"We could find somewhere else if the heat bothers you."

"I'm good."

Kate waited until the waitress had left with their iced-tea orders to ask, "What did Nate have to say?"

"They still can't find Carl. The case is building against him."

"How so?"

"He's in trouble with the IRS."

"Are you serious?"

"I never joke about the IRS. He's in trouble," he repeated.

"What kind of trouble?"

"Back taxes."

"But he's . . ."

"What?"

"Rich. He inherited a fortune."

"If he did, he's gone through it."

"I'm stunned."

"He never said anything to you about money worries?"

"Good heavens, no. Carl is every inch the southern gentleman," she explained. "And southern gentlemen never ever discuss money problems. It would be . . . unseemly."

"Is that part of the southern gentleman code?"

He was teasing, but she was serious when she answered. "Yes, it is. Being a gentleman is serious business here."

The waitress had eyes for Dylan only as she placed the iced tea on the table. Kate thanked her anyway, took a sip of the cold drink, and said, "I can't figure this out. Poor Carl, bless his heart. He's always trying to help others."

"How does he help?"

"He gives lavish parties to promote the arts. And he's helped promote my company, too."

"He asked you to bring those gift baskets to his party, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did. He thought it would be good promotion. Oh, I see that look in your eyes. Dylan, Carl was trying to help. I'm telling you, he's a good man. He wanted to buy into my company. I'm sure he thought I needed financial a.s.sistance, and of course he couldn't talk about it . . . so he offered to be a partner. If he had such terrible money problems, where would he get the money to help me?"

"When did he try to buy into your company? For G.o.d's sake, Kate, why didn't you tell me this?"

"I didn't think it was relevant."

"When?" he repeated.

"Over a year ago."

Dylan checked the time, pulled his wallet out, and put money on the table. "Drink up. We have to get going."

"We've still got time," she said. "What else did Nate tell you?"

"He's doing a background check on your relatives, and I had hoped he'd have something for me by now."

"But no such luck?"

"Not yet. He got pulled into a meeting, but he has people working on it."

"We'll be finding out about them soon enough." Too soon, she thought. Why, oh, why had she agreed to come to Savannah? Guilt, she decided. Isabel and Kiera had guilted her into coming.

"I don't like walking in blind. I want to know what I'm dealing with. You understand?"

Oh, boy, did she. "Yes."

"You're dreading it."

"Yes, I am."

"Why?" And when she didn't immediately answer, he asked, "Why are you so worried?"

"I'm not worried," she said. "I just hope . . ."

"Yes?"

She guessed there really wasn't any reason not to tell him. He already knew about her financial situation and her mother's devastating business and personal decisions. "I hope this meeting isn't another surprise my mother left behind. I don't think I could take another . . . disappointment."

"Why do you think that's a possibility? Seems pretty remote to me. You told me your mother never mentioned her husband's relatives," he reminded her.

"The letter . . . by special messenger . . . it started me thinking. Mother might have borrowed money from this uncle and now the estate wants it paid back."

He looked at her a long minute and then asked, "How long are you going to stay mad at her?"

"I'm not mad. I'm disappointed."

"Yeah, right."

She bristled. "I'm telling you the truth."

"No, you're not. I guess you're just not ready to say it, so how about I say it for you? You're furious with her."

Her spine stiffened. The defiance didn't last long. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she couldn't stop them. She'd already cried in front of him once; she wasn't about to do it again.

"Yes, I'm angry," she said, her voice shaking. "She lied about everything, and she left a mess."

He put his hand on top of hers. "Ah, Katie. It's not about the money."

She pulled her hand away. "Oh? Then what is it about?"

"Your mother got sick, and she died, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't stop it from happening."

"That doesn't make sense."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed, and stood. "So maybe you ought to think about forgiving her."

She wanted to argue, to tell him his amateur a.n.a.lysis was way off, but something stopped her. What if there was a germ of truth in what he was saying? Was she using anger to shield herself from the pain of losing her mother?

He pulled her to her feet. "Come on, Pickle. Time to meet the relatives."

Chapter Twenty-four.

The law firm of Smith and Wesson and a.s.sociates resided in an early-nineteenth-century, three-story home that had been transformed into offices but had kept its antebellum elegance.

The lobby was wide, and the eye was immediately drawn to the colorful mosaic design on the tiled floor. A grand staircase in the center led up to an open balcony that surrounded the lobby and was supported by white Doric columns.

Dylan half expected to see a southern belle sweep down the steps in her hoop skirt to greet them, but instead a receptionist in a dark suit with a silk blouse and pearls smiled up at them from her tidy mahogany desk.

Kate waited by Dylan's side while he dealt with the security guard. The alarm had been triggered when he'd walked in, but as soon as he showed his badge, the pulsating noise stopped.

She didn't have to give her name to the receptionist. The young woman already knew who she was.

"Good afternoon, Miss MacKenna. Mr. Smith will be right down. He's most anxious to meet you."

Anxious? Was that a good anxious or a bad one? Kate wondered.

Less than a minute later, the attorney rushed down the stairs. His smile seemed genuine. Still, he was a lawyer, she reminded herself, and from his surroundings, a very successful one at that. Therefore, he had to be quite good at masking his real emotions.

Extending his hand, he said, "My name is Anderson Samuel Smith, and I am delighted to meet you, Miss MacKenna. Simply delighted."

He was quite polished, for he quickly put her at ease. He shook Dylan's hand, and the two men exchanged polite greetings.

Speaking to both of them, he said, "I was your great uncle Compton's attorney for seven years, and I do believe the firm took great care of him. He was quite an interesting fellow. Perhaps we might have dinner sometime, and I'll tell you what I know about him."

"Did you know his brother?" Kate asked.

"Yes, I did, Miss MacKenna. Our firm did not handle his affairs, however."

"Please, call me Kate."

He flashed another brilliant smile. "Kate. A good name," he added with approval. "And you must call me Anderson."

"If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to freshen up."

"Good idea," Dylan said.

Good idea? What did that mean? She must either look a mess, or Dylan wanted to talk to the attorney alone.

Anderson showed her the way to the powder room and returned to Dylan in the foyer.

Kate washed her hands and checked her appearance in the full-length mirror. Okay, she was a bit disheveled, but she didn't look that bad, did she? She didn't look that good, either. She could make herself a little more presentable, she decided.

She brushed her hair, and since there was some curl, she didn't clip it back again but let it fall around her shoulders. Digging through her purse, she found her blush and lipstick and freshened her makeup. She checked herself again. It was the best she could do without a complete overhaul.

She wanted to give Dylan another couple of minutes with the attorney. She stopped near the door and gave herself a quick pep talk. Try to be optimistic and stop looking so worried. It was going to be fine. Anderson wouldn't have been so happy to meet her if she owed the estate a lot of money, right? No, that wasn't logical. He could have been thrilled because she had shown up, and he knew he had a good shot at getting her to pay the money back-and she would pay it back even if it took the rest of her life to do it.

Wait, that wasn't optimistic thinking. Kate wanted to latch on to something that would make her feel better. The photos. Yes, there were photos of her father as a little boy. That was definitely something wonderful to share with her sisters, something that would give them a connection to the man who had loved her mother and had given them life.

All right. The pep talk was working. She took it a step further. Maybe she would actually like these cousins. She might.

Straightening her shoulders, she whispered, "Here goes," and opened the door.

Dylan barely spared her a glance as he listened to the attorney who was very seriously explaining something to him. Kate didn't want to interrupt, and so she waited by the receptionist's desk until they finished their discussion.

The smile was back in place the second Anderson spotted her. "Shall we go upstairs?" he said as he led the way.

Kate hung back and whispered to Dylan, "You're frowning. What's wrong?"

Should he warn her? Or should he let her go in cold without any preconceived ideas about the vipers Anderson had just described to him?

He decided to give her a little forewarning. "I don't think you're going to like your cousins."

"Maybe I will," she said, determined to hang on to the burst of optimism she'd mustered up.

He smiled. "I'm pretty sure you won't."

"You can't predict . . ." She suddenly stopped. Oh, who was she kidding? Her bubble of enthusiasm was slowly deflating.

He saw the disheartened look in her eyes and realized he shouldn't have said anything. "You stay tough," he whispered.

"I am tough," she responded.

They had just reached the landing when they heard a man shout a gross obscenity. Kate stopped cold and looked at Dylan. He shrugged as if unfazed.

Anderson looked mortified. "Give me a moment, please," he said.

He hurried down the hall, probably intent on getting his guests to shut the h.e.l.l up, Dylan surmised, but the damage was done. Kate had gone from worried to fearful.