Rexanne Becnel Read Online Free PDF Page A

could.
    “Can I help you with something, Mr.—?”
    He did not respond to her thinly disguised question. Instead, his sharp gaze slid quite assessingly over her. The clear jade of his eyes seemed to miss nothing, and Lacie had to stifle her outrage at such a blatant appraisal.
    Then he smiled an odd, knowing smile, and her anger changed swiftly to wariness.
    “Are you Mrs. Kimbell?” One of his dark brows arched upward. “Mrs. Frederick Kimbell?”
    She nodded ever so slightly, bracing herself for she knew not what.
    At that he gave a small mock-bow, sweeping his hat in the air as he did so. His eyes seemed more watchful than ever. “Then let me introduce myself. I’m Frederick’s brother—half-brother—Dillon Lockwood.”
    Words failed Lacie at the shock of that revelation. She’d expected that he had something to do with Frederick. But his brother? She could hardly believe it. Somehow she had pictured his brother as an older man, graying and tending to heaviness, as Frederick had been.
    But this man was neither graying nor heavy-set. Coal-black hair fell across his forehead, and dark brows slanted above deep-set eyes of luminous green. She tried hard to discern a resemblance to Frederick, some shadow of him, in his tanned lean face. But there was none, either in his angular jawline or in the sensuous curve of his lips.
    In dismay, she lifted her eyes to his. “You don’t look like Frederick,” she blurted out.
    “No.” His teeth showed whitely in an even smile. “But then, he and I shared only one thing in common.”
    Lacie did not miss the caustic edge to his voice, and she knew at once what he implied. She’d lived near the town of Kimbell long enough to have heard most of the gossip and rumors about the town’s leading family. Everyone knew that Frederick’s father had had an eye for the ladies, and that one of his mistresses had borne him a son. But during his teens, when his mother died, the boy had left town. Since then, there had been little word of him. Only in that unfinished letter of Frederick’s had Lacie found any reference to him and his business successes. And his address in Denver.
    Now it seemed she was about to pay for her softhearted gesture in writing him about Frederick’s death.
    As if he saw the path of her thoughts, his expression turned sober and his eyes seemed to harden. “So you know about me. Did Frederick tell you the details of our relationship?”
    Lacie colored in embarrassment to discuss such an indelicate subject. “I know—I know that you have the same father, and that you have a thriving business of your own in Colorado.”
    He studied her for a long moment. “Yes, thriving. Tell me, where are your spectacles?”
    She was caught off guard by his abrupt change of subject. “I—I laid them down somewhere,” she faltered. Then she drew herself up to her fullest height. He had flustered her, first with his untimely appearance, then with the revelation of his identity, and now with his unexpected observation. If he was trying to keep her off balance, he was doing a splendid job.
    But he would not anymore, she vowed. Fighting down her rising irritation, she put on her primmest expression.
    “May I offer you my personal condolences for the loss of your brother, Mr. Lockwood? I’m sure you miss him terribly, as do we all here at Sparrow Hill School.”
    He did not reply but only stared at her thoughtfully. Then he took a step closer, and his nearness caused her to draw back in sudden confusion.
    “Why don’t you just call me Dillon, since it appears we are related? Now, aren’t you going to invite me inside?”
    Lacie’s stomach tightened at his casually familiar tone, and she stepped farther back from him. Was he baiting her? Was he up to something? He’d not come here for nothing. With an effort, she lifted her eyes to face his watchful gaze.
    “Why did you come here?”
    It was his turn to be slightly taken aback, but he was quick to recover.
    “A direct