Another recent memory slipped through Dylan’s confusion and clicked into place. “That explains why Mother asked me to promise not to let anyone dishonor Dad’s name. I thought she was concerned about the Karen Hammonds tell-all.”

Natalie sniffed at the reference to their father’s flamboyant ex-press secretary.

“I guess it was this jerk she feared.” Just then another possibility reared its ugly head. “Wait a minute, who’s his mother?”

Lawrence flipped through the document. “The woman’s name was Lana Harris.”

“Never heard of her.” Dylan remained slouched against the armoire, only slightly relieved to hear that Karen Hammond wasn’t involved in the scam. Not at first glance, anyway.

“Does she claim she slept with Dad before or after he married Mother?” Natalie asked.

“After, of course.” Dylan didn’t hesitate to make the guess. “It wouldn’t be scandalous or noteworthy otherwise.”

“Actually, the woman hasn’t claimed anything,” the attorney said. “She lived in East Langden but disappeared exactly one week before your father’s death.”

“Curious timing,” Natalie murmured.

Hair stood up on the back of Dylan’s neck. Neither the family nor the authorities had ever been satisfied that all the facts had been uncovered regarding Matthew Bradford’s drowning twenty-five years earlier. Now, a new wrinkle added to the mysterious circumstances.

“What steps have you taken to discredit this lie?” Natalie asked.

“We hired a detective.” Lawrence dipped his chin and looked at the trio over his reading glasses. “The investigation has been inconclusive, I’m sorry to say.”

“Have you asked Uncle Arthur about it?” Their father’s younger brother would be the obvious source of information.

“Your mother wanted to hold off on that, but I’m afraid we can’t put it off much longer. The matter has suddenly become more urgent.”

“Why?”

“With her death, the young man is no longer prepared to wait. If there’s no word from the Bradford family before the foundation awards ceremony on July first, he says he’ll take his story to the press.”

“But that’s only five weeks away.” An uncharacteristic curse escaped his sister’s lips. “Normally, I’d say let the jerk do his worst. But I don’t want the awards diminished because of some disgruntled nutcase.”

The old man nodded. “The negative publicity would certainly tarnish the event’s image.”

“Has he requested DNA testing?” A slow anger at the bastard’s audacity scalded its way through Dylan’s stomach.

“Ultimately, I believe that’s what he’s after, but no papers have been filed.” Lawrence blinked. “If you wish to lay the matter to rest, the request could come from the Bradford family.”

“No.” Dylan rejected the idea with a slash of his hand.

“Why not?” Natalie asked. “That might be the quickest way to disprove the accusation.”

“That would imply we’re entertaining the possibility of a link between this man and our father. I think it’s too soon for that. Let’s make him produce something more substantial than a ‘rumor’ before we give him what he wants.”

“I agree,” Linc offered. “If you don’t insist on hard evidence, you’d be laying the groundwork for anyone out there with blue eyes and big feet to claim a relationship.”

A familiar expression of Bradford stubbornness stole across Natalie’s face. “What could be more decisive evidence than a DNA test?”

“Mother asked me to protect and honor our father’s good name. I didn’t know this threat existed, but she wouldn’t want me to allow the first schemer to come along to muddy Dad’s reputation within a week of her death.”

“You’re pretending to be reasonable, but you’re seething inside,” Natalie observed. “That’s never a good sign.”

Because she was right, Dylan ignored the comment. The discontent that had dogged him lately, combined with the sorrow and helplessness over his mother’s death, now coalesced into a plan. Propelled by his mother’s last request of him, along with his own desire to preserve his father’s reputation, adrenaline shot through him. He shook off the emotional and physical lethargy that lingered after the inactive weeks spent at his mother’s side.

“Let’s see the detective’s report.” He loosened his tie and reached for the folder.

Natalie studied him. “What are you cooking up?”

He understood her dread that his restlessness would lead him into trouble, but he also knew she’d chafe at being sidelined by her pregnancy. The two of them had raced neck-and-neck in their quest for adventure most of their lives. But now, her focus had narrowed to her own little family. Just as it should. Dylan would handle of the bigger picture. “Maybe I should take a look over my East Langden property.”

Her eyebrows flew up to her hairline. “When?”

“The sooner the better. Apparently, we don’t have much time.”

“Tell me what you’re planning,” she said, still skeptical.

I owe her the truth. They weren’t children anymore, and this wasn’t a prank. He told himself that this was something he had to do. For his parents and for himself. For Natalie and her children. “I’m going to do my damnedest to blow Clayton Harris’s claim sky high.”

Chapter Two

On a back road in Maine, Gracie O’Donnell’s spirits sank as her twelve-year-old Ford lost speed. An unexpected and impatient SUV roared up behind her, honked and sped around, as she steered her elderly, but previously dependable, car off the road. Before the vehicle ground to a complete halt, the odometer hit just shy of two-hundred-thousand miles. She shut off the engine and restarted it, but the Taurus refused to move another inch.

“What?” she muttered to the pile of metal and chrome. “You can’t make it three more miles to Liberty House?”

Earlier, she’d notified her grandmother that a six-year-old’s ruptured appendix had delayed her departure from Hartford. But with rush-hour traffic, her revised time of arrival at her grandparents’ East Langden bed and breakfast had come and gone. And now this.

Just her luck. It was dark and late, and her cell phone was out of juice. Not that it got anything better than spotty reception on these back roads even when fully charged. She should have guessed that after one of the most excruciating weeks of her life, if something else could go wrong, it would.

But things could be worse. It wasn’t far to Gran’s. She could walk if she had to, dark or not. But first, she’d check under the hood.

“You stay here,” she told her Scottish terrier, MacDuff, as she retrieved a flashlight from the glove box. “I don’t want you running off while I’m distracted.”

The dog cocked his head reproachfully.

“Don’t look at me like that.” She scratched the magic spot between his ears that turned him into a mop of doggie adoration. “Remember how long it took to get the burrs out of your coat when you chased that woodchuck last fall?”

As Gracie hopped out of the car, the delicious fragrance of spruce and pine laced with an underlying hint of salt and sea assaulted her. She inhaled deeply, and her spirits lifted a bit just from breathing in the familiar scents of home.

While she checked the dipstick and jiggled wires, a big fat raindrop landed on the crown of her head. A second one plopped on her shoulder, and then a deluge of water plastered her T-shirt to her spine like a frigid sheet of shrink-wrap. With a perturbed squeak, she dove back into the car.

Oh, great, now what?

Walking or waiting seemed like her only options. If she waited, it could be hours before the rain stopped and possibly morning before anyone passed by. This road didn’t lead anywhere except to the B&B and the long-abandoned Bradford place a couple of miles further down. Her grandfather was in the hospital, her grandmother didn’t drive at night, and their place wouldn’t be open to the public until the end of the week.