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Chapter One
Holding her head proudly, Ashley walked into the room and gave no outward sign of her flagging confidence. Her elegant features were emotionless and the regal tilt of her chin didn’t falter. The only signs of the emotional turmoil which stole her sleep were the deep blue smudges beneath her eyes.
She was reminded of vultures circling over carrion as she stepped into the law offices of McMichaels and Lee. Alan McMichaels held the chair for her, and as she took her seat between her cousin Claud and Aunt Beatrice, Ashley could feel the cool disdain in the pinched, white faces of the five people seated near the oiled oak desk.
Claud’s rust-colored eyebrows had raised in mild surprise when she entered the room, but he said nothing. Aunt Beatrice nodded stiffly and then turned her pale gold eyes back on the attorney.
The family had never been particularly close. Or, at least, Ashley had never felt the kinship with her father’s relatives that some families share.
Today was no exception. Her father’s death hadn’t brought the family together. If anything, the family, whose members each owned a small piece of Stephens Timber Corporation, seemed more fragmented than ever.
Though the room was spacious and decorated in opulent tones of cobalt blue and brown, the atmosphere within the brushed plaster walls was awkward and confining. Tension, like an invisible electric current, charged the air.
Alan McMichaels took a seat at the modern desk. Behind his chair, through a large, plate glass window, was an expansive view of the West Hills of Portland. The fir-laden slopes, still a rich forest green in winter, were covered with expensive, turn-of-the-century homes that overlooked the city. In the distance, spanning two high ridges, was the Vista Bridge. Its elegant gray arch was just visible in the gentle morning fog that had settled upon the city.
The lean attorney with the silver hair and black eyebrows cleared his throat and caught everyone’s attention. “As you know, we’re here for the reading of Lazarus Stephens’s will. Please hold your comments until I’ve read the entire document. When I’m finished, I’ll answer all of your questions.”
McMichaels adjusted his reading glasses and picked up the neatly typed document. A claustrophobic feeling took hold of Ashley and wouldn’t let go. The tears she had shed for her father were dry and the only thing she felt was a deep, inexplicable loneliness. She and her father had never been close, but she felt as if a part of her had died with him.
Despite the unspoken accusations of the other people in the room, Ashley met each questioning gaze with the cool serenity of her intelligent green eyes. Her blue-black hair was coiled neatly at the nape of her neck in a tight knot of ebony silk, and she was dressed expensively in a dark blue suit of understated elegance.
Ashley understood the condemning looks from her father’s family. With very few exceptions the relatives of Lazarus Stephens didn’t approve of Ashley and made no bones about it. Ashley imagined that they had all been secretly pleased when they had learned of the falling-out between Lazarus and his headstrong, spoiled daughter. Aunts, uncles and cousins alike treated her like an outsider.
Ignoring the surreptitious glances being cast in her direction, Ashley folded her hands in her lap and stared calmly at the silver-haired, bespectacled man sitting directly across the desk from her. Alan McMichaels was addressing everyone in the room, but Ashley was left with the distinct impression that he was singling her out.
“I, Lazarus J. Stephens of Portland, Oregon, do make, publish and declare my Last Will and Testament, revoking all previous Wills and Codicils. . . .”
Ashley listened to her father’s attorney, and her wide green eyes showed no sign of emotion as the reading of the will progressed. Though she remained outwardly calm, her stomach was tied into several painful knots while the small bequests were made to each of Lazarus Stephens’s closest friends and relatives.
McMichaels had insisted that Ashley attend the reading of her father’s will, although she didn’t understand why. Unless, of course, it was her father’s wish that she listen in humiliation while Lazarus publicly announced for the last time that he had disinherited his only child.
She paled at the memory of the violent scene that had resulted in the rift separating them. Vividly she could recall the rage that had colored his cheeks, the vicious accusations that had claimed she had “sold out” and betrayed him, and the look of utter disdain and disappointment in his faded blue eyes.
Over the years, the gap between father and daughter had narrowed, but never had that one, horrible scene been forgotten. Though Ashley had chosen to ignore the rumors about her father and his business practices, she hadn’t been immune to the malicious gossip that seemed to spread like wildfire whenever his name was mentioned in private conversation.
Alan McMichaels cleared his throat and his dark eyes locked with Ashley’s for an instant. “. . . my nephew Claud,” McMichaels continued. In her peripheral vision Ashley saw Claud lean forward and noticed that his anxious fingers ran nervously along the edge of the polished desk as he stared expectantly at the attorney. “. . . I bequeath the sum of one hundred thousand dollars.”
Claud’s self-assured smile, hidden partially by a thick, rust-colored mustache, wavered slightly as McMichaels paused. Claud’s nervous eyes darted from McMichaels to Ashley and back again.
“I give, devise and bequeath all of the residue of my estate unto my only child, Ashley Stephens Jennings, to be hers absolutely.”
Ashley’s heart dropped and her face drained of all color. She was forced to close her eyes for a second as she digested the intent of her father’s will. He had forgiven her. But his stubborn pride hadn’t allowed Lazarus to confront his daughter. Her fingers clenched together. Hot tears of grief burned in her eyes as she accepted her father’s final forgiveness.
McMichaels had continued reading, but the words were a muffled sound in Ashley’s private world of grief. She couldn’t look into the eyes of the startled family members.
“Wait a minute—” Claud started to interrupt, but a killing stare from Alan McMichaels forestalled any further comment from Ashley’s cousin. Claud sent Ashley a stricken look bordering on hatred.
McMichaels’s voice droned on for a few minutes until he finally tapped the neatly typed sheets of white paper on the tabletop and smiled. “That’s it. If you have any questions—”
The voices around the table started to buzz, and Ashley felt the eyes of distant relatives bore into her. Pieces of the whispered conversation drifted to her ears.
“I never suspected . . .”
“Didn’t Uncle Laz cut her off?”
“I thought so. Something about an affair with that Trevor Daniels, you know, the one running for the senatorial seat this fall.”
“How could she? And with that man! He was accused of taking a bribe last summer sometime. The charges didn’t stick, but if you ask me, he paid somebody off to save his neck! Trevor Daniels isn’t a man to trust or get involved with!”
