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  “Even if you can sell a few motorcycles, it’s only a matter of time before you get bored with this place and want to leave again,” Tara blurted.

  “I can see where a city woman like you might think that,” Sam reasoned, “but there’s still plenty for me in Beardsly. Have you considered that folks might be a bit suspicious of your staying power?” The deep crease between his brows softened as he indulged in a patronizing smile.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she bristled.

  “I was forced to relocate when my opportunity here dried up. But you had every advantage and every reason to stay. The folks here know the difference between being left behind and being dumped. I think they’ll give me another chance. You, however, might have some charred bridges to rebuild.”

  Sam’s insight was a punch to the solar plexus. Had she been a fool all these years, unconcerned how the hometown folks would react to her refusal to visit? She might have accepted her grandmother’s challenge without seeing all the relationship repairs that would be necessary, but thanks to Sam, the blindfold was off.

  Books by Mae Nunn

  Love Inspired

  Hearts in Bloom #254

  *Sealed with a Kiss #293

  MAE NUNN

  grew up in Houston and graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in communications. When she fell for a transplanted Englishman who lived in Atlanta, Mae hung up her spurs to become a Southern belle. Today she and her husband make their home with their two children in Georgia. Mae has been with a major air express company for twenty-five years, currently serving as a regional customer service manager. She began writing four years ago. When asked how she felt about being part of the Steeple Hill family, Mae summed her response up with one word—“Yeeeeeha!”

  SEALED WITH A KISS

  MAE NUNN

  But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven,

  where moth and rust do not destroy, and where

  thieves do not break in and steal. For where

  your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

  —Matthew 6:20–21

  This book is dedicated to my father, Ward Cooper,

  and to the memory of my mother, Ruth Snyder.

  I love you, Daddy. You are inspirational proof

  that with hard work, my personal goals can be

  achieved and my dreams can come true.

  I miss you terribly, Mama. You taught me

  to believe in myself and to understand the

  power of my words. I owe this success to you.

  My parents planted seeds of faith early in my life

  and for that I will be forever grateful. They gave me

  roots to keep me grounded and wings to let me fly.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Letter to Reader

  Chapter One

  The rumble of a motorcycle distracted Tara Elliott from her grandmother’s graveside service. Her eyes, formerly fixed on a soggy tissue, glanced up. She peeked through damp lashes to see if others were reacting to the noise.

  “Miriam Elliott will be sorely missed by the townspeople of Beardsly.” Pastor Ryan raised his deep voice over the disturbance. “Her generosity and commitment to the community were unparalleled.”

  Tara had heard little else in the two days since her return to the east Texas town of barely five thousand residents. Condolence cards by the dozens sat on the kitchen counter in the little space not occupied by deep-fried chicken, potato salad and buttermilk biscuits. Among the locals, grease and starch still abounded as edible symbols of sympathy.

  “Though Miriam celebrated her eighty-eighth birthday in April,” the pastor continued louder, “she was still a vital presence at Mount Zion Church, as well as a member of the Beardsly College Board of Regents.”

  The leather-clad rider cut the powerful engine, the sudden silence drawing even more attention from the crowd of mourners who surrounded the green canopy. Tara squinted to make out the man’s face, hidden by the dark-visored helmet. Whoever the intruder was, he would get a piece of her mind once the service ended.

  “As we lay our sister in Christ to rest, may we all meditate on the ways in which she touched our lives and made our community stronger.” The preacher crossed his hands before him and dropped his chin in silent reflection as recorded music filled the air.

  Tara smiled through her tears at the selection her grandmother had insisted be played at her interment service. A Texan through and through, Miriam was determined to pay honor, even in death, to the state she loved.

  The female country singer’s husky voice drifted across the quiet cemetery, singing about her desire to go to Texas if Heaven wouldn’t let cowgirls in. Tara’s dear friend Lacey placed a comforting arm across the back of the chair and together she and Tara tapped their toes to the familiar chorus.

  The final notes of the song were lost in thunder as the bike roared to life once again, its tires crunching the ancient road. Through a cloud of red dust kicked up from dry Texas clay, Tara watched the man square his well-defined shoulders beneath the fringed jacket and offer a nearly forgotten gesture as he disappeared through the cemetery gates.

  Years ago, the snappy salute followed by a thumbs-up sign ended every economics lecture by Sam Kennesaw, the college’s most popular teaching assistant. Tara covered her mouth to hide what she hoped sounded like a choked sob. In truth, it was a gasp of recognition. Understanding, Lacey squeezed Tara’s hand.

  “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…” The gleaming silver casket was lowered into the grave.

  Grief and confrontation often go hand in hand, and this would be no exception. On the heels of burying her only relative, it appeared Tara was destined to come face-to-face once more with the man whose academic career her grandmother had ruined nine years ago.

  The man Tara had once loved with all her young heart.

  Sam arrived at Wade Latimer’s law office the next morning earlier than required and parked at the busy grocery across the street. Hidden among the minivans, he straddled his favorite bike and considered the meeting to come.

  Why was his presence required for the reading of Miriam Elliott’s will? He scrubbed a hand over a three-day growth of whiskers, exhaled and folded his arms across his chest.

  At precisely 9:00 a.m., a gas-guzzling sedan pulled into the parking spot in front of the offices marked Wade Latimer, Attorney at Law. The woman who emerged was one of the black-draped mourners at yesterday’s service. At first glance he almost didn’t recognize her. She’d filled out, quite a lot.

  She swung the massive car door closed and made her way up the fieldstone walk. The familiar auburn hair was caught back into a tight French braid, which hung past the shoulders of a conservative, black suit. The gangly girl etched into his mind’s eye was gone, replaced by an impeccably dressed full-figured female with graceful curves.

  He appreciated the changes. A smile of satisfaction curved his lips.

  She wasn’t the only one who’d changed.

  Ten minutes later, a door chime inside the reception area signaled Sam’s arrival.

  “Good morning, sir. May I help you?” The young blonde, college intern written all over her fresh face, glanced up from her textbook.

  He drummed his fingers on th
e counter before her. “The name’s Kennesaw. I have an appointment with Mr. Latimer regarding the Miriam Elliott estate.”

  The girl’s eyes lit up with interest. “I’ll see if they’re ready for you, Mr. Kennesaw.” She stood, smoothed her hands over her cashmere sweater and disappeared down the hallway.

  He removed the dark shades and caught sight of his image in the beveled glass behind the reception desk. His departure from Houston had been rushed, allowing no time for a manicure or close shave. Not that anyone in this small-minded town would expect it.

  With one glance at his shaggy hair they’d cluck their tongues and judge him a failure, no better than a latter-day hippie. Now, with a like-I-care smirk at the mirror, he ran the fingers of both hands through his thick mop, ruffling the curls free from the effects of his helmet.

  Around his neck on a braided cord hung expensive eyewear, in stark contrast to his old T-shirt and frayed jeans. He’d intentionally chosen a well-worn shirt with the phrase Don’t Mess with Texas emblazoned across the chest.

  “Mr. Kennesaw?” The intern was back. “Mr. Latimer will see you now.”

  Sam had more important places to be and, beyond mild curiosity, he really didn’t care about the reason for today’s meeting. But the shock value of this unexpected encounter would make the trip worth his time.

  “What do you mean, show Mr. Kennesaw in? I thought today’s meeting was only for the two of us.” Tara gripped the arms of her chair and pushed herself halfway to a standing position. Her gaze darted around the room seeking any avenue of escape other than the door that stood as the only barrier between Tara and her past.

  “I’m sorry to startle you like this, Miss Elliott, but your grandmother’s will gives very specific instructions about Mr. Kennesaw.” Sympathy filled his brown eyes. “I feared you might be upset.”

  Tara’s heart pounded at the mention of her former teacher’s name. Knowing the object of her lifelong dreams stood a few feet away threatened to send her into a panic. She relaxed with effort into the leather chair and brushed nonexistent lint from the lap of her silk suit.

  “I admit I’d have preferred some advance notice, but I’m far from upset.” Aware her smile was probably unconvincing, she lifted her chin.

  The door creaked open behind her, and the attorney rose. She stared at the opposite wall and occupied herself with a sip of water.

  “Good morning, Mr. Kennesaw.” Wade Latimer extended his hand graciously. “We spoke on the phone. It’s so good of you to come on such short notice.”

  As the two men clasped right hands in her peripheral vision, a breath caught in her throat at the sight of a bare, muscular arm.

  “Well, it was the least I could do to repay Miss Elliott for her kindness all those years ago, don’t you reckon?” Sam’s question dripped with icy sarcasm.

  Unsure whether the mocking words were directed at her or at the memory of her grandmother, Tara glanced toward the voice for confirmation.

  “Ms. Elliott, Mr. Kennesaw, I don’t believe introductions are necessary,” the lawyer stated the obvious.

  Sam’s head jerked a curt acknowledgement.

  She locked eyes with a virtual stranger.

  He’s changed, she thought with relief. Thank goodness.

  She would melt on the spot if the kind, gray eyes that haunted her sleep even now had stared back. Instead, she felt his cold, steely gaze wander across her face. Not to be outdone, she returned the once-over.

  As a twenty-five-year-old teaching assistant, he’d been thin and studious. He’d worn the required button-down collar shirt and geeky horn-rimmed glasses that made him all the more endearing to his female students.

  All these years later, he had a shape honed by physical labor. A man’s body. The long legs were trim, his shoulders and torso well developed beneath the dingy T-shirt. The pale hand that had once offered a jaunty salute at the end of each class was now work-roughened, fingertips and short nails darkly stained.

  More striking than any other changes were the deep tan and five o’clock shadow that gave him a bad-boy look. Even in worn-out clothes, Sam carried an air of distinction thanks to the gray flecks in his loose roguish curls.

  “Have a seat, please.” Latimer gestured toward a chair, took his own behind the cherry desk, then turned to face Tara.

  “As you well know, the value of your grandmother’s property holdings in Beardsly was once considerable. However, in recent years, she made significant donations to charitable institutions, which lessened her overall holdings. I have them itemized for you here.” He handed a sheet of figures across the desk.

  Tara scanned the list, unable to prevent her eyes from bulging at the scandalous amount of money her grandmother had given away. Other than the century-old house on Sycamore and its well-known collection of antiques, there couldn’t be much left.

  “Were you her attorney of record when she made these contributions?” Tara hadn’t counted on an inheritance from the grandmother who had taken her in at three when her own mother had died of breast cancer. However, having her only relative give away a fortune to strangers was deflating.

  “Yes, but Miss Elliott was quite capable of making these decisions. Her mind was sharper than mine, right up to the end. Do you have reason to question her?”

  “No.” Embarrassed, she glanced at her watch. “Let’s move on, please. I have a conference call with my New York office in an hour.”

  The lawyer cleared his throat and squinted at Sam Kennesaw. She followed his gaze. Sam slouched in the burgundy leather chair, fingers laced across his abdomen, an arrogant air of detached interest on his face.

  “In that case, I’ll get right to the most important portion of Miss Elliott’s will.” Wade Latimer perched wire-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his Roman nose.

  As regards the disposition of my remaining holdings: I bequeath the contents of my home to my beloved grandchild, Tara Elliott, to dispose of as she chooses. Furthermore, Tara may occupy Sycamore House for as long as she accepts all terms of my will.

  Concerning my first and favorite commercial property, the Elliott Building, it is my wish to leave this ten-thousand-square-foot structure to be co-owned, co-managed, and co-maintained by Tara Elliott and Samuel Kennesaw.”

  Tara sputtered on a sip of water and choked behind her hand.

  Sam shifted in the chair, his interest locked on the legal document.

  “What was that again?” She reached for the page. The attorney pulled it to his chest, well out of reach.

  “I will give you each a certified copy of the will as soon as we finish.” He nodded toward two yellow legal-size envelopes on the corner of the desk. “Now, please, allow me to continue.”

  Effective immediately, Tara Elliott and Samuel Kennesaw must commit their full attention, resources and energy to filling the space with profitable enterprises that will serve the financial interests of Beardsly, Texas. The two must work together in a cooperative manner at all times. If either should refuse the conditions of this gift, or fail to meet their portion of the conditions, the Elliott Building and Sycamore House will become the full possession of the other.

  I know many people will find this to be an odd bequest. Let them think what they will. My granddaughter will understand why I’m doing this and that’s all that matters. May God richly bless Tara and Sam.

  The benediction echoed against the high ceiling.

  Needing a moment to compose herself, Tara stood and turned away from the men. She stepped to the inviting warmth of the window, folded her arms and stared out at the shady street.

  The town hadn’t changed a bit since the afternoon college sophomore Tara Elliott announced to graduate student Sam Kennesaw that she intended to marry him one day. To cap off her bold behavior she’d stood on tiptoe to plant a chaste kiss on his unresponsive lips.

  After all these years, his polite rejection was still painful. Her grandmother had stoked the pain burning through Tara’s teenage heart by insisting life held too m
uch promise to settle at nineteen for the son of their housekeeper. No amount of pleading and tears could stop Miriam from ensuring Sam would no longer be a distraction.

  So, Tara thought, this is the surprise you warned me about, Grandmother. Your brilliant plan to get me and Sam to come home. Nice try, but a little too much water’s run under that bridge. You’ve made your point. You win. Sam didn’t love me then and from the blank expression in his eyes, I’d say nothing’s changed.

  “Mr. Kennesaw,” her voice was husky with emotion. She cleared her dry throat and turned to stare into the charcoal-gray eyes.

  “Please, call me Sam.” He smiled insolently. “Thanks to your granny, we’re business partners. No point standing on formality now.”

  Tara uncrossed her arms, sweeping back the black knit jacket, positioning a fist on each hip. “You can’t be taking this seriously. My grandmother never intended for you to accept her gift. This was her way of forcing us together for a few moments as a lesson to me.”

  Sam lifted a dark eyebrow as he glanced from Tara to the sixty-something attorney, who tapped a fountain pen on Miriam Elliott’s last will and testament.

  “So, what do you say, Latimer? Is this a legal document or just therapy for the little lady?”

  Wade Latimer stopped tapping and struggled to suppress a smile. “It most certainly is legal. Miriam discussed her wishes on this subject with me at great length. The economy of Beardsly has been suffering for years and she believed your combined expertise is just what the town needs.

  “However,” Latimer continued, “she intended this to be a collective gift, requiring a partnership effort. Her conditions are firm. If you’re unable to honor the terms of the will, Tara, the Elliott building and your family home will become the property of Mr. Kennesaw.”