by Susan Floyd
His eyes flashed and then with a sharp turn that reminded Beth Ann of a military maneuver, he stalked out of the kitchen through the swinging door. Seconds later, she heard the front door open and then close.
She slumped down into a chair, her heart thumping and stared at the check for a full minute. She blinked back her tears, feeling no satisfaction that she had finally hit a nerve. The little paper ball had been flattened by his expensive leather sole.
CHRISTIAN JAMMED the key card into the door handle at his hotel. He was staying at the nicest place in Mercy Springs, but he hardly noticed because his mind was spinning. He entered the sparse room, and threw his jacket on the bed, turned on the television and cranked up the volume. He needed something to cut through the thoughts running through his head.
He quickly punched the autodial on his cell phone and flipped to find a news channel. He eyed the stock market report and waited impatiently for his call to be answered.
“Yes.” The voice on the other end of the line was clearly irritated.
Christian didn’t care that he was probably interrupting one of Max’s many liaisons.
“Max.”
“Christian.” His friend’s voice changed considerably and Christian could hear him sitting up. “Where the hell are you?”
“In Mercy Springs.”
“Did you find the sister?”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause.
“So?”
“Is there someone there with you?”
“Yes.”
“Get rid of her. I need to talk to you.” Christian had no patience to be cordial. But then Max didn’t care.
“Do you know how long I’ve worked—” He sounded exasperated. “Can’t we talk in the morning?”
“Get rid of her.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll call you back. Are you on your cell phone?”
“Yes.”
“Later then.”
Christian closed his phone and went to the bathroom, running the water. That baby couldn’t be Caroline’s. There was no way. When would she have had time to have it? Why wouldn’t he have noticed?
He knew the answers and his guilt stabbed at him even more. He just didn’t know what project he’d been working on or what body of water Caroline had been floating on. All her trips had merged together. He began to count backward. Caroline had died eighteen months ago—that would put Bernie at about six months old. Caroline had just come back from a long trip that had started as an Alaskan cruise and ended as a stay at a health resort in Alberta. She’d been gone for almost a year. He took a deep breath and tried to control the implications of what he was thinking. That was plenty of time to have a baby. He shook his head to try and clear it, but one burning certainty remained. Caroline had lied to him. Then another certainty fought its way through to his consciousness.
Bernie—adorable, chubby Bernie—wasn’t his.
CHAPTER SIX
CHRISTIAN ANSWERED his cell phone on the first ring, his hair still wet. Splashing cold water on his face hadn’t helped. In fact it had only made him damp and angry.
“So what’s the big deal?” Max asked, irritation clearly evident in his voice. Christian didn’t feel sorry for his friend. It was only by the luck of the draw that Max didn’t have half a dozen women with half a dozen offspring suing him for paternity. In the era of safe sex, Max’s practices were downright dangerous. Christian had probably just saved some ingenue from certain heartbreak and a lifetime of responsibility.
“Do you know if Caroline was ever pregnant?”
“Pregnant?” Max snorted, his disbelief obvious. “Of course she wasn’t. When would she have had time to be pregnant? She hated getting fat and had no maternal instincts whatsoever.”
Christian agreed, but he was finding it difficult to doubt Beth Ann. “Her sister is saying the child is Caroline’s.”
“That’s a load of bull,” Max dismissed. He added, “Don’t you think you would have noticed whether or not your wife had had a baby?”
Christian hoped so, but there was still that knot of guilt gnawing at him. He didn’t know. If she’d left when she was a few months pregnant, she could have had the baby while she was away and he’d be none the wiser. Caroline was obviously skilled at keeping secrets. Lots of them.
“Christian, you there?” Max asked impatiently.
“Yes.” Christian didn’t know what was making his voice short.
“I think it’s highly unlikely the child could be—”
“I don’t know. She was away a lot.”
“How old’s the kid?”
“Two.”
Max was silent for only a split second. Then— the good old boy tone evident in his voice—he suggested, “I think the sister’s trying to run some scam on you. Maybe get you to pay child support or something. Hell, I didn’t even know Caroline had a sister until you told me.”
“Do me a favor.”
“Sure thing.”
“Have Mrs. Murphy send me my appointment books for the past three years.” Christian rattled off the address of the hotel.
“I thought you had a date with a cozy chalet in the wine country tonight,” Max asked, his voice casual.
“Not until this is taken care of.” Christian couldn’t get the image of Beth Ann’s stricken face out of his memory.
“What’s there to take care of? Give her some money and call it a day.”
“I tried and she seemed mortally offended.”
“Good actress. Maybe she’s holding out for more. You can’t possibly be thinking about turning over D-Tech to her?”
“She won’t take it.”
“Good. Get her to put it in writing. Give her a check and go get some R and R.”
“That’s just it.” Christian shook his head. Why wouldn’t she take DirectTech? What was the big deal?
“What?”
“Nothing.” Even though Max had been his friend forever, there were some things he did not confide in him. This would be one of them. More and more it seemed as if Max would be happier out in front of his own business. He’d practically pushed Christian out the door when the doctor had told Mrs. Murphy that Christian needed a three-month hiatus from work. Christian didn’t question Max’s loyalty, not because of his faith in their friendship, but because he knew that Max would have a hell of a time duplicating the salary, benefits and perks the conglomerate afforded him.
“Tell me you have more for me to do than that. I just didn’t get rid of the date of the century for some sister that Caroline didn’t want to admit she had.”
“No, sorry,” Christian said, forcing humor into his voice. “Maybe you can call her again.”
“She did give me her pager number.”
“Call it.”
“We done?”
“Yep. Just get the message to Mrs. Murphy.”
After Christian hung up, he lay down on the bed, his head pounding, wanting nothing more than a stiff drink. The doctor had said that alcohol at night would only aggravate his insomnia, much like caffeine. He remembered Beth Ann’s terrible coffee. According to his doctor this was exactly the kind of excitement he should be avoiding. He’d coped with the grief of Caroline’s death in the same way he coped with everything. Keep a tight rein on any potential emotional problems and throw himself into work. That was what he’d learned in military school. The more trouble he got in, the harder they worked him, until he’d taught himself not to feel or be angry and to work so hard that at night he would just fall asleep in a dead stupor.
The only problem now was that he couldn’t sleep. For Christian, sleep did not simply elude him—it viciously fought him, ravaged him, taunted him with the spite of a scorned lover. Even when his head ached terribly and he was bone weary, the closest he got to sleep was an uneasy doze, where he would fade in and out of this and a bleary dreamworld. Since Caroline had died, he’d spent more time thinking why, why, why. Although he worked harder than he ever had before, eventually, he had to lie down and then the thou
ghts would come. Tonight, he couldn’t even doze—his eyes remained open, his head hurting, until the dawn cracked through the window of the hotel and he was allowed a reprieve from the darkness.
He glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. And he felt like hell. He took a shower, which helped considerably, and tried to formulate a plan of action that would be more successful than the one he’d had last night. He didn’t know what Beth Ann’s game was, but he’d find out today.
BETH ANN awoke to squeals of laughter and the clattering of dishes in the kitchen. She groaned and rolled over. What time was it? Nearly seven. She leapt out of bed, forgetting she was in Bernie’s room, and stubbed her toe on the cast-iron leg of the daybed, scared to death of what Iris was doing with Bernie.
“Ow!” Hopping on one foot, she pulled on her robe and hurried to the kitchen, almost skidding to a halt when she saw Glenn strapping Bernie into her high chair. Standing in the doorway, she smiled at the scene. Iris was reading the paper and she could hear and smell Glenn’s famous pancakes sizzling on the griddle.
“Bethy!” He gave her a cheerful greeting. “I’d hoped you’d sleep in.”
“Mommy!” Bernie chortled. “Pop-pop. Pancakes.”
“Yes. I smell them. Pop-pop’s making you pancakes. Yum, yum.”
“Yum, yum,” Bernie echoed.
Beth Ann yawned and gave Iris a kiss. “Good morning, Grans. You have a good sleep?”
Iris looked up from the paper, her brown eyes alert. “I did indeed, Beth Ann. What a surprise to wake up and find young Glenn here. You didn’t tell me he was coming.”
Beth Ann smiled sadly. “He surprised us last night.”
“You know,” Iris said reflectively. “I also had the oddest dream that Carrie was here for a visit.” She sighed deeply. “But that’s impossible.”
Beth Ann poured herself a cup of coffee and exchanged a glance with Glenn as he placed a small plate of cut up pancakes in front of Bernie.
“Well, Grans, Caroline didn’t come for a visit, but her husband did.”
“Her husband?” Iris frowned.
“Remember? Christian Elliott.”
“I don’t think I’ve met him.”
“Yes, you did, Grans. At Carrie’s funeral.”
Iris nodded but Beth Ann could tell she didn’t remember.
“Why did he come?” Iris asked.
Beth Ann took a deep breath. She needed to take advantage of Iris’s better moments to glean as much advice as she could.
“He came to give Bernie a software company.”
CHRISTIAN DROVE down the road, no fog in sight. The sun was inviting, filtering across the empty fields, promising a very warm day. At Beth Ann’s, he hesitated to pull into the driveway and opted to park on the side of the road, pausing for a minute to take a deep breath. After his behavior last night, she had every reason not to want to speak to him or see him again. But he couldn’t stay away. He thought about Max’s advice to just get Beth Ann’s refusal of the company in writing and then he sighed. He hadn’t done much for Caroline while she was alive. The least he could do was make sure that Bernie got what she was entitled to.
He didn’t feel any remorse at losing the company. For too long, his whole life had just been about the money, keeping it, making it, securing it. Even if they lost all their companies, the Elliott fortune was so vast and so deep, it would almost take the collapse of the entire world market to make them even skip a step. His grandfather had taken care of that. His grandfather had taken care of a lot. His father never really was into the business, and when Christian graduated from Yale, his grandfather had a position ready for him and, at Christian’s request, for Max. The next four years had been spent learning everything about the company. His grandfather had needed to know that Christian could handle the responsibility and could continue to support his parents in the style they were accustomed to.
His grandfather had died about six months before Christian had met Caroline and at the time he’d been sure his grandfather would have approved. Now, as his eyes focused on the small bungalow, he wondered if that were true. His grandfather had had a deep respect for hard work, for family—even though his own wasn’t all that functional.
Christian got out of the car and walked purposely across the driveway and up the short steps. Just as he was about to knock, he heard laughter drift through the door and felt as if he was being stabbed by a thousand tiny daggers. It was ironic really. He had everything and anything money could buy, but he couldn’t laugh. Not like the laughter that was coming from Beth Ann’s house.
He rapped sharply on the screen door.
“HEAVENS!” Beth Ann looked up. “Who could that be?”
Glenn peeked out the kitchen window. “I see a silver Jaguar on the side of the road.”
The knock came again. This time louder and more demanding.
“Impatient, isn’t he?” Beth Ann muttered, pulling her robe tighter around her, then running a hand through her curls. She must look terrible.
“You want me to get it?” Glenn asked between mouthfuls.
Since she had already finished her pancakes, she shook her head. “You eat. I’ll get it.”
“Who owns a silver Jaguar?” Iris asked.
“Carrie’s husband, Christian.” Beth Ann heard Glenn answer her. She went to the door, her heart pounding in her throat, and opened it just a crack.
“Hello?” she asked, and took a deep breath in surprise. If she had been bracing herself to resist a charming, polished businessman bent on shoving money down her throat, she was sorely mistaken. The man before her looked awful, so awful he didn’t even appear handsome anymore. Christian Elliott looked as if he’d been to hell and back and had tried to take a quick shower to wash off all the singe marks.
“We need to talk,” he said abruptly, his voice gravelly, making her think he hadn’t spoken at all that morning.
“Have you eaten?” Beth Ann asked. For some reason, her heart ached for him. And she was reminded again, that even with all the money in the world, this man couldn’t buy a decent night’s sleep. And she could see from the paleness of his skin and the dark bags under his eyes that he could sorely use a decent night’s sleep.
He looked at her, surprise etched in his face. She also noticed how the black rims around his gray eyes seemed to have darkened, making his gaze that much more compelling.
“We need to talk,” he repeated.
“Have you eaten?” she asked again.
After a long moment, he shook his head and admitted, “No.”
Beth Ann opened the door wider and stepped to the side. “Why don’t you come and have some breakfast? After that, we can talk.”
When Christian stepped over the threshold, he felt like Alice in Wonderland. Except his life was the crazy one and this little yellow bungalow was a place of sanity. The smell of freshly made pancakes and coffee, no matter how bad it was, made a strong imprint on his mind. As he entered the kitchen, he was assaulted by the life he saw around him. Iris was at the table, a section of the newspaper in front of her, the rest scattered on the floor by her feet. Bernie, in the same pj’s as the night before, was sitting almost sideways in her chair, and Glenn was seated next to her, finishing up what looked like a hearty stack of pancakes. His eyes were drawn to the roses he had given her last night, set in a place of honor by the sunny window.
“Glenn, are there more pancakes?” Beth Ann asked behind him. “We have one more for breakfast.”
“Plenty. You just have to turn the griddle on.”
“Have a seat, Christian,” Beth Ann offered and then said with an odd look in her eye, “You haven’t met my grandmother, and Bernie’s great-grandmother, Iris Curtis. Grans, this is Carrie’s husband who has come all the way from er, San Diego—”
Christian nodded in surprise.
“—just to visit us.”
“Well, hello there,” Iris said brightly. She held out her hand.
At Beth Ann’s pleading look, Christian gently sho
ok Iris’s hand.
“Glad to meet you. I’m sorry we weren’t able to meet before this.”
“When Carrie was alive,” Iris said bluntly. She nodded sadly. “But I know how busy she was. My goodness, she certainly enjoyed all that traveling.” She patted the seat next to hers. “Why don’t you sit down? Would you like some coffee?”
Christian exchanged a glance with Glenn who grinned.
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I would love some coffee.”
“Glenn made it this morning,” Beth Ann volunteered.
Christian was slightly relieved. After the night he’d had, he didn’t think he could fake enjoying another cup of her coffee. Iris brought it to him with steady hands. She peered at him.
“My, you certainly are a handsome one. Beth Ann, doesn’t he look like one of those models whose pictures Carrie used to have hanging around her room?”
Even though she might have made the same assessment yesterday, now Beth Ann didn’t think he looked anything like a model. He looked like an ordinary man struggling to stay sane in extraordinary circumstances. As she waited for the griddle to reheat, she asked, “Do you want a couple of eggs to go with that?”
“Sure,” Christian said, looking up from his conversation with Iris.
“How would you like them?”
“Scrambled, please.”
Beth Ann nodded. “Scrambled soft or hard?”
“Hard.”
“Deggs!” Bernie suddenly demanded.
“Eggs?” Beth Ann looked at the toddler. She had already eaten two small pancakes and half an apple. “Are you still hungry?”
“Deggs,” Bernie insisted with a vigorous nod.
“Well, I don’t know, sweetie. You can’t eat a whole egg.”
“She can have some of mine,” Christian said suddenly.
Beth Ann felt her cheeks warm. “It’s not that we don’t have eggs,” she said hurriedly.
“No. I know,” he said. “If she just wants a bite or two, you don’t have to fix her a whole egg, she can have some of mine.”
“That’s nice of you but—”
“Deggs!”
“You heard her, Bethy,” Glenn put in. “The princess wants deggs. And she should have deggs.” He leaned over to Bernie and coached her. “You also need to say, ‘right now!”’
