What was the matter with her? To think that a man like that should hold any appeal for her was ridiculous. If she ever took an interest in a man, it would certainly not be in one who went around parading his boorish masculinity.
And yet, when she felt a hand press lightly on her shoulder, when a deep, male voice said, “Miss Landon?” Kyra swung around, her pulse racing.
Had the Spaniard come back? Was he going to tell her he’d never wanted to make love to a woman as much as he wanted to make love to her? Would she have the courage to say—to admit…
But it wasn’t he. It was the manager of the new Arts Center.
“Miss Landon,” he said quietly, “there’s a phone call for you in my office. I—I’m afraid it’s not good news.”
Kyra’s mind went blank. She managed to nod, to smile politely and make her way past him. She knew, even before she reached the office and picked up the phone; she knew who was calling, and why.
It was the doctor, phoning to tell her that her father, Charles Landon, was dead.
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS a perfect morning, one that could make you forget that a raw Colorado winter was only weeks away. The early autumn sky was cloudless and so bright a blue that it was almost able to soften the dreary lines of the Landon mansion that dominated the top of the hill.
Kyra sighed as she paused beside the lower paddock and leaned on the railing. Last spring’s foals were playing some kind of catch-me-if-you-can game in the meadows. Their long legs flashed and their silky manes flew as they galloped past each other. Beyond the foals, the mares grazed on the tender grass with quiet dignity.
A smile curved across Kyra’s mouth. This was what made life on the estate bearable: the herd of elegant Morgans, the magnificent land rolling away to meet the soaring majesty of the Rockies…Her heart had always been here and not in the house looming above her, a house that had now become hers.
She turned, tucked her hands into the rear pockets of her jeans, and began walking slowly up the gravel path that led to the aspen grove behind the house.
There was a time she’d wondered why her father had ever built something so ugly. She knew her brothers thought it was because Charles saw all that stone and stained glass as a testament to his wealth and power. But that couldn’t have been the reason. There were other houses in the foothills of the Rockies that had cost small fortunes yet still managed to capture the mountains’ wild beauty.
When the reason finally came to her, it was so basic that she knew it to be true.
Charles had simply never given a thought to the aesthetics of Landon House. He’d have demanded the mansion be imposing in size and that it be built of the finest—meaning the most expensive—materials.
The rest of it wouldn’t have interested him.
The architect had understood. He’d seen the character of his client and given him exactly what he wanted. A house that reflected its owner, a house that was show without substance, that had no heart or soul. And Charles had been satisfied. He knew nothing about hearts, or souls. Not of houses, not of people.
Not even when it came to his daughter.
Kyra sighed deeply. It seemed impossible that she had spent a lifetime living a lie.
“You’re the only one who’ll never disappoint me, Angel,” Charles had said, right up to the end.
But she had disappointed him, virtually every day of her life. In her heart, where it counted, she’d never been the perfect angel he’d thought she was.
It was cooler here, in the aspen grove. Kyra gave a little shiver and pulled up the collar of her denim jacket
Her life had changed right after their mother’s death. Kyra couldn’t remember Ellen Landon; she’d died when Kyra was only a toddler. All she knew was that suddenly she’d become the center of her father’s existence.
“My little lady,” he’d say, swinging her into his arms, “you’re the joy of my life!”
But if she was his joy, her brothers were his affliction. Charles had no patience for them. He treated Cade, Grant and Zach with a coldness that bordered on cruelty. To this day, Kyra couldn’t figure out the reason. She only knew that when she was five, she’d discovered the power she held.
It happened one rainy afternoon when the household was between nannies. Her brothers had been chasing each other through the halls, an activity that was never permitted. Caught up in the spirit of the game, they’d gone flying into Charles’s study and somehow an urn had gone smashing to the floor.
Kyra would never forget the terror that had settled over them. She’d been terrified, too, knowing what was coming, knowing her beloved big brothers were going to be punished.
The boys didn’t shrink from their duty. That night, they met Charles at the door and confessed to what had happened.
His face went cold. “Which of you broke the urn?”
The boys looked at each other. “We don’t really know, sir,” Grant replied.
Charles’s eyes narrowed. “Tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth, sir,” Zach said, his voice changing pitch in the middle of a word. “We were all running, and-”
“You’ll all be thrashed unless the guilty boy steps forward.”
“But we’re trying to tell you, Father,” Cade whispered, “we don’t know which of us did it.”
“So be it. Who will be first?”
There was a moment’s silence and then Grant stepped out in front of his brothers.
“No,” Zach and Cade shouted, but Grant hushed them.
“I did it,” he said.
“Did you? Or are you trying to protect your brothers?”
Grant stared at his father. “I—I—”
“You all need a dose of responsibility,” Charles said through his teeth, and he herded them into the library and slammed the door.
Kyra didn’t think, she simply reacted, bursting into the library after them. Charles swung toward her, his face dark, his hand on his belt, and she forced a painful smile to her lips, somehow knowing with a wisdom far beyond her years that to plead for mercy would not work.
Instead, she began babbling about her new pony and how she’d spent the afternoon learning to nde it. Slowly, the flush faded from her father’s face. Finally, she asked him to come and watch her ride.
She held her breath and waited.
Charles looked from her to his sons. After what seemed an eternity, he jerked his head toward the door.
“Go to your rooms,” he snapped, “and figure out how you’re going to replace that urn. You’re getting off easy this time.”
His hand had closed over Kyra’s, and it had taken all she had to keep smiling.
And just like that, she’d become the perfect daughter.
Her brothers had never guessed. As far as they were concerned, she was just a sweet little kid with an easygoing temperament who’d never realized what the old man was really like.
And why should they have believed anything else? Kyra thought with a sigh as she left the aspen grove behind and made her way toward the house. She’d found a way to make life easier for everybody and all it took was a little creative effort.
Except she’d never intended to play the role for quite so long. Her brothers were gone and she was of age. It was time—but the first, subtle signs of Charles’s failing health had brought her plans to an abrupt halt.
How could she have turned on him then, when he needed her? For all his terrible faults, he was her father. And if she hadn’t liked him, she had certainly loved him.
Her boot heels clattered on the steps as she made her way to the kitchen door and pushed it open With a sigh, she crossed the room, plucked a mug from the cupboard and filled it with coffee.
Well, there was nothing to hold her back now. Her father was gone. Grant, Cade and Zach had returned to their own lives. It was time to go about hers. But what kind of life did she want? Did she want a job? A career? A college degree?
Kyra didn’t have a clue. She only knew she needed to d
o something. Something she chose, for herself, by herself, with no advice from anybody—not even from her brothers.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love them. She did, with all her heart. It had been wonderful, having them home the week of the funeral, but it had only reminded her that, as far as they were concerned, she was still just a kid.
Cade had spent every moment—very sweetly, of course—telling her what to do and how to do it. Zach had asked a hundred times if she didn’t want him to take a look at the household accounts or show her how to balance her checkbook. And Grant had done everything but pat her on the head and call her his good little girl.
It had all come close to driving her crazy but she’d gritted her teeth and endured—until the reading of the will. In retrospect, she knew it was the will that had finally tipped her over the edge.
Charles had left his private fortune, the mansion and all its vast acreage to Kyra; he’d left Landon Enterprises, his multimillion-dollar empire, to his sons.
Anger had swept over her as the attorney’s voice faded to silence. Her father had done it again, she’d thought bitterly; even in death, he’d managed to keep her from the real world.
And, as soon as the attorney was gone, her brothers did it, too, giving her benevolent smiles and saying how happy they were that the mansion would be hers.
“We’re so happy for you, Princess,” Grant said, putting his arm around her shoulders. “We know how you love this house.”
And before she could say hell, no, I hate it, he turned to Cade and Zach and they began discussing the quickest way to divest themselves of Landon Enterprises. They wanted no part of the Landon legacy but she—she was expected to jump for joy over her inheritance!