Page 57 of The Gathering Storm

“I did not pounce. I insisted. There’s a difference.”

Interest stirred in spite of the stern lecture he’d given his body that morning. Behave, or else. Last thing he needed was his dick running amok while his mom was sitting across the table from him. “You gonna insist again later?”

Her fingers fluttered against him. “This is no joking matter, Will. Your mother has the authority to…”

Her words petered out, underlined by a tinge of emotion he’d never heard in her voice. He tilted her chin up and studied the calm mask her face had fallen into, save for the slight tremor of her lower lip. “What’re you afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

“You said that too quickly. Look.” He tucked her against his chest again and smoothed his hands slowly up and down her back. “Mom can say anything she wants, but she can’t touch me. I control my own assets. Dad insisted.”

“I’m not worried about the money, Will.”

“No, I know you’re not, but it’s an issue.”

“Not the biggest one.”

Her voice was tight, sharp, and it startled him. “You’re really afraid of her.”

Sigrid was silent for a long time. The fire popped in the fireplace, a light rain started falling outside, pattering against the cedar shingles, and the oven timer buzzed a warning.

At last, she said, “I’m afraid for you.”

He shook his head, baffled. “Why?”

“Because you could lose your family over this.”

She stepped away from him, easily avoided his grappling attempt to hold onto her, and pivoted toward the kitchen. He took one step toward her. No way was he letting her get by without discussing her fears, justified or not.

The doorbell rang, interrupting his pursuit, and he bit back a curse. That was some great timing his parents had. He’d needed five minutes, just five more minutes to coax Sigrid out of her funk, but no. His dad always had to arrive right on the nose. Just when he was getting Sigrid to open up, too.

Will shoved his fingers through his hair as he stared at the door Sigrid had disappeared through, then stalked into the foyer and yanked the front door open. His parents were standing on the porch wearing their Sunday best under wool coats dusted with a light coating of rain.

Resigned, he stepped back and let them in. “Hey. Lunch is almost ready.”

Troy sniffed once as he helped his wife shed her coat. “Smells good.”

“Enchiladas.” Will took his mother’s coat and hung it on the coatrack by the door, then helped his dad juggle taking off his coat with holding the wine they’d brought. “We’ve got a fire going.”

Wilhelmina jerked down the cuffs of the deep red blouse she wore, then smoothed a hand over the front of her knee-length, black wool skirt. “We?”

“Get over it,” Will said mildly. “Come on in. We can sit in the living room.”

A door swung open, Sigrid’s heels tapped ever louder, then she appeared in the living room ahead of them, her expression as calm and unruffled as usual, though her skin was pale even for her. “Hello.”

Troy held out the wine and his dimples flashed. “Thanks for having us.”

Sigrid’s smile was faint. “You’re welcome here any time.”

Will jumped in, half afraid the conversation would devolve into a litany of polite chitchat. “How was Wellington?”

Wilhelmina perched on one end of the couch placed facing the fire, her hands folded primly in her lap. “Lovely, as usual.”

Troy sat down beside her and placed one hand over hers. “It’s a lot warmer there than it is here.”

“We’ve had a mild winter while y’all were off playing tourists.” Will waited until Sigrid settled herself into the recliner, then sat on the ottoman in front of it, deliberately placing himself between her and his mother. “Only one snowfall, and it was just a couple of inches.”

Troy dove into retelling a memory from his own childhood days spent romping up and down the local mountains through inches of ice and snow, but Wilhelmina turned a calculating gaze on Will.

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