Inglath Cooper - The Lost Daughter Of Pigeon Hollow

Just thought you’d like to know, the debate continues. See attached.

Cline

Owen downloaded the file. A few seconds later, an article from the Lexington Daily Record popped up. His photo accompanied the headline Marriage Or The Farm?

The article below began:

The single days of well-known bachelor and thoroughbred commercial breeding heir Owen Miller may be numbered.

Sources say the will left by his father, Harrison Miller, provides that if he is not engaged by his thirty-third birthday—some ten days from now—Winding Creek Farm and all its subsequent holdings will revert to his younger brother, Cline Miller.

Owen clicked out of the file, disgust hitting him in the gut. He moved the cursor to Instant Messaging and typed in:

You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?

Cline answered a couple of seconds later:

The entertainment value is huge, you have to admit.

Owen pictured his brother, seated in front of the laptop, and a wave of affection flooded through him.

For you, I suppose.

So, have you found her?

Who?

Your new wife.

I’m not looking for one.

Just pick out one and get it over with.

Like shopping for a new tie?

The noose-around-your-neck association does not go unappreciated. You know in the end, Dad always won. And besides, if you hand the mantle over to me, I’m not making any promises about maintaining the family name.

Hmm.

BTW, Pamela called. Again. Have I heard from you? Asked with notable irritation, I might add, leading me to think she hasn’t heard from you.

I’ll call her.

Good. Unless you find another prospect first.

Bye, Cline.

See ya.

Owen logged off, leaned back in his chair and laced his hands behind his head. Cline’s question wasn’t exactly out of left field. Why hadn’t he asked Pamela? She expected it, and probably had a right to. They’d been going out for a year. Her expectations weren’t unreasonable, considering his position.

When his father died three years ago, Owen had never thought the will provision would actually interfere with his life. It had seemed more of an annoyance, although totally in character, that his father would continue to pull strings, even from the grave.

Maybe Owen had assumed he would be engaged or married by this point, anyway. At least that he would have met someone who made him want to be. But here he was. Time nearly up.

Not married.

He glanced at the phone. He really should call Pamela.

But then there was the red flag. He should call her. Later. He’d call her later.

IT WAS THE PERFECT DAY to be at the lake.

Katie considered pretty much any day perfect if it involved skipping school.

Maybe the principal would eventually give up and just kick her out, putting an end to her useless arguments with Willa. A girl could dream.

A jam box sat at one corner of the dock, D-12 blasting. She could feel the throb of it through the backs of her calves. Beside her, Eddie lay staring at the sky, holding a joint between his thumb and index finger, his expression dreamy. He took another long pull. “God, that’s good stuff,” he said, his voice raspy with smoke. He passed it to her.

She took a small puff, then handed it back to him.

He laid it on the dock, turned on his side and propped up on his elbow. She looked at him through half-open eyes. He was hot, in a rebel-with-a-cause kind of way. Eddie’s cause was whatever pleased him at the moment. A few weeks ago, it had been the hammerhead shark tattoo now etched into his right bicep.

For now, it was her.

He touched her face. “Come here.”

She complied, not so much because she wanted to, but because being with Eddie fueled her need to reach for whatever it was she thought would piss Willa off the most.

For now, that was Eddie.

He leaned over and kissed her, heavy duty from the get-go. She followed him for a few moments, and he pushed her back onto the dock, half lying across her. He picked up the pace of the kissing, the lower half of his body moving in suggestion.

Her bikini top slipped. She turned her head, pulling the bathing suit back in place. “Easy, okay?”

“What? You don’t want to?”

Katie raised up on an elbow, dropped her head back and blew out a sigh.

“You’ve been a real drag all day. Maybe I should have brought someone a little more fun out here.”

“Maybe you should have.”

Eddie put a hand on her thigh, massaged the muscle, his touch experienced. “Hey, I didn’t want to bring anybody else. So what’s the deal?”

Katie sighed. “My sister. She’s such a pain in the ass.”

“She riding you again?”

“Only about everything.”

“What’s her problem? She’s pretty hot-looking for an old girl.”

She gave him a look. “Twenty-eight is hardly old.”

“You two sure are different.”

“That a compliment or insult?”

“Neither. Just seeing her down at the Top Shelf, she acts a lot older than she looks.”

“She’s been like that ever since Mom died.”

Eddie shrugged. “Why don’t you just check out of there?”

“And what? Live out of my backpack?”

“Move in with me.”

Katie frowned. “And your four other roommates?”

Eddie brushed the back of his hand against the side of her breast. “Hey, I’ve got my own bed. That’s all we need.”

“You are such a jerk.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I’m not stupid. I start acting like Joe Nice Guy, you’ll ditch me for sure.”

At least he knew her.

Katie stood, shucked off her blue-jean shorts, and made a clean dive into the lake.

Eddie followed. He came up gasping. “Man, it’s cold!”

“Weenie.”

He kissed her again. “I mean it,” he said. “Think about it. Move in with us. We’ll have a big time.”

She looked at him for a moment, and then said, “I’ll think about it.”

IT FELT LIKE A REPEAT of the night before. And far too many others in recent weeks.

Willa sat on the living room couch, hands wrapped around a mug of hot tea, a table lamp the only light. Sam was curled up beside her, his head on her leg. A novel lay open on her lap, but she had no idea what she’d read in the last five pages.

She glanced at the grandfather clock on the other side of the room. Eleven.

The front door opened. Katie walked through the foyer and headed up the stairs.

“The principal called,” Willa said quietly.

Katie stopped on the second step. “Save it, okay?”

“So what should I do, Katie?” Willa asked in an even voice. “Just let you mess up your life for good?”

“It’s not your life to mess up. You’re doing a pretty good job with your own.”

Willa’s grip on the cup tightened. She pressed a finger to her forehead. “How did we get here, Katie?”

“I’m not your responsibility, Willa,” Katie said, the words a few degrees softer. “I can take care of myself.”