AKA_Marriage
Page 21
“I am?” she whispered.
“You are.” And it was as simple as that. Without another word, Shane’s lips closed over hers again, and her adventures were done. Or just beginning. Because she and her two Shanes were on their way home.
EPILOGUE
SHANE WATCHED LILLIAN breeze through the gate in the white picket fence with Little Shane, big at almost a year, slung around her hip. She was wearing a short pale yellow sundress, and her hair was dark now. What hadn’t grown out she’d dyed back to its natural color, and now it was hanging loose and wild to her shoulders. Not that Shane had ever gotten used to calling her Delilah. Somewhere along the way, she’d turned into a Lillian. Or a Lily. Or a Lil. All the names of which reminded Shane of sweet young women with hearts as wide open as lily pads and nothing to hide from anyone, particularly not their husbands.
“Shane, honey,” she called out now, in a soft drawl that got thicker the longer they stayed in Louisiana, “your Aunt Dixie Lynn wants you to finish shelling those crawfish.”
“I’m working on it.” Or he had been. But the minute his wife and son started up the walk toward the front porch, the whole world had stopped for Shane. He paused, as he always did, to admire her, forgetting everything else—the crawfish and the sounds of the bayou and the soft classical music playing on the radio.
Smiling, Lillian headed up the porch steps, then unceremoniously settled herself and the baby onto Shane’s lap. “C’mon,” she said, “everybody up at the big house is starved.”
He smiled back at her. “And your sitting in my lap is supposed to make me hurry?” Running a palm easily over her back, he felt the light fabric, then the silk of her bare shoulders, tease his fingertips. He winked at Little Shane, who giggled and tried to grab his daddy’s nose.
“No, but maybe this will.” Lillian leaned, making the baby coo with delight at being squinched between his parents.
“What will?”
“This.” She leaned a final inch and delivered a hot, sweet, salty wet kiss. Even though it was meant to be an I’ve-been-missing-you-all-day kind of kiss, it quickly turned risky, and when Lillian leaned away, she looked terribly pleased with herself. And then she groaned, shifting the baby on her hip. “He’s sure getting big,” she said with a smile. “I guess this means I should start a college fund.”
“I doubt you’ll have much trouble doing that,” Shane said dryly, even as his heart swelled with pride over her business acumen.
She laughed again, and he glanced across the neatly landscaped grounds of the old restored Fontenont plantation—the stately mansion, the white-columned porch and the rose garden once tended by her father. It was such a great place that Shane didn’t even miss the log cabin he’d sold back in East Texas. Here, the nights were quiet and warm, just the way he liked them. Fireflies winked in the berry bushes and birds cawed, diving into the bayou while gators slid under the mossy trees.
No, there’d never been a finer day, Shane thought, than when he’d packed up Little Shane, Lillian and the U-haul and headed through the Holland Tunnel, with a map on his lap and Manhattan’s skyscrapers in the rearview mirror. New York was a town with a lot of heart. But it wasn’t for him. Or Lillian. Or the family they wanted to raise.
Long before they left, everything fell into place.
Judge Tilford Winslow helped facilitate Lillian’s quick divorce from Sam Ramsey, and she’d married Shane at Trinity Church again, this time inviting Shane’s aunts and his brother, Doc.
In exchange for her testimony, Lillian was given complete immunity, a deal cinched by the high-powered attorneys Jefferson had hired. And also by the fact that Lillian hadn’t understood the significance of all the papers in her possession, which had now been used to shut down the Ramsey crime consortium for good. With Trusty Joe and Sam Ramsey in jail, there was nothing more to fear. Oh, Shane figured there might still be a few angry dirty cops in Southern Louisiana, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. He’d proven he could protect his family.
With the consortium gone, the Fontenont plantation had gone to auction—and Lillian had gotten it back. Since then, right on the property where she’d grown up, Shane had built them a small white brick house with a picket fence.
Otherwise, the plantation was now a functioning small hotel—with an airstrip, guest bungalows and stables. Shane spent his days managing it—fixing everything broken, making sure the grounds and buildings were maintained, and sometimes giving boat tours of the bayou to his and Lillian’s guests. He didn’t regret hanging up his holster. He liked staying safe. And as far as action went…well, he got plenty of that with Lillian. At least when she had time.
She was busy, scouring the Wall Street Journal and investing all the hotel’s profits. Not to mention filling out paperwork, so she and Shane could adopt another baby. If the Louisiana caseworker who was coming next week didn’t work out, there was always Big Apple Babies.
The adoption agency’s staff was in close touch. After all, Ethel, ever the soft touch, had wanted to see Lillian, Shane and Little Shane together again. In fact, the plantation was becoming a haven for countless Big Apple Baby staffers who were seeking a getaway from the city. Shane’s brother, Doc, had just visited with Frankie and the baby, and Jake and Dani Lucas planned to vacation here with their kids.
Shane suddenly realized Lillian was staring down at him, and he reached up, finger-combing the dark strands of her hair. “Too bad I’ve got to shell the crawfish,” he murmured throatily, thinking he’d like to make love to her, right here and now. “But if I don’t, Aunt Dixie Lynn’ll have my hide.”
Lillian giggled. “And Jefferson will have mine.”
Shane chuckled, gazing across the grounds toward the front porch of the big plantation house, where a hungry Aunt Dixie Lynn and Jefferson Lawrence were swinging in the porch swing, holding hands, and waiting for their supper.
“Who would have thought,” Shane mused, shaking his head. Even now, Aunt Dixie Lynn couldn’t quite believe her husband had been killed by the partner he’d trusted, and the events had brought back so many memories of Silas that she’d taken to driving down from Bayou Teche to Bayou Laforche for long weekends. Aunt Dixie Lynn said the only thing that helped was spending time with family.
Meantime, Jefferson had started flying in mysteriously on those same weekends. Ostensibly, he came to make sure Lillian and Shane were managing the hotel in a way he found fiscally sound, but he really came to see Aunt Dixie Lynn.
Glancing over the porch, Shane’s lips tugged into a wider smile. Just weeks after they’d arrived in Louisiana, Ms. Lone Star had taken the final plunge into womanhood, taking up with a shaggy black shepherd named Rebel. And now, their six puppies were clumsily crawling over the porch.
“They do make a lovely couple,” murmured Lillian.
Shane chuckled. “Who? Dixie Lynn and Jefferson or the dogs?”
Lillian elbowed him. “Dixie Lynn and Jefferson.” Her eyes suddenly softened. “And so do we.”
He nodded, his gaze following hers as it swept the landscape again. After a moment, she said, “We belong here, Shane.”
He smiled, raking his hand under her nape. “Deep down, when I first saw you, I think I knew…” he found himself saying, his fingers tightening in the strands of her hair, pulling her head down towards his for another kiss.
“Knew what?” she said huskily.
He shrugged. That one day I’d be sitting in a rocking chair down South, on a hot lazy afternoon with our warm skins touching, and you and a baby in my lap. But somehow, with Lillian’s lips so close, it seemed like too much to say, so right before Shane’s mouth settled on hers for a slow deep kiss, he sighed and said, “That we’d fall in love.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-6953-2
AKA: MARRIAGE
Copyright © 1998 by Julianne Randolph Moore
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanic
al or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
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.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book please contact us at Customer_eCare@Harlequin.ca.
® and TM are trademarks of Harlequin Books S.A., used under license. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
www.eHarlequin.com