Reluctant Roommates Page 4

  “I’m not sure what to say,” he answered honestly. “I’ve already told you that I’m not going to deprive you or the dogs of each other.” His need to offer her comfort took precedence over everything else. Another anomaly for him.

  He was the guy who always looked at the practical side of things. His world was lined with facts, not emotion.

  “I honestly have no idea who’s going to deprive who of what,” she said. Her despondency didn’t seem to be lessening any. He wanted to go to her.

  To pet Checkers. Let the old guy know that he still had family.

  But he didn’t feel welcome in their midst. And didn’t want to intrude. Not until he had to. Details could wait until Monday.

  “If you want to carry on...tend to them on your own, as you normally would...until Monday, that’s fine by me.” He’d been too harsh before. He’d known it at the time. “We can sort everything out after we meet with Grant.” Maybe, if she wanted, she could still be mostly in charge of the kennel.

  Though, having her coming and going...he wasn’t sure how wise that would be. Definitely not a black-and-white thing.

  Or a choice based on fact. Because the fact was, he could take care of the animals himself. Or hire someone to help if need be.

  If he kept the kennel, that was. Nothing so far said he had to do that.

  Walter seemed to nudge him from the grave at that thought. Weston tabled the topic just as Paige stood, came toward him.

  She handed him a piece of paper that looked eerily familiar. Taking it, glad that she backed away as quickly as she’d approached, giving him space from the distractions that she bred, he made a quick once-over.

  Then read more slowly.

  And for a third time, read again.

  Checked the date and time stamp.

  And pulled out his phone to give his father’s so-called attorney a call. Didn’t matter a whit to him that it was late Saturday afternoon. Some things weren’t going to wait until Monday.

  * * *

  With Erin cuddled against her body with one arm and Annie on the other side of her, at her feet, Paige paced while West was on the phone with Grant. Darcy and Abe followed her. Buddy looked on. She focused on them, promising silently that she wasn’t going to abandon them. No matter what it took. Not only were they blessed symbols of unconditional love, but they were also vulnerable. And on their second chances.

  She tried to figure out how the conversation was going, but after his initial accounting of his complaint—she couldn’t have given it any better from her own point of view—he’d done little more than give an occasional “uh-huh” or “I see,” with an “I understand” thrown in once or twice.

  She liked his voice. Deep. Calming. It instilled confidence.

  Five minutes into the mostly non-conversation, she realized that West had his father’s voice. Maybe that was why she was finding it easier to trust him than she did most people she’d just met.

  Well, that and the fact that she knew he’d insisted on snuggles and reading every night before he’d go to bed until he was four. At which time he’d suddenly announced that he was too old to cuddle like a baby. Walter had wanted to point out that he was a grown man and still needed hugs, but he’d let West lead his own way. One that had turned out to be vastly different from Walter’s.

  And hers, for that matter. She and Walter were a lot alike.

  Which was why she knew that there was no way the inventor would have lied to her about the house and dogs. Walter had never been mean or harsh, but he’d gotten downright firm with her when he’d challenged her about not wanting to own anything she couldn’t pick up and take with her.

  By the time West hung up she was beyond trying to decipher what their lives were going to look like and had moved into her happy place, focusing on how firm and perfectly shaped his butt was—not an easy feat in dress pants.

  He faced her from the doorway, his phone still in hand. “Have you ever met Grant Lieberman?”

  “No. I’d never even heard of him until I got his call last week.”

  Had Walter been taken in by a scammer pretending to be a lawyer?

  And where would that leave the dogs? And the estate?

  “He’s part of an elite firm of experts, housed out of Phoenix, Arizona, but working all over the country. Sierra’s Web. You ever hear of them?”

  She shook her head a second time, the movement only slightly mimicking the major trembling going on inside her at these words.

  She supposed some elite expert was better than a scammer. She just didn’t know why Walter had needed one to draw up something as simple as a will with only two beneficiaries.

  “Apparently my father chose to give us each separate but equal pages of the same document,” he continued, seeming as lost as she felt. As confused. “At Walter’s behest, Lieberman can only reveal the will to us in its entirety when we are together, in person, with him.”

  Excitement blew through her. Her page was legal? Legitimate? She really belonged there? And it dissipated almost as quickly. It couldn’t be right. Not with West having the same inheritance.

  “What’s the catch?”

  He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “You were on the phone for a long time to know nothing.”

  He shrugged, looked at her, and a grin tilted the corners of his lips. Not a lot. Not in humor. But in...comradery?

  The expression zoomed straight to the part of her that had been connecting to him since she’d first unlocked the front door that morning. For months she’d thought about meeting West Thomas. Walter’s son.

  For many reasons. Number one being that Walter was so completely enamored of his son. She hadn’t seen a parent’s love in action like that in more than twenty years. Had thought she’d imagined some of the adoration she told herself she’d felt from her family. Embellished it over the years with youthful perspective.

  Being part of the nitty gritty of Walter’s life, as much as anyone could ever be without actually being family, she’d wanted to see what West and Walter really shared. Seeing from the inside, rather than from the outside looking in.

  She was the first to break eye contact. As soon as she realized they’d been staring at each other. Holding on. To nothing. To not knowing.

  She missed him as she turned around, made it to the couch. Sat down.

  And told herself to stay strong when West joined her.

  There’d be no further emotional connections with this man. Ever.

  Chapter Four

  Weston didn’t feel right, sitting on a dog couch in a kennel room with a woman who was so unlike him that they didn’t even breathe in the same atmospheres. He didn’t feel like himself.

  And yet, for the moment, he couldn’t think of anyplace else to go. His entire world had suddenly morphed into an incoherent realm and Paige seemed to hold the key to it. She’d spent a hell of a lot more time with his father than he had over the past year.

  If you were going to add up hours, she’d have spent more time with Walter in one year than he had in the last three or four years combined. Maybe more. Probably more.

  So, there he sat. Uncomfortable. Needing facts that weren’t presenting themselves. How did he build his new structure without the necessary building materials?

  Being with the dogs his father had temporarily adopted—and Checkers, who was permanent—was about the only thing that made sense to him.

  “Lieberman explained that he’d never seen anything like my father’s will. Dad asked for two experts, Lieberman and his colleague, Diane Gale, and both of them researched extensively to make certain that his will is airtight. Dad paid for Lieberman’s time, a set number of hours a week, for the next two months as well, and Diane’s fees are paid until the end of this week. Once the will is read on Monday, Grant is being paid to assist you in any way you might want. And Diane will be there through the week for my benefit. If I find I need her services after that, I’ll need to pay for them myself.”

  And that was just the tip of the mountain from which he was falling.

  “Your father’s already bought me a lawyer’s hours for the next two months?”

  “Yes.”

  But not him. He had to pay his own way.

  Which was fair, he supposed. More than fair. Considering that she’d had so much time with Walter.

  “Why would I need a lawyer for months? Is there something wrong with the estate?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “But the estate is mine?”

  “Grant refused to explain the details that go along with the two pages we’ve now both seen. He claimed attorney-client privilege. In order for the will to be valid as written, it has to be read to both of us, in person, at the same time.”

  He’d already said that. His brain just couldn’t make sense of it. What had his dad intended?

  “You don’t think he expects us to get married or anything like that, do you? Could that be grounds for validating the will?”

  So they’d had the same thought. At least they had that in common.

  “It occurred to me that that might be what we’re facing.”

  “That’s ludicrous.” Wow. Second time they’d agreed. Maybe they could set a new record.

  “So maybe the reason we need lawyers is to fight the will.”

  He hated to say his next thought, but knew it had to be considered, expected the lawyer to suggest such a thing in event of a marriage requirement being attached to the will. “What we’re probably going to have to do is think about having him declared incompetent so we can set the will aside.” The words stuc
k in his throat as he said them. His father was odd. Walked to the beat of his own drum. He was not incompetent.

  And if the will was invalidated, then he, as the only living heir, would get everything. In normal circumstances, anyway. He wouldn’t put it past Walter to have a contingency will.

  Would his dad really do that? Draw up a second will in case of contingency?

  No, that was him thinking, not Walter. He was the contingency guy.

  And if his father wanted his ghostwriter to have some of his wealth, West would see that she got it. In some fashion.

  “Walter wasn’t incompetent.”

  “No, but sometimes he appears that way. It’s not typically all there to think you can force two people who have never met to marry. If that’s what he wanted.”

  He heard his words and cringed. Marriage wasn’t a word that fit in his life. He’d eschewed it years ago. Permanently.

  “So maybe it’s not about marriage.”

  “Can you think of any coherent reason for a man to give two people separate pages of a will, making them both think they were inheriting an estate someday, while hiring two nationally renowned legal experts to draw up an airtight document, paying for their future services and then commanding that both of the beneficiaries be physically present for the reading of the will?”

  “Not offhand, nooo.” She drew out the word.

  “I’m not getting married.” And he wasn’t giving up the house, either.

  “Really. That’s good to know.” She could have been talking about soup.

  “I mean it.”

  “You’re what, thirty-one? That’s a little young to know that you won’t ever meet someone who turns your crank in a different direction.”

  Turns of his crank were absolutely none of her business.

  But he got a little stiff down there, thinking about her touching it. And brushed aside the highly inappropriate thought, too.

  “I’m not getting married to keep this house.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “I’m not giving up the property, either.” The statement was a promise. One with nothing solid behind it until he knew what he was up against. But she needed to know he wasn’t walking away.

  “Neither am I.”

  Stalemate.

  Unacceptable.

  The woman was infuriating. And he wasn’t hating sitting there with her. It was better than getting lost in the mansion that had felt like home to his dad.

  “How old are you?” She knew his age. And was going to the reading of his father’s will, with a prepaid lawyer. He figured those two facts justified the question.

  She didn’t answer right away. He thought about her knowing his birth weight. Was just about ready to shoot that out there when she said, “Thirty-three.”

  Before he could come up with something else brilliant to say, she added, “And for the record, I also have no intention, whatsoever, of getting married.”

  The statement further provoked him, for no good reason. He knew why he was remaining single—the woman he’d planned to spend his life with was gone—but had no idea why she was so off the tradition of partnering up with another.

  “You have a bad relationship?” It was the obvious answer.

  “Nope.”

  “Maybe you just haven’t met the right person.” Someone who turned her crank in another direction.

  He had no idea why he was pushing the issue. He knew other people who were happily single; no reason she couldn’t be one of them.

  “I met him. I just don’t believe in making promises you can’t keep.”

  Everything about the statement annoyed him. So much so that he didn’t know what to deal with first. “You have so little faith in people that you don’t think anyone can keep a promise?” he asked.

  “I know for a fact that no one can promise forever. Because it doesn’t exist in the human realm. And I find that the older I get, the more certain I am that I can’t settle for less than that. I need forever. And the only forever I can count on is my own because I’m the only one who will go with me when I die.”

  He had no words. Or even any thoughts in response. Instead, he sat there with an overwhelming sense of sadness.

  And a need to prove her wrong.

  Right and wrong, they weren’t words he used a lot. His life was run by facts more than judgment. He’d believed in his father so many times as a kid, had bragged to his peers about this or that invention, sure it was the one, only to be hugely embarrassed, more and more as time, and failed inventions, went on...

  And he couldn’t disprove what she said. Not any part of it.

  “But...you love.” The fact wasn’t pertinent. It was all he had.

  “Of course, I do.”

  He nodded. Partially appeased. And realized that he hadn’t had a thought about the loss of his father for a whole five minutes. More time than he’d managed since he’d gotten the call from authorities letting him know that Walter had passed.

  “He had a bad heart. You knew that, right?”

  Her question came from left field. No way she could have known that he’d been thinking about Walter’s death at that exact moment.

  “Clearly, since he had a massive heart attack.”

  “No, I mean, he knew his time was imminent. He’d been having problems. Had been seeing a specialist. He told me he’d called you, that he’d told you.”

  Weston stared at her, his skin cold. He buried a hand in Checkers’s fur, moved it up and down, massaging. His throat was too tight, too dry, to speak the words he might have said.

  “You didn’t know.”

  Lips pursed, he shook his head.

  Walter had been dying and Weston hadn’t known.

  His truth, his agony, lay there out in the open where she could see it and he was shrinking from it. Freezing with exposure.

  “You thought I knew. And that I didn’t bother coming to see him.”

  Her shrug said a lot about her. She wasn’t judging. Or maybe was just trying not to.

  “I’ve already given up the lease on my office space in Ohio, have referred most of my clients to others and have sold the condo. I’m going to be working with a national client that will take all of my time, and I will, very shortly, be hiring a staff to work for me. Here in Atlanta. The long-term plan is to seek out other national clients as I grow the business. With one lucrative company vouching for me, other doors will be opened. I was waiting to tell Dad when I saw him for his birthday next week.”

  He needed her to understand why he couldn’t let her take his father’s house from him. Why he’d fight whatever they were facing, using every dime he had if it came to that.

  The property, the house, the dogs he hadn’t known about—they were the only family he had left. And he could see himself living out a decent life right there, taking in dogs and running his company. A life that would suit him even when he was old and gray. He was actually starting to see his future.

  The life he was meant to live.

  And marriage wasn’t a part of it.

  She’d given no audible response to his maudlin tale, and he wasn’t looking in her direction to discern a response. He couldn’t let the woman nudge him off course.

  He also couldn’t just ignore her existence. Or the fact that she’d been led to believe that the house and dogs were hers.

  “No matter what is revealed on Monday, I want you to know that I’m not out to hurt you.”

  “I never thought you were.”

  Someone whined. He had no idea who, but it came from her side of the couch. “They probably need to eat, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d like to help, or at least observe the process.”

  “You can help. Walter and I usually did it together.”

  “And tomorrow,” he quickly jumped in. “If you’d like to come back and feed, or spend time in here, feel free. You’ve got your key.”

  They’d deal with that on Monday, too. Her having a key. And her time with the dogs.

  With the two littlest dogs in her arms, one on each side, she stood. Headed toward a cupboard on the back wall. “I’m staying here, Weston,” she told him.