The Soon-To-Be-Disinherited Wife

through the grief center. Because of her financial security, she’d been able to give her time without worrying about getting paid.

Her clothes, her jewelry, the skiing week in Vail and renting a yacht in Italy…for sure, she’d lived indulgently. But there’d never been a reason to budget. Or to learn how to budget. If she hadn’t lived so darn extravagantly, maybe she’d have the money socked away to save her gallery and everything else. But she didn’t. Because she’d never thought she needed to.

She lifted a hand in a gesture asking her parents to stop talking. She couldn’t hear them anyway. She couldn’t seem to hear anything right now, except for the thudding drum in the pit of her stomach. “I need some time to think about this,” she said. “I’m going to go upstairs now.”

She didn’t wait for them to agree or not, just left the room. Until she reached the bottom of the stairs, she wasn’t aware her father had followed her. David touched her shoulder to make her turn around.

“Emma,” he said quietly, “I just don’t understand how you could be so selfish.”

“Selfish?” The accusation confused her, when she was the one who’d just had her whole life thrown in the wind. But of course, that wasn’t completely true. “Dad, I realize that calling the wedding off is upsetting for you and Mom. But the marriage would have been a terrible mistake. Neither of us was going to be happy.”

“Maybe you believe that. But if you can’t be happy with a good man, maybe you damn well better redefine happiness. No one gets everything they want in life.”

He sounded more like an army commander than a father. But then, he always had. And as always, she could feel her stomach knotting up. “I never thought that,” she said quietly and tried to turn away-but her father wasn’t through.

“We’ve supported you in everything you ever wanted. Your education. Your art gallery. Have you ever asked me for anything I didn’t willingly give you? And your mother. Were you even thinking of her? Mark my words, Emma. If your mother goes on another binge, it’ll be on you.”

This time it was her father who whipped around and strode away from her.

For the second time in two days she found her nerves jittery and her head pounding. She climbed the stairs, hoping that if she just sat alone, she’d get a better grip… A good theory, but it didn’t work worth beans.

Her suite of rooms was decorated in apricot and taupe. Several years before, her mother had surprised her by redoing the rooms. The furnishings were elegant and expensive and thoughtfully chosen. They just weren’t colors or furniture that Emma would ever have chosen. Yet she’d never objected, because who knew what was going to send her mom climbing back into a bottle.

Emma sank on the double bed, feeling disoriented…and unaccountably angry. All her life she’d been the peacemaker in the family. All her life she’d tried never to rock the boat, especially because the threat of causing her mother to drink was ever-present. She was on the fund-raising committee at the club because her mother wanted a Dearborn doing that prestigious job. She’d never moved completely out of the house because her mother claimed to need her, claimed she couldn’t bear up to David’s critical, judgmental attitude. Her father counted on her to be hostess for all the Dearborn social events because they were both wary of any pressure put on Diana.

Emma closed her eyes, feeling the thick humid air drifting from the west window. The frightening part was that the threats were always true. A hundred times Emma had told herself that her parents needed to resolve their problems between themselves. But the same thing happened over and over-when Emma failed to step in, didn’t intervene when her mother needed help or play diplomat between her parents, her mom did tumble down the alcoholic hill again.

In the last two days Emma had tried to do the wild thing and change roles. Take charge of her life. Stand up for herself. Redefine what was important to her.

The result seemed to be a complete shambles. The latest-the loss of her trust fund-kept slapping in her mind like mini shock waves. It wasn’t wealth that mattered to her, but the trust fund had represented security. Independence. Freedom.

Now she opened her eyes, looked around the pale apricot walls and felt them closing in on her.

This morning she’d discovered the wonder, the joy of being wildly in love. But now those moments with Garrett seemed as if they’d taken place on another planet. Claustrophobia seemed to lock the air out of her lungs. She felt so trapped she could hardly breathe. She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to get a grip. Her world had just been completely tipped on its axis, so naturally she felt thrown. Only this was more than thrown.

She had no idea what to do next.

She only knew that she felt completely alone. And lost.

Before turning in the driveway of the Baldwin mansion, Garrett stopped at the roadside and used his cell phone to call Emma.

The first two times he’d called, he’d gotten Josh at Color. Josh had promised to leave a message for Emma on her desk, but he didn’t know her schedule. Nothing odd about that. Emma was a busy woman. But this was the third time Garrett had been unable to reach her.

He told himself it was idiotic to worry. It was just that this morning…Hell, he was still high from last night and this morning. Obviously making love with a woman right after she’d broken an engagement was terrible timing. But he’d never before felt euphoria like this. A connection like this. A kite-high, heart-soaring thrill of a feeling like this.

For a long time he’d believed that selfish, driven workaholics like himself were doomed to be single. What woman would want them? They were annoying personalities.

But damn, she hadn’t made him feel annoying. She’d made him feel like the most powerful, sexy lover in the universe-past and present. And no, he hadn’t gone plumb off the deep end and assumed she was ready to marry him.

But in his gut, that was on his mind. The M word. He’d never wanted it before, never felt the need or push. But suddenly he couldn’t get that hope out of his head, and Emma was the difference. Emma was…

Stop this, he mentally ordered himself. He pocketed his cell phone, climbed out of the car and strode up to the front door of Bunny Baldwin’s mansion. He didn’t want to stop thinking about Emma, but he still had miles to go this day. Obsessing about Emma wasn’t helping. Until he got those tasks done, he couldn’t see Emma anyway.

He knocked on the door, waited. Moments later, a tidy gray-haired woman answered. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“You’re Edith Carter?”

“Yes.”

“Mrs. Carter, I don’t need to come in. I realize you don’t know me, but I was told you were Bunny Baldwin’s housekeeper for years.” The gentle-eyed woman nodded. “I’m Garrett Keating.”

Immediately she relaxed. “Of course. I know the Keating family. For a moment, I was afraid you were another one of those reporters, trying to dig into more of Mrs. Baldwin’s private life.”

“No, honestly. I only stopped because I hoped there was a chance you might know something about my sister, Caroline Keating-Spence. She’s been in the hospital. I’ve been trying to put together a picture of what happened in the weeks before she got so sick, and no one seems to know anything. I heard Caroline was often over here-”

Edith nodded, looking thoughtful. “Yes, she was. She and Abby-Mrs. Baldwin’s daughter-were friends. The whole group of Debs came over quite often. Bunny loved having the girls around.”

“Did you happen to hear anything about my sister? Any gossip or bad news, anything at all?”

“You sound so worried, Mr. Keating,” she said compassionately. “I wish I had some information for you.”

“But you don’t?”

Edith hesitated. “I don’t know if you knew my Bunny, but she was interested in everything happening in Eastwick. Some said she was nosy, but the truth was that she simply cared about everything and everyone. I don’t know where she got all her news, but by and by, she just seemed to know everyone’s secrets. That’s how she came to write the Eastwick Social Diary.”

“Yes,” Garrett said, wishing this had to do with his sister but not seeing how.

“Well, the thing is, now all those diaries are missing. Her daughter, Abby, thinks there was information in those journals that someone might have killed her mother for. The police are looking into it. There’s no proof. Yet. But…”