Marshall’s speech had Indie staring at him in shock. She was so worked up she didn’t know what to say. Then she snorted. “Yeah, right. He thought I was a year younger? Do you realize if he hadn’t died when he did I would have soon passed his stupid deadline for me? I’ll be thirty in a month.”
“Yeah, well.” Marshall shrugged. “If he'd lived he probably would have updated the will. The pity is, he never got a chance to realize or correct his miscalculation. And with him being dead, you’re stuck with it.”
“This is so stupid,” Indie muttered as she began to pace the room. “Stupid, stupid.”
“I know. But it is what it is. Fourteen million dollars or zilch. Your call.” The lawyer began to slide the documents back into the case. “You know where to find me, Indiana. I leave everything in your hands. Just remember the date – October twenty-three, by midnight.”
And with that, Indie knew she was being dismissed. The man had other clients to deal with, other more pressing business. He was probably checking the clock to make sure she didn’t run over her portion of his ‘billable hour’ or whatever it was lawyers called it.
And at the same time he was dismissing her he’d thrown her normally well-ordered life into a whirlpool of indecision. Where in the world should she go from here? And if she did decide to fulfill Sam’s condition where the heck should she start looking for a man to marry…in thirty days?
******
Stone Hudson skipped channels, trying desperately to find a station with music that would keep him awake. The evening traffic was brutal, jamming up all the way from Oakville. He wouldn’t make it to Burlington for another thirty minutes at this rate. He heaved a sigh and surfed more channels.
He was one tired son-of-a-gun, up for the past twenty-two hours since leaving Johannesburg the day before. The valet had brought his car and he’d driven out of the Toronto Pearson Airport exactly thirty-eight minutes ago but still he was only a little more than halfway home.
Stubborn brute that he was, he’d insisted on driving his Maserati home. Now he could only shake his head in regret. This was one of those days when he should have let the chauffeur come and get him. Damn him for always having to be in control. He hated being in a vehicle where he wasn’t the one behind the wheel but that ultra-independent trait of his was certainly working against him this evening.
He shook his head and blinked to clear the cobwebs from his eyes then stifled a yawn. He turned the radio up as loud as he could stand it and the air conditioning to full blast. It was going to be rough going, trying to stay awake in traffic that was almost at a standstill.
Maroon five’s ‘One More Night’ was pounding in his ears when traffic got unplugged and began to move. Finally. A slight smile crept across his lips. The images were so vivid now – home, a soothing bath, bed, sliding under the cool sheets, his head sinking into the soft pillows, closing his weary eyes-
Wham!
Stone’s head jerked up and he slammed on the brake. What the-
He blinked. And then he groaned. He'd run into the back of an army-green Land Rover. Christ!
Cursing himself for being such a clutz he began to pull over onto the soft shoulder. The Land Rover was pulling over, too. He groaned. Just what he needed. A rear-ending as a fitting close to his journey of almost twenty-four hours. He’d learned his lesson – no more pretending to be Superman on these long trips.
Stone grabbed his wallet off the front passenger’s seat and slid out of the car. Reaching up to massage the back of his neck he stifled another yawn. God, he was tired. He blinked to clear the gravel from his eyes then walked over to meet the guy who was climbing out of the Land Rover.
A quick glance told Stone his Maserati hadn’t suffered a scratch. The other vehicle was another matter. It now sported a smashed-in back bumper. He steeled himself for the swearing. This was going to be one pissed-off dude.
The other driver was coming toward him now, a slender kid of medium height with short black hair that glistened in the sun. Plaid shirt rolled up at the sleeves, jeans and Timberland boots, he must have been coming from work. Sorry to spoil the end of your work day, kid.
Stone glanced down and began digging his driver’s license out of his wallet. When he looked up again the kid was standing right in front of him, green eyes flashing, soft pink lips set in an angry pout.
Huh? Stone's gaze dropped to the plaid-covered chest and there, pert and pointing straight at him, was his confirmation. The dude was a girl.
“Hey, what’s up with you, fella? Falling asleep at the wheel?”
Stone frowned. Kind of aggressive, wasn’t she? It was when she got closer that he saw that she wasn’t so much a girl as she was a woman, probably in her late twenties, maybe about four or five years younger than he was. And she was tall. Well, for a woman. The top of her head was just shy of his earlobe and he was six foot three.
And her eyes, so like those of a cat, were practically cutting him to shreds. With her high cheekbones, long nose and tanned skin she looked like a Native American princess. But it was those eyes, like green shards of glass fringed with incredibly long lashes, that had him staring like a dumbstruck fool.
“What? Cat got your tongue?”
It took that sarcastic remark to snap him out of his daze. He scowled. He wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of such biting remarks, least of all from a woman. Most of the women he knew would be falling over themselves to impress him. At least, the ones who knew who he was.
He didn’t bother to respond. He could see that this was a feisty one and he wasn’t in the mood for a shouting match. Instead, he held out his driver’s license. “Here’s my information,” he said, his voice all business. “You can make a note while I grab my insurance papers.” When she didn’t take the card from his hand he rested it on the hood of his car then walked around to the passenger’s side of the Maserati where he flipped open the glove compartment and grabbed his documents.