The Ashtons - Cole, Abigail & Megan

but as he really was.
    A man who had sneaked around on every wife he’d ever had. A man who made babies and then walked away. A man who hadn’t spoken to her in anything but monosyllables since the night he’d accused her of defying him. No, there was no defense for Spencer.
    Not from her.
    Not anymore.
    “God,” she whispered. “You’re right.” An admission she’d never have said out loud before now. She might have thought it, but she never would have allowed herself to be disloyal enough to say it.
    The last two weeks had apparently changed more than her love life. Megan smiled to herself as she realized that, somehow, she’d stopped looking for her father’s approval. Maybe it was just that she’d finally acknowledged that it would never happen.
    But maybe it was something more.
    Maybe it was that she’d finally discovered that having her father approve of her wasn’t as important as approving of herself. She straightened slightly in the chair and thought about that for a moment. A small ribbon of satisfaction snaked through her system and Megan smiled.
    Charlotte looked at her over the rim of her teacup and her dark-brown eyes glimmered in the late afternoon sunshine spearing through the wide window. “You’re going to be all right, aren’t you?”
    “You know?” Megan said slowly, “I think I am.”
    “I’m glad.”
    “Thanks.”
    “Glad for me, too, because now that you’ve finally accepted some of the truths about your father, I can tell you something.”
    Her voice was so serious, her features suddenly drawn into lines of tension, Megan instinctively leaned toward her. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
    “That’s just it. I don’t know.”
    “Charlotte…”
    She took a deep breath, then another swallow of her tea, as if to gather the strength to say what she had to say. “You know how your father’s always insisted that my mother died?”
    “Yeah.” Charlotte’s parents were David, Spencer’s younger brother, and Mary Little Dove Ashton, a Sioux. When David and Mary died, Spencerbrought their children, Walker and Charlotte, to live at the estate.
    “I don’t believe it,” Charlotte said softly.
    “You think your mother’s still alive?”
    “I have to find out,” she said. “I have to know one way or the other. Walker thinks I’m crazy, but Megan, something inside me is telling me not to believe your father’s version of the story.”
    Would her father really have lied about Mary Little Dove’s death? Megan wondered. And a moment later, she admitted that yes, if it had served his purposes at the time, he would have.
    Reaching one hand across the table, Megan waited until her cousin took it in a firm grip. Then, their hands joined in solidarity, Megan said, “Find out, Charlotte. And if you need any help, just call.”
    Phoebe Pearce smiled at her daughter-in-law and stood up in welcome as Megan made her way through the crowded restaurant.
    Her nerves were skittering badly, but Ashtons learned at an early age how to hide anxiety. Megan plastered a broad smile on her face and leaned down to give the tiny woman a quick kiss on the cheek. “It was so nice of you to invite me to dinner.”
    “Nonsense.” Phoebe waved one hand as she took her seat again, then deftly flicked her pearl-gray napkin across the lap of her stunning forest-green silk suit. “When I learned that Simon would be workinglate tonight, I just knew it would be a good chance for the two of us to get in a little girl talk.”
    Girl talk.
    How bad could it be?
    Phoebe seemed very nice, but Megan was still feeling the pangs of guilt for marrying the woman’s son under false pretenses. At least though, she knew that Simon had kept his word and explained the real situation to his mother.
    “Would you like a drink, dear?”
    “Wine would be nice,” Megan said.
    “Of course.” Phoebe smiled again and motioned to a waiter hovering nearby. “I should have known an Ashton would prefer wine.” She spoke quickly to the waiter and then turned back to Megan. “I’ve ordered a lovely chardonnay I think you’ll enjoy.”
    “Thank you.” Megan wished it were sitting in front of her right now, since her throat was dry and those nerves were doing a mambo up and down her spine. When those nerves hit her throat, she started talking, as if to assure herself that she was just dandy. “I do prefer chardonnay and you know, everyone thinks the grapes will be wonderful this season.”
    “I didn’t