Texas Sunrise by Fern Michaels Page A

and come up with a plan of action.”
    â€œOkay.” Valentine kicked off her shoes and looked around, trying to imagine Susan living in this place. “It looks like Mr. Clean lived here,” she muttered, grimacing. “Is the kitchen cozy and cute?” she called out to Rand.
    â€œCome see for yourself,” he called back.
    Rand blinked in surprise when Valentine walked in. Without her three-inch spike heels, she was tiny and didn’t seem so ... so seductive.
    Valentine nibbled her fingernail. “All this kind of surprises me,” she said thoughtfully. “Susan is a world-renowned pianist. I more or less expected a house filled with exotic souvenirs from all over the globe. This . . .” she said, waving her arms about, “just isn’t what I expected.”
    â€œMe neither. I suppose it has something to do with being sent off to England at such an early age to live with us. This is like our kitchen there. It broke Billie’s heart to send her, but Susan’s world was music, and England was where it was going to happen for her. She didn’t really have a childhood like most children. All she did was practice the piano. I always had the feeling that Susan must have been starved for love. She still hasn’t found it, from the look of things. I just fucking hate it when a man steals money from a woman. I thought more of Ferris.”
    â€œNot to worry, Lord Nelson, we’ll get him,” Valentine said airily.
    â€œI wish you’d stop with the lord bit. I never use the title, and hearing you say it makes it sound obscene. Sugar or cream?”
    â€œBlack. See if you can find the deed to this house, and any other papers you think I should have. Income tax records would do nicely. Are they here?”
    â€œSusan said Ferris took them when he left, but she had enough sense to go to the accountant and ask for copies. The accountant didn’t want to give them to her, so she went to the head of the firm and got them. They were afraid of adverse publicity, but since her name was on all the returns, they really had no choice. She told me they’re in the piano bench in the music room under her sheet music. I’ll get them.”
    Valentine became so engrossed in the file that she barely noticed when Rand laid a stack of tax returns next to her on the couch. Rand tried not to look at the long expanse of thigh exposed through the slit in the Armani skirt.
    â€œI’m going to call home,” he said. “If you want me, I’ll be in the kitchen or upstairs taking a shower.” The minute the words were out of his mouth, he bit down on his tongue. If Valentine heard him, she gave no sign.
    He needed to talk to his wife, he thought as he left the room. He didn’t like what he was feeling toward Val. Maggie was his wife, his lover, his friend. Maggie would put it all in perspective for him. “Shit!” he said succinctly.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Riley Coleman stopped his Bronco, the way he did each and every day, before he drove under the high wooden arch emblazoned with the name SUNBRIDGE. His practiced eye took in the miles of white fence stretching into the distance. Tall oak trees lined the winding drive, and on either side were expanses of bright green lawn watered by pulsing sprinklers.
    He lightly pressed his foot down on the gas pedal, the Bronco moving slowly down the driveway, Riley savoring the moment when Sunbridge came into view.
    The great house, caressed by the sun, basked upon a gently sloping rise beneath the Texas sky. It was three stories of the palest pink brick, and was flanked by twin wings, which were also three stories high, but set back several feet from the main structure. White columns supported the roof of the veranda, which swept along the entire front. There was a fanlight transom over the two huge oak front doors. The same design was repeated above each window on the top floor. Ornamental topiaries and crepe myrtle