, but the journey is what makes a person and shows him or her what this life is all about, including a love that lasts forever.

I hope you enjoy the Carson family’s journey.

Mary Anne Wilson

A Question of Honor

Mary Anne Wilson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

is a Canadian transplanted to Southern California, where she lives with her husband, three children and an assortment of animals. She knew she wanted to write romances when she found herself rewriting the great stories in literature, such as A Tale of Two Cities, to give them happy endings. Over her long career she’s published more than thirty romances, had her books on bestseller lists, been nominated for Reviewer’s Choice Awards and received a career nomination in romantic suspense.

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For Kaetlyn, who shows me constantly that life is worth whatever it takes to make it work.

I love you more than you can ever say you love me!

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

Chicago, Illinois

FAITH SIZEMORE STRODE quickly along the upscale residential street located a block from Lake Michigan. A light snow had just begun to fall. As she headed for the only home she’d ever known, she carried the knowledge that she was about to make a decision that would affect the rest of her life.

She moved unnoticed along the snowy sidewalk. She’d deliberately changed her appearance and was relieved that it seemed to have worked. Gone were the sleek designer clothes, her usual calf-high leather boots and the expensive shoulder bags she habitually carried.

She’d never been fond of her diminutive size—five feet two inches and barely one hundred pounds—but now she thought it might work in her favor and that it gave new meaning to the expression “staying under the radar.”

Gone were the makeup, the leather gloves and diamond studs she always wore, a gift from her father when she graduated from college. Plain and simple had been her goal. She was plain and simple right then as she neared the front of her family’s historic town house. The reporters that had dogged her every step for the past four months were clustered outside the high wrought-iron gates, and she knew this would be the real test

The “new” Faith was hunched into the wind, her chin tucked into the fleece collar of her definitely unstylish wool parka. Slim jeans were little protection against the biting cold and wind-driven snow, but her chunky boots took the slippery street with ease. A dark watch cap was pulled low on her head, almost covering her ebony hair, transformed from long, sleek locks to a cap of crazy curls that didn’t even touch the collar of her jacket.

She didn’t slow as she got to the group of reporters and the nearby protesters. She didn’t look at the house or the six-foot tall gates. Instead, she kept going, muttering, “Excuse me,” over and over again as she made her way through the crowd.

Suddenly, she felt something hit her shoulder and she turned, coming face-to-face with one of the protesters, a woman who held a sign that read Greed Is a Four-Letter Word. Faith thought it best not to say anything and picked up her pace. She was almost at the corner. Behind her the woman screamed, “Death to corporate greed!”

The security guard hired by her father was keeping an eye on the crowd. He spotted her but gave no indication that he recognized her, yet he’d seen her every day for the past month. She let out a long sigh.

She hadn’t realized how tense she’d been about doing this until that moment, and now, surprisingly, she felt vaguely faint. The feeling fled when she turned the corner onto the side street that ran along the extensive property where the hundred-year-old house stood.

She walked purposefully, nearing a narrow gate that fit snugly into the fence and led to an arch cut in the brick wall of the garage, a converted carriage house. She kept going but chanced a look back, noticing her boot impressions in the snow. No one was there. In one fluid motion, she reversed directions and retraced her steps to the gate. She quickly put in a security code on a pad, and the gate clicked, then slowly swung open.

She went through and carefully closed the gate so that it wouldn’t make any noise. She heard the lock reset with a soft humming sound, and then she turned to hurry across the snow-shrouded terrace. Ignoring a set of French doors that led to the formal dining room, she approached a single oak door almost out of sight at the top of two cement steps.