LAYING HIS CLAIM

by Beverly Barton

  "Thank you. Thank you so much."

  "Kate?"

  "Huh?"

  "Don't expect too much."

  "Yeah, I know. I'll try not to, but … oh, mercy. Mary Kate is alive. And I—I saw her. She's—damn, Moran, I shouldn't have admitted that to you."

  Moran chuckled. "It's okay. Don't you think I knew you'd find those addresses?"

  "Yeah, I halfway figured out that you'd left them where I could find them."

  "I've got to run, but I'll talk to you again very soon."

  "Bye."

  Kate closed her cell phone, then flew into the lounge and picked up the telephone receiver from the desk. "Lucie! That was Moran. I was right. The DNA test proved that Christa Farrell is Mary Kate."

  "Wow! That's great, hon."

  "Moran will try to set up a meeting with Christa's grandmother. Keep your fingers crossed for us."

  "So how's Trent taking the news?"

  "Oh, Lord, he doesn't know. He's not here. I've got to hang up now, Lucie, and call him."

  "Keep me posted. And good luck."

  "Thanks. Bye."

  Hurriedly Kate dialed Trent's cell phone number. He answered on the fifth ring.

  "Trent, come back to the hotel immediately," Kate told him.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing's wrong. Moran just called. The DNA test results are back."

  "And?"

  "And Christa Farrell is Mary Kate."

  * * *

  Brenda Farrell's home, situated in an area of Sheffield known as the Village, was a neat cream stucco with rust-red shutters and a red-tile roof. Large old trees graced the lawn and neat shrubbery lined the brick walkway leading from the street to the fancy wood and glass front door.

  Trent pulled the Bentley into the driveway at the side of the house, then got out and hurried to open the passenger door. Kate couldn't remember ever being so nervous. She'd had to ask Trent to stop twice on the drive from Memphis because she'd been sick to her stomach. Ever since yesterday when Dante Moran had phoned her with the good news, that Mrs. Farrell had reluctantly agreed to meet with them, Kate had been a bundle of nerves.

  "Are you okay?" Trent asked, a worried frown wrinkling his forehead.

  Kate nodded nervously and offered him a frail smile. "I want this meeting to go well. I'm so thankful Dante was able to persuade Mrs. Farrell to see us. I want her to like us." She grasped Trent's hand. "Oh, Trent, I don't know if I can bear it if anything goes wrong."

  "Nothing is going to go wrong." He squeezed her hand. "But we can't expect too much too soon. Mrs. Farrell agreeing to allow us to meet Christa today is more than I expected."

  "You're right. I never dreamed she'd be so generous." Trent put his arm around Kate's shoulders and hugged her. "Come on. Take a deep breath. We're going to meet our daughter."

  Kate took that deep breath as she and Trent headed toward the front entrance. Before they had a chance to ring the bell, the door opened. A petite, plump woman with short salt-and-pepper hair and striking blue eyes inspected them from head to toe, then smiled uneasily.

  "You must be Kate and Trent," she said in a soft Southern drawl. "Please, won't y'all come in. I'm Christa's nana, Brenda Farrell." She stepped aside and swept her hand through the air in a gracious, inviting gesture.

  Trent nudged Kate into action. They went inside, into a sunroom-type foyer filled with a variety of green plants.

  "Thank you for seeing us so soon, Mrs. Farrell," Trent said.

  "Yes, we appreciate this so much," Kate added.

  "Come on into the living room. I've put on coffee and I can fix hot tea, if you'd like."

  They followed her into the neat, country-style living room, filled with large comfy-looking chairs, an overstuffed sofa and an oak armoire used as an entertainment center.

  "Please, don't go to any trouble," Kate said.

  "Take off your coats and sit down." Brenda motioned with her hand. "Christa isn't here. She's next door with our neighbors, the Kimbroughs."

  Kate and Trent removed their coats, laid them across the arm of a nearby chair, and then sat side by side on the sofa. Brenda remained standing.

  "We understood from Special Agent Moran that we might get to meet Christa today," Trent said.

  "I thought it best for the three of us to talk first, then if…" Brenda cleared her throat. "You must realize that I've been devastated by this whole thing. Learning that Christa was stolen from her birth parents, that she wasn't willingly given up for adoption. I'm simply brokenhearted. For both of you and for me. But mostly for Christa. That sweet child hasn't fully recovered from losing her parents—my son Rick and his wife Jean. I can't bear the thought of her suffering more than she already has."

  "Please believe us, Mrs. Farrell, the last thing we want to do is hurt Christa in any way." Kate's voice quavered every so slightly. "She's our daughter, our little Mary Kate. We want only what's best for her."

  Trent grabbed Kate's hand and held it tightly. "Mrs. Farrell, we're not here to demand our parental rights. And we're not here to take Christa away from you. First and foremost, we want our child—your granddaughter—to be happy and well and safe."

  Tears glimmered in Brenda Farrell's azure blue eyes. "Call me Brenda."

  "Brenda, we're so grateful to your son and his wife and to you for taking such good care of Mary—of Christa," Kate said. "All these years, we didn't know where our daughter was or what had happened to her. We're so thankful she's all right."

  "Christa is a dear child and I love her more than anything on earth. She's all I have. My son was an only child and—" Brenda sucked in her breath and released it through clenched teeth. "When Rick and Jean died, I brought Christa to live with me. She had terrible nightmares every night for months on end. I saw to it that she got professional help and eventually the nightmares went away. For the most part. Occasionally, when she's under stress, she still has a terrible dream. But basically she's mentally healthy."

  "I'm sure we owe you so much," Kate said.

  Brenda glanced away. "Let me get that coffee now. How do y'all take it?"

  "Black," Trent replied.

  "May I help you?" Kate asked.

  "No, please, I need a few minutes alone. I'll prepare the coffee and afterward, I'll call next door and asked Edna to send Christa home."

  Trent and Kate exchanged hopeful glances, but neither spoke. Brenda walked out of the living room and into the dining room. She paused at the swinging door leading into the kitchen. With her back still to them, she said, "I've told Christa about y'all. She knows she's going to meet her biological parents today."

  Kate came halfway up off the sofa before Trent grabbed her and dragged her back down. When she glared at him, he shook his head. Brenda Farrell disappeared into the kitchen.

  "She told Christa about us." Kate planted her hands on Trent's chest. "What if she didn't explain everything? What if Christa thinks we gave her away? No, dammit, no, Trent, I won't have my child believing I willingly gave her up."

  Trent laid his hands over hers and pulled them down from his chest. "Stay calm, honey. We don't know what Mrs. Farrell … Brenda … told Christa. But I'm sure whatever she told her, she didn't say anything negative about us. Stop and think, will you? Brenda seems to be a very intelligent lady. She wouldn't do something that might antagonize us anymore than we'd do something to antagonize her. We're all in the same boat here. She wants to protect Christa and so do we. We all love her."

  Realizing she was on the edge, tilting precariously close to diving headfirst into calamity, Kate willed herself under control. She reminded herself that Trent was right. Christa's grandmother was hardly likely to do anything that would harm the child.

  The child? God, Kate, the child is Mary Kate. Your little Mary Kate.

  Fidgety and partially nauseated because she'd been unable to eat a bite since breakfast, Kate rose from the sofa and moved around the living room. Pictures on the mantel caught her eye immediately. She moved closer to get a
better look. Her mouth opened on a silent gasp when she realized the line of frames adorning the mantel were filled with photographs of Christa at various ages. Several showed her with a couple Kate assumed were Rick and Jean Farrell. One picture in particular drew Kate's attention. A baby picture of Christa. And from the decorative background and the red velvet dress she wore, Kate figured it was Christa's first Christmas. Big brown eyes sparkled. A small red velvet bow nested in her golden blond curls. This was the child Kate remembered, the child she'd carried in her heart for nearly twelve years.

  Trent came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, then nuzzled the side of her face. "It's going to be all right," he whispered. "Somehow, someway, we'll make it all right. We'll see it through together this time."

  Kate clutched Trent's arms that held her and snuggled backward into his embrace. "Do you think there's a solution that will work for everyone involved? Is it possible that Brenda Farrell would be willing to—"

  "Coffee." Brenda returned to the living room, a small serving tray in her hands.

  Kate and Trent accepted the cups of coffee and returned to the sofa. Brenda placed the tray on the dining room table, then lifted her cup and came back into the living room. She sat across from them in a large, floral wing chair.

  "I know that as Christa's biological parents, you two have certain legal rights," Brenda said, gripping her cup in a shaky hand. "But I'm counting on y'all being good people who won't take Christa away from me. It would destroy her if she lost me. We're very close."

  "We have no intention of taking Christa away from you," Trent assured her. "If her adoptive parents were still alive, we'd ask only to see Christa and over the years maintain contact so that when she became an adult she could chose whether she wanted to get to know us. But since your son and his wife died six years ago, leaving Christa without parents, I'd like for us to find a way where we can share Christa."

  "Share her?" Brenda set her cup on a coaster atop the coffee table. "I don't understand. Are you suggesting an arrangement where she lives with you two part of the time and me part of the time? I was told you two are divorced. Is that right?"

  "What I'm suggesting is that you and Christa come to Prospect for a visit," Trent said. "I have a large home with more than enough room for all of us. And yes, Kate and I are divorced, but at least for the initial visit, I'm sure Kate would be perfectly willing to stay in Prospect and live at Winston Hall with us."

  Kate sipped on the coffee, hoping it wouldn't hit her stomach like a lead weight. Why hadn't Trent mentioned his great idea to her—his plans to bring Christa and her grandmother to Prospect?

  "How long a visit are we talking about?" Brenda inquired.

  "That would be up to you. I suggest at least a week the first time."

  "I see. Well, I suppose it's something I can consider."

  "You don't need to decide tonight," Trent told her. "Take a few days. Talk it over with Christa. You have the opportunity to give her a mother and a father, as well as a great aunt. And you and she wouldn't lose each other. If things worked out, you might consider moving to Prospect."

  Wait just a damn minute, Kate wanted to shout. What about me? I live in Atlanta. Am I suppose to visit Prospect when I want to see my child?

  "I'll think seriously about a visit … soon." Brenda rose from the chair. "I'll go get Christa. Please, remember that y'all are strangers to her. Don't expect her to be happy to see you."

  "We understand." Trent looked at Kate. "Don't we, honey?"

  Kate nodded.

  The minute Brenda left, Kate turned on Trent. "When did you come up with your brilliant idea for Brenda and Christa to visit Winston Hall?"

  "You're angry. Why?"

  "Why? Because you took charge, made decisions about our child's future without so much as mentioning anything to me. You could have—no!—you should have discussed this with me before you—"

  "Hell, Kate, the idea just hit me while we were sitting here. I thought you'd be thrilled if I could get Brenda to agree to bring Christa to Prospect for a week. It would give us a chance to get to know her and for her to get to know her family."

  "And what family would that be? You and Aunt Mary Belle and a legion of Winston cousins?"

  Trent shot to his feet and stomped around the room, grumbling under his breath. After several minutes of letting off steam, he stopped and looked right at Kate. "Get this through your head right now, so there won't be any misunderstandings later—you and I were Mary Kate's parents so that means you and I are Christa's parents. She's ours. Not mine. Not yours. Ours."

  Her nerves raw, her emotions barely kept in check, Kate shivered. "Ours," she said hoarsely.

  "If Brenda agrees, she'll bring Christa to Winston Hall for a visit with you and me. And yes, with Aunt Mary Belle, too. We'll spend time together, getting acquainted. Later on, we might try a two-week or even monthlong visit. Or it could be that things will work out so well the first visit that we can make it a permanent arrangement."

  "What about me? About my job? My life in Atlanta?"

  Trent's expression hardened. "I had thought you'd…" He cleared his throat. "If you don't want to come home to Prospect on a permanent basis, then I could bring Mary Kate—I mean Christa—to Atlanta. Or if you prefer, Brenda could bring her to see you."

  The kitchen door opened. Brenda walked in, Christa beside her, clutching Brenda's hand. Kate felt as if her heart stopped, as if the whole world had stopped, as she and Trent turned to meet their daughter.

  "Christa, this is Kate and Trent. They're the people I told you about. Your birth parents."

  Zeroing in on Kate first and then Trent, the child studied them closely. "You're the man and woman I saw at the library the other day."

  "What?" Brenda gasped.

  "We came to Sheffield to take a look at Christa," Trent said. "We couldn't wait to see her and we also went by Corinth to see another little girl who might have been our Mary Kate."

  "I was the one who couldn't wait," Kate admitted. "I was so anxious to find out if … I wanted Christa to be my daughter."

  "I'm not your daughter," Christa said. "Rick and Jean Farrell were my parents. I belong to Nana now. She and I have each other and we don't need anyone else, do we, Nana?" Christa looked pleadingly at her grandmother.

  "We'll always have each other." Brenda put her arm around Christa and hugged her close. "Kate and Trent aren't here to take you away from me. I told you they're just here to meet you." When Christa buried her face against her grandmother's chest, Brenda stroked her back lovingly.

  "Where are your manners, Christa?" Brenda eased her granddaughter away from her and turned her to face their company. "Say hello to Kate and Trent, then go sit down and we'll have a nice visit."

  Tears swimming in her chocolate brown eyes—eyes identical to her father's—Christa glared at her parents. Kate felt as if her heart would break in two. Here was her baby girl, her precious Mary Kate, and the child wanted nothing to do with her.

  "Hello," Christa said, her voice a mere whisper.

  "Hello," Trent replied.

  Christa glanced at Kate, who managed a wavering smile.

  "Hello, Christa. I'm so very glad to meet you."

  "Why don't you tell Kate and Trent about school," Brenda said. "Tell them what grade you're in and who your teacher is and—"

  "No! I won't tell them anything." Christa burst into tears. "Go away. Both of you. I don't know you. You aren't my parents. I'll never leave my nana. Not ever!" Christa ran out of the room.

  "Oh, dear." Brenda clasped her hand over her mouth.

  "Shouldn't you go after her?" Kate asked, wanting nothing more than to rush after Christa and wrap the child in her arms.

  Brenda sighed. "No. When she throws one of her temper tantrums, I've found it best to leave her alone for a while until she calms down."

  "That's exactly the way Aunt Mary Belle handled me when I acted like that," Trent said.

  Brenda faced them. "I'm so sorry.
I thought I had prepared her for this meeting. Apparently I didn't do such a good job."

  "It's not your fault," Kate told her. "It's not anyone's fault."

  "I think we'd better go." Trent placed his hand beneath Kate's elbow. "We'll stay in town overnight, so if you think it's all right, Kate and I will come back tomorrow."

  "I have your cell phone number." Brenda came over and put her hand on Kate's shoulder. "I can only imagine what you must be feeling right now. I am so sorry, my dear."

  "Maybe she'll be willing to see us tomorrow." Kate clenched her teeth to keep herself from crying.

  She turned and all but ran through the sunroom and out the front door. She was almost to the Bentley when Trent caught up with her. He whirled her around and pulled her into his arms. She melted against him. And cried.

  * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  Trent had gotten them a suite at the Holiday Inn, which was the best Sheffield, Alabama, had to offer. She doubted the employees had ever catered to a guest who drove a Bentley. And from the fact that the manager himself escorted them to their suite, Kate figured the entire staff was duly impressed with Trenton Bayard Winston IV. Odd how most people admired and respected money in a way they did little else.

  While the manager kowtowed to Trent, Kate went into the bathroom to escape. She had cried almost the whole way from the Village to the hotel and she now had a killer headache. She turned on the sink faucets, cupped her hands to catch the water and splashed her face, then grabbed a hand towel from the nearby stack and patted her skin dry. Sighing, she flipped the commode lid closed and slumped down on the seat. She felt like a balloon with all the air let out, deflated by a slow, painful leak that had left her flat and lifeless.

  Mary Kate wanted nothing to do with them.

  No, not Mary Kate—Christa.

  She had to get the fact straight in her mind that although Mary Kate was Christa, Christa was not Mary Kate. The baby she and Trent had brought into this world, nurtured and loved for over two months, no longer existed. That child had ceased to exist the day she'd been stolen from Kate. Christa Farrell had no memories of her previous life, no emotional connection to Trent and Kate. They were, as Brenda had pointed out to them, strangers to their own child.