Inherited: Expectant Cinderella

Praise for Myrna Mackenzie:

**** “A fun read with intriguing, emotionally

compelling characters.”

—RT Book Reviews on Riches to Rags Bride

“Myrna Mackenzie writes such fine novels, everyone

should add her to their must buy list.”

—Cataromance

They had barely arrived at what appeared to be a postage stamp size courtyard of grass behind the twin white buildings when the bride and groom appeared.

“Congratulations!” the pretty woman in pink called, opening her little white container of bubbles and blowing, her lips pursed in a way that some men might have called sexy. Parker wasn’t calling it anything. This woman was messing up his carefully planned day and his escape from all things wedding-related.

She gave Parker a stern look, which only made him more aware of those amazing and seriously sexy eyes of hers. That was wrong. He wasn’t in the market for a woman of any kind, especially not a petite pirate who had boarded and was taking over his …

Wedding chapel, he thought, then quickly changed it to building. Darn it all, given the situation with his business and the board, the very last thing he needed in his life was a wedding chapel. Or interlopers. Pretty trespassers with full berry lips. And bubbles.

About the Author

MYRNA MACKENZIE grew up not having a clue what she wanted to be—she hadn’t been born a princess, the one job she thought she might like because of the steady flow of pretty dresses and crowns—but she knew that she loved stories and happy endings, so falling into life as a romance writer was pretty much inevitable. An award-winning author, with over thirty-five novels written, Myrna was born in a small town in Dunklin County, Missouri, grew up just outside Chicago, and now divides her time between two lakes in Chicago and Wisconsin, both very different and both very beautiful. She adores the internet (which still seems magical after all these years), loves coffee, hiking, attempting gardening (without much success), cooking and knitting.

Readers (and other potential gardeners, cooks, knitters, writers, etc.) can visit Myrna online at www.myrnamackenzie.com, or write to her at PO Box 225, La Grange, IL 60525, USA.

Inherited:

Expectant

Cinderella

Myrna Mackenzie

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

“THIS wasn’t exactly what I was thinking of when I decided I needed some time away from Boston,” Parker Sutcliffe muttered to himself as he climbed from his black Rolls Phantom. He had stopped in front of a large old white frame building in a low-rent part of Las Vegas where there were no casinos or tourist attractions. The words “Forever and a Day Wedding Chapel” marched across the building in lurid pink neon. The building next door lacked signage but was otherwise a twin and appeared to be connected. He noted that there was no number on the door.

No matter, he thought. This is the place. These structures had belonged to a relative he’d never even heard of, but he’d been given the keys and told that he could take possession of the two empty buildings. The whole situation had been a surprise, and he disliked surprises, but the timing was right. This past year, after all that had happened …

He shied away from the thought, concentrating only on Sutcliffe’s. The business had been his lifeline for as long as he could remember. It was failing now, and he wasn’t going to let it slip away. So maybe what he needed was this. Coming here to claim his inheritance gave him a chance to get away, think, work and come up with an idea that would save Sutcliffe’s. Plus, it was an excuse to escape the incessant suggestions by his board that he should marry to create some badly needed positive buzz about the company and himself now that his father had passed on.

Their insinuations that he wasn’t a dynamic substitute as the company representative, but that he could be its savior if he’d only listen, had been a source of tension. This trip offered a viable excuse for his absence while he grasped the opportunity to brainstorm away from the fray. He desperately needed some quiet alone time.

But when he turned the handle of the abandoned chapel, it wasn’t locked. And when he entered, he discovered that the building wasn’t abandoned, either. Or quiet.

Immediately, a wall of off-key sound hit him. He was standing at the back of the chapel, and a wedding was taking place. In the front, on a cramped raised stage, an Elvis impersonator who looked as if he’d been in the business a decade too long was belting out the ending to “It’s Now or Never.” A bride and groom, who clearly weren’t hearing the music, were smiling.

For half a second, Parker wondered if he had walked into a reality show. Or maybe someone was playing a joke on him. But if his associates in Boston hoped to talk him into a wedding by throwing him into the midst of one, they had obviously chosen the wrong wedding.

That was all he had time to think. As the last of the lyrics died away, a blur of pink came rushing at him from the side aisle.

“I’m so sorry. You missed most of it.” Parker looked down at a tiny woman with long copper curls and a hideous bright pink dress. She glanced at his dark suit. “You must be a friend or relative of the bride or groom, but don’t worry. They’re usually so excited that they won’t notice a late guest. Unless you’re family. Are you family?”

“Not at all. I—”

“That’s okay, then. Here they come. Take this.” She shoved something into his hand. “The reception is right down that hall and out the door.”

Parker frowned. “Reception? You’re mistaken. I’m not—”

“Quickly,” she said. “They’re coming, and with these smaller weddings, we need as much of a cheering section as we can get.” Grabbing him by the hand, she tugged, trying to steer him toward the door.

He resisted. “Look, Ms…. I don’t know who you are, but we need to talk.”

“Mr…. I don’t know who you are, either, but this is a wedding. They paid. This is the most important day of their lives, and talking can come later.” She turned to go, then whirled back, a sudden look of fear in her big brown eyes. “You’re not a bill collector, are you?”

Parker scowled. “No, but—”

“The police?”

“Do I really look like a police officer?”

She glanced at his suit. “Right. Not unless officers are wearing Armani these days. Okay, let’s go, then. Talk later. Bring your bubbles.”

“Bubbles?” he said half to himself, but the wedding party was closing in behind him, so he strode after the pretty, if bossy and insane, redhead.

They had barely arrived at what appeared to be a postage-stamp-sized courtyard of grass behind the twin white buildings when the bride and groom appeared.

“Congratulations!” the pretty woman in pink called, opening her little white container of bubbles and blowing, her lips pursed in a way that some men might have called sexy. Parker wasn’t calling it anything. This woman was messing up his carefully planned day and his escape from all things wedding-related.

She gave Parker a stern look, which only made him more aware of how amazingly expressive her eyes were. Immediately, he squelched that thought. He wasn’t in the market for a woman, especially not a petite pirate who had boarded and was taking over his …

Wedding chapel, he thought, then quickly changed it to building. Damn it, given the situation with his business and the board, the very last thing he needed was a functioning wedding chapel or distractions from the very real problems he needed to solve. He certainly didn’t want to have to deal with pretty trespassers with full berry lips. And bubbles.

Parker frowned, eager for this fiasco of a wedding to end so that he could find out what was going on. As he watched, the Elvis impersonator, the man who had officiated at the wedding and the woman who had played the piano made their way outside, the pink beauty gave them their containers and wands, and the bride and groom were treated to a rainbow of bubbles floating down on them and popping sloppily as they kissed.

The pink lady, aided by an elderly woman with a cane, turned on some soft music and uncovered a small wedding cake. Then the pretty redhead shifted gears, grabbed a camera and began shooting pictures as the bride and groom fed each other cake and shared a dance. Somewhere along the way, the papers were signed, the bride and groom left, and Parker found himself standing next to the pink princess.

“So …” she said, gazing up at him and finally losing the smile she had maintained for the past thirty minutes. Her brown eyes looked worried. “If you don’t know anyone from that wedding party and you’re not a bill collector or a police officer, who are you?” Then her eyes suddenly brightened and the smile reappeared. “I know. You must be a prospective groom. You want us to conduct your wedding. Forgive me for not thinking of that sooner. It was just … your suit … I’m not quite used to seeing that kind of quality, but don’t worry. We know how to step things up a notch when we need to. I guarantee you won’t regret coming to the Forever and a Day chapel.”

“Too late,” he said, frowning down at her. “I already regret it.” He looked down to where some bubble solution had landed on his cuff.

“Oops, I’m so very sorry,” she said, reaching out to rub it off. Her slender fingers brushed the back of his hand. As she moved closer, trying to undo the damage, he breathed in the faint scent of lavender, of … woman, and his entire body tightened. Ridiculous. She was a total stranger, and even if she weren’t, he’d made too many mistakes with women. Serious, life-changing mistakes that had left him reeling and had nearly caught others in the crossfire. So … no. Definitely no.

The beauty must have felt the same way, because she quickly jerked her hand away. A pink smudge of cake frosting remained on the sleeve of his suit where her fingertips had slid against him, and he almost felt the small gasp whoosh out of her.

“I’m ninety-nine-percent positive that will come out,” she promised with a blush. “You could give it to me. I could fix it.”

Parker felt an unfamiliar urge to smile, but he restrained himself. There appeared to have been a lot of “fixing” going on, given the fact that the building was supposed to be unoccupied.

But the outcome of this wasn’t going to be fun or funny. He lost the urge to smile. “I think not. We’re done here,” he said.

Those pretty brown eyes blinked. “Excuse me? Does that mean you won’t be having your wedding here?”

“If I were ever going to have a wedding in this lifetime—and I don’t plan to—then no, it wouldn’t be here.”

“Because we’re not up to your style?”

“Because I’ll be selling the building and I doubt that the next owner will leave it intact.”

Parker would have sworn that those big brown eyes couldn’t have opened any wider or looked more distressed, but he would have been wrong.

“Sell the building?” Her words came out on a whisper. “But this is Tillie’s building.”

He thinned his lips. “I assume you’re referring to my aunt Mathilda and she’s …”

“She passed away,” the woman said quietly. “You’re her heir? She had an heir? A real live heir?”

The woman was clearly distressed to learn of his existence … and possibly the fact that he was still among the living. “I’m Parker Sutcliffe,” he said, “and I never met my aunt. And you are …?”

“I’m … well, I’m …” She had a look in her eyes that Parker recognized from experience. She was searching for a good story to tell him, so he gave her his best don’t-even-bother-trying-to-lie icy aristocratic stare, the one he’d learned to use on the servants before he could even talk.

She blew out a breath that lifted those pretty copper bangs, took a deep breath and stood tall, or at least as tall as someone whose head barely reached his shoulder could. “I’m Daisy Lockett. I live here.” She pushed her chin up. “We live here,” she said with a touch of defiance. She gestured toward the woman with the cane, the minister and the organist who were gathered on the other side of the room looking worried.

“You live here,” Parker repeated as if his brain had gone dead. And maybe it had. He’d been expecting an empty building and when it hadn’t been empty he’d assumed that someone was simply borrowing the facilities, but … tenants? And not just tenants but a too-pretty woman with eyes like melted chocolate along with three frail elderly people?

Parker narrowed his eyes. He didn’t care for this turn of events at all. Unpredictable, possibly messy situations were at the bottom of the list of things he liked. After all the drama of the past year and his disastrous personal relationships with women, he was ready for something a bit more boring.

But that was apparently not an option. Parker looked down into those worried dark caramel eyes. Daisy Lockett’s hair looked soft and disheveled, the way a woman’s hair would if a man had just taken her to bed and plunged his fingers into it. She had her index finger between her lips, either nervously chewing on her fingernail or not so nervously licking cake frosting off her pink fingertip.

He caught himself wondering which it was. Stupid. Did it matter? What mattered was that she was living under his roof. Admittedly a roof he hadn’t even known about until last week, but one that he now possessed. Which meant that anything that went on inside this building could be tied to him, and right now—especially now—he didn’t need any bizarre or provocative stories circulating about him.

“My aunt passed away a couple of months ago,” he said. “So why are you still here? And why didn’t the authorities or the real estate agent know that there were people in the building? Would you like to explain all that to me, Ms. Lockett?”

Parker crossed his arms over his chest and frowned down at Daisy Lockett. It was a look that had cowed employees much bigger than she was.

But to his surprise, the woman called his bluff. Tiny as she was, she stood taller. She crossed her arms, too, something which was, he surmised, supposed to make her look fierce, but given the generous curves of her breasts only made her look … interestingly hot.

Stop it, Sutcliffe, he warned himself. The woman’s hotness quotient was the very last thing he needed to be thinking about. He and she were, after all, about to terminate their fleeting acquaintance. She would be leaving just as soon as he could hustle her out of here. And soon enough he would be returning to Boston and his business. A business that, despite its current difficulties, he could depend on and control.

It was obvious that Daisy Lockett was totally out of control. He needed to get rid of her, not examine her more closely.

“Well, Ms. Lockett, what’s your explanation for this?” He held out his hand toward the remains of the sad wedding cake with its toppled plastic bride and groom, several half-used containers of bubbles, a puddle of foaming bubble solution forming on the cheap paper tablecloth and an MP3 player that needed new batteries. The low, distorted tones of a song playing on dying power sounded like a cow in distress.

“You don’t like weddings, do you, Mr. Sutcliffe?” she asked suddenly, not answering his question. “I’ve met men like that before.”

And clearly it hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

He raised one eyebrow. “You’re right. I’m not a huge fan of the institution of marriage, but that’s completely beside the point. The point is that you’re living in my building. Trespassing. What did you think would happen when someone found out you were here?”

She raised her chin. “I just … I hoped it wouldn’t happen.”

He blinked. A good businessman never made decisions based on hope alone. “Well, here I am. It’s happened,” he pointed out. “The question is, now that our paths have crossed despite your best hopes … what am I going to do about you?”

It would still be months before Daisy signed up for her first Lamaze class, but she knew that proper breathing was at the core of the program, so if she were in a class right now, she’d be failing. Fear was playing havoc with her breathing, and she was alternately forgetting to breathe and then having to suck in big gulps of air while trying to appear perfectly calm to this man who claimed to be Tillie’s nephew. The man who also claimed to own this building.

“Tillie never spoke of you,” she said, grasping for a lifeline. Surely Tillie, who had been like a mother to her, and also her best friend in the world, would have mentioned that she had a nephew….

Who looked more gorgeous than any man has a right to look. With great shoulders and great … other stuff, and a deep voice that—

Daisy blinked. What was wrong with her? Seriously. This man wasn’t even nice.

She frowned. “It just seems as if Tillie might have mentioned a nephew if you were her heir,” she said, glad that the man couldn’t read minds. Or … he probably couldn’t. Tillie had always tried to claim she was psychic and that Daisy was as transparent as they come. If this man was related to her …

“My aunt and I never met,” the tall, dark-haired stranger said. “But according to her attorney, she died without a will and I’m her only living relative.”

No. No. No. No. No. That couldn’t be true, but … oh, just look at him. Look at the strong line of his jaw, the arch of his eyebrows. If she were playing a matching game, those features would be a perfect fit for Tillie’s. Still … she needed time. She needed to think, to see if there was some way out of this crazy rabbit hole she’d fallen into when this man had stepped through the door.

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to need more proof than just your word.” Men had told her so many lies over the years, they had hurt her so much. If she was going to get kicked out on the streets—please don’t let me get kicked out—she wasn’t going to go down meekly. Still, the look in those I’m-in-command green eyes told her that he was confident he would win. She tried not to think about what losing would mean for her and her friends and her—

She resisted the urge to curl a protective hand over her abdomen. Panic made breathing even more difficult. Her hands felt clammy.

The man looked decidedly irritated, and Daisy discovered that, even irritated, he looked just as devastating, a fact which really ticked her off. Life could be so unfair sometimes. “I don’t generally carry around those kinds of documents,” he told her with an imperious air.

A small sliver of hope grew within her. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, she ordered herself. Maybe all of them could be safe for a little while longer.

And maybe a miracle could happen, a beam of light could lift me into an alternate universe where pink unicorns frolic and chocolate bars grow on trees, she chided herself. Or at least to a universe where there were no rich, handsome and, yes, rightful owners with the law on their sides wanting to throw her and hers out on the street. Think, Daisy, think. You need real ammo here. You need to be smart.

Okay. Here was the deal, all that she had. “Tillie was my very best friend,” she said as forcefully as she dared. “She wanted me here. And I have proof, neighbors who will vouch for me.” With the last bit of courage she possessed, Daisy lifted her chin.

The man ran a hand through his hair. Hair that had obviously seen the services of an expensive stylist. He turned those cold, deep-green eyes on her and frowned. “All right, you have me there. I never knew my aunt and I don’t know anyone in Las Vegas. I’m not from here, but I assure you, Ms. Lockett, the law is on my side. I intend to come back and dispose of my aunt’s effects. I’m going to do something with this building, and I’m afraid that you won’t be allowed to stay unless you can provide legal papers that trump mine, the ones that really do exist. I’ll be back tomorrow with proof of ownership, and if you’re still here, I’ll expect there to be a very good reason. A legal reason.”

Daisy looked up into the man’s gorgeous eyes and saw nothing that could give her hope. Tillie had been a total sweetheart, a surrogate mother and a friend, but she had also been a bit of a procrastinator. She’d disliked lawyers and anyone with authority. And like so many people, she’d thought she’d live forever and probably had never even considered making a will. In fact, given Tillie’s spontaneous nature, it would be beyond surprising if she’d left anything legal that could save her friends now. And Daisy wasn’t the only one at risk. Panic—sheer, terrifying panic—ripped through her. The others were too frail and old to deal with this stuff. She had to be the strong one now, the leader, the helper.

So, closing her eyes and biting her lip, she sent one swift wish for guidance into the ether. Reaching out, she touched the man’s sleeve.

“Please don’t send us out on the streets. We have nowhere to go.”

She wasn’t even touching his skin at all, but she felt as if a lightning bolt had ripped through her and left shimmering sparkles of electricity filling the air around her. As if she was somehow electrically linked to this man who was looking at her as if she had just declared that she was going to give birth right in front of him. The fact that that thought wouldn’t be too terribly far from the truth if this was seven months into the future made Daisy blanch, but she held on. “Please,” she added. “Not yet. I’ll … I’ll get proof about Tillie and all of us somehow.”

“All of you,” the man said. “There are more of you?”

“Just us four.” She decided that it might be best not to mention the dog right now. Or … her pregnancy. “We just need a little time.”

“Four. There are four people living in this building,” he said, as if she hadn’t told him that already.

Daisy nodded. “I’m sorry you didn’t know before you got here. We didn’t try to hide it.” Although they had all known that the building didn’t belong to them and that this couldn’t last forever. They had been mailed a notice to leave and they just … hadn’t left. But she wasn’t sharing that with this man. He might have her cuffed and thrown into jail right now, and then where would the others be? She had to—somehow—gain them a little time.

She hazarded her best hopeful smile. “I guess … I guess you’re our landlord now, Mr. Sutcliffe. We could start paying you rent.” Even though she had no idea how they could scrounge together enough money for that.

For half a second, something that looked a bit like a smile lifted his lips just a touch. “You say that as if it’s a novel idea. Were you paying my aunt rent?”

“We were working for Tillie. And we all contributed our share. We were kind of like a … sort of like a commune.”

“A … commune? I see,” he said, and it was obvious he didn’t like what he saw.

“We could continue to be useful, running the chapel,” she offered. “We make people happy. In a way, we make their dreams come true, and it pays a little.”

If anything, Parker looked even more concerned. As if she’d just suggested that they take up raising rats. “I’m not a big believer in dreams, and I’m not interested in getting involved in the marriage business,” he said. “But despite how things appear, I’m not totally heartless, either. I’ll think things over tonight. Then tomorrow we’ll start looking for somewhere for you to go so that you’re not all homeless.”

And just like that he turned to go. But she was still holding on to his sleeve. Daisy heard a tiny rip as he stepped away, and she let go, her hand flying to her mouth in horror. “I’m really sorry about that. I could … get it fixed for you.”