A Bullet to the Heart, Kathy Wheeler [inspirational books txt] 📗

always been this way…between you and Pa?”

“Nah. We get on most of the time. Usually it comes about when something comes up and I’m unprepared.”

“Unprepared?” Another flare of unease raised.

She waved out a hand. “You know. If I’m prepared, then I can dismantle the situation before things get way out of hand.”

Wyn narrowed his eyes on her. His instincts were a primal urge to protect his mother that guaranteed he’d be confronting his father out back with a two-by-four. “Out of hand?”

“Subvert. Keep things on a calm level by smoothing them over before they mushroom out of control.”

He sat back, grunting. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

She sighed. “This is what women do. We only just got the right to vote a few short years ago.” She stood and patted his upper arm. “Don’t worry yourself about it, sweetie. I’m an expert on Wyndel Smith, Sr. This isn’t the first time he’s gotten himself all riled up, and I doubt it’ll be the last. Now, about that dinner on Sunday. How does meatloaf and mashed potatoes sound?”

2

October 17, 1937

W

yn let himself into his office and was greeted by his secretary’s cheerful chatter. After the morning he’d had the sound grated on him. Thankfully, the phone rang and, like a light switch, Dorothea’s tone flipped to no-nonsense seriousness. “Could you repeat that?”

Wyn slowed, his eyes meeting hers.

“I’ll let him know.” Dorothea replaced the receiver. “It’s Victor Montgomery. He’s fallen over the bluff. Halfway between the manor house and Serpent’s Point.”

Jo let herself into the penthouse after an awkward dinner with Mr. Styles. The whole month had been a whirlwind of museum outings, morning brunches, late-night dancing and walks through Central Park. Only she couldn’t seem to dredge up an ounce of genuine affection for the man, no matter how hard she tried, or how much her father wanted this. Yes, he was a decent distraction, easy on the eyes, the ears, but every time he leaned to attempt a kiss, she thwarted him. What was wrong with her? He was perfect.

The problem was that she had too many issues for someone… normal…like him.

Jo leaned against the back of the door, her mind going to the complexity that was Wyndel Smith, Jr., of Montgomery Island. Another relationship that would never work. Unfortunately, snatches of images of him kissing her tended to sneak through her determination to keep them at bay.

She shoved thoughts of Wyn away and dropped her keys on the entryway table, surprised Stevens hadn’t beaten her to the door. The man had an uncanny knack for knowing when she or Lydia happened to be right outside the door.

Stevens entered the foyer from Victor’s study.

“Stevens? I can’t believe it, but—”

“Oh, dear. I’m sorry, miss. There’s a letter for you. Your uncle requests you meet him on the island.”

Big surprise. Victor snapped his fingers, and everyone was supposed to jump. She was still smarting over the fact that no one had told her Bobby Kingsley was her real father.

Jo kicked off her shoes, with an inward cheer at having finally outsmarted the butler, though she couldn’t seem to muster up a smile. “Thank you, Stevens.” She took the letter, picked up her shoes, and went to her room. After curling up on the settee, she slit open the envelope and read.

Josephine, dear,

I’m afraid I’ve some disturbing news. Please take the train to the island. I’ll expect you by the 20th. That should allow you enough time to arrange things with your employers at the museum. See you soon.

V. Montgomery.

How typical. No “Love, Uncle” or “Can’t wait to see you.” Jo let out an irritated breath. Was it any wonder she didn’t feel good enough for any man to fall in love with her? Her own relative couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge the least amount of sentiment, why should anyone else?

She huffed out a breath. At least he hadn’t taken it upon himself to call her boss as he’d been known to do in the past. She wondered if Lydia and Tevi had received similar edicts. Ah, well. Shaking her head, Jo rose from her perch and pulled her suitcase from the closet. Some things would never change.

The telephone rang, and Jo snatched it up.

“Oh, JoJo. He’s dead. Uncle Victor is dead.” It was her youngest sister, Victoria Tevis, cheekily referred to as Tevi.

Jo dropped back down on the settee. “What on earth are you going on about?”

“This is horrible. What are we going to do?” Her voice, trembling with shock, was threaded with panic.

“Tevi, stay calm—”

Stevens appeared in the arch. “I’m sorry to intrude, miss. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

3

J

o stood at the base step of her childhood home, Montgomery Manor on Montgomery Island, and took a steadying breath. The Victorian home had aged well over the years. But Aunt Mary’s death six months ago still hovered over the place like a specter. And now, Uncle Victor was gone, too. He’d been the family’s anchor, the driving force in the Weatherford sisters’ lives for almost their entire childhood. Yes, he was annoying and controlling and subversive, but he’d taken in Jo and her sisters after Grandmother Claudia’s and their mother’s passings, saving them from the menace that was Wallace Hayes, Eleanor’s second husband. Jo refused to acknowledge him as even her stepfather.

Swallowing past the lump clogging her throat, Jo trudged up the stairs to the wide veranda and reached for the door. It flew open before she could grab the knob.

“My goodness, Josephine Ophelia. Finally.” Esther Delacroix, the Montgomerys longtime housekeeper, stood in the arch. The rush of nostalgia hitting Jo was so profound, her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. There was no opportunity to fall as Esther pulled her into one of her legendary embraces. Esther’s helmet of gray curls pricked her cheeks.

Jo hugged her tightly, then quickly let go.

Esther’s hold went to Jo’s hands as she pulled back.

Jo’s hands grew clammy as Esther squeezed. Rationally, Jo