Just for a moment Seth allowed himself to dream of a large house with a huge front porch, himself and some phantom man sitting side by side, a child or two with them. The perfect little family. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t seem to work Michael into the picture. The mystery man remained a vague shape. Whoever he turned out to be, he’d be honest and dependable. And for some strange reason, he seemed to have red hair. Why would Seth fantasize about a man with red hair? Michael’s hair was blond.
Then again, if Seth paused a minute to think with the right head, Michael had waltzed into his life while on the rebound from the mysterious Luther, a high-powered New York attorney who’d spoiled Michael rotten until Michael had gotten it into his head that he wanted permanence. And now he’d get it.
“Ha! Won’t last a month!” Seth proclaimed to the wine bottle.
His phone chirped, announcing a message. He raised his head and stared at the offending gizmo with bleary eyes. “Not now!” he yelled, dropping his head back to the couch arm. What the fuck would he do? He should be enjoying makeup sex right about now. Instead, he lay on the couch in his tiny apartment, wallowing in self-pity and cheap wine.
I’d better check my messages.Who knew? Maybe he’d gotten an out-of-town job offer. He’d love to get away for a week or two. Or longer.
Eventually he summoned enough energy to reach for his phone, entering his password to access the message. Smashing the tiny iPhone to his ear, he heard, “Mr. McDaniel? I’m Richard Clooney, of Clooney, Anderson, and Gentry. I represent your aunt’s estate.”
Chapter 3
SETHreread the documents he’d been sent, while crammed into a coach-class airline seat. Some things he understood, others he’d definitely need to speak to his aunt’s attorney about. And while the papers hinted at money coming his way in addition to a house, they hadn’t named a specific amount. The one thing he knew for certain was that he needed to spend time in the South, unraveling the details of his aunt’s will and deciding what to do with all she’d left him. He reread the lawyer’s last letter: “I received your itinerary and an associate of your aunt’s will pick you up when you arrive.” The lawyer hadn’t specified who or how Seth would know them. Oh well, he’d find out soon enough.
He’d demolished the last of his airline pretzels by the time his Samsonite case came into view on the luggage claim carousel at the Atlanta airport. He received a few appraising glances. The curious stares might have been for him, his oversized case, or the distinctive rainbow strap that both announced his sexuality to savvy individuals and made his black, expandable spinner bag easier to find.
A six-foot Valkyrie straight from the Wagnerian opera his grandmother once dragged him to (minus the horned helmet), bore down on Seth as he wrestled his luggage off the conveyor, which seemed to put on a burst of speed just to taunt him. With one hand on the handle, he followed his runaway suitcase around a bend, chorusing, “Excuse me, pardon me” to anyone in his way. Without slowing down, the Valkyrie swooped in, grasped the strap, and hauled the at-weightlimit-bag to the floor. “You Seth McDaniel?” she asked, extending the handle on his suitcase.
“Yes.”
“I’m here to take you to your aunt’s.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door with Seth’s luggage.
“Wait! Miss! Miss!” Seth grabbed his laptop case and jogged after her, puffing for breath by the time they’d made it curbside. The battle maiden tossed an annoyedKeep up, why don’t you!glare over her shoulder.
“Out of shape, are you, city boy?” she sneered. Her long gold braids and the stern set of her shoulders brought to mind a Girl Scout on steroids.
Everything about the woman seemed built in squares, from her firm jawline to her blunted fingernails. Dressed in worn blue jeans, a “Southern by the Grace of God” T-shirt, and flip-flops, not a speck of makeup enhanced her carved-from-ice complexion.
Without waiting for a reply, she resumed charging toward the parking lot, dragging Seth’s suitcase behind her and forcing Seth to scramble in her long-legged wake. Apparently single-minded in her determination to reach another state on foot, the only time the Amazonian warrior bothered to glance up was when a car approached. Each and every time, she froze in place, shook herself, and then resumed marching across the asphalt.
She stopped next to an ancient blue-and-primer-colored Chevy Silverado and slung the suitcase into the back. The overloaded luggage landed with a solid thud.
“My cameras!” Seth cried.
A glinty-eyed stare lowered down to Seth’s level. “Next time, you can haul your own damned bag.”
Seth narrowed his eyes, bristling. “I would have taken it this time if you hadn’t grabbed it. I don’t even know you! Who are you?”
“Jill,” she replied. “That’s all you need to know.” She stepped in, crowding Seth’s personal space, and then sniffed, her nose buried in his neck. “You smell like passel, but weak. What the hell kind of soap do you use?”
“Hey!” Seth jumped back. “What the fuck? I don’t know what a passel is, but I most certainly don’t smell like one. I’ll have you know my soap comes from an exclusive boutique in Chicago.” And he’d never gotten complaints before, at least not from men.
Goldilocks reared back, teeth bared. “Well, stop using it! You smell like a girl!” She rounded the truck to the driver’s side, flung the door open, and flumped down behind the wheel.
Seth waited for an invitation to get in, but when Jill fired up the engine and began backing out of the parking space—with his suitcase—he gave up any pretense of good manners and grabbed the passenger door handle, running beside the truck. When the woman braked to shift out of reverse, he hopped inside, stowing his laptop case on the floorboard.
“You might wanna fasten your seat belt,” Jill warned, stomping the accelerator hard enough to slide Seth’s suitcase down the truck bed to rap against the tailgate. Seth grabbed the “oh shit!” handle, hanging on for dear life.
Hoping he hadn’t been abducted by a madwoman, Seth attempted a conversation. “We haven’t met properly but I’m—”
“—the no-account loser who abandoned his aunt and never even came to visit in twenty fucking years.”
“Now wait a damned minute. My aunt never even called me, not once.”
Jill stomped the brake, sending Seth jolting forward, and tossed a paper ticket at the parking lot attendant. His suitcase slammed against the cab. “Nobody needed to tell you to do the right thing. That’ll be five bucks.”
“Huh?”
