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An evening mist had settled around the swamp and the moss-draped cedars, giving them an almost surreal look. Some folks found the bayou beautiful. Deacon just found it sad. After his mother died, Donny John had moved them here to live with their grandfather, and Deacon had spent many an afternoon in the secluded spot, grieving for the woman who had been the center of his universe.
Althea Beaumont had been a beautiful, vivacious woman who saw the best in everyone and everything. While Donny John had been taught that boys didn’t need hugs, Althea handed them out freely to her sons. Along with kisses on each cheek. An amazing seamstress, she had been the main breadwinner in the family. She made choir robes for churches, ballet recital costumes for dance studios, and cheerleading uniforms for high schools. But regardless of how much sewing she had to do, she would always make time for her boys. She played catch with them, read to them, tickled them, and tucked them in each night.
They had all adored her, but none more than Deacon. She was everything to him. And when she died, it was like all the joy in the world died with her. Gone were the hugs, the two-cheek kisses, and the love. All that was left was a father who seemed as lost as his sons. Donny John lost his job, lost their house, and lost his desire to be a father to three boys with eyes just like their mother’s. So, at thirteen, Deacon took charge. He worked at odd jobs to help his grandfather with the bills and budgeted the money so there was enough for food and school supplies.
When Donny John had finally come out of his grieving, he hadn’t gotten a job. Instead he’d dragged his sons to California to get a handout from his big brother. Donny John had been convinced that Michael would help them and had been oblivious to how pathetic they had looked standing in Michael’s huge entryway like the poor hillbillies they were. But, at sixteen, Deacon had been very aware. He’d been aware of the look of disgust on the face of the butler who answered the door. The look of shock on Olivia’s mother’s face when she learned they were relatives. And the look of resignation on his uncle’s face when he offered them the guest rooms.
But even from their first meeting, Olivia’s face had given nothing away. Not when his uncle had asked her to show them around the large house. And not when Grayson and Nash had raced down the hallways whooping with delight.
Deacon hadn’t raced around or whooped with delight. Not wanting to show his embarrassment over his brothers’ reaction, he’d stood with his arms crossed over his chest and glared with pure teenage belligerence. In fact he’d held on to the belligerence the entire next day, refusing to enjoy the huge game and media rooms. Instead he borrowed a bestselling thriller from the shelf in the library and headed for the garden. That was where Olivia found him.
“Michael doesn’t want you here.”
Startled, Deacon dropped the book. He turned to see her standing there in a prim and proper sundress. She had a pimple on her chin, and braces puffed out her full lips.
“Who cares what your uncle wants?” he said as he picked up the book and went back to reading. But her hurtful words made it impossible. As much as he tried to act like he didn’t care what his uncle thought, he did. He cared more than anyone would ever know.
“Then why did you come?” She moved closer, the heels of her sandals clicking on the paving stones. “I overheard my mother say that you came for money.”
He jumped to his feet. “I don’t want shit from you or your stepfather. I think he’s an arrogant ass.”
“Is not!” she snapped. “Michael’s a kind, caring man—”
“Who makes his money off selling cheap, sleazy underwear!”
Her eyes turned hard and angry. “They are not cheap or sleazy!”
To his surprise she jerked up her dress. Not just to her waist, but all the way over her head. And she was right. The lacy bra and panties didn’t look cheap…or sleazy. Barely covering her petite body with its small breasts, they looked hot. Especially to a sixteen-year-old who got a boner just by climbing a rope in gym class. His penis came to full attention, something his uncle couldn’t help but notice when he arrived on the scene.
“Deacon!”
Deacon snapped out of his daydream to see his little brother barreling down the path through the trees like the hounds of hell were chasing him.
Deacon got to his feet. “What happened?”
Grayson took a moment to catch his breath. “Some guys in a black SUV arrived.”
“Shit.” He left his fishing pole and tackle box and started toward the cabin. “Who are they? Federal agents who have come to arrest Donny John for illegal gambling? Or did Nash get himself in trouble again?”
“Neither.” Grayson followed behind him. “They aren’t feds or cops. They’re lawyers.”
He stopped and turned. “Lawyers?”
Grayson nodded, grinning from ear to ear. “Olivia was telling the truth. Uncle Michael left us shares in the company. We’re millionaires, Deke.” He slapped him on the arm. “At least we will be as soon as you sign Olivia’s contract. And I figure since they’re Uncle Michael’s lawyers, they can take the contract back to her.”
Deacon should have been overjoyed. His dream was about to become true. But it was hard to be overjoyed when the daydream had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Which might explain why he wasn’t friendly to the lawyers who sat at the card table with glasses of sweet tea in front of them. Both got to their feet as soon as he entered the cabin, but it was the older of the two who spoke.
“Deacon Valentino Beaumont?” When Deacon merely nodded, he continued the introduction. “I’m Jeffrey Connors, a lawyer for the late Michael Casanova Beaumont.” He nodded at the younger man, who looked like he was about to faint from heatstroke. “This is my colleague Dave Johnson.” Both men held out hands and Deacon shook them before heading to the refrigerator. He pulled out a bottle of beer, twisted off the cap, and took a deep drink before finally speaking.
“So Michael put me and my brothers in his will.” It was a statement rather than a question, but Mr. Connors answered it anyway.
“Yes.” He sat back down and removed some papers from his briefcase. “We would’ve had these to you sooner, but it wasn’t easy locating you and your brothers.” He smiled. “Although I understand. Just this past year, I went salmon fishing with my brothers in a remote spot in Canada. Most enjoyable two weeks I’ve had in a long time.”
It annoyed Deacon that the man would think this was just a vacation spot. He scowled as the lawyer took a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket. He put them on before he started reading the will.
Mr. Connors had a low, soothing voice, one that would’ve put Deacon to sleep if the stakes hadn’t been so high. He, his brothers, and Donny John all listened intently as the man read. It wasn’t until he reached the details of the shares Uncle Michael had left them that Deacon interrupted.
“Excuse me. Did you say controlling shares?”
Mr. Connors glanced up. “I did.”
“Controlling as in majority shareholders?”
The lawyer smiled. “Correct. Your uncle left you all of his shares.”
Nash got up from the couch. “Does that mean what I think it means, Deacon?”
Since Deacon couldn’t seem to find his voice, Mr. Connors answered the question for him. “It means that you and your brothers are now the owners of French Kiss, Incorporated.”
