Strictly by the Book, page 1
Table of Contents
Strictly by the Book | (Silverberry Seduction Seasoned Romance Series, Book Four)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
COPYRIGHT PAGE
Also By Brenda Margriet
Strictly by the Book
(Silverberry Seduction Seasoned Romance Series, Book Four)
AN ADVENTUROUS, GO-with-the-flow historian...a scrupulous, stick-to-the-rules scientist...an attraction so wrong it’s absolutely right.
Natalie Minton’s cheerful exterior hides desperation. She’s been out of work for months when her estranged sister appears on her doorstep pleading for help. An offer to write the biography of a local political legend couldn’t come at a better time.
Rafe Talbot rejected family tradition and chose medicine over politics. When he stumbles upon evidence of a hidden scandal, his only recourse is to work alongside—and stay one step ahead of—the vivacious scholar hired to chronicle his mother’s career.
Natalie’s exuberance strikes sparks off Rafe’s steely severity, luring them to ignore the secrets shadowing their pasts...until the glare of the present exposes intolerable truths.
RECEIVE A FREE COPY of The Life She Had Before when you join Brenda’s newsletter. In this short story, a woman is torn between bitter revenge and the sweetness of a second chance. As a subscriber, you'll be the first to hear about new releases, special offers, bonus content and more! Just click here!
TO THE FRIENDS I’VE made in The Creative Academy for Writers. Your jazz hands keep me going. Thank you for your cheerful, unstinting support.
Chapter One
Swimsuit, sunscreen, sunglasses...check.
Bridesmaid's dress...check.
Empty savings account...check.
Natalie Minton bumped her wheeled carry-on down the stairs leading to her apartment building's front door. Through the glass entrance, wind whipped a billion flakes of snow around the parked vehicles already hidden under blankets of the chilly stuff. Her phone signalled a new email and she fished it out of the purse slung over her shoulder, letting go of her suitcase. The hard plastic shell emblazoned with giant neon-yellow sunflowers promptly toppled over.
“Fine. Be like that.” Using her heel, she dragged the extended handle closer as she thumbed her phone to life, scrolled to her inbox, and scowled at the latest irritating message from Raphael Talbot.
Ms. Minton:
It is unfortunate you cannot meet with me sooner than next week. If that is your first availability, then it will have to suffice. Below is my address. I will expect you at 7 pm, Monday, February 20.
Raphael Talbot
“Stuffy, arrogant jerk.” She swept back to his first equally terse email, which she'd received less than an hour ago, and re-read the text sandwiched between the same salutation and signature.
I understand my brother Otto Talbot approached you about writing a biography of our mother Eugenia Smythe Talbot Messing. I have reservations about the project that I wish to discuss with you. Thursday evening would be convenient for me.
Suppressing the urge to mimic his snobby style, she'd replied in her usual breezy and friendly way, explaining she wouldn't be available as she would be out of town attending a friend's wedding. Her attempt at appealing to his romantic side had failed, as he'd ignored her sentimental reason for delaying and simply set a second appointment, again without asking for her input.
If she hadn’t been desperate for this job, she would have sent her own curt message of rejection. Working for Mr. Raphael Talbot would be painful and irritating.
But beggars couldn't be choosers. And if she didn't find an income stream soon, a beggar she would be.
Stifling her annoyance, she confirmed the appointment in as few words as possible, dropped her phone back in her purse, and peered outside. Still no sign of Terrance Renfrew, whose husband Bennett was delivering them to the airport. Aubrey Windt and Phillip Church were getting re-married in two days on a Mexican beach, and most of the Silverberry Book Club members were attending. As a bridesmaid, Natalie hadn't felt able to refuse, even though her credit card had shrieked at the expense. Aubrey would have paid her way if she'd known the state of her finances, but her pride had taken enough blows lately. It was too shaky to accept further charity.
A woman swaddled in a dark parka appeared from behind the apartment block opposite. Arms crossed and hands tucked under her shoulders, the figure approached in a scurrying shuffle, the fur-lined hood shrouding her face. Once inside the relative shelter of the doorway, she shrugged off the covering and pressed buttons on the intercom's keypad.
Natalie stared through the glass as the phone in her hand chimed to indicate someone had buzzed her apartment. As if hearing the high-pitched peal, the woman outside turned her head and met her shocked gaze, eyes widening.
Moving slowly, like she'd been dipped in molasses, she reached for the handle and pulled the door open. Freezing air swirled in. “Shyla?”
“Thank god you're here.” Her sister—the younger sister she hadn't seen or spoken to in more than a year—stepped through the door. It clanged shut behind her. “I need two thousand dollars.”
THE DESPERATE FRENZY of the airport waiting room made Rafe Talbot's skin itch. Cabin-fevered Canadians eager to escape winter's bite made for a manic crowd. A gaggle of giggling women arrived through security, adding to the heightened atmosphere. One of them rolled her gaudy, sunflower-patterned carry-on over his toes without a backward glance. Overflowing with irritating vitality, they lay claim to a circle of seats and were joined by several indulgently smiling men ranging in age from mid-twenties to Methuselah.
Damn Elizabeth for deciding on a destination wedding. He wasn't the Mexican resort type. Not only was he far too old to enjoy unlimited alcohol and noisy pool games, he was far too...boring? Grumpy? Tetchy? But he would put up with a lot for his stepsister, and it was only three days. He'd be back to his quiet, solitary existence by Wednesday evening.
Otto flopped onto the seat beside him. “Skittle?” He held out the crinkly bag he'd just purchased from a vending machine.
Rafe waved it off and dove back into the conversation they'd been having before his older brother had reverted to childhood and needed a nuclear-coloured sugar fix. “I'm not saying Mom doesn't deserve to have her biography written. But maybe now isn't the right time.”
“You were gung-ho when I mentioned it in December. What changed?”
Nothing. And everything. He remained silent.
“Anyway, it has to be now.” Otto tilted his head back and tossed another hard-shelled candy into his mouth, his blond hair flashing in the waiting room's bright lights. “It will take several months to get it written and published, but we could have it out by the anniversary of her death next year if we push it.”
Rafe had grown up in Otto's golden shadow. With his almost black hair and olive skin, he was the dark to his brother's light. And it wasn’t only their contrasting looks. Everyone liked outgoing and friendly Otto, and success came easy and often to him. As for himself...well, not so much.
“Aren't you planning to announce your candidacy for the election then?” Rafe hated politics, but Otto had embraced the family's long-standing tradition. While he hadn't yet attempted to run for provincial office, he was heavily involved in his party and one of their most successful fundraisers.
“I need to get the nomination first.” His tone held affectionate condescension at Rafe's ignorance. “Since the opposition took the seat in the election last year, there will be competition from within the party for who will replace Aubrey Windt. I'll need all the support I can drum up in order to be chosen. If you think I'm riding on Mom's coattails, getting some buzz for myself by promoting her biography, you're right. She'd be the first to encourage me to use every advantage I have.”
That was the truth. Their mother had had a take-no-prisoners approach to politics. The trouble was, Rafe had recently discovered exactly how far she had gone to secure her own political career...and if the world found out, Otto's dreams would be shattered.
Which was why he couldn’t let the biography be published, let alone written. If he put up enough road blocks, maybe his brother would forget all about it. “Where did you find this writer, anyway? What are her credentials for a project like this?” He didn't mention Natalie Minton's unprofessional reply to his request for a meeting. She'd come across like a scatterbrained teenager, not the sober, serious person who could be trusted to write a sober, serious biogr aphy.
“Actually, Aubrey recommended her. Natalie ran both her campaigns and was in charge of her constituency office. She has several degrees, including one in Library Science and another in Political Science, and has been in between jobs since the last election.”
A librarian? And a politically astute one at that? Rafe frowned. That didn't sound like the woman who had written that first email.
A burst of laughter startled him and he shot a glare at the eclectic group he'd noticed before. The woman with the sunflower carry-on had her head back, wide mouth curled with laughter, dark eyes behind heavy frames flashing with delight.
A pang of—desire? jealousy?—flared in his chest. When was the last time he'd laughed with such abandon? And why did he suddenly feel his life was missing something important?
Shrugging off the unusual and unwanted sensation, he turned back to Otto. “I'll reserve judgment until I meet her next week. But I seriously wish you'd reconsider the whole thing.”
“You always expect the worst. Don't worry. Everything will be fine.” Otto winked, blue eyes gleaming. His charm worked on constituents, colleagues, and competitors, but Rafe no longer hero-worshipped his older brother. More than forty years of it had made him immune.
NATALIE'S SEAT WAS next to the window in the same row as Helen Mansfield and her husband, Nathan Spieth, the founders of the Silverberry Book Club. The other members, along with Aubrey and Phillip's family, were scattered about the plane.
The only Silverberry not attending the wedding was Lynn Kolmyn. She was seven months pregnant and her husband Benjamin had put his foot down, backed up by her doctor. Not that she'd fought the decree. Lynn was nothing if not practical, and at forty-two years old knew her pregnancy was at risk for increased complications. She would never take unnecessary chances.
Natalie had joined the Silverberry Book Club after her divorce a few years ago and didn't know what she would have done without the friends she'd made there. She had known Helen before then, and quickly did the math as she buckled her seatbelt. It was sixteen years since they'd first met, and fourteen since Natalie had lived with Helen and her first husband during her final semester of university. She'd never forget the older woman's stable, comforting presence during that tumultuous time.
Shyla's sudden appearance that morning had thrown her off her stride. In the waiting room, she'd done her best to exhibit the same excitement as the other Silverberries, laughing when it seemed appropriate, smiling constantly. But if she were honest, she couldn't remember what anyone had said.
Once the plane was in the air droning its way south, she tried to focus on her e-reader, and then a game on her phone, and then by flipping through the in-flight magazine. Nothing distracted her from the dread hovering like an icy cloud over her shoulder. Finally, she turned to Helen. She was the only Silverberry who knew about Shyla's issues. Not even Aubrey knew the whole story. If she didn't discuss it with someone, her brain was going to vibrate out of her skull.
She nudged Helen's arm. The older woman looked up from her book. “Do you mind if we talk a minute?” She spoke just loudly enough to be heard over the hum of the plane.
Helen immediately closed her paperback. “I've been waiting for you to say something. You've been fidgety the whole flight.”
“I know. Sorry.” Natalie scratched her fingernail on the metal armrest between them, picking at a flaking, discoloured patch. “Shyla showed up at my apartment. Just before Terrance and Bennett picked me up.”
“Oh.” Helen's eyes searched her face, her head with its short cap of silver hair tilted. “Have you seen her recently?”
“Not for a year. More, actually. Two Christmases ago.” And hadn't that been a disaster. Their parents had been so happy to have both their daughters home. The peace lasted for two hours, until Shyla re-appeared after a trip to the bathroom stoned out of her mind, lethargic and yet combative at the same time.
“What did she want?” Natalie raised her eyebrows and Helen shook her head. “Of course she wanted something. I'm guessing money, as that seems to be her pattern.”
“Two thousand dollars. She says it's to reserve a place in a rehab program.” Natalie didn't have two thousand dollars lying around. She'd received a decent pay cheque as the executive administrator of Aubrey's constituency office, but that job had ended last May and it was now February. Temporary work at the local university and government employment insurance had supported her since then, though neither were generous enough to allow her to stockpile funds.
“She's done rehab before.” Helen's tone was neutral.
“Yes. But before it was me or Mom and Dad pushing her to go.” Except on one other occasion, one that haunted her to this day. She shied away from the memory. The possibility she might have the chance to rectify that mistake made her dizzy with hope and nauseous with remorse.
“What did you tell her?”
As much as she’d wanted to give her sister what she’d asked for right away, it hadn’t been possible. “That she'd have to wait until I got back from Mexico.” That hadn't gone over well. Shyla had accused her of purposely spending the rehab money on a tropical vacation, which was illogical given Natalie had had no clue she was in town, let alone going to show up on her doorstep. Not that Shyla was ever logical, especially when in the grip of her current drug of choice.
Helen patted her hand. “That gives you time to decide what to do. I hope it doesn't ruin your holiday.”
It would. It already had. Shyla's addictive habits had ruined many things in her life, from family celebrations to Natalie's marriage. It was a sickness, and if Shyla had cancer Natalie would pay anything to cure her. Years of being taken advantage of, though, had chipped away at her faith and patience. Still, she couldn't give up on her sister. She’d done that once with tragic, near-fatal consequences.
She smiled at Helen. “Thanks for listening. I'll let you get back to reading.”
She felt a little guilty not telling the other woman everything, but knew her friend's answer would be the same, no matter what the amount. Shyla hadn't asked for only two thousand dollars. She'd asked for fifteen thousand more to pay for the first thirty days of the program.
Otto Talbot had offered her twenty thousand dollars to write his mother's biography. She'd looked on it as a delightful windfall on which to rest while searching for a more permanent position. Now it would be just enough to give her a tiny buffer after paying for Shyla's treatment.
And she still had to convince Raphael Talbot she was the perfect person for the project. A project she now needed to secure more desperately than ever.
Chapter Two
Rafe hadn't given up on talking Otto out of the biography, but had no time to continue his campaign after they arrived at the resort. Their stepsister Elizabeth—the only child of their mother's second husband Randall Messing—had planned every minute of their days, including a whale-watching tour, tequila tasting, and the bachelor party for her fiancé Jude Goldman the night before the wedding ceremony.
Elizabeth had been six years old, quiet, shy, and still grieving her mother's death, when he first met her. Rafe had been nineteen, also grieving his father, and stunned by his mother's rapid remarriage. Otto had been twenty-one and at school in Toronto, but Rafe had elected to go to the local university and was living at home. Seeing a reflection of himself in his precocious stepsister, they'd forged a strong sibling bond despite their age difference. Their connection had waxed and waned as life went on, but the foundation was there, and he was deeply satisfied to see her fall in love with a good, steady man like Jude.
Rafe might not deserve happiness, but Elizabeth definitely did.
She'd elected to have photos done before the evening formalities so they could catch the dramatic Pacific Ocean sunset. All the guests had been instructed to attend, and Rafe posed and smiled as directed. When the sun drew close to the distant curve of the earth, the bridal couple headed off with the photographer, set to return in an hour for the torchlight beach ceremony.
