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matter.’ Her accompanying smile was strained. ‘It at least explains why I sensed you didn’t like me.’

Her eyes clouded as they travelled back to the letters and Owen’s temples throbbed. Her mother had deliberately kept them from her. Why would she do that? There must have been seriously bad blood between the two women. It was beyond him to understand why Donna had refused to patch things up when Frances had proffered an olive branch, though. They were family! Family should mean something.

‘Did Frances ever speak about my mother and me?’

He shook his head. And he’d never asked. He’d known that Frances had been married twice, and that she had a daughter, but his mother had warned him never to pry into Frances’s affairs. They’d been so grateful to her, and neither of them had wanted to cause her pain or discomfort. It had been unspoken, but they’d both known that Frances’s family was the one topic that was off-limits.

He’d respected her privacy. Wishing he’d done otherwise now was pointless. She’d never have told him anything anyway, and he’d have only vexed her.

‘I guess these now belong to me.’ Callie gathered her letters into a pile. ‘Which means I’m free to read them.’

He gestured at Donna’s letters as Callie collected them up and returned them to the drawer. ‘What are you going to do with those?’

‘I haven’t a clue. I’ve a feeling my mother should read them.’

‘But…?’

She swung round and the light from the windows caught the auburn highlights in her hair. ‘My mother isn’t an unreasonable woman, Owen. She’s…lovely. She’s smart and fun and I respect her. We’re close.’ She moved back to trace a finger across the letters. ‘I’m beyond shocked to find she’s kept these from me. It goes against everything I know about her.’

He rested his elbows on his knees, searching her face. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying she must have a very good reason for not wanting me ever to meet or even know about Frances.’

He stiffened. ‘Then she’d be wrong.’

They were both suddenly on their feet, eyes flashing and breathing hard.

‘Of course that’s what you’d say. You only knew the best of her.’

‘In the same way you only know the best of your mother.’

She wheeled away. ‘The fact is neither of us knows what happened between them.’

That was true enough. He’d loved Frances, but she’d been far from perfect. Still, she hadn’t been imperfect enough to not be forgiven by her own flesh and blood.

Callie folded her arms. ‘I have a feeling I’m not going to like Frances.’

He scowled back. What right did she think she had to judge her grandmother?

‘That’s right. Keep an open mind. Doesn’t the fact that she’s left you ridiculously wealthy mean anything?’

‘I’m not keeping the inheritance if I don’t like her!’

What?

‘You signed the paperwork!’

‘If I hadn’t, what would’ve happened to the money, huh? Would it have gone to a cats’ home?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t have anything against cats, but I can direct that money into better channels.’

‘Like…?’

‘Amnesty and the Red Cross…and that charity that distributes mosquito nets—it’s a far from sexy one, but it’s rated as getting great results.’

‘The Against Malaria Foundation?’

‘Yes! That one.’

They stared at each other, a little nonplussed. He shook himself. While Callie might’ve named three of his personal favourite charities, it was not what Frances had wanted her to do with the money.

‘You’d really give the money away? The amount Frances has given you is life-changing.’

‘Maybe I don’t want my life changed.’

Something hard settled in the pit of his stomach. Frances would hate this outcome, and he was going to do everything he could to prevent it. By the time he was through with her, Callie Nicholls was going to acknowledge that her grandmother was a saint. Okay, maybe not a saint, but—

‘Do you want it?’ she asked.

He recoiled. ‘No!’

She spread her hands as if that explained it all.

The reasons behind her initially tepid reaction to her inheritance hit him then. He’d thought she’d been hoping for more—for everything. He’d thought she’d been disappointed in the legacy Frances had left her. Instead, she’d been interested in Frances herself.

He dragged in a breath. While he already had his own twenty million dollars—and the rest—would he be able to just walk away from that sum, as Callie was threatening to do?

‘The money doesn’t have to be life-changing. It doesn’t have to mean anything,’ Callie said. ‘Signing Mr Dunkley’s paperwork will simply make accessing information easier. And frankly, Owen, that’s all I’m interested in.’

‘What kind of information are you after?’ he asked.

While he might have been wrong about her returning Frances’s letters, that didn’t mean Callie Nicholls wasn’t still trouble with a capital T.

CHAPTER THREE

EVER SINCE CALLIE had entered Frances’s apartment, she’d grown more and more aware of Owen. Maybe it was because the apartment was an undeniably feminine space. Not in a pink and frilly way, but there were vases dotted about, waiting for flowers, scented candles lined the windowsills, and a plethora of cushions covered the sofas—more cushions than a man would ever put up with. Furthermore, the bookcase overflowed with novels—most of them romance and women’s fiction.

The apartment was a feminine space, and Owen was undeniably masculine.

Or maybe it was the fact that she now understood why he’d been so angry, even though he’d tried to hide it. He’d thought she’d callously shunned a woman he’d cared about deeply. She didn’t blame him for feeling the way he had.

What on earth had happened between her mother and Frances?

A chill chased across her scalp. Maybe she should leave the past where it was and not disturb it. Except…

She wanted to know, ached to learn all she could.

Here was a chance to discover where she came from, to find out if she had any other family and fill in all the blanks she’d been hungry to fill as a child. Here was a chance to finally get to the bottom of a mystery that had chafed at her for her entire childhood.

For as