Birthright Read Online Free Page A

sat on a huge, impeccably landscaped lot. The trees were mature and leafy, the shrubs bordering the porch dense and green. The front walk was paved in red brick and bordered by flowers some gardening service probably charged a fortune to maintain.
    Aaron supposed it made sense that Lily Bennett Holden was living in a house that could pass for a castle. She’d always been a princess. Even as a teenager, she’d carried herself with imperial confidence, the knowledge that she was a doctor’s daughter, pure of breed and positioned near the top of the social ladder. She hadn’t been arrogant, just supremely self-assured.
    He wasn’t envious of her newly inherited wealth. Envy was no longer a part of his life the way it had been when he was a kid, growing up in a cramped second-floor flat and knowing that other kids in Riverbend had nice homes with yards big enough to play in. He used to pedal his rickety old bike across town to Dr. Bennett’s house just to stare at it. But he hadn’t even known of Lily’s existence then.
    Dr. Bennett’s home had seemed mighty grand toAaron, but it was modest compared to the house Lily Holden had bought for herself. She might be devastated by the loss of her husband, but she was clearly making the best of a bad situation.
    Aaron had decided to pay her a call to see if he could convince her to make a donation to his summer program. It would be starting tomorrow, and he had enough cash in his budget to cover the basic costs of getting it off the ground. But he needed funds to hire more staff—and it would be nice if he could pay himself a salary, too.
    Aaron climbed the three steps to the porch and approached the front door, a thick varnished slab of oak with brass fittings and a small leaded-glass window. Through it he could see the entry hall. The walls were white and the stairway had a railing of polished wood and a fancy carved newel. To one side a pedestal table held a vase filled with fresh flowers.
    He rang the bell.
    No response.
    He should have phoned before coming, to see if she was home. But for some reason he’d thought it would be easier to talk to her in person than on the phone. Face to face, he’d have living breathing proof that she wasn’t the leading lady of his tormented adolescent dreams. She was just a woman. A very wealthy woman.
    He rang the bell again and waited. Nothing.
    Sighing, he turned to head back down the stairs, then changed direction and headed along the front of the wraparound porch and then down the side. If she wasn’t home, she wouldn’t object to his taking a peek at her property, would she? The house was sobig and imposing, he was curious to see what it looked like in back.
    He halted when he reached the corner where the porch continued along the rear of the house. Lily sat on a folding metal chair in front of a bridge table, ignoring the more comfortable-looking wicker chairs near by. Clad in old jeans and a baggy white T-shirt, she had one bare foot tucked beneath her. Her hair was woven into a sloppy braid that hung down her back.
    She was painting. A small easel held a sheet of stiff paper on which she’d painted half a jug and most of a pear. Beyond the bridge table he noticed a jug and a real pear perched on a stool, the models for her creation. Along with the easel, the bridge table was cluttered with jars of murky water, small cakes of paint in a palette, paintbrushes, a box of tissues and a rag.
    She was so immersed in her work, she apparently hadn’t heard his approach. He stood silently, watching her as she swirled a brush in a jar of water and wiped the bristles on the rag. Then she dipped it in the water again, dabbed the bristles against one of the cakes of paint and applied a few careful delicate brush strokes to her painting.
    It was a good rendering, although Aaron couldn’t imagine why anyone would want a painting of a jug and a pear. The jug was fat, and she gave it dimension in the painting, using areas of white and shadow