“Garth said something about
how God doesn’t judge the way
people do. God looks at the heart.”

Link touched Annie’s cheek lightly, wanting to find a way to erase her doubts. “Anyone who looks at your heart sees how much you love that little girl. Don’t ever doubt that.”

Her cheek moved against his fingers as she smiled. He felt the tension begin to drain out of her.

“Then I guess we’d better pray that the social worker looks with God’s eyes. And that God doesn’t care that I burned a quiche.”

The attempt at humor relieved him, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. One part of his mind looked at himself, amazed. When had he ever worked so hard just to ease someone else’s hurt?

This wasn’t just someone else, he thought. This was Annie.

MARTA PERRY

has written everything from Sunday school curriculums to travel articles to magazine stories in twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her writing home in the stories she writes for Love Inspired.

Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her beautiful grandchildren, traveling or relaxing with a good book. She loves hearing from readers and will be glad to send a signed bookplate on request. She can be reached c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279, or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.

Always in Her Heart
Marta Perry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Man looks on the outward appearance,

but the Lord looks at the heart.

—1 Samuel 16:7

This story is dedicated with great affection to

Carol and Bill. Old friends are the best.

And, as always, to Brian.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

“Marry you?” Annie Gideon stared, incredulous, at Link Morgan’s determined face. “Why would I marry you? I don’t even like you.”

The annoyed expression Link so often wore when he looked at her intensified. “Maybe you’d better figure out a way, Annie. Because if you don’t, we’re both going to lose what we value most.”

The headache that had been throbbing since the double funeral the day before clutched at her temples. “Why on earth are you saying something so preposterous now? And why here?”

Link gave a quick glance around the living room of her sister’s house, as if reminding himself that the delicate French Provincial furniture was as charming as Becca had been. Then he zeroed in on Annie.

Her heart gave a rebellious thump. Everything about Link, from his piercing dark eyes to his square jaw to his confident stride, proclaimed that here was a man who knew what he wanted and would do whatever it took to get it. She, of all people, knew just how accurate that impression was.

He’d exchanged the dark suit he’d worn at the funeral for gray pants and a black sweater that still gave an aura of mourning. But mourning or not, he was clearly back to business.

“Sorry. I know this is a bad time.” His deep voice softened slightly. “But time is just what we don’t have. The fact that Davis and Becca died without making a will has put both of us between a rock and a hard place.”

The pastel room swam before her eyes, and the scent of the lilies she’d brought from the funeral cloyed. She forced back a wave of sorrow. If she didn’t control it, grief for her sister would submerge every other instinct. She’d be no good to anyone, especially Marcy.

The thought of her twenty-month-old niece, napping unaware in the upstairs nursery, strengthened her. She frowned at the man who’d been Davis’s partner and best friend.

“I don’t see what’s so complicated about it. Doesn’t Marcy automatically inherit everything?”

“Exactly.” Link’s straight, even features might have been chiseled from stone. “That’s the problem. The baby inherits this house, whatever property Davis owned and Davis’s thirty percent of the firm.”

Light dawned. He was worried about the construction company he and Davis had shared.

“I can’t imagine that will make any difference to the way you run the company. Marcy’s certainly not going to interfere.”

Contempt probably sounded in her voice. Link’s best friend and her sister were dead, victims of a wet road and a missing guardrail, and apparently all Link could think about was his business.

“You don’t get it, do you.” A strand of dark hair fell on his forehead, accentuating his lowered brows. “What do you imagine is going to happen now to all this?” His gesture seemed to take in the gracious house that had been in the Conrad family for generations, the construction company, even the sleeping child upstairs.

She turned away from that intimidating stare, trying to get her bearings in a world that was suddenly alien. The wide front windows of Becca’s home overlooked the town square with its flower beds and gazebo, surrounded by early-twentieth-century shops. She caught a glimpse of blue lake through the trees. Lakeview was a delightful Finger Lakes village, but it had been her sister’s place. She didn’t belong here.

“I don’t know about the property,” she said finally. “I guess Davis’s lawyer will have to figure that out. If I have to stay until things are settled, I will. Then I’ll take Marcy back to Boston with me.”

“They won’t let you.”

For an instant her mind refused to process the words. Then she spun to face him, the room seeming to spin with her. “What are you talking about? Who won’t let me?”

“Little Marcy inherits everything.” He spaced the words out as if he spoke to someone who didn’t have a grasp of the English language. “Whoever controls her controls her inheritance. If you think Davis’s cousins will let you walk away with Conrad property, you’d better think again. Frank and Julia are the only Conrad relatives left, except for an elderly uncle.”

She told herself he was crazy, because she couldn’t face the possibility that he was right. “Frank and Julia Lester don’t want to be bothered with a baby. Even though they lived nearby, the Lesters have never shown any interest in Marcy.” In fact, Becca had said the Lesters bluntly proclaimed they wouldn’t have a family because children might interfere with their social life.

“Maybe not.” A bitter smile touched Link’s mouth and then vanished. “But now that Marcy’s inherited, I suspect the Lesters are going to discover that they’ve always adored her and want her to live with them.”

She pressed her hand hard against the oval marble-topped table. “They can’t have her. They don’t love her. I’m Marcy’s closest living relative. With Davis’s parents deceased and my mother’s illness, there isn’t anyone else. Naturally I’ll take responsibility for her.”

“Naturally.” Something that might have been amusement threaded Link’s deep voice. “Annie is the responsible one. You always took care of Becca, didn’t you?”

“I always tried.” Memory pricked her. “Just as you always tried to protect Davis, even when he didn’t need protecting.”

A grimace marred Link’s features. “I wondered how long it would take you to bring that up. It’s been eight years, Annie. Can’t you forget?”

“No.” She shot the word back before she considered, but it was true. She could never forget the summer she and Becca had met Davis and Link, because that was when she’d tumbled head-over-heels into first love.

He seemed to consider that abrupt negative for a moment. “Why? Davis and Becca forgave me. Why can’t you?”

“I have forgiven you.” Forgiveness for a wrong done to her was easy. Forgiveness for a wrong done to the little sister she’d always protected wasn’t. Still, she tried to live each day as a Christian, and that mandated forgiveness.

“You can forgive.” His voice went soft. “But you can’t forget.”

When Link’s bass voice went down to that low rumble, it had a deleterious effect on her morale. She shook her head, trying to shake off the feeling.

“None of that matters now. What’s important is Marcy. Becca would expect me to take care of the baby if something happened to her.” Pain clutched her heart at the words. None of them had anticipated the accident.

“I don’t suppose you have that in writing.”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” Link rubbed the back of his neck as if he had a headache, too. “That’s what makes it so chancy. You might believe Becca wanted you to take care of Marcy, and I might believe Davis would want me to run the company for his daughter, but neither of us can prove it. That makes us vulnerable.”

“To the Lesters, I suppose.” She still couldn’t believe that. “Frank has been around helping with the arrangements. He hasn’t given a hint he’s thinking any such thing.”

“You don’t know Frank as well as I do—”

Link caught her hand in a quick, impatient movement. The warmth of his fingers startled her. She hadn’t known how cold she was until he touched her.

“He smiles and smiles, but all the while he’s looking for a weakness.”

She pulled her hand away. She didn’t know about Frank, but showing any weakness to Link could only be bad for her.

“Why did you let Frank buy into the company, if you feel that way about him?”

“We needed some investors a couple of years ago in order to get a loan for the lakeside project.” He shot her a questioning look. “You know about the project, don’t you?”

“Not much. Just that you and Davis are building homes along the east side of the lake.” Becca had mentioned the project briefly, but she’d been much more engrossed in Marcy’s new tooth than in business.

“The project is a gamble for a company the size of Conrad and Morgan, so Davis thought we should form a limited corporation. Frank wanted in, and Davis wouldn’t turn down his cousin. Now Frank wants all of it.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I know.” His mouth set grimly, sending a little tremor down her spine. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, Annie. You’re Marcy’s closest relative, but you’re an unmarried career woman. I was Davis’s best friend and partner, but I’m not a blood relative. Separately, our claim to Marcy is weak, but if we were married—”

“We can’t get married just like that.” She rushed the words, needing to deny that this thing could possibly be real. The thought of losing Marcy sent a chill to her very soul.

Please, Father. This can’t be happening, can it?

“We’re not talking about romance here, Annie. I’m telling you, marriage is the only way.” He glanced at his watch. “We can apply for a license today and—”

“No!” She folded her arms tightly, hoping her voice projected strength and conviction. “I won’t let you rush me into something like this. First, I don’t believe you’re right about the Lesters. Julia’s always made it clear she doesn’t want a child. And second, even if you are, I won’t jump into marriage until I’ve explored every other option.”

“All the details in a row, in other words.” He clipped off the words as if he disliked them, his eyes narrowing. “You really are the perfect accountant, aren’t you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with paying attention to detail.”

“There is if it keeps you from getting what you want.”

“I suppose you think it’s better to charge right at what you want, no matter who gets hurt.” Maybe that defined the difference between them. The past blurred into the present. “I won’t do things that way, not when Marcy’s future is at stake.”

“Fine.” Link swung away from her, exasperation in every line of his tall, strong figure. “You think, and figure, and debate.” He tossed the words over his shoulder at her. “If you end up by losing Marcy, maybe you’ll remember I gave you fair warning.”

He stalked out of the room, and she heard the front door slam behind him.

Annie sank into the nearest chair, fists clenching on its brocade arms. She’d certainly come out of that encounter the worse for wear. Link’s quick mental leaps had always outrun her need to unravel any knotty problem step by careful step.

She closed her eyes, shutting out Becca’s pastel living room. Eight years ago, she and Becca had been college students, and Becca had talked her into working at the shore instead of taking the internship she’d been offered.

“You don’t want to spend the summer in a stuffy old bank.” Becca’s face had lit with anticipation. “We’ll find great jobs at the beach. Think of the gorgeous guys we’ll meet.”

Becca always had managed to meet gorgeous guys everywhere, and they both knew their parents wouldn’t allow Becca to go unless Annie went to take care of her. But she’d said yes, because she couldn’t bear to see Becca’s disappointment if she hadn’t.

The jobs hadn’t been wonderful, but they had met Davis and Link, college roommates who’d had the same idea as Becca. Davis, fair and smiling, had taken one look at Becca and been a goner. His tall, dark-haired friend hadn’t had Davis’s looks and polish, but he’d made Annie’s heart do something she’d never felt it do before. She’d always been careful, never falling in and out of love the way Becca did. Then Link reached right past her guard and touched her heart.

Everything had been perfect—until Link decided his friend was getting too serious about Becca. In an instant he’d turned into someone Annie didn’t know—grim, determined, implacable. If he’d bothered to explain what he had against Becca—

Well, no. Link couldn’t have come up with any reason that would have satisfied her for trying to part Becca and Davis. She and Link had quarreled, if you could call it quarreling when one person argued and the other stood as unmoving as a…a block of granite.

Davis and Becca had married in spite of everything Link had done to stop it. The two men had eventually mended the rift, settling in Davis’s hometown to start their construction business. Becca had even asked Link to be Marcy’s godfather.

Everyone had been able to forget the quarrel but her. She’d seen Link every time she came to visit Becca, but she’d maintained a polite, smiling distance. The man had dented her heart and hurt her beloved sister. She wasn’t about to become his dearest friend.

But now he didn’t want her to be his friend. He wanted her to be his bride.

A chill went through her in spite of the warm September sunshine that poured through the windows. If Link was right about the Lesters…

Please, show me what to do, Lord. Every time I think of Link’s words, I feel paralyzed.

She badly needed some impartial advice. She reached for the white phone on the marble-topped table. But who?

Her father was probably exhausted from the drive back to Boston and the effort of soothing her mother’s distress at his absence. Alzheimer’s had robbed her mother of knowing who he was, but she did seem to realize she depended upon him.

Dad would have to know, but not yet. She dialed Sam Watson’s number.

Sam, an attorney she’d dated casually over a year ago, had remained a friend even after they’d drifted apart. That seemed to be the romantic pattern of her life. Maybe the ability to inspire passion had just been left out of her makeup. If so, she was doing very nicely without it, especially after the fiasco with Link.

Once Sam answered, she quickly described the situation, leaving out Link’s proposal. She waited for Sam to say something reassuring.

“I’m not an expert in family law.” Sam’s tone was cautious. “Your sister and her husband ought to have spelled out their wishes in a will. You need a good local attorney.”

For once she was impatient with caution. “Give me your best guess. Will I have problems getting custody of Marcy?”

“Custody wouldn’t be a sure thing, even if your sister had named you in her will. The court could still exercise its discretion.” He hesitated. “If these cousins do file for custody, the court might favor a local married couple over an out-of-state, single, working woman.”

That was what Link had said, and her heart sank. “What can I do? I might feel differently if they even cared about Marcy, but they don’t.”

“Get a good attorney,” he said. “And pray for a sympathetic judge.”

She sat staring at the phone after she’d hung up, trying to think her way through this. Had Becca ever mentioned an attorney she might call?

She was leafing through Becca’s address book when she heard a faint wail. Dropping the book, she hurried up the stairs to Marcy’s room.

Becca had decorated the nursery with pastel-colored animal figures. A line of yellow giraffes ambled across the wallpaper border, while a pink elephant formed the base of a lamp. Marcy stood in the white canopied crib, shaking the railing impatiently. Her fine blond hair curled damply around her face, and her cheeks were rosy with sleep.

“Up, up,” she demanded, holding out chubby arms to Annie. “Up, Nan.”

She’d happily be called “Nan” until Marcy mastered “Aunt Annie.” She scooped her niece from the crib, putting her cheek against the soft curls. “Did you have a good sleep, sweetpea?”

Marcy patted her face, and Annie’s heart melted. Nothing had prepared her for the wave of sheer love she’d felt when she first held her sister’s child. Blood of my blood, she’d thought, and known the infant had her heart in a tiny hand.

She dressed Marcy, listening to her mostly incomprehensible chatter, and took her downstairs. The doorbell rang as they reached the family room. Her defenses went up instantly, and she marched to the front door carrying Marcy. If Link had come back to press her for a decision again—

But it wasn’t Link. Frank and Julia Lester stood at the door, wearing identical smiles.

“Frank. Julia. I wasn’t expecting you.” She had an irrational urge to close the door in their faces. She stepped back. “Please, come in.”

“Naturally we came by to see how you’re doing.” Frank led the way into the living room as if this were his home. “Yesterday was so difficult for all of us.”

“So difficult,” Julia echoed, her expression blank.

“Thank you.” They all stood awkwardly on the pale beige carpeting Becca had chosen. She should ask them to sit down, but if they stayed, she might blurt out Link’s suspicions. “I appreciate everything you did to help, you know.”

“As Davis’s closest relative, I felt responsible. Who else would do it?” Frank looked at his wife as if silently prompting her.

Julia glanced down at her silk jacket, then held out her hands to Marcy. “Why don’t you let me take her.”

Annie’s arms tightened around the baby, tension traveling along her nerves. Frank smiled, and Link’s words echoed.

Frank smiles and smiles, and all the time he’s looking for a weakness.

She told herself she didn’t believe that, but Link’s suspicions affected her anyway. “She just woke up. She doesn’t feel like going to someone else just now.”

Julia stepped closer, determination in every line of her fashionably thin figure. “The baby loves Cousin Julia. She’ll come to me.”

Ridiculous, to feel menaced by the woman. Annie tried to produce a smile. “Not now. Much as I’d like to chat with you, I have a great deal to do. So if you’ll excuse me…”

“Of course, of course. I’m sure you’re busy getting packed to go back to Boston.” Frank’s smile didn’t falter. He moved closer, almost as if he and Julia were closing in on her.

Annie’s tension jacked upward. “I’m not—”

“We realize how eager a career woman like you must be to get back to your job.” Frank reached for Marcy. “So we’ve come for the baby.”

He should have known Annie wouldn’t let herself be swept along with his idea. Link swiveled his desk chair to look out the window of Conrad and Morgan, Builders. Their tiny offices were located diagonally across the town square from the house that had been “the Conrad place” for generations.

No, he should have approached Annie in a way she’d understand. She’d always had to have every detail at her fingertips.

That had come between them before, when he couldn’t explain why he was so opposed to Davis’s abrupt decision to propose to Becca, bound as he’d been by promises and obligations. Whatever had started between the two of them had come to an untimely end.

He rubbed at the tension that had taken up residence at the back of his neck since the state police call had wakened him with the news of Davis and Becca’s accident. He and Davis smiled from the silver-framed photo atop the bookcase, taken the day they’d won the tennis doubles cup. He’d never hear Davis laugh again, never enjoy the interplay of ideas as they planned a new project, never see Davis’s joy in his baby daughter.

Something steeled inside him. All he could do now for his friend was to ensure Marcy’s inheritance. All he could do to protect the life he’d built in Lakeview was to save the company. Everyone in town knew how quickly Frank had run through his inheritance from his father. He wouldn’t let that happen to the company, for Marcy’s sake and his own. If the only way to those aims was marrying Annie, so be it.

An image of Annie’s stubborn face formed in his mind. Now he had to convince the bride.

Once, he’d been intrigued by that cool exterior of hers, wanting to know what lay behind it. He’d thought he was breaking through to her until everything blew up in the face of Davis’s sudden decision to elope.

He might be able to reach Annie again, but that armor of hers was probably stronger than it had been before.

The phone rang, and he reached for it. He’d given Vera Rowland, their secretary-receptionist, the day off, assuming he’d get nothing accomplished so soon after the funeral.

“Link?”

Annie’s voice sent him bolt upright in his chair. She sounded panic-stricken, and it took a lot to panic Annie Gideon.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Frank and Julia are here—” She choked on the words. “You’d better come.”

“I’ll be right there.” He was on his feet as he said the words. “Hang on.”

He covered the small outer office in a few strides and slammed out the door. Crossing the street, he jogged diagonally across the pocket-size park that formed Lakeview’s town square. At this hour on a September afternoon the only occupants were a couple of mothers with strollers and two elderly men feeding the squirrels. The park, like the Conrad house, exuded stability, roots, belonging. All the things he hadn’t had before he’d come to Lakeview. All the things he wouldn’t give up.

The door was unlocked, and he didn’t bother to knock. Apprehension carried him into the living room.

Annie clutched Marcy, with Frank and Julia pressing in on her. Embattled, she sent him a look of appeal mingled with relief. That must be some kind of first—for Annie to feel relief at the sight of him.

He moved toward them, feeling the balance of power shifting at his presence. Frank had obviously planned some sort of preemptive strike. Well, it wasn’t going to work.

“Frank, Julia.” He’d keep a polite demeanor if it killed him. Losing his temper with Frank would only play into the man’s hands. “What are you doing here?”

Frank’s smile didn’t falter. “I told Annie there was no need to call you. This is family business.”

“And I’m an outsider, I suppose. Annie did call me, so that means she wants me here.”

Annie was putting up a good front, but fear filled her brown eyes. “They wanted Marcy.”

He moved closer, putting his arm around her and the baby. She stiffened, then relaxed as if accepting that he was on her side.

He focused on her face, intent on erasing the fear. Frank shouldn’t know she was afraid. “No one is taking Marcy. We won’t let that happen.”

“This is family business,” Frank repeated. “As Davis’s closest living relatives, my wife and I are the logical people to take care of little Marcy.”

“And take care of little Marcy’s inheritance, too, I suppose.” His anger sparked.

Frank didn’t seem affected by the accusation. “We’re family,” he repeated. “As you said, you’re the outsider.”

He tensed, but before he could say something he’d regret, Annie straightened.

“I’m Becca’s sister. I’m the one she wanted to take care of her child.” The fire was back in Annie’s eyes. “I won’t let her down.”

That fire seemed to bank Link’s fury. Frank’s attempt to take the child had wakened Annie to the danger they faced. That would work to his advantage in convincing her.

“I think a sister trumps a cousin, Frank. Maybe you and Julia better leave. You’re not going to get what you want here.”

“Choosing sides, are you? Maybe you should reconsider, Annie. We can give Marcy a real family. You want what’s best for her, don’t you?”

“I’m what’s best for her.” Her mouth set with a stubbornness he could have told Frank wouldn’t be moved.

Maybe Frank recognized that fact. He shrugged, then gestured Julia toward the door. “Fine. We’ll see you in court, then. I think you’ll find Judge Carstairs will recognize the value of what we have to offer that little girl.”

They swept out. He felt Annie sag with relief when the door closed. Then, as if she realized she was leaning against him, she took a step away.

“Down,” Marcy said loudly, and Annie gave a weak laugh as she set the toddler on her feet.

“She was so still the whole time they were here. She must have sensed how scared I was.” She met his eyes gravely. “Thank you, Link.”

“I hate to say I told you so, but I did. Now do you understand?”

Annie’s brown eyes clouded, and she crossed her arms protectively over her chest. “You were right about the Lesters.”

“And I was right about what we have to do.” Didn’t she realize that? “If you want to keep that child, this is the only solution, and the sooner we do it the better. The Lesters are probably consulting their attorney as we speak. There’ll be a hearing, and we’d better go into it married if we’re going to have a chance.”

“We have to see an attorney.”

“Annie—”

Anger flared in her eyes, but behind it he saw vulnerability. “I’m not going off half-cocked, so you might as well get used to the idea. We see a lawyer first. Then—” She seemed to take a breath. “Well, then we’ll see what’s best.”

He could say he already knew what was best, but he suspected that wasn’t going to sway her. “I’ll call Chet Longly. He’s the lawyer the firm uses. Will he do, or do you want to find someone yourself?”

“He’ll do.” She shivered.

He nodded, picking up the phone. At least she seemed to accept that he was irrevocably involved in this. For once, she couldn’t avoid him.

And that was just as well, because one way or another, he intended to marry her.

Chapter Two

Annie held the baby on her lap as she sat next to Link in the attorney’s office the next morning, watching as every avenue of escape was blocked to her. Each word Chet Longly spoke seemed to make marriage to Link loom more inexorably.

She gazed past the attorney, trying to ease the sense of things closing in on her. His office, like every other important thing in the small town, faced the town square. Two days ago the flag at its center had hung at half-staff, in mourning for the funerals of two prominent citizens. Today the banner snapped in a brisk September breeze, colors bright in the sunshine.

Marcy wiggled, restless after a half hour’s worth of adult conversation. Holding one arm around the baby’s rounded middle, Annie reached into the diaper bag and pulled out one of the soft toys she’d tossed in before leaving the house. Maybe that would occupy Marcy for a moment at least.

Becca’s next-door neighbor had offered to watch Marcy during the appointment, and she’d turned her down so quickly that it was a wonder the grandmotherly woman hadn’t taken offense. After that episode with the Lesters, she was afraid to leave Marcy with anyone. Maybe there wasn’t anyone in this town she could trust.

Well, probably the man who had been Davis’s attorney was trustworthy. He’d been openly apologetic that he’d never succeeded in getting Davis to make a will. Davis, like so many people, hadn’t thought there was any hurry.

Who would have expected the unthinkable?

Lord, why did this happen? Why Davis and Becca?

There wasn’t any answer to that, just as there hadn’t been any answer during the long night when she’d asked God whether this marriage was the right thing to do.

She shot a sideways glance at Link while the attorney patiently explained the ramifications of a custody hearing. Link’s grave, composed face gave no hint to his feelings. He thought he already knew the only answer.

“So, as I say, there’s no cut-and-dried solution.” Chet Longly spread his hands, his open, friendly face troubled. “The judge has a great deal of discretion in a custody case. Even if you had written proof that Davis and Becca wanted you to take Marcy, the judge could decide against that. It’s not likely, but it could happen.”

Link stirred. “You agree that our case would be stronger if we were married.”

“I can’t advise you to marry in an effort to deceive the court.” Chet said the words as if he walked on eggshells. “On the other hand, if you marry because you’re fond of each other and because you want to provide security for a child you both love, I think that could tip the scales in your favor.”

Link glanced at her, his dark eyes seeming to say he’d told her so.

Well, he couldn’t blame her for exploring every possibility, could he? Knowing Link, he probably could. He’d never had much patience with her passion for details.

“Also, there’s the fact that Ms. Gideon is living in the Conrad house, already taking care of the child,” the attorney went on. “I hate to bring up the old saw about possession, but it does make the judge less likely to order a change that could be upsetting to the baby.”

Link’s jaw tightened. “I suspect that was what Frank had in mind yesterday. If he’d gotten his hands on Marcy—”

Annie suppressed the shudder that moved through her. In those frightening moments, when she’d actually feared the Lesters would snatch Marcy from her arms, she’d turned to Link.

She needed help. Hard though it was to accept, she couldn’t do this alone.

“Either way, the best thing is to set up a hearing before the judge as quickly as possible, before the Lesters take any other action.” The attorney stood, looking at them with concern in his face. “I’ll leave you alone to discuss it for a few minutes.”

He crossed the room, his footsteps making little sound on the plush carpet. The door closed softly behind him.

She had to stop collecting options and make a decision. However much she might have resented it in the past, she knew that Link’s loyalty had always been to Davis. If that loyalty extended to his daughter, maybe that was all she could ask.

“It’s not easy, is it.”

She met Link’s gaze, startled, to find that he was looking at her with sympathy.

“No.” She tried to swallow the lump that refused to leave her throat in spite of the fact that she’d cried every tear she had to shed in the past few days. “I spent most of the night praying about it. Maybe this is the only answer, but how can I take vows I don’t mean?”

Link’s hand tightened to a fist on the polished mahogany arm of the chair. “Don’t you think I have qualms about that?”

“I didn’t know it mattered to you.” She had assumed, when he’d stood next to her as godparents to the baby, that he believed, but she hadn’t probed deeper than that.

“It does.” He clipped the words off, his face grim. “You’re not the only person to struggle with this, Annie.”

She tried to smile. “Are you getting any answers?”

“I don’t pretend to be a great theologian—”

He leaned toward her, and she felt the intensity of his belief reaching out to her.

“—but I am sure it would be a greater wrong to let that baby go to people who don’t care about her than to marry for reasons other than love.”

His words shot straight to her heart. She’d never expected to find the kind of all-consuming love Becca and Davis had. If marrying Link saved their baby, perhaps that was reason enough.

“If…if we do this, how long would our marriage have to last?”

Link frowned. “I don’t know. But I’m not involved with anyone else, so I’m in no hurry. And from what Becca has said about you, I’m assuming you’re not in a relationship right now, either.”

The thought of Becca discussing her love life with Link left a bad taste in her mouth. Had her sister thought her an object of pity because she didn’t have a husband and child?

“That’s not really the point.” She kept her voice cool. “I do have a life elsewhere.”

“Once the judge grants custody to us, I don’t see any reason why you couldn’t go ahead with your plans to take Marcy back to Boston. After all, your parents are there and it would be logical for you to want to be near them. I’ll stay here to manage the company. After a reasonable period of time, one of us can file for divorce.”

The image of her cozy apartment in Boston floated in front of Annie’s eyes, a haven from the uncertainty and grief of the past days. She could take care of Marcy there without the constant reminders of her loss.

Marcy threw her black-and-white block, and it bounced harmlessly against the side of the desk. “Down,” she announced, wiggling her way off Annie’s lap.

“Where are you going, little girl?” Link caught her before she could grab the cord and pull the telephone to the floor. “Here, have a look at this.” He handed her his key ring, and Marcy gave him an enchanting smile.

“She has Davis’s smile, you know that?” He touched the baby’s cheek lightly.

Annie glimpsed a sheen of tears in his dark eyes, and the sight disarmed her. It seemed to tear down some of the barricades she held against him.

“Yes, she does,” she said softly.

Link cleared his throat, as if he felt the same tightness she did. “Davis was my best friend. I owe it to him to take care of his child. I don’t know anything about changing diapers, but I’ll do my best to run the company properly and preserve her inheritance. I can’t offer more than that.”

Oddly enough, that glimpse of his grief was reassuring. His concern might be primarily for the company, but it was for the baby’s sake as well as his own.

Link looked at her, his eyebrows lifting in the question he’d been asking all along. “Well, Annie?”

For Marcy, she told herself. For Marcy.

“All right.” She had to force the words out. “I’ll marry you.”

It was his wedding day, and he was on his way to meet his bride. Link grimaced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. The three days they’d had to wait once they applied for the license had been an eternity. He’d been constantly on edge, sure something would go wrong—that Annie would back out, that Frank would launch some unexpected offense, anything.

So far, so good. The wedding was today, and the hearing before Judge Carstairs set for tomorrow. Chet seemed as optimistic as an attorney could be. With any luck, this time the next day they’d be safe.

And then? For a moment he couldn’t see beyond the immediate goal. He shook his head. It was very simple. Annie would return to Boston with the baby, and he’d go back to running the company.

He drew up in front of the church and sat for a moment, staring out at the square. The gazebo glinted white through the surrounding trees. The maples, just beginning to change color, advertised the turning of the season. Tragedy happened, but life moved on.

Right now, moving on meant going through with this wedding. He and Annie had an agreement, just like any other business contract. As long as they kept the situation strictly business, no one would get hurt.

He glanced at the florist’s box lying on the passenger seat and jeered at himself. He was breaking his own rules. He hadn’t intended to do that but he’d found himself walking into the florist’s. No matter what had prompted their wedding, a bride should have flowers.

An orchid hadn’t seemed quite right for Annie, and the chrysanthemums the shop had in stock for the high school homecoming were out of the question. He’d settled for a small arrangement of yellow rosebuds, and their delicate aroma filtered through the white cardboard box. Hopefully the very idea of flowers wouldn’t remind her of the funeral.

He caught sight of Chet, hovering outside the church, ready to be their witness. Now or never. He picked up the box, got out of the car and walked across to meet his best man.

“Still sure about this?” Chet raised his eyebrows. He was dressed, like Link, in a dark suit that seemed appropriate for an informal wedding.

“I’m sure.” He pulled open the door to the church offices. “We made arrangements to have the ceremony in Pastor Laing’s study instead of the sanctuary.”

“Too many memories in there, I guess.”

Link nodded, throat tightening again. Too many, and too recent.

The door to the pastor’s study stood open. He stepped inside. Nora Evers, Davis and Becca’s next-door neighbor, held Marcy. An improbable hat perched on Nora’s white hair, and the baby was trying hard to pull off a purple flower.

“Nora, glad you could be here.” They’d needed witnesses, and he’d felt the grandmotherly woman would add a touch of permanence to the proceedings.

Pastor Laing said something welcoming, but Link’s attention was caught by Annie, standing unsmiling in front of the window. She wore a navy business suit with a white blouse, and her shiny brown hair curved in toward her rounded chin. Unlike Nora, she’d apparently seen no reason to wear a hat. She looked cool, severe and businesslike.

Once he’d been challenged by that cool exterior, but in the current circumstances he found it somehow reassuring. Annie looked as if nothing could touch her.

“I guess we should get started.” Pastor Laing picked up a worn black worship book and came around the desk to stand in front of them, his face austere. “If you’re both sure you’re ready.”

“We are,” Link said. He handed Annie the florist’s box.

She looked startled, then opened the box and took out the roses. He couldn’t see her expression, but she clutched the flowers tightly.

They’d talked with Garth Laing at length about this wedding, being carefully honest with him. Link certainly had no intention of lying to a man he respected as much as he did Garth. Maybe they’d left a few things out when they’d discussed their reasons for being married immediately, but if they had, he suspected someone as intuitive as the pastor could read between the lines.

Garth had agreed to marry them, that was the important thing. If they’d gone to a justice of the peace, he wasn’t sure Annie’s resolve would have held up.

Garth glanced from Link’s face to Annie’s. He nodded, as if satisfied with whatever he saw there. Then he began to read the age-old words of the wedding service.

Breathe, Link told himself. All you have to do is remember your responses. That, and hope Annie doesn’t say “I don’t” instead of “I do.”

The preliminaries over, Garth smiled at them. “Please join hands.”

For an instant he thought Annie wouldn’t move. Then she extended her hand.

Her fingers were so cold it was like taking a handful of ice. He clasped her hand in his, trying to warm it, and Annie looked up at him.

Shock ran through him. All that cool composure of hers was a facade. For a moment, he saw the grief and vulnerability in her golden-brown eyes, and the sight shook him to the heart.

Beneath her controlled exterior, Annie was fragile, so fragile. She’d just undergone the most devastating experience of her life, and now she was plunged into something she wouldn’t have dreamed possible a week earlier.

Dealing with Annie right now was like handling high explosives. One false move, and everything he’d naively thought was settled could blow sky high, leaving nothing but pieces.

Garth’s voice paused, and Link realized he had to say his vows. Holding her hands in his, he began.

The ring felt odd on her finger. Annie stood at the dresser in the guest room at Becca’s house, staring down at it. Her hand looked strange—the hand of a married woman.

She took a shaky breath. Hard as it was to believe, they’d actually done this thing. She and Link were husband and wife, legally and in God’s sight.

Did we do the right thing, Father? We honestly tried to determine Your will. Surely it was worth any sacrifice to keep Marcy safe.

Annie knew she’d better finish changing her clothes and get back downstairs. She’d left Marcy with Link, and she wasn’t sure how comfortable he was watching a lively toddler. Marcy’s little hands could move at the speed of light when she wanted something, and Annie was already discovering that she needed faster reflexes to keep up with her.

She pulled on khakis and a camel sweater, ran a brush through her hair and decided that would have to do. On to the next thing.

She and Link had already decided they’d both stay in the house tonight, since they didn’t want to raise any awkward questions with the hearing tomorrow. Link could sleep on the couch in Davis’s office. Being here together was difficult, but it was only for a night.

Once the custody case was settled, the need to look like a married couple would be finished. She’d take Marcy home, and that would be that.

In the meantime, she could certainly cope with the situation for a day or two. This was business, and she knew how to handle business.

The thought comforted her. She went quickly out of the room and down the stairs.

She found Link and Marcy in the family room, where he was trying to dissuade the baby from pulling all the videos out of the cabinet.

“How about playing with the nice blocks, instead?” He sounded harassed.

“She likes just about anything better than her toys, according to Becca.”

Link looked up at her from his prone position on the rug next to Marcy. A smile tilted his lips. “What do you suggest I do about it?”

She had to remind herself not to react to that smile. Business. She walked into the adjoining kitchen and pulled out the drawer her sister had filled with plastic containers and utensils.

“Look, Marcy. Look what Nan has.” She tapped a wooden spoon invitingly on a plastic container.

Marcy dropped a video on Link’s arm and trotted over to grab the spoon away from Annie. She plopped down in front of the drawer.

“Whatever anyone else has, that’s what she wants. Becca called it the toddler’s creed.” Her smile faltered when she seemed to hear her sister’s voice.

Link closed the video cabinet quickly, snapping the safety lock. “Nan? How did you get to be Nan?”

“Aunt Annie is a mouthful. She hasn’t managed it yet.”

He unfolded himself from the floor and walked toward her. Her mouth went suddenly dry. They were alone together. They were married.

He stopped, looking down at the baby. “Speaking of cooking utensils, have you given any thought to supper?”

She stared at him blankly. So much for the efficient, businesslike way she was going to handle things. “No, I guess I haven’t.” She hated admitting to any error. “It never entered my mind.”

“Well, we have to eat. Why don’t you grab a jacket, and I’ll take the two of you out.”

That just seemed to multiply her inefficiency. “Marcy’s going to be tired out soon. I doubt she’d last through a restaurant dinner without a meltdown.”

He looked at the baby with caution, as if anticipating an explosion. “I could pick up some take-out.”

“The freezer’s still full of the food people brought over for the funeral. I’ll microwave something for tonight.”

By tomorrow, she wouldn’t need to feel responsible for Link’s dinner.

“Okay.” He sat down on the floor next to Marcy. “I’ll keep an eye on her while you’re doing that.”

Having Link, in jeans and a dark blue sweater, taking up half the kitchen floor didn’t seem conducive to getting a meal together quickly. Still, it would be worse if she were trying to do it with Marcy underfoot.

She pulled foil-covered dishes from the freezer, setting things onto the pale birch table. For an instant her vision blurred.

Everyone in town must have loved Becca and Davis. Their grief had found expression in their bringing more food than she and Link could possibly eat. It was just as well that she hadn’t thought of cooking anything else.

When the table was set with the floral pottery dishes and blue-and-white napkins, she scooped Marcy up. “Supper time, sweetpea. Let’s see what you like.”

Marcy liked just about everything until halfway through the meal, when she suddenly decided she didn’t like anything. She wailed, then began rubbing her eyes, depositing a generous helping of macaroni and cheese in her hair in the process.

Annie glanced at Link, placidly eating a second helping of ham and scalloped potato casserole. “I’d better get her ready for bed.”

He nodded, then came around the table to plant a kiss on Marcy’s cheek, adroitly avoiding the waving, sticky hands. “Do you want me to carry her upstairs?”

“I can handle her.” She mopped the baby’s face and hands quickly. She’d better be able to handle Marcy. From now on, that would be her primary responsibility. For just an instant the thought frightened her, but she shook it off. She could do this. She had to. Nobody loved Marcy more than she did.

A wet half hour later she held a rosy-cheeked cherub, dressed for bed in pajamas dotted with yellow giraffes that matched the wallpaper. The elephant lamp cast a soft glow over the nursery.

Marcy looked adorable. She suspected that she hadn’t fared so well. Her hair fell damply in her face and her sweater sported several wet patches. She looked up at a sound to find Link standing in the doorway, watching them.

“Come to help?”

He ambled toward them, looking entirely too dry and perfect. “Came to say good-night.”

He held out his hands to Marcy. She leaned coyly against Annie’s shoulder for an instant, then lunged into his arms, chortling.

Link lifted her over his head, laughing up at her. The laughter transformed his face from its earlier bleakness. Annie’s heart lurched.

“Let’s see if we can get her into bed without a struggle,” she said.

This was the moment that had been difficult each night. Marcy, who normally went to bed without a peep, had been clingy and reluctant.

Link hugged the child, then swung her into the white crib, snuggling her down next to the soft, white, stuffed dog. Marcy lay still for an instant, then popped up again. She looked from one to the other of them, her blue eyes very round.

“Mama?” she asked tentatively. “Mama?”

Annie blinked back tears. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Nan is here.”

Link leaned over the crib railing, patting her. “You go to sleep now, darling. Link and Nan are here. We’re not going to leave.”

Marcy’s eyes clouded up, as if tears weren’t far off. He patted her again, humming in a soft bass. While Annie held her breath, Marcy lay down, pulling the dog close and slipping her thumb into her mouth. In a moment her eyes had closed.

Link straightened slowly. The movement brought him brushing against her as they stood side by side, looking down at the baby. The room was so silent she could hear Link’s slow, steady breathing. She could almost imagine she heard the beating of his heart. Her own seemed to be fluttering erratically.

She took a breath, trying to steady herself. It was certainly a good thing this marriage was going to be a long-distance one. Because she didn’t think she could cope with too much time spent in close quarters with her new husband.

Chapter Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His smile flickered. “As bad as that?”

She nodded. “What if…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Annie sent a startled glance at Chet, who shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your Honor…” the Lesters’ attorney began.

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

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

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

Then she realized the judge was looking right at her.

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

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

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

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

“Your Honor, this marriage—”

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

Please, let me say the right thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wave of relief swept Annie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just doing my job.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Necessary? I was her sister!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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