The Winters Saga: The Collected Novels

Chapter One

Abigail

Isat on the plush leather sofa and stared at the thick wool carpet, trying not to count the scuffs on my shoes. John would have been so disappointed. The soft leather of my beige sling-backs was marked from walking through the wet grass before sunrise.

Small flecks of grass stuck to the soles. John loved for me to look nice. He always bragged that he had the prettiest wife in town. But John was gone, and I was doing the best I could. Lately, my best had not included polishing my shoes.

This morning, my best had included a pre-dawn trek through the field behind the house I'd shared with John, a half-mile hike through the woods separating the house from my cousin-in-law's small cabin, then a clandestine ride to the bus station two towns east.

I hoped no one found out that Tina helped me get to Atlanta. If I'd known any other way, I'd never have put her at risk. But I'd had to get to Jacob Winters.

He was the only one who could help me. I'd called his office from the bus station, arguing and pleading with the receptionist, then his assistant, to tell him I was on the line.

After ten humiliating minutes, Jacob had clicked on, verified I was me, and told me he could fit me in at eleven for fifteen minutes. I'd spent the time in between lurking in a bookstore, knowing that would be the last place the people looking for me would think to search.

Jacob's office wasn't what I expected. I don't know where I got the image in my head, but I'd pictured it as slick and modern, filled with sleek black leather and chrome, his assistant as a svelte blonde Valkyrie.

The couch was leather. I'd gotten that part right. But instead of cold black, it was a deep espresso, punctuated with dull brass tacks. The rug was a Persian design, the furniture not sharp and shiny, but antique, polished wood.

And the woman at the desk, guarding the door to his office with disapproving eyes, was older than my mother, with a neat, chin-length bob of grey hair that was heartbreakingly familiar.

An ugly irony that his assistant reminded me of my mother. My mother was the reason I was here. The reason I'd made almost every one of the disastrous mistakes I'd made in the last five years.

If Anne Louise Wainright had any idea I was sitting in Jacob Winters's office, prepared to make him an offer I hoped he wouldn't refuse, she'd have passed out from the shock. Ladies did not consort with men who were not their husband.

I'd been raised to be a lady, first, last, and always. It was why John had married me. But my mother no longer recognized me and my husband was dead. I'd made more than my share of bad decisions since my father had died and my mother had fallen ill.

This would likely be one more. I was prepared to live with that. If Jacob could give me what I needed, I could find a way to live with anything.

A tone sounded at the assistant's desk. She pressed a button, then murmured something I couldn't hear. My stomach clenched. I still had time to change my mind.

I could stand up, make some flimsy excuse, and be out on the city streets in no more than a few minutes. But what then? I couldn't go home.

When Big John discovered me gone this morning, he would have been furious. I didn't want to imagine what he would do to me if I came crawling back.

His first proposal had been so appalling, my imagination recoiled from trying to picture what my father-in-law would consider an appropriate punishment for my defiance. If Jacob turned me away, I would lose everything. Not just my home and my mother, but my life as well.

"Mrs. Jordan?" The assistant stood in front of me, waiting with expressionless patience. The tension in my stomach congealed into a frozen ball of fear. I stood, wobbling only a little on my narrow heels.

They were the sexiest pair I owned, a gift from John in the early days of our marriage.

They pinched my toes and were the worst shoes to wear when I'd spent a good part of my morning walking, but paired with my cream linen shift, they made my legs look a mile long. I needed every advantage I could get.

I tugged at the hem of my dress, smoothing the fabric as I followed the assistant to Jacob's door. I caught a whiff of her hairspray tangled with a perfume that smelled of roses and baby powder. She seemed too normal to be working for a man as magnetic as Jacob.

The assistant turned the brass handle, and the door swung open on silent hinges. With a gesture, she indicated I should enter, then closed the door behind me.

The click of the handle sent my heart thudding. No turning back now. All I could do was hope Jacob didn't throw me out when he heard what I had to say.

He walked toward me, his hand extended, a distant, vaguely curious expression in his arresting silver eyes. Not a good sign.

The way he looked at me was most of the reason I was here. That and the fact that he was the only man I could think of with the power to untangle my troubles.

The power was the how, but the way he'd looked at me was the why. Or I'd hoped it would be. I hadn't met Jacob many times in the five years I'd been married to John. Only a handful of encounters, but each time, I'd come away shaken.

He was always controlled, gracious, and reserved . . . except when I caught him watching me on the sly. Then, his cool silver eyes had burned with desire and intention.

Jacob Winters wanted me. Not enough to risk his business with my in-laws, or maybe he'd known I'd never have cheated on John.

Our marriage was so far from perfect. It had devolved into a nightmare, but I still owed John too much to think about cheating. He hadn't deserved that kind of betrayal.

Steeling myself, I raised my hand to take Jacob's. His fingers were firm around mine, sending a shiver down my spine. I did my best to pretend confidence as I smiled up at him.

He smiled back, his eyes warming a shade. A lock of thick, dark hair fell over his forehead, softening his sculpted face.

Jacob Winters had the kind of looks that stopped a room. I'd seen it happen at a cocktail party when John and I had been early and Jacob had been uncharacteristically late.

He'd walked in and conversation had literally stopped, all eyes on Jacob handing off his coat as he brushed raindrops from his dark hair.

He was taller than most men, at least a few inches over six feet. Broad shoulders, narrow torso, muscled but lean, and every woman who caught sight of him knew that without his trademark grey suits, he'd look even better.

Smug gossip from the women who'd been there affirmed that as hot as he was when dressed, a naked Jacob Winters would ruin you for all other men.

Hard to tell how much of that was bragging from women who wanted everyone to know they'd captured his elusive attention, even if it was only for a short time.

I'd always thought they were understating his appeal. I never would have cheated on my husband, but if Jacob had asked, I would have been painfully tempted.

"Thank you for seeing me," I said, following Jacob deeper into his office. The space was divided into two sections, including a sitting area with a couch, love seat and coffee table in the same style as the front room.

Further into the long room was a huge desk of warm, caramel toned wood. A dark leather desk chair sat on the far side, two smaller leather armchairs opposite.

To my surprise, Jacob led me to the desk. I'd thought that with my being the widow of a former business associate, he'd treat this more like a social visit.

Wrong.

There was no bullshitting Jacob that this was a social call. He'd sent flowers when John died. The niceties had been covered. The last-minute call this morning and my insistence that I had to see him today told him this was business.

So, the desk.

I took a seat in one of the armchairs, crossed my legs, and pasted a polite smile on my face. The training of my marriage. Don't show anything but what they want to see.

Hide the panic. Hide the desperation. Slow, even breaths. Hands lightly clasped in my lap. I was the picture of calm elegance. Always.

"What's wrong?" Jacob asked, his sharp eyes pulling apart my facade.

The instinctive protest that nothing was wrong jumped to my lips. I beat it back. Ridiculous to say nothing was wrong when everything was wrong.

"I'm in some trouble." I sat up straighter, tugging on the hem of my dress. It was just a hair shorter than it should be, making it an alluring combination of classy and sexy.

I'd worn it hoping it would sway Jacob in my favor. Now that I was sitting here in front of him, the amount of leg the cream linen exposed made me feel more vulnerable than confident.

"Do you know why I married John?" I asked, deciding to get straight to the point. It was a long story, and he'd only given me fifteen minutes. Jacob sat back in his chair and shook his head.

"I'd always wondered. You never seemed like a good fit to me."

It was funny that Jacob would say that. Everyone else seemed to think we were the perfect fit. Me, the sweet, spoiled banker's daughter and John, the son of one of our small town's most powerful men.

His family hadn't exactly been above-board, but John was supposed to change all that.

Marriage to me had cemented the image that his family was moving in more legitimate directions. Shortly after our wedding, he'd been invited to join the country club. In the beginning, I'd taken over for my mother as a lady who lunched.

No one had seen beneath the surface because we hadn't let them.

"No," I said. "We really weren't."

Taking a breath, I prepared for the confession I had to make. Five years later, and I was still ashamed of what I'd done.

"When I was sixteen, my mother began to develop early onset Alzheimer’s. By the time I graduated high school, she needed round-the-clock care. The summer after my sophomore year in college, my father had a fatal heart attack."

"I'm sorry." Jacob leaned forward, compassion warming his demeanor. "That must have been very difficult for you at such a young age."