Claiming His Property

1. Skylar

“I knowhow much you hate going to these,” my dad says from the driver’s side of his truck. “But she is family.”

“Yeah? If she’s family, why doesn’t she share any of her money with us then? She’s a multi-millionaire living in a mansion, and we live in a goddamn trailer park.”

My dad sighs. “People have their own ways, Sky. I can’t tell you how my sister thinks.”

I look out the window. No potholes on this side of town. It’s like they paved it yesterday. “But she’s on her own now after Steve died. We’re all she’s got left.”

Aunt Beatrice’s house is at the end of the street dotted with lavish, old-fashioned New England homes, and then down her own long private drive. It’s more of an estate than a house. I could picture them shooting one of those British historical dramas people are always raving about here.

As we pull in, I notice a pickup truck parked off to the side by her four-car garage. In front of one of her side gardens, there’s a man–tall, in jeans and a white tank-top, standing with a shovel over his shoulder. I instantly feel my body temperature rise.

Another man is taking a photo of him with his phone.

“What is this? Beatrice doing a photoshoot here or something?” I ask as we get out.

My dad looks over and laughs. “No, that’s the new grounds crew. Come on.”

I’m barely able to pull myself away. My eyes are practically glued to this mystery man the entire walk up to the front door. He turns and looks over in my direction just as my dad turns the handle, but we’re stepping inside before I can catch a glimpse of his face.

We find Aunt Beatrice sitting in her favorite chair in the waiting room, a glass of red wine in her hand. As usual, she’s completely overdressed in a cream-colored gown with her hair pulled back, looking like she’s ready to go to a military gala or have dinner with the president.

“Oh there you are!” she remarks. “I thought you were never going to make it!”

“We’re early,” I quip back.

She completely ignores me, going over to my dad for a hug. “How are you, dear?”

“Tired. Working a lot.”

“Oh, what a bore,” she groans, as though my dad has any other choice than to work 60-hour workweeks.

She turns to me and twists her nose up like she just smelled a fart.

“And what about you? Are you being a good little girl who will one day deserve a place in my will?”

Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick.

My dad makes a sound reminding me to behave myself.

“Of course.”

“That’s a good girl.” She smiles, sipping her wine. “Well come on in, you two. The meal should be ready now!”

Turning her back on us, she leads us from the seating room, down the hallway and into the dining room in the back of the house.

As we’re taking our seats, I see the man from outside through one of the windows. I could swear he glances over his shoulder at me as he passes, and my heart skips a beat. But just as his face is about to be revealed to me, he’s gone from view yet again.

There’s a lingering effect as I stare at the empty window frame, leaving me wondering what just happened.

I’ve never felt anything like that before. There was something about that man that caught me off guard, as though I’d stepped in a bear trap.

I feel fuzzy and off-balance and only come out of it when Aunt Beatrice takes her old silver bell from beside her and rings it. I cringe and glance at her as she sits smugly at the head of the table.

Moments later, her two Filipino servants arrive with our brunch. Dad and I thank them, but Beatrice acts like they aren’t even there.

“So you’ve finished school now, Skylar?” Beatrice asks. She should know that I graduated three months ago. I feel like she just forgets most of what I tell her, so I don’t know why she even bothers to ask anyway.

“Yes, I graduated in June,” I reply as our amazing brunch arrives. One of the girls even pours me orange juice without being asked.

“Top five percent of her class,” my dad says with a smile.

“Don’t boast, William,” Beatrice snaps. “No one likes a boaster.”

I audibly sigh, not even trying to hide it. Beatrice notices and turns to me, a scowl on her face.

“What is it you plan to do with your life now, Skylar? You want to be one of those skin stencilers, is that right?”

“I want to be a tattoo artist, yes.”

Always trying to belittle my life’s ambition.

She nods as she scrapes a butter knife across her grilled English muffin. “I’ve never understood why people put all that nonsense on themselves. Turn their skin into canvases. It’s just so strange.”

I feel my anger boiling up inside me. For years I’ve been drawing, training myself to be an artist. It’s my dream to go to art school, but not only would that leave my dad alone, but it’s a financial impossibility. Of course Beatrice could send me to any school in the world and not even notice the cost, but she would never do that.

“Well,” I say slowly, “I guess some people just have different tastes than others.”

She nods, stuffing her glossed lips with English muffin, dripping with butter.

“That’s for sure. My mother told me if I ever got a tattoo, she’d disown me.”

Somehow,I manage to make it through brunch without throwing anything. It helps that the food is delicious, no thanks to Beatrice, of course. She walks us to the door where we say our goodbyes.

“I hope you’ll consider another career path, Skylar. I hear there are so many mentally disturbed people in that profession.”

My inner pot boils over.

“You know what, Beatrice–”

“Hey, Sky!” My dad interrupts what’s about to be a major blow-up. “I just got a call from work. I need to go in. Let’s get a move on!”

I turn and look back at my aunt and force the fakest smile I’ve ever smiled in my life.

“Thanks for the advice,” I say.

I turn and quickly take the steps down to her cobblestone path.

I see Dad climbing into the truck, but as I’m brushing my hair back, I catch something out of the corner of my eye and look to see the man I saw earlier.

He’s barely twenty feet away from me now standing by Beatrice’s front garden with his shovel.

He’s at least six-foot-two, I’d say, with a physique that would make any guy jealous. His chest is broad and thick, his biceps are like pythons, and his forearms look bigger than my calves. His skin looks like caramel, and he’s glistening in sweat, and when he turns to me and I finally see his face, I’m nearly knocked over by just how gorgeous he is.

Is he a workman or a model?

“Hey, there.” He smiles. “Did Beatrice send you to tell me something?”

My entire mind goes blank.

Did he just say something to me?

I feel a funny little tingle between my legs and just know my face is turning red. Hopefully he’ll just think it’s the sun.

“Hello?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. “Did Beatrice send you?”

“What?” I reply, snapping out of it. “Hi. I’m Skylar. I’m–just call me Sky.”

“Okay, Sky.” He grins. “My name’s Cade. I’d shake your hand, but it’s all sweaty and filthy from working.”

Sweaty and filthy…

Something inside me lights up, and a heat swells over me. I start to salivate. This man is delectable.

That funny little tingle grows. It’s like a warm little tickle deep inside my sex.

“That’s fine,” I reply, extending mine as I melt like butter.

Impressed, he takes it. It’s rough and reminds me of my dad’s–callused and strong. God, should I even be associating the two of them right now? “I’m used to it. My daddy works construction for a living.”

“Must be a hell of a man.” The funny sensation spreads from between my legs, growing out through my body.

“He sure is.” I nod. “You must be too if you do this for a living.” I motion to his shovel and other tools strewn about the grass.

Cade’s eyes sparkle like the stars at my compliment.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Sky?”

My cheeks are burning. Yeah, I’m blushing now.

“Wh-what?” I stammer.

He smirks. “It’s just not often girls compliment guys. Especially ones as sexy as you.”

Oh my God. Did he just call me sexy?

“So there must be some motivation behind it. That or you’re a con artist.”

This takes me by such surprise that I nearly choke as a laugh forces its way up out of my throat.

“No! Never! Beatrice is my aunt. We come here for brunch on Sundays ever since her husband passed. I’ve never seen you before though.”

Cade nods. “We’re new. Guess that means I’ll be seeing more of you, so that’s nice–”

“Skylar!” Beatrice’s voice shatters the moment like a glass breaking during dinner.

I whip around to see her fake-smiling at me from the door. “Can you come here? I think you left something of yours.”

Left something? What could I have left?

“Be right there!”

I turn back to Cade, who gives me a commiserating smile.

“Next Sunday then?” he asks.

“Absolutely,” I whisper.

“I look forward to the seduction,” he adds as I’m turning away.

This comment nearly knocks me on my feet as I’m taking the steps to where Beatrice is waiting on me.

I feel like I’ve been hit by a meteor of masculinity.

Cade.

What an unbelievable man.

“Now listen here, you little bitch, and listen good,” Beatrice growls as I reach her. She’s showing her teeth and pointing her finger at me like a snake ready to strike. I’m taken so off guard I barely know how to react.

“You stay away from Cade or you’ll never see a dime of my money. Do you understand? Do you?!”

“Yes!” I blurt out, almost automatically.

“Good,” she hisses, slamming the door in my face.

The next thing I know, like a robot on auto-pilot, I’m walking down the steps and down the path to my dad’s truck.

I knew I hadn’t left anything.

“Everything okay?” he asks as I climb in.

“Yup…” I lie.

“Good.” He smiles, pulling away from the house.

I glance in the rearview at Cade, his thick, muscled arms gleaming in the sun as he goes back to shoveling.

That funny, fuzzy feeling is still there, but I’m also in shock from what just happened. I literally don’t know what to do or how to feel right now.

“Listen, I know Beatrice can be a bit rough around the edges from time to time, but she doesn’t mean any real harm. We just have to put up with her until she lightens up. All right, sweetie?”

“Yeah.” I nod again, still shaken with disbelief. “Right...”