Travis's Appeal

“Can I get you anything?” Travis asked amiably, looking from the man to his daughter. “Coffee? Tea? Soda? Water?”

“We’re fine,” Shawn assured him.

“All right, then tell me,” Travis settled back in his chair. “How can I help you?”

Shawn moved forward a touch, creating an aura of privacy as he did so. “They tell me you’re the go-to guy around here when it comes to putting together a living trust.”

Each at the firm had an area of expertise, although areas did overlap. Several attorneys specialized in living trusts. Somewhere, he had a guardian angel who had brought these people to him. “I’ve written a number of them, yes.”

His answer seemed to irritate Shawn rather than please him. Shaggy gray eyebrows came together like teddy bear hamsters huddling for warmth. “I don’t want false modesty, boy. I want the best.”

All right, you want confidence, you’ll get confidence. “Then you came to the right place,” Travis told him.

A pleased smile folded itself into the ample cheeks. “Better,” Shawn nodded. “A man should always know what he’s capable of and what his shortcomings are.”

Shawn’s voice was big and booming, with a slight Texas flavor. The man was obviously not a native Californian.

Travis found himself wishing that his new client’s tone was a little softer. Each word the man uttered seemed to vibrate inside his head which had turned into a living echo chamber.

Leaning forward, his elbows digging into his wide lap, Shawn asked without preamble, “Do these things really do what they say they do?”

He had no idea what the man referred to. It was a completely ambiguous question and Travis felt his way around slowly, not wanting to give offense or make Shawn think he was stupid. “And what is it that ‘they’ say, Mr. O’Reilly?”

“That if my money and my property are secured within the specifications of a living trust, then my girls won’t have to go through probate or pay Estate taxes.” When Shawn frowned, his chins became more prominent. “Already paid taxes on all the money once. Doesn’t seem fair to have to pay taxes on it again just because my girls get to hang on to it instead of me when I die.”

He heard that sentiment expressed a lot. Travis smiled. The effort cost him. It seemed that every movement, partial or otherwise, had pain associated with it. The aspirin he’d swallowed was taking its sweet time.

“That’s why most people look into getting a living trust,” he told Shawn.

The man nodded, pleased. “Now, we’re not going to be talking fortunes, boy. I’m not a Rockefeller,” Shawn warned.

“Most people aren’t,” Travis acknowledged. “You mentioned your ‘girls.’ Spouses enjoy the greatest elimination or postponement of Estate Taxes. Other generations, less. But I’ll need to know more about your particular assets and beneficiaries, after applying the Estate Tax Credit.” His eyes shifted toward Shana. It didn’t appear as if they were waiting for someone else to join them. That meant that Shana was the one the man relied on, Travis surmised. Beautiful and reliable. A hell of a combination. “I take it you’re referring to your daughters.”

“Well, yeah,” Shawn laughed heartily. “I don’t own no night club with dancing girls in it. Just a restaurant.” The way he said it, Travis could tell that there was no “just” about it. “Been running it for longer than Shana’s been on this earth,” the man said proudly. “Want that to go into the living trust, too.” Shawn pinned him with a look. “You can do that, right?”

“With the right wording, Mr. O’Reilly, I can include just about anything in that trust,” Travis assured him. “Provided I have the proper documentation.” He couldn’t help wondering how open the man was to having a stranger go through his things. He sounded friendly enough, but privacy was an issue for some, despite the lawyer-client privilege so frequently cited.

Shawn cocked his head. Travis was reminded of an old painting he saw where Santa Claus was studying a list, deciding who was naughty or nice. “You mean like ownership papers?”

Travis nodded and instantly regretted it. “Those—” he said with a vain effort to will back the pain “—and the deed to your house as well as all your banking information. I’m going to need to review all of that if you want it to be covered in the trust.”

“Hell, yes I want it covered,” Shawn informed him with feeling. “Otherwise, there’s no reason to be going through this, is there?” He cleared his throat. “No offense, but lawyers aren’t exactly my favorite kind of people.”

“None taken,” Travis murmured. He heard that a lot, too. His headache was at the point where it could become blinding at any second. He needed more aspirin. “If you’ll excuse me for a second.”

Getting up, he saw Shawn and Shana exchange glances but couldn’t guess at what they might be thinking. He needed a clear head for that, or at least one that didn’t feel as if it were splintering into a million pieces.

Travis crossed back to his desk, took out the bottle of aspirin and shook out another two tablets. He downed them with the now cold cup of coffee that was standing, neglected, on his desk.

When he turned around again, he noticed Shawn eyeing him curiously.

“Too much partying last night?” the man guessed genially.

The expression on Shana’s face belonged to that of a mother whose child had suddenly misbehaved.

“Dad, that is none of our business,” she reprimanded softly.

“If he’s gonna be my lawyer, it is,” Shawn insisted, but his tone wasn’t judgmental. He turned inquisitive blue eyes on Travis.

“Too many writs,” Travis corrected, turning his words back around on him, and returning to his seat.

Shawn’s eyes narrowed beneath his deep gray eyebrows. “Too many what?”

“I worked late,” Travis explained. “I wound up catching a catnap on the sofa. It really wasn’t made for sleeping.”

The older man studied him. “You do that often? Work late?”

Travis couldn’t gauge if that worked in his favor or not. The man’s expression was unreadable.

“If something needs to be finished,” Travis told him without fanfare. “I don’t like falling behind.” The latter sentence dribbled from his lips as he tried to follow Shana’s movements. She’d risen from the sofa and was now circling behind him. “Can I help you?” he asked. Twisting around to look at her sent another set of arrows through his temples.

“No,” she answered simply. “But I think I might be able to help you.”

“I don’t—”

He was about to say that he didn’t understand what she meant, but the final words never materialized. They stopped, mid-flow, drying up on his lips as he felt her fingertips delicately touch the corners of his temples. Ever so gently, she slowly began to make small, concentric circles along his skin, pressing just enough to make contact, not enough to aggravate the tension and pain that were harbored there.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked, the words coming out of his mouth in slow motion. When he received no answer, his eyes shifted to Shawn who seemed content just to sit and wait. “What is she doing?”

“Making you better,” Shana’s father answered matter-of-factly. “Don’t fight it, boy, the girl’s got magic hands. You should see what she can do to a man’s spine. Make him feel like a kid again. ‘Course, in your case, that’s not much of a trip, but for someone like me…” He chuckled. “Well, it covers a lot more territory than I like to think about. But she can make you feel brand new.” There was unabashed affection in the man’s eyes as he looked at Shana. “Don’t know where I would be without her.”

“You’d be fine, Dad,” she assured him. Travis could hear the smile in her voice.

“Not by a long shot.” The tone of his voice changed as he added. “Susan would have never looked after me the way you do.”

“Susan?” Travis asked, looking at Shawn. “Is that another daughter? Or your wife?”

“My wife passed two years ago,” Shawn informed him stiffly. Travis had a feeling the shift in tone was to keep the emotion from gaining control of him. But he could see the pain in the man’s eyes. Two years and he still missed her. It was nice to know that love actually did enter some people’s lives for more than a weekend. “Susan’s my daughter.”

“How many do you have?” Travis asked, desperately struggling to focus on the conversation and not the woman whose fingertips still moved seductively along his temples.

“There’s just Susan and Shana,” Shawn said, “now that Grace’s gone.”

“Grace?”

“My wife,” Shawn clarified. He nodded toward Shana behind him. “How’s that feel?”

“Good,” Travis admitted.

But he knew nothing could be done for the pain he was experiencing. The headache had to run its course. He still fed it aspirins because a part of him was ever hopeful that, this one time, he could beat it back with pills. It was mostly a useless endeavor.

“But I don’t want to waste your time,” he added, intending the remark for Shana. He tried to turn his head, but paid dearly for that. The resulting pain shot through the top of his head, his nose and his jaw.

To his surprise, Shana didn’t withdraw her hands but continued massaging, making her small circles against his temples, sliding her fingertips in progressively larger and larger areas.

“Shh,” she soothed. “You have to give it a little time,” she advised. “The pain will go away soon, I promise.”

Not soon enough for him, he thought sarcastically. Hopefully before he liquefied right in front of her. It became increasingly more difficult to concentrate on what the woman’s father was saying when she stood behind him like that, wrecking havoc on his temples as well as his system. Her perfume, something light, heady and seductive as hell, seemed to seep into all his senses.

Ordinarily, in his present condition, the scent—any scent—would just contribute to his headache. But for some reason, hers didn’t. Instead, it soothed him even as it aroused him.

How was that possible?

“Dad, you and Mr. Marlowe go on talking,” Shana was saying. She’d bent forward ever so slightly as she spoke, just enough for him to feel her leaning lightly against his back.

Every nerve ending in his body felt as if it as hot-wired.

“You familiar with my restaurant?” Shawn was asking him.

With effort, Travis focused. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “What’s it called?”

Right now, if the man called the restaurant after himself, Travis wouldn’t have been able to make the connection. His brain was taking a definite time-out. He was struggling not just with an all-invasive headache, but with a sudden, startling desire to pull Shana onto his lap. Not just to pull her onto his lap, but to kiss her, as well.

Definitely not his style.

Not that he aspired to the role of hermit or someone who lived and breathed work to the point that he did nothing else, but he had become the controlled one in his family. The one who always thought things out, looked at the consequences of any action. He was no longer given to the rash behavior of his childhood.

So what were these urges doing, suddenly dancing through him with reckless abandon?

“Shawn’s Li’l Bit of Heaven.” Travis realized that he had been staring at the man, because Shawn added, “That’s the name of the restaurant. I named it for my daughter,” he confided.

“Shana?” Because if that was the case, Travis couldn’t help thinking, the man was given to serious understatement.

Shawn flushed and his complexion instantly turned a ruddy shade. “No,” he corrected, “Susan. That’s…my older girl,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. And then, because the woman’s presence was conspicuously absent, he added, “She couldn’t come. She’s been too busy to take time out for her old man these days,” Shawn grumbled. The frown on his face seemed to go deep, down to the very bone.

And then, the next moment, the man’s frown vanished and he was jovial again, caught up in a memory.

“But you should’ve seen her as a little bit of a thing. Sunshine in a bottle, that was her. Or maybe I should’ve said sunshine with a bottle,” he chuckled at his own joke. “She was a baby back then. Once she started walking and talking, she made it clear right from the beginning that she marched to her own tune.” He cleared his throat, pushing away whatever thought was troubling him. He raised his eyes to Travis’s face. “Anyway, you hear of it?”

Saying yes might leave him open to questions that he couldn’t answer. At the risk of bruising the man’s ego, Travis said, “I’m afraid not.”

To his surprise, rather than look put out, Shawn smiled and nodded. “The truth. You could’ve lied, trying to get on my good side, but you didn’t. You told the truth. I like that.” He nodded his head several more times, as if carrying on a debate that only he could hear. And then his eyes lit up. “Okay, boy, I’m gonna go with you.” He eyed him closely. “I’m putting my trust in you. Don’t let me down.”

“Thank you,” Travis said with feeling. “I won’t let you down.” Still seated, he slid forward and extended his hand to the man. At the same time, he felt Shana withdraw her fingertips from his temples.

For a moment, he thought it was because he was leaning forward.

And then it hit him.

Raising his eyes to her face as she came around to rejoin her father on the sofa, Travis stared at her incredulously.

“It’s gone,” he said like a mesmerized child watching a magician who had just made a full-grown tiger disappear from the stage. “My headache’s gone.” He was stunned. Migraine headaches, when they came, which fortunately for him was not often, moved in for the duration of the day. Sometimes longer. “That’s not possible,” he murmured.

Shana smiled at him. “Is your head throbbing?” she asked innocently.

“No.”

The look of pure satisfaction that came to her face was spellbinding to watch. “Then it’s possible,” she concluded.

Shawn chuckled, clearly pleased with the outcome. “Didn’t I tell you she was something?”

She certainly was. And the fact that her fingertips seemed to work miracles had nothing to do with it.

Chapter 3

The first meeting ended with Travis giving Shawn O’Reilly a list of documents he needed to review in order to ultimately place them beneath the protective umbrella of a living trust. In exchange, Shawn tendered an invitation to Travis to drop by the restaurant for a “meal that you’ll never forget.”

Whether by instinct or because being in such close proximity to Shana had temporarily rendered his ordinarily sharp thought process null and void, Travis refrained from mentioning that one of his brothers was a chef and owner of the popular Kate’s Kitchen, a fivestar restaurant overlooking the ocean in Laguna Beach. Trevor had named the restaurant as a tribute to their stepmother because of all the encouragement she’d given him over the years.

Travis accepted the light-green business card that Shawn held out to him, tucking it into his wallet.

“What about our next appointment?” Shawn asked.

Travis flipped through several pages on his desk calendar, searching for an empty block of time. “How’s two weeks from tomorrow at ten sound?” he asked. Fully expecting the man to agree to the date, Travis picked up his pen and was about to write in Shawn’s name when the man stopped him.

“Don’t you have anything sooner?” Shawn prodded. “I’d like it sooner than later,” he added, then explained, “I’m really not a very patient man and when I make up my mind, I like to see things start moving. You understand how it is.”

It was a perfectly plausible explanation, one Travis felt confident was used by countless people every day. Impatience was a by-product of the present fastforward, fast-track world. Yet for some unknown reason, Travis couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Shawn was leaving something unsaid. That the man’s motivation for the request and his desire for speed was driven by something other than just impatience.

Travis didn’t push the subject.

But it did make him curious.

Travis worked his way backward through the calendar, starting with the slot two weeks in the future. Every space seemed to be taken. Business was good, he thought, but by the same token, it did make things difficult if he wanted to get O’Reilly in earlier.

He decided to give up his lunch. “How about two days from today, at noon?” he suggested. “Does that work better for you?”

“Don’t you ordinarily eat lunch around then?” Shana asked.

Travis dismissed the question. “I can send out for a sandwich later on,” he told her. “No problem.”

“Or, I can bring you something from the restaurant,” Shawn offered. “We’ll be here,” he said, confirming the appointment. “And in the meantime,” the man went on, “you come on by the restaurant tonight. Say, around eight? Unless you’ve got other plans.” His expression, though amiable, challenged him to come up with an acceptable excuse for not showing up at his restaurant this evening.

Travis did have other plans. Communing with his pillow and catching up on some well-earned sleep before he drifted into the land of the zombies. But he couldn’t very well turn down the enthusiastic invitation. For whatever reason, having him drop by to see the restaurant seemed to mean too much to his new client.

He wondered if Shana would be there.

“No,” Travis answered, “no other plans.”

Shawn immediately beamed in response even though, from his behavior, the outcome was a foregone conclusion to the man.

“Good, then we’ll see you there.” He nodded.

Hope bubbled up inside of him. Travis shifted his glance to include Shana before asking, “We?”

“Shana’s my right hand,” O’Reilly told him with a great deal of pride. “In more ways than one.” He groaned at the end of the second sentence as he attempted to get up from the sofa. Instantly, Shana tucked her arm through his, providing the leverage and support he needed to rise. “Couldn’t run that without her, either.” He took a deep breath, like someone who had just made it to the top of a mountain and then shook his head sadly. “Don’t get old if you can help it, boy. There’s little dignity to it.”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Dad. You’ve got enough dignity for two people. You’re just a little creaky right now, that’s all,” Shana comforted simply.

Her arm still threaded through her father’s, she gently guided Shawn to the door. Opening it, he stepped across the threshold and was out in the hall when Shana suddenly remembered that she’d left her purse on the sofa.

Reentering the room, she flashed a conspiratorial smile at Travis who was about to follow them out. She’d left her purse behind on purpose, wanting the opportunity to get the attorney alone for a moment.

“You don’t have to come if you have other plans,” she told him, lowering her voice. “Dad tends to overwhelm people a bit. It’s the Texas in him,” she added with a laugh.

Her laugh was like music, Travis thought. Spellbinding music. It took him more than a second to shake himself free.

“That’s all right,” he assured her. “I really don’t have any plans.” And even if he had, he wouldn’t have passed up this opportunity, not if she was going to be there.

“No more midnight-oil burning?” Shana asked innocently.

Her eyes were smiling. He liked that. They seemed to highlight her entire face—making it even more perfect.

“I try not to do that two nights in a row,” he told her as he reached for the still-cold coffee on his desk. “It makes me a little sluggish mentally in the morning.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get to bed early,” she promised.

He’d just raised the coffee cup to his lips and taken a sip. Hearing her comment caused the coffee to slide down the wrong way. He started coughing.

Instantly alert, Shana quickly crossed over to him and began to pound him on the back. Still coughing, Travis held up his hand, signaling that he was all right.

“Excuse me?” he finally got out, albeit rather hoarsely.

Shana replayed her last words, then grinned. If she realized how he’d interpreted the line, she gave no further indication.

“Dad has a tendency to do a lot of buttonholing at the restaurant. Sometimes he doesn’t know when to stop. He’s got a thousand stories to tell,” she explained. “I’ll just make sure you go home at a decent hour so you get some sleep.”

“Oh.”

The single word echoed simultaneously with enlightenment and just a touch of disappointment. For a moment there, he’d let his mind drift and her words conjured up an image he’d found both infinitely pleasing and damn arousing.

Of course that was what she meant. He knew that. What was the matter with him? “That’s all right,” he told her. “I come from a large family. I know how to make an exit without hurting anyone’s feelings.”

“Then I’ll look forward to seeing you tonight,” Shana said. “We’re right in the middle of the block. You can’t miss us.” Humor curved her lips and then she winked. “We’re the ones with a shamrock in the sign.”

With that, she left the room and joined her father. Travis heard them walking away, their voices growing fainter as they made their way down the hall to the elevator.

Shana’s wink had repercussions. Travis felt as if he’d just been shot with another arrow. Unlike the ones that had assaulted his temple earlier, this one had a soft tip and went straight to his heart.

He slid bonelessly back into his chair.

To the best of Travis’s recollection, he’d never responded to a woman like this before. Oh, there’d been attractive, even beautiful women who had crossed his path, but he couldn’t recall a single one making him feel as if he’d been struck by lightning. And been happy about it.

Shifting to slip his hand into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet and took out the card Shawn had handed him. He stared at it, committing the address to memory just in case he lost the card between now and this evening. It was a date he intended to keep. For a number of reasons. And humoring a client was way down on the list.

“You’re checking out another restaurant?” Even over the phone, Trevor’s voice sounded incredulous when Travis called him later that afternoon.

“Not checking it out, I’m seeing a client there,” Travis explained.

So far, Travis hadn’t been able to get to the crux of why he’d called. Trevor sounded a bit harried and definitely put out that he was asking about another restaurant.

“Why don’t you bring him over to mine?” Trevor suggested. “I’ll make your personal favorite,” he coaxed, adding, “on the house. You can pretend to pick up the check to impress your client and I’ll reimburse you the next time I see you. See, the best of all worlds. Besides, you’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance to see you lately.”

“Look in the mirror,” Travis quipped. “That’s almost like seeing me.”

“We’re not mirror images of each other,” Trevor reminded him. There was a noise in the background and for a moment, Travis heard the sound of a hand being placed over the receiver. Trevor’s muffled voice called to his assistant, Emilio, to take care of a late delivery. When his attention returned to his telephone conversation with Travis, he said, “You, Trent and I are identical images of each other.” And then a thought obviously struck Trevor. “Unless you don’t want him to see me because it might confuse him. It is a him that we’re talking about, aren’t we?”

“It’s a him.” Travis thought it prudent not to mention Shana or the odd, almost overwhelming attraction he felt for her. Ever since his brothers had married, they waited for him to make the set complete. Telling Trevor about Shana would just set his brother off on a tangent that really had no basis in reality. “The restaurant I just asked you about belongs to my client,” Travis explained. “He wants me to drop by to see it.”

“Why?”

“Because I get the feeling that he’s as proud of it as you are of yours.”

There was a slight pause and Trevor capitulated. “What did you say the name of it was again?”