Owen straightened in his chair and rolled his shoulders. The cracking noises his spine made couldn't be good. He finished the exercise, then turned his head from side to side, holding each position for ten seconds. If his internet search kept up much longer, he'd have all sorts of back issues, not to mention going half blind from eye strain.

He should go downstairs and join Dante in the gym. The hum of the treadmill had been going for over an hour. Since coming to Parkers Prairie, Dante had turned into a real exercise nut. Owen figured it worked as stress relief. God knew Bea's illness, whatever it was, had to take a toll on Dante.

Owen stood and leaned forward to touch his toes, then rolled back up to a standing position. Convinced he'd loosened everything up again, he reclaimed his seat at the computer. With over twenty-thousand ink-slingers in the US, he had his work cut out. Considering his mystery guest French heritage, who was to say she got her tats in the states? Easily could have been France or some other country.

He twirled the mouse wheel and scrolled to tattooist in New York City. At this point, the most he could hope for was to find an artist whose work sparked a memory. Working his way down a list of the most populated states, he'd already checked out California, Texas, and Florida, and so far, nothing had jumped out. Man, if tattoo artist just signed their work, that would make finding one easier... Unless, a person couldn't remember what they'd seen. The problem with that was he'd been paying more attention to the fact she was naked instead of the tattoos.

Even so, he remembered some of them were in color. He rested his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he drifted to sleep.

Exhausted from a long workout, Dante crawled into bed. The beep of Bea's heart monitor had come to be almost like a lullaby. Its steady rhythm assured him everything was all right. For now. He took a deep breath and let it settle him into dreamland.

His mind flitted from one scene to the other.

A childhood birthday party. Mom encouraging him to make a wish. She laughed, and like always, it was so infectious, he laughed, too. The candle smoke trailed and disappeared into thin air—and so did Mom. Then he was in the field at his high school stadium. The ball spiraled toward him in slow motion. He jumped, reaching high, and grabbed the pigskin with one hand. The crowd went wild as he crossed the goal line.

"Dante."

For a moment, he thought he was still dreaming, but the grip Bea has on his leg brings him to reality. "What's wrong? Do I need to call the nurse?"

"No. Why have you never asked for the money?"

Her voice was barely a whisper. He shook his head to clear it, not sure if he understood the question. "What money?"

"Our contract. You've never asked when you'll get it."

He held her hand and ran his thumb across her knuckles. "The year isn't up." He chuckled. "Besides, when it is, I'm thinking of asking for an extension."

"You're a good man, Dante. Not sure you've always believed that about yourself. But you are."

Coupled with the dream of his mom, tears welled in his eyes. He swallowed the knot in his throat. "As much as I love hearing your praises, it's three o'clock in the morning. You should go back to sleep."

She drew a shallow breath. "If we'd been the same age, I think we could have set the world on fire."

Dante's heart kicked up a notch. "We're doing a damn good job even with the age difference."

"People thought I was crazy for marrying you. But you're the best investment I ever made. What you've given me in return—"

"Stop talking. You need to rest."

"Don't forget me. Okay? I didn't think that would matter, but it does."

Her breath shuddered. The lullaby held one long note. Dante grabbed her into his arms, panic surging in his veins.

"No! No. No. Don't go. I'm not ready for you to leave. We still have deals to make."

Sounds from the monitor grew louder, frantic and insistent. The nurse rushed in.

"Do something!" Dante said.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dante. I can't," Her voice was light, soothing. Practiced. "She has a DNR in place."

For the first time since his mother died, Dante sobbed.

He didn't wait for the doctor to arrive. He dressed, mechanically going through the motions, went to the garage and fired up the Harley. Within minutes, he was on the open road, wind blowing through his scalp and drying his tears. What now? Knowing Bea, she'd probably arranged for him to take his time moving out of the house. Wasn't necessary because he didn't want to stay there any longer than he had to. It wouldn't be the same without her.

He'd driven for hours with a thousand thoughts running through his head. Contracts. The unfinished boutique hotel she had her heart set on finishing. The end of his power of attorney agreement. A funeral to plan. He weighed all of his options of what to do next. The only thing that made sense was to return to Dallas and the real estate business. She'd made sure he'd have that waiting for him—and Owen. By the time he got back home, Mr. Mattison's car was parked in the drive. The attorney didn't waste time. Dante didn't blame him. Bea's interests needed to be protected.

Unable to deal with legal issues at the moment, Dante went in the back door, climbed the stairs to Owen's room, and found him asleep at the computer. "Hey. Wake up."

He roused. "What?"

"Bea's gone."

Owen rubbed his eyes. "What do you mean she's gone?"

Dante's lip quivered. "She died. A few hours ago." He'd fooled himself into thinking he wouldn't cry anymore. No luck. He slumped down onto the end of the bed and hung his head. "Sorry."

Owen sat next to him and slid his hand around his shoulders. "You cared about her. It'd be weird if you weren't upset."

Dante swiped his hands across his eyes. "I married her for money."

"Sure you did. But you were good to her."

He shook his head. "You don't understand," he wailed. "I literally married her for money. It was a business deal. She offered me a 100K and some incentives to stay with her for a year or her death. Whichever came first."

"Oh—so she asked you? I just assumed you went after her."

He hunched over, head in his hands. "She had an inoperable brain tumor and didn't want to die alone. I don't think I can sit through a funeral and have everyone judge me as a money grabbing sugar baby. I mean it's one thing for people to think it, but to be in the room with all of them while they think it—is too much." Silence reigned supreme for several moments, nothing but the sound of their combined breathing and Dante's sniffles. "As long as I had her by my side, I didn't give a shit what people thought because she didn't. Now—I—I don't know. Somehow what they think about me will affect the way they'll remember her. You know what I mean?'

He wiped his eyes again. "It's like they'll forget all the good she's done. And how kind she was. They'll only remember her as the rich woman suckered into marrying a man half her age. She doesn't deserve that. She practically owns this town. She built the park. Donated to every church. She even owns most of the businesses, and get a load of this. I just found out she charges the proprietors a dollar a month lease. Those things need to be her legacy. Not me."

"Our business was part of the incentives, right?"

He nodded solemnly. "That and your rescue."

"Then it wasn't about the money, was it?"

"No. I couldn't let you come home to a failing business. I'd been a terrible manager and just about ran it into the ground. I'm smarter now. Thanks to her."

"Then it's up to you to make sure she's remembered the way you want. I'll do everything I can to help to make that happen. Seems I owe my life to her."

"Good, because I need you to go with me to face her lawyer. After that, unless you want to stay with Zari, you should pack. As soon as the service is over, I plan to head back to Dallas."

"I'll be ready."

Dante stood and walked to the door. "Come on, let's get this over with."

Downstairs, with his brother and Dash following, Dante went to the bedroom and stopped in the doorway. No sign of the nurse. Medical equipment—gone. Bea—gone. The bed—made. It was as if what happened there a few hours ago had been a bad dream.

"They've already taken her to the funeral home. It's what Bea wanted," Mr. Mattison said.

Dante and Owen turned to face the lawyer.

"You know how organized she was. She didn't want you to have to deal with all of this or anyone for that matter, so she planned everything months ago." He offered his hand to Owen. "Marshall Mattison and you're Owen, right?"

"Yes, sir. Pleased to meet you."

Mattison swung his attention back to Dante. "Let's go to the dining room. I have some things I need to go over with you."

Once seated, Dante rested his arms on the table. "What kind of service does Bea want?"

"Private. You, of course—and Owen. Me. My wife. The housekeepers."

Dante hadn't thought about what would happen to her longtime servants. He chided himself. She never referred to them that way. They were her residential staff. "What will happen to them? Since they have living quarters here—I assume the house will be put on the market."

Mattison shook his head and removed a paper from one of the stacks before him. "First things first. Bea arranged the interment for the day of her death. So the private ceremony will be this afternoon at 4pm. She'll be laid to rest next to her first husband."

Dante breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn't have to worry about sitting in a room full of mourners.

Stewart laid that paper aside and moved to one with several pages stapled together. "Before I get started on the legal stuff, I personally want to thank you."

He raised his eyebrows. Who would thank him for being a trophy husband? "For what?"

"For being the husband Bea believed you'd be. You know she and I go way back. Grew up on the same street. I'm quite a bit older, but in a small town, everyone knows everyone." He chuckled. "Anyway, I know some of her business associates thought she'd lost her mind when she married you, but not me."

"And why is that?"

"Because the reason for Bea's success was her ability to read people. She could pick up on an untapped potential better than anyone I've ever known. Be it a business investment or an individual. So when she told me of her unorthodox proposal, I didn't question it. As usual, she was right. Not sure she would have lasted as long as she did without you."

"I think you give me too much credit."

"No. You put Jillian in her place when she came on to you at her husband's party. Then your gut feeling to pass on that deal. That paid off big time since he got arrested three weeks later for discrimination in the workplace."

"How—"

"Did I know about those things? As I said, I've known Bea since she was a kid. Lawyer plus closest friend equals—she pretty much told me everything."

He flipped the top page. "Bea bequeathed money to the city, each local church, her favorite charities, as well as the staff." He opened a white envelope and slid a check across the table to Dante. "This is the check for completing your contract."

Dante stared at it. It wasn't the biggest check he'd handled. In the real estate business, there'd been plenty much larger. Just none with his name on them. "As soon as the service is over, I'll be headed back to Dallas. Since the Vette and motorcycles are in my name, Owen can drive one, and I'll drive the other. That way, I won't have anything left here at the house. You can list it as early as tomorrow."

"Well, that will be up to you, not me."

"Why is that? Did she leave the house to me?"

"She did. Along with everything else."

Well, if you liked Bea, sorry.

If you didn't like Bea, sorry.

Think Maia and Dante will happen now, or has that ship sailed?

TEASER: "Until I find out why I was targeted."