Because You're Mine

by Colleen Coble

  Her hand smoothed her tummy. She would soon have her child. The minute she laid her eyes on her baby, she would know him. His imprint was already part of her. But first, she had to get out of Thomas’s long-armed reach.

  “We must get home to pack,” she said. “We’ll leave as soon as the funeral is over. Thomas won’t be expecting me to return to America so quickly, and I shall be able to escape.”

  “Can you be getting a plane ticket out so soon?” Ciara asked. “Our flight back isn’t scheduled for another week.”

  “I hope so.” What would she do if she couldn’t? “I think I’ll call Barry. He might be able to change flights for us.”

  Ciara didn’t object. Alanna pulled out her cell phone and dialed their manager’s number.

  Barry answered on the first ring. “Alanna?”

  “I need your help, Barry.”

  His brusque voice changed to a softer one. “Alanna, are you all right? You sound upset.”

  How did so few words tell him that? Barry often seemed connected to her in a strange way. “I need to get back to America as soon as possible, Barry, right after Liam’s funeral. And could you find out what I have to do to become an American citizen?”

  “Of course, but what is this all about, sugar?”

  When had he started calling her by the endearment? The first time it had startled her. Now she liked it. It gave her a sense of belonging. “Liam’s father is going to try to get custody of my baby.”

  “You’re pregnant.” Something changed in his voice, a new alertness.

  She told him what had happened in the confrontation with the Connollys.

  “I’ll get you a flight home right after the funeral. Leave it to me.”

  “You’re so good to me, Barry. Thank you.”

  “I’d do anything to help you, Alanna. You should know that by now.”

  “I knew I could count on you.” She put her phone away after Barry promised to check into the immigration protocol and call her back.

  Ciara drove downtown, where the women ate dinner in a local pub. Alanna was only able to pick at her bangers and mash with a side of chips. The grease on the chips turned her stomach, and the spice in the bangers, usually something she loved, made her tummy burn. Ciara didn’t have much to say either, and the women spent an hour in the pub staring morosely at their plates.

  Darkness descended while they were eating.

  “How’s your throat?” Ciara asked as they walked back to the car. “You’re sounding a little hoarse. Too much talking today.” A yeasty smell of mead rolled out of the bars along the way.

  “I’ll rest it tomorrow.”

  She needed to follow up with the throat specialist when they got back to the States. What if her voice was already ruined? She had a baby to support. Would the audience respond as well to Ceol if all she could do was play the fiddle?

  So many things to worry about.

  Most pressing was Thomas’s threat. Much more than a threat. What would she do if he succeeded? She’d have to throw herself on his mercy and move in with them. She shriveled inside at the thought, but she couldn’t allow the Connollys to raise her baby without her influence.

  She shuddered at a new thought. “Maybe I should do what Thomas wants,” she said. “If he wins his suit, he’s vindictive enough to deny me any contact with the baby. If I give in now, at least they would prepare an apartment for us. I’d raise my baby myself, even if it’s with their interference.”

  Ciara pulled the car into the parking bay and shut it off before she spoke. “I’m not smart enough to be telling you what is the right thing, but think hard about it, Alanna. You’d be giving up any life of your own. Thomas would own you. You’d be making no money of your own, have nothing that belonged just to you. Your career would be over. And Ceol’s.”

  Alanna knew she had a responsibility to her mates. She was Ceol’s driving force. The audience roared when she played the fiddle and danced barefoot across the stage. The papers were filled with her image in the towns where they played. Critics compared her voice to Loreena McKennitt’s pure, crystal tones. Now she sounded more like a frog.

  “Maybe my career is over anyway,” she said softly.

  “Even if your voice is gone, you can play the fiddle like no one ever has,” Ciara said. “The Irish reels that pour from your instrument make the audience want to get up and dance in the aisles. Sometimes they do.”

  Liam used to say that God had given her a gift. She didn’t have the right to turn her back on it. But maybe she wouldn’t be doing that if she moved in with Thomas and Sheila. She could train up her child to follow after the music.

  Ciara reached over and grabbed her hand. “Don’t be making any decisions until you hear from Barry. He may have a way out of this. And don’t be thinking I’m saying this because of Ceol. I care about you more than the band.”

  Alanna knew her mate spoke the truth. She returned the pressure of Ciara’s fingers. “Good advice.” She nodded toward the building. “We should go in. I still have packing and sorting to do.”

  “Want me to help?”

  “No, you get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” Alanna told Ciara good-bye. When she got to her flat, her cell phone rang. She glanced at it. It was Barry. She put the phone to her ear.

  “Cheers,” she said.

  His Southern accent held an edge. “Sugar, I just got off the phone with my buddy who works for immigration. The news isn’t good. In most circumstances, there is a three- to five-year permanent residency requirement.”

  Alanna exhaled and sank onto the old green sofa. “So that idea’s out. He’ll get my visa revoked, Barry. I know he will.” Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked furiously. She would not cry. Whatever she had to do, she’d do it.

  “There’s one way out. I know it will seem a little drastic, but I’m sure it will work.”

  Her sinking hope rose. “I’ll do anything to keep my baby. What can I do?”

  “Marry me.”

  She gaped, then gulped. “I don’t understand.”

  “Come here. When the child is born, it will automatically be a citizen. I’ll adopt him and Thomas will have no power over us.”

  She clutched the phone. “But why would you do this for me? Tie yourself down like that.”

  “Why not? You’re special to me, Alanna. You always have been. It could be a marriage in name only, at least for now. Later—maybe later we’ll find there is more for us as a couple than we can imagine now.”

  Her spirit rebelled at the idea of being married to anyone but Liam. “For how long?”

  “However long you want it to last,” he said. “I’d like it to be forever, but if you want to be free after Thomas is off your back, I’ll do whatever you want. What do you say?”

  “I’ll do it.” She soothed herself with the knowledge the arrangement needn’t last long. Just until her son was safe and Thomas realized he couldn’t control them.

  Five

  Lass, don’t do this,” Ciara whispered fiercely in Alanna’s ear.

  Alanna tugged on the antique wedding gown and tried to summon a smile to reassure her mate. Luckily, the dress had an empire waistline that left plenty of room for her belly. If it fit today, it would still fit tomorrow when the actual ceremony took place. Ena snapped off a series of pictures in quick succession. Her pink hair was all that Alanna could see behind the huge camera and lens.

  The last eight weeks since Liam’s funeral had flown by with the speed of a Mark 4 train. She stared at herself in the mirror. Her turquoise eyes were wide with trepidation under the mass of red curls that were tousled yet controlled. The perfect bride for a man from an old Charleston family. All just part of the charade. She was six months along now, and she couldn’t hide her belly under the dress.

  “Call it off,” Ciara said. “It’s not too late.”

  Alanna turned away from the mirror. Her image depressed her. Through the window, she saw the bay out past the Battery. Through some transfor
mation she didn’t understand, this place had become like home to her. Her hand went to the swell of her belly. “I have no choice if I want to keep my baby.”

  “I don’t trust Barry.” Ciara spat the word as though it were the breath mint she hated.

  Her mate had hit the roof the minute she heard of Barry’s proposal. Alanna turned her back on Ena’s camera, though no doubt she had already captured their scowls. Tomorrow would be better. She’d pin her smile in place, and no one would guess her heart was breaking.

  Ciara gestured from the top of Alanna’s head to her feet. “Look at you. He even picked out the dress. It’s never a thought of your own that you’ll be having now.”

  Alanna smoothed the ivory silk. “It’s not a sin to be caring about history and tradition. His grandmother, the Lord rest her soul, wore this. His mother too.”

  Ciara sighed, then shrugged her slim shoulders. “I’m wasting my breath.”

  Alanna turned away from her friend’s accusing gaze. She heard a knock at the door.

  It opened, and Fiona stuck her head into the room. Her blonde hair hung in a shining curtain to her shoulders. “I made something for you.” She stepped into the room and held out an intricate gold necklace.

  The pendant—a Celtic cross—caught the light. The center held a garnet, Alanna’s birthstone. “Gorgeous.” Alanna touched it. “I love it.”

  “Turn around, and I’ll put it on you,” Fiona said.

  Her cool fingers touched the back of Alanna’s neck. Alanna touched the chain and held it while her friend fastened the necklace. The cross hung in exactly the right place for the dress’s neckline. She hugged her friend. “Thank you, Fiona. It’s lovely.”

  Fiona smiled. “It’s a beautiful bride you’ll be making.” She tapped on her lip. “The police detective is outside wanting to speak to you.”

  Alanna frowned. “What about?”

  “He didn’t say,” Fiona said.

  Alanna glanced at her watch. Barry would be here to take her to dinner soon, and she needed time to change. “I’ve got five minutes. Let him come in.”

  Fiona stepped to the door and opened it. She thrust her head out. “You can be coming in, but only for five minutes.” She stepped back and allowed the detective through the doorway.

  Detective Adams ran his hand through his red hair. “So sorry to disturb you when you’re busy with final wedding preparations.” Fatigue draped his freckled face. “I’ll be brief.”

  “What is it?” Alanna asked.

  “Do you know for sure which man was driving the vehicle?”

  Alanna shook her head. “Liam had wanted to drive it, but Jesse told him he couldn’t. Why do you ask?”

  The detective pursed his lips. “Were you aware of Jesse’s state of mind the night of the bombing?”

  “These are odd questions, Detective.”

  “Jesse was recently fired from his job over a sexual harassment accusation. Were you aware of that?”

  Alanna wasn’t, but neither was she surprised. She frowned. “As far as I could see Jesse was himself.”

  “His usual envious self,” Fiona muttered under her breath.

  Detective Adams turned to her. “Explain.”

  Fiona blinked as if she hadn’t expected to be heard. “Oh, you know. He held Alanna special mainly because he couldn’t have her. Otherwise he never turned a pretty girl away.” Her cheeks flushed.

  The detective nodded thoughtfully.

  Alanna gripped the back of the chair. “Are you saying Jesse was jealous of Liam?” she asked Fiona.

  “Was he?” Adams asked.

  All four women just stared at him.

  “You’re not saying . . . ?” Ciara didn’t finish her thought.

  “Saying what?” Alanna wanted to know.

  Detective Adams kept a patient eye on Ciara until she was flustered into speaking.

  “You think Jesse did this?”

  Ena gasped. “Like what? A murder-suicide?”

  Alanna felt faint. She shook her head. It wasn’t possible.

  “Do you think Jesse Hawthorne would have been capable of doing something like that?” Adams asked.

  This time, no one spoke.

  He glanced at his watch. “I don’t want to keep you too long. I know you have a lot to do before your wedding.”

  Ciara scowled. “Unless we can talk her out of it.”

  Snap, snap. Ena continued to take pictures. Alanna turned her back, not wanting her shock and horror to be caught on camera.

  The detective blinked. “You don’t want her to get married?”

  “It’s too soon,” Ciara said. “She’s running on fear and not thinking it through.”

  “Barry Kavanagh is very much respected,” Adams said. “He’s done a lot for Charleston, donated money to help disadvantaged kids, restoration work around the buildings, all kinds of things. Every mama with an eligible daughter has been trying to catch him for years.”

  Ciara’s face softened. “Don’t be minding me. I’m just jealous.” She walked the detective to the door and closed it.

  Alanna hugged her when she returned. “Let’s not be talking of jealousy. There’s no reason.”

  “I am afraid you’ll be drifting away from us,” Ciara said in her ear during the embrace. “Barry wants you all to himself.”

  “No, he only wants to help.”

  “He pushed you after Liam died until you couldn’t sing anymore.”

  Alanna hid her pain with a smile. Her surgery last month had successfully dealt with the nodules, but she was seeing no signs of improvement in the way her voice had changed. “Am I hearing you say my fiddle playing is lacking?” Her smile widened to a genuine one.

  “I’ll not be saying such a thing!” Ciara linked arms with her. “I fancy some American pizza. Change your clothes, and I’ll treat you.”

  “The baby wouldn’t say no.” At least Ciara had left off with the attack on Barry and tomorrow’s wedding.

  Pain pulsed at his eyes again. Jesse Hawthorne pressed his fingers to his eyes and willed it to go away. He put down the bodhran. The sound he got from it wasn’t nearly as good as Liam’s expert touch.

  “Need a pill?” his mother asked, jumping up and hurrying toward the hall before he answered.

  “I’m fine, Mom,” he said. “It’s not bad.”

  “You don’t have to pretend to be so strong.” She frowned.

  He laid his head back against the gray velour sofa scented with cinnamon from the spray his mother used. For just a moment, in his mind’s eye he saw a different living room. One with rain slashing the windows that looked out on the sea. A place he’d never been, he was sure.

  This place was alien to him. He slept in a room he didn’t remember next to a bookcase of young adult novels he was sure he’d never read. An array of football awards covered the dresser, and he had no idea what position he’d played. The doctor said his memory would likely return, but Jesse had begun to lose hope. Maybe this twilight would be his destiny. When he’d checked out his condo, he found nothing familiar there either.

  “I’m going to move back to my condo today,” he said.

  His mother clasped her hands together. “It’s too soon, Jesse! You’re not ready. Who will be there if your vision blacks out or you fall? You need to stay here for now. The doctor thinks you shouldn’t be alone yet.”

  “I’m never going to get back to normal if you keep coddling me.” He didn’t want to hurt her, but he was tired of being treated like an invalid. Restlessness plagued him, and he needed to find a purpose for his life. This endless drifting made every day drag.

  “You don’t have a car,” she pointed out, her eyes hardening. “And I won’t let you use mine for this foolishness.”

  “Then I’ll go buy one. I still have money in my account.” In his previous life, he’d worked for the FBI for a time, or so he’d been told. A bean counter. He’d looked at his resume and discovered he never worked anywhere longer than three years. Perpetually
climbing the ladder or easily bored?

  “You’re being very foolish, Jesse,” she said. “I’m going to call your father.”

  “Mom, I’m thirty-two, not fourteen! Your hovering is about to kill me, okay? I’ve got to get on with my life. Get a job, pick up the pieces.”

  “How can you get a job when all you do is sit in your room and practice that stupid drum? And all because of a dare from a dead man. You don’t even remember how to balance accounting books anymore, do you?”

  He glanced away from her challenging gaze. “I know how to do it. It’s just not keeping my attention. Maybe I should start a new career.” Noodling over numbers had become a habit in recent weeks, but it brought him no joy. Wasn’t his job supposed to be something he actually liked?

  “You have a master’s, Jesse. It took you six years to get it. You’re going to throw it all over to do something else? You need to stop jumping from job to job and settle into your career.”

  He rubbed his forehead as the pain intensified. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Her face softened. “You’re just antsy, son. Be patient. It will all come back.”

  “If I’m back on my own, maybe I’ll have to remember.”

  His mother stepped closer and took his hand. “I know it’s hard, Jesse. You’ve held up so well under the strain. It will get better soon. It has to.”

  He didn’t know where she was getting her information. It didn’t have to get better. This half-life of his could go on and on. He went to the window. The sunshine shone on the live oak trees lining the yard, and roses raised their heads to the light. The cheerful view did little to lift his spirits.

  He wished he’d died instead of Liam. He was going to have to get dressed if he wanted to attend that wedding, much as he hated the thought.

  Ciara went to the mirror and fussed with the bright blue beads she’d put into her black cornrows. “I’ll be chasing off the people at the wedding when they see this hair,” she moaned. “You sure I can’t be talking you out of this?”