Oh, Mama, what have you gone and done now?

Kit McClellan clapped a hand over her open mouth and marveled at what her mother’s attorney was telling the family she had left behind. Although the reading of a will wasn’t usually performed these days with the formality it once was, Hatton Abernathy had gathered the remaining McClellans together to do so, thereby fulfilling the late Lena Hensley McClellan’s final wishes.

And, evidently, to let fly a couple of the late Lena Hensley McClellan’s final zingers, too.

“The entire estate is to be placed in trust for two years,” Mr. Abernathy repeated, directing his words toward Kit’s father, Holt McClellan, Sr. “No one—neither you nor your children, nor anyone else for that matter—will be receiving an inheritance any time soon.”

To Kit, the announcement was immaterial. Frankly, she couldn’t care less about her mother’s money, and would gladly surrender every nickel if it meant bringing Mama back. Being rich had never made any of them particularly happy, anyway. Except, maybe, her father. She turned her attention to him to see how he was handling the news.

Oooh. Not well. She’d never seen his face turn quite that color before.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” he told Mr. Abernathy. “Why would she put the entire estate into trust?”

“She never stated a reason,” the lawyer said blandly, “and I never asked for one. But at the end of that two years, she indicated that one of two things should happen.”

Kit’s father narrowed his eyes but said nothing, waiting for the attorney to continue.

“Mrs. McClellan had a rather strong fondness for six local charities, and she expressed a desire for those charities to inherit the entirety of her estate.”

“What?”

Kit flinched at the sound of the word, thundering throughout the room as it was when shouted by her four brothers in addition to her father. She glanced down the row of chairs to her left, to see how the rest of the McClellans were handling the news.

About as well as her father was, she decided. Bart, the youngest of her older brothers, looked dazed and stiff. Dirk, next up the line, looked dazed and surly. Mick, the second born, looked dazed and distracted. And Holt, Jr., the oldest, looked dazed and drunk. Yep. All of them seemed to be handling this pretty much the way she would have expected them to.

Mr. Abernathy went on as if no one had spoken. “One possible scenario of your wife’s wishes would be that, at the trust’s expiration, the business would be sold, the holdings would be dissolved, the assets would be liquidated, and all of it would be distributed to the organizations Mrs. McClellan indicated. One donation in your name, Mr. McClellan, and one in the names of each of your children.

Kit’s father paled. “We, uh, we’re talking about a hundred million dollars here, Abernathy.”

“Ninety-nine-point-four, actually,” the attorney corrected him.

No one said another word. In fact, the silence was so profound that Kit could scarcely hear a thing. Even the surly April wind outside seemed to have stopped blowing in light of the attorney’s announcement.

Her father finally interrupted the silence, voicing, Kit was sure, what was of utmost importance in his life. “I was under the impression that Lena’s money would come directly to me,” he told Mr. Abernathy. “Why would she change her will this way?”

The attorney eyed her father coolly as he offered, “She never said.”

“Well, when did she do it?”

“Almost three years ago.”

“Three years ago?” Holt, Sr. roared. “My wife changed her entire will, stripped her family of everything, and no one bothered to inform me for three years?”

“Mrs. McClellan asked me to keep the change confidential,” Mr. Abernathy said smoothly. “And frankly, Mr. McClellan, it was none of your business.”

“None of my business.”

Uh-oh, Kit thought. Her father was getting way too calm now. Then again, so was Mr. Abernathy. He actually appeared to dislike her father, which was very surprising. Not the part about him disliking her father—that was no surprise at all. There weren’t that many people who did like her father. What was surprising that Mr. Abernathy would make no secret of his animosity. People always at least pretended to like her father.

“I don’t think I need to remind you, Mr. McClellan,” the attorney said, “that the money was never yours to begin with.”

A muscle in her father’s jaw twitched. Hoo-boy, was he mad.

“No. You don’t need to remind me. My father-in-law, God rest his miserable soul, always made it clear that I would never get my hands on the Hensley fortune as long as he—and his daughter—were alive. But after he died, Lena agreed that if she went before I did, I was to inherit the bulk of the estate. And I made damned sure things were in order.”

Mr. Abernathy’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “Yes, well, the money was still hers to do with as she pleased until she died. It pleased her to give it to charity.”

Holt, Sr. emitted a derisive snort. “And she never gave you a reason for why she wanted the change?” he asked again.

“None.” Mr. Abernathy seemed to weigh his options for a moment, then added, “Although she appeared to be quite angry about something at the time.”

“Angry?” her father echoed. “What the hell did Lena ever have to be angry about? She had a perfect life.”

Oh, now that, Kit thought, was open to debate. Naturally, her father would think her mother’s life was perfect. What had he ever bothered to learn about Mama’s experiences, anyway? Jack, that’s what. Although to all outward appearances, the McClellans of Louisville, Kentucky, certainly seemed to have it all—wealth, prominence, education, fame, you name it—Mama would have had a thing or two to say about the actual quality of life in the McClellan household. Starting with the quality of her own. What on earth could have happened between her parents “almost three years ago” that would have made Mama do something like this? Knowing her parents, it could have been anything.

Only four days had passed since her mother’s death, but Kit felt an emptiness inside herself that seemed to go on forever. She felt lost without her mother. Mama had always been the one stable force in her life. She’d been the only person who ever stood up for Kit, the only one who ever even tried to understand her. The only person, really, who’d ever loved her. And Mama had been Kit’s only advocate during that whole Michael Derringer thing three years—

Like an iridescent bubble, realization popped in Kit’s head, and suddenly she understood. Three years ago. Her mother quite angry. Thinking back now, Mama had been more furious than Kit had ever seen her the night Daddy paid off Michael Derringer in exchange for abandoning his only daughter.

“The second scenario of your wife’s final wishes,” Mr. Abernathy continued then, stirring Kit from her thoughts, “would, at the trust’s expiration in two years, have the family inheriting the entirety of Mrs. McClellan’s estate.”

Six McClellan heads snapped up at the announcement.

“Well, hell, Abernathy,” Holt, Sr. said, “why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

Ignoring the question, the attorney continued, “For the family to inherit, one criterion must be met before the trust’s expiration.”

“Name it,” Holt, Sr. stated emphatically.

“Miss McClellan,” Mr. Abernathy said, dipping his head toward Kit, “must be married.”

“What?”This time the exclamation came from Kit.

The attorney glanced over at her and smiled warmly in spite of the bombshell he had just dropped. “If you are legally married within two years’ time, Miss McClellan, then your family will inherit your mother’s estate, in full. However, should you choose to remain single, then the estate—every last penny—will go to charity. It’s that simple.”

He turned his attention back to the McClellan men and added, “Mrs. McClellan also indicated that no one in the family should marry until her daughter does. Should one of the boys—or you, Mr. McClellan, for that matter—marry before Miss McClellan does, then the estate would go to charity.”

“But—” Kit started to object. Unfortunately, no other words emerged to join that one. Because she had absolutely no idea what to say.

Interpreting her silence as understanding, instead of the total confusion it really was, Mr. Abernathy continued. “For two years, the business and holdings shall continue on as usual, but they and the other assets will be managed by me and my firm, as Mrs. McClellan indicated they should be. The family will continue to reside here at Cherrywood, and all will receive their normal allowances. Really, your lifestyles will remain virtually unchanged. At least, until the trust’s expiration. After that, well…What happens thenwill be entirely up to Miss McClellan.”

Somehow, the words sank into Kit’s muddled brain until she understood what her mother had done. Whether her family kept or lost their fortune was entirely up to Kit, and no one would be getting married until she did herself. When she glanced up, she wasn’t surprised to find every set of eyes in the room directed her way, and she could only imagine what they were all thinking.

Holt, Jr. was probably wondering how prudent he’d been to let his wife divorce him last year. Mick, on the other hand, had always made it clear that he preferred adventure to matrimony anyway. And Dirk was far too morose for dating. Bart was going to be upset, though—he’d gotten pretty tight with Donna lately.

All of them, however, doubtless had one thought circling in their heads over all the others. There was no question that they were all wishing they hadn’t chased off Kit’s date for prom night. Or for the Spring Fling. Or homecoming. Or Dorian Asquith’s twenty-first birthday party. Or on any of the other aborted attempts she’d made to have a social life with a member of the opposite sex.

Her father’s thoughts, however, were the ones that Kit found most interesting. Mainly because she pretty much knew what was going through his head.

“Gee, Daddy,” she said, her voice emerging as little more than a croak. “Guess you’re feeling pretty silly now about paying Michael Derringer to ditch the wedding the night before it was to take place, aren’t you?”

Her father said nothing, just turned that odd shade of purple once again.

“But you know what’s really ironic in all this?” she ventured further, amazed at her nerve. “Michael’s happily married now with a baby on the way, and the business he started with the money you gave him is absolutely booming. I’m not sure I could ever find another man like him. Even if I had two whole years to look.”