Bringing Up Baby

by Charlotte Douglas

  “With that much love—” Leona began.

  “No, I can’t risk the child’s happiness or safety.”

  “Safety?”

  “I told you about the kidnapping attempts.” Devon furnbled with a hook caught in her hair. “Placing Amanda with a family in another part of the country, giving her a new identity, will protect her from her half uncle.”

  Leona’s penciled eyebrows peaked above her curious eyes. “You’re sure he’s behind all this?”

  “Who else would it be? According to Amanda’s attorney, he’s a worthless bum who’d love to get his greedy mitts on Amanda’s trust fund.”

  “An attorney said that?”

  Devon grinned. “That’s a rough paraphrase of the legalese.” Her expression sobered. “I don’t want her uncle ruining Amanda’s life.” She thrust her arms through the short sleeves and turned toward the mirror while Leona closed the zippered back. The sight of her reflection drove the air from her lungs. “I look like a bride.”

  “That’s the idea,” her friend said with a grin. “The question is, do you feel like a bride?”

  “How I feel won’t show on the video.” Devon bent down to tie the satin laces of her espadrilles, glad for a chance to hide her flaming cheeks.

  “Au contraire, cupcake. If your expression at the wedding is anything like I witnessed when you looked at Colin during lunch today, the camera will document the stunning spectacle of a woman head over heels in love.”

  Devon crisscrossed the laces slowly to give herself time to recover. Leona didn’t miss much. She’d only been in town a few hours, yet she’d already homed in on a fact Devon had tried to avoid for the past two weeks: she loved Colin O’Reilly.

  She had fought against the feeling without success, hampered by his constant presence—especially his nights spent sleeping on the sofa in her family room. She’d known from the beginning his attention to her and Amanda had been initiated—mandated was a better word—by Mike, but the knowledge that Colin entertained her only to please his father did nothing to dampen her attraction to him.

  He’d taught her how to laugh and play, something she’d forgotten when Aunt Bessie died. In the past two weeks, when their work on the house was finished for the day, they’d danced, played miniature golf, combed the beaches for shells, watched old movies and picnicked in secluded parts. Her face flushed anew at the memory of his kisses, of the warmth of his callused hands on her breasts, lighting fires deep in her abdomen, stoking a longing that only he could satisfy.

  She tied the last lace, took a few tentative steps in the unfamiliar shoes and adjusted the Battenberg lace collar around her shoulders. The charade would soon be over. Colin, on the rebound from Felicia, would complete the renovations on the old Victorian, go through with the interview and exit her life forever.

  She remembered how he’d projected his expectations of a wife onto Felicia, seeking the qualities he longed for where none existed. Obviously, he’d done the same with her, and while he hinted they might have a future together, she was all too aware of her innate deficiencies as both lover and mother to allow him to entangle himself in another self-deception.

  She stared at her reflection, noting her too-wide eyes and heated cheeks, while Leona fastened the circlet of silk daisies on her curls and arranged the satin streamers down her back.

  Make the best of this wedding, she admonished herself. It’s the only one you’ll ever have.

  “All set?” Leona asked.

  Devon nodded, and with a curious mixture of anticipation and dread, followed her downstairs.

  Colin, stunning in his gray tux, stood in the hallway. She had never seen him wearing anything other than jeans or a swimsuit, and the sight of him, looking coolly elegant yet ruggedly masculine, in spite of the sissy pink cummerbund, tightened her throat and created a strange prickling behind her eyelids.

  Leona made a clucking sound with her tongue. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding.”

  “Don’t be silly, Leona.” Devon forced the words past the constriction in her throat and threw Colin a falsely bright smile. “This isn’t a real wedding, and I’m not a real bride.”

  Colin said nothing, but observed her with an awe usually reserved for religious miracles or forces of nature. His expression told her things she wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

  Leona took one look at him and scurried toward the family room. “I’ll check on the baby and Mrs. Kaplan.”

  Left alone with him, Devon fidgeted beneath his scrutiny. “Is something wrong?”

  He held out his hand, and she stepped down the stairs toward him, feeling self-conscious and foolish in her blushing-bride costume.

  “Something’s missing.”

  His rich voice reverberated through her, sending her nerve endings humming, reawakening the longing deep in her core. Then the meaning of his statement hit her, generating a flutter of panic deep in her stomach. “Don’t tell me I’ve forgotten something. I studied the column I wrote about the wedding and double-checked every detail.”

  “Don’t worry.” His smile lit the planes of his face, softening the angle of his jaw. “You’ve covered everything in the column.”

  “Then what—” Her voice broke with surprise as he turned and lifted flowers from a box on the hall table.

  “Every bride should have flowers.” He extended the bouquet toward her. “These weren’t in your column, so I tried to guess what you might have chosen.”

  The old-fashioned bouquet of daisies, Queen Anne’s lace, creamy white roses and fragrant buds of stephanotis, with satin ribbons tied in loveknots, perfumed the ball. She buried her face in the flowers, inhaling their luxurious scent while she marshaled her errant heart. His gesture was merely thoughtful, a detail she had overlooked, and she’d be a sentimental fool to read more into it.

  She raised her head and smiled, careful not to betray her emotions in her expression. “Thank you. These are the perfect touch.” Anxious to escape the charged atmosphere, she started down the hall toward the family room when a thought hit her, and she turned back to him. “I didn’t order you a boutonniere.”

  “No problem.” He reached into the mass of green tissue that had held her flowers. “One came with the bouquet, but I’ll need your help to pin it on.”

  His eyes, dangerous as swirling mist, reflected an emotion that scared her senseless. She wanted to run to the safety of Leona and Mrs. Kaplan in the bright, sunny family room, but his gaze held her fast in the muted light of the hall, where dust motes danced in the rays of sunlight filtering through the leaded glass of the front door, creating an ethereal atmosphere of unreality.

  When she slipped her hand behind his lapel to anchor the white rosebud backed with a sprig of fern, her fingers registered the dangerous thudding of his heart. Keeping her eyes on the pleated white expanse of his linen shirt, she secured the flower with a florist’s pin.

  Before she could retreat, he reached around her, pulling her toward him with one firm hand on the small of her back, the other tangled in the satin streamers at the nape of her neck. Through the delicate fabric of her gown, his body heat seared the length of her as his lips claimed hers.

  Dizzy from the warmth of him, the intoxicating aroma of roses and stephanotis, and the shimmering light, she fought to remain objective.

  None of this is real. It’s only make-believe, her frantic mind assured her.

  But her heart sang with the pressure of his lips and the taste of him on her tongue, and she arched against him, standing on tiptoe to deepen the kiss and press against the firm muscles of his chest.

  The chime of the grandfather clock in the entryway broke the spell. She twisted away, breathless. “We’ll be late.”

  He grinned with a languid movement of jaw and muscles that turned her bones to mush. “Saved by the bell. Another minute and I’d have skipped the wedding altogether and cut straight to the honeymoon.”

  Her thoughts dovetailed with h
is, and she thrust away the images those notions painted, dangerous fantasies that could lead only to heartache. With bustling efficiency, she gathered up her bouquet and smoothed her skirts.

  “I’ll ride with Leona in her rental car—” she avoided his eyes “—and meet you at Sunset Beach.”

  She retreated to the family room with her heart pounding so furiously in her ears, she didn’t hear the door close behind him as he left.

  LEONA TOOK THE TURN onto the beach causeway too fast, causing Devon to clutch the dashboard until her knuckles whitened. “No need to rush. We have plenty of time,” she pleaded.

  “Maybe for you.” Leona pressed the accelerator, taking the bridge over the Intracoastal Waterway like a stuntman in an action movie’s high-speed chase. “Any delays and I’ll miss my plane. It leaves right after the ceremony.”

  “But I thought you were staying the night.” Leona’s departure would leave her alone with Colin, and after her encounter with him a few minutes earlier, their relationship had shifted onto a dangerous course. Now her friend would not be there to shield her from her own desires.

  “I have an important meeting in New York first thing in the morning,” Leona explained breezily. “Colin can drive you home.”

  The look of smug satisfaction on her friend’s face indicated Leona had laid purposeful plans, but before Devon could accuse her, Leona screeched the car to a halt in the parking lot at the edge of Sunset Beach beside the caterer’s van.

  Beyond the dunes, the sounds of reggae music drifted to them on the sea breeze, and the crisp greenand-white stripes of a marquee jutted above the feathery tops of sea oats. As they crossed the wooden boardwalk that traversed the dunes, the sun sank low above the tranquil turquoise waters of the Gulf of Mexico.

  “There’s my former editor, Jake Blalock, who’ll be our “minister.’” Devon pointed to a tall, distinguished man in a dark navy suit. “And Mike and Betsy.”

  “And the groom has arrived.” Colin came up behind her and slipped his arm through hers. “The videographer’s unloading his equipment in the parking lot, and as soon as he’s set up, we can get on with the show.”

  The warmth of his fingers on her arm sent a shiver of pleasure through her.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Just nervous—and anxious for all this to be over.”

  “Me, too.” A burning promise shone briefly in his eyes before his expression cleared. He clasped her hand in a reassuring squeeze. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. You’ve planned for every conceivable circumstance. What could go wrong?”

  She glanced around with dismay. “For starters, the tour bus hasn’t arrived. We can’t have a wedding without guests—the column mentioned a crowd of family and friends. And the sun will set in a few minutes.”

  “I didn’t think you were the type to succumb to wedding jitters,” he teased. “Take a look around. The caterers have set up the buffet, the potted palms and flowers are arranged above the surfline, ready to frame the wedding party, the guests’ chairs are in place. When the bus arrives, we can begin in seconds.”

  She resisted the urge to chew her nails and concentrated instead on the videographer, setting up a stationary camera behind the rows of folding chairs. He swung another camera onto his shoulder and took a position near Jake Blalock, who waited between the palms with a prayer book in his hand. Betsy had taken a seat in the front row, and Mike stepped forward to act as best man.

  “See,” Colin said, pointing to the roof of a charter bus, visible above the dunes as it pulled into the parking lot. “Your guests have arrived with time to spare.”

  The chatter of excited voices drifted over the dunes from the parking lot, but Devon’s concern now was with the sun, dangerously near setting before the ceremony even started. She turned her back on the boardwalk, only dimly registering the thud of footsteps as the tourists filled the chairs behind her.

  “Here comes the bride.” Colin’s smile melted her heart as he offered his arm, and everything around her except the handsome man at her side faded into nothingness.

  The band modulated into a New Age bridal march as Devon took Colin’s arm and walked toward Jake. Leona and Mike fell in behind them.

  Devon felt she was moving in slow motion through a dream. She glanced at Colin’s rugged profile, tanned and self-assured above his stiff white collar and the broad shoulders of his gray tux. In all her wildest fantasies, she couldn’t have imagined a more perfect groom, a man who could stir her senses more, one who inspired such confidence and trust. If this were real, she’d have a lifetime ahead to spend with him, to revel in his company, share his joys and sorrows, be comforted by his presence, sustained by his love.

  But the wedding wasn’t real. As storybook perfect as the setting was, with the sun splashing beneath a corona of luminous apricot into the teal blue sea, as handsome and exciting as Colin appeared, the ceremony was only make-believe. Despite that knowledge, Jake’s words brought tears to her eyes.

  “Dearly beloved,” he intoned from the Book of Common Prayer, “we are gathered together to join this man and this woman in boly matrimony…”

  Jake paused, and Devon tore her attention from Colin to her former editor, staring wide-eyed and open-jawed past her toward the audience.

  “What is it?” she hissed nervously. She stopped herself from looking behind her, knowing the camera would record her distraction.

  Beside her, Leona’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.

  With a subtle shake of his head to indicate all was well, Jake closed his mouth and resumed the ceremony. The familiar words of the wedding liturgy rose and fell with the rhythm of the waves, a flock of laughing gulls wheeled past in the dwindling sunlight, and the sultry tropical breeze kissed her cheeks like a blessing. Her hand, tightly clasped in Colin’s strong fingers, registered the pounding of his blood, mingling its beat with hers until the two hearts pulsated as one. Reality receded, and she was no longer playacting. She embraced the fantasy, the wonder of the moment.

  She lifted her eyes to Colin’s as he slipped a simple gold band on her finger and, with all her heart, pledged eternal love to the man before her, while her reason, held prisoner by the magic around her, remained silent.

  “With this ring, I thee wed.” Colin’s burning eyes reflected the glow of her love, and her knees threatened to buckle beneath the intensity of his gaze.

  “You may now kiss the bride,” Jake announced.

  Colin cradled her face between his warm, callused palms and pressed his mouth to hers, and she tasted the salt spray from the breeze on his lips. Behind her, a soft sigh of appreciation from the watching tourists penetrated the fog of happiness in her brain.

  “Ladies and gentleman,” Jake continued in his best ministerial imitation, “may I present Mr. and Mrs. Jeffrey Donovan.”

  At the sound of their pseudonyms, she broke free of the magical spell, and her heart ached with loss. It’s only make-believe. Putting on a brave face, she turned with Colin to greet their guests.

  Before her eyes could focus in the gathering twilight, dozens of flashbulbs exploded, blinding her momentarily. Unable to see, she moved forward, relying on the pressure of Colin’s hand beneath her elbow to steer her down the aisle between the chairs toward the marquee.

  “I’m starved,” Colin whispered in her ear, and his words were heavy with a double meaning that echoed in her own heart.

  He led her into the marquee behind a linen-draped table that held a five-tiered cake topped with enormous butterflies of delicate spun sugar. Champagne corks popped, and someone thrust a glass into her hand.

  The guests crowding into the tent and settling at the tables drew none of her attention. She had eyes only for Colin, who saluted her with his champagne flute held high.

  “To my darling wife,” he said with an unfamiliar huskiness in his voice. “Lasting love and long life.”

  She lifted her glass to his and clinked it gently. Make-believe, she reminded her
self, drawing her gaze from the heat in his eyes. She raised her glass to her lips and shifted her glance to the audience before her.

  Before a second barrage of flashbulbs exploded, she registered for the first time a sea of smiling faces. Asian faces.

  While she watched in stunned disbelief, the videographer moved among the crowd, documenting her “family and friends,” a congenial group of Japanese tourists.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lake love, rituals and traditions are the glue that holds a family together. It is never too early to begin building those occasions that create a sense of belonging and continuity for your baby as he or she grows and develops.

  Amanda Donovan, Bringing Up Baby

  Devon choked on her champagne, and Colin pounded helpfully between her shoulder blades.

  “Are you okay?” He took her glass and patted her chin with a linen napkin.

  “My God,” she gasped when she could draw breath. “They’re all Asians.”

  “Tsk, tsk, Mrs. Donovan, your prejudice is showing.” He grinned to soften his words. “This is supposed to be the happiest moment of your life, so you’d better ditch that scowl and smile for the camera.”

  Her face contorted in a forced smile. “That camera can’t do me a heck of a lot of good right now. Only a village idiot would believe this group, friendly and pleasant as they appear, are my kith and kin.”

  God, but she was adorable when she squirmed like that. “I warned you about deception.”

  “Too late. I’m up to my neck in it now.” Her smile crumpled.

  He leaned toward her, nuzzling the soft skin of her neck as he whispered in her ear, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He welcomed the chance to withdraw from her presence, to break the magic spell she’d cast on him since the moment she’d descended the stairs dressed in the white bridal gown that skimmed her firm breasts and slim waist and offered a provocative glimpse of her bare, tanned ankles.