Free A Woman of Fortune by Kellie Coates Gilbert

microphones. Security quickly opened the gate and she drove through a mass of cameras flashing. When she’d safely made it through, she geared down and drove slowly toward the house.
    Max met her out front. He opened her car door. “Hey, Sis.”
    â€œHey,” she replied, hoping she didn’t look as wrecked as she felt.
    After leaving her overnight bag on the front porch, together they headed for the oak on the knoll to the right of the horse barns.
    The tree had played many roles over the years, from the perfect Alamo when Max pretended to be Davy Crockett, to Lainie’s Grauman’s Chinese Theatre when she dressed in her mother’s nightgowns and heels, and a Prell shampoo bottle became her version of the Oscar. Garrett teased and called his siblings silly, but one time they caught him up in the branches, flying the friendly skies as a pilot.
    In later years, the oak served as the place where Lainie escaped to think, at times joined by her younger brother.
    Like now.
    Lainie leaned against the sturdy trunk, pressed against Max’s shoulder, each lost in their own thoughts until an early cicada’s screechy song broke the silence.
    Lainie picked up a twig and drew a stick figure in the dirt, barely visible in the soft light of early dawn. “Max?”
    â€œYeah?”
    â€œDo you think Dad is a crook?”
    He drew a deep breath. “Funny. Mom asked me that earlier.”
    â€œShe did?”
    â€œUh-huh.”
    Lainie outlined a wedding veil on the stick figure. “What did you tell her?”
    â€œI don’t think I’ve ever seen Mom cry before.” Max picked at his thumb while staring at the ground. “She’s pretty scared.”
    â€œI am too,” Lainie said. “A grand jury indictment is a big deal, isn’t it?”
    Max nodded. “Yup. A very big deal.”
    Another cicada’s screech cut through the heated early morning air.
    â€œThe Sandells wouldn’t let me see Reece.” Lainie scratched at the dirt, erasing her drawing. She bit the tender flesh inside her cheek to keep from tearing up. “I—I think they’re going to try to call off the wedding,” she whispered. The admission, once voiced, made her ache inside.
    Suddenly Max pounded the ground with his fist. “Did he even stop to consider any of us?”
    â€œWhat are you saying, Max?”
    He huffed in disgust and stared up into the branches. “I’m saying I think our father focused on everything but his family. Sounds like he cut a lot of corners just to be rich, and we’re all going to pay the price. Especially Mom.”
    â€œSo—you think he did it?”
    Her brother turned and looked at her, misery evident in his eyes. “What do you think?”

    Dreams in the middle of the night were never more vivid than in the hours following real dreams left shattered. Claire woke fitfully, with visions of her life with Tuck sifting into her early-morning consciousness. While asleep, she’d dreamed of her honeymoon, the memories a sweet respite to a night knotted with dread.
    Unable to afford much, she and Tuck had combed rice from their hair, packed up their sprouting devotion to one another and a few pairs of jeans, and headed for Jefferson, a quaint town in eastern Texas known for their antique shops and bed-and-breakfasts.
    Tuck sold his treasured football jersey to an avid collector of Texas Longhorn memorabilia for the price of two nights at the Delta Street Inn, a quaint B&B on the edge of town. Claire giggled as Tuck carried her over the threshold and into their second-story suite decorated with a lavish brick fireplace, hardwood floors, and views of magnolia trees in bloom. They spent most of the two days nestled under a thick hand-sewn quilt or lounging in the claw-foot bathtub filled with bubbles.
    On the last night, he’d lifted her toe from the warm suds and brought it to his mouth. His kisses sent tingles