Zinnia by Jayne Castle

out what had happened to Bartholomew Chastain. She had never returned.
    Nick had grown up in the tavern. He had learned a lot from Andy including how to stop a bar brawl, how to survive in the jungle, and the elements of honor and self-control.
    Andy was the only parent Nick had ever known. When he was thirteen he had told him that he wanted to change his last name to Aoki.
Andy gave him a long thoughtful look and then slowly shook his head. “Your mama wanted you to be a Chastain, son. And so did your pa. You need to honor their memory by respecting that.”
“I’d rather honor you,” Nick said, meaning every word.
Andy’s eyes lit with a rare warmth. “You’ve already given me more than you’ll ever know, son. It’s enough. Keep your name.”
    Andy had died a little more than three years ago, a casualty of the Western Islands Action. He had been shot dead by one of the invading pirates while defending his tavern. At the time, Nick had been deep in the jungles together with Lucas Trent and Rafe Stone-braker, hunting more of the invaders.
    Andy had died behind his cash register. The rifle at his side had been fired until it was empty. Nick had managed to shove his grief into a dark corner of his mind but he doubted if it would ever disappear entirely.
    After he had tracked down Andy’s killer, Nick had finally gotten around to sorting through the contents of the cluttered storeroom behind the tavern. The old storage shed had been crammed with memories of a life that had spanned eighty-one years. Nick had found faded photos of Andy’s long-dead wife, records of his early jelly-ice prospecting trips, business receipts, copies of Nick’s school records, and childhood artwork.
    He also found the small metal box that had belonged to his mother. The discovery had come as a stunning surprise. Andy had told him that all of her possessions had been destroyed in a fire that had consumed her house around the time of her death. But before she had left on the fatal trip to Serendipity, Sally had apparently hidden the metal box in Andy’s back room without telling him what she had done.
    Inside the box Nick had found only one item, the last letter that Bartholomew Chastain had written to Sally before he set out on the Third Expedition.
    Nick still couldn’t decide which irritated his Chastain relatives more, Sally’s defiant attempt to force them to acknowledge her son, or the fact that he had made his fortune on his own and had no interest in their wealth.
    The Chastains were accustomed to controlling people with money. Nick’s failure to ask anything of them made him, in their eyes, uncontrollable and therefore dangerous. Nick understood. He was, after all, a Chastain, himself. He figured that his own need to be in command of any given situation was probably stronger than that of all the other members of the clan put together.
    “I didn’t come here to reminisce about the past, delightful as that no doubt would be,” Nick said. “I want to know about your interest in the Chastain journal.”
    “What about it? If my brother’s private journal exists, it belongs in the family.” Orrin’s mouth tightened. “The legitimate branch of the family.”
    “I’ve done a lot of thinking since last night. No offense, Orrin, but it’s difficult to believe that you’ve suddenly developed a keen interest in family history, especially the part my father played in it.”
    “Just what in hell is that supposed to mean?”
    Nick smiled. “We both know that it was the fact that my father died out in the islands that made it possible for you to take over the reins of the family empire, wasn’t it?”
    “Bastard,” Orrin hissed.
    “Yes, but that’s old history. As I was saying, if Bartholomew Chastain had lived, you wouldn’t be sitting where you are today. What’s more, he would have married my mother and I would have become the heir apparent to Chastain, Inc. Funny how things work out, isn’t it?”
    “Bartholomew would