My Man Pendleton(2)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

Like an iridescent bubble, realization popped in Kit’s head, and suddenly she understood. Three years ago. Her mother quite angry. Thinking back now, Mama had been more furious than Kit had ever seen her the night Daddy paid off Michael Derringer in exchange for abandoning his only daughter.

“The second scenario of your wife’s final wishes,” Mr. Abernathy continued then, stirring Kit from her thoughts, “would, at the trust’s expiration in two years, have the family inheriting the entirety of Mrs. McClellan’s estate.”

Six McClellan heads snapped up at the announcement.

“Well, hell, Abernathy,” Holt, Sr. said, “why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Ignoring the question, the attorney continued, “For the family to inherit, one criterion must be met before the trust’s expiration.”

“Name it,” Holt, Sr. stated emphatically.

“Miss McClellan,” Mr. Abernathy said, dipping his head toward Kit, “must be married.”

“What?”This time the exclamation came from Kit.

The attorney glanced over at her and smiled warmly in spite of the bombshell he had just dropped. “If you are legally married within two years’ time, Miss McClellan, then your family will inherit your mother’s estate, in full. However, should you choose to remain single, then the estate—every last penny—will go to charity. It’s that simple.”

He turned his attention back to the McClellan men and added, “Mrs. McClellan also indicated that no one in the family should marry until her daughter does. Should one of the boys—or you, Mr. McClellan, for that matter—marry before Miss McClellan does, then the estate would go to charity.”

“But—” Kit started to object. Unfortunately, no other words emerged to join that one. Because she had absolutely no idea what to say.

Interpreting her silence as understanding, instead of the total confusion it really was, Mr. Abernathy continued. “For two years, the business and holdings shall continue on as usual, but they and the other assets will be managed by me and my firm, as Mrs. McClellan indicated they should be. The family will continue to reside here at Cherrywood, and all will receive their normal allowances. Really, your lifestyles will remain virtually unchanged. At least, until the trust’s expiration. After that, well…What happens thenwill be entirely up to Miss McClellan.”

Somehow, the words sank into Kit’s muddled brain until she understood what her mother had done. Whether her family kept or lost their fortune was entirely up to Kit, and no one would be getting married until she did herself. When she glanced up, she wasn’t surprised to find every set of eyes in the room directed her way, and she could only imagine what they were all thinking.

Holt, Jr. was probably wondering how prudent he’d been to let his wife divorce him last year. Mick, on the other hand, had always made it clear that he preferred adventure to matrimony anyway. And Dirk was far too morose for dating. Bart was going to be upset, though—he’d gotten pretty tight with Donna lately.

All of them, however, doubtless had one thought circling in their heads over all the others. There was no question that they were all wishing they hadn’t chased off Kit’s date for prom night. Or for the Spring Fling. Or homecoming. Or Dorian Asquith’s twenty-first birthday party. Or on any of the other aborted attempts she’d made to have a social life with a member of the opposite sex.

Her father’s thoughts, however, were the ones that Kit found most interesting. Mainly because she pretty much knew what was going through his head.

“Gee, Daddy,” she said, her voice emerging as little more than a croak. “Guess you’re feeling pretty silly now about paying Michael Derringer to ditch the wedding the night before it was to take place, aren’t you?”

Her father said nothing, just turned that odd shade of purple once again.

“But you know what’s really ironic in all this?” she ventured further, amazed at her nerve. “Michael’s happily married now with a baby on the way, and the business he started with the money you gave him is absolutely booming. I’m not sure I could ever find another man like him. Even if I had two whole years to look.”

Chapter 1

Almost two years later…

His life fit very nicely into seven boxes. Three of those boxes contained books. Two held his music collection. One housed the sort of small appliances that made a single man’s life complete—alarm clock, coffee maker, wet/dry razor, portable CD player. And one box—the biggest one—held all the designer suits and pointy-toed Italian shoes a man could ever use in one lifetime. All in all, he had everything he needed to start a new life. New.city. New house. New job. New wardrobe.

He was a new man.

Restlessly, he scrubbed a hand over his nape, still not quite comfortable feeling the brush of frigid February air on a part of his body that hadn’t been exposed for almost half a decade. The heat and electricity were working fine in the house in Old Louisville on which he had closed three days before. But thanks to the ice and wind of his first Kentucky winter that currently pelted his new home, the radiators in the old brick Victorian were taking their time warming up the roomy three-story structure. And because he hadn’t yet bought any new furniture to furnish his new life, save a mattress and box springs to sleep on, there were no lamps for him to light to keep the darkness at bay.

A chill wound through him in spite of the leather jacket hugging his shoulders, so he puffed briefly on his bare hands and shoved them deep into the pockets of his blue jeans. Then, unable to tolerate the darkness any longer, he crossed the empty living room, continued without slowing through the dining room, and entered the kitchen, where he flipped on the overhead light. The sputter of the bare fluorescent bulb spilled a perfect bluish-white rectangle of illumination into the dining room, creating at least the illusion of warmth. In spite of all the misgivings eating him up inside, he sighed with much satisfaction.

Tomorrow he would start his new job as executive vice president in charge of finances at Hensley’s Distilleries, Inc., Kentucky’s premiere producer of fine Bourbon whiskey. Frankly, he’d never much planned on becoming a high-powered corporate suit again. But, at thirty-four, he needed a change. And he had something to prove. Hey, it wasn’t like his new position was something he couldn’t handle, right? He’d been in a far more demanding position before. Granted, it had been one that had nearly destroyed him as a human being, but still…