dealt cards in games that never would have been sanctioned by gambling authorities. She was cunning and clever, a con artist who was an expert at analyzing the odds and beating them. She also had a heart of gold.
Faith had no idea who her parents had been. Shortly after her birth, she'd been dropped anonymously at a Vegas fire station. She figured she'd been born in Vegas, but her few attempts at investigating her origins had never provided any answers.
Gracie had been friends with Harold in Vegas. Gracie had introduced Faith to Harold. It had all been downhill—or uphill, depending on your point of view—from there.
"I went to that snooty lawyer's office"—Faith recounted the tale—"but I had my dates mixed up. I was supposed to be there the next day."
"There's nothing worse than talking to an attorney," Gracie replied. "It could have been a waste of a perfectly good afternoon."
"But it wasn't, because Lucas Merriweather showed up. I still can't believe it."
"Neither can I. What a stroke of luck."
Faith chuckled at the memory, not able to fully absorb what had happened. Typically, she was a laid-back and unassuming person, so she couldn't understand why she'd vamped and flirted so shamelessly.
He was uber-handsome and oozed sexuality, and he'd ignited a feminine spark that had made her want to get closer to him. She blamed it on hormones and a magnetic attraction beyond her control, and even though she didn't like him, she hadn't been immune.
"You should have seen me," Faith said. "I scammed him like a pro."
"I'm so proud," Gracie teased, and they both laughed.
"When I first arrived," Faith explained, "the receptionist plopped me in Ms. Stone's office. By myself! The Merriweather file was right on her desk."
"I hope you read it."
"Every page."
"That's my girl."
"So I'm standing there waiting for Carolyn Stone, and Merriweather waltzes in. He thought I was Stone, and he's such a pompous ass, it never occurred to him that I might not be."
"You didn't bother to correct him."
"Of course not. And"—Faith's eyes gleamed with mischief—"he spilled his guts."
"Let me guess: You're a greedy thief who must be brought to justice."
"Yes."
"What is it with those Merriweather men?" Gracie huffed. "Why are they so sure they know it all?"
"They're rich and idle, and they spend all their time, calculating the ways they're wonderful."
"Was he as sexy in person as he looks in magazines?"
"Sexier."
"Yum."
He was occasionally featured in the gossip pages, usually noted as the companion for some famous model when she was entering a trendy club or restaurant. Faith had other pictures of him too, more candid shots that Harold had had taken over the past decade.
Lucas Merriweather wasn't the only one who could hire a private detective. If he had any notion of how meticulously his grandfather had tracked him, he'd probably faint.
"They're coming after the money," Faith said.
Grace shrugged. "Harold knew they would."
"They'll fight dirty."
"So will we." Grace reached over and patted Faith's hand. "They won't be able to take it from you. Don't worry. Harold was very careful in how he drafted his will."
"I hate to bicker, though. They have so much, and we have just this tiny bit. Why can't they leave us alone?"
"They're sharks; they're used to feeding on people like us."
"Maybe we'll give them heartburn."
"We can only hope."
The front door slammed, and children's feet raced toward them. Her dog, a mutt named King, woofed a greeting.
"Faith, Faith," a little girl called, "where are you?"
"We're in the kitchen, Peanut."
Penelope—Peanut to everyone—skipped into the room. She was four and had recently learned to skip, so she was very proud of it. Her mop of black curls bounced with each hop.
Ten-year-old Bryce came in too. He resembled Peanut, with her same dark hair and striking blue eyes, but he had none of her perky exuberance. He was possessed of an inquisitive mind, was quiet and perceptive,
Faith had no idea who her parents had been. Shortly after her birth, she'd been dropped anonymously at a Vegas fire station. She figured she'd been born in Vegas, but her few attempts at investigating her origins had never provided any answers.
Gracie had been friends with Harold in Vegas. Gracie had introduced Faith to Harold. It had all been downhill—or uphill, depending on your point of view—from there.
"I went to that snooty lawyer's office"—Faith recounted the tale—"but I had my dates mixed up. I was supposed to be there the next day."
"There's nothing worse than talking to an attorney," Gracie replied. "It could have been a waste of a perfectly good afternoon."
"But it wasn't, because Lucas Merriweather showed up. I still can't believe it."
"Neither can I. What a stroke of luck."
Faith chuckled at the memory, not able to fully absorb what had happened. Typically, she was a laid-back and unassuming person, so she couldn't understand why she'd vamped and flirted so shamelessly.
He was uber-handsome and oozed sexuality, and he'd ignited a feminine spark that had made her want to get closer to him. She blamed it on hormones and a magnetic attraction beyond her control, and even though she didn't like him, she hadn't been immune.
"You should have seen me," Faith said. "I scammed him like a pro."
"I'm so proud," Gracie teased, and they both laughed.
"When I first arrived," Faith explained, "the receptionist plopped me in Ms. Stone's office. By myself! The Merriweather file was right on her desk."
"I hope you read it."
"Every page."
"That's my girl."
"So I'm standing there waiting for Carolyn Stone, and Merriweather waltzes in. He thought I was Stone, and he's such a pompous ass, it never occurred to him that I might not be."
"You didn't bother to correct him."
"Of course not. And"—Faith's eyes gleamed with mischief—"he spilled his guts."
"Let me guess: You're a greedy thief who must be brought to justice."
"Yes."
"What is it with those Merriweather men?" Gracie huffed. "Why are they so sure they know it all?"
"They're rich and idle, and they spend all their time, calculating the ways they're wonderful."
"Was he as sexy in person as he looks in magazines?"
"Sexier."
"Yum."
He was occasionally featured in the gossip pages, usually noted as the companion for some famous model when she was entering a trendy club or restaurant. Faith had other pictures of him too, more candid shots that Harold had had taken over the past decade.
Lucas Merriweather wasn't the only one who could hire a private detective. If he had any notion of how meticulously his grandfather had tracked him, he'd probably faint.
"They're coming after the money," Faith said.
Grace shrugged. "Harold knew they would."
"They'll fight dirty."
"So will we." Grace reached over and patted Faith's hand. "They won't be able to take it from you. Don't worry. Harold was very careful in how he drafted his will."
"I hate to bicker, though. They have so much, and we have just this tiny bit. Why can't they leave us alone?"
"They're sharks; they're used to feeding on people like us."
"Maybe we'll give them heartburn."
"We can only hope."
The front door slammed, and children's feet raced toward them. Her dog, a mutt named King, woofed a greeting.
"Faith, Faith," a little girl called, "where are you?"
"We're in the kitchen, Peanut."
Penelope—Peanut to everyone—skipped into the room. She was four and had recently learned to skip, so she was very proud of it. Her mop of black curls bounced with each hop.
Ten-year-old Bryce came in too. He resembled Peanut, with her same dark hair and striking blue eyes, but he had none of her perky exuberance. He was possessed of an inquisitive mind, was quiet and perceptive,
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