Free No Way to Kill a Lady by Nancy Martin

witty and protective of me and so sexy I couldn’t see straight sometimes. And he was home.
    I whispered his name and released the breath of tension—­one I realized I’d been holding for months. I probably wept, too, but soon we were laughing as he spun me around—­as giddy as teenagers cutting school together. Looking up into his vivid blue eyes, holding him close, I felt as if my heart might burst out of me.
    Spin over, he backed me gently against the refrigerator and kissed me until my knees went weak.
    As kisses went, it was pretty great. Then we smiled at each other and said a few things that hadn’t been said in a while.
    Later, we sat side by side on the back porch steps, breathing fresh air and sharing a peanut butter sandwich. Michael stretched his long legs into the sunshine and tipped his face up to the sun. Overhead, the oak trees whispered with drying leaves. It was a lush November day—­no nip of frost in the air yet, just warm sunlight and crisp wind. Emma’s speckled spaniel, Toby, rolled contentedly in the grass in front of us. Out in the pasture, Emma’s latest herd of ponies bit and kicked at one another.
    I hugged my knees, and couldn’t keep my eyes off Michael. He looked pale and a little thin through his face, but his shoulders were laced with new muscle, as if he’d spent his time in jail burning off his frustrations with exercise.
    He said, “Sorry about the broken glass.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    He shrugged, playing casual. “I lost my temper. I came down from the shower and one of Kuzik’s guys was acting like he owned the place. Using your telephone, hanging around, filling a drink from your faucet.”
    â€œYou hit him.”
    â€œNo big deal.”
    â€œThey could have carted you back to prison for that.”
    â€œKuzik saw it my way. He’s not a bad guy. So tell me what happened this morning. You came in the house white as a ghost.”
    I licked peanut butter from my fingers. “I was happy to see you.”
    He smiled. “I’m glad. But that wasn’t all of it. Something’s up.”
    â€œAll right,” I agreed. “My aunt Madeleine died last week.”
    â€œRawlins told me that much. I’m sorry.” His brow twitched into a frown. “Were you close to her? I don’t remember you saying much about a Madeleine.”
    â€œI wasn’t close, no. In fact, I hadn’t seen her since I was a child. But a funny thing has happened. She left her estate to me and my sisters.”
    Michael looked surprised. “That’s good news, right?”
    â€œIt would be good news indeed,” I agreed, “except other family members object.”
    â€œShe had kids of her own?”
    â€œA stepson,” I said. “Her husband’s child. Her husband was a distant cousin of mine, also a Blackbird.” I saw Michael’s expression and laughed. “Yes, it’s very complicated. They were not exactly related to each other, but kind of.”
    â€œI’ve got a few cousins like that myself.”
    â€œThen you know what I mean. Anyway, the stepson—­my cousin—­has already fired a warning shot. And there are other cousins who may come out of the woodwork, too.”
    â€œSo maybe you won’t inherit after all?”
    â€œMy guess is the pie will be cut into very small pieces.”
    â€œDamn. The money would have solved a lot of problems around here,” he said. “Listen, I didn’t want to come through your door with this news, but as long as we’re talking finances, this seems like the right moment to tell you. I’m broke again.”
    When I first met Michael, he was building a scattershot business empire that included a limousine service, a fly-­fishing outfitting store, a garage that supposedly fixed cars but seemed to be more a source of hard-­to-­find secondhand parts, and a used-­car