Now it was his turn to gape, his jaw working.
“Harrison, how could you think for a second that I would harm Glory?” Lydia asked sorrowfully.
His gaze flickered around the group before settling on her. “You wanted a baby so bad. You were never the same after ours—The way you looked at pregnant women, the way you looked at babies…There was such heartache. And you wouldn’t tell me anything. All you did was stare at that baby like your world was right again.”
“So you didn’t call the police because you were afraid of what Lydia had done,” Robbie said. “And the next morning, when you heard that Glory was dead…”
Harrison took a step back, leaning against the wall as if he badly needed the support. “I called Doc Josephs. He took the baby, and I took Liddy to New York, to see a doctor friend of his there. Josephs arranged through another doctor for some people to take the baby. My lawyer took care of the details.”
“Your lawyer,” Robbie repeated. “Uncle Cyrus. Charlotte’s father.” The coldhearted bastard had helped with the adoption of his own child and, knowing him, collected a large sum of money for it. Had he cared about Glory’s death? Had he considered claiming his daughter for even a moment?
Lucky for Charlotte, apparently not. She’d had a chance to grow up in a normal home, to be happy and well-adjusted and well-loved. Her first hours of life had hopefully been the toughest of her life.
He moved to take Anamaria’s hand, lacing his fingers tightly through hers. He wanted to walk away with her, to take her home and make love to her, hold her, comfort her. He wanted to drive to Savannah with her, to meet Mama Odette and Aunties Charise and Lueena and give them the news about Charlotte in person.
He wanted to tell her he loved her. To ask her to marry him.
He wanted to tell her he believed—in her gifts, in her, in them, in forever.
“What happens now?” Harrison asked, subdued for the first time in all the years Robbie had known him.
Robbie gazed at Anamaria. There was sorrow in her eyes but also hope and peace, and that serenity that made her so damn beautiful. After a moment, he looked back at Harrison and Lydia. “Kent’s already paid for his part. We tell Tommy the rest and let the authorities decide.” Then he winked at Anamaria. “And we find Charlotte. Tommy will be in touch.”
He and Anamaria had reached the bottom of the steps when he let go and went back, pulling the shawl from Lydia’s hands. She was gazing at Harrison, her hold limp, and didn’t notice the fabric slipping away. Back at the steps, he shook out the folds, then, despite the sun’s warmth, wrapped the faded wools and velvets around Anamaria’s slender shoulders.
Knotting his fingers in the fabric on either side, he gazed down at her, so incredibly beautiful, so amazingly important. To think that a week ago, he hadn’t known she existed, that only a few days ago he’d thought the difficulties of a relationship with her too much to overcome. How had everything changed so completely, so quickly?
He’d never been one to question good fortune. Why start now?
“Don’t go back to Savannah, Annie. Stay with me. Live with me. Marry me.”
Her smile was slight, impossible to read.
“I know we haven’t known each other very long—”
She raised her fingers to his mouth. “It’s not how long that matters. It’s how well. Destiny doesn’t count time like we do.”
After kissing her fingers, he brushed them away. “Am I your destiny?”
This time her smile was bright and happy…and reminded him of the photograph of her and Glory in front of their church. Destined to steal a man’s breath, he’d thought when he’d first seen it. Along with his heart. “Oh, yes, chile, and I’m yours.” She pointed her finger at him, nearly tapping his nose. “And don’t you go trying to forget it. You. Me. Our daughters. Meant to be.”
He let go of the shawl ends, and she raised her arms to enclose him in it, too. Meant to be. Damn, but he liked the sound of that. And daughters. He liked the sound of that, too. Nuzzling her neck, he murmured, “Let’s go home, Annie, and start working on those daughters.”
With a laugh, she pulled away and twirled in a circle, the shawl flowing around her. “We’ve already done that, darlin’. But I’m happy to practice for the second one.”
He didn’t ask how she could know so soon. She was a Duquesne woman, and Duquesne women knew things. And she was his woman, though he knew only one thing: He loved her. Wanted her. Needed her.
Forever.
It was a cold, rainy January evening, but there was a party going on in Labor and Delivery at Copper Lake Medical Center. Room 312 was filled with people, with soft voices and laughter and the scent of incredible food brought in from the deli. Anamaria sat in bed, the top raised so she could lean against it, and gazed at the baby in her arms. Less than twelve hours old, perfect in every way, with cocoa-hued skin and Calloway blue eyes, seven pounds, seven ounces and nineteen inches long. The baby scent was so sweet, and so were the miniature gown and the tiny little hands that flailed in the air.
She’d never known instant love—she almost had with Robbie. But she’d loved this child from the moment she’d known of its existence, and now, able to stroke the soft baby skin, to smooth the fine hair, to nestle her cheek against her child’s, she was overwhelmed by love. For the baby. For Robbie. For all the family, Duquesnes and Calloways alike, who had joined them.
Her husband sat beside her, looking as tired as if he’d spent fifteen hours in labor. Technically, he had, but she’d done all the work.
“Have you decided on a name yet?” Mama Odette asked from the chair closest to the bed.
Anamaria smiled. She had. She’d decided on Gloriane the moment she’d known she was pregnant. But the baby—and destiny—had thrown a wrench in that plan. “We have,” she replied. “Robert William Calloway Jr. And we’ll call him Will.”
“Hey, Will,” his daddy said, letting the tiny fingers clench around his own finger. “Welcome to our world.”
Yes, she, Anamaria Duquesne Calloway, had broken the two-hundred-year-old curse. First she’d gotten married, and now her pretty little baby girl had turned out to be a beautiful little baby boy.
The Duquesne curse had turned into a blessing.
And she’d never been happier.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-2798-3
SCANDAL IN COPPER LAKE
Copyright © 2009 by Marilyn Pappano
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Scandal in Copper Lake Page 20
