Aaron's Will Read online

  Aaron’s Will

  Legacies, Book 1

  DawnMarie Richards

  Published 2014

  ISBN: 978-1-62210-152-8

  Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © Published 2014, DawnMarie Richards. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  Liquid Silver Books

  http://LSbooks.com

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Blurb

  Morgan Shore was busy making other plans when her guardian, Aaron Field—a Boston attorney and philanthropist—unexpectedly died. Drawn back into a life better left in the past, Morgan finds herself compelled to contend with Dylan Drumlin, the man who categorically rejected her without a word of explanation or any hint of regret. Tragically, he’s also the only man to have stirred Morgan’s dormant passions and touched her tender heart.

  Dylan Drumlin always knew he wasn’t the kind of man any women should build a future with, especially a woman like Morgan Shore. When he began to fantasize about the young woman with auburn hair, he knew he had to let her go. Time passed and Dylan believed himself safe from whatever insanity had gripped him. But when Morgan reappears one night bearing stunning news and a heart-rending grief, long suppressed desires are reignited. Dylan’s disciplined life begins to unravel, tattered by disenchanted amber eyes and the binding ties of Aaron’s Will.

  Dedication

  For Schmoopie…for always.

  Acknowledgements

  It took some time to get these characters out of my head and onto digitized pages where they belong, and there are a few people I want to thank for their part in the process.

  The ladies of Writers’ Bloc—Loree, Berji, Chris, and Ruth: I will forever be grateful for the decade of monthly meetings packed with enough encouragement, cajoling, and desserts to sustain me for all time.

  My beta readers—Barbara, Sue, and Loree: thank you for slogging through early versions and for your thoughtful comments and unflagging support. Oh, and for being willing to be turned on for the sake of my art.

  My parents—MaryJane and Stephen: you were my first, and remain a constant, model of real-life romance. 51 years and counting!

  My family—Stephanie, Derek, Steph Lynn and Emmagrace: thank you for being the happy ending every love story deserves.

  Chapter 1

  “Tell me you didn’t know!”

  Dylan Drumlin bolted out of his chair at the unexpected intrusion. Bracing himself against the edge of his desk with his fingertips, he tried to focus on the form at the entryway to his office.

  It was late. He’d been so engrossed in the case folders in front of him, he hadn’t bothered to turn on the overheads, preferring the subtle glow from the Arts and Crafts lawyer lamp on the corner of his desk. He squinted through the murky gray, trying to identify the shadowy figure across the room as he automatically rolled down the sleeves of his dress shirt, deftly refastening the cufflinks he’d tossed onto his blotter earlier.

  He knew it was a woman by the sound of her voice, an angry woman. Considering he was a divorce attorney, that didn’t exactly narrow the field for him. And with the light from the hall at her back, he didn’t think he’d have much chance at identifying the silhouette.

  Then, as he was shrugging on his suit jacket, something about the long, wavy hair swept to one side, revealing a graceful neck and delicately sloping shoulder, tugged at a name in his mind.

  “Morgan?” he wondered softly.

  She jerked toward him, confirming his suspicion. He rounded his desk and began to move toward her when a flood of concerns stopped him. What was she doing here? He couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in the building, never mind his office. And beyond exchanging stilted pleasantries on the odd occasions they did meet, they hadn’t spoken to each other in more than five years. Yet, there she stood demanding some sort of response from him.

  “Did you know?” The anguish underlying her quiet words was enough to send a chill down Dylan’s spine.

  “Did I…” Before he could finish his query, Morgan crossed the room and was on him.

  “You did know, you son of a bitch! You knew. Did you tell yourself I couldn’t handle it? You miserable son of a bitch!”

  Caught entirely off guard, Dylan stood stupidly with his arms at his sides while Morgan struck at his chest and continued to spew a torrent of venomous words at him. He almost smiled at the filth coming out of her mouth. He didn’t think he had ever heard sweet Morgan Shore so much as say “damn” in all the years he’d known her. Evidently, she’d learned a lot more than non-profit management in graduate school.

  Dylan continued to stand still, letting her words and abuse flow over him. It was too surreal. He began to consider he had fallen asleep over his desk and was having one hell of a nightmare. Then, with a loud crack that echoed in the suddenly silent room, Morgan’s palm made stinging contact with his face. His head snapped to the side and he realized with stark certainty he was wide-awake.

  He moved quickly, capturing her wrists, pressing them to his hip with one hand. With the other he held her chin, raising her tear-streaked face to his.

  “Morgan.” His voice had no effect in dispelling the expression of grief and anger distorting her features. “Morgan!”

  “What am I doing here?” He knew he wasn’t meant to answer her question. Her eyes were unfocused and huge in her colorless face. “I don’t know…I don’t know.”

  She went limp against him. In a quick and fluid motion, he caught her up in his arms. He carried her to the sofa, laying her out gently before kneeling by her side. Brushing the hair away from her face, he rested his hand on her forehead.

  “Morgan,” he spoke softly against her ear. “What’s happened?”

  She opened her eyes but only stared at the ceiling.

  “Aaron’s dead.”

  Dylan recoiled, his body instinctually pulling away from the bearer of such crushing news.

  “That’s impossible,” he accused, denial and anger contending inside him. “I just saw him. I just saw him this morning at the partners’ breakfast meeting.”

  Morgan turned her head toward him. The pain in her eyes robbed him of his breath and left no room for doubt. He watched through a gathering fog as she focused on him, her brows knitted with concern. Then she reached for him, cupping the cheek she had slapped. The cool skin of her hand soothed his enflamed skin. Dylan was helpless against the overwhelming need to succumb to the simple contact. Greedily, he stayed silent until his need for understanding became greater than the seduction of her touch.

  “What happened?”

  As he suspected, his question dissolved their tenuous connection. Morgan pulled away, slowly pushing herself into a sitting position. She slipped her hands under her thighs, hunching her shoulders and tucking her chin. Dylan rose from the floor. He sat with her but was careful to leave distance between them.

  “I’m sorry. This is horrible. I’ve done this horribly. You don’t deserve this. I know how much Aaron meant to you. I can’t believe the things I said…what I did.”

  “Ssh, it’s all right.”

  “It’s not.” Morgan looked up at him through her long lashes. “I’ve never been so angry. Aaron knew. He’s known his heart was failing for more than a year. You ha
d no idea?”

  “No.” Dylan shook his head. “None. Nothing seemed wrong. He never said anything.”

  “Well, he was on medication and, according to Dr. Cullen, was being very good about it. But his condition was extremely serious. So serious, Dr. Cullen advised him to stop working about six months ago.”

  “I can imagine how well that went over with Aaron,” Dylan scoffed.

  “Yes,” Morgan agreed and Dylan saw a ghost of a smile tug at her lips before she continued. “He told Aaron if he kept up his current pace he’d be ‘living on borrowed time.’”

  “Cullen.” Dylan shook his head at the man’s bedside manner even as he knew it was one of the things Aaron had trusted and admired about his physician.

  “You had no idea.” It wasn’t a question. “I had to know. I had to know if you’d kept it from me, trying to protect me. I don’t think I could have forgi…”

  Dylan removed the handkerchief from his breast pocket and reached to blot the tears Morgan seemed unaware were tracking down her cheeks. He cursed under his breath when she flinched away from him, but handed it to her without further comment. He waited patiently while she dried her face and blew her nose.

  “Better?”

  “Some.” She nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  She leaned her head back, blew out an unsteady breath and lifted her wrist to glance at her watch.

  “I can’t believe it was four hours ago. Philip called…”

  “Damn,” Dylan interjected. “I’d almost forgotten about him. How is he?”

  “About as well as you’d imagine. He found Aaron. Stayed with him until…you know…Philip was alone with him.”

  “Christ.” Dylan wasn’t close to Aaron’s son, but he wouldn’t wish that particular circumstance on another person.

  “I wouldn’t have left him except Mr. and Mrs. Tibbe came home shortly after I did and are there with him now. Dr. Cullen gave him a sedative. He was resting when I left.”

  “Good.”

  “Yes,” Morgan agreed. “So, Philip called and I drove home as fast as I could. But Aaron, he was already gone.”

  Dylan hated the pained expression twisting Morgan’s features, but he needed to know. His mind seemed unable to take hold of the notion Aaron Field was gone.

  “The paramedics were leaving as I arrived. Philip had called them first, before he realized…and Doctor Cullen. He was Philip’s second call. Doctor Cullen probably contacted the funeral home.”

  Her voice broke and she put her hands over her face.

  “They were putting him into the hearse…” she said through her fingers.

  “It’s enough. Don’t say anymore.” His own voice was rough with emotion.

  She faced him squarely.

  “No. You need to hear this. I know how you’re feeling right now. It doesn’t seem real.”

  “No it doesn’t. But putting you through this, it isn’t worth it.”

  “Aaron’s dead.” Morgan’s voice was so small; Dylan had to duck his head to catch her words. “He really is.”

  He watched her shrink into herself.

  “Dammit,” he breathed.

  The barrier he’d erected between them was the price he had long accepted he would have to pay to protect her from him. But he’d be damned if he would allow her to pay as well. She needed him. He slid toward her, catching her by the elbows and pulling her to him. She stiffened in his arms, her palms flat against him like a shield. His heart splintered though he expected her reaction.

  “Stop it,” she whispered even as she allowed him to smooth her against him.

  Dylan ignored her protest, using one hand to turn her face to his chest and rubbing circles in the center of her back with the other.

  “Bastard,” she cursed him, making him smile despite everything.

  She strained against him. Apparently, a final attempt to break away because then, in increments, she eased into him.

  “Aaron loved you very much.” Dylan gently rested his chin on the top of her head as he spoke. “He was so proud of you.”

  A half-strangled sob broke from her lips.

  “Let it go, Morgan.”

  She shook her head, denying him.

  “It’s all right. I’m here.”

  A shudder ran through her, jarring Dylan with its force. Then she bunched his shirt front into her fists and pulled herself up to face him, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

  “For how long?”

  The burning question charged the air surrounding them. She had never confronted him about his unexplained and unceremonious abandonment. He had let himself believe his absence hadn’t affected her. Obviously, it had been a delusion.

  Her despair threatened to drown him. Her grief was a palpable presence in the room. There were no words adequate to comfort her. A madness borne of desperation swept over him and he lowered his head to hers.

  All thought ceased at the delicate meeting of their mouths, Dylan’s senses utterly focused on the woman he held. She was so soft: her lips beneath his, her body in his arms, her breath against his cheek. She smelled like early spring, salt air and sadness. Her heart beat a staccato against his ribs, reverberating through his body deep into the marrow of his bones.

  A long suppressed instinct took over, driving him to deepen the kiss. He parted her lips with his and tasted the dewy sweetness at the swell of her lower lip with the tip of his tongue. Morgan’s breath hitched on a sob. The sound brought Dylan back to awareness. With a sigh equal parts relief and regret, he ended their brief union and settled her against him. She burrowed her face into his neck.

  “As long as you need me, I’ll be here,” he promised. “I’m here. I’m here.” He continued to chant in time with the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of his office, Morgan branding his skin with her mournful tears.

  Chapter 2

  The soft click of a latching mechanism startled Morgan. A rectangular door recessed into the middle of the wall next to her cruelly jolting her out of the protective cocoon she had built around herself over the last few days.

  Morgan had been functioning in a haze. Aaron, true to form to the very end, had left meticulous instructions for his cremation and memorial service. But there had been a multitude of details to be attended to: a date chosen, caterers contacted, notices sent. Morgan had seen to it all, thankful for the distraction.

  There was nothing more to do. It was happening. Now. As if in confirmation, a motor eerily whispered to life and the simple wooden casket bearing Aaron’s body began to move slowly toward the opening.

  “I offer a poem.” The rich speaking voice of the young funeral director, David Briar, broke through Morgan’s rising anxiety. “It is by Henry Scott Holland and Aaron requested it be shared with all of you today…”

  Death is nothing at all.

  I have only slipped away to the next room.

  I am I and you are you.

  Whatever we were to each other,

  that, we still are.

  Call me by my old familiar name.

  Speak to me in the easy way

  which you always used.

  Put no difference into your tone.

  Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

  Laugh as we always laughed

  at the little jokes we enjoyed together.

  Play, smile, think of me. Pray for me.

  Let my name be ever the household word

  that it always was.

  Let it be spoken without effect.

  Without the trace of a shadow on it.

  Life means all that it ever meant.

  It is the same that it ever was.

  There is absolute unbroken continuity.

  Why should I be out of mind

  because I am out of sight?

  I am but waiting for you.

  For an interval.

  Somewhere. Very near.

  Just around the corner.

  All
is well.

  Morgan reached out a trembling hand, allowing her fingertips to skim the edge of the casket as it continued past her toward the furnace beyond where it would soon be turned to ash. Panic rose in her chest, unbounded and suffocating. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sensation and, in the self-imposed darkness, was transported to the past, to the last time the future had seemed impossible.

  She had been thirteen years old, standing alone in a waiting room. Her parents had been in a car accident. That was all the policeman who had come to her house to pick her up and bring her to the hospital had told her. Then he had left her there in the care of a social worker. The young woman had gone to the front desk to call through a list of numbers found in Morgan’s mother’s day planner.

  Morgan had known the situation was serious by the way the bustling nurses and doctors glanced at her out of the corners of their eyes as they rushed past the doorway. No one asked who she was or what she was doing there. They’d all known.

  Then she’d noticed a gray haired man walking down the long corridor. No, Aaron had never walked. He was much too purposeful. He’d strode toward her; his eyes locked on her like a laser.

  Morgan had recognized him, of course. He was Mr. Field of Field, Wurst, Howe and Stile, the law firm where her parents worked. She’d met him a number of times, but had been unable to imagine what could have brought him there. He’d amazed her by dropping to one knee in front of her and taking her face in his hands.

  “Morgan, my dear.” His brown eyes had been warm and kind as he’d looked straight at her. “I am so sorry. Your parents did not survive the crash. They are dead.”

  She dipped her head and smiled at the memory. Some people might have thought his bluntness cruel, but it had been exactly what she needed to hear. The cruelty had been her parents’ untimely deaths. Aaron’s direct words had brought her a relief of sorts. They confirmed her worst fears and freed her to do the only thing she could…find a way forward.

  Of course, Aaron had had a plan for that. She would live with him and he would be her guardian. Surely her parents would have wanted it for her. All she had to do was agree.