I saw him standing off to one side at the funeral, but when I looked again, he was gone. I told myself it was just wishful thinking. Ingram didn’t want anything to do with me. After what I’d done on the witness stand during his court martial…he spent five years in the brig because of me.
He would never come looking for me again.
But then he showed up at the lawyer’s office, ready to collect what my father had left for him: the land my business sat on. It was like my dad was, even in death, trying to pull us back together.
The only problem was, Ingram hated me more than any person should be capable of hating another. Just looking at me made him sick. I could see it in his eyes. There was no way we’d ever make this work again…unless…thank God for hurricanes