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“What do you think it means?” he murmured, his forehead pressed against hers.
“That maybe the two of us… that there might be something bigger happening…” She blushed deeply, hating how hard it was for her to keep her heart off her sleeve these days.
“I think that right now, I want to see where this could go.”
“Good,” she whispered. “Me, too.”
* * *
“What do you mean—I’m not going to get my trust? I’m doing everything you asked me to do!” Harley paced in her bedroom, her face hot with fury. She raked her fingernails through her hair, her pacing getting faster and harder with each turn. “I came down to this forsaken place, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“I gave Uncle Vern my devices. I started doing the chores he asked me to do.”
“And your father and I are very pleased with that.”
She growled. “Then what is the point of this phone call?”
Her mother was enjoying this conversation, Harley could tell. Without even seeing her face, she knew Blaire was smirking. She’d found a way around giving Harley the money unless she did something extra.
What more did her mother want?
“The point of this call is to finish what we failed to during our last conversation.”
“You mean when you called to chew me out about sneaking out with Mason.”
“Is that his name?”
“Mother! This isn’t right. You can’t take away the inheritance Grandpa left for me. It’s mine.” Her breathing was labored by this point, and each word came out in a puff.
Her mother didn’t respond. This was what she did. It was her way of maintaining control during a conversation. For all Harley knew, her mother had hung up and was sitting there in her favorite chair, waiting for Harley to realize she needed to call her back.
“Mom!”
“Don’t yell at me, dear. This was your father’s idea.”
“What’s his idea? None of this makes any sense. That money is mine. Or at least it should have been mine when I turned twenty-one. You just got the lawyers to help you delay it. I will get that money.” And she was going to spend every last cent of it on Copper Creek if it meant infuriating her mother into the grave.
“He suggested that we look over the terms of the trust. We discovered an optional contingency.”
“An optional, what?”
“Contingency, dear. You need to marry before you get the money.”
“What?” Harley seethed. “That’s so backwards! I’m going to call my lawyer. This can’t be right. Grandpa wouldn’t—”
“It’s exactly what Grandpa would do. Ask your uncle. He only got half of what was owed to him because he refused to marry that sweet little Lorelei.”
Harley’s blood ran cold. She stopped in her tracks and stared at the closed door to her bedroom. Her uncle was supposed to get married? Who was Lorelei?
“Anyway, one of the stipulations is that you marry someone of good breeding.”
She groaned. “Not that again.”
“Honestly, Harriet, I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about this. Getting married would be the least of your problems.”
“Harley,” she said, her tone terse.
