Cold Hearted. Beverly Barton

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      Jordan pressed her open palm lightly against her still flat abdomen. Dan was gone, but not lost to her forever. Not as long as the child growing inside her lived, he or she would be a link to her husband. Her son or daughter would carry on the Price name and honor a generations-old heritage. When they had discussed bringing a child into the world, Dan had prophesied that their offspring would one day be president.

      Oh, Dan, why? Why did you do this horrible thing?

      She had found out she was pregnant the day before Dan killed himself and had intended to share the news with him that evening. But after dinner, he had closed himself off in his study and she’d never seen him alive again.

      A part of her refused to believe that Dan had taken his own life; but the alternative was equally unbelievable. Yes, Dan had enemies, both personal and political, but no one truly hated him, certainly not enough to kill him.

      You have too much to deal with right now without trying to figure out what happened and why. There will be time enough for that later. You have to go downstairs and greet your guests. Dan’s friends and enemies, his associates, his family and his constituents.

      First and foremost Daniel Price had been a public servant, in one form or another, all his life, just as his father and grandfather had been. The very least she owed Dan was to uphold the family traditions and keep his untainted public image as shiny bright as it had been for the past 55 years.

      Jordan felt Devon’s presence moments before he reached out and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She sighed deeply, then forced a wavering smile and turned to look at her oldest and dearest friend.

      “People are asking about you,” Devon said. “Do you feel up to facing the mob?”

      Jordan nodded. “Almost ready. Give me a couple more minutes.”

      “It doesn’t seem real, does it? Dan gone. You and I left to—” Devon choked down his tears. “Why did he choose such a drastic solution? He should have known once he told us about the diagnosis of early-stage Alzheimer’s, we would have been there for him every step of the way. He could have had some good years still ahead of him.”

      Jordan caressed Devon’s cheek, tenderly brushing away his tears. “I don’t know. Maybe this was his way of protecting us.”

      A light tap on her half-open bedroom door alerted them that they were not alone. Devon stiffened as Jordan glanced over his shoulder and her gaze locked with Tobias Harper’s dark, penetrating glare.

      “Pardon me, Miss Jordan, but Mr. Ryan asks that you come downstairs as soon as possible.” The elderly servant, who had been in the Prices’ employ since he was a boy, had loved Dan as much as she and Devon. And like them, he had known the real Daniel Price. “Please, ma’am. Mr. Ryan needs you.”

      “Tell him I’ll be down right away.”

      Tobias nodded, then turned and disappeared up the hall.

      Devon offered her his arm.

      She shook her head. “No, you should go down first and I’ll follow in a few minutes. The last thing we want is anyone speculating about the two of us.”

      Devon’s lips lifted in a sad smile. He took her hand in his and brought it to his lips for a light kiss. Then she stood and watched as he walked away. In private, she and Devon could comfort each other, could share their grief. But in public, they had to be discreet, in honor of Dan’s memory as much as to protect themselves from gossip and ridicule.

      Squaring her shoulders, taking a deep breath, and steeling her nerves, Jordan marched out of her bedroom suite and hurried down the hall. She paused when she reached the top of the right side of the double curving staircases. The string quartet at one side of the large foyer was all but drowned out by the hum of conversation filling the foyer and both front parlors. No doubt by now, dozens of people were already milling through the dining room to partake of the lavish buffet.

      When she descended the stairs, her sister-in-law, Claire, broke away from Ryan in the receiving line and came to meet her. Sweet, lovely Claire, with her bright hazel eyes and warm smile. Her sister-in-law was also her friend. She tried her best not to envy the other woman, who was madly in love with her husband, and also had a strong marriage and an adorable three-year-old son.

      Claire circled Jordan’s waist with her arm and gave her a quick hug. “Everyone’s been asking about you.”

      “I needed a little time to myself after the graveside service.”

      “I know, but poor Ryan is on the verge of collapsing. This whole ordeal has simply been too much for him.”

      Jordan wanted to tell Claire that it had been too much for all of them, not only Ryan, but instead she said, “Why don’t you take him back to the kitchen and see if you can get him to eat a bite. I’ll take over here.”

      “Thanks, Jordan. I knew I could count on you. You’ve been our strength. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.”

      “Go…go…” She shooed Claire away. “Take care of your husband. I’ll handle everything else just fine on my own.”

      You’ve been our strength.

      How many times had Jordan been told that she was always the strong, capable, take-charge person in good times and bad? Her earliest memories were those of being a caretaker. First, when she was only ten, to her sick and dying mother, then afterward to her grieving father. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when she hadn’t been taking care of others. Perhaps that was her lot in life, her mission, her burden, her duty, the one thing at which she excelled.

      After she replaced her brother-in-law in the receiving line, Jordan lost track of time. Eventually, her hand, which had been shaken countless times, became as numb as her emotions. The only way she could make it through this evening without losing her mind was to act and react by remote control. Shake hands. Accept sympathy. Don’t cringe when someone she barely knew hugged her. Agree that Dan had been a prince of a fellow and would be sorely missed. Move on to the next person and repeat the process.

      Rick hated Price Manor on sight. The antebellum mansion was a relic from the South’s notorious past, a plantation house that had been passed down through the generations. No doubt, the Price family could trace their ancestors back to Europe, probably to nobility, albeit some of their predecessors had possibly been born out of wedlock, fathered by kings, princes, dukes and earls. Rick could trace his ancestry back to his hard-drinking, ornery grandpa Carson, whose claim to fame had been that he could whip any man in a fair fight. His father’s family home had been a Mississippi shit-shack, with a roof that leaked when it rained and floorboards so wide apart you could see the chickens pecking for worms in the rich soil under the house.

      “Looks like something out of Gone with the Wind, doesn’t it?” Nicole said as they rolled up to the front veranda and stopped.

      “Yeah,” Rick replied as he got out, handed his keys to the parking attendant and made his way around to the passenger side just as Nicole closed the door. Since it had stopped raining, he’d left the umbrella in the car. “Do your cousin and her husband live here, too?”

      “No, they live in downtown Priceville, in an old Victorian house that belonged to Ryan and Dan’s maternal grandmother.”

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