by Francis Ray
David grinned. Her parents smiled.
Madison poured batter on the hot griddle. Another unit. Another question.
Had her and Wes—s marriage disintegrated because they hadn—t loved each other enough, or because they—d loved themselves too much?
SEVEN
MONDAY AFTERNOON MADISON WOKE to the ringing of the doorbell. She pulled the covers over her head, trying to tune out the sound. She—d unplugged the phone, but had no idea how to disconnect the doorbell. All she wanted was to be left alone. Visitors usually went away if she didn—t answer. This one didn—t.
The chime came again and again. Before the sound faded for the seventh time, she was on her feet. She grabbed her long, silk robe, shrugging into it as she stormed down the hallway. With fire in her eyes, she unlocked the door and jerked it open.
“What?” she asked angrily.
“Hello, Madison. Manda and I came to visit,” Zachary announced happily.
Madison stared from Zachary to the grinning infant in his arms.
“Thank you. Don—t mind if we do.” Zachary stepped into the foyer.
Madison came out of her stupor. “What do you think you—re doing?” she snapped.
The smile on Manda—s face faded. Laying her head on Zachary—s shoulder, she stuck her thumb in her mouth.
“I guess you forgot she doesn—t like loud noises.” Zachary rubbed the baby—s back, his voice dropped to a croon. “It—s all right.”
Madison didn—t want to look at the child or think of why she didn—t like loud noises. “Please leave.” It was said pleasantly, yet her eyes were anything but.
“When I do, Manda is staying,” he said just as pleasantly, obviously every bit as determined as Madison.
“If you won—t leave, I—m calling the police.”
“Maybe you should read this first.” He pulled a folded newspaper from the hip pocket of his faded jeans.
She didn—t want to take it. Every now and then she—d think of what would happen when people learned about Wes and his mistress—the gossip, the sly looks, the laughs about what a gullible fool she had been. “What does it say?”
“Read it.”
She thought of snatching the paper out of his hand, then caught the stare of the baby. Madison wanted to look anywhere but at her. She didn—t want to feel anything for her. The baby wasn—t her responsibility.
She took the paper. The headline jumped out at her: TV NEWS CORRESPONDENT WES REED DIES A HERO. She quickly read the article. Her hands fisted, her eyes shut. A warm hand and the smell of baby powder had her lids snapping upward and stepping back.
“They think Wes died trying to help a stranded motorist. They don—t know she was his mistress,” she said, her voice shaky.
“I thought you—d feel better knowing no one else knows.”
“You know!”
“It—s time For Manda—s bottle. Could you put on a pan of water to heat it up?” he said in a conversational tone, then patted the lemon-yellow quilted diaper bag hanging from his broad shoulder. “Her bottle is in here.”
“I think I—ll call the police instead.”
“You could, then they—d ask me why I—m here,” he returned.
Color drained from her face.
“And I—d have to say that I came by to visit and overstayed my welcome, and ask you to keep Manda while they took me to Lew Sterrett Jail.”
As easily as he had incensed, he calmed her. He wouldn—t blackmail, but he wasn—t above badgering.
“You don—t know what you—re asking.” Her stomach knotted.
Black eyes narrowed. “Yes, I do. I—m asking you to keep an innocent child out of foster care.”
Manda squealed, drawing Madison—s eyes to her again. “After she—s fed, you both have to leave.” Turning, she went to the kitchen and pointed toward the faucet. “Instant hot water. Wes—” Her voice stopped abruptly. She folded her arms around her waist and glanced out the French doors toward the landscaped backyard.
“Wes didn—t like waiting for hot water,” Zachary finished. “It—ll help to talk about him.”
She shook her head and watched the wind play with the leaves of the fruitless mulberry trees in the back. The things she wanted to say wouldn—t be healing; they—d be angry and spiteful. She hated that about herself. She heard the water come on and tried to ignore the cheerful babble of the baby.
“Come back here.”
Madison turned to see Manda on all fours making her way across the tile floor toward her. Madison took an instinctive step backward. Her panicky gaze went to Zachary, standing with the bottle under the water, then back to the baby who was inches away from her bare feet.
“Come get her,” Madison demanded, her distress growing.
“Babies and hot water don—t mix,” he said casually, not moving.
Babbling, Manda reached for Madison—s robe. Since it wasn—t tied, when the baby pulled, it gave. Her eyes widened as she went backward and plopped on her bottom. Instinctively Madison swept her up, expecting to see tears. Instead the baby was grinning and waving her hands, her hazel eyes sparkling.
Hazel eyes just like Wes—s.
Madison was leaning over to put the baby down when Zachary curved an arm around the infant—s waist. “Come here, munchkin. Time for lunch.”
As soon as Manda saw the bottle, she lunged for it, grabbing it with both hands and bringing it to her mouth. Loud sucking noises followed. “Did you eat lunch, yet, Madison?”
“I—m not hungry.”
His eyes narrowed. “You have to eat.”
“I will once you leave.” She pointedly looked at the milk in the bottle that was rapidly disappearing.
He—d known it wasn—t going to be easy and it wasn—t. He—d come too far to back down. “Mind if I sit down?”
Madison smiled sweetly. “As a matter of fact I do.”
Zachary shifted from one foot to the other as if trying to adjust Manda—s weight. What he was really doing was making sure that when he finished, Manda was staring at Madison. He didn—t have to wait long for a reaction.
“Sit down,” she ordered impatiently. “I—m going to get dressed.”
“Thank you.” Instead of taking a seat at the kitchen table, he went into the den and sat in the rattan-and-brown leather side chair. When the baby finished the bottle, he placed a towel on his shoulder and gently but firmly patted her back until she burped.
“That—s my girl.” Manda grinned up at him. “I think she—s softening. But who could resist you?” Zachary said.
She patted his cheeks as if in perfect agreement.
In her bedroom Madison quickly dressed in a pair of black linen slacks and a magenta knit top. She took only a moment to pull a comb through the tangles in her shoulder-length black hair, then she was out the door. They were leaving. Nothing the surprisingly talkative Zachary could say was going to change her mind.
She rounded the corner of the den and saw Zachary holding Manda in one arm, pointing to her body parts and naming them. Manda stared up at him with attentive eyes as if she understood every word.
Madison watched them, her hands stuck in her pockets, and fought to harden her resolve. She wasn—t going to be conned or swayed. Manda was not her responsibility. “Shouldn—t you be getting her back to wherever you got her from?”
“That would be my house,” he said, setting Manda on the floor.
Shocked, Madison whipped her hands out of her pockets. “You—re keeping her?”
“Until other arrangements can be made.” Unzipping the diaper bag, he took a colorful plastic key ring and handed it to the grasping hands of the child, who immediately stuck it into her mouth.
Madison was already shaking her head at the inference and pointed look. “No. You checked her out of the hospital; she—s your responsibility.”
“Actually, I checked her out in your name,” he told her.
“What!” She stated at him in utter disbelief.
Manda st
arted, turning big hazel eyes toward Madison. Madison in turn glared at Zachary. “See what you made me do,” she accused.
Zachary breathed a little easier. She cared. If she didn—t, she wouldn—t care about frightening Manda. “It—s not my intention to upset you, but I made a promise too.”
She took two steps toward him. “You knew about this?” Anger shimmered in her voice.
“You were there when I promised to look after her,” he reminded her, his gaze steady.
Madison—s tense body relaxed. She didn—t like to think that she had been duped by Zachary as well. “Then you keep her.” She sat in a chair across from him, drawing one bare foot under her.
Zachary glanced at the toenails painted a light pink, then his gaze tracked upward. Even tired, with lines of strain in her face, dark smudged beneath her eyes, she was a beautiful woman. He didn—t understand how Wes could have been unfaithful, but Zachary had learned at a young age that a marriage license didn—t mean fidelity. And when there were children involved, the fallout was hell.
He switched his attention to Manda, who had abandoned the keys and crawled to the immense glass-and-wood coffee table, then pulled herself up on wobbly legs to study the multicolored prisms of light reflecting in the crystal decanter and glasses in the rattan tray. Zachary pulled it out of harm—s way, then retook his seat.
“My lawyer says I wouldn—t stand a chance. Besides …” He eyed Madison wearily, then leaned over and picked up Manda who had begun making her way to an iron bowl of fruit on the table. “You—re not going to like what I—m going to say, but I did it for Manda.”
“What did you dor”
“Remember, no shouting?”
Madison simply stared and waited, knowing she wasn—t going to like what Zachary had to say.
“A lawyer, acting on your behalf, visited Manda—s great-aunt in the nursing home in Amarillo and had her sign papers giving you temporary custody. In view of the circumstance, the lawyer was able to get a judge to quickly grant the request.”
Madison—s temper spiked, and she held it back with sheer force of will. “You had no right to do that.”
“I apologize, but it was the only thing I could think of at the time.”
Too angry to sit, she stood, paced, then pinned him with a hard glare. “Wait a minute. Did the aunt know? Is that why she signed the papers?”
Her voice trembled. Zachary didn—t know if it was in rage or humiliation. He could handle the outrage; he wasn—t so sure about the tears or hurt. “The lawyer simply presented the necessary facts. That despite your husband—s injuries he was concerned about the child since it was known that the great-aunt was the only living relative. You consented to care for the child, but due to the circumstances you were unable to check Manda out of the hospital or visit the aunt.”
“You think you—ve trapped me, don—t your” The challenge was back in her voice.
“That was never my intention.” He didn—t shy away from the anger in her face or in her eves. She had a right.
“I—ll bet. You orchestrated this entire thing.” Furious, she shook her head. “Well, it won—t work. No matter what papers you have. She can—t stay.”
“You—d rather send her to a foster home? You said yourself some of them were unfit,” he reminded her.
Her hands clenched at her sides. She didn—t like him using her own words against her. “Then find someplace else. Ask Wes—s parents.”
He pulled Manda protectively closer. “Can you honestly imagine A.J. and Vanessa giving her the love and care she needs?”
She couldn—t.
“There is no place else,” he said, when she didn—t answer his question. “When the lawyer visited her great-aunt, she was relieved you wanted to care for Manda. I understand her eyesight is bad, but she—s listened to your shows and approved of you caring for Manda. She said Manda—s mother didn—t have any close friends who might step forward.”
“Certainly not married ones,” Madison quipped. As soon as the words were out she regretted their snippiness. She dragged her hand through her hair. “I don—t want to discuss this. Just leave.”
“Please reconsider, Madison. Could you honestly send her someplace where you had no guarantee they wouldn—t mistreat her?”
She couldn—t, and it angered her that he seemed to know. “If you leave her here you don—t have a guarantee, either.”
His expression softened. “Yes, I do. I saw you with her in the hospital.”
Madison slowly shook her head. “You can—t be sure.” Her eyes shut. “I can—t be sure,” she mumbled softly to herself.
Zachary heard. “I—m here, aren—t I?”
Her eyes snapped open. “You have her, you keep her.”
He bounced Manda on his knee. “Told you. My lawyer says I don—t have a chance.”
Madison rubbed both hands over her face. When had he become so stubborn and so talkative? “Can—t you get it through your head that I—m not involved in this? I had nothing to do with her being here.”
“Neither did she.”
Madison glanced at Manda staring at her and fought hard to rein in her temper. “Why are you pushing this?”
“Remember, I gave my word,” he answered simply.
Madison vividly recalled giving her word as well, but she hadn—t known the truth then. Much as she tried to close her mind and heart to the baby—s happy chattering a few feet away, she couldn—t forget how satisfying and good it had felt to have Manda trust her enough to come willingly into her arms, to take a bottle from her, then fall asleep in her arms. “Contact a private adoption agency. You—ll be able to check out the applicants personally.”
“I know this isn—t easy,” Zachary said, ignoring her suggestion. “Open your heart, Madison. You both have lost so much.”
Madison shoved her hands into her pockets again. “I don—t want to discuss it any further. She—s been fed, and now you can go.”
“You have every right to be angry at Wes, but don—t take it out on Manda,” Zachary pressed. “Neither of you had any say so in this. You—re angry with Wes and no one could blame you, but you—re wrong if you take it out on the baby. She—s as much a victim in this as you are. More so, because, as hard as it is on you, you know what happened. She doesn—t understand why the mother she keeps looking for to walk through the door is never coming back. Her mother is never going to pick her up or sing her a lullaby again. Nothing you—re facing can compare to what she—s lost.”
His words pricked like stinging nettles. The doorbell chimed and she ignored it. “I want you to leave.”
“You—re better than this. Just open your heart.”
She laughed raggedly. “Wes ripped out my heart.”
“It may feel like it now, but it—s still there, waiting.”
“All I want is to be left alone.” She paced then stopped and turned. “Can—t you understand? I look into her face and see his eyes. I look at her and my stomach knots.”
“It—s not going to be without some bumps for either of you, but maybe together you can help heal each other.”
Madison hung her head, pressing her fingers to her throbbing temple.
The doorbell chimed again. “Why don—t you rest and I—ll answer it?”
Madison lifted her head, and stared at him incredulously. When he was building the house, he seldom spoke; now it seemed he couldn—t shut up.
The chime came again.
“Gather up her things,” she told him, her eyes narrowed in determination. “As soon as I get rid of whoever it is, you—re next.”
Madison walked toward the front door, wondering how she—d get rid of Zachary. She wasn—t ready to admit Wes—s betrayal to anyone, not even Gordon who, despite his age, could probably toss Zachary out on his ear. She frowned as she unlocked the door. On second thought, that might not be a good idea. The muscles in Zachary—s arms were rock-hard, his chest massive. He was probably as strong as an ox. He was certainly as stubborn as one.
Annoyance nipping at her heels, she opened the door. A woman was walking back down the three brick steps toward a car parked in the circular driveway. However, she turned when she heard the door open.
“Ms. Reed?”
Madison frowned. She didn—t recognize the attractive young black woman, but there had been many people in the last few days she hadn—t known. This one was dressed in a tailored gray blazer, white blouse, and gray trousers. Her straight, shoulder-length black hair grazed her shoulders. The well-worn black leather bag was Louis Vuitton. Whoever the woman was, Madison intended to use her presence to get rid of Zachary. “Yes.”
The woman, who looked to be around the same age as Madison, came back up the walkway. As she neared the door she opened the oversized leather bag and pulled out a laminated identification badge. “I—m Camille Jacobs, a social worker with Child Protective Services. I—ve come to see Manda Taylor.”
EIGHT
MADISON BARELY KEPT HER jaw from dropping as she jerked her gaze back up from the unflattering picture to the woman—s face.
Her brow knitting, Camille Jacobs returned the ID badge to her purse. “She was checked out of the hospital three days ago by two men who identified themselves as your lawyer and a family friend, Sam Peters and Zachary Holman. They had temporary custody papers granted by Velma Taylor, Manda—s great-aunt, and authorized by a judge. The child is here isn—t she?”
“Yes, ma—am, she—s here,” Zachary said, with a smile from beside Madison. He held Manda in one arm and extended the other one to the social worker. “Good evening, I—m Zachary Holman.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Holman.” The handshake was brief.
All Madison could do under the watchful eye of the social worker was glare at Zachary. Exposing his duplicity would only create problems. As much as he annoyed her, she agreed with him about the unpredictability of foster care. Manda could be placed in a wonderful home, but what if she wasn—t? “As you can see, Ms. Jacobs, she—s here. So if you—ll excuse us, Mr. Holman and I have a great deal to discuss.”
