His Precious Inheritance

“Wait!”

The command in his voice raised her hackles. She’d had enough of that from her father and brothers. But this was her boss. She made her feet stop walking, tensed when he strode up beside her.

“Come with me, Miss Gordon. I’ve an umbrella in the office.”

* * *

The rain beat on the umbrella, hit the walkway with such force it splashed almost as high as her knees. The hem of her long skirt was sodden, the short train so heavy it felt as if she were dragging one of the large baskets of wet laundry from her childhood behind her. The wind gusted, blew the rain straight at them. She shivered, thankful Mr. Thornberg held the umbrella. She was having difficulty enough making progress against the wind.

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