Always in Her Heart

Chapter Three

Gratitude mingled with her apprehension as Annie walked toward the courthouse the next day. She’d expected to be accompanied by only Link and the attorney. She’d thought she’d feel very much the outsider in the redbrick courthouse that was one of a row of similar buildings—town hall, public library, courthouse—that lined one side of the square.

Instead, Pastor Laing had turned up at the house early, saying he thought they might need moral support at such a difficult time. And Nora Evers, hat firmly in place on her white hair, had marched out of her house to join them.

The support helped, especially after the mostly sleepless night she’d endured. She’d been so aware of her responsibility for Marcy that even putting the baby monitor next to her pillow wouldn’t relieve her concerns.

She shouldn’t try to fool herself. Some of her sleeplessness had to be chalked up to Link’s presence in the house as her husband. Husband. The word reverberated in her thoughts. That had to have been one of the strangest wedding nights in history.

She hadn’t expected anything else. Of course not, she assured herself quickly. This was a business arrangement, not a marriage. That fact hadn’t lessened her awareness of Link’s presence. Even after his bedroom door had closed, her awareness had remained. Maybe soon, she’d get used to it. Maybe.

“Are you okay?” Link, carrying the baby, glanced at her as their little procession crossed the street.

Was she? “My stomach feels like I’m walking into an IRS audit without my notes.”

His smile flickered. “As bad as that?”

She nodded. “What if…”

Link took her hand in a reassuring grip. “Let’s not venture into what-ifs, not until we have to. That’s what we have an attorney for.”

“That’s right.” Chet mounted the three steps to the courthouse’s double doors and held one side open for them. He smiled, but Annie thought she detected tension in him, as well. Maybe Chet wasn’t as confident of the outcome as he’d like them to believe.

She entered the tiled, echoing hallway. Ahead of her a cluster of people stepped into the elevator— Frank, Julia and a woman who was probably their attorney. Her heart jolted.

Please, Lord, be with us this morning. We are doing the right thing, aren’t we? Don’t let them take Marcy away.

Link’s tension vibrated through the hand that clasped hers.

“Looks as if they’re not giving up easily.” His grip tightened.

“We didn’t expect them to, did we.” Now it was her turn to try and sound reassuring. She didn’t feel assured. She felt panic-stricken.

“I guess not.” Link waited until the door had closed and the elevator was carrying the Lesters upward before pushing the button.

“Do you think the judge knows the Lesters?” That was probable, given how small the town was. Maybe this would be over before it began, a victim of the Lakeview old boys’ network.

“Judge Carstairs knows everyone in town,” Chet said, answering the question before Link could say anything. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t be fair. After all, she’s always dealing with people she knows.”

Somehow she hadn’t been thinking of the judge as a woman. She didn’t know whether to be reassured by that or not. Would it make any difference in the way Judge Carstairs viewed a custody case?

She worried at it all the way up in the elevator, into the courtroom with its lofty ceiling and murals of Revolutionary War scenes, right into her seat behind a polished table. The judge’s bench rose intimidatingly, towering above them.

She’d pictured someone elderly and severe, but Judge Carstairs couldn’t have been more than fifty. Her glossy dark hair swung around a face that was discreetly made up, and the hand that wielded the gavel sported polished nails.

The judge looked down at the papers in front of her, then questioningly from one attorney to the other. “I thought this was a routine custody hearing for a minor child.”

The Lesters’ attorney stood. “Frank Lester and his wife contest awarding custody to the aunt, Your Honor. As you may be aware, Mr. Lester is the cousin of the child’s father.”

Judge Carstairs frowned. “What I may be aware of isn’t pertinent, Counselor.” She nodded toward the door at the side of the courtroom. “Let’s move this into my chambers.”

Annie sent a startled glance at Chet, who shrugged.

“She does things her way,” he murmured. “All we can do is go along.”

They trooped out of the courtroom and into a book-lined room that looked like an elegant library in a private home. The judge took a seat behind the desk and waved them all to chairs. She glanced at Pastor Laing. “Garth, are you here to testify in this case?”

“I’m here as little Marcy’s pastor,” he said, sitting down next to Link. “I’m concerned that we do what’s best for her, that’s all.”

The judge’s dark gaze rested on him for a moment, then she nodded.

Annie tried to find something hopeful in that. The pastor’s body language put him in their camp. She didn’t know what they’d done to deserve that, but she was grateful.

“All of us want what’s best for the child.” Judge Carstairs’s face softened in a smile as she glanced at Marcy, sitting contentedly on Link’s lap.

Annie moved the diaper bag a little closer to her side. She’d come prepared with crackers, a pacifier, a cup of milk, a book, toys. The last thing they needed was for Marcy to have a cranky spell in the middle of this hearing.

“So,” the judge continued, “we’re going to have a nice, informal little conversation about the situation and try to figure out what that best is.”

“Your Honor…” the Lesters’ attorney began.

Judge Carstairs frowned. “You have some objection to that, Ms. Marshall?”

“No, Your Honor. But I’d like to point out that my clients haven’t had an opportunity to prepare their case. This has come up very suddenly. Naturally, as the deceased’s closest living relatives, they expected the child would come to them. They’re a married couple, they’re lifelong members of the community and Mr. Lester has an interest in the deceased’s company.”

Indignation flooded through Annie. The woman was talking as if only Davis’s death had any significance.

Then she realized the judge was looking right at her.

“You have something to say, Ms.—” She glanced down at the file in front of her. “Ms. Gideon, is it?”

Annie felt the pressure of Link’s hand clasping hers. “I’m Ann Gideon Morgan,” she said firmly. “My sister, Becca Conrad, was the baby’s mother. I’ve been taking care of Marcy since the accident, and I believe my husband and I are the logical people to continue to do so.”

My husband and I. It was the first time she’d used the phrase, and it sounded odd to her ears. She could only hope that feeling wasn’t obvious to the others in the room.

The judge’s gaze moved from her face to Link’s with what seemed to be a sharpening of interest. Annie’s nerves clenched. What was the woman going to ask her? If she asked about the circumstances of their wedding, what could she say?

“Your Honor, this marriage—”

The judge cut Frank’s words short with a sharp gesture. “This proceeding is informal, as I said. But I still ask the questions.” She turned back to Annie. “Your marriage was rather sudden, wasn’t it? Will you tell me how it came about?”

Please, let me say the right thing.

At some level she was ashamed to be clinging so tightly to Link’s hand, but she couldn’t seem to let go.

“I’ve known Link for over eight years.” She could only be surprised that she sounded so calm. “We were both very close to my sister and her husband. After the—” Her voice caught suddenly and she had to pause before she could continue. “After the accident, we felt the best thing for the baby we both love was to be married. Pastor Laing conducted the ceremony yesterday.”

“I see.” Her gaze rested thoughtfully on them. “Mr. Morgan, do you have anything to add?”

Link’s hand twitched, but she was the only one to know that.

“Only that no one could be a better mother to this little girl than Annie, Your Honor.”

He looked down at Marcy as he spoke, and she smiled up at him as if she understood. Then she turned to Annie, holding out her hands commandingly. “Nan,” she said.

Annie lifted Marcy onto her lap, feeling a wave of love. Surely the judge would see how much she cared, wouldn’t she?

Judge Carstairs folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “I think I’ve heard as much as I need to hear at this time.”

At this time? The words sounded an alarm in Annie’s mind.

“Your Honor, we haven’t had an opportunity to present our case,” Frank’s attorney said.

“You’ve already pointed out that you haven’t had time to prepare your case,” Judge Carstairs said. “I’m not inclined to take the child out of an established relationship.”

A wave of relief swept Annie.

“However, I’m also not going to make a decision that affects the future of a child in a hurry.”

Annie looked at Chet, but if he knew what the judge had in mind, his face didn’t show it.

“Therefore, in the matter of the infant child Marcy Amanda Conrad, I’m ordering that she remain in the custody of her aunt and uncle, Ann and Lincoln Morgan, until such time as a full custody hearing can be held.” She frowned at a calendar on her desk. “We’ll set a hearing date in a month’s time. That will allow both sides to prepare their arguments and also allow Children’s Services to conduct an evaluation of the home Mr. and Mrs. Morgan are providing. The Lesters will have visitation, also observed by Children’s Services. That’s all.”

Annie sank back in her chair. She could vaguely hear Frank protesting, being hushed by his attorney. Link seemed to be saying something to Chet. All she could do was try and take it in.

There was no decision, either for or against them. She forced herself to look at Link. His set face probably hid feelings as appalled and shocked as hers.

She wouldn’t be going back to Boston with Marcy today. She’d spend the next four weeks living in Lakeview with Link, trying to pretend to the world that they were just like any other newly married couple. And knowing that at any moment a social worker could decide she wasn’t doing a good enough job and take Marcy away from her.

Link stirred restlessly in the leather chair in the family room. It was a comfortable chair, but he couldn’t seem to find comfort at the moment. What he wanted to do was throw on some shorts and go for a run, then go back to his quiet apartment.

He couldn’t. Because of the judge’s ruling, he was stuck here, trying to figure out how he and Annie were going to deal with this situation for the next month.

Chet had come over for a conference after they’d gotten Marcy to bed—a council of war was more like it. He’d been cautiously optimistic about the results of the hearing.

“…wouldn’t have given you even temporary custody if she hadn’t felt you were the right people to have Marcy,” he was saying reassuringly.

Impossible to tell if Annie felt reassured. She sat very erect in the bentwood rocking chair, still and collected. The Annie who had gripped his hand so tightly during the hearing was submerged beneath that composed exterior she wore so well.

For an instant he felt annoyed with her for not showing more distress at the way things had blown up in their faces. Talk about irrational. Would he be happier if she were having hysterics? It was just as well that Annie kept her feelings to herself, given the situation they were in.

Chet glanced at him. “As far as I can see, the best thing the two of you—well, the three of you—can do is stay right here in Davis and Becca’s house. It comes to Marcy anyway, and I’m sure it was the judge’s intention that she not be moved.”

Link gave a wistful thought to his small apartment, then dismissed it. He nodded toward the bright plastic slide and playhouse in the backyard, visible through the French doors of the family room. “We certainly couldn’t fit that into my place. And I doubt Annie would like my decor.”

A sudden smile broke through the somber expression on Annie’s face. “Becca said it was decorated in early motel.”

“Actually it’s the furniture that was there when I moved in. I always thought someday I’d get around to having a house of my own.”

But not Davis’s house. It didn’t feel right to be sitting in this warm family room without Davis opposite him.

“That’s settled, then,” Chet said. “You’ll stay here, carry on like any normal family.”

“We need to talk about the company.” That probably sounded abrupt, but he had to know where they stood.

Chet glanced toward Annie, probably thinking he wouldn’t want to discuss this in front of her. “I could meet you at the office tomorrow.”

“No. Annie’s just as involved as I am in this situation. It’s Marcy’s future we’re talking about, after all.” Again he pictured Davis sitting in the chair opposite him. Protecting Marcy’s future meant protecting the company.

Annie stirred. “I know you said that Frank had bought a share in the company. But I don’t understand why anything would change now that Davis is gone.”

“Originally, Davis and I were equal partners.” He clenched the chair arms. “Actually, he put up most of the start-up money, but he insisted on a partnership.” Most of the Conrad fortune was gone by that time, but there was still enough for Davis to invest in their futures. “Then when we wanted to expand, we divided the pot. Davis and I each owned thirty percent of the company. The remaining forty percent was split among four investors—Frank, Delbert Conrad—Davis’s great-uncle, and two friends of his father, Harvey Ward and old Doc Adams. Davis was company president, I was chairman.”

“Davis’s share goes to Marcy, but with the custody still not settled…” Annie let her voice trail off.

“Exactly. It leaves us in limbo. Davis and I would vote together on any decision, and together we had a majority.” He didn’t want to voice what he’d been thinking, but he forced himself to. “Even without Marcy’s shares, Frank could outvote me if he got the rest of the board on his side. With Marcy’s share, all he’d need is his great-uncle’s vote for complete control.”

She leaned forward in the rocker. “But why would he want it? He doesn’t know anything about building, does he?”

“No.” Chet answered for him. “Frank manages the rental properties he inherited and sits on the boards of a few institutions. He likes running things. And there’s that lakefront property. He’s said more than once that it’s a potential gold mine, and I’ve had the impression lately that his expensive tastes are outrunning his income.” He stood. “All I can say is that you should continue the way you are. The rest of the board won’t rush into any changes. I certainly wouldn’t advise it.”

Link stood, too, holding out his hand. “Thanks, Chet. For everything.”

Annie joined him as Chet moved to the door. “Yes, thank you.” She managed a smile. “I don’t know how we’d have gotten through today without you.”

“Just doing my job.”

They stood together like any married couple saying good-night to a visitor. Was that what Annie was thinking, too? How were they going to do this, especially with a social worker looking over their shoulders, taking note of every mistake?

He closed the door, realizing that thought had been lurking at the back of his mind ever since the judge’s ruling. Annie, with her nice, stable, middle-class up-bringing, couldn’t possibly guess what terrors the threat of a social worker raised in his mind.

They’ll take you away and put you in a home. His mother’s voice, slurred with alcohol, sounded in his memory. Those were the words she’d always used when he got too much for her to handle.

At five or six, he hadn’t understood what she meant, but it had terrified him enough to keep him in line through yet another move to yet another rented room in another town that didn’t welcome them….

“Do you want anything to eat?” Annie gestured toward the kitchen.

“No.” He didn’t realize how sharply that had come out until he saw anger flare in her eyes.

“If you think I should have produced a six-course dinner after a day like this—”

“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking about food.”

She looked a bit mollified. “What were you thinking about? The company?”

“Not exactly.” She didn’t need to know he was remembering a childhood she couldn’t begin to imagine. “Just all we have to do to make this work.”

Annie rubbed her forehead, as if the very idea gave her a headache. “Home visits, social workers. How do you prepare for something like that?”

That was certainly the last thing he wanted to discuss. “We’d better start with telling your parents what’s going on. I know your father’s worried. And then there’s your job. You’d better apply for a leave of absence.”

He stopped, realizing that Annie no longer looked tired. She just looked mad.

“We?” she said pointedly. “It sounds to me as if all those things concern me, not you.”

He picked up her hand, touching the plain gold band on her finger. “Married, remember? We have to start acting that way.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to tell me what to do.” She yanked her hand away. “But then, you’re really good at telling people what to do, aren’t you.”

Something seemed to snap inside him. “Are you still talking about the past? Get over it, Annie. We’ve got more important things to handle now.”

“Definitely more important. And that reminds me that I couldn’t trust you once before.”

He put his fists on his hips, glaring at her. All the things he’d wanted to say for years bubbled up inside him. Only now, he didn’t have any reason to keep them back. Everyone involved in his original promise was gone.

“It wasn’t a matter of trust,” he said evenly. “I made a promise.”

“A promise to do what? Keep Davis safe from unworthy females like Becca?”

He could only stare at her. Of course that was what she thought. He hadn’t given her any other possibilities.

“It wasn’t that. Don’t ever think that. Becca was probably the best thing that ever happened to Davis.” As you were to me. His first love had come back to haunt him. “It was Davis, not Becca. His parents made me promise to look out for him that summer.”

Her chin set firmly. “Did they expect you to keep him from falling in love?”

“No.” He took a breath, knowing it was time to speak. “They expected me to keep him from acting irrationally. Davis had bipolar disorder. They didn’t want him doing anything rash while he was in a manic phase. I was supposed to prevent that.”

“Bipolar disorder?” She looked up at him, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind, trying to make sense of the term. “Well, for goodness’ sake, why make such a big secret out of it? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You know that. I know that. But Davis’s parents never coped with it very well, and at the time, there was more of a stigma attached to it. And the least change in Davis’s routine could trigger a problem.”

“And Becca was a trigger?” She flared up again, anger making her eyes bright. “You should have told me. You should have told Becca! She certainly had a right to know.”

“I couldn’t. Will you get that through your head? I knew it was dumb, but I’d promised to keep it a secret, and I keep my promises.”

Quite suddenly the anger in her eyes was drowned by tears. “Becca never told me. She did mention stress a few times, when Davis didn’t come with her on a visit, but she never explained. All these years I thought we shared everything, and she never told me about it.”

He felt helpless in the face of her tears. “She probably never thought it was necessary.”

“Necessary? I was her sister!”

He certainly had a gift for making a bad situation worse. “I mean, she probably didn’t even think about it as a problem. His medication was so much better in recent years that it rarely became an issue. I worked with him every day, and I’d nearly forgotten about it.”

Annie brushed tears from her cheeks. “I thought—” She stopped, shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s ridiculous to be falling apart over that now.”

Sympathy welled up in him. No, not sympathy. Empathy. He knew exactly what she was feeling, because he felt it, too. They were both being blindsided by grief.

He touched her cheek gently, wiping away a tear. “I don’t think that’s why, is it? But if it helps, go ahead and be mad at me.”

Her sudden smile knocked him off balance. “Can I really?”

He was being drawn into that smile. He couldn’t help himself. All the warmth Annie hid behind her cool exterior blazed in it, drawing him closer and closer.

His wife. The words seemed to twitch a chord inside him. Annie was his wife. He’d thought he was immune to what that phrase represented. He wasn’t.

That sham wedding night had been bad enough. He’d seen the wariness in Annie’s face as she’d said good-night and scurried up the stairs. He’d deliberately stayed downstairs, giving her time to settle, aware of every footstep overhead, every creak of the bed.

Then she’d been at a safe distance. Now she was inches away, her warmth drawing him closer and closer.

Oh, no. He drew back, his hand dropping away from her face. No, indeed. This business of marriage was going to be difficult enough as it was. If he let himself give in to that surge of attraction for Annie, it would be impossible.

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