Sandra Marton - Guardian Groom

Grant looped his tie under his collar and knotted it. He was always faithful, he thought, smiling again—for as long as an affair lasted.

He looked into the mirror as he put on his jacket. The runner in shorts and sweatshirt was gone, replaced by a meticulously groomed man in a Savile Row suit, but then, that was who he was. The man who’d come into this bedroom with an unshaven face, grungy shorts, and a sweatshirt was just a leftover from a life he’d long ago put behind him.

Why he even kept his old running clothes was beyond him; they were so beat up that they should have been tossed out years ago.

With a grimace, Grant stuffed the shirt and shorts into a pocket of his weekend bag. This was not the time for philosophical musings. He had an appointment to keep—a breakfast meeting requested by Victor Bayliss, who’d been Charles’s number one yesman.

“You meet with the guy,” his brothers had said with unseemly haste. “It takes a lawyer to talk to a lawyer.”

Heartless bastards, Grant thought with a fond smile as he closed the bedroom door after him. Not that he minded. Bayliss undoubtedly wanted this meeting so he could cozy up to the new Landon management.

Grant could hardly wait to see the man’s face when he heard the news.

A couple of hours later, Grant threw open the massive front door to the Landon mansion, slammed it shut behind him, and strode down the hall to the dining room. They were all gathered there, just as he’d expected. Cade and Zach were horsing around as if they hadn’t a care in the world while a smiling Kyra looked on.

Hell, Grant thought angrily, why did he have to be the one to drop the bombshell?

“Dammit,” he snapped, “what’s going on here? We’re not kids anymore, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Cade and Zach swung toward him, their faces registering surprise.

“Grant?” Kyra said. “Are you okay?”

He dropped the manila folder filled with bad news on the table, walked to the sideboard, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“I’m fine,” he said, but he knew, from the looks on their faces, that he wasn’t fooling anybody.

“So?” Cade asked after a minute. “What did Bayliss want to talk about?”

A muscle knotted in Grant’s jaw. “Trouble,” he said grimly. “That’s what he wanted to talk about.”

Zach frowned. “What kind of trouble?”

Grant picked up the file folder. There was no point in beating around the bush; this would have to be dealt with quickly.

“See for yourselves,” he said. He pulled papers from the folder and handed one stack to Cade, the other to Zach. Kyra looked at him, her brows raised, and he smiled reassuringly. There was nothing here to worry his little sister, thank goodness. After a moment, she turned toward the window.

Cade was the first to react.

“According to this report,” he said, looking at Grant, “this Dallas oil company Landon owns—Gordon’s, it’s called—is going to go under any minute.”

“What oil company?” Zach said, his expression puzzled. “I just read a profile on a Landon acquisition called Triad. It’s some kind of Hollywood production outfit—and it’s gonna sink like a stone.”

Grant nodded grimly. “You’re both right. Landon bought both firms to bail them out. Instead, we seem to have helped them get into worse condition.”

Cade bristled. “What’s this ‘we’ stuff, big brother?”

“Are you forgetting, Cade?” Grant swung toward him. “It’s us, as of yesterday. Like it or not, we’re Landon Enterprises. And we will be, until we find a buyer.”

Neither Zach nor Cade needed to be force-fed reality. Grant saw the understanding dawn in both their faces.

If either Gordon Oil or Triad Productions went under, selling Landon would become a nightmare. The company would have a hole in its balance sheet large enough to sink a battleship. Only a fool would buy it then.

Grant’s jaw clenched. His hand went to his pocket, where a scrap of paper lay. The paper was yet another problem, one so ridiculous he couldn’t bring himself to mention it. Not now anyway; not until they’d figured a way out of this mess.

“Tell Bayliss to deal with this,” Cade said.

“Bayliss retired as of this morning. He said he was too old to face another Colorado winter.” Grant smiled tightly. “Seems we read him wrong. He’s going to spend the rest of his days in the Virgin Islands, sipping piña coladas.”

“Goodwin, then. Bayliss’s second in command. He can—”

“Goodwin’s got a dozen things on his plate already.”

“Then what—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” The brothers swung around. Kyra was glowering at them with a look on her face that said all three of them were fools. “What’s with you guys? Are you stupid, or what? A ten-year-old could figure this out!” She turned an angry glare on Zach. “You’re the financial whiz, aren’t you? Surely you could fly out to the coast, take a look at Triad’s books, and decide what can be done to help it.”

“Me? Don’t be silly. I’ve got people waiting for me in Boston. I can’t just—”

“And you,” she snapped at Cade. “You’re the genius who knows all about oil. And here’s this little company having a problem.” She slapped her hands onto her hips. “Would it be too much to hope that maybe you might be the one to check things out in Dallas?”

“It’s out of the question! I’ve business in London. I can’t—”

“She’s right,” Grant said brusquely. “You guys could get a handle on things faster than anybody else.”

There was a moment’s silence. Cade and Zach looked at each other, and then Zach threw up his arms in defeat.

“Two days,” he said, “and not a second more.”

Cade nodded. “Okay. Two days, and then…Wait just a minute.” He swung toward Grant. “What about you? Don’t tell me you’re the only one of us who gets to walk away from this mess?”

Grant’s hand clamped tightly around the paper in his pocket. Cade was flying to Texas to find out why an oil company was going under; Zach was heading for California to get a handle on a film outfit. And he—he was going back to New York to—to—

Jesus. It was ridiculous, but he was stuck with it. He took a deep breath.

“I’ve got my own mess to deal with. It seems some old pal of Father’s named him guardian of his twelve-year-old kid.”

“And?”

“And,” he said through his teeth, “until she turns twenty-one, I seem to have inherited her.”

He saw the smiles begin to curve across his brothers’ faces, saw even Kyra try, and fail, to maintain a neutral expression. But what choice was there? He was an attorney, he lived and practiced in New York. The girl lived there, too—it was no contest, he thought grimly. The child was his burden by default.

His brothers were looking at each other, their smiles rapidly becoming grins, and he glowered at them.

“You guys think this is funny? Listen, we can always swap jobs. I’ll take on Hollywood, or Dallas, and one of you can—”

“No,” Zach said quickly, “no, that’s okay, old buddy. I’ll deal with Hollywood, Cade’ll handle Dallas.” His lips twitched. “And I bet you’re going to make one hell of a terrific baby-sitter.”

Cade suppressed a snort of laughter. Grant swung toward him.

“This—this is not funny,” he choked, and then, suddenly, the grim look left his face and he burst out laughing. “Hell,” he said, “I can’t believe it, either.”

Laughing, the three men moved into a tight circle, clapped each other on the back, then joined right hands as they had when they were kids.

“To the Deadeye Defenders,” Cade said.

“To the Deadeyes,” Grant echoed, and they grinned happily at each other.