by Francis Ray
“You don—t need my permission to do that.”
“I do if I want to interview them while they—re working. It would allow me to finish my report faster. But if your prefer, I can see them at their homes.”
He would have liked to toss her out on her shapely derriere. “I—ll let you know tomorrow.” He came around the desk and opened the door.
Picking up her bag, she started toward the door. She should have kept going, but something in his gaze wouldn—t let her. “I—m not Ms. Reed—s enemy.”
“You sure aren—t her friend, either.”
Louis Forbes—s office was located in Highland Park, an address in Dallas that signified old money and the socially elite. In this exclusive area people thought nothing of buying a three-million-dollar house, then tearing it down to build a bigger, grander one. The name implied wealth, prestige, the A-list, “arrival” with a capital A. Louis Forbes counted himself in that number.
With a growing client list of the top names in the media and entertainment industry, Louis Forbes was accepted because of his connection to the famous people he represented. Rich was good, but rich and famous was even better, and name-dropping never went out of style.
“It—s just like Madison to take in the baby even while she—s devastated at Wes—s death,” Louis Forbes said, sitting behind his swirl of glass desk in a two-thousand-dollar tailor-made suit. “Her good heart is what makes her show so popular.”
Camille studied Madison Reed—s agent and felt as if she were being given a press release. He—d said all the right things, with just the right amount of concern and grief, but the genuine warmth she—d felt when talking with Gordon Armstrong wasn—t there.
“Then you—ll agree that she—s a busy woman and about to get busier,” Camille said.
Louis eased back in his expensive leather chair, his grin wide and patronizing. “I—m sure you—ve heard that Rosie O—Donnell adopted three babies, and Ricki Lake has two kids. Having babies hasn—t stopped them. It wouldn—t be a problem for me to get the studio to hire a full-time nanny. Babies enhance and round out a woman—s life, don—t you think?”
Camille could almost see the wheels clicking in his condescending brain. “Devastated talk-show host takes in motherless infant.” It would make great press. Had that been Madison—s intention? Camille hadn—t thought so at first. “A nanny can—t substitute for the mother.”
“No, no,” he quickly said, rocking forward in his seat. “I didn—t mean that and since you said you—ve spoken with Madison, you know she—s a hands-on kind of person.”
Interesting, Camille thought. She hadn—t thought that at all. “So you—re saying Madison would assume the majority of caring for Manda herself.”
His grin came back, quick and full of confidence. “Exactly. Madison would smother the baby with love. Being with Madison is the best place that baby can be. I—ll be happy to testify to that in court.”
Camille lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have some reason to think this case might go to court?”
Louis almost swallowed his tongue trying to backtrack. “No. No. I simply meant that I—d be willing to swear that Madison has the child—s best interest at heart.”
I just bet you would, Camille thought. More press. “I see. Thank you, Mr. Forbes, you—ve been very helpful.”
The smile came again. “You—re welcome. Come back anytime.”
Camille reached for her bag on the floor and stood. “Thank you, I just might take you up on that.”
Louis waited until he was positive Camille Jacobs had enough time to leave the outer office before he buzzed his secretary. “Call Helen Bass at Channel 7 and tell her I have a scoop for her if I can go live on her Noon-Day show Friday at the latest or it goes to Freeman at Channel 10. Tell her it—s about fellow co-worker Madison Reed.”
“Why didn—t you tell me?” Gordon demanded the instant Madison answered the door.
“Hello to you too, and tell you what?” Madison greeted, smiling up at Gordon.
He brushed by her, then glanced down the hallway and into the living room. “Where is she?”
The smile slid from her face. Muscles clenched in her stomach. “H-how did you find out?”
“Camille Jacobs,” he answered tightly, still annoyed that he had found the muckraker attractive. “She just left my office, but she wants to interview your show—s production crew7.”
“You can—t allow her to do that!” Madison said, fear creeping over her.
“There—s nothing I can do. I—ve already spoken to the station lawyers,” Gordon said. “The best I could do was put her off until Friday.”
Her stomach knotted. She should have realized that the child welfare worker would interview people she knew. She had wanted to keep this quiet; now everyone would know. How long before speculation would begin about the parentage of the child? Did someone know already?
“Madison?” Gordon—s hands closed gently around her arms. “Talk to me. Tell me what is going on.”
“I—I …” She trusted Gordon, but if she hadn—t been able to tell him about her failing marriage, she certainly couldn—t tell him about Wes—s infidelity. “I need to call Zachary.”
She went to the nearest phone in the den and picked it up. The silence of the dead line mocked her. Down on her knees, she reached behind the end table for the line to reconnect the phone.
“Madison, what is it?”
Madison watched him watching her and saw the concern in Gordon—s eyes. She was acting irrational, but Zachary had to do something. She hadn—t bargained on this becoming public knowledge.
Moving her trembling hands aside, Gordon reconnected the phone. But before Madison could dial, he took her hands in his. “So what—s the story about your houseguest?”
Madison followed the direction of his gaze to Manda asleep in the playpen. She had finally drifted off after her feeding at noon. They were establishing a routine that now included storytime after lunch and at bedtime.
“Didn—t the social worker tell you?” Madison evaded.
By the narrowed look in Gordon—s eyes he knew what she was doing. “I—d like to hear it from you.”
Think, Madison. “She has no one except an elderly great-aunt in Am-arillo.” She moistened her dry lips. “We both lost. I—I thought we might help each other.”
He studied her a long time. “Are you sure this is a wise decision?”
Her heart thumped. “What do you mean?”
“Come on and sit down and stop looking at me as if I—m the enemy. If the child is what you want, you have my support, but I want you to be sure.” Leading her to the nearby couch, he pulled her down beside him. “This is going to sound hard and cruel, but I have to ask. Are you trying to substitute her for the baby you lost?”
Bracing for a question about Manda—s paternity, Madison hadn—t expected this one. But since Madison had repeatedly asked herself the same thing she had an answer. “No. No child will ever be able to replace the baby I lost. She was irreplaceable.”
“Come here.” He pulled her to him, his head bent to hers. “I had to ask.” He lifted his head and smiled. “Looks like introductions are in order.”
Madison looked over to find Manda standing in her playpen, her eyes wide and wary. Madison picked her up, then came back and sat next to Gordon. “This is Manda Taylor.”
Gordon reached a single finger toward the baby, but she shrank against Madison, her thumb going into her mouth. “She doesn—t like strangers.”
“It—s all right. Poor thing,” Gordon said, his face thoughtful. “Adrian and Adair were three when Karen died. Both stopped talking and started wetting the bed. It was tough on all of us.”
“But you made it through,” Madison said, unconsciously rubbing Manda—s back in reassurance. “You kept it together. The twins are well adjusted, happy young adults who aren—t afraid of tackling the world,” she said, referring to Gordon—s eighteen-year-olds who were sophomore journalism majors at Howard Univer
sity in D.C. Both maintained a 4.0 grade-point average.
“I—m proud of them both, but if they get their tongues pierced as they keep threatening to do, you may have two more guests,” Gordon said, only half joking.
Feeling more at ease, Madison smiled. “You know you can—t wait for them to come home from their internship at the newspaper in Austin.”
“After I have them stick out their tongues and make sure they haven—t had them pierced, I will,” he returned, but he was smiling. “Well, I have to get back.” He came to his feet, then threw a glance at the phone. “Let the answering machine do its job and stop unplugging the phone. I came because I couldn—t get you on the phone.”
She rose, the smile gone from her face. “I just wanted peace and quiet.”
Gordon glanced at Manda before speaking. “Take it from a man of experience, with a baby in the house, peace and quiet are a thing of the past.”
After a little over a week with her, Madison already knew that. Manda was growing accustomed to the house and to her. She was an active infant who could crawl almost as fast as Madison could walk. Madison decided she much preferred those times to the ones when Manda simply stared at her with those hazel eyes that in turn mocked and lured.
“You all right?” Gordon asked.
“Of course,” Madison answered, wincing inwardly at the ease with which she lied, and at the same time pondering what would happen if the truth came out.
“I should hit you again.”
Zachary—s gaze immediately went to Manda, the key ring clutched in her fist. “What—s wrong? What happened?” He didn—t wait for an answer; he practically snatched the baby out of Madison—s arms and started examining her for himself.
Some of Madison—s annoyance vanished when she saw the panic in his eyes. “Manda—s fine. It—s that caseworker.”
“She came back?” Zachary asked, his gaze no less worried as it zipped back up to Madison—s face. Since their outing Sunday, she—d become distant. The past two mornings when he—d stopped by, she hadn—t said four words to him.
“She went to the station,” Madison said, stepping back, then closing the door behind him. “She—s doing a character check on me.”
“I—m sorry, Madison. I didn—t think of that.”
She started toward the den. “Be thankful I can see that or I might just make good on my threat.”
There wasn—t a doubt in his mind that she had spoken the truth. He—d seen the flare of anger in her eyes. Madison had a compassionate heart, but she didn—t like being used. She wasn—t going to be happy if she found out he hadn—t contacted a private adoption agency. In his opinion there was no need. Despite her reservations, she and Manda were growing closer each day. “You—re afraid someone may find out?”
“Yes.” She stared out the French doors toward Wes—s miniature practice golf course in the back. “I don—t think I could take the speculation and gossip now. You have to find her a home.”
“There—s no reason for people not to accept the reason you—ve given for taking Manda,” Zachary said, coming up beside her. “In fact, I think it would be odd if you didn—t want to have some contact with Manda, considering what happened.”
Madison turned. “Her eyes are the same color as Wes—s.”
“Not many people are going to notice, because she shies away from them. Besides, lots of people have eyes that color,” he pointed out unnecessarily. “You didn—t notice their color at first or suspect anything after you saw they were hazel.”
Her eyes flashed. “Stupid me.”
“You trusted him. You did what a wife is supposed to do.”
“Wives are always the last to know,” she said bitterly.
“Not always,” he said.
Her attention switched back to him. “What—s that supposed to mean?”
“The children are the last to know and it hurts them far more than you can imagine and it keeps on hurting.”
Zachary—s disturbing words stayed with Madison the rest of the evening as he played with Manda and got her ready for bed. Manda was quieter than usual and went to sleep right after eating. Almost immediately afterwards Zachary left.
Suffering was always worse when it touched a child. They had no defenses, no coping skills. Somehow it made her own anger seem trivial. Sitting in bed, the soft glow of the nightlight illuminating the crib, Madison—s thoughts were chaotic. Was she being petty? Mean-spirited? She hadn—t thought so at first.
Reaching for the phone, she dialed.
“Hello?”
She almost hung up when she heard Zachary—s deep, distinctive voice.
“Madison?”
She had call blocker so he couldn—t tell who she was. All she had to do was hang up. “I grew up thinking I—d have the perfect marriage, like my parents. Have two beautiful children, a boy and a girl, and live happily ever after.”
“We all have dreams, Madison, and it—s hard when they don—t turn out the way we want. But we can either accept it or keep holding on to something that will eventually destroy us.”
“Is that what you think I—m doing?” she questioned.
His sigh came through clearly. “It—s not my intention to judge you.”
“But you have just the same,” she said tightly. “I can hear it in your voice. That—s why you left early, isn—t it?”
“Manda was asleep.”
He didn—t say there was no reason for him to stay otherwise, but he might as well have. She was just someone to keep Manda. Her feelings or needs weren—t to be considered, just like Wes hadn—t considered how his adultery would hurt her. She didn—t matter. “I see. Good night.” She hung up the phone.
It rang almost immediately.
She picked the receiver up before the second ring came, telling herself she didn—t want the noise to wake Manda up. “Yes.”
“Madison, give yourself time.”
But in the interval, she had to live with the evidence of her husband—s betrayal. “Is that what you did with your biological father? Gave it time?” There was a long, telling pause. “I—m sorry, I—”
“No, you have a right to ask,” he interrupted, his voice thoughtful. “I—m the one who keeps talking about facing the truth and getting on with your life. To answer your question, I—m not going to lie and say that it didn—t rip me open that he didn—t care that I existed. I wish he had, but nothing I could do or say will change that. I know that now. Dwelling on it only made me unhappy. I decided years ago that I had more important things to spend my time on.”
“Like building homes.” Silently she wondered if it was that easy to forgive.
“Yes. Houses and people share a lot in common. Both require care to be at their best.”
Madison glanced toward the crib. “She—s sleeping quietly.”
“I meant you.”
The quiet intensity of his words touched her deeply and oddly pricked her at the same time. “I can take care of myself,” she blurted, then sighed deeply. “At least I could a long time ago.”
“My money is on you that you haven—t forgotten. Go to sleep.”
“Why don—t you come by for breakfast if it—s not out of your way?” The invitation just slipped out.
“I—ll be there, If we—re having more than a bagel and yogurt.”
She smiled without thinking. “I suppose I might be able to come up with a bit more than that.”
“I—ll be there, then, thanks. Good night, Madison.”
“Good night.” Madison took one last look at the crib, cut off the light, then pulled the covers over her shoulder and drifted peacefully off to sleep.
Madison woke up to the ringing of the doorbell. She blinked, then sprang up in bed, her gaze going to the crib. Manda was still curled in a ball asleep under the light comforter. Madison looked at the clock: 7:05. Za-chary.
Throwing back the covers, she grabbed a robe from the foot of the bed on the way to the door. She was in the hall before unease stopped her and
she rushed back in and stared down at the baby. She usually woke up before seven. Why wasn—t she awake?
Fear congealed in Madison—s stomach. Had the doctors at the hospital missed something in their exam? A co-worker in Chicago had lost a ten-month-old baby to crib death. Madison knew how fragile babies were. Dread clawed its way to her throat.
Manda—s face was turned toward the wall and all Madison could see was the top of her curly head. With a trembling hand, she eased back the pink blanket. Her eyes strained to see the almost infinitesimal rise and fall of the baby—s chest. But it was there. Weak with relief, Madison reached out and placed a trembling hand over the infant—s chest, felt the warmth through her pink footed sleeper. She was all right, but what if she hadn—t been?
With a lump in her throat, Madison went to answer the door. Zachary sat on the porch punching data into a handheld organizer. On seeing the misery in her eyes, he hurriedly got to his feet. “Madison, what is it?”
Shaking her head, she stepped back into the foyer.
Closing the door himself, he took her arms. “Talk to me.”
“I—m not a bad person,” she managed before the tears came. “I don—t want anything to happen to her.”
“Of course not.” His hand swept up and down her back. She fit perfectly. “Don—t be so hard on yourself if you make a misstep now and then.”
Madison unconsciously snuggled closer to his comforting warmth and his unending strength. “Why are you always so nice to me?”
His broad palmed hand continued to sweep up and down the curve of her back. “Because you deserve it. Now …” Stepping back, he tilted her chin with his long finger. His smile was gentle and reassuring. “How can I help?”
She sniffed, using the heel of her hand to brush away tears from her eyes. “You already have.”
He handed her a handkerchief. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She dried her eyes. “I have two of your handkerchiefs already. I—ll have a collection if I keep this up.”
