“Mr. O’Connor?”

Dragging my attention from Rowan to Shaw, I nod at the man. “Ready when you are.”

“Come inside.”

We shake hands, and he indicates I should sit. I take out the envelope he gave me and open it. “I wanted to wait until I met with you before I read through this.”

“That’s fine. It’s a copy of Mrs. Gardner’s will.”

Unfolding the packet of papers, I scan the first page and my jaw drops.

“She left me everything,” I say, incredulous at her generosity. What the hell will I do with all this money? I already have everything I need with the Corps Savings in the bank from my tours in Afghanistan; my truck’s paid for, and my off-base apartment is a straight-up bachelor’s pad, complete with the requisite leather couch, Xbox, and a flat-screen that takes up an entire wall.

Shaw nods. “Everything and then some. Of course, a portion of the life insurance policy is going to one Rowan Patricia Simmons.”

My gaze jerks from the packet of papers to his face. “My grandmother left Rowan money?” Is that why she looked so pissed? I’d gotten money she thought she deserved? It’s an honest question, and while I don’t naturally assign the title of gold digger to a woman, I don’t know Rowan like I used to.

“Yes.”

“How much?” I’m not asking because I want the money. Honestly, I’m more curious than anything.

Shaw names the amount, and I blink. “She’ll never have to work again,” I mutter to myself.

“Ms. Simmons donated half of it to Jailbirds to Jobs.”

Jailbirds to Jobs? “What the hell is that?”

“It’s a charity Ms. Simmons started a few years ago that puts convicts to work at your grandmother’s auto shop once they’ve been released. She personally works with their parole officers. Her organization has helped hundreds of people and has lowered the recidivism rate by 10 percent in this area. I know that might not sound like a lot, but considering the rate is normally close to 90 percent, it’s a wonderful reduction.”

Wow. I always knew Rowan was smart as hell and had a soft heart, but this…a charity like this is beyond the soft-heart thing. Lots of people have intelligence and soft hearts yet do nothing to help others on such a large scale.

“You seem to know a lot about it.”

“I’m one of the sponsors of the charity, and I’m on the advisory board.”

“What are my options?”

Shaw’s face grows concerned. “Concerning Ms. Simmons’s inheritance?”

“No. I could give two shits about her inheritance. I want to know what I’m supposed to do with all this paperwork.”

Shaw’s face brightens. “Ah. That I can help you with.”

We spend the next hour going over the details, and what the law requires me to do as the executor of my grandmother’s estate. Apparently, it’s a hell of a lot.

“Can’t we get someone else?” I ask. “This might be more than I can do, given my occupation.”

Shaw takes a sip of coffee. “I’m afraid not.”

Mentally, I consider my alternatives and decide against any course of action that would label me a lawbreaker. I have a real aversion to breaking the law. Actually, I have a real aversion to prison. “Fine. I can get about two weeks off right now, but once that’s gone, I’ll have to come up on weekends.”

“Mrs. Gardner informed me that you’re a helicopter crew chief in the Marines. Will we have to work around a deployment schedule?” Shaw asks.

I shake my head. “No, my contract is up in eight weeks and then I’m out. For good.” Freedom. I can hardly wait. “But everything else, like paying off outstanding debts, can be handled electronically in the meantime, right?”

“Right, of course.” Shaw sits in his chair. “We’ll take care of most of it, and if you like, give you a list of reputable agents in the area who can help you sell the residence and business for a fair market value.”

“I don’t know if I want to sell them.”

“It’s within your rights to keep or sell. The majority of my clients in your situation would sell and be done with it.”

I eye him. “Like I said, I don’t know what I want to do.” Am I ready to part with those memories? Lately, I’ve been entertaining the thought of returning home to put down roots again. Well, as soon as Uncle Sam didn’t own my ass anymore.

“May I make a recommendation on the business at least?” Shaw asks.

“Recommend away.”

“You should let the current manager buy it. She’s done an excellent job turning the place around, and—”

She? The hairs on my arms stand at attention, and I place the packet of papers on the table between us. “Give me the manager’s name.”

“Rowan Simmons.”

Leaning back in my chair, I shake my head and fold my arms over my chest. “You’re joking.” Somehow my grandmother had failed to share this with me. Somehow I had to use this to my advantage. If I had to deal with the business, then that meant I had to deal with Rowan. She would be forced to be in my presence, and I’d have an excuse to stay at my own home. A win-win in my tactical playbook.

“No. As I mentioned, the shop employs the majority of the former inmates in the Jailbirds to Jobs program.”

“The hell you say. How is that remotely safe?” Damn, the woman thinks she’s invincible.

“Mr. O’Connor,” Shaw begins, obviously ready to defend Rowan, but I wave him off and stand up.

“Great meeting. I’ll go through the documents again and start the process to finish closing out her estate.”

“And Gardner’s?”

“I think I need to go down there and learn more about my grandmother’s business before I make a decision. Don’t you agree?”

Wisely, Shaw keeps his mouth shut and nods. I say good-bye and stride away from his office, determined to find out what the hell’s been going on.

Rowan

Seth stands in the middle of the lobby of Gardner’s, looking sexy in a dark shirt that stretches over his broad chest and darker jeans that highlight his powerful thighs. The full lips I used to kiss all the time are set determinedly in a straight line. The dark stubble on his sharp cheeks makes him look dangerous.

A delicious thrill runs through me, but I ignore it and him. I have to.

Get it together, girl. You’re mad at him, not lusting for the fool.

Turning my attention back to Mrs. Hernandez, I smile. “We’ll put you on a payment plan, okay?”

She breathes out an obvious sigh of relief. “Thank you so much, Rowan. I don’t know how I could pay the bill, with Val in”—she swallows, embarrassment coloring her pretty face—“you know where.”

“You always pay your bills—everyone knows that about your family. So I know you’re good for it,” I say brightly, and Mrs. Hernandez smiles proudly. I’m not lying. Mrs. Hernandez always pays her bills, even if it means she has to work three jobs to do it while her oldest son, and the secondary breadwinner of the family, is in prison for auto theft.

I can feel Seth’s eyes on me, burning a hole in my head. Thankfully, he’s not the type to come charging in and demand I make Mrs. Hernandez pay on the spot.

A throat clears, and my stomach flips. “Rowan. We need to talk.”

Then again, I have to remember that the type of guy he used to be is gone. “Just a minute,” I mutter, then force myself to be cheerful once more. “Why don’t you go talk with Linda, and she’ll work out a plan with you?”

Mrs. Hernandez nods, following the direction I’m pointing to the desk in the back.

I turn to face Seth, but now he’s not paying attention. Instead, he’s taking in the shop, the fresh paint, the shiny equipment, and its cleanliness. His grandmother had been ill for a while before she died, and the place had gotten run down without her. But when I took over, I made it look as good as it did when she and Mr. Gardner first opened it.