Her Lover's Legacy

She reached across the table and covered his hand. The warmth of her touch traveled up the length of his arm.

“Don’t beat yourself up. I know the disagreement between you two spiraled out of control, but the love remained. That much was evident.”

“But did he know?” Malcolm questioned.

“Of course he did.” Gloria nodded. “And you know something else? He was extremely proud of you—your intelligence, convictions and even your passion.” She squeezed his hand tighter. “He was proud of all his children, and if you don’t mind me saying so, he had every right to be.”

Her encouraging words were just the balm Malcolm needed. He only prayed they were the truth. After all, every child wants their parents to be proud of them.

Gloria chuckled and drew Malcolm out of his melancholy.

“What’s so funny?” His lips curled, ready to join in on the joke.

“You probably don’t know this,” she said. “But once upon a time, your father tried to hook us up together.”

His laughter came easily at that revelation. “You’re joking.”

“Hilarious, isn’t it?” She shook her head and released his hand. “The first few months I started working for him, he wouldn’t stop telling me how much of a fine catch you were and how a woman would be crazy not to cast her net in your direction.” She chuckled. “He actually said ‘cast her net.’ He shoved so many dinner invitations my way, I ran out of excuses to why I couldn’t come.”

Malcolm choked on his food.

“Are you all right?” she asked when it started to sound like he was trying to hack up a lung.

He bobbed his head, reached for his iced water.

She watched him through growing concern until he finally held up a finger and said, “I’m okay.”

“What happened? Went down the wrong pipe?”

“Something like that.” He cleared his throat and favored her with a smile. “You mean all those times you showed up at my parents’ house for Sunday dinner and holiday meals were because my dad was trying to play Cupid?”

She returned his smile. “After we met at that one fund-raiser, I told him not to bother. We mixed as well as oil and water.”

“Now, who is the oil in this scenario?”

Gloria waved a finger, letting him know she wasn’t going to allow him to bait her into an argument. “The point is that we’re completely wrong for each other,” she stressed.

Malcolm hadn’t intended to, but he frowned. What was it about him that she found rejection-able? He straightened his chair and averted his gaze.

“Not that I don’t find you attractive,” she rushed to say as she sensed his bruised ego. “I do.”

He glanced up.

“I mean—any woman would. It’s just, um, personality-wise, we don’t mesh.”

“Because you don’t like men with intelligence, convictions and—what was it—passion?”

“Right.” She blinked. “Wait. I mean—”

Malcolm’s head rocked back while his chest rumbled with laughter. “Please. Please. Let’s quit before you really hurt my feelings.”

Gloria pressed her lips together, but her eyes seemed to dance with the candlelight. “I do have a way of putting my foot in my mouth, don’t I?”

Leaning over to the side, he squinted under the table and blinked. “You better be careful. Those jokers are big.”

“Ha. Ha.” She rolled her eyes. “You got me back. Can we eat now?”

“No, really. What size are those puppies—eleven, twelve?”

“Eight.” She kicked him.

“Ow.” He laughed.

“Serves you right, saying my feet are big. The real question is what size are your feet? You know what they say about the size of a man’s feet.” She leaned over and glanced under the table herself, but the laughter died on her lips.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

She sat up, her face as red as the candleholder. “We better finish eating.”

“Are you sure?” A devilish grin spread across his face before he commenced eating. This time, the silence was more comfortable while they snuck glances at each other and smiled whenever they were caught.

Maybe Gloria Kingsley wasn’t so bad after all.

Chapter 5

Malcolm arrived home at midnight.

Exhausted didn’t describe it—more like he was bone weary. His eyes were dry from looking at too much paperwork. His back ached from loading one too many tubs of law books. The last thing he wanted to do now was unload it all and carry it up to his apartment. That would have to be another project for another time. For the time being he kept everything locked in his SUV. Tomorrow, he promised himself, he’d carry everything out to the family estate.

If not, then maybe the day after.

He slipped his key into the apartment’s lock, pushed the door open and felt a sense of relief when he stepped into the apartment’s darkness. First pit stop: the kitchen. Malcolm grabbed the last beer in the fridge and made a mental note to pick up a case while he was out tomorrow. His next stop was the living room, where he tumbled onto the leather couch. He caught view of the blinking red light on his answer machine.

Twelve messages.

Even before he hit the play button, he knew who the callers were.

“Malcolm?” Shawnie’s voice filtered through the speakerphone. “Are you there? Pick up if you’re there.” After a long pause, she sighed and continued. “Well, I was just calling to check on you. No one in the family has heard from you and…well, it’s really not the time to be alone, Malcolm. We all need you. We love you.” Another long silence and then, “Call me.”

Malcolm groaned while he slid a hand over his face.

The machine beeped and played the next message.

“Malcolm?” Tyson’s steel baritone punched through the apartment’s stillness. “C’mon, man. I know you’re there. Pick up.” After a few beats of silence his brother went on, “Look, man. I know you’re going through a rough time. Things being the way they were with you and Dad and all, but give me a call. We need to talk. And if you don’t feel like talking to me the least you can do is call Mom. She’s worried about you. Hit me up on my cell when you get this message.”

The calls alternated between Shawnie and Ty. Both of their voices thickened with concern each time he didn’t answer the phone. Malcolm was instantly sorry for making everyone worry. That had not been his intention.

On the last message, Malcolm’s heart tried to squeeze its way out of his chest when his mother’s wearied voice entered the room.