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Roger.”
    “Roger.” Saying his name made her feel silly. It was such an ordinary name. Declan Treadwell. That was a name. Declan was pronounced like deck and len, with the emphasis on the first syllable.
    “Do you love him?” His voice was tight.
    It unsettled her, this question. “You never were one to make small talk, huh?”
    “Do you?”
     “I said yes when he asked me to marry him. So I must love him, right?” She twisted the ring so the diamond was against the soft pad of her palm, next to a scar from a baking burn.
    “That doesn’t sound entirely convincing.”
    “Mother didn’t like him. She said not to marry him, that she never understood one thing he ever said.” She looked into Declan’s eyes. “He’s different.”
    “Different than what?”
    “Than most people, I guess. He’s very smart. A computer guy.”
    He shifted so that he was looking directly at her. The breeze drifting into the room smelled of the sea. “Why did you say yes?”
    She shrugged, looking down at her hands. “He came after me, which is refreshing considering the pool of men out there. All these guys with commitment issues. Pacific Northwest guys are too passive to claim you.” She faltered, wishing she hadn’t revealed so much already. But she continued, unable to keep the truth from Declan. He always had a way of opening her up. “He asked, I guess.”
    “I asked.”
    She met his gaze. “It wasn’t that simple. You know that.”
    “It was to me.” He gazed at her, unflinching. He crossed the room and brought her hand to his chest. “Don’t marry him just because you want a baby.”
    “That’s not it. Dammit, you can’t just walk in here after disappearing for six years and start telling me what to do.” She jerked away from him.
    There was a light knock on the door. Conrad Hutchinson, her mother’s attorney, put his head inside. “Sutton, can I come in?”
    “Yes, of course.” Conrad shut the door behind him. He wore his standard impeccable blue suit and attractive tie. Today it was light blue with lavender flowers. Sutton was fairly certain his wife dressed him. He was approaching sixty and had been her mother’s lawyer from the beginning of her success. “Oregon born and educated,” she often said to Sutton. “I know I can trust him.”
    Conrad held out his hand to Declan. “It’s good to see, you, Dec. Long time.”
    Declan shook his hand. “Good to see you too.”
    “I’m glad you’re both here,” said Conrad. “The will concerns both of you.”
    Besides his beautiful clothing, there was nothing remarkable about Conrad. He was almost bald with just a fringe of white hair near his neckline, hazel eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses, and an extra twenty pounds he wore mostly around his middle. But he was smart and decent, considering that he was an attorney. He handled only her mother’s personal affairs; she had an attorney out of Los Angeles that handled her movie deals. That lawyer was not her mother’s people, thought Sutton, absently. There wasn’t an Oregon bone in that man’s body. He bled Hollywood.
    They led Conrad to the couch and each took a chair.
    He opened his briefcase and took out a stack of papers. “I’ll lay it out for you both very simply. Your mother, Sutton, was worth roughly one hundred million dollars.”
    What had he just said? “Did you say hundred million?” How was this possible?
    “Your mother’s only extravagance, ever, was this house,” said Conrad. “She put all her money from the movies and book sales into a fund managed by a reputable investment house. The money, as it tends to do, grew quite nicely over almost thirty years.”
    “I had no idea,” said Sutton, looking over at Declan.
    “She did not expect to die in her fifties,” said Conrad. “Her goal was to continue to grow this ‘nest egg,’ as she called it, for the two of you.” He opened his briefcase. “She left what she referred to as ‘small amounts,’ namely in the amount of