by Jule McBride
She saw his throat work when he swallowed, and the gravelly sound of him clearing it touched her. So did the sudden vague helplessness in his eyes.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she assured gently.
His voice was rusty, almost apologetic. “If…if I ever can help you, Lillian, remember I will.”
“You are helping me.”
He nodded, but everything in his eyes begged to differ. Afraid she was embarrassing him, Lillian turned her attention to the kids. “Quit batting Lone Star on the nose, Jim, or you’re liable to get bit,” she warned.
“I thought Shane was gonna show us how to arrest somebody, anyway,” groused Jim. “He said he would after we ate our pizza.”
“C’mon, Shane,” Ben called out.
Lillian nudged Shane, then watched as he strode toward the kids, pulling a set of handcuffs from his back jeans pocket. As he began explaining arrest procedures, Lone Star escaped to flop at Lillian’s feet, happy to be relieved of entertainment duties.
Staring at the dog, Lillian shook her head. Each night, Lone Star nudged open her bedroom door. And last night, when she’d awakened, roused by a nightmare, Lillian had finally given in to temptation.
Pulling on her robe, she’d crept to the guest room. Shane was so sensitive to sounds, she was surprised he didn’t waken. But he didn’t. And she stayed there a long time, wanting to slide beneath the sheet and lie next to him. Not for sex—though she wanted it—but to feel his strong comforting warmth near her after that horrible dream. Was she really going to marry him? she’d wondered. This man whose life she’d so carefully studied for the biggest test of hers—to get a son?
Shane slept naked, just as he’d warned, and her eyes had lingered on the powerful, commanding shape of his masculinity beneath the sheet. She’d never seen a man so sleek and beautiful. Fine black hairs trailed down his hard chest, and his long legs were endless. With sleep, the lines around his eyes vanished, making him look younger, and reminding her he really was a man. A man who’d never admit how much he feared love. An ex-cop who’d seen men die. An orphaned child who’d tried to raise his own brother.
Watching him, she’d wondered if he’d ever seen her sleep. She’d even imagined him looking at her—his assessing waterlike eyes swimming down over her silk gown. Maybe he’d seen more. Her panties or the slope of an exposed breast. Now the wild thoughts gave her a slow warm shiver. His words came back: Keep teasing me, and I’ll claim my marital rights. Oh, she suddenly wanted very, very badly to tease.
“Lillian’s gotta be the crim’nal!” she heard Jim squeal.
That snapped her from her reverie. The kids wanted Shane to arrest her? “Please,” she began, “I really don’t think…”
Shane shook his head. “No, let’s not.”
But Cass was clapping with utter delight.
And Benny waved a small white card Shane had given him. “I get to read the Miranda warning. Shane says I can!”
Another shiver—this time, pinpricks of fear—settled at the small of Lillian’s back. Her last wedding night had been so devastating, full of crimson sparks and earsplitting explosions. She couldn’t get married again….
She pushed away the images. Get hold of yourself! The kids simply want to see a security guard in action! You’re not actually getting arrested. Keeping her gaze trained away from Shane, Lillian forced a smile. “Ah,” she said. “So, what have I done wrong?”
“Robbed a bank!” suggested Cass enthusiastically.
“No,” argued Jim. “Everybody robs banks!”
The mention of money made Lillian blank out again while the kids argued over the nature of her crimes. The nature of my crimes? she thought bitterly. Was it so criminal to foolishly love the wrong man?
Her eyes met Shane’s. He seemed to be watching her so carefully. She managed a smile, just a nervous twitch of her lips that never reached her eyes. He smiled back—she could swear—a second too late. In that second, she felt sure Shane Holiday could read her mind. He could see into her past—and knew all about the crimson fire in her dreams and the explosions.
But of course he didn’t. Fortunately, the kids were making headway. “Maybe she’s a jewel thief,” Jim said.
“Diamonds,” Cass specified.
“And in the getaway, she killed a man!”
The words echoed in Lillian’s mind. Killed a man. Killed a man. Her heart was pumping so hard she could no longer hear at all, and she felt as if every molecule of air had been sucked from the room.
“Lil’yun’s not mean,” announced Susan. “She did somethin’ like Robin Hood, where she stole from the rich and gave to the poor.”
Everyone agreed. Her heart still pounding, Lillian tried her best to enter the game. Playing the suspect, she started running circles around the living room, wildly waving her arms while the “bloodhound”—meaning Lone Star—barked and nipped at her heels.
The kids screamed, shouted and gave chase. With every pounding footstep and every gasping breath, Lillian could still feel Shane’s strangely pale eyes riveted on her. It’s just your imagination, Lillian! The man can’t read your mind.
Stopping in front of the windows, Lillian waved her arms wildly, then fled again. She ran around the room until it finally felt good to run. Until the game started to feel therapeutic. After all, she was winning—she’d outrun her past. She’d eluded the Ramseys and was about to adopt Brandon.
Shane came at her head on, and she feinted left, then lunged. He just missed her. A whoosh of air sounded inches behind her and the handcuffs he was waving clinked. All around her, the kids giggled.
“Arf!”
“Get ’er, Lone Star!” Jim shouted, sounding blood-thirsty.
“I almost got ’er, Shane!” shouted Benny.
“Gotcha.”
This time the voice was low and sexy. Unmistakably Shane’s. Caught, she fell to the floor as gracefully as possible—breathless, her heart pounding, her knees weak. For just a second, her past seemed a lifetime away. Because she was suddenly laughing with the kids and Shane…and wishing. If only she could share a home with a man she loved. She wanted to roughhouse with their kids, just like this. And share pizzas and secrets, grow gardens and learn to trust again.
“You got the right to remain silent, Lillian!” Benny announced. The little boy stepped back and, in spite of his giggles, tried to read the Miranda warning.
Lillian could merely smile up at Shane. Smelling of soap and old clean denim, he was kneeling next to where she lay on her back on the floor. When he hauled her to her feet, their eyes meshed.
His voice was low and hoarse—maybe from the tussle, maybe from physical need stirred by her close proximity. “You’re under arrest,” he said, slapping on the cuffs.
The chuckle suddenly died in her throat.
Footsteps were pounding in the outer hallway, and a fist beat on her front door. A man shouted, “Open up! Open up in there!”
She whirled from Shane’s grasp as more steps sounded. For a second, she thought none of it was real, that her innermost fears had somehow come to life. Both men were rushing her door. Outside, hard bodies thudded against the wood. She watched in shock as someone realized the door wasn’t even locked and turned the knob. Men fell through, with guns drawn and badges held out.
Lillian couldn’t move. Not even to look at Shane. She could only stand there, in a frozen stupor. What was happening? Gunman were rushing toward her, down the front hallway she traversed every morning in her bathrobe. As if in a dream, she watched Shane race to intercept them.
“Get back!” someone shouted. “There’s been an arrest.”
But no one got back. Everyone but Lillian was still moving. Susan had fled for Shane’s arms and he’d caught her in midstride, swinging her into his arms. Cass grabbed Lillian’s hand, and Lone Star protected the boys, growling fiercely at the intruders.
“What’s going on here?” Shane demanded. “Who are you? How could you burst in here like this?”
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The men stepped back, looking uncertain.
“We heard there was noise. Screaming and yelling. Some neighbors called and complained, saying they thought there was real trouble here.” The man glanced toward Lillian’s handcuffed hands. “Uh…”
“We were playing a game with these kids we’re baby-sitting,” explained Shane, taking command and shooing the men back through the door. “I’m an ex-cop, a security guard, and I was showing these kids how to make an arrest. Sorry. Tell all the neighbors we’ll keep the noise down.”
Lillian was shaking as Shane gently removed the handcuffs. Had real law officers just burst into the apartment? They’d vanished as quickly as they’d come. Her heart was still hammering and her mind could barely catch up. Her lungs ached and burned—maybe from running, but more likely from what had transpired. “Where did they come from?” she gasped.
Shane’s voice was calm. “They said a neighbor called.”
“But we weren’t that noisy. And they came so fast.” Response time for the police in New York City wasn’t exactly immediate. And they were in plain clothes, not uniforms. Were they already in the building for some other reason? Yes, that must have been it.
“Neighbors called,” she finally repeated, assuring herself. She felt Shane’s arm glide supportively around her back. Something’s wrong, Lillian. You’re missing something here. Was it something to do with one of those men…
But they’d come and gone so fast. What was teasing her mind? A memory? Had she seen one of the men before? She managed to shake off the paranoia and plaster a smile on her lips. “I guess that just took me by surprise.” She glanced around. “Sorry, kids.”
“Sorry?” Jim said in awe. “That was great!”
“I can’t wait to tell my friend Tony,” assured Benny.
Susan looked fine. And Cass was petting Lone Star again. Lillian felt Shane’s hand gently rubbing her lower back.
“You okay?” he said gently.
“Maybe I’m just nervous about tomorrow,” she managed. Tomorrow. What was she going to do about the wedding? Oh, she wanted Brandon more than anything. But what she and Shane were doing was wrong….
Even worse, she could feel her past nipping at her heels, closing in around her like walls pressing inward. After only one shared kiss, she was falling for Shane, too, and having fantasies where he stayed, becoming Brandon’s daddy. But Shane couldn’t be in her life. He was an ex-cop. He’d realize there were gaps in her past. Maybe he’d already guessed that the simple white brick house with the picket fence existed only in her dreams. She yearned for it, just the way she did a baby. Just the way she yearned for Shane.
“Lillian?”
She gazed into Shane’s eyes. The kids were excitedly discussing their visit from the police, but she kept her voice low, anyway. “Shane, I’ve changed my mind. We can’t get married tomorrow.”
His face turned hard. The pupils of his eyes held an uncompromising intensity she’d never seen, and his voice was a command. “Don’t get cold feet on me now.”
“But—”
“No buts.”
She stared back in mute protest. How could she explain to Shane that the police might come here for different reasons someday? And that next time, her arrest might be real.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“IT’S NOT LIKE YOU to fidget, Lillian—” Jefferson Lawrence gently urged Lillian down the aisle, coaching under his breath in a soothing baritone. “Now, now, you’re just getting married.”
Just getting married. Spoken like a true Wall Street financier. The last time the Dow Jones plummeted, Jefferson had chuckled, run a hand through his thick, salt-and-pepper hair and said, “No more bull. We’re in a bear market now, so get ready to growl!” Just getting married. As if she was filing papers or fetching coffee.
Lillian stared down the aisle. Shane was at the dim, imposing altar, standing as still as the churchyard statues visible through a side door’s leaded glass. Somehow, she felt glad of the veil that covered her eyes. Otherwise, he and everyone else would see her panic. From the front pew, a camera flashed. No doubt the photographer was another of Jefferson’s touches. Poor Jefferson, Lillian thought, her grip tightening on his suit sleeve. Her boss would be jittery, too, if he had any inkling of what she and Shane were really up to.
The anxious sigh she blew out in an effort to calm herself was so deep it lifted her veil. She had a valid Social Security number, but she’d been sweating all these details—everything from the marriage license to Jefferson’s giving her away.
Without moving his lips, Jefferson again chided, “Please, Lillian, quit trembling. You look lovely.”
“Thanks,” she managed.
She could feel Shane’s appreciative eyes on the white tea-length lace dress. It had short sleeves and a lace-edged sweetheart neckline, and the manicured hand that wasn’t resting on Jefferson’s arm was holding a cascade of sweet-smelling pink roses. She’d insisted Shane not see the dress before the wedding. Even if they weren’t marrying for love, she wasn’t jinxing this.
Still, she was nervous. Couldn’t people see through her duplicity? Each step brought her and Shane nearer to a marriage that had nothing to do with love. And yet, with each step, Brandon was closer to home. Warmth infused her when she imagined the baby sleeping cuddled against her, his tiny pink hands flexing in helpless fists.
If you can get through the vows, everything’ll fall into place. You have to believe that. Surely, as soon as she got the baby—if she got the baby—she’d forget Shane. Of course she cared for him. She’d experienced the beginnings of rebuilt trust, and his kiss had devastated her. But it didn’t mean anything, and neither did the self-indulgent ideas she kept entertaining about making the marriage real. It is real, she thought with renewed panic. They’d had blood tests, and gotten a license.
She really should turn around and simply stride through the bronze doors of Trinity Church. She’d hit Wall Street, her satin heels clicking, the breeze lifting the veil over her face. As she rounded Nassau Street and passed the stock exchange, the brokers on break would glance at her wedding attire while they crushed cigarettes butts under their heels. Maybe she’d toss them the roses.
She kept marching.
Trinity Church was a Gothic-revival showcase, and through her veil, the stained-glass windows that arched toward the vaulted ceiling looked as strangely opaque as the hallways that led to marble crypts and tiny chapels beyond the altar. Lillian glanced at the coworkers who smiled from the front pews. It was so sweet of them to come, especially since she’d never gotten close to them—both because she feared they’d find out about her past and because she was afraid to trust in friendships after Sam’s betrayal.
Shane hadn’t called his brother yet. He’d been too worried Doc might sense something amiss at the wedding. But maybe not. Apparently Doc had recently started having his own love troubles, fighting with his girlfriend, Frankie. Still, it seemed a shame he wasn’t here since there were so many well-wishers.
Even Bennie and Jim, their baby-sitting charges, had offered a gift; they’d taken Lone Star to their parents’ apartment for the night. As if she and Shane needed privacy! Tonight, as always, they planned to quiz each other on the facts of their respective lives, since Ethel was coming tomorrow.
Still staring at her coworkers, Lillian’s guilt became positively insufferable. They’d brought such lovely gifts to the office—personalized stationary for Mr. and Mrs. Holiday. Monogrammed tea-towel sets. An engraved tea service. The name Lillian Holiday and the initials LH now peered back at Lillian from all her cupboards and towel racks. She just hoped Ethel Crumble noticed tomorrow.
Not that it helped the here and now. Jefferson smiled benevolently, giving her away. As the minister began the service, Lillian’s eyes slid to Shane. Nothing was more solid than the massive stone church, but as she looked at the man who was about to become her husband, everything seemed to shake. No wonder she kept wishing this marriage was real.
&nb
sp; He looked gorgeous, although his suit was nothing fussy—just a plain dark suit with narrow lapels, worn with a crisp white shirt and dark tie. Clean-shaven and with his hair combed back, he looked very austere. He’d traded his cowboy boots for leather dress shoes, which he’d bought for the occasion.
He smiled—a quick flash of straight white teeth that seemed to make him shine in their dim Gothic surroundings. His eyes, too, were light in all the darkness—peering from tanned skin, and from sleek slashes of dark eyebrows and sparse rims of black eyelashes. What was Shane thinking right now? Did he share her doubts?
“Does anyone know why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony?” the minister finally asked.
Lillian could think of countless reasons, beginning with the fact that her name wasn’t Lillian. And that she and Shane weren’t in love. Realizing she was holding her breath, she slowly exhaled. What had she been expecting? That the ghost of her dead first husband would protest? Or that she might voice her own reasons? At least a hundred nights, she’d awakened with nightmares, scared and alone and wishing she wasn’t living a lie. She wanted to tell someone what had happened.
Now was definitely not the time.
When the minister continued, the words suddenly made Lillian’s heart ache in remembrance. Seven years ago, she’d stood for this same service in the rose garden her father had so carefully tended. Although she’d lost both her parents in the preceding two years—her mother to cancer, her father to a heart attack—she’d felt their warm, loving presence in that special place on her wedding day. She’d known they were proud, since her marriage to Sam Ramsey had helped her restore the Fontenont family home.
Then, as now, a new baby was anticipated, since Sam promised he and Lillian, then Delilah, could immediately start adoption proceedings. They’d pull out all the stops, he’d vowed. Do whatever it took. He loved her so much, there was nothing he wouldn’t do for her.
