Together for the first time in one volume, two marriage of convenience stories from New York Times bestselling authors Christine Rimmer and Allison Leigh!

The Marriage Conspiracy

Joleen Tilly is facing every mother’s worst nightmare—a custody battle for her son, Sam. When Sam’s grandparents demand she turn over her son, Joleen turns to her best friend, Detective Dekker Smith, for comfort. Instead, he offers an astonishing solution: a most convenient marriage! But will Joleen be able to contain her growing love for her in-name-only husband?

The Billionaire’s Baby Plan

To save her family’s fertility clinic, Lisa Armstrong agrees to have venture capitalist Rourke Devlin’s baby. First, though, she has to become Mrs. Rourke Devlin! Rourke wants a family the old-fashioned way and marriage will give them both what they want. But their temporary arrangement blossoms into something much deeper and their agreement could be threatened.

The Marriage Agenda
The Marriage Conspiracy
Christine Rimmer
The Billionaire's Baby Plan
Allison Leigh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

THE MARRIAGE CONSPIRACY

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

THE BILLIONAIRE’S BABY PLAN

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

The Marriage Conspiracy

A New York Times bestselling author, Christine Rimmer has written over ninety contemporary romances for Harlequin. Christine has won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award and has been nominated six times for the RITA® Award. She lives in Oregon with her family. Visit Christine at christinerimmer.com.

Look for more books from Christine Rimmer in Harlequin Special Edition—the ultimate destination for life, love and family! There are six new Harlequin Special Edition titles available every month. Check one out today!

For those who sought friendship and found lasting love.

Chapter 1

It was hot, without a hint of a breeze. Mid-October and it felt like the dog days of August. The wedding guests wandered beneath the sweet gums and pecan trees that shaded Camilla Tilly’s backyard, faces shining with sweat, sipping cold drinks in which the ice melted too soon.

Joleen Tilly, Camilla’s oldest daughter and sister to the bride, stood at the cake table from which she’d just shooed away three frosting-licking children. Joleen felt as if she was melting in her ankle-length rose-colored satin and lace bridesmaid’s gown.

And she couldn’t help suspecting that the cake was melting, too. The icing looked thinner, didn’t it, in a couple of places? The cake had five layers, each bordered with icing swags and accented with buttercream roses. Hadn’t the top four layers slid sideways the tiniest bit, wasn’t the whole thing leaning to the right, just a little?

Joleen shook her head—at the cake, at her own discomfort, at the whole situation. She had tried to convince her sister to rent a hall, but DeDe dug in her heels and announced that she’d always dreamed of getting married in Mama’s backyard. There was no budging DeDe once she dug in her heels.

So here they all were. Melting.

And way behind schedule. The ceremony was supposed to have started an hour ago. But Dekker Smith, the closest thing the Tilly sisters had to a big brother and the one who had promised to give DeDe away, had yet to arrive.

As Joleen stewed about the missing Dekker, about the cake, about the sweltering heat, her uncle Hubert Tilly wandered over, beer in hand. He stood beside her, leaned her way and spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “It’s about time we got this thing started, don’t you think?”

“Yes. And we will, Uncle Hubert. Real soon.”

“Good.” Her uncle lifted his beer to her in a toast. “Here’s to you, Joly. We all know it’s bound to be your turn next.” He threw back his big head and drank.

Joleen, who sometimes got a little tired of hearing how it would be “her turn next,” smiled resolutely and watched uncle Hubert’s Adam’s apple bounce up and down as he drained the can.

“Well, what do you know?” Uncle Hubert said when he was through guzzling. “It’s empty.” The can made groaning, cracking sounds as he crushed it in his beefy fist. “Better get another…” He headed off toward the coolers lined up against the garden shed. Joleen watched him go, hoping he wouldn’t get too drunk before the day was over.

She turned her attention to the cake again and decided that it should not sit out here in this heat for one minute longer. Her mother’s Colonial Revival house had been built in 1923. But thirty years ago, when her father bought it, one of the first things he’d done to it was to put in central heat and air.

She grabbed herself a couple of big, strong cousins—a Tilly, from her father’s side and a DuFrayne, from her mother’s. “Pick up that cake table,” she told them. “And do it carefully.”

The cousins lifted the table.

“Okay, good. This way…” Joleen backed toward the kitchen door slowly, patting the air with outstretched hands and speaking to her cousins in soothing tones. “Watch it…careful…that’s right.…” She opened the door for them and ushered them into the coolness of her mother’s kitchen. “Watch that step. Easy. Good.”

Once she’d closed the door behind them, she led them to the little section of wall on the far side of the breakfast nook. “Right here, out of the way. Just set it down easy.” The cousins put the table down.

Joleen let out a long, relieved sigh. “Perfect. Thank you, boys.”

“No problem,” said Burly, the DuFrayne cousin. His full name was Wilbur, but everyone had always called him Burly. “When’s this thing getting started, anyway?”

“Soon, real soon,” Joleen promised, thinking about Dekker again with a tightening in her tummy that was a little bit from irritation and a lot from worry.

Dekker had called yesterday afternoon and left a message on the machine at Joleen’s house. He said he wouldn’t make it for the rehearsal, after all, but that he’d be there in plenty of time for the wedding. Joleen wished she’d been home when he called. She would have gotten some specifics out of him—like a flight number and an arrival time, for starters.

And maybe even an idea of what the heck this particular trip was about, anyway. Dekker had told her nothing so far. The last time she’d actually spoken to him, early last Wednesday morning, he would only say that he was leaving for Los Angeles right away. He’d promised he’d be back in time for the rehearsal—which, as it turned out, he was not.

Joleen assumed it must be a business trip. A lot of his clients insisted on strict confidentiality, so that would account for his being so hush-hush about the whole thing. And sometimes, she knew, his job could be dangerous. Was this one of those times?

Joleen pushed that scary thought right out of her mind.

She’d tried more than once to reach him on his cell. And each time she did, she got a recorded voice telling her that the “customer” wasn’t available and offering her the chance to leave her name and number. She had left her name and number. But she’d never heard back.

“Joly, you are lookin’ strained,” said the Tilly cousin, whose name was Bud. “You okay?”

“Well, of course I am.” She arranged her face into what she hoped resembled a confident smile. “Help yourselves to a beer. There’s plenty. Outside in the coolers. And right there in the fridge, too.”

Bud and Burly turned for the refrigerator. Joleen went out the kitchen door again, into the blistering backyard.

Her aunt LeeAnne DuFrayne, Burly’s mama, was standing under one of the two patio ceiling fans, holding the front of her dress out at the neck so that the fan’s breeze could cool her a little. As Joleen went by, Aunt LeeAnne let go of her dress and caught Joleen’s arm.

“You have done a beautiful job here, hon.”

“You’re a sweetheart to say so, Aunt LeeAnne. Too bad it’s so darn hot.”

“You can’t control the weather, hon.”

“I know, I know.”

“The backyard looks festive. And Mesta Park is such a lovely area. I always admire it so every time I visit.”

Mesta Park lay in the heart of Oklahoma City, a charming old neighborhood with lots of classic prairie-style houses and graceful mature trees. Joleen’s mother had owned the house on Northwest Seventeenth Street since she herself had been a young bride.

Aunt LeeAnne patted Joleen’s arm. “I do think we ought to start the ceremony soon, though, don’t you?”

“Soon,” Joleen repeated. What else could she say?

Aunt LeeAnne stopped patting. She gripped Joleen’s arm and whispered in her ear, “I see that you invited the Atwoods.”

Joleen made a noise in the affirmative and flicked a quick glance toward the well-dressed couple standing by themselves near the punch table. Bobby Atwood, the couple’s only son, had died just six weeks ago, in a power-skiing accident on Lake Thunderbird. Pictures of the funeral service had dominated the local news. Atwood, after all, was an important name in the state of Oklahoma.

In spite of what had happened between herself and Bobby, the sight of his grieving parents at graveside had proved too much for Joleen. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from reaching out to them.

“You have a good heart, Joly,” whispered Aunt LeeAnne. “There aren’t many who would be so forgiving.”

“Well, it seemed like a nice gesture, to ask them if they’d like to come.”

Aunt LeeAnne made a small, sympathetic noise and patted Joleen’s arm some more.

Joleen added, “And I do want Sam to know his father’s parents.”

Sam. Just the thought of her little boy lightened Joleen’s mood. She looked for him, caught sight of him with her younger sister, thirteen-year-old Niki, about twenty feet away, near the tall white picket fence that surrounded her mother’s backyard on three sides. Niki, in a rose-red dress identical to Joleen’s, had agreed to watch Sam so that Joleen could handle all the details of running the wedding.

Sam had his daddy’s hair, thick and straight and sandy colored. As Joleen watched, he threw back that sandy head and let out his almost-a-baby laugh. At the sound of that laugh, Joleen’s heart seemed to get bigger inside her chest.

Then she noticed that Bobby’s father was staring right at her.

Robert Atwood quickly looked away. But not before she saw a lot more than she wanted to see in his cold, gray glance. Her little boy’s grandfather did not approve of her. And he was looking down his snooty nose at the members of her family.

The Atwoods moved in the best circles. They hung out with the governor and his pretty wife, attended all the most important political and social events in the city. Robert Atwood’s expression made it painfully clear that he found this small-scale backyard wedding to be tacky and totally beneath him.

And now he was staring at Sam. So was his wife, Antonia. The woman wore a look of longing so powerful it sent a chill down Joleen’s spine in spite of the heat.

I probably should have listened to Dekker, Joleen thought. Dekker—who’d better show up soon or they were going ahead without him—had warned her to stay away from Robert Atwood and his wife.

“Unless you’re after a little of the Atwood money,” he’d said. “Sam is entitled to some of that.”

“It is not the money, Dekker. Honestly. We’re gettin’ by all right.”

“Okay. Then forget the Atwoods. They have too much money and too much power and, given the kind of son they raised, I’d say they’re way too likely to abuse both.”

She had punched him playfully on the arm. “You are so cynical it scares me sometimes.”

“You ought to be scared of the Atwoods, of the trouble they’ll probably cause you if you tell them about Sam. I mean it. Take my advice and stay away from them.”

But she hadn’t taken her friend’s advice. Robert Atwood sold real estate on a grand scale. He dealt in shopping centers and medical complexes and skyscrapers with a thousand and one offices in them. She had called him at Atwood and Son Property Development.

At first, Bobby’s father had refused to see her or to believe that his precious son could have fathered a child he didn’t even know about. In the end, though, the hope that there might be something of Bobby left on the earth must have been too powerful to deny. He had called Joleen and asked if he and his wife might meet Sam. And as soon as they set eyes on her baby boy, they knew who his father had to be.

“Joly, hon…”

Joleen looked into her aunt’s flushed face and smiled. “Hmm?”

“I just have to say this. I have got a powerful feeling that we will be watching you take your walk down the aisle very soon now.” Aunt LeeAnne beamed up at her.

Joleen kept her smile. But it did get old sometimes.

Here’s to you, Joly. We all know it’s bound to be your turn next.…

I just know you are going to meet someone so special.…

I see a man in your future, hon. The right man this time.…

Those she loved would not stop telling her that true love and happily-ever-after were coming her way.

Joleen fully understood why they did it. None of them could quite believe that she, the levelheaded one, the both-feet-firmly-on-the-ground one, had gone and fallen for a rich boy’s honeyed lies.

They felt sorry for her. They wanted the best for her.

And to them the best meant a good man to stand at her side, a husband to help her raise her child.

“I don’t think so, Aunt LeeAnne.”

“Well, you just think what you want. I am right about this and you will see that I am.”

Oh, please, Joleen thought. As if she even had time for love and romance at this point in her life. She had a toddler to raise and a business to run—not to mention a recently delinquent thirteen-year-old sister and a stunningly beautiful fifty-year-old widowed mother who somehow managed to fall in and out of love on what seemed like a weekly basis. DeDe might be off her hands after today, but Niki and her mother still counted on Joleen to be there whenever they needed her.

And really, Joleen didn’t mind being the one they counted on. She was happy. She honestly was. With her precious little son and her beloved if somewhat troublesome mama and sisters, with the beauty salon she and her mother operated together and with lots of loving family and good friends—including Dekker, who in the past few years had become her closest friend.

Dekker, who was now so late she doubted he would make it at all.

Nope. It would not be Joleen’s turn next. Not for a decade or so, at least. Maybe more than a decade. Maybe never. In any case, not “next.”

But she didn’t tell her aunt LeeAnne that. Instead, she hooked her arm around her aunt’s round shoulders and gave a loving squeeze. “Whatever you say.”

* * *

By three-thirty, Joleen decided they had waited long enough. She left the drooping guests behind beneath the pecan trees, entered the house and climbed the stairs to her mother’s big bedroom on the second floor, which today was serving as the bride’s dressing room.

DeDe, who looked absolutely breathtaking in floor-length white satin, came at her the minute Joleen appeared in the doorway. “Where is he? Is he here yet?”

Joleen shook her head.

“Oh, no.” DeDe stopped in midstride and caught her full lower lip between her small white teeth. “How’s Wayne holdin’ up?”

Wayne Thornton was DeDe’s groom. “Wayne is great. He’s down in the kitchen right now, hanging out with Bud and Burly.”

“He’s not mad?”

“Wayne? Are you kidding?” Wayne Thornton was a veterinarian. He was also about the calmest, most easygoing person Joleen had ever had the pleasure to meet. “I promise you, Wayne is fine. Waiting patiently, swapping jokes with Bud and Burly.”

“I want to see him.”

“Well, all right, I’ll just—”

“Wait. Stop right there.”

Joleen did as her sister commanded.

“What do you think you’re doing?” DeDe accused. “You know I can’t see him. It would be bad luck.”

Joleen lifted a shoulder in the tiniest of shrugs. Of course, she knew that. But if she’d been the one to say it, her sister would have insisted that Joleen run downstairs that instant and come right back up with Wayne. Like Niki, DeDe had had some troubled times in the past. She’d settled down a lot in the last couple of years, but she hadn’t gotten rid of her stubborn streak, of a certain contrariness to her nature. Joleen never locked horns with her if she could avoid it. Locking horns with DeDe almost never paid off.

DeDe sighed. “I’m goin’ nuts.” She whirled in a rustle of satin, flounced to their mother’s big four-poster bed, turned and plunked herself down on the edge of it. “Where is Dekker?”

Joleen approached and sat beside her sister. She took DeDe’s hand. “Honey…”

DeDe yanked her hand away. “Don’t say it. He promised he would be here and we are gonna wait for him.”

“Honey, we have waited. For over an hour. You have to think of your guests. They are dyin’ out there.”

“Well, I can’t help it. It wouldn’t be right to start without Dekker. You know that it wouldn’t.”

Joleen had no quick comeback for that.

The problem was, in her heart, Joleen agreed with DeDe. It wouldn’t be right to start without Dekker.

Dekker Smith might not be blood to them, but he truly was family. His mama, Lorraine, had been their mama’s best friend. Lorraine was gone now, and Dekker hadn’t lived next door since he graduated high school, but he looked out for them all, especially in the past ten years, since Joleen’s father had died.

Dekker spent his holidays with them. He had been the one who taught both Joleen and DeDe how to drive. He could always be counted upon to show up with his toolbox when something needed fixing—not to mention to stand up for any female named Tilly any time things got rough. Two years ago, when DeDe had her little run-in with the law, Dekker had gone with Joleen to the police station to bail her out and he’d made sure she got the best lawyer around. Same thing with Niki, when she’d been in trouble last year. Dekker was right there, to help out.

He was family in the deepest way, and of course DeDe wanted him there to see her married.

But they couldn’t wait all day to start the wedding march. “DeDe, I think we are just going to have to go ahead.”

“But we can’t go ahead,” DeDe cried.

“Yes, we can. And you know that Dekker will understand. You know that he—”

“I won’t understand. Don’t you get it? I want Dekker to give me away.”

“Well, I know you do, but he is not here.”

DeDe glared. “Oh, you, Joly. Always so logical. I cannot stand to hear logic at a time like this.”

“Well, I am so sorry to be reasonable when you would rather not, but—”

DeDe cut her off by bursting into tears.

Joleen closed her eyes and silently counted to ten.

When she opened them again, she saw her mother, Camilla, hovering in the doorway to the hall. “What is it, baby? What has happened here?”

“Joly says we have to go ahead.” DeDe sobbed. “She says we can’t wait for Dekker.”

“Oh, now, honey…”

“I want him here, Mama. I want him to give me away.”

“Yes, and we all understand that.”

“It won’t seem right if he isn’t here.”

“Oh, I know, I know…”

DeDe let out a frustrated wail. The cry brought Camilla out of the doorway. She rushed across the room, slender arms outstretched. Joleen slid to the side and got out of the way. DeDe stood. Camilla gathered her close.

“Aw, baby,” Camilla cooed. “Now, you know you are going to ruin your face, carrying on like this. Now, you just settle down.…”

But DeDe was not settling down.

And Camilla had started crying, too. Tears filled her huge brown eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Sobs constricted her long white throat. Joleen backed away a few more steps, as her middle sister and her mother held on to each other and wailed.

“Honey, honey,” Camilla cried. “Don’t you worry. It’s okay. We will wait. We will wait until Dekker gets here. We’ll wait forever, if we have to. Till the end of time, I swear it to you.…”

There was a gasp from the doorway. Joleen looked over.

Niki. She had Sam perched on her hip—and her hazel eyes were already brimming. Sam had a teething biscuit stuck in his mouth. He sucked it steadily, not much disturbed by all the excitement on the other side of the room.

But then, why should he be disturbed? His grandmother and his aunts never hid their emotions. He was used to lots of crying and carrying on.

“Mama?” Niki gulped back a sob. “DeDe? What is going on?”

Her mother and middle sister only cried all the harder. Niki’s face started to crumple.

Joleen reached Niki’s side in three quick steps. “Before you start,” she warned, “give me my baby.”

“Here.” Niki held Sam out. He reached for Joleen automatically, gurgling, “Mama!” And then his biscuit-gooey little hands encircled her neck, his soft weight was on her arm and his sweet, slightly dusty smell filled her senses.

With a hard sob, Niki flew across the room. Camilla and DeDe enfolded her into their embrace. The three hugged and bawled, their arms around each other, a sniffling, tear-streaked huddle of satin and lace.

Joleen stood a few feet from the door, resolutely calm as always, holding her baby and watching her mother and sisters wail and moan, wondering how in the world she would manage to calm them all now.

“What is this, a wedding—or a wake?”

Joleen turned toward the sound of that deep, wry voice. It was Dekker, in the doorway. He had made it, after all.

Chapter 2

Relief washed through Joleen—and a sweet rush of affection, as well. She should probably be good and angry with him for being so late, but how could she be angry when she was so glad to see him? And he looked so handsome in the nice lightweight suit they had picked out together just for this occasion.

He also looked…easy within himself and relaxed. Something good must have happened out there in Los Angeles.

“You’re late,” she muttered.

He shrugged. “Air travel is not what it used to be. I sat at O’Hare for ten hours.”

“Your cell phone—”

“Needs recharging. Sorry. I tried to call you.”

“At my house?”

“Right. From a pay phone, this morning around eight.”

“I left at seven-thirty.”

“And I also called here. Twice. Got a busy signal both times.”

She wasn’t surprised. The house had been full of people all day and the phone had been in constant use.

“Dek!” Sam shouted. He let go of Joleen’s neck and reached for the man in the doorway.

“Whoa, big guy.” Dekker stepped up and took him.

About then, DeDe stopped sobbing long enough to glance across the room. “Dekker! You made it!”

The three Tilly women broke from their huddle and rushed for the door. Joleen got out of their way again. They surrounded Dekker and Sam, all of them talking at once.

“Where were you?”

“We’ve been waiting for hours.…”

“We were so afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Is everything—”

He chuckled. “Everything’s fine. There was just a little matter of a long delay between flights. But I am here now.” He had Sam on one arm. He wrapped the other around DeDe, who looked up at him through shining eyes. “And I am ready to give away this gorgeous bride.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, down in the backyard beneath the pecan trees, the wedding march began. A blessed breeze had actually come up, so it wasn’t quite as stifling as it had been for most of the day. The ceremony went off without a hitch. And when Wayne Thornton kissed his bride, everyone could see that this was a true, love match.

Joleen had had her reservations, when DeDe and Wayne first announced that they would marry. After all, DeDe was only twenty. It seemed young to Joleen.

But looking at the two of them as they repeated their vows, Joleen let go of her doubts. Wayne was a good, steady man. And DeDe adored him almost as much as he worshipped her. In the end, Joleen supposed, the two had as good a chance as any couple at lasting a lifetime side by side.

She was pouring more ginger ale into the punch bowl, feeling kind of misty-eyed and contented for the first time that day, when Dekker appeared at her side.

“What the hell are the Atwoods doing here?” He spoke low, for her ears alone.

She gave him her most determined smile and whispered back, “I invited them.”

“Damn it, Jo. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Me, too—and would you go in and get me some more of this ginger ale?”

Midnight-blue eyes regarded her steadily. “I wish you had listened to me.”

“I did listen—then I did what I thought was right.” She waved the empty bottle at him. “Ginger ale? Please?”

Shaking his head, he turned for the back door.

The afternoon wore on.

Camilla, on something of an emotional roller coaster this special day when her middle baby was getting married, had a little too much sparkling wine and flirted blatantly with anyone willing to flirt back.

“You probably ought to say something to her, hon,” advised Aunt LeeAnne as Joleen was putting the finishing touches on the buffet.

Joleen shook her head and took the lid off a chafing dish. “My mother is a flirt. Always has been, always will be. I have enough to worry about without trying to fight a person’s nature.”

“When your father was still with us—”

“I know. All her flirting was for him then. She never looked at another man. But he’s been gone for so long now. And she is still very much alive. She will never stop lookin’ for the kind of love she had once.”

“So sad…” Aunt LeeAnne looked mournful.

Camilla’s musical laughter rang out as she pulled one of the groom’s uncles from a chair and made him dance with her.

“I don’t know,” said Joleen. “Seems to me that she’s having a pretty good time.”

Aunt LeeAnne picked up a toothpick and speared a meatball from the chafing dish. “Mmm. Delicious. What is that spice?”

“Cumin?”

“Could be—or maybe curry?”

“No. I don’t think there’s any curry in those meatballs.”

Aunt LeeAnne helped herself to a second meatball, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose you’re right about Camilla.…”

Uncle Hubert Tilly staggered by, yet another beer clutched in his fist.

Aunt LeeAnne clucked her tongue. “Now, there is someone to worry about. He has been drinkin’ all afternoon, and in this heat…” Aunt LeeAnne frowned. “He looks peaked, don’t you think?”

“True,” said Joleen. “He does not look well.”

“Someone really should talk to him.…” Aunt LeeAnne gazed at Joleen hopefully. Joleen refused to take the hint, so her aunt added with clear reluctance, “Someone of his own generation, I suppose.”

“Be my guest.”

So Aunt LeeAnne DuFrayne trotted off to try to convince Uncle Hubert Tilly that he’d had enough beer.

Uncle Hubert didn’t take the news well. “What?” he shouted, leaning against the trunk of the sweet gum in the southwest corner of the yard. “I’ve had enough? What’re you talkin’ about, LeeAnne? There ain’ no such thing as enough.”

Aunt LeeAnne tried to whisper something into his ear. He shrugged her off and stumbled away. Aunt LeeAnne pinched up her mouth for a minute, then shook her head and returned to the buffet table.

“Well, I guess you are right, Joly. There is no savin’ that man from himself.”

“You tried your best.” Joleen handed her aunt a plate. “Taste those buffalo wings. And the pasta primavera is pretty good, too.”

Aunt LeeAnne took the plate and began to load it with food.

Out of the corner of her eye, Joleen could see Robert Atwood, standing at the edge of the patio, Antonia, as always, close at his side. Robert wore a look of aloof disdain on his distinguished face as he watched Uncle Hubert’s unsteady progress toward the coolers lined up by the garden shed.

“Joly, is that pickled okra I see?”

Joleen turned her widest smile on another of her father’s brothers. “You bet it is, Uncle Stan. Help yourself.”

“I surely will.”

With the buffet all ready to go, Joleen went to check on the punch table again. The bowl needed filling. She took care of that. Then she went back inside to look for those little frilly toothpicks that everyone kept using up the minute she set them out.

She got stalled in the kitchen for several minutes. Burly had a traveling-salesman joke she just had to hear. Once he’d told it and she had finished laughing, she found the toothpicks and headed for the back door once more.

Outside again, she discovered that her mother was dancing with yet another of the guests from Wayne’s family. And Aunt LeeAnne whispered in her ear that Uncle Hubert had gone behind the garden shed to be sick.

Joleen suppressed a sigh. “I’ll go see to him.”

“I think that would be best. I’d do it, of course, but you saw what happened the last time I tried to give the poor man a hand.”

When Joleen got to the other side of the shed, she spotted two little DuFraynes and a small niece of Wayne’s peeking around the far end. Uncle Hubert sagged pitifully against the shed wall, his head stuck in among the dark pink blooms of a tall crape myrtle bush.

She dealt with the children first. “You kids go on now.”

The three stared for a moment, then began giggling.

“I mean it. Do not make me get your mamas.”

The giggling stopped. Three sets of wide eyes regarded her. Joleen put on a no-nonsense glare and made a sharp shooing gesture with the back of her hand.

The three vanished around the end of the shed, giggles erupting again as soon as they were out of sight. The giggles faded away.

Uncle Hubert groaned. And then his thick shoulders shook. Joleen swallowed and pressed her lips together as she heard splattering sounds behind the bush.

She waited until that attack of sickness had passed. Then she dared to move a few steps closer. “Uncle Hubert…”

Her uncle groaned. “Joly?”

“That’s right.”

“Go ’way.” He spoke into the crape myrtle bush.

Joleen edged a little closer. “Uncle Hubert, I want you to come in the house with me now.”

“I’m fine.” He groaned again. “Go ’way.”

“No. No, you listen. It’s too hot out here. You can lie down inside.”

“No.” He made a strangled sound. His shoulders shook again, but this time nothing seemed to be coming up.

Joleen waited, to make sure he was finished. Then, with slow care, she moved right up next to him. “Come on, now…” She laid a hand on his arm. “You just come on.”

“No!” He jerked away, half stumbling, almost falling, bouncing with a muffled gonging sound against the metal wall of the garden shed. “Leave,” he growled. “Go…”

Joleen stepped back again, unwilling to give up but unsure how to convince him that he should come with her.

A hand clasped her shoulder.

Dekker. She knew it before she even turned to see him standing right behind her. She felt easier instantly. Between them they would manage. They always did.

“Need help?”

She nodded.

He raised a dark brow. “You want him in the house?”

She nodded again.

He stepped around her. “Hubert…”

“Ugh. Wha? Oh. Dek.”

“Right. Come on, man. Let’s go…”

“Ugh…”

“Yeah. You need to stretch out.”

“Uh-uh…”

Dekker took Uncle Hubert’s arm and wrapped it across his broad shoulder. Uncle Hubert moaned. He kept saying no and shaking his head. But he didn’t pull away. Slowly Dekker turned him around and got him moving.

Joleen went on ahead, warning the other guests out of the way, opening the back door, leading the way through the kitchen and into the hall. Uncle Hubert would probably be most comfortable upstairs in one of the bedrooms, but she didn’t know how far he’d be willing to let Dekker drag him. So she settled for the living room.

“Here,” she said, “on the couch.” She tossed away her mother’s favorite decorative pillows as she spoke, then spread an old afghan across the cushions. It would provide some protection if Uncle Hubert’s poor stomach decided to rebel again.

Dekker eased the other man down. Uncle Hubert fell onto his back with a long, low groan.

“Let’s get his shoes off,” said Dekker, already kneeling at Uncle Hubert’s feet. Before he had the second shoe off, Uncle Hubert was snoring. Dekker set the shoes, side by side, beneath the coffee table. “They’ll be right here whenever he needs them.”

Joleen stood over her uncle, shaking her head. “It seems like we ought to do something, doesn’t it? We shouldn’t let him go on hurting himself this way.”

Uncle Hubert had lost his wife, Thelma, six months ago. The heavy beer drinking had started not long after that.

“Give him time,” Dekker said. “He’ll work it out.”

“I hope he works it out soon. A man’s liver can only take so much.”

“He will,” Dekker said. “He’ll get through it.”

They were good words to hear, especially from Dekker, who had never been the most optimistic guy on the block. “You sound so certain.”

He winked at her. “I oughtta know, don’t you think?”

They shared a long look, one full of words they didn’t really need to say out loud.

Three years ago, Dekker’s wife, Stacey, had died. His mama, Lorraine, had passed away not long after. Dekker had done quite a bit of drinking himself in the months following those two sad events.

Dekker said, “Maybe you ought to start whipping up a few casseroles.”

It was a joke between them now, how Joleen had kept after him, dropping in at his place several times a week, pouring his booze down the drain and urging him to “talk out his pain.”

He wouldn’t talk. But she wouldn’t give up on him, either. She brought him casseroles to make sure he ate right and kept dragging him out to go bowling and to the movies. Good, nourishing food and a few social activities had made a difference.

It had also brought them closer. She was, after all, five years younger than Dekker. Five years, while they were growing up, had seemed like a lifetime. Almost as if they were of different generations.

But it didn’t seem that way anymore. Now they were equals.

They were best friends.

She said, “You still have not bothered to tell me why you thought you had to fly off to Los Angeles out of nowhere like that.”

“Later,” he said. “There’s a lot to tell and now is not the time.”

“Were you…in danger?”

“No.”

“Was it something for a client?”

“Jo. Please. Not now.”

On the couch, Hubert stiffened, snorted and then went on snoring even louder than before.

Dekker said, “I think we’ve done all we can for him at the moment.”

“Guess so. Might as well get back to the party. We’re probably out of frilly toothpicks again.”

Dekker grinned. “DeDe grabbed me a few minutes ago. Something about cutting the cake?”

“No. It’s too early. They’re still attacking the buffet table. But it is a little cooler now. Safe to get everything set up.”

“Safe?”

“That’s right. We can chance taking the cake back outside.”

“This sounds ominous.”

“A wedding can be a scary time.”

“Tell me about it.”

She took his big, blunt-fingered hand. “Come on.”

They left Uncle Hubert snoring on the couch and went out to the kitchen, where they enlisted Burly to help Dekker carry the cake back out to the patio.

* * *

Once the cake was in position for cutting, Joleen went looking for Niki and Sam. She found them on the front porch, building a castle out of Duplo blocks.

“Mama. Look.” Sam beamed her his biggest, proudest smile.

“Wonderful job, baby.” She asked Niki, “Did he eat anything yet?”

Niki nodded. “He had some corn. And that fruit dish—the one with the coconut? Oh, and he ate about five of those little meatballs.”

“Milk?”

“Yeah—and what’s with those Atwood people?”

What do you mean? Joleen wanted to demand. What did they do?

She held the questions back. Sam might be only eighteen months old, but you could never be sure of how much he understood. And she didn’t want Niki stirred up, either. She gestured with a toss of her head. Niki got up and followed her down to the other end of the long porch.

“What do you mean about the Atwoods?” Joleen kept her voice low and her tone even.

Niki shrugged. “I don’t know. They sure stare a lot.”

“Have they…bothered you?”

“I don’t know, Joly. Like I said, they just stare.”

“They haven’t spoken to you at all?”

“Well, yeah. Twice. They tried to talk to Sam, but you know how he is sometimes. He got shy, buried his head against my shoulder. Both times they gave up and walked away.”

So. They had tried to get to know their grandson a little and gotten nowhere. Joleen found herself feeling sorry for them again.

“No real problems, though?”

“Uh-uh. Just general creepiness.”

Joleen reached out, brushed a palm along her sister’s arm. “You’ve been great, taking care of Sam all day.”

“Yeah. Call me Wonder Girl.” Niki was good with Sam. She took her babysitting duties seriously. In fact, Niki was doing a lot better lately all the way around. She’d given them a real scare last year. But Joleen had begun to believe those problems were behind her now.

“Want a little break?”

“Sure—Can I get out of this dress?”

Joleen hid a smile. Rose-colored satin was hardly her little sister’s style. Niki liked black. Black hip-riding skinny jeans, equally skinny little black T-shirts, black Doc Martens. Sometimes, for variety, she’d wear navy blue or deep purple, but never anything bright. Certainly nothing rosy red.

“Go ahead and change,” said Joleen.

Niki beamed. “Thanks.”

They rejoined Sam at the other end of the porch. “Hey, big guy,” Joleen said. “I need some help.”

Sam loved to “help.” He considered “helping” to be anything that involved a lot of busyness on his part. Pulling his mother around by her thumb could be “helping,” or carrying items from one place to another.

Sam set down the red plastic block in his fist and leaned forward, going to his hands and knees. “I hep.” He rocked back to the balls of his feet and pushed himself to an upright position.

Joleen held out her arms.

He said something she couldn’t really make out, but she knew he meant he wanted to walk.

So she took his hand and walked him down the front steps and around to the backyard. When she spotted the Atwoods alone at a table on the far side of the patio, she led him over there.

Okay, they were snobs. And they made her a little nervous.

But it had to be awkward for them at this party. They didn’t really know a soul. Joleen had introduced them to her mother and a few of the guests when they first arrived. But they’d been on their own since then.

All right, maybe Robert Atwood had given her cold looks. Maybe he didn’t approve of her. So what?

She was going to get along with them if she could possibly manage it. They were Sammy’s grandparents and she would show them respect, give them a little of the slack they didn’t appear to be giving her.

And besides, who was to say she hadn’t read them all wrong? Maybe staring and glaring was just Robert Atwood’s way of coping with feeling like an outsider.

When she reached their table, Joleen scooped Sam up into her arms. “Well, how are you two holdin’ up?”

“We are fine,” said Robert.

“Yes,” Antonia agreed in that wispy little voice of hers, staring at Sam with misty eyes. “Just fine. Very nice.”

Joleen felt a tug of sympathy for the woman. A few weeks ago, when the Atwoods had finally agreed to come to her house and meet Sam, Antonia had shown her one of Bobby’s baby pictures. The resemblance to Sam was extraordinary.

What must it be like, to see their lost child every time they looked at Sam?

All the tender goodwill Joleen had felt toward them when she saw the newspaper photos of them at Bobby’s funeral came flooding back, filling her with new determination to do all in her power to see that they came to know their only grandson, that they found their rightful place in his life.

“Mind if Sam and I sit down a minute?”

“Please,” said Antonia, heartbreakingly eager, grabbing the chair on her right side and pulling it out.

Joleen put Sam in it. He sat back and laid his baby hands on the molded plastic arms. “I sit,” he declared with great pride.

Antonia made a small, adoring sound low in her throat.

Joleen took the other free chair at the table. As she scooped her satin skirt smooth beneath her, Robert Atwood spoke again.

“Ahem. Joleen. We really must be leaving soon.”

Protestations would have felt a little too phony, so Joleen replied, “Well, I am pleased that you could come and I hope you had a good time.”

Robert nodded, his face a cool mask. Antonia seemed too absorbed in watching Sam to make conversation.

Robert said, “I would like a few words with you, before we leave. In private.”

That got Antonia’s attention. A look of alarm crossed her delicate face. She actually stopped staring at Sam. “Robert, I don’t think it’s really the time to—”

“I do,” her husband interrupted, his voice flat. Final.

Antonia blinked. And said nothing more.

Joleen felt suspicious all over again—not to mention apprehensive. What was the man up to? She honestly wanted to meet these two halfway. But they—Robert, especially—made that so difficult.

She tried to keep her voice light. “Well, if you need to talk to me about something important, today is not the day, I’m afraid. I think I told you, this party is my doing. I’m the one who has to keep things moving along. There’s still the cake to cut. And the toasts to be made. Then there will be—”

“I think you could spare us a few minutes, don’t you? In the next hour or so?”

“No, I don’t think that I—”

“Joleen. It is only a few minutes. I know you can manage it.”

Joleen stared into those hard gray eyes. She found herself thinking of Bobby, understanding him a little better, maybe. Even forgiving him some for being so much less than the man she had dreamed him to be. Joleen doubted that Robert Atwood knew how to show love, how to teach a child the true meaning of right and wrong. He would communicate his will—and his sense that he and his were special, above the rules that regular folks had to live by. And his son would grow up as Bobby had. Charming and so handsome. Well dressed, well educated and well mannered. At first glance, a real “catch.” A man among men.

But inside, just emptiness. A lack where substance mattered the most.

“Joleen,” Bobby had said when she’d told him she was pregnant. “I have zero interest in being a father.” The statement had been cool and matter-of-fact, the same kind of tone he might have used to tell her that he didn’t feel up to eating Chinese that night. “If you are having a baby, I’m afraid you will be having it on your own.”

She’d been so shocked and hurt, she’d reacted on pure pride. “Fine,” she had cried. “Get out of my life. I don’t want to see you. Ever again.”

And Bobby had given her exactly what she’d asked for. He’d walked out of her life—and his unborn child’s—and never looked back.

She thought again of Dekker’s warnings.

Forget the Atwoods. They have too much money and too much power and given the kind of son they raised, I’d say they’re way too likely to abuse both.…

She rose from her chair. “Come on, Sam. We’ve got to get busy here.”

Robert Atwood just wouldn’t give it up. “A few minutes. Please.”

Sam slid off the chair and grabbed her thumb. “We go. I hep.” He granted Antonia a shy little smile.

“Joleen,” Robert said, making a command out of the sound of her name.

Lord, give me strength, Joleen prayed to her maker. She reminded herself of her original goal here: to develop a reasonably friendly relationship with Sam’s daddy’s parents. “All right. Let me get through the cutting of the cake. And the toasts. Then we can talk.”

“Thank you.”

“But only for a few minutes.”

“I do understand.”

* * *

Joleen kept Sam with her, while DeDe and Wayne cut the cake and after, as the guests took turns proposing toasts to the happy couple. Then she handed Sam back to her sister, who was now clad comfortably in her favorite black jeans.

By then it was a little past seven, and growing dark. The breeze had kept up, and the temperature had dropped about ten degrees. It was the next thing to pleasant now, in the backyard. Joleen went around the side of the house and plugged in the paper lanterns that she and a couple of cousins had spent the day before stringing from tree to tree.

There were “oohs” and “aahs” and a smattering of applause as the glow of the lanterns lit up the deepening night. Joleen felt a glow of her own inside. She had done a good job for her sister. In spite of more than one near disaster, it was stacking up to be a fine wedding, after all.

Camilla had a decent stereo system in the house. And yesterday, after the lantern stringing, Joleen and her cousins had wired up extra speakers and set them out on the patio. So they had good, clear music for dancing. DeDe and Wayne were already swaying beneath the lanterns, held close in each other’s arms. So were Aunt LeeAnne and her husband, Uncle Foley, and a number of other couples as well—including Joleen’s mother. Camilla moved gracefully in the embrace of yet another middle-aged admirer.

“You did good, Jo.” Dekker had come up beside her.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.” He was staring out at the backyard, his eyes on the dancers.

Joleen thought of Los Angeles again, wondered what had happened there. She was just about to make another effort at prying some information out of him when she remembered the Atwoods.

She supposed she’d better go looking for them.

Dekker sensed her shift in mood. “What’s the matter?”

“Oh, nothin’. Much. I have to say goodbye to the Atwoods.”

His brows had drawn together. “I don’t like the way you said that. What’s going on?”

Teasingly, she bumped his arm with her elbow. “You are such a suspicious man.”

“When it comes to Robert Atwood, you bet I am. I don’t trust him.”

“I noticed. He wants a few minutes with me before they leave, that’s all.”

“A few minutes for what?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’m sure he’s plannin’ to tell me. When he gets me alone.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Dekker. Chill.”

“‘When he gets you alone.’ What does that mean?”

“It means I am giving him five minutes. In Daddy’s study.”

“Why? I can tell by the way you’re hugging yourself and sighing that you don’t want to do that.”

“I want to make it work with them.”

“People do not always get what they want.”

“Dekker—”

He cut her off. “It’s pride, Joleen. You know it is. You’re ashamed that you had such bad judgment about Bobby. You want them to be different from him. But Jo, they raised him. You have to face that.”

“I was a fool with Bobby. This is different.”

“No. No, I don’t think it is.”

“You think I’m still a fool?”

He made a sound low in his throat. “Damn it, Jo…”

She stood on tiptoe and whispered to him. “It is only five minutes. Then they will leave and we can enjoy the rest of the party.”

“You are too damn trusting.”

She planted a quick kiss on his square jaw. “Gotta go.”

He was silent as she walked away from him, but she could feel his disapproval, like a chill wind on the warm night. She shrugged it off.

Dekker had seen way too much in his life. He’d been a detective with the OCPD before Stacey died. He’d quit the department during the tough time that followed. But before that he’d seen too many examples of the terrible things people can do to each other. Now he worked on his own as a private investigator, which gave him an ongoing opportunity to witness more of man’s inhumanity to man. Sometimes he saw trouble coming whether it was on the way or not.

Joleen put on a confident smile. She was going to do her best to make things work with the Atwoods. It was her duty, as the mother of their grandchild.

She could stand up just fine under Robert Atwood’s cold looks and demanding ways. What could he really do to her, after all? She held all the power, when it came to their relationship with Sam.

She would not abuse that power. But she wouldn’t let Robert Atwood walk all over her, either.

* * *

Joleen found the Atwoods waiting by the back door. They followed her into the kitchen and on to the central hall, where Uncle Hubert’s snoring could be clearly heard through the open door to the living room.

Joleen held up a hand. “Just one minute.”

The Atwoods stopped where they were, at the foot of the stairs. Joleen moved to the living room doorway. Uncle Herbert lay just as she and Dekker had left him two hours before, faceup on the couch, his stocking feet dangling a few inches from the floor. Gently she closed the door.

“This way.” She led Sam’s grandparents across the hall to the room her father had used as his study. She reached in and flicked the wall switch. Four tulip-shaped lamps in the small chandelier overhead bloomed into light.

The room was as it had always been. Samuel Tilly’s scarred oak desk with its gray swivel chair waited in front of the window. His old medical books and journals filled the tall bookcases on the inner wall. There was a worn couch and two comfy, faded easy chairs.

“Have a seat.” Joleen closed the door.

The Atwoods did not sit.

They stood in the center of the room, between the couch and her father’s desk. Robert looked more severe than ever. And Antonia, hovering in his shadow as always, looked nothing short of bleak—too pale, her thin brows drawn together. She had clasped her hands in front of her. The knuckles were dead white.

Joleen said, “Antonia? Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. Fine. Just fine…”

“But you don’t look—”

Robert interrupted, “My wife says she is fine.”

“Well, I know, but—”

“Please. I have something of real importance to propose to you now. I’ll need your undivided attention.”

Joleen did not get it. Antonia looked positively stricken, and all her husband could think about was what he wanted to say? A sarcastic remark rose to her lips. She bit it back. “All right. What is it, Mr. Atwood?”

Robert cleared his throat. “Joleen, after the spectacle I have witnessed today, I find I cannot keep quiet any longer. I have come to a difficult but important decision. It is painfully obvious to me that my grandson cannot get the kind of upbringing he deserves while he is in your care. Antonia and I are prepared to take him off your hands. I’m willing to offer you five hundred thousand dollars to sign over custody of young Samuel to me.”

Chapter 3

Joleen forgot all about Antonia’s distress. She could feel her blood pressure rising. So much for trying to make it work with the Atwoods.

She spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m sorry. I’m sure I could not have heard you right. You did not just offer to buy my baby from me—did you?”

Antonia squeaked. There was no other word for it, for that small, desperate, anguished sound. She squeaked and then she just stood there, wringing her hands.

Robert, however, had no trouble forming words. “Buy your baby? What an absurd suggestion. Of course, I’m not offering to buy Samuel. What I am offering you is a chance. A chance to do the right thing. For your child. And for yourself, as well.”

“The right thing?” Joleen echoed in sheer disbelief. “To sell you my baby is the right thing?”

Robert waved a hand, a gesture clearly intended to erase her question as if it had never been. “I know that you have never attended college—except for a year, wasn’t it, at some local trade school?”

“Who told you that?”

“I have my sources. Now you will be able to finish your education. You’ll be able to do more with your life than run a beauty shop.”

“I happen to like running a beauty shop.”

He looked vaguely outraged, as if she had just told an insulting and rude lie. “Please.”

“It’s true. I love the work that I do.”

He refused to believe such a thing. “I am offering you a future, Joleen. You are a young, healthy woman. You will have other children. My son only had one. Antonia and I want a chance to bring that one child up properly.”

“Meaning I won’t bring Sam up properly.”

“My dear Joleen, you are twisting what I’ve said.”

“I am not twisting anything. I am laying it right on the line. You don’t think I will bring my son up right, so you want to buy him from me.”

“You are overdramatizing.”

Joleen, who, since the loss of her kind and steady father a decade before, had always been the calmest person in her family, found it took all of her will not to start shrieking—not to grab the brass paperweight on her father’s desk and toss it right in Robert Atwood’s smug face.

“My offer is a good one,” Robert Atwood said.

Joleen gaped at him. “I beg your pardon. It is never a good offer when you try to buy someone’s child.”

“Joleen—”

“And what is the matter with you, anyway? Your ‘offer’ is bad enough all by itself. But couldn’t you have waited a day or two? Did you have to come at me on my sister’s wedding day?”

“Please…” croaked Antonia. She looked as if she might cry.

Robert put his arm around her—to steady her or to silence her, Joleen wasn’t sure which. He held his proud white head high. “Once we’d made the decision, the sooner the better was the way it seemed to me. Might as well make our position clear. Might as well get you thinking along the right track.”

A number of furious epithets rose to Joleen’s lips. She did not utter a one of them—but she would, if this man went on saying these awful things much longer.

This conversation can only go downhill, she thought. Better to end it now.

“Mr. Atwood, I’m afraid if you stay very much longer, I will say some things that I’ll be sorry for. I would like you to leave now.”

Antonia made another of those squeaky little noises. Robert squeezed her shoulder and said to Joleen, “I want you to think about what I’ve said.”

I am not going to start yelling at this man, she told herself silently. She said, “I do not have to think about it. The answer is no. You cannot have my child. Not at any price.”

Robert Atwood stood even taller, if that was possible. “My dear, I would advise you not to speak without thinking.”

“Stop calling me that. I am not your dear.”

“Joleen, I am trying to make certain that you understand your position here.”

Joleen blinked. This had to be a nightmare, didn’t it? It could not be real. “My position?”

“Yes. You are an unwed mother.”

Unwed mother. The old-fashioned phrase hurt. It made her sound cheap—and irresponsible, too. Not to mention a little bit stupid. Someone who hadn’t had sense enough to get a ring on her finger before she let a man into her bed.

Maybe, she admitted to herself, it hurt because it was all too true. She had not been smart when it came to Bobby Atwood. Which seemed funny, at that moment. Funny in a sharp and painful way. A tight laugh escaped her.

“Don’t try to make light of this, Joleen.”

The urge to laugh vanished as quickly as it had come. “I promise you, Mr. Atwood. I am not makin’ light. Not in the least.”

“Good. For child care, you rely on your family members, and they are not the kind of people who should be caring for my grandson.”

Joleen thought of that paperweight again—of how good it would feel to grab it and let it fly. “You better watch yourself, insultin’ my family.”

Robert Atwood shrugged. “I am merely stating facts. Your mother, from what I understand, and from what I witnessed today, is sexually promiscuous. Your younger sister has been in serious trouble at school and was arrested last year in a shoplifting incident. Your other sister has had some problems with the law, as well. None of those three—your mother or those sisters of yours, are the kind I would trust around my grandson. If it comes down to it, I will have little trouble convincing a judge that females like that aren’t fit caregivers for Samuel, that he would be much better off with Antonia and me.”

Joleen couldn’t help it. She raised her voice. “‘Females like that’?” she cried. “Just who do you think you are, to call my family females like that?”

“You are shouting,” said Robert Atwood.

“You’re darn right I am. I was warned about you and I should have listened. But I didn’t, and look what has happened.”

“Joleen—”

“That is all. That is it. You won’t get my baby, don’t think that you will. And I want you out of my mother’s house.”

Right then the door to the front hall swung inward. It was Dekker, all six foot three and 220, or so, very muscular pounds of him. “Joleen. Everything okay?”

The sight of her dear friend calmed her—at least a little. She said quietly, “Everything’s fine. The Atwoods were just leaving.”

“You’ll be hearing from my attorney,” Robert Atwood said.

“Fine. Just go. Now.”

Apparently, he’d said all he came to say. At last. With great dignity he guided his wife toward the door.

Which Dekker was blocking. “What’s this about a lawyer?” he demanded.

Robert Atwood spoke to Joleen. “Tell this thug to step out of my way.”

Joleen longed to tell Dekker just the opposite—to ask him if he would please break both of the Atwoods in two. But, no. It wouldn’t be right to kill the Atwoods. Not on DeDe’s wedding day, anyway.

“It’s okay, Dekker. Let them go.”

* * *

Dekker, who had a fair idea of what had been going on in Samuel’s study, stepped aside reluctantly. The Atwoods left the room. He followed them, just to make certain they got the hell out.

Once they went through the front door, he shut it firmly behind them. Then he returned to Joleen.

She was standing by her father’s desk, a pretty woman in a long dress that was not quite pink and not quite red. Her heart-shaped face was flushed, her full mouth tight. A frown had etched itself between those big brown DuFrayne eyes.

Dekker quietly closed the door.

Her mouth loosened enough to quiver a little. “Please don’t say ‘I told you so.’”

Just to make sure he had it figured out, he said, “They want to take Sam away from you.”

He hoped that maybe she would tell him it wasn’t so. But she didn’t. She picked up a brass paperweight of a Yankee soldier on a rearing horse from the edge of Samuel’s desk. “I thought about smashing Robert Atwood in the face with this.”

Dekker shook his head. “Bad idea. And, anyway, violence is not your style.”

“Right now I feel like it could be. I feel like I could do murder and never think twice.”

“You couldn’t.”

She clutched the brass figure against her body and looked at him with fury in her eyes. “He called my mother promiscuous, Dekker. He said Mama and DeDe and Niki weren’t fit to take care of Sam. He raised a shallow, sweet-talkin’ lowlife like Bobby—God forgive me for speakin’ ill of the dead—and he has the nerve to come in my mother’s house and say that my people are not good enough to do right by my child, that I am not good enough, that—”

In two long strides, he was at her side.

She looked at him with a kind of bewildered surprise—that he had moved so fast, or maybe that, in moving, he had distracted her from her rage. “What?”

“Better give me that.”

She only gripped the paperweight tighter. “He offered me money, Dekker. Money for my baby. Five hundred thousand dollars to let them have Sam.”

Dekker swore. “I’m sorry, Jo. You shouldn’t have had to listen to garbage like that.” He put his hand over hers. “Come on. Put this thing down.…”

She allowed him to pry her fingers open. He set the paperweight back in its place on the desk. Then he took her by the shoulders.

“What else?” he asked, when she finally met his eyes.

She swallowed, shook her head as if to clear it of so much hot, hurtful rage. “When I…when I told him no, that I wouldn’t take his money and he could not have my child, he started talkin’ lawsuits, how he would not have any trouble convincing a judge that Sam would be better off living with him and Antonia.”

Predictable, thought Dekker. He said, “Anything more?”

Those big eyes narrowed. “He knew. About how Niki got picked up for shoplifting last year. And he seemed to know about DeDe, about her little joyride in that stolen car.”

In fact, it was one of Niki’s friends from the bad-news crowd she’d been hanging around who’d actually tried to walk out of the department store with a cashmere sweater under her coat. But Niki had been there. She had known of the attempted theft and done nothing to stop it. And before that, there had been a series of incidents at school, bad grades and detentions, minor vandalism of school property and truancies, too.

As for DeDe, between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, she had been a true wild child. She went out with bad boys, she drank, she experimented with drugs. She’d ended up before a judge after the incident with the car, when she’d hitched a ride with a boy she hardly knew. The boy had shared his bottle of tequila with her and taken her down I-35 at a hundred miles an hour.

She’d gotten off easy, because it was her first arrest and because she hadn’t known that the car was stolen and because, by some miracle, the judge had believed her when she swore she hadn’t known. But she’d come very close to doing some time. After that, she’d cleaned up her act.

The problem with Niki and DeDe, the way Dekker saw it, was losing their father—and not getting enough attention and supervision from their mother. Camilla loved her girls with all her heart, but she’d been sunk in desperate grief for the first year or two after Samuel’s death. And since then she was often distracted by all the boyfriends. She also worked long hours at the salon that she and Joleen now operated together.

Joleen had done her best to pick up the slack, to be there for her sisters, to offer attention and to provide discipline. She’d taken a lot of flack from both DeDe and Niki for her pains. They’d acted out their resentments on her; they’d fought her every time she tried to rein them in.

But recently things had started looking up. Niki had left the bad crowd behind. She took school seriously, was getting As and Bs rather than Ds and Fs. And DeDe had really settled down, as well. Joleen had dared to let herself think that the worst part of raising her own sisters was behind her.

Not that the reform of the Tilly girls would matter one damn bit to a self-righteous bastard like Robert Atwood.

“Oh, I cannot believe this is happening.” Joleen pulled away from Dekker’s grip and sank to one of the faded easy chairs. For a moment, she stared down at her lap, slim shoulders drooping. Then she pulled herself up straight again. “When I asked him how he knew those things about my sisters and my mother, he said he had his sources. Dekker, that man has had someone snooping around in our lives.” She said it as if it were some sort of surprise. “Why, I would not put it past him to have hired someone, some private detective…”

“You mean someone like me?”

She let out a small, guilty-sounding groan. “Oh, Dekker, no. I didn’t mean it that way.…”

“It’s okay. I did. I’m damn good at what I do. When I dig up the dirt on someone for a client, I get it all. I’m sure whoever Robert Atwood hired has done the same.”

She put up a hand to swipe a shiny golden-brown curl back from her forehead. “Dekker, it won’t work, will it? He couldn’t get Sam by claiming that my mother and sisters are unfit. Could he?”

Dekker wished he didn’t have to answer that one.

Joleen picked up his reluctance. “You think it could work, don’t you?” Her shoulders drooped again. “Oh, God…”

He dropped to a crouch at her feet. “Look. I’m only saying it might work. Your sisters and your mother all pitch in, to take care of Sam when you can’t.”

“So? Good child care costs plenty. If I had to hire someone, I couldn’t come close to affording the kind of care I can get from my family for free.” She leaned toward him in the chair, intent on convincing him of how right she was—though somewhere in the back of her mind, she had to realize she was preaching to the choir. “They are good with him, Dekker, you know that they are. And as for Niki and DeDe, it’s been a long time since there’s been any trouble from either of them. And Mama—well, all right. She likes men and she loves to go out. Is that a crime? I don’t know all her secrets, but I know she is not having affairs with all of them. She is no bed hopper. She loves the romance of it, that’s all. She loves getting flowers and going dancing. But then, after way too little time with each guy, she can’t pretend anymore. She admits to herself that the latest man is not my father. So she moves on to the next one—and what in the world does that have to do with how she is with Sam?”

“It’s got nothing to do with how she is with Sam. The truth is, Camilla is a fine grandma. You know it and I know it. But I’m trying to get you to see that it’s not the truth that matters here.”

She blinked. “Not the truth?”

“No, Jo,” he said patiently. “It’s the way things look. The way Robert Atwood and the lawyers he gets will make things look. It’s appearances. A war of words and insinuations. Atwood’s lawyers will take what your sisters have actually done and make it look a hundred times worse. They’ll leave out any extenuating circumstances, minimize things like recent good behavior. It will be their job to make it appear that DeDe and Nicole are a pair of hardened criminals. And they’ll make your mama look like some kind of—”

Joleen put up a hand. “Don’t say it, okay? She’s not. You know she’s not.”

“That’s right. I know. But my opinion doesn’t count for squat here. You have to come to grips with that.”

She just didn’t want to get it. So she launched into a renewed defense of Camilla and the girls. “They’re great with Sam, Dekker. All three of them. He is nuts about them, and they take wonderful care of him. They—”

“Joleen. Listen. The point is not what good care they take of Sam. The point is, what is a judge going to think?” He caught her hands, chafed them between his own. “If the Atwoods hired me to work up a negative report on Camilla and your sisters, I could get enough together to make them look pretty bad.”

She swallowed again and tugged her hands free of his. “Oh, I hate this.”

Should he have left it at that? Maybe. But he had to be sure she understood the true dimensions of the problem.

“Jo.”

She made a small, unwilling noise in her throat.

He laid it on her. “There’s also the little problem of Robert Atwood’s influence in this town. He has power, Joleen. Lots of it. You have to face that. He’s contributed to a hell of a lot of big-time political causes and campaigns, and he has supported the careers of a number of local judges.”

“What are you tellin’ me? That some judge is going to give my little boy to the Atwoods as payback on some political favor?”

“It could be a factor.”

“Well, that’s just plain wrong.”

“It doesn’t matter that it’s wrong.”

“But—”

“I keep trying to make you see. Right and wrong are not the issues here. It’s money, Joleen. Money and power. You can’t underestimate what big bucks and heavy-duty influence can do.”

She swiped that cute brown curl off her forehead again. “Oh, why didn’t I listen to you? I never should have called him. I never should have—”

“But you did. And even though I thought it was a bad idea, I do know that you did it for the right reasons. For Sam’s sake. And to give the Atwoods a chance to know their grandson.”

“It was also pride, Dekker,” she said in a small voice. “I’ve got…a problem with pride. I want to do right. I want to do right so bad, I get pigheaded about it. And I, well, it’s exactly what you said earlier. I’m ashamed. I was supposed to be the one with both of my feet on the ground in this family. But look at me…”

He couldn’t help reaching out and running a finger along her soft cheek. “You look just fine.”

She caught his hand, squeezed it, let it go. “You know what I mean. I ended up with a baby and no husband, got myself ‘in trouble,’ made the oldest mistake in the book. So when I called Robert Atwood, I was hopin’…to make up for that, somehow. To be bigger than the mess I got myself into. To get past my own bad judgment in falling for Bobby by reachin’ out to his folks in their hour of need. It was pride, Dekker. You were right. Just plain old pigheaded pride.”

“And now it’s over and done with. You need to let it go and move on.”

“How can I let it go when I am so furious at myself?”

“Look at it this way. It’s very likely, even if you hadn’t told them they had a grandson, that the Atwoods would have found out about Sam eventually. We may not travel in their circles. But word does get around.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah.” He rose to stand above her. “Now. Are you finished giving yourself hell?”

She blew out a long breath. “Oh, I guess.”

“Then we can start thinking about what to do, about how to fight what they’re going to be throwing at you. The main attack is going to be on the fitness of your child care, the way it looks now.”

She stared up at him. “What are you telling me?”

“I think you know.”

For an endless few moments, neither of them spoke. Noises from outside the study rose up to fill the quiet—a woman’s laughter beyond the high leaded-glass window that looked out on the side of the house, the music on Camilla’s stereo, something slow and bluesy and sweet.

“All right,” Joleen said at last. “I’ll find someone else to watch Sam when I’m working. It will be tight, but I’ll manage it.”

“Good.”

“And then somehow I will have to tell my mama and my sisters why they are suddenly not to be trusted with the little boy they all adore.”

“You don’t have to tell them anything tonight. You’ve got a little time to think it over. You’ll come up with a good approach.”

“It doesn’t matter what approach I take, there will be hurt feelings. There will be cryin’ and carryin’ on—and then I’ve got to get a good lawyer, right?”

“Yes. But don’t worry there. I’ll find you the right man.”

“And then I have to pay the lawyer. Oh, what a mess. There is no way around it. This is going to cost a bundle.”

Dekker knew that Joleen made an okay living, working with her mother. She supported herself and Sam and she did a decent job of it. He also knew that there wasn’t much left over once all the bills were paid. Quality child care and a good lawyer would stretch her budget way past the breaking point.

But it was okay. Money, after what had happened in Los Angeles, would be the least of their problems. Dekker wanted to tell her as much. However, that would only get her started asking questions about L.A.

Right now, they had a limited amount of time before someone would be knocking on the study door, demanding that Joleen get out there and deal with some other minor crisis. When he told her about L.A., he didn’t want to be interrupted.

“Don’t look so miserable,” he said. “We’re just getting it all out there, so we can see what we have to deal with.”

“I know.” But she didn’t know. He could see by her worried frown that the money problem was really bothering her.

He strove to ease her fears without saying too much. “The money issue can be handled.”

“I don’t see how.” She looked down at her lap and shook her head.

“Jo, I’ll help out. The bills will get paid.”

“Oh, no.” She glanced up then, her frown deeper than before. “You work hard for your money. And we both know you don’t have much more of it than I do.”

Joleen was right—or she would have been right, as of a few days ago. Before the trip to Southern California, Dekker would have had to rob a bank to be of much use to her financially. He’d gone into something of a downward spiral, right after his wife, Stacey, died. He’d quit his job and sold his house. He had not worked for several months while grief and guilt did their best to eat him alive. With Joleen’s help, he’d pulled himself out of it. But by that time he didn’t have a whole hell of a lot left.

For almost two years now he had operated a one-man detective agency in a one-room office over a coin laundry downtown. It paid the rent and put food on the table, but that was about it.

Or it had been. Until he’d flown to L.A. and learned that he had money to burn. He was a rich man now, and he had every intention of spending whatever it took to help Joleen fight the SOB who thought he could take her child away.

“I have a few extra resources,” he said. “I mean it. Don’t worry about money.”

“Dekker. You are not listening.”

“No. You’re the one who’s not listening.”

“I couldn’t take money from you.”

“Sure you could—for Sam’s sake.”

“No. It wouldn’t be right. I couldn’t live with myself if I—”

Someone knocked on the door. “Joly?” It was DeDe’s voice. “Joly, are you in there?”

Joleen glanced toward the sound and sighed.

Dekker said softly, “It’s all right. We’ll talk more. Later. After the party’s over and everyone’s gone home.”

“You know that’s going to be good and late.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be available.”

“Thank you,” she said. Even if he hadn’t been a brand-new multimillionaire, the look she gave him then would have made him feel like one.

“Joly?” DeDe knocked again.

Joleen pushed herself from the chair and smoothed out her skirt. “Come on in.”

The door swung inward and DeDe demanded, “What are you doing in here? I have been looking all over for you.”

“Well, you have found me.”

DeDe glanced from her sister to Dekker, then back to Joleen again. “What’s going on?”

Dekker laughed. “None of your business. What do you need?”

DeDe wrinkled her nose. “Oh, it’s Uncle Stan. He wants some special coffee.” In the Tilly and DuFrayne families, special coffee was coffee dosed with Irish Cream and Grand Marnier.

“And?” Joleen prompted.

“I can’t find the Bailey’s.”

“Did you look in the—”

DeDe groaned. “I looked everywhere. Would you just come and find it?”

“Sure.”

“And it’s almost eight. I think I should throw the bouquet pretty soon.”

“Good idea.”

“I want you to stand about ten feet, in a direct line, behind me when I do it. Understand?”

“DeDe.” Joleen looked weary. “The whole idea with the bouquet is that everyone is supposed to get a fair chance at it.”

“Too bad. It’s my wedding. And my big sister is catchin’ my bouquet.”

Chapter 4

Joleen did catch the bouquet.

It wasn’t as if she had a choice in the matter. DeDe, after all, had made up her mind that Joleen would be getting it. And there was just no sense fighting DeDe once she’d made up her mind.

Cousin Callie Tilly, one of Uncle Stan’s daughters, who worked at a bank and had just hit the big three-oh with no prospective husband in sight, was a little put out at the way DeDe went and tossed those flowers at the exact spot where Joleen stood. Callie grumbled that she was older than Joleen and she needed that bouquet more.

But her own father told her to quit whining and have herself a little special coffee. Which cousin Callie did. And then one of Wayne’s friends, a handsome cowboy in dress jeans and fancy tooled boots, asked Callie if she would care to dance. Her attitude improved considerably after that.

Joleen put Sam to bed upstairs in her old room at a little after nine o’clock. When she went back outside, she did some dancing herself. She danced with Uncle Stan and Bud and Burly. And with another friend of Wayne’s, a tall, broad-shouldered fellow who ran an oyster bar in Tulsa. He told her she had beautiful eyes and that she knew how to follow. He claimed there were way too many women who tried to lead when they danced. Joleen smiled sweetly up at him and wondered if he was casting some kind of aspersion on modern women as a whole.

Then she decided she was just too suspicious. A guy called her a good dancer and she started thinking of ways to take it as an offense.

But then again, after what had happened with Bobby Atwood two years ago and with Bobby’s father just this evening, well, was it any wonder she had trouble trusting men?

After the oyster bar owner from Tulsa, she danced with Dekker. Thank God for Dekker. Now there was a man that a woman could trust. She was so very fortunate to have a friend like him, who came straight to her aid anytime things got tough.

Of course, she would never take the money he insisted he would give her. But it meant the world, that he would offer—and that he always came through for her and her mama and her sisters, too.

Anytime any one of them needed him, he was there.

And did she ever need him now. She needed his clear mind and his steely nerves—not to mention all he knew from being first a cop and now a private investigator. Dekker saw all the angles. Yes, he was way too cynical—but right now she needed someone who looked at the world through wide-open eyes. Someone to show her how to fight Bobby’s father at his own game.

Joleen closed her eyes and laid her head on Dekker’s broad shoulder.

“It’s going to be all right, Jo,” he whispered against her hair.

Something in his tone alerted her. She lifted her head and looked up at him. “You’ve thought of what to do. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Could be.”

She couldn’t read his expression. “What are you thinking?”

“Later.” He guided her head back to rest on his shoulder. “After everyone’s gone home. We’ll talk about it then. About all of it.…”

* * *

At eleven DeDe and Wayne took off for Wayne’s house. They’d spend their wedding night there and then leave in the morning for a twelve-day honeymoon at a two-hundred-year-old inn on the Mississippi shore.

Wayne’s new peacock-green SUV had been properly adorned for the occasion, with Just Married scrawled in shaving cream across the rear window, Here Comes the Bride on the windshield and tin cans hooked to the rear bumper by lengths of thick string.

Joleen had the bird seed ready, wrapped in little rose-colored satin squares and tied with white bows. She passed it around and DeDe and Wayne ducked through a rain of it as they raced for the car. Then everyone stood on the sidewalk beneath the Victorian-style lamps that lined all the streets of Mesta Park, waving and calling out last-minute advice.

“Good luck!”

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”

“But if you do, take pictures!”

Wayne revved the engine and pulled away from the curb. The handsome SUV rolled off into the night, tin cans rattling behind.

Most of the guests took their leave then, turning for their own cars, waving goodbye and making happy noises about what a great time they’d had. A few stayed on—Callie and her cowboy, one of Camilla’s admirers, Aunt LeeAnne and Uncle Foley—to enjoy another dance or two out in the lantern-lit backyard. It was after one when Camilla, Joleen and Dekker showed the last of them to the door.

“’Bye, now. Drive with care.…” Camilla shut the door, turned off the porch light and then stretched like a sleek and very contented cat. “Oh, it has been a long and lovely day.” Her smooth brows drew together. “Now, where did Niki get off to?”

Joleen said, “She went up to bed about half an hour ago.”

“Our little Sammy all snuggled in?”

“I put him down in my room.”

“Well.” Camilla gave her oldest daughter a lazy smile. “I believe I am ready for bed myself. You and Sammy stayin’?”

“I think so. I’d just as soon not wake him. And tomorrow I’d only be headin’ back over here to start cleaning up.”

“Good. You’ll lock the doors when you’re through down here, then?”

“I will. Right now, though, Dekker and I are goin’ out in back for a while, to enjoy the peace and quiet.”

“Don’t you start in cleaning up tonight,” Camilla warned. “I mean it. It’s late. You’ve worked hard enough. We’ll take care of everything tomorrow.”

“I won’t lift a finger, I promise.”

Camilla was not convinced. She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “I know how you are. The only child of mine who will work instead of playin’ if given the choice. You have to learn to slow down a little, baby. Smell the flowers now and then.”

“Mama, I’m not cleaning up a thing tonight. We’re just going to sit outside and talk some, that’s all.”

“What do you two talk about? Always with your heads together. Thick as thieves, I swear.”

“Nothing important, Mama.” Well, all right. That was a flat-out lie. But the truth, right then, would not have served. When the time came, Joleen would tell her mother whatever she thought her mother had to know.

Camilla was already on her way up the stairs. She paused on the third step and cast a glance toward the door to the living room. Uncle Hubert was still in there, snoring away. They could hear the low rumblings even through the closed door. “Put a blanket over Hubert?”

“I will. Right away. ’Night, Mama.”

“’Night…” Camilla went on up.

Joleen got a chenille throw from the closet under the stairs. She and Dekker spread it over Uncle Hubert, who just went on snoring, gone to the world.

“You want a beer or something?” she asked Dekker before they went outside.

“I wouldn’t mind some ice water.”

That sounded good to her, too, so she fixed them two tall glasses and led him out into the night.

Camilla had a matching pair of chaise lounges with nice, thick, floral-patterned cushions. For the wedding party, Joleen had put them near the fence, under the sweet gum in the corner of the yard. A low patio table sat between the lounges, just perfect for setting their glasses on.

“You think it’s too dark out here?” Joleen asked. They’d unplugged the lanterns a little while before.

“I like the dark.”

So they went over and stretched out on the lounges and stared up through the leaves of the sweet gum at the stars. They hadn’t had a single frost yet, so cicadas serenaded them from the trees, making it seem as though it was still summer. Now and then, from the wires overhead, night birds trilled out their high, lonesome songs. The moon had gone down some time before, but as her eyes adjusted, Joleen found she could see well enough, after all. There were no clouds, and the stars were like diamonds sewn into the midnight fabric of the sky.

Joleen set her glass down and leaned back, aware of a jittery feeling in her stomach. Anticipation. She just knew that her friend had come up with a way out of this tight spot she had got herself into.

He had said as much, hadn’t he?

Everything will be all right, Jo. Dekker was not the kind to give her empty words. If he said things would be all right, it was because he honestly thought they would be.

She waited, her jitters increasing, wishing she could see inside his mind, that she could know what he was thinking, what kind of plan he had thought up—and at the same time reticent, not wanting to push him, feeling it was only right he should say what he had to say in his own time. And in his own way.

He sipped his ice water, set it down next to hers. And then, finally, he spoke. “I want to tell you about Los Angeles first.”

Oh, not now, she thought. She did want to hear about whatever had gone on out there, but right now, as far as she was concerned, everything took a backseat to the problem of Robert Atwood and the threat he posed to Sam.

Be patient, she silently reminded herself as she sucked in a slow breath and let it out with care. “All right. Tell me about Los Angeles.”

It was a moment before he said anything. Cicada songs swelled, then faded off when he spoke.

“Do you remember, about a week and a half ago, that couple who showed up at your mama’s front door—Jonas Bravo and his wife, Emma?”

Joleen remembered. Jonas Bravo and his wife had told a strange story about a baby, a baby that had been Jonas Bravo’s younger brother. They’d claimed that the baby had been kidnapped thirty years ago. And that they were looking for a Lorraine Smith, who was supposed to know something about the kidnapping. Joleen had told them that the Lorraine Smith who used to live next door wasn’t going to be able to help them, since she was no longer alive. Then Camilla had mentioned that Lorraine had a son. As soon as they heard that, they’d asked to speak with Dekker. Camilla had suggested they try him at work.

Joleen sought her friend’s eyes through the darkness. “I thought you said it was nothing. That they were mistaken—that it must have been some other Lorraine Smith they were looking for.”

“I lied.”

She considered that admission for a moment, then asked, “Well, and why did you go and do that?”

“Because I didn’t want to deal with what they’d told me. I didn’t want to think about it and I didn’t want to talk about it, either.”

“You mean you were lyin’ to yourself?”

“That’s right.”

The little hairs on the back of Joleen’s neck were standing at attention. “You’re saying that your mama did know something about a kidnapped baby?”

He made a low noise, a noise that meant yes.

“So when Jonas Bravo and his wife showed up at your office…”

“They told me about the baby, Jonas’s younger brother. And I told them I didn’t know anything about any baby, and neither had my mother. I asked them to leave. And they did.”

“Okay. But I don’t see what—”

“I left out a few details, when I told you about it—like the fact that Jonas said he believed I was the baby.”

Joleen’s mouth felt dry. She picked up her ice water and knocked back a big gulp. “Wait a minute. Jonas Bravo said that you were the kidnapped baby?”

“Right.”

“The kidnapped baby who was Jonas’s brother?”

Dekker was nodding at her. “Jonas said he believed that I had been kidnapped by ‘our’ uncle, Blake Bravo, for revenge against Blake’s own brother, Jonas’s father.”

“Revenge? Why?”

“That’s a whole other story. Evidently, Blake was a real shady character, had been disinherited. He blamed his brother for it. So he came up with this scheme to kidnap his younger nephew and hold the baby for ransom. He had an accomplice, according to Jonas.”

“Not…Lorraine?”

“Yes. Lorraine.”

Joleen had that feeling again, the one she’d had in her father’s study when Robert Atwood had told her he would take her child from her: that feeling of stark unreality—the absolute certainty this couldn’t be real. “This is crazy. Lorraine was your mother. We all know that.”

“Not according to Jonas Bravo. He told me that the woman I’d always believed to be my mother had helped Blake Bravo kidnap me. That Blake had demanded—and got—two million dollars worth of diamonds as a ransom.”

“Two million? Whoa. The Bravos must have had plenty of money.”

“They did. And they still do. Jonas manages the Bravo holdings. He’s an excellent businessman. They call him the Bravo Billionaire.”

Joleen took another swallow of ice water. “They?”

“The newspapers, the scandal sheets. Bravo is an important name in Los Angeles.” Dekker was watching her. He waited till she set her glass down again before he said, “So Blake got the diamonds—but he never returned the baby he had kidnapped. He and Lorraine disappeared, along with that baby, never to be seen or heard from again.”

“The baby that was…you?” It all seemed so incredible.

“Right. That’s what Jonas claimed.”

“And you denied it.”

“Yes. I said it wasn’t true and I asked him and Emma to leave. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the things that he’d said. I remembered my mother’s diary.”

This was more news to Joleen. “Lorraine left a diary?”

“Yes. She asked me not to read it until she was gone. I put it away. And I never read it. I guess I just didn’t want to deal with what I would find in there. But after Jonas and his wife paid me that visit, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I dug it out of her things.”

“And?”

“It contained her confession. She verified everything Jonas had told me. That she helped kidnap me as a baby and that she—well, she decided she wanted to keep me. She couldn’t have kids of her own. She wrote that, from the moment she lifted me out of my crib, the night that they took me from the Bravo mansion, she knew she would never give me up. In the end, after several months of moving around, living under various aliases, Blake set her up with a new identity. And a house.”

“The house…next door?”

“You got it.”

“So that means Jonas Bravo…”

“Is my brother.”

“And you took off for L.A. on Wednesday because—”

“As soon as I read what Lorraine wrote, I felt I had to go looking for him, to tell him what I’d found.”

“Oh, Dekker.” She reached across the distance between them and brushed his arm with her fingertips. “I’ll bet you couldn’t get there fast enough.”

His white teeth flashed in the darkness as he gave her a smile. “I knew you’d understand.”

“I do. I just…well, I can hardly believe it. You have a brother.…” Which was wonderful, really. Finding out he had more family, to Joleen’s mind, would be nothing but good for Dekker.

The part about Lorraine, though. That was just terrible. And so hard to accept.

Lorraine Smith had been a quiet woman, and a little bit shy, a person who tended to fade into the background in a crowd. Joleen had always thought of her as gentle. And good at heart.

Incredible, Joleen thought. Impossible.

Lorraine was not Dekker’s mama, after all. Lorraine was a kidnapper, and Dekker was the baby that she stole.

She said, “I do wish you’d explained all this earlier. I got pretty worried. I thought all kinds of things, that you might be in danger…”

“I wasn’t in danger. I just couldn’t talk about it. Not then, when I first found out.”

“I am not blaming you, Dekker. You did what you had to do. And that was to contact your brother and to share with him what you found.”

“Which brings us around to the situation with Robert Atwood.”

The quick shift in subject surprised her. For a few minutes there, with all this shocking news Dekker was laying on her, she’d actually forgotten Bobby’s father and the threat he presented to Sam. “Wait a minute. What does your being Jonas Bravo’s brother have to do with Robert Atwood?”

“Remember earlier I told you that money would be no problem?”

“Oh, Dekker, don’t start with that again. I appreciate your offerin’ to help out that way. It means so much that you would, but I told you, I cannot allow you to—”

“Jo, I’m a rich man now.”

Her mouth was open, since he’d cut her off in the middle of a sentence. She shut it, then opened it again to say, “Huh?”

“The Bravos never gave up on the idea that I might be alive somewhere. Arrangements were made for me, a huge trust set aside, just in case I might someday show up again.”

His words made her head spin. “Arrangements…a huge trust?”

“Right. What I’m trying to say is, I have millions, Joleen.”

There was that word again. Millions. Millions in diamonds. And also… “Millions of dollars?”

“What else?”

“Well, I don’t know. I can’t…Dekker, are you serious? You are a millionaire?”

“I am serious, Jo. I am a millionaire.” He was grinning again.

“Well. I can’t…I don’t…”

He chuckled. “You are sputtering.”

“It’s just…so much to take in all at once. Oh, what a crazy day it has been.”

“It’s not over yet.”

She peered at him suspiciously. “There’s more?”

“You bet. There’s my solution to your problem.”

That made her smile. “I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“That you had come up with a way to get me out of this mess.”

“And I have. It came to me a few hours ago, while we were dancing. Like a bolt right out of the blue. You’re going to think it’s insane at first. But give me a chance, let me convince you.”

“Dekker. What? Convince me of what?”

“I want you to marry me, Jo.”

Chapter 5

Joleen discovered that she understood the true meaning of the words, struck speechless.

Dekker chuckled again.

And Joleen found she could talk, after all. “It’s a joke, right? You are makin’ a joke.”

“It’s no joke, Jo.”

“Well, but you are grinnin’. And what was that sound I just heard coming out of your mouth? If that wasn’t a laugh, I will eat that bouquet my sister made me catch tonight.”

“Sorry.” He took pains to arrange his expression into more serious lines. “I couldn’t help it. You should have seen the look on your face. Like that time when you were…oh, about eight, I think. And that kid from up the block poured crushed ice down your pants.”

Joleen was thinking that sometimes she wished she hadn’t known Dekker all her life. He remembered too many things she would just as soon forget.

He asked, “What was that kid’s name?”

“Foster Stutterheim. I hated him.”

“I think he had a thing for you.”

“Well, and didn’t he have a fine way of showing it?”

“He got your attention. You have to admit that.”

“That’s right, he did. I never spoke to him again.”

“You were always way too hard on your admirers.”

She thought of her one big mistake. “Not always.”

Dekker’s eyes gleamed at her. “Well, okay. There was Bobby Atwood.”

“And I was not hard on him, and look where it got me.”

He made a low noise in his throat. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t start beating yourself up again.”

“I won’t.”

“Good. We’re dealing in solutions here.”

“Right—and I still don’t believe what you said a minute ago. Maybe you didn’t say it. Maybe I just imagined it.”

“I said it. And I want you to consider it.”

“But Dekker, why? I mean, what good would our getting married do?”

“A lot. Remember, this is about appearances. About how things look. And it always looks better if a woman is not raising her child on her own. It looks better if she’s married—and don’t start making faces. I didn’t say it was fair. I didn’t say it was right. I didn’t even say it was true that a married woman will necessarily be a better parent than an unmarried one. I’m just saying that people—and judges are people—tend to think of a two-parent home as the best thing for a kid.”

“Well, I understand that, but—”

“Wait. I said I wanted a chance to convince you, remember?”

She nodded.

“Then will you let me finish doing that?”

“Sorry.”

He continued, “I’m a rich man now. And if we’re married, you’re not going to be giving me any of that ‘I can’t take your money’ talk. My money will be your money. One of Robert Atwood’s arguments will be that he can provide for his grandson better than you can. If you’re married to me, that argument is shot down.”

“But, Dekker—”

He stopped her with a look. “I also want you to consider what’s been bothering you the most. Which is how you’re going to afford both good child care and the legal battle that’s coming up. If you marry me, the cost of all that will be no problem. You can hire the best damn lawyers, and you’ll be able to pay for top quality child care. Hell, if you want to stop working altogether, be there full-time for Sam, you could do that, too.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. You know me. I like to work.”

“Does that mean I’ve convinced you?”

She wasn’t ready to admit that yet. “I only said I like to work.”

“So fine. Work. And put Sam in the best day care center in the city.”

She had to admit that his arguments made sense.

But there were a few issues he hadn’t covered—awkward, uncomfortable issues. Issues she felt a little bit embarrassed to bring up, even with her very best friend.

But still, they were issues that needed discussing before they did anything so wild and strange as to marry each other in order to keep Robert Atwood from taking her child.

“Say it,” he said after a few very long minutes in which neither of them had made a sound. “Whatever it is, we can’t deal with it if you won’t get it out there.”

She scrunched up her nose at him. “Well, I know that.”

“Okay, then. Talk.”

“It’s just…”

“What?”

She stared at him, struck by the tone of his voice. He sounded…so excited about this. In the soft glow of starlight he looked eager and intent, his eyes focused hard on her, watching her so closely.

Such earnestness surprised her.

Most of the time it was hard to know what Dekker Smith was feeling. It wasn’t that he hid his emotions, exactly. Just that he guarded them. He kept them in check. He could be warm and funny and gentle and kind. But most of the time he made it seem as though nothing was life-or-death to him. As if he could turn and walk away from anything, that there was nothing—and no one—he really needed to get by.

Of course, she had learned a few years ago how deep his feelings actually went. It had almost killed him when Stacey died.

But still, he didn’t make a habit of letting what was going on inside him show.

Not so right now.

Now he did seem eager. And earnest. And excited. Three words that, until that moment, she would never have used to describe Dekker Smith.

“Jo.” His voice was gruff. “What is it? Damn it, talk to me.”

She made herself say it. “It’s just that, while I do love you and I know that you love me, it is not a man-and-woman kind of love. I guess I’m saying, what about love, Dekker? And, well, what about sex?”

He sent her a look of great patience. “Let’s tackle one insurmountable obstacle at a time, all right?”

“Please don’t make light. I think this is important.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“But you—”

“I only meant that we’ll work it out. Day by day, as we go along.”

“Well, Dekker, I’m sorry. But I just can’t.”

“You can’t take it day by day?”

“No, I mean I wouldn’t feel right unless we came to some kind of understanding about what we’re going to do when it comes to…the things that men and women do—and why are you looking at me like you find me amusing?”

“Because I do find you amusing—in a good way.”

“Oh. In a good way, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s supposed to make it all right that you are laughin’ at me?”

“I am not laughing at you.”

She made a humphing sound. “Well, I don’t care. Whatever you’re doing, it’s not going to stop me from talkin’ about this. Sex is a problem, and we have to face it.”

“I disagree. Sex is not a problem. Not right now, anyway, not unless you insist on making it a problem.”

“But…well, I mean, that’s just not us, it’s not what we are together. We are deep and true friends. But we are not lovers.”

“Right. So?”

“Well, even if we didn’t sleep together, if I was married to you, I would be true to you. And I would really hate it if you were not true to me. Marriage, even a marriage for practical reasons, is still a sacred trust, Dekker. A trust that should be respected and…” She could see that he was only waiting for his turn to talk. Fine. “What?” she demanded. “Say it. Go ahead.”

“I would be true to you.”

“You would?”

“Yes.”

“But what if you—”

“Don’t start in with the thousand and one possible reasons I might have for wanting to sleep around. I don’t need to hear them. I said, I’ll be true to you, even though we’re not lovers.”

“But what happens when—”

He cut her off, his voice low. “Fact is, it’s just not that important to me.”

She felt her cheeks warming. “It’s not?”

“Right. It’s not.”

Maybe she had misunderstood him. “You mean, uh, you’re telling me that sex is not that important to you?”

“Sex. Love—what you call man-and-woman love, anyway. When it comes to that, well, I’m pretty much dead meat.”

Dead meat. How sad. Joleen had known that what had happened with Stacey had scarred her friend in a deep way. But she’d been telling herself he was slowly getting over the pain of that time.

Not so, evidently.

He went on. “I’d rather be with you than with a lover anyday. And I never planned to marry again—at least not until I thought of marrying you tonight. I’ve got to tell you, Jo. I like this idea. A marriage to you sounds damn good to me. Hell. To be legally a part of the family—of your family, and Sam’s—sounds pretty terrific, as a matter of fact. Until you brought it up, I didn’t even think of the sex issue. It didn’t seem important. I guess I had some idea that, since Bobby Atwood did a number on you, you felt more or less the same way I do about love and romance and everything that goes with it.”

Joleen found herself wondering, did she feel the same way—emotional dead meat when it came to man-woman love?

Well…

Not really.

“Oh, Dekker…”

He was sitting very still. “I’m listening.”

She strove for just the right words. “I, well, I can see how you would think I don’t want anything to do with love. The family drives me crazy, always after me to find someone, always telling me my turn for true love is comin’ right up. Lately it seems like every wedding I go to, I’m the one who gets the bride’s bouquet tossed in her face.”

“They do it because they want the best for you,” he reminded her gently.

“I know they do. I know all their hearts are in the right places. But still, it aggravates me no end. It’s like the old saying goes. Once burned, twice shy. Bobby did burn me. Bad. I just don’t want a thing to do with it—with love and romance—not right now.”

“But?”

“Well, to you, Dekker, at this moment, because of the seriousness of what we are considering, I am willin’ to admit something.”

“Do it.”

“Even on the day that Bobby turned his back on me, even then, when I had to face the fact that I’d made a worse mistake in judgment than my mama and my sisters ever made. Even then, I knew deep in my heart that someday—maybe not for years and years—but someday I would try again.”

He looked at her levelly. “Years and years, Jo. Do you hear yourself? You are talking about a long time.”

“Maybe so. But still. Someday, I can’t help but hope, I will find love—and I mean the real and lastin’ kind.”

“Too bad you need a husband right now. A husband with a fat wallet, a husband you can count on.”

“Well, okay. You may be right, but—”

“Let me put it this way.” He leaned closer. They’d been talking quietly, but right then, he lowered his voice even more, as if they were a pair of conspirators, as if he were about to suggest the most dangerous conspiracy of all. “You could marry me now. We could deal with the Atwoods together, present a united front. And eventually, once the Atwoods are no longer a threat to you and Sam, if you feel you’ve got to have more than I can give you, well then, we’ll end it.”

She hated to say the ugly word, but it did require saying. “Divorce, you mean?”

He nodded.

She found herself leaning toward him as he leaned toward her. “So. We could marry…” She was whispering, too, keeping her voice way down low so that only he could hear, though it was nearing two in the morning and they were alone in her mother’s dark backyard. “We could marry and live together and be just what we are—friends, and that’s all. But we’d also stay true, to each other. Respect our vows. And then, if the time comes when one of us wants more than the other can give, we would get ourselves a divorce.”

He nodded again. “That’s exactly right.”

She thought of the family. “What would we tell everyone? Would we try to make them think that all of a sudden the two of us discovered we were in love?”

“However you want to handle it. Maybe calling it love would be the best way to go. You’ve got some pretty big talkers in your family.”

He had a point there. She said, “Aunt LeeAnne comes immediately to mind.”

“That she does. And it’s possible, if we let it be known that this marriage is really for Sam’s sake, the Atwoods might get hold of that information. They could twist it to make it look as if there’s no real commitment between us, as if it’s only a marriage on paper, entered into so that you wouldn’t lose Sam to them.”

“Well. And that would be the truth, more or less, wouldn’t it?”

His gaze did not waver. “There is, always has been and always will be, commitment between us.”

Oh, he was so right. They did share a very deep commitment. She swallowed, gave a nod.

He said, “Let me put it this way. If you think the Atwoods have a right to that particular truth, then we probably don’t need to be having this conversation.”

She took his meaning. “Because we might as well not be married at all, if Robert Atwood is going to be able to call our marriage a sham. That’s what you’re saying, right?”

He nodded.

“Okay.” She flopped back against the cushion and stared up through the trees at the starry night sky. “So we’d need to make everyone think it’s a real marriage, in every way. We’d need to—”

He chuckled again. “Jo. Settle down.”

“Well, I want to get this all straight in my mind. I want to know exactly how we would manage everything.”

“And I’m trying to tell you that we don’t need to ‘make’ them think anything. We’ll just say we love each other and we’ve decided to get married. I don’t see why we have to go into any big explanations about what kind of love it is.”

Easy for him to say. She sat up a little straighter. “Maybe you won’t. You’re the man. The women in my family will not be askin’ you why, all of a sudden, you’re getting hitched to your best friend.”

“You can handle them.”

“How?”

“Let them ask. Answer with care.”

She knew he had the right idea. But she did hate evading and telling lies. If she and Dekker did this, she would have to lie at least a little and evade a whole lot.

She told him, “The family will have to know that the Atwoods are after Sam. Eventually, when we get to court, I don’t see any way we could hide it. And then there’s the babysitting issue. I’m going to have to tell my mama and my sisters why they suddenly can’t watch my child.”

“Our getting married will make that easier.”

“How?”

“We’ll tell them about the money I’ve got now, money that means you can start paying for day care, so you won’t have to take advantage of them so much anymore.”

For the first time since they’d started this particular discussion, Joleen felt a smile curving her lips. “Hey. When you say it that way, it doesn’t sound bad at all.”

“And it’s the truth, too.”

“Just not the whole truth.”

“Truth enough.”

Was it? Well, all right. Maybe it was.

He picked up his empty water glass. “I think I wouldn’t mind a beer, after all.”

“Help yourself.” She gestured toward the coolers still lined up by the garden shed.

He rose from the chaise and went to get himself a cold one. Joleen let her head drop back to the cushion again.

Strange. The more Dekker had talked, the more he had laid out all the reasons they ought to get married, the more his crazy idea seemed like the best way to handle her problem.

He was right about a lot of things.

Like when he said that neither of them was in the market for a grand passion right now—and that maybe neither of them would ever be. In that case the marriage could turn out to be just right for both of them, and in a forever way, too.

But however long it lasted, she felt certain they could make a go of it, make it work. Make a good marriage. Maybe there wouldn’t be passion or even sex. But she had lived without sex and passion for a good part of her life. Going without those things hadn’t killed her yet. And Dekker had just told her—and really seemed to mean it—that he could do without them, too.

Oh, and they did have so much that they shared. Yes, sometimes he was closemouthed, even with her. But she never kept secrets from him. She loved nothing so much as talking things over with him. And the thought of having him at her side, as her husband, when she faced the Atwoods, created the sweetest, most wonderful feeling of relief in her troubled heart.

He came back to her, stretched his big body out in the chaise next to hers again. She heard the popping sound as he opened his beer. She turned her head to him as he drank and watched him with fondness, waiting for him to look at her.

When he did meet her eyes, she spoke softly. “Thank you. For bein’ my true friend.”

He set the can on the low table between them. “Are you going to marry me?”

“Yes, Dekker. I am.”

Chapter 6

They broke the news to the family the next day, at dinner. Uncle Stan and his wife, Aunt Catherine, were there. So were Bud and Burly. And Aunt LeeAnne and Uncle Foley. They’d all come by in the afternoon to help with the after-wedding cleanup.

Uncle Hubert was there, too. He had never left. He hadn’t been much use as a worker, since he was nursing a sick hangover from his excesses the day before, but he came to the table when Camilla called him, so he heard the announcement right along with everyone else.

Niki cried. And so did Aunt LeeAnne.

“Oh, what did I tell you, hon?” Aunt LeeAnne sobbed. “I said you’d be next and wasn’t I right?”

Joleen handed her aunt a tissue, gave her a hug, and agreed that yes, she had been right.

Uncle Hubert said, “This calls for a little drink, to celebrate.”

Aunt LeeAnne sniffed. “The last thing anyone needs right now, Hubert, is a little drink.”

Hubert, sober right then and at least somewhat abashed after his behavior at the wedding, had the grace not to argue with her. “Pass those little red pepper things,” he mumbled.

They were having take-out. Camilla had ordered five giant-size deep-dish meat-lover’s-style pizzas to feed the hungry cleanup crew.

Niki grabbed a tissue of her own and blew her nose. Then she reached for another big slice. “Oh, I can’t believe it,” she sniffled and swiped at her still-leaking eyes. “Dekker and Joly…married. Dekker will be like my brother for real.…”

There were more hugs, from Aunt Catherine and Uncle Stan. And lots of good wishes and hearty congratulations from Bud and Burly and Uncle Foley, too.

Camilla did not cry. She didn’t say much, either, a fact that Joleen hardly noticed, since everyone else seemed to be talking nonstop.

After they’d finished off the pizzas, Joleen said she and Sam had to get on home. Tomorrow, after all, would be a workday. She had laundry to take care of and she needed to fit in a trip to the store. Her refrigerator was empty. In the past few days DeDe’s wedding had put her own life completely on hold.

Dekker said he had to get going, too. He walked her to her hatchback economy car before climbing into his battered metal-flake blue Plymouth Road Runner, which he’d had since time began and which bore the dubious distinction of being a year older than he was.

Joleen strapped Sam into his car seat in back and then went around to slide behind the wheel.

Dekker shut her door and leaned in her window. “I thought it went pretty well.”

“I thought so, too. But there’s a lot more left to tell.”

They hadn’t even mentioned the change in Dekker’s fortunes. That would take some explaining and seemed better accomplished one-on-one. Joleen would tell her mother and Niki the story privately. And she’d tell DeDe, too, as soon as her middle sister returned from her wedding trip.

And then there was the news about the Atwoods. They’d have to get into that unpleasant subject with the family at some point.

And the new babysitting arrangements would have to be handled, as well. As a rule DeDe watched Sam in the mornings, Joleen or her mother took over for a couple of hours after lunch. Then when Niki got home from school, she would be on duty until six or so, when Joleen got through at the salon. Dotty Hendershot, the sweet older lady who lived next door to Camilla, in the house where Dekker had grown up, would pick up the slack.

All that would change now. But further discussion last night had brought them to the conclusion that they didn’t have to deal with the child-care issue right away. The wedding would be simple and soon—by the end of the week, they were thinking. And Dekker had proposed a honeymoon, one with Sam included. Dekker said he could afford it, and they both agreed it would be good to have a little time away together, just the three of them, at the start of their new life as a family.

So they would take two weeks for a wedding trip—destination to be decided in the next few days. And when they came home, Joleen would begin looking for the right day care for Sam. By the time the Atwoods geared up to drag her before a judge, she and Dekker would have all the bases covered.

Dekker touched the side of her face. “What is that frown for?”

“Just thinking about how much has to be done.”

“Worrying, you mean.”

“Maybe…”

“You worry too much, Jo. We’ll get to it. To all of it. Little by little.”

She produced a smile for him. “I know.”

“One thing you do need to deal with right away. Your blood test. I’m going to get mine taken care of tomorrow.”

“I’ve got no appointments between one and three. I’ll see if I can fit it in then.”

“Good. And what do you think of a week in L.A. and then maybe Maui for the other week?”

“L.A.? Would we visit your brother?”

“If that’s okay with you. I have a standing invitation.”

“We’d stay at his house?”

“That’s right.”

“But wouldn’t that be inconvenient for him, on such short notice?”

Dekker laughed. “We could stay at Jonas’s house for a month and never even set eyes on him, if he didn’t want to see us. Angel’s Crest is enormous.”

“Angel’s Crest?”

“The Bravo mansion.”

“His house has a name?”

“That’s right. Angel’s Crest is on a hill, in Bel Air. It’s an incredible place. Ocean and city views from just about every room in the house. It’s been in the Bravo family for three generations, I think Jonas said.”

“This is sounding very interesting.”

“And did I mention Mandy? I want Sam to meet her.”

“Who?”

“Amanda is two. She’s Jonas’s adopted sister.”

“Wait a minute. Your, uh, real mother adopted a baby girl, before she died?”

“That’s right. And now Jonas and Emma are raising her.”

“So Sam will have an aunt who is two?”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes. He will.”

“Well, what can I say? Sam just has to meet his Aunt Mandy.”

“Are you telling me yes to a week in L.A.?”

“I sure am.”

“And then Hawaii?”

“Why not?”

“Or maybe I’ll just wait. Keep it open-ended. We can decide what we want to do next after we get to L.A.”

“That’s fine.”

“Okay, then.” He stepped back from her door, touched his temple in a goodbye salute and headed for his own car.

* * *

Joleen returned to her mother’s at eight-thirty the next morning. Camilla had agreed to watch Sam for a couple of hours. Joleen planned to run a few errands without the distractions a toddler presented before she opened the salon at nine-thirty. When she came to work herself, Camilla would take Sam to Dotty next door.

Camilla was never an early riser by choice. Usually, Joleen had to shake her awake and stick a cup of coffee under her nose any time she had babysitting duty before ten or so.

But that morning Joleen walked into the kitchen with Sam in her arms and found Camilla sitting in the breakfast nook, her coffee already in front of her, wide-awake and fully dressed.

Joleen started at the sight. “Mama. You’re up.”

“Yes, I am, baby,” said Camilla in a determined tone.

Sam put both hands on Joleen’s shoulder and gave a push. “Dow, Mama. Pway.”

Joleen bent to let him to the floor. He toddled off toward the living room where Camilla kept a big bin of toys just for him.

“Has Niki already left for school?”

Camilla nodded, picked up her coffee and took a delicate sip.

“Uncle Hubert and everyone finally go home?”

“Yes, they did.”

Joleen wondered why it felt as if something wasn’t right. “Everything okay, Mama?”

Camilla answered by lifting a shoulder in a shrug.

“Well,” Joleen said brightly. “Since you are up and about, I might as well get goin’. When’s your first appointment?”

“I have got a facial and cosmetic consultation at eleven.” Camilla didn’t do hair anymore. She specialized in facial care—everything from herbal masks to makeovers. A couple of years ago she’d brought in a pricey new line of products, which she used and promoted exclusively. The line was a big success, mostly because Camilla had the knack for exploiting and enhancing the natural beauty of each of her clients.

“Okay, then.” Joleen started for the front door. “I’ll see you at eleven.”

“Baby.” Her mother’s voice was flat.

Joleen turned. “What is the matter, Mama?”

“Have some coffee.”

“I really want to get—”

“I know you do. You always do. But whatever it is can wait. We need to talk.”

“Mama, can’t we talk a little later? I’ve got to be at the shop in an hour and before that I want to—”

“Don’t argue with me, now. Get yourself some coffee and sit down here with me.”

“Mama, I have got to get goin’.”

Her mother just looked at her.

“Oh, all right.” Joleen got a mug from the cupboard, filled it and took the chair across from her mother. “Now, what is it that just cannot wait?”

Camilla had stopped looking at Joleen. Now she stared into her coffee cup, her mouth drawn down at the corners, as if there might be something in there that shouldn’t be.

Joleen, who needed to get to the cleaners and make a quick stop at WalMart before she headed over to one of the major beauty supply houses to pick up a few popular products they had run low on, couldn’t keep herself from making a small, impatient sound in her throat.

Camilla heaved a deep sigh and shook her head at her coffee cup. “I find I don’t quite know how to say this.”

That suits me just fine, Joleen thought. “It’s okay. We can talk later.” She started to stand. “Tonight, after—”

“No, you don’t.” Camilla’s hand closed over her arm. “You are not escapin’ me.”

Joleen stared at her mother’s hand, which was soft and slim, the smooth square-filed nails polished a shimmery bronze. It did not look like the hand of a fifty-year-old woman, not by a long shot. Joleen wished her own hands looked half that good. But Joleen still did hair. And she had no shampoo girl, so she spent a lot of her working life knuckle-deep in lather. Very hard on the hands.

Camilla said. “I have been awake half the night worryin’ over you.”

“Why?”

“Sit back down.”

Joleen dropped into the chair again. “All right, Mama. I’m sitting. Talk.”

“I am just going to ask you directly.”

“I sure wish you would.”

Camilla let go of Joleen’s arm and threw up both hands. “What on God’s green earth has possessed you to think a marriage between you and Dekker is a good idea?”

Joleen felt pure indignation. She decided to let it show. “Mama! I love Dekker. And he loves me.”

Camilla smacked one slim, soft hand on the table and waved the other one in the air. “Yes, and I love your uncle Foley. But I never would marry him.”

“Uncle Foley is your brother, Mama.”

“Exactly. And that’s how I love him. Like a brother. The same way that you love Dekker Smith.”

Oh, this was getting sticky already. As Joleen had known it would, as she’d tried to get Dekker to understand it would.

Half-truths and evasions, she though glumly. Comin’ right up…

“Well?” said her mother on a hard huff of breath.

“I love him,” Joleen said again, and she stared her mother straight in the eye.

Her mother stared right back. “You don’t love him the way a woman loves a man,” she accused. “And he doesn’t have that soul feelin’ for you, either.”

“You do not know that,” Joleen said. “You do not know what we feel.”

“Oh, yes I do. I know my baby. And I know Lorraine’s boy. I also know that you both deserve better than to marry a person who does not set your heart on fire. You both deserve it all. Passion and excitement. And magic. I want those things for you—and I want them for Dekker, too.”

Joleen wrapped her hands around her cup. The warmth felt comforting against her palms. She said honestly, “Both Dekker and I had those things once, Mama. They didn’t last.”

“Bobby Atwood and Stacey?” Her mother made a low, scoffing sound.

Joleen’s indignation level rose again. “Yes. Bobby Atwood. And Stacey. You know how Dekker was about Stacey.”

“There were terrible problems in that marriage, baby.”

“I know that. I am not saying they didn’t have problems. I am only saying he loved her. In a passionate way. A soul way. And Bobby, well, it shames me to have to admit it now, but I was long gone in love with that man.”

“Oh, that is so not true.”

“Mama—”

“You thought you were long gone in love with that man. You wanted to be. You were waiting for your knight in shinin’ armor to thunder in on a fine white horse and sweep you away. You waited a long time. When that young Atwood showed up, with his smooth talk and his fancy car and winnin’ smile, you were like a nice, ripe peach, just ready to drop off the tree. And you did drop. You dropped good and hard. But that was not—”

“Mama—”

“Pardon me. I believe that I was still speaking.”

“Fine. Speak. Finish.”

“What I’m saying is—and you are listening, aren’t you?”

Joleen gritted her teeth. “I am, Mama. I am listening.”

Camilla’s eyebrows had a skeptical lift—but she did continue. “What I’m saying is that what happened with Bobby Atwood was not it—was not love. And Dekker and Stacey, well, that was certainly something, but it wasn’t it, either. Not the real, true, deep lifelong passion I am talking about. Not what I had with your daddy. Not what DeDe has with Wayne.”

“Mama. Some people never find that kind of love.”

“We are not talking about some people. We are talking about you. And Dekker. My first baby. And my best friend’s little boy.”

“Well, maybe you have to stop thinking of us that way—as your baby and Lorraine’s little boy. We are grown people now. We have a right to make our own decisions about life. And about who we will love.”

“I never said that you didn’t. I just don’t like this.” Camilla looked into her cup again—and then sharply up to snare her daughter’s gaze. “Something else is goin’ on here. I know it. I can feel it.”

Joleen kept her face composed—and told some more lies. “Nothing is going on, Mama. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, you do. You know. There is something.…” Camilla pushed her cup to the side and leaned across the table. “Is it…those Atwood people? You went off alone with them, didn’t you, before they left the wedding Saturday? I saw you go inside with them.”

Joleen opened her mouth to let out more lies. And then shut it. Camilla would have to hear the truth about the Atwoods sooner or later.

“Yes,” Joleen said. “They wanted to talk to me.”

“About…?”

Sam was too quiet. Joleen stood.

“What is it now?” muttered her mother. But Camilla had had three children of her own. She nodded. “Go on. Check—and then get right back in here.”

Joleen went through the dining room. She found her little boy sitting on the hooked rug near the big window at the front of the house, playing with the wooden blocks one of the uncles had given him for his first birthday six months before.

Sam looked up. “How,” he said, beaming proudly at the crooked stacks of blocks in front of him.

“Yes,” said Joleen, her chest suddenly tight. “A very fine house.” She would do anything—anything, including telling her dear mama a thousand rotten lies—to keep her boy safe, to be there whenever he needed her. To get to see his face now and then when he smiled like he was smiling now.…

She took in a deep breath to loosen those bands of emotion that had squeezed around her heart. Then she asked slowly, pronouncing each word with care, “Come in the kitchen? With Grandma and me?”

He shook his head and loosed a string of nonsense syllables.

“You mean, you want to stay here?”

“Pway.”

She wanted to scoop him up hard against her heart, to hug him until he squirmed to get down. But no. He was content, sitting on her mama’s rug, playing with his house of blocks. Why ruin that?

“Okay. Be good.”

“I goo.”

Her steps dragging, Joleen returned to the breakfast nook. She slid back into her chair. “He’s fine.”

“All right. What did the Atwoods want to talk with you about?”

Joleen took a fortifying sip of her coffee. And then she told her mother everything that had transpired in her father’s study before the Atwoods took their leave.

When she had finished, Camilla picked up her coffee cup, started to sip, realized it was empty and set it back down—hard. “Oh sweetheart, the nerve of those people.”

“I hear you, Mama.”

“I did not like that Robert Atwood. Right from the first I saw that he would be trouble. Thinks he’s a cut above, doesn’t he? That he’s better than the rest of us. And the woman, Antonia? Well, I’m willin’ to admit I felt sorry for her. Scared of her own shadow, and wearing mauve, of all colors. Much too cool for her. Just faded her right out to nothin’ at all. She needs a bright, warm palette, to bring out that peach tone in her—”

“Mama.”

“Oh, well, all right. I’m rambling and I know it. It’s just, what else can I say, but how dare they?”

“I asked myself that same question.”

Camilla folded those beautiful hands on the tabletop. “I think I am starting to understand it all now. You and Dekker have been scheming. You’ve decided that the two of you getting married is somehow going to help you keep the Atwoods from stealin’ our Sam.”

Joleen gulped. “No, Mama. Of course not. You asked me what happened with them, and I told you. It’s got nothin’ to do with Dekker and me.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You are such a bad liar. You shouldn’t even try it.”

Joleen only wanted to get out of there. “I am marrying Dekker, Mama. That is all there is to it.”

“But you don’t love him—not the way you need to love the man you bind your life with.”

Joleen stood. “I am saying this once more. I want you to listen. I do love Dekker. And Dekker loves me. We are getting married as soon as possible, and we are going to be happy. You just wait and see.”

“But you don’t—”

“Mama. Enough. You have said your piece, and I have heard it. This decision, though, is mine to make.”

Camilla was shaking her head, her mouth all pursed up, brow furrowed. At that moment she looked her age—and more. She said, very softly and with heavy regret, “I know I was never the mother I should have been.”

Joleen glared down at her. “You are my mother. If I was startin’ all over, and God gave me a chance to choose, you are the one I would pick in an instant.”

“Oh, baby…”

“Do not start in cryin’ on me, Mama. I just don’t have the time or the patience for that right now.”

“I only…I wanted so much more for you.”

“Well, this is about what I want. And I want to marry Dekker. I want to make a life with him.” It surprised her, how firm she sounded. How secure in her choice.

On the counter, the coffeemaker made a gurgling sound, and somewhere outside, a leaf blower started up.

Camilla’s tears spilled over, they trailed down her soft cheeks. “Well, I have told you my feelings on this.”

Joleen held her ground. “And I have said what I will do.”

There was a box of tissues, ready and waiting, in the center of the table. Her mother yanked one out. “I love you, baby.”

“And I love you, Mama.”

“And no mistake—” Camilla had to pause, to blow her nose. Then she started again. “No mistake is so big that love can’t find a way to make it right in the end.”

Chapter 7

Joleen fitted in her blood test later that day. The lab said she would have her results by Thursday. That night she and Dekker decided they would marry on Friday afternoon at the Oklahoma County Courthouse.

Joleen called DeDe in Mississippi.

“Oh, I cannot stand it,” DeDe wailed when Joleen shared the news. “You are my sister and Dekker is the only brother I have ever known and if you two are getting married on Friday, Wayne and I are comin’ home right now.”

Dekker got on the line with her and managed to calm her down. He told her they would miss her, but on no account would he allow her to cut her honeymoon short. He finally got her to promise to stay in Mississippi for another week as planned.

Camilla, Niki and Sam would attend the short ceremony. As for the rest of the family, Joleen told them that she loved them all dearly, but she and Dekker could only have so many guests at the courthouse.

“Well then, do not have it at the courthouse, hon,” argued Aunt LeeAnne.

Joleen explained that she wasn’t quite up for planning another big wedding so soon after the one she’d put together for her sister. She said that she and Dekker just wanted to get the formalities over with and start living their lives side by side.

They all said they understood. But they didn’t. Joleen could see it in their eyes.

“We have to do something,” Aunt LeeAnne insisted. “Just a little family get-together when you come home from the courthouse. At least we can have that.”

So it was agreed. After the civil ceremony, the cousins and uncles and aunts would be waiting at Camilla’s. They would have chips and dips and little sandwiches with the crusts cut off. They’d bring a few wedding gifts and they’d offer their heartfelt congratulations.

At the courthouse both Niki and Camilla cried a lot. Camilla had no reservations about explaining to Joleen why she was crying.

“Because another of my babies is saying ‘I do.’ Because I know there is more goin’ on here than I have been told about. Because, well, I do feel that I have been cheated of giving you the kind of wedding DeDe had, a real family wedding, which you know I believe every woman deserves…and because I wish my best friend could be here on this day of all days—but I know, if Lorraine were back with us again, she’d just be headin’ off to jail. And that plain breaks my heart.”

By then the whole family had learned the truth about Dekker’s real identity.

And they hadn’t found out quite the way Joleen and Dekker had intended.

* * *

Dekker had left his apartment Tuesday morning to find five reporters lurking outside. They all wanted to interview him, to get the first statements from the long-lost Bravo Baby. Dekker told them to get lost.

He got a call from his brother an hour or so after he chased the reporters away. Jonas told him that the story had broken in Los Angeles that morning. He urged Dekker not to let it bother him. He said it had been bound to leak out sooner or later.

“As a Bravo,” Jonas warned. “You’ll have to get used to being in the spotlight now and then.”

“No, I won’t,” said Dekker.

Jonas laughed and assured Dekker that the whole thing would blow over eventually.

By Wednesday the wire services had gotten hold of it. The tale of how Dekker Smith was really Russell Bravo of the fabulously wealthy southern California Bravos made the second page of the Daily Oklahoman. And everyone in the family had been able to read all about it for themselves.

So part of the reason that Camilla cried through Joleen’s wedding was because she had recently learned that her best friend in the whole world had not been Dekker’s mama, after all, but the accomplice of the evil uncle who had stolen him from his real mother—who, as it turned out, had died just a few short months ago, never having seen her precious second son again.

Niki cried for her own reasons. Because her big sister and her beloved Dek were getting married, and because her mother was crying, and because…well, just because.

Dekker had found the time to go out and buy Joleen a ring. It was so beautiful—two curving rows of diamonds set into the band, surrounding a single large marquise-cut stone. He kissed her after the judge pronounced them man and wife—a light kiss, hardly more than a gentle brushing of his mouth across her own.

Right then her mother and sister burst into renewed sobbing. Joleen and Dekker turned from each other to try to settle them down.

They all went back to Camilla’s house together, in the beautiful new silver-gray Lexus that Dekker had bought the day before. Two cars filled with reporters followed along behind.

“Ignore them,” commanded Dekker, his voice a low growl.

Joleen granted him her most unconcerned smile. “No problem.” And it wasn’t. For her. She was a little worried about her new husband, though. Since Tuesday, news people seemed to be popping up wherever Dekker went. He was getting very tired of it.

“You go on in,” he said when they got to her mother’s. “Give me a minute.”

Joleen put her hand on his sleeve. “What are you going to do?”

“Have a few words with the media.”

“What will you say?”

“That I’d appreciate a little privacy on my wedding day.”

“Don’t you think that it might be better if—”

“Jo. Go in. I won’t be long.”

She could tell by the thrust of that cleft chin of his that it would get her nowhere to keep after him, so she got her son from his car seat and herded her mother and sister toward the front door.

The aunts and uncles and cousins and lots of finger foods were waiting inside. Joleen moved from one set of loving arms to the next, getting kissed and congratulated by one and all.

“Well, don’t you look beautiful,” said Aunt LeeAnne, stepping back to admire Joleen’s ivory-colored street-length silk sheath and the short, fitted jacket that went with it.

Joleen thanked her aunt and kept an eye on the front door until Dekker slipped through it a few minutes later.

“How did it go out there?” she asked him, when she finally got him aside for a moment.

He shrugged. “They said they would leave.”

“They’re gone, then?”

“I have my doubts. They all have this kind of glassy-eyed, hungry stare when they deal with me. To them, I’m not even really human. I’m just a story they’ll do anything to get. Maybe I should have listened to you and left it alone—and don’t give me that I-told-you-so look.”

“I’m sure I do not know what look you are talkin’ about.”

“The one on your face right now.”

She made a show of crossing her eyes—and then grew more serious. “Did you tell them straight out that we just got married?”

“Hell, yes. They followed us from the courthouse, and that leads me to believe they probably already knew—which is just fine. Let Robert Atwood read all about how you’ve married the famous—and rich—Bravo Baby, let him think about the ways it will mess up his plans. Let him—”

“Hey, you two,” called Uncle Hubert from over by the big bowl of sparkling-wine punch that Aunt Catherine had made. “Stop that whispering. Get over here with the rest of us. Time for a little toast…”

“Yes, come over here right now.” Camilla paused to sob and dab at her eyes with a tissue. “We want to wish you both the best of everything.”

* * *

Camilla cried until six-thirty. But then the doorbell rang. It was one of Wayne’s bachelor uncles from the wedding the week before—the one who had stayed so late last Saturday night. The uncle, whose name was Ezra Clay, did not come empty-handed. He had a gift for the newlyweds and a huge bouquet of tiger lilies for the mother of the bride.

At the sight of her admirer, Camilla ran upstairs to freshen her makeup. When she came back down, she took Ezra Clay’s hand and led him to the kitchen. They stayed in there for quite a while. When Joleen went in to hunt down more pretzels, her mother and Wayne’s uncle were standing close together at the counter, a tall crystal vase in front of them. Half the lilies stood in the vase, half lay in wait, bright splashes of sable-spotted gold, on the counter.

Camilla chose a flower from those waiting on the counter, clipped the stem at an angle with her gardening shears, and carefully propped it up in the vase. Then she leaned close to Wayne’s uncle and whispered something.

The uncle laughed, a low, intimate sound. Camilla laughed, too, and leaned close again to whisper some more.

Joleen watched them from the corner of her eye as she got a fresh bag of pretzels from the cupboard by the stove. Ezra Clay could have been anywhere from forty-five to sixty. He had intelligent dark eyes and nice, broad shoulders. He owned a couple of ice-cream store franchises, Joleen thought she remembered Wayne mentioning once.

Could this be the man who would convince her mother to settle down at last?

Sure. And maybe tomorrow the sun would set in the east.

Joleen closed the cupboard door. Whether Ezra Clay lasted in her mother’s affections or not, Joleen was grateful to him. Camilla had not shed a single tear since he’d walked in the front door.

Romance, Joleen thought wryly, did have its uses.

* * *

Dekker, Joleen and Sam left the party at a little after nine. The reporters—who had not gone away when Dekker asked them to—snapped pictures when the newlyweds emerged from the house, their flashes explosions of blinding light in the warm autumn darkness. Then they jumped into their cars, ready to give chase.

Dekker swore under his breath as he swung out of Camilla’s driveway. “They said they’d leave us alone for tonight, damn it.”

“Well, they are not doing it.” Joleen fastened her seat belt. “Take your own advice and ignore them.”

Dekker muttered a few swear words under his breath. Joleen pretended not to hear. She smiled and waved at the family members who had gathered on the porch to watch them drive away.

“And how the hell am I supposed to see to drive?” Dekker grumbled as they took off down the street. He had to squint through the words Just Married, which Bud and Burly had scrawled on the windshield in shaving cream. There Goes the Bride was written on the rear window. And a bouncing row of tin cans clattered along behind them.

Joleen brushed the birdseed from her hair. “It’s three blocks to my place. Take it slow and we’ll make it okay.” They’d chosen to stay at Joleen’s house for the wedding night. First thing in the morning they were leaving for Los Angeles.

As soon as they turned the corner and all the waving relatives disappeared from sight, Dekker swung over and stopped at the curb.

“What now?” Joleen demanded, as one of the reporters’ cars slid in behind them and the other rolled past the Lexus and nosed in along the curb just ahead.

Dekker whipped out his Swiss Army knife—the one with three blades, a corkscrew and just about every other tool known to man tucked inside. “Be right back.”

“Dekker—”

He was out of the car before she could tell him to stay where he was. She watched him circle around to the rear bumper, where he crouched, disappearing from her line of sight. When he stood again, he had the cans, still hanging by their strings.

He came back to the front of the car and presented them to her. “Here. Do something with these.”

Like what? she thought, but decided not to ask. She took them and set them on the floor next to her door. They rattled together as Dekker swung away from the curb. He passed the car in front before the reporter at the wheel had the wherewithal to shift into drive.

“I thought you said you couldn’t see,” Joleen reminded him as the powerful car picked up speed.

“I’m managing.”

“Lord, I hope so.”

“And this baby handles like a dream.”

“Oh. Good news to all of us, I am sure.…”

Sam laughed in pure glee from the backseat. He let out a string of almost-words, followed by a rousing, “Vroom-vroom-vroom!”

Joleen clutched the armrest and thought of all the times she’d suggested her friend ought to get himself a new car. And now he had done it. She could almost wish he hadn’t.

But then again, his old Road Runner, which still sat beneath the carport outside his apartment building, boasted 383 cubes on a V-8 block—a fact he mentioned often and with considerable pride. If he’d been driving it right now, they’d be going at the same speeds—and the ride would have been a whole lot rougher.

They barreled around a corner, tin cans rolling at her feet. “Dekker…”

He wasn’t listening. “Very fine,” he murmured, “like a knife through warm butter…”

In seconds they reached another corner and spun around it. Joleen shoved the cans out of the way, braced her feet more firmly and told herself she ought to be grateful he hadn’t bought that Ferrari he’d mentioned Wednesday.

“Maybe later,” he’d decided, after considering the Ferrari. “First, I want to get us a nice family car.”

The Lexus was a four-door. In Dekker’s mind, that made it a family car, though clearly, what it had under the hood would stack up against that old Road Runner of his any day of the week.

They took two more corners at speeds faster than Joleen wanted to think about. Then at last Dekker applied the brakes. “Well?” he asked.

She glanced behind them. The dark street was deserted. “You lost them.”

“Vroom-vroom-vroom,” said Sam.

Dekker readjusted his rearview mirror. “You haven’t seen any of them hanging around your place, right?”

“No, I have not.”

“Good. Then maybe they haven’t figured out where you live yet. Which means we’ll be left alone tonight. And tomorrow, we are outta here.”

“I cannot wait.” She gave him a look, one that told him just what she thought of his driving so fast.

He grinned back at her, not sorry in the least.

Dekker drove around—at a sedate speed—for another fifteen minutes. “Just to make certain I shook those fools.”

The dashboard clock said it was 9:33 when he pulled up in front of the tidy one-story house that Joleen had been calling home for a little over a year.

“We’d better hide this car,” he said. “If our ‘friends’ decide to cruise the neighborhood, it would be a dead giveaway.”

So Joleen got out and moved her own car from the small detached garage at the side of the house. Once Dekker had parked in the vacant space, she went to get Sammy. “And put those tin cans in the recycling bin,” she said as she leaned in the car to free her son from his safety seat.

Dekker, who stood behind her at that point, made a put-upon sound in his throat and muttered, “What? You? Anal?”

She pulled her head out of the car just long enough to make a face at him before she reached back in to scoop Sammy out of the seat and into her arms.

* * *

Joleen’s house was very much like a lot of the smaller houses in Mesta Park. A classic prairie cottage, it had no hallways. Living room, dining room and kitchen opened into each other, a bedroom off each. The single bath was tucked between the two back bedrooms.

Joleen had the room off the kitchen and Sam had the one in the middle. The largest bedroom, in front, with a nice window facing the porch but without direct access to the bath, served as her guest room. Dekker carried his overnight bag in there as Joleen took her son with her into her own room. She swiftly changed out of her wedding dress and into a pair of capris and a crop top.

Then Sammy had his bath. He went right down when she put him to bed, turning his face toward the wall and sighing in tired contentment. Joleen tiptoed from the room, switching off the light and pulling the door quietly closed behind her.

She found Dekker sitting in the kitchen, his back to the window, at the old pine table she’d picked up at a yard sale and refinished herself. He’d changed clothes, too. Now he wore faded jeans and an OSU T-shirt.

She tipped her head at the open Rolling Rock in front of him. “I see you managed to find the beer.”

He picked up the bottle and toasted her with it—then set it down without drinking from it. “What a damn day.”

“You said it.” She got herself a Coke from the fridge and dropped into the chair across from him. “At least Uncle Hubert didn’t get falling-down drunk.”

“That’s true. We need to be grateful for small favors. But I have a request.”

“Name it.”

“Can we stop having weddings for a while?”

She raised her right hand, palm out. “I do solemnly swear. If there is another weddin’ in the next five years, we will not have a thing to do with it.”

He leaned back in the chair, crossed his feet in front of him and tipped his beer at her again. “But what if it’s cousin Callie’s?”

“Callie is on her own.”

“You think I believe that? If Callie and that cowboy tie the knot, you’ll be planning the menu and helping her pick out her long white dress.”

“Think what you want.”

“And what about Niki?”

“What about her?”

“What if she decides to get married?”

“My baby sister is thirteen. I will not allow her to get married in the next five years.”

“Maybe Camilla—”

“Dekker. Please.”

“I think she likes the ice cream man. A lot.”

“She likes them all a lot. But they never do last, and you know that as well as I do.”

“Who’s the cynical one now?”

“I’m not bein’—” She cut herself off. Something had happened in his face, though his body remained just as before, slouched in the chair, totally relaxed.

“Don’t tense up,” he said low. “Pretend nothing has changed.”

“Well, all right.” She sat back herself, crossed her own ankles and drank from her Coke.

He winked at her. “You’re a champion.”

“Thank you. And what, by the way, is going on?”

“Keep your eyes on me.”

“Okay…”

“I heard something. I think there’s someone outside the window behind me—and don’t shift your focus there.”

“You mean—?”

“Reporters. It looks like they’ve found us, after all. But don’t say it—don’t say anything about it. Whoever’s out there won’t be able to hear much through the window, but the view of your face through those lace curtains should be pretty good, considering that the overhead light is on and the shades are up.”

She understood. Whoever it was might be able to make out her words as her lips moved—though why it should matter, she wasn’t quite sure.

Dekker said, “I want to give our uninvited guest a little taste of his own medicine. And do not start frowning. Please.”

She put on a big smile.

“Don’t overplay it.”

She toned it down.

He shifted forward, drawing his legs up and resting his forearms on the table. “Lean toward me.”

Still grinning—but not too hard—she mimicked his pose, which brought their noses within inches of each other. “Now what?”

“Now, I want you to kiss me.”

Joleen almost blinked—but stopped herself in time.

“Just do it,” Dekker whispered.

“But—”

“Humor me.”

“What good is—”

“Jo.”

That was all he said. Her name. It was enough to remind her of the trust she put in him, of what a true friend he was and always had been.

She would jump off a cliff for him if he asked her to. What was a kiss compared to that?

She leaned even closer.

And their lips met.

His lips were soft. Warm. She wondered if hers felt cool to him. And then she thought of their brief kiss at the courthouse.

This made it two times.

Two times in her whole life that she had kissed Dekker’s mouth—and both of those times were on the same day, their wedding day.

His mouth moved against hers. “Close your eyes.”

It was a most ticklish feeling, talking together, with their lips touching. She couldn’t help smiling. “Dekker, I know how to kiss.”

“Do you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, okay then. Prove it.”

Joleen rose to the challenge, letting her mouth go soft and her eyelids drift down.

Several seconds passed. Very lovely seconds.

Dekker’s mouth opened slightly against hers. She felt the warm flick of his tongue.

It was…shocking.

Dekker’s tongue. Touching the moistness just inside her lips.

Shocking.

But not the least bit unpleasant.

Some part of her mind rebelled. This, after all, wasn’t what the two of them were about. Not Joleen and Dekker. Brushing kisses—quick, fond pecks on the cheek—those were all right. But nothing mouth-to-mouth. Nothing involving wetness. Nothing including tongues.

However…

Somebody ought to teach those reporters a lesson. And this would do it—though she wasn’t quite sure how.

But Dekker knew. And that was good enough for her.

She sighed.

He made a low, teasing sound in his throat and went on kissing her. With tenderness. And considerable skill.

Not deeply, though. He never did more than skim the secret flesh right inside her mouth.

Not deeply…

A memory flared, bright as those photoflashes on her mama’s front porch earlier that night.

Herself at the age of eleven. Spying on a sixteen-year-old Dekker, who was with Lucy Doherty, his first serious girlfriend.

They were kissing, Dekker and Lucy. Sitting on that little iron bench in the corner of Lorraine’s backyard, kissing long and deep and slow. Joleen, behind the fence next door, could see them through the space between the fence boards.

So strange. All these years later. Here she was, her mouth against Dekker’s mouth. Thinking of him kissing Lucy Doherty, of her own naughty young self, with her snoopy little nose pressed to the fence.

The way he’d kissed Lucy, now that had been a deep kiss.

Joleen was starting to wonder what it might feel like if Dekker were to kiss her deeply when she realized he was pulling away.

She sighed for the second time and let her lashes drift open.

His blue, blue eyes gleamed at her. “Good job.”

“I aim to please.” The words came out as a throaty purr. Did she intend them to? She wasn’t sure. “Um, what now?”

“Now, we get up from this table and we go into your bedroom with our arms around each other. We want it to look as if, when we get in there, we’re going to do what newlyweds usually do.”

What newlyweds usually do…

The words set her pulse throbbing. Which was so silly. They were not really going to do what newlyweds do.

They were only going to make the reporter think that they would.

Why are we doing this, really? she wanted to ask. But she didn’t quite dare. She still faced the window, and the light overhead seemed way too bright, too revealing. Whoever was out there might know what she said. That would ruin Dekker’s plan—whatever his plan was, which she didn’t know yet.

She didn’t want that, to ruin her friend’s plan—her friend who, as of tonight, was her husband, too.…

But then, not really her husband. At least, not in that way.

“Ready?” he asked.

She swallowed. Nodded.

He held out his hand to her.

She laid hers in it—her left hand, the one on which she now wore the shining band of diamonds he’d given her at the courthouse. Holding on, he rose and came around to her side of the table, his eyes locked with hers the whole time.

He pulled her out of the chair and wrapped an arm around her, tucking her in close to the side of his big, hard body. It was six steps to her bedroom door. He flipped the wall switch as they passed it. The kitchen went dark. He drew her over the threshold, kicking the door shut behind them.

She started to reach for the light switch, but he caught her hand. “No. Not the overhead light…” His breath teased her ear.

He left her, a shadow moving on silent feet, drawing the shades. Since her room was at a back corner of the house, there were two windows, one on the left wall next to the bed and one to the right of the headboard.

She remained at the door, waiting.

“And now?” she whispered, when both shades were lowered.

She heard a click as he switched on her bedside lamp. In its soft glow, he returned to her, took her shoulders in a gentle grip.

She frowned up into his shadowed face. “Dekker, what—?”

“Wait here. By the door. Don’t get in front of the lamp. The light should draw him, but he shouldn’t be able to see anything, really.”

“But what are you going to do?”

Again, he refused to answer. “Wait here. I won’t be long.”

“But—”

He touched her mouth for silence. “Just wait.”

She rolled her eyes at him and shrugged.

“Is that a yes?”

So she gave him the nod he seemed to require.

He went out through the other door—the one that led to the bathroom and Sammy’s room and from there, to the dining room.

Joleen slid to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her drawn-up legs and propped her chin on her knees.

Great. Now she got to wait, while Dekker played detective.

And what was the point, she wanted to know?

He’d already asked those news people to leave. It hadn’t worked. He’d tried ditching them. Without success.

What else could he do?

She realized what and started to stand again.

But no.

She sank back down. She had told him she would wait here. Okay, she would wait.

And if he got himself into a fight tonight, he’d better be prepared to hear a few harsh words from her later. Because she would be sharing with him a large piece of her mind.

* * *

Dekker pushed open the door to Sam’s room and froze, listening.

Once he heard the shallow, even breathing that told him Sam was fast asleep, he moved forward. He stopped at the door to the dining room. The faint sliver of brightness beneath it confirmed what he remembered; there was a light on in the front of the house, the floor lamp Joleen had switched on low when they first came in the front door. Other than that—and the lamp in Jo’s room—the house was dark.

Good.

Dekker opened the door and slid through it, pulling it silently closed behind him. Keeping near the wall, he went beneath the arch into the front room, where that single lamp burned. He’d left the guest room door ajar. He ducked through it.

The shades were up in there. Dekker flattened himself against the wall by the window that opened onto the front porch. He waited.

Nothing. No sounds or movements beyond the window. He hoped that meant the porch was deserted, that the damn reporter was on the prowl around back, trying to get a look in Joleen’s bedroom window, to steal a shot of the famous Bravo Baby making love to his bride.

The window creaked a little as Dekker slid it up. He slipped back into the shadows, waited some more. He heard only innocent noises: a horn honking a block or so away; wind chimes on the porch next door; the intermittent bark of a lonely dog in the distance.

Dekker counted to three hundred. Slowly. Then he moved into the window again, to unhook the screen. It swung out. He held it clear and went through.

The porch provided no surprises. Keeping as much in the shadows as possible, Dekker moved down to the opposite end, by the front room, and slid over the rail to the ground. The night was clear, bright with stars. The waning moon rode high, and there wasn’t much cover on that side of the house. But he was in luck. No reporters lurked there.

Maybe they’d given up and gone away.

Or maybe they had moved around to the back of the house where he had hoped to lure them.

Swiftly and silently he covered the distance from the front porch to the back. He pressed himself to the wall at the end of the house and stole a look around the corner.

Yes.

The soft glow from the lamp in Jo’s room showed him a figure—male—in dark pants and shirt, perched on the side rail of her small back porch, craning to see through the narrow slit between the blind and the window frame.

Perfect, thought Dekker. Off balance, with his back to me.

He slid around the corner and made for the porch steps.

His target barely had time to turn and grunt, “Huh?” before Dekker grabbed his arm, twisted it up behind him and yanked him down from the rail and hard back against his own body, keeping the arm up at an unnatural angle—and getting a nice, tight lock around the neck.

The camera around that neck swung as Dekker’s captive struggled.

“Easy,” Dekker whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you. We’re just going to have a nice little talk.”

The body in his grip stopped fighting him. “Whatever you say…”

Dekker knew that voice. He murmured a low oath. “Pollard.”

“Got me.”

“I thought you were a reporter.”

“’Fraid not.”

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Man’s gotta make a living, Smith.”

Dekker gave his captive’s arm a slight upward push. Pollard let out a sharp grunt of pain. Dekker whispered, “Who are you working for?” As if he didn’t already know.

“Look. Could you ease off on the arm a little?”

“I want some answers.”

“You’ll get them. Just back the hell off.”

Chapter 8

Joleen heard a thud on the back porch. And then faint scuffling sounds, followed by the mutter of low voices.

Dekker had found his man.

She listened for the heavy thumps and pained grunts that would have indicated a brawl in progress. She simply was not going to put up with any brawl on her back porch.

But no such noises occurred. So she kept her word and waited there on the floor of her bedroom, her back against the kitchen door, her knees drawn up to her chest.

Dekker returned to her the way he had left. He appeared in the doorway to the bathroom.

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