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

he was reminded of the importance of patience. Jo was different. Five years was a long time to wait.

The island had been invaded by a bunch of society types, actors, business owners. All invited by the Montgomerys for a party held in Jo’s honor for graduating from finishing school. Jo was not so social. She shied from people like a mole on a golf green. She burrowed beneath the surface.

None of the islanders had been invited of course. But Wyn couldn’t make himself stay away. He had watched the house that night from this very same spot. It had been a balmy summer evening that time. Music from the hired orchestra spilled out into the star-laden sky. Wyn rubbed his palm over his chest, chastising himself for his absurd feelings. She was so far above him, he couldn’t believe her loving him was even a possibility. Because he could swear he caught sight of Claudette Colbert on Clark Gable’s arm. Fredric March and Gary Cooper had also shown up. What chance did a New York City cop, home for the weekend, have with Josephine Weatherford, finishing school aristocrat? He was an idiot to stand there, waiting like a fool, for the minutest possibility that she would duck outside for a breath of—

“Wyn?” Her voice cut through the night air, a hot knife through butter.

Suddenly, she’d been standing in front him, her gown, a slinky, backless number, shimmering with starlight. He reached out and took her hand and slowly pulled her toward him. “Won’t they miss you inside?”

A wry smile curved her lips, mesmerizing him. “I doubt it.” She frowned then. “But what are you doing here?”

“Hoping to catch sight of you,” he whispered, leaning in to touch his lips to hers. He didn’t dare linger, pulling away. “You’d best get back. I’d best go.”

The back door slammed, jerking Wyn from the memory. Resentment coursed through him as he reached the entrance, and this time he didn’t hesitate to follow Jo inside. He dogged her steps through a darkened hallway, taking in the overly high ceiling, the portraits lining the walls, and the fragrance of beeswax and lemon as they moved beneath a curved grandiose staircase. He’d grown up on the island yet surprisingly had never before been inside the manor house. An unfamiliar male voice broke his concentration.

“I’m looking for my daughter, Josephine Weatherford.”

“Wait, what?” Tevi Weatherford’s shock echoed against the walls, freezing Wyn in his steps just short of entering the cavernous foyer.

He watched the unfolding incident as if studying a crime scene. “You’re our father?”

Wyn pulled back in the shadows, making sure he could still see, as an icy chill stole through him. He didn’t recognize the man who’d spoken, but he identified the man’s tone as possessive in his reference to Jo. He waited, curious to hear Jo’s explanation. Jo was not big on doling out details.

“You must be mistaken. Our father is dead.” Lydia had moved next to Tevi, the frown in her voice imminent.

Jo turned to her sisters, her expression pained. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have an opportunity to…to say anything.”

Lydia rounded on Jo. “Truly? You couldn’t have mentioned something in passing at the penthouse, like ‘I found our father, he’s not dead.’ I mean, it wasn’t as if we haven’t had breakfast once or twice a week the past few years.”

Wyn hadn’t seen Lydia in a long time but seeing her in a temper was not something he could ever remember. Not the calm middle child who acted as go-between more times than not.

“And just where have you been the last few weeks that I would have been able to say something?” Jo demanded. “The Auburn Mental Health Institute?”

Lydia’s mouth tightened.

Interesting. Wyn waited.

Apparently, the question had been rhetorical.

Wyn studied the man in question. He looked to be somewhere around his mid-forties. He wasn’t as tall as Wyn—not many were—but he was stout and built like a boulder. Wyn had met more than his fair share of his kind in the underbelly back-allies of the city. Though in sizing him up, he decided, that would be the most likely place to find someone of his ilk. Sure, he dressed like a gentleman, but that was just trappings. The man cleared his throat, took Jo by the arm. “Honey, you left Julius in a tizzy. Gone so fast he didn’t have time to slip the ring on your finger.”

Jo stilled. “Ring!” Her panicked gaze scanned the room, stopping on Wyn in his dark nook.

Everyone faded from view, his focus narrowed on the only one who mattered. “Who’s Julius?” he whispered softly.

“Who’s Julius?” shy little Lydia demanded.

“Julius Styles, of Styles Shipping? He’s her fiancé,” the man said.

Jo’s face paled, then flushed.

Sensations stirred through Wyn like the witch’s brew in its iron cauldron, boiled to the brink of blowing a hole through the roof. The emotions flittering over Jo’s face were unreadable. The man’s expression, however, was clear as day. Calculation.

Tevi turned to her older sister, shock and hurt evident in blue eyes that matched her sister’s. “You’re engaged? I know we haven’t been all that close over the years, but—did Victor know, JoJo?” Her expression shifted to outrage. “First, our mother? Now this?” She all but stomped her tiny little foot.

A reddish haze clouded Wyn’s vision, the knot in his gut as clenched as the fingers fisted at his side, waiting on Jo’s answer.

Frizzle, standing next to Jo, moved toward the older man with a low menacing growl.

Smart dog. Wyn took a step from his place near the stairs, prepared to snatch him back, but Jo grabbed Frizzle’s collar, scowling. “What are you doing here, Bobby?”

Her words seemed to have startled him.

Tevi turned to her older sister. “Well, JoJo. Are you engaged?”

Jo didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing on the Bobby character. The dog let out another low growl. “You weren’t invited here,” she bit out. “I suggest you leave.” Her gaze never wavered from the man. She then shook her head, hurt and disgust stressing her pert