them. Aunt Marta was tall and thin with frosted blond hair and a frosty personality. Uncle Iwan’s hair had thinned while his body had widened. He was a big, imposing man, but he smiled at her. Aunt Marta glared. That look wasn’t meant for Mrs. Payne but for Stacy. She’d been on the receiving end of it many times, but she was not yet immune to the coldness and shivered.
Mrs. Payne wrapped her arm more tightly around her, as if protecting her. She had done that in court fifteen years ago. A new widow then, she had still found sympathy for the daughter of the man convicted of killing her husband. Mrs. Payne had attended other court dates in Stacy’s life—offering her support when Milek and Garek had faced their charges.
Stacy clutched at the older woman’s waist. “Please,” she murmured through the emotion choking her, “please stay...”
Mrs. Payne nodded. “Whatever you need, honey...”
Logan reached out a hand for his mother as if to tug her away from Stacy. He did not have Mrs. Payne’s forgiving soul and warm heart. He was full of hatred and bitterness. But then his fingers curled into his palm and he pulled back his hand.
“We’ll discuss this later,” he said.
Stacy knew he spoke to her, not his mother, and his words were a threat. He still considered her and her family responsible for the attempts on his life. And she wasn’t entirely convinced he was wrong, especially with the way her brothers eyed him. He wasn’t the only one in that church who was full of hatred and bitterness.
For the next hour those feelings were put aside, though, for grief and loss during the funeral mass and burial. While the others left for the funeral luncheon at what had been her father’s favorite pub, she stayed behind at his grave site.
But she was not alone. She stared down at the fresh dirt covering her father’s grave. A light breeze fluttered the leaves in the trees and tumbled the loose soil across the grave. She shivered at the cold, but it wasn’t the breeze chilling her. It was the loss.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Payne said. She hadn’t gone with the others to the pub. She had stayed behind with Stacy, continuing to offer her support and sympathy. If only Stacy’s own mother was as loving and affectionate...
But she was like Aunt Marta—she loved money and herself more than anyone else. Even her own children...
Stacy shook her head. “You have no reason to apologize.”
“I am apologizing for my son,” Mrs. Payne explained.
Knowing how much Logan would hate that, Stacy smiled and finally pulled her gaze away from the ground to face the older woman. “He’s thirty-two years old. His mother should not be making apologies for him any longer.”
Mrs. Payne smiled, too. “She has to when he’s too stubborn to do it himself.”
“He doesn’t think he has a reason to apologize,” Stacy pointed out. “He thinks he’s right.” He always thought he was right.
“You are not responsible for those attempts on his life,” Mrs. Payne defended her.
The woman’s faith in Stacy warmed her heart. Not many other people in her life had trusted her so fully.
“No, I’m not,” she said. Just like her father, she was not a killer.
Mrs. Payne’s eyes were warm and brown but they had the same intensity of her son’s blue eyes as her gaze focused on Stacy’s face. “But you’re not entirely certain someone in your family didn’t fire those shots.”
Stacy sucked in a breath of shock. Had Mrs. Payne really been offering her support, or had she been manipulating her into betraying her brothers?
“I can see your doubts.”
Like her, they blamed Logan for their father’s death. He hadn’t put the shiv in him, but he had made certain that he stayed in prison long enough that someone else had. Her brothers had even suggested that Logan might have hired the other inmate to commit the murder. She didn’t believe that; she knew Logan hadn’t wanted her father dead. He’d just wanted him to suffer. And he hadn’t cared that she’d suffered, too. Her brothers had cared, though—maybe too much.
But in reply to Mrs. Payne’s remark, Stacy shook her head again in denial. She would not betray her brothers. She owed them too much: her life.
“I don’t expect you to admit it,” Mrs. Payne said. “You’re too loyal for that—too protective of them.”
She wasn’t nearly as protective of them as her brothers were of her. They had sacrificed so much to keep her safe. She would do the same.
“And you’re protective of your son,” Stacy said. She’d seen how shaken the woman had been that there had been attempts on his life. “Is that why you’re here?”
“I’m here for you,” Mrs. Payne insisted. “But if Logan is right...” She shuddered. “I can’t lose him like I lost his father.” She reached out again and took Stacy’s hand in hers. “And I don’t want you to lose your brothers, either.”
Tears of frustration stung Stacy’s eyes. “I can’t...”
But as Mrs. Payne had seen, she already doubted them. Even if they weren’t the ones attempting to kill him, they could be picked up on suspicion because they’d been so angry and so vocal about their hatred of Logan. She swallowed a lump of emotion. “I’ll talk to them, make sure that they’re not behind the shootings.”
Mrs. Payne sighed. “It’s too bad you have to have that conversation—that you have to show them you doubt them, that you think they could be responsible, that you think they could be killers.”
After all they’d done for her, she didn’t want to hurt them any more than they were already hurting. They had lost their father, too. “Then what do I do?”
Mrs. Payne squeezed her hand. “You marry him.”
“What?” She couldn’t have heard her right. It was like the words her father had uttered on his dying breath— incomprehensible.
“Your brothers would never do anything to hurt you,” Mrs. Payne said. “So if they believe you’re in love with Logan, they won’t hurt him.”
“I—I can’t convince them of such a blatant lie...”
“You can if you marry him...”
Marry the man she despised more than any other? It just wasn’t conceivable. She wasn’t the only one shocked and appalled at such a terrible union.
A deep gasp drew her attention away from Mrs. Payne to her son. Logan stood near a monument behind her. His blue eyes were wide with shock and horror at his mother’s outrageous suggestion. Then his lips began to move. But no words were uttered, or if they were, the shots drowned out his voice.
Gunshots reverberated throughout the cemetery, echoing around the monuments and trees. The sudden loud noise sent the birds flying from the tree limbs to form a dark cloud in the sky above them.
Not only had Logan Payne intruded on her father’s funeral but so had his killer. Mrs. Payne’s plan was never going to happen, because Stacy would probably wind up burying him before she could ever marry him.
Chapter Three
Pain gripped Logan’s shoulder, but he ignored the hot streak down his arm as he reached for his holster and drew his weapon. “Get down!” he shouted.
His mother had instinctively ducked behind a cement monument. But Stacy stood still at her father’s freshly dug grave, so when he knocked her down, she hit soft ground. Her breath left her lips in a gasp of warm air that caressed his neck.
And her soft curves cushioned his fall. She always acted so strong that he had expected her to be hard and cold. But she was soft and warm. She was also smaller than her big personality and more fragile than her tough