by Marta Perry
“It’s a good thing nobody expects that, because they’d be doomed to disappointment.” She attempted another smile. “Sorry. This was a lot of fuss about a burned quiche.”
“Some people probably take quiche very seriously. I’m not one of them.”
He was rewarded with a smile that looked a little more genuine.
“Thanks, Link. I just wanted it to be perfect today. I guess I thought putting on the perfect play group was a way of showing how much I care about Marcy.”
He needed to find the thing that would comfort her. Then the words surfaced in his mind as if they’d been waiting for him to recognize them.
“You remember that sermon we heard last week? The one about David?”
Annie nodded, obviously perplexed. “I remember. Samuel anointing David.”
“Garth said something about how God doesn’t judge the way people do. God looks on the heart.” He touched her cheek lightly, wanting to find a way to erase her doubts about herself. “Anyone who looks at your heart sees how much you love that little girl, Annie. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Her cheek moved against his fingers as she smiled. He felt the tension drain out of her.
“Then I guess we’d better pray that Enid Bradshaw looks with God’s eyes. And that God doesn’t care that I burned the quiche.”
The attempt at humor relieved him, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. One part of his mind stood back and looked at him, amazed. When had he ever worked so hard just to ease someone else’s hurt?
This wasn’t just someone else. This was Annie.
Thinking her name seemed to set up a vibration inside him. His palm flattened against her cheek, cradling it skin to skin. Her softness and warmth flowed into him.
“Annie.” It was almost a whisper.
He hadn’t realized how attracted to her he was. Now he did, and it scared him.
Her lashes swept up, and she looked at him, her eyes darkening. He brushed his thumb against her lips and felt them tremble.
And then he kissed her. He couldn’t think, couldn’t analyze pros and cons, couldn’t do anything except slide his arms around her and draw her close. Her kiss was as sweet and willing as it had been all that time ago, wiping out the years between.
She touched his face, and he thought she murmured his name. He felt the hard, cool metal of the ring on her finger. His ring.
It was a dash of cold water in his face. He drew back slowly. He couldn’t let Annie feel as if he rejected her. But he couldn’t let this happen, either.
Talking Annie into a marriage of convenience had been the worst possible thing he could have done to her. It had just confirmed her feeling that she couldn’t inspire love in the way she thought Becca had.
Her parents had harmed her. True, her mother had been sick. They’d probably done the best they could under the circumstances. But still, they’d hurt Annie.
What was it she’d said? Becca made people’s faces light up when she came into the room.
She’d revealed so much with that simple statement. She wanted someone’s face to light up for her.
And unless he knew he could be that someone, he’d better keep his hands off her.
She was swimming upward from a dream of being in Link’s arms. For a moment Annie lay still in the comfortable bed, seeming to feel Link’s lips on hers. Then she sat up, remembering.
Link had kissed her. Then he had put her away from him carefully and withdrawn, giving her no clue to what he was thinking.
Her throat tightened, and she frowned down at the blue-and-white patchwork quilt. What had happened? Link had had second thoughts, obviously. But why had he kissed her at all, when he so obviously felt there could be nothing between them?
Had she invited that kiss? Her cheeks went suddenly hot, and she pressed her palms against them. Maybe he’d read something in her eyes, in that moment when he was trying to make her feel better about her failure. Maybe he’d seen a longing that she was barely aware of herself.
No, that wasn’t fair. She’d better be honest, at least with herself. She was aware of it, all right. In those moments at the building site she’d recognized only too well what was happening.
It couldn’t happen. She’d let down her guard with Link once before, and he’d nearly broken her heart. Now they were trapped together in a situation that invited intimacy, and Link’s withdrawal had shown her very clearly what his boundaries were.
Soft chatter from Marcy’s room told her the baby was awake. If she didn’t go to her, the chatter would turn to crying.
She slipped out of bed, hurriedly pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt. Mornings were cooler now, the leaves on the maples in the square turning inexorably, even though they hadn’t had a killing frost yet.
A killing frost. She paused for a moment, hand pressed against her chest, feeling as if the frost had struck there.
Selfish, some part of her scolded. You’ve always known Link wasn’t for you. Stop thinking about him and get on with what has to be done.
Good advice, she thought as she went quickly across the hall to the nursery. Unfortunately, if she were able to take it, she wouldn’t need it.
Hand on the nursery door, she adjusted her face. She remembered Becca saying, very seriously, that she always went in with a smile when Marcy woke up. She thought that helped account for Marcy’s sunny disposition.
It couldn’t hurt. She opened the door, her smile quickly turning genuine when she saw Marcy’s face. Maybe it was really the other way around. Marcy’s smile could touch the hardest heart.
“Good morning, sweetheart. How are you?”
Marcy dropped the teddy bear she was playing with and scrambled to her feet, holding both hands out above the crib railing. “Nan,” she demanded.
Annie scooped her up, planting a kiss on the chubby cheek and feeling a flood of love. This was all she needed. She just had to concentrate on being the best mother she possibly could to Marcy. The love they’d share would be everything she could want.
She changed Marcy quickly, singing to her and laughing at her babble, then picking her up again. “Okay, let’s go get some breakfast for Marcy.”
When she reached the top of the stairs, she stopped. Link was still downstairs. She could hear him moving around the kitchen. She’d hoped he’d be gone by the time they went down.
Well, she wouldn’t be a coward about facing him again. Arms around the baby, she went quickly down to the kitchen.
“Good morning.” Link’s gaze seemed to glance off hers. He took Marcy, lifting her high before giving her a hug. “How’s my girl today?” He kissed her.
If Link could ignore what had happened between them, so could she. “I’ll get her milk ready. She doesn’t need to go in the high chair yet.”
She poured milk into the blue cup that was Marcy’s favorite, screwed the lid tight and put the cup into the baby’s reaching hand.
Marcy stuffed the spout into her mouth and leaned against Link’s shoulder, expression blissful. Link watched her, smiling.
“Wish I enjoyed my morning coffee as much as she enjoys that.”
Annie poured a cup for herself from the pot he’d already made. “Do you want more?”
“No, I have to leave.” He put Marcy down and watched as she toddled into the family room. “But there’s something we need to talk about first.”
Apprehension gripped her heart. If he wanted to discuss that kiss—
“About Mrs. Bradshaw,” he said abruptly. “How did she know you were hosting the play group yesterday? You didn’t tell her, did you?”
This she could talk about, though she didn’t have any answers.
“I never mentioned it to her.” She frowned. She’d been so preoccupied with the things that had gone wrong that she hadn’t really given that her full attention. “It is odd, now that I think about it. Even if she knows people in the play group, why would they tell her?”
Link leaned back against the pale birch cabinet, planting
his hands behind him on the edge of the counter. He should have looked relaxed but he didn’t. His eyes were very serious when he stared at her.
“I don’t like it, Annie.” He moved his shoulders as if he felt something crawling up his back. “I think we need to find out how she knew.”
“How do you expect to do that?”
“Ask her.”
“You can’t do that.” Her response was immediate.
“Why not?” He reached out and lifted the receiver from the white phone that rested on the counter. “Seems to me the direct approach is best.”
“I’m not so sure.” She tried to marshal her thoughts even as she took Mrs. Bradshaw’s number from the bulletin board and handed it to him. “I don’t know what the etiquette is for dealing with a social worker who’s investigating you. Do you?”
She wished she hadn’t spoken. That had sounded unpleasantly close to a reminder of Link’s childhood, even though she hadn’t meant her words that way.
Link’s expression didn’t betray anything. If it took nerve for him to approach the woman, he didn’t show it.
She was half hoping Mrs. Bradshaw wouldn’t be in yet—when the woman obviously answered. Link didn’t waste time on preliminaries. Before Annie could express any more reservations about this, he’d asked the question.
She waited, hands gripping each other, while he concluded the short conversation. She couldn’t tell anything from his responses. If Mrs. Bradshaw was offended at his question—
He hung up and turned to her, frowning.
“What?” Her nails dug into her palms.
“She said it wasn’t a secret. She happened to be talking to Julia, and Julia told her.”
Julia. Her fists clenched.
“I suppose Julia thought it would be a wonderful idea for Mrs. Bradshaw to drop in at that particular moment.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “We’re not going to start talking about that quiche again, are we?”
She had to smile in spite of the cloud of worry that hung over her. “No more talk of burned quiches, I promise.” The smile slipped away. “I can understand Julia’s motives. She hoped I’d look bad if the social worker turned up and rattled me when I was entertaining. But how did Julia know about it to tell her?”
“I don’t know. Yet.” Link’s face set in his determined, I’ve-decided-and-that’s-it expression. “We’ve got to find out who’s been carrying tales to Julia. It must be someone in the play group.”
“I suppose you expect me to do that.” Her heart shrank from trying to probe which of Becca’s friends had chosen to be on the Lesters’ side.
“It’ll come more naturally from you than from me.”
“You probably know them better than I do.”
He frowned at her for another moment, then shrugged. “Okay, I’ll try and ask some tactful questions, too.”
On second thought, maybe relying on Link’s tact wasn’t such a good idea. “That’s all right. I’ll do it. Jenna has been the friendliest. She might have some idea.”
“Good.” He pushed himself away from the counter.
“We’ll see a lot of people at the company picnic Saturday. It will become clear who’s on Frank and Julia’s side.”
Some of her new-found confidence slipped away. “Do we have to go?” The thought of facing Frank and Julia and perhaps watching people line up beside them made her feel a little sick.
“Yes, of course we do.” He looked at her as if she were an obstacle to be removed. “You know that.”
She nodded slowly. She knew, but did Link have any idea how difficult this was for her? Maybe, or maybe not. Even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything. Link charged toward his goal, carrying her along with him. She could only pray they all arrived where they had to be, with Marcy safe in her care.
Chapter Ten
It was probably better that Annie not know how much Mrs. Bradshaw’s unexpected visit had bothered him, Link thought as he lifted the picnic hamper from the kitchen table. It had niggled at him for the rest of the week, and the few tactful inquiries he’d made hadn’t resolved anything.
Someone close to him or to Annie had told Julia Lester about the play group meeting. Silly, on the surface, to worry about something so slight, but he didn’t like it. That small betrayal might mean that the town’s opinion had begun to solidify against them.
Annie didn’t know how small towns worked, but he did. Lakeview could be closing ranks behind the Lesters, marking him and Annie off as outsiders.
He glanced at Annie, who was trying to persuade a wiggling Marcy into her red jacket for the company picnic. She’d been upset enough at her imagined failure with the play group. He couldn’t lay another fear on her, not now. She had to be—they both had to be—convincing as a family today.
Carrying the picnic basket, he opened the family room door and bumped into a large carton on the porch. He checked the label, then glanced back into the family room.
“Were you expecting a package from your father?”
Annie’s face lit up and she dropped the jacket. “Did it come already? That’s great.”
“I’ll bring it in.” He set the picnic basket on the porch and lifted the carton.
Marcy made a determined sprint toward the half-open door. Annie scooped her up, then closed the door behind him. She bounced the baby in her arms as she followed him to the kitchen table.
He set the box down. “I gather you know what this is.”
“Our dollhouse.” Annie was as excited as he’d ever seen her. “Dad found it in the attic and said he’d send it for Marcy. Will you take her while I open it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Can’t this wait until after the picnic?” The need to get moving rode him. One way or another, he’d be able to gauge people’s reactions to them today.
“We can take another few minutes, surely.” She tugged at the box lid.
He opened his mouth to say no, then changed his mind. He’d rather indulge her curiosity for a few minutes than risk making her nervous over how she’d be received today. He pulled the penknife from his pocket and slit the thick layer of tape.
“I didn’t know you were into dollhouses. Wasn’t an abacus more your speed?”
“Actually, I had an abacus, too. Surprised?”
“Not a bit. Every budding accountant should have one.”
Annie set Marcy down, hugging herself impatiently. “The dollhouse was special. Becca and I played with it for hours at a time. We had a whole series of imaginary adventures with our little figures.”
For once, she was talking about her sister without sorrow darkening her eyes.
“Then, Marcy should definitely have it.” He yanked the lid free, then dumped out an armload of packaging material, exposing a gray roof. “Here we go.” He lifted the building out, shredded paper snowing onto the kitchen tile.
Annie practically danced around the table, eagerly pulling packaging foam off the house. The tall, white, Victorian replica had a round turret and a wraparound porch festooned with gingerbread trim so small he couldn’t imagine someone carving it.
He whistled softly, admiring the workmanship. “That’s quite a dollhouse. It looks like something you’d see in a museum.”
“Our grandfather made it for us.” Annie touched a broken porch railing, and some of the light faded from her eyes. “I didn’t realize it was in such bad shape. I knew the furniture was broken, but I hoped the house itself would just need cleaning up. I can’t let Marcy play with this.”
“I’ll fix it.” He heard the words come out of his mouth and couldn’t remember forming the thought. What did he mean, he’d fix it?
“Do you think you can?” Hope softened her face, then faded quickly. “You don’t have time, do you?”
No.
“I’ll make time.” It was a small enough thing to do for her. “You’ve been making time to work on the books, haven’t you? So I’ll work on the dollhouse.” He swung a tiny shutter. “It’s not as bad as it lo
oks. Your grandfather was a good craftsman.”
“I don’t remember him very well. He died when I was about five or six.” She touched the turret lovingly. “But I remember the fun we had with this.”
“Reason enough.” He picked Marcy up, showing her the dollhouse. “We’ll make it as good as new.”
Marcy didn’t seem impressed by the promise. She reached toward the house, then pulled her hand back.
But Annie—Annie’s face was lit with happiness. A man would be a fool not to try and keep that look on her face.
Link pulled into the lot at the lakeside park, noticing the number of cars already there. They were late. If people wanted to talk about them, they’d had plenty of opportunity. He opened the door.
Annie slid out quickly enough, but he could sense hesitation as they started unloading. He studied her averted face, his gaze touching the line of her cheek and the set of her chin. Even without understanding small-town dynamics, she didn’t like walking into a crowd of people she didn’t know. Whether some of her nervousness resulted from their need to look like a happily married couple, he wasn’t sure.
He tossed a blanket over his shoulder to free up his hand, and then clasped hers.
“It’s okay,” he said, trying to sound reassuring in spite of his own doubts. “They’re nice folks.”
She glanced sideways at him. “I’d like to take your word for it, but will Frank and Julia be here?”
He understood that concern, at least. “Frank’s only concern is with impressing the board, not the ordinary working people. They won’t be here.”
The lines in her forehead smoothed. “Let’s go pretend we’re a happy family, then.”
They walked across the grass toward the group gathered at the pavilion. He put Marcy down, and she scuffed through the carpet of fallen leaves.
The aroma from the charcoal grills floated teasingly toward them, but it didn’t look as if anyone had started cooking yet. Some of the guys were playing volleyball at a net they’d set up. Link started toward it. When Annie hesitated, he glanced at her.
