Sunkissed (2 page)

Eyeing Grant, Rich took a step in retreat before reaching into his coat, pulling out a card. “I was hired to find him.”

Grant took the offered card, locating the man’s title. “Private investigator? Who hired you?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

“What do they want?”

“That’s also confidential.”

Grant dug deep for the calm he needed. “Is there anything you can tell me?”

Rolling on the back of his heels, the PI glanced at the ceiling. “I was hired to locate your grandfather to find out more about an item.”

“I see. And what is this item?”

“I’m not—”

“At liberty to say. Right,” Grant finished.

“I can ask my client if they are willing to release any information to you. But I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“All right.” Reaching for a nearby pen and piece of paper, Grant scribbled his name and contact information before handing it over. “You can reach me here when you find out.”

“Will do.”
Tucking the piece of paper inside his jacket, the man whistled as he walked out.

Brushing off the meeting, Grant grabbed the phone and dialed. There were more important things he needed to handle at the moment. He would have to deal with whoever wanted information on his grandfather later.

“Detective Ryan, please.”

The PI’s report arrived in a manila envelope after breakfast, but Natalie forced herself to finish her sketches before delving into research on the mystery man.

An hour later, she heaved a sigh of relief, tossing her tablet onto the cushion next to her. “Finally finished.” Her mind drifted while sketching, captured by swirling colors and whimsical lines, but today, the time she set aside to sketch dragged on as she’d focused on unanswered questions instead of designs.

Unwilling to wait another second, she tore open the envelope, devouring the pages.

Her initial elation that the PI had found Edward Walker deflated as she read that he had passed away.

Was that the end?

Her eyes latched onto an image of the orchard, a recent one she could only assume the PI had taken. Her breath hitched in her throat, caught by the lush orange trees, the surrounding rolling hills. A complete opposite from the urban landscape of downtown, it was difficult to believe that this haven existed an hour outside of the city.

Scanning through the information on Walker Orchards, Grant Walker’s name appeared several times.

Edward Walker’s grandson.

Perhaps all wasn’t lost yet. Information passed down from parents and grandparents through speech or journals. It was possible that the current owner of Walker Orchards had the information she searched for.

Springing up, she raced for the shower, washing in record time. Urgency filled her. She needed to see for herself what had held her grandmother’s heart.

At ten in the morning, the roads hosted only a straggler or two, granting her a quick, straight shot out of the city. Two hours earlier, she’d have been gridlocked.

Driving through the hills, calm drifted through her body, casting a dreamy glow on the sun- kissed trees. The highway that led through the area was one lane in each direction, offering little to distract the eye from rows of glistening fruit.

Lost in thought, her GPS jerked her out of her reverie, announcing her turn in a quarter mile.

The wooden sign above the road that led into the orchard was painted a crisp white around two carved orange trees. She imagined it had hung there for a hundred years, lovingly restored every so often to showcase the pride of the orchard.

S
he parked in front of a two-story house. The structure stood tall, whimsical in design with a small turret in front, and a wide wraparound porch. The left side of the house sported colorful shingles, giving it a fairytale appearance. Nestled amongst towering oak trees, it looked conjured from a children’s book. Her lips quirked at the thought.

The scent of earth and fresh citrus with a hint of sea salt hit her as she stepped out of the car. It made the trees look greener, the sky bluer,
the earth richer.

Tucking a lock of inky hair behind her ear, she looked down at the faded picture that had been taken in this exact spot in 1938. Surprisingly, not much had changed over the years. Life moved on, buildings were torn down and others were constructed. The world continued to evolve, but the orchard seemed unaffected by time.

“Can I help you?”

A friendly smile on her face, Natalie turned toward the voice, her eyes widening at the rugged man in front of her. “Yes. I’m here to see Grant Walker.”

His weight shifted as he leaned back. Arms folded casually, his eyes made a quick trail up and down her body, taking her measure, but she couldn’t tell if he was pleased with what he saw or not.

The little thrill that raced up her spine when his iced-blue eyes connected with hers surprised her.
Not that he wasn’t attractive. Natalie just normally went for the smooth, polished sort. And this man could never be described as polished.

His rangy build, encased in brown pants and a white shirt, both coated with dirt, was muscled in tight cords. The kind of muscles only developed from hard labor.

The California sun had gifted him with a deep tan, making his blue eyes all the more intense. Golden highlights teased through his light brown hair, glinting off rays of light that filtered through the oak trees.

“I’m Grant Walker.” There was confidence in
his stance—shoulders held back, his chin lifted just a hair. His body language boiled down to one trait. Pride.

The picture of Edward Walker was small
, but if he had looked anything like his grandson, Natalie had a good idea why her grandmother had kept his picture.

“I’m Natalie Cohen. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your grandfather, Edward Walker.”

“I see.” He studied her again. “I take it you were the one who hired the PI.”

“Yes. From what I understand, Edward passed away last year.”

“That’s right.”

Her heart clenched. “I’m sorry for your loss. I know how difficult it is to lose someone. My own grandmother passed away recently.”

He nodded in grim understanding. “I’m not sure I can help you.”

“I’m hoping you can.” She stepped forward, handing him the picture of Edward. “I found that in my grandma’s belongings along with a few letters from your grandfather.”

* * *

Stunned, Grant stared at the youngest image he had ever seen of his grandpa. His voice was hoarse when he asked, “Where did you find this again?”

“In my grandmother’s belongings, tucked away with other family photos and letters.”

“Who was your grandmother?” His gaze was drawn back to the man who had taught him how to care for the orchard.

She stepped closer to him, peering at the photograph.“Her name was Adele Cunningham, but her maiden name was Evans. Have you heard of her?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. He never mentioned her.”

“Are you sure?”

Distress coated her voice, forcing his eyes back to her. White hot desire hit him, the same potency as when she had first stepped out of her car.

Classy, cultured, with a hint of vanity. Her ebony hair hung pin-straight down her back, intended, he was certain, not to detract from the clean lines of her black blouse and tight cherry-red slacks, but he found his eyes drawn to the cascade of black.

She was slim, and looked even more so in the spiked heels that were miraculously not stuck in the dirt.

But there was something else there too. He could see it in the way her spine stiffened, the way her chin notched up.

Grit.

“I’m certain. My grandfather was a happily married man. I would have noticed if he mentioned another woman.”

“But the letters… they had to have known each other.”

“I can’t explain them. But if they knew each other, my grandfather never mentioned it.”

“It would have been a long time ago. Fairly soon after this picture was taken.”

Flipping to the back he saw the date before his eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything more.”

“Perhaps he kept journals,” she pressed.

He held up his hand to stop her. “Listen, Miss Cohen. I don’t know who you are or what you are hoping to accomplish by digging into this. But let me be clear. I don’t want you involved in my grandfather’s business. He was a well respected man, lived a good life. Whether or not he was involved with your grandmother, or even knew her, doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to me. I have to know.” When her eyes lit with determination, he wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or even more attracted to her.

His impatience rose, but he worked to keep his voice controlled. “Why? Why does this matter so much?”

“My grandmother meant the world to me. If Edward Walker was important enough for her to remember all these years, I think I owe it to her to find out why.” He felt her probe for weakness. “I’ll find out everything I want to know.
With or without your help. But understand this, I won’t ever stop.”

Standing on his property,
she jutted her chin out in challenge.

There were two options. He could refuse her and order her off of his land. But he knew that she would only continue her search for information, perhaps stretching it out for years and harassing him in the process until she got what she wanted. Or he could cooperate with her, go through a few of his grandfather’s things and end this quickly.

He loathed adding another problem to his list, but the first option would cause him more frustration in the long run.

“If I help you, no more private investigators.
I won’t have anyone else digging through my family history.”

She nodded quickly as if sensing a win. “I can agree to that. But I want to have access to all of his writings.”

“Absolutely not. Everything in his journals is private.” He silenced her when she began to argue. “However, I am willing to read through them and if there’s something about your grandmother or anything that might give us a clue as to their relationship, I’ll share it with you.”

She nodded grudgingly. “That’s fair, I guess. When can we start?”

“I’ll need to find the journals first. After that, I’m not sure how long it will take me to get through them. Why don’t you come back on Sunday and we’ll piece together a history of their lives. See if anything overlaps. That should give us a good place to start and narrow down a timeline.”

Her lips curved. “I appreciate that. I’ll be here.” She turned toward her car before swiveling back to him. “I know you don’t want me here, and I know that I pushed, which is totally annoying. But thank you for helping me anyway.”

Her gratitude rocked him back on his heels, forcing him to reevaluate her. Perhaps there was more to her than her clothes implied.

He nodded in acknowledgement. “I’ll see you Sunday.” He waited until she backed up her car and drove down the lane before returning inside.

It wasn’t until hours, and several more headaches, later that he was able to think of the brief meeting with Natalie Cohen.

Sitting on his porch, his foot propped up on the railing, a cold beer sweating in his hand, he stared out at the quiet night. It had cooled off considerably in the last few hours, the brisk ocean air blowing in over the land.

As Grant leisurely viewed his property, inevitable pride swelled in his chest. His legacy. His birthright. Generations of Walkers had worked the land, pouring their sweat and blood into the earth as freely as they did water. They had built something here, and he was adding to it.

He didn’t regret one moment that he’d spent with the land. She was a jealous lover, but he didn’t resent it. She was constant and yet somehow always changing, always bringing forth new life.

He enjoyed women, thought them each beautiful in their own right, but none had ever fascinated him like the orchard did. No one had generated a sense of longing or the level of satisfaction to match what he felt when he looked out of his window. He wasn’t sure if a woman could.

A set of headlights flashed down his drive, surprising him, but they weren’t unwelcome. The owner of the silver BMW that pulled in front of the house was a frequent visitor.

Noah Walker climbed out of the vehicle, matching the car in both polish and sophistication. His three-piece suit, a dark charcoal color, was only a little lighter than his hair. Longer than was fashionable, his hair was slicked back, drawing attention to the sharp angles of his face. Noah’s looks had caused many hearts to break and others, particularly in the courtroom, to tremble. It was a weapon that his brother had honed over the years, sharpening it with lethal accuracy.

“Got another beer?” he asked, making his way up the porch.

“In the fridge.” Grant nodded toward the door. “You’re welcome to it.”

“Thanks.” After retrieving it, Noah settled into the chair beside Grant, not bothering to take measures to protect his clothes from the ever-present layer of dirt that coated the yellow fabric seat.

“How’d it go today? Did you win?” Grant asked, knowing his brother had been in court.

“Don’t I always?” Noah flashed a cynical smile. “She got what she was fighting for.”

“How you stand to deal with squabbling couples all day is beyond me.”

“Same
goes, little brother. I had enough of the great outdoors growing up to last me a lifetime.”

Grant chuckled into his beer. Despite having been raised here and working side-by-side with him, his brother had never gained a connection to the land.