The Burning Point by Mary Jo Putney Page A

described the events of the day and passed on good wishes of people who'd asked after Tom, but with a sure instinct for noticing what wasn't being said, he asked, "What about Donovan? I assume he was there."
    "He was a pallbearer. We chatted a bit at the open house. Very civilized." Her brother had been spending much of his time at a hospice with a terminally ill friend, which gave her a good excuse to change the subject. "How is Randy doing?"
    "He went into a coma this morning. He's not expected to last more than another day or two." Tom sighed. "He was afraid of dying alone, poor kid. At least that won't happen. Half a dozen of us are taking turns sitting with him."
    She heard grief in his voice, but also acceptance. Years of volunteer hospice work had deepened his spirituality, enabling him to accept that death was as much a part of the great dance as life. Yet she selfishly wished he were here so she could take refuge in his arm as she had ever since they were toddlers.
    Deciding to concentrate on the positive aspect of what had happened, she said, "Tonight Charles Hamilton told us about the weird will Sam left, and there's some surprisingly good news. You're one of the major heirs."
    "Good God, Sam put me in his will?"
    "Mother said that he never stopped loving you."
    "You don't know what this means to me." Her brother's voice broke. "No, that's not true. You're the only one who can know what it means."
    "Sam couldn't admit he was wrong when he was alive," she said quietly. "I think this is a belated apology for being such a jerk where you were concerned."
    "He was what he was, Kate. I'm glad he was finally able to make some kind of gesture toward me. I only wish it had happened when he was alive."
    She gave her brother time to absorb the wonder of Sam's posthumous overture before she moved on to the difficult aspect of the legacy. "Though Sam finally made the gesture, don't start spending your inheritance. You and I will receive major money and Donovan will get the business, but only if some very strange conditions are fulfilled."
    "What kind of conditions?"
    "He wanted Donovan and me to live in the house on Brandy Lane for a year. Otherwise, you and I don't get a penny, and PDI will be sold to another demolition firm."
    "Sweet Jesus!" After three beats of shocked silence, Tom said, "Impossible. You can't live with Donovan. I assume you said so immediately."
    "Not yet. I'm...thinking about it."
    "For God's sake, Kate! It's only money. You and I are getting along just fine as we are, and you don't owe Donovan a damned thing."
    Tom's concern was comforting, but as her protective big brother, he lacked objectivity. The situation had too many ramifications for her to make a decision quickly. "Mother thinks sharing a house for a year might be good for both of us."
    "She wouldn't say that if she knew the whole story! Don't even think about doing this, Kate. Please."
    Tom cared little for money, but she knew that he could use Sam's legacy. Though he was a first rate computer consultant, he took on only enough projects to pay his bills. More of his time went into his volunteer work at the hospice and tutoring kids who were at risk. As his sister, Kate wanted him to have more security. With Sam's money, he could buy a place of his own. She'd love to rehab an old San Francisco townhouse for her brother.
    Sam, damn his conniving soul, had known she might do for Tom what she wouldn't do for herself. "There's a lot to consider, Tom. If I agree to Sam's conditions, Donovan and I would just be housemates. We'd hardly ever see each other."
    "That may be the theory, but can you guarantee it would be like that in practice?"
    "Life doesn't come with any guarantees beyond death and taxes."
    "Okay. Think it through. Weigh the pluses and minuses. Then say no."
    "We'll see." Kate suppressed a yawn. "I'll start by sleeping on it."
    "Do that. Give Mother my love. I'll call her tomorrow."
    "Will do. Take care, Tom." Kate hung up, weary to the