A Suitable Wife: A Sweetwater Springs Novel

by Carol Burnside

  The light shining into the hallway dimmed, leaving the faint glimmer of Lorelei’s nightlight. Moving silently, Sam returned to the living room and waited on the couch.

  Rosie entered the room, her expression thoughtful. He stood. She glanced at him, then away and smoothed the front of her short sleeved shirt. “Can we talk?”

  Whatever the source of her pain, she had the capacity to love his daughter, and that’s what mattered right now. Lorelei needed mothering. She had to come first. If Rosie wanted to share, he would be there for her.

  “Sure. Thanks for your help. Some nights seem to require more of my coping skills than others.”

  Crossing her arms under her breasts, Rosie nodded. The movement brought his attention back to her new hairdo.

  Maybe an icebreaker was in order first, not that he was stalling or anything. “I like what you’ve done to your hair. I mean, I liked it longer too. But this is nice. You look fantastic.”

  “Thanks.” She fingered the newly shorn ends, a tiny frown puckering her brow.

  Images of her bedroom popped into his head. “Rosie—”

  “I want—”

  They both broke off and grinned self-consciously. He gestured to the sofa and waited until she sat. “Ladies first.”

  “I owe you an apology.”

  “That was my line.”

  “No, really. You were right the first time we talked about Jasmine. I don’t know anything about the woman, yet I’m projecting how I’d feel in the same situation. I didn’t mean it to come across as a betrayal.”

  “And I was way out of line. I’m sorry. You’re entitled to your own opinion and to keep a certain distance from Lorelei.”

  She acknowledged his apology with a slight dip of her head. “And you have a right to expect me to bond with Lorelei. That was part of our deal, and I haven’t made much of an effort.”

  Silence fell between them, more comfortable now. Accustomed to seeing her with a sedate braid hanging against her back, he was amazed at the change a haircut had made. With the soft layers framing her face, she looked more feminine and approachable, those Baxter-blue eyes more luminous.

  He caught her looking at him and waggled his eyebrows in a comical fashion. “Does this mean we can make up?”

  She lost her battle with a grin, wrestled it back under control and cleared her throat. “Let’s say we have a truce.”

  Hey, it was a start.

  “Jasmine referred to Lorelei as ‘my kid.’ Not ‘my little girl’ or ‘my baby.’ Isn’t that odd?”

  “It’s an improvement over ‘brat,’” he muttered. Was this going to turn into another debate regarding Jasmine’s motivations? He’d much rather talk about making up.

  Rosie’s brows hitched, the sole indication she’d heard him. “She didn’t ask if Lorelei was okay, or how much she’d grown. She didn’t say anything about missing her baby, sending her love or ask me to pass along a hug, just said she needed her kid back.”

  That Jasmine’s true colors had shown through didn’t surprise Sam in the least. It took a loving person to recognize what wasn’t present in the conversation. Rosie instinctively knew what a normal mother would have foremost on her mind.

  She’d feared getting too attached to Lorelei, and he’d attacked her motives, cut her deeply. Seeing the things she held dear confused him. He knew her intimately, how she looked as she came apart beneath him. He learned more about Rosie every day, but she held secrets in those pretty blue eyes.

  And some things didn’t add up. He’d thought her in love with Dean, but her actions baffled him. Bitter? Angry? Maybe both. Or it could be jealousy. He hadn’t puzzled that one out yet. At least he had some answers.

  “Although I took my dear, sweet time coming to the realization, I can see you care about Lorelei. As for the other . . .” He took her hand in his, needing the connection. “If you’re protected during sex, the rest is none of my business.”

  Her gaze shifted to their linked hands for a long moment before she responded.

  “Sam, do you trust me? Really trust me?” The question wasn’t casually delivered.

  Did he? He could see the answer was important to her and resisted the urge to offer quick reassurance. Experience had taught him trusting wasn’t often the wisest choice, especially where women were concerned. But this was Rosie. She wasn’t distant and emotionally unavailable like his mother, nor was she obsessive and self-centered like Jasmine. He couldn’t believe that anyone who wept over a sleeping child and cherished an heirloom baby quilt would intentionally hurt either of them.

  Rosie broke their physical connection. “O-kay. Guess I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He stopped her from rising with a hand on her arm. “Sorry. I was just . . . kind of surprised that the answer is yes.”

  The admission pleased her, if her wry smile was any indication.

  “If I’m to go along with this plan to keep a mother and child apart, I need to be able to gauge for myself whether I’m doing the right thing. Overall, I have faith in your judgment. But in this you’re too emotionally invested, too close to the situation for me to believe you’re completely objective.”

  “You’re saying this now, the night before the wedding?” Damn. He didn’t want to get into this.

  “I know. It’s Monday morning quarterbacking. But I need to know I’m doing the right thing for Lorelei.” Her gaze held his, pleading with him to understand.

  “Put like that, how can I object?” He stood, needing to move, wishing the memories crowding in could be outrun. Rosie’s admission got to him. That she wanted to do right by his little girl meant more to him than she knew.

  “If I tell you, it has to remain confidential,” Sam stated. “Because of Jasmine’s celebrity, the press would hound us for weeks if they got the slightest whiff of this. I don’t want Lorelei subjected to that.”

  “I wouldn’t either,” Rosie said, her gaze turning serious as she waited for him to continue.

  * * *

  Sam returned to his place beside her on the sofa. Elbows on knees, he leaned forward, staring at his interlocked hands.

  While their conversation had gone much easier than she’d expected, Rosie couldn’t relax.

  “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  “Do you remember that nightmare Lorelei had?” Sam asked, ignoring her question.

  “Of course,” Rosie murmured, but the faraway look in Sam’s eyes indicated he hadn’t expected an answer. He was reliving the past.

  “Several months ago I flew to Los Angeles with my agent. We were negotiating a contract for this screenplay conversion I’m working on when Lorelei’s nanny called. She claimed to have accidentally overheard a phone conversation between Jasmine and a man called Deuce. According to Nanny Bridges, Jasmine arranged to buy cocaine. When she realized Nanny had overheard, Jasmine demanded the apartment key back and threw her out.

  “I wasn’t worried at first. Nanny had a bit of a hearing problem. I thought she’d misunderstood, and Jasmine had thrown one of her famous snits. So, I calmed Nanny, and she agreed to go back, apologize to get back into the apartment, and continue taking care of Lorelei.” Sam paused and raked his fingers through his hair.

  “I’m getting the impression it didn’t end that way.”

  Sam shook his head. “I kept mulling it over and it gradually dawned on me how Jasmine’s radical mood swings, the dark circles under her eyes, blotchy skin, and what she called hay fever could all be attributed to frequent cocaine use.

  “Before I could catch the red-eye back home, Nanny called again saying she’d tried several times, but Jasmine wouldn’t answer the door.”

  “Did she call the police?” Rosie asked.

  Sam frowned and shook his head. “Yes, but I had her omit the part about drugs.” His voice held a defensive edge. “I didn’t have any proof of what I suspected, and I didn’t feel I could take the chance of ruining Jasmine’s career on a hunch.”

  He looked at Rosie for the f
irst time since he’d started the story. “That may sound strange, but living in the public eye as much as we did makes you rethink everything you do and how it could be misconstrued in the tabloids.”

  “And the police?”

  He shrugged and shook his head. “They wouldn’t get involved, stating Jasmine had every right to fire Nanny and stay inside with her daughter. I didn’t push it because I was scheduled on the red eye, and we both believed Jasmine was in the apartment with Lorelei.”

  Cold chills of foreboding slept over Rosie. She covered her mouth with her hand, afraid she’d guessed part of what was to come.

  Sam looked at her with weary eyes. “Yeah. Not only was she not home, but before she left, she pushed Lorelei and her crib into a large closet and shut the door.”

  Rosie sucked in a breath. “How long was Lorelei alone in there?” She dreaded hearing the answer. Thinking of Sam’s little girl in such a situation made her heart ache.

  “By the time I reached the apartment, it must have been about eight to ten hours. I walked in the door and called for Jasmine. When Lorelei heard me, she screamed, but her voice was so hoarse, I couldn’t hear her very well.”

  “Oh, my God. That poor baby,” Rosie whispered, unable to comprehend how anyone could do such a thing to a helpless young child. She fought the urge to dash into Lorelei’s room and hold her close.

  “She’d been trapped in the dark with a soggy diaper—cold, hungry, and scared out of her mind.” Sam frowned, clenching his jaw as he struggled with his emotions.

  “That look on her face . . . It still haunts me.” Sam shook his head, staring off at a vision Rosie could only imagine.

  “No wonder she has nightmares,” Rosie said, remembering the night light ever present in the little girl’s room. “I just can’t understand how a parent could be so . . . callous about their child’s welfare. It’s unforgivable.”

  Sam raked both hands through his hair before raising them in a classic gesture of surrender. “You’re right. I should’ve considered the possible consequences more carefully before leaving—”

  “Sam.” Rosie stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I was talking about Jasmine. You couldn’t possibly have known what would happen. You made the best decision you could, given the information available. Lorelei could just as easily have been safe at home in the care of her mother. Surely you don’t blame yourself for this?”

  “Let’s face it. I put Jasmine’s reputation and my distaste for the paparazzi before Lorelei’s safety. I let her down. It’s my responsibility to make sure Jasmine won’t ever be in a position to mistreat her again.”

  The self-loathing in his voice shocked her. Rosie scooted closer to Sam. “I think this is one of those damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t scenarios.”

  “Either way, I’m in the wrong. An innocent child got hurt because I wasn’t thinking and acting like a father.”

  He was such a good and loving dad. Couldn’t he see that? “Don’t beat yourself up about this. She got hurt because she has a bad mother, not because of your actions. What’s done is done. The best thing you can do for Lorelei at this point is exactly what you’re doing. Show her Daddy loves her and be there when she’s scared until she forgets and feels safe again.”

  “I can’t imagine loving her any more than I do now, even if . . .”

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” His voice was husky. Sam turned toward her, his tortured gaze easing somewhat. “I appreciate your loyalty, but I wasn’t asking for absolution.”

  “You don’t need any. Why didn’t you tell me this to start with? I wouldn’t have fought with you over the custody issue.”

  “Tell you up front what a lousy father I am? You wouldn’t have agreed to marry me.”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Because I’m the lesser of two evils?”

  “No. This is ridiculous. You’re not to blame for what happened.” Rosie rubbed her hand back and forth across his shoulders, trying to ease the tension there. When the feel of his warmth and muscles beneath her hand created heat in her belly, she withdrew. “You made an error in judgment where Jasmine is concerned. I did the same thing.”

  “That’s different. You don’t even know her.”

  “Did you? Really know her, I mean. Sounds to me like she intentionally hid her true nature.”

  Sam scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sometimes, I don’t think I knew her at all. What does that say about me?”

  “That we have something in common. I’d much rather believe most people are good and be disappointed occasionally than the alternative.” Fatigue settled heavily over Rosie’s shoulders. After a full day at work, the gamut of emotions she’d experienced tonight had taken their toll.

  Threading the fingers of his right hand through hers, he caressed her palm with his thumb. “I guess I would too.” Sam shook his head. “It isn’t fair that Lorelei had to pay for Jasmine’s web of deceit.”

  A dull pain clenched at Rosie’s heart, but she closed her mind to the past, unable to deal with anything else tonight. “The innocent are often casualties. As much as we wish it weren’t true, sometimes we can’t protect them.”

  With her free hand, she pushed off the sofa and stood, barely able to cover a wide yawn in time. “I’d better get my beauty sleep. I have a big date tomorrow.”

  Her feeble attempt at levity fell flat. Sam tugged on the hand still linked with his. “Stay.”

  The seriousness of his gaze, and the lingering pain there forestalled the teasing, flirtatious response on the tip of her tongue. “I can’t.”

  “I thought we had a truce.”

  “We do, but . . .” She broke off, shaking her head.

  “Say it.”

  “We’re playing a dangerous game, Sam. I take full responsibility for my part in what happened, but we need to consider the pitfalls. We’re not strangers who met in a bar and fell into bed. We’re friends with a long history. It would be easy to start believing the lie. In our case, even if it looks like a real marriage and feels like a real marriage, it won’t magically become a real marriage.”

  “I thought we had established that. Who do you feel needs a reminder? Me? Or you?”

  Rosie flinched. Okay, maybe she deserved that for letting her emotions get involved in the first place. “Both. We changed the dynamic of the plan.”

  Sam frowned. “So what?” He practically threw the silly rejoinder at her. “Take it from me, sex doesn’t make a real marriage. We both know the score. Don’t try to tell me you don’t want a repeat of our night together.”

  No. She couldn’t say that. It would be a lie.

  He pulled her closer, her pulse finding warp speed beneath his fingers. Framing her face with his hands, he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

  She pulled his hands away. “Sam?”

  He nibbled his way along her jaw.

  “Sam?”

  “I’m busy here,” he murmured, nuzzling her ear.

  Rosie shivered from the thrill of his touch. It was now or never. Either she made him understand in the next few seconds, or she’d be begging him to hurry. “While I appreciate, uh . . .” Oh, she did so love it when he nipped at the tender flesh of her neck like that. Um, where was she? Something about appreciating. Oh, yes. “I appreciate your efforts, but this needs to stop. It’s so not happening tonight.”

  He eased away from her, his gaze roaming over her face. “You’re serious.”

  “Very much so.” She took a deep breath and backed away from him. “Regardless of the circumstances, this is a wedding, and there are traditions to uphold. As the bride, I don’t want to be tiptoeing from the groom’s bed on the morning of our wedding. What if you saw me? It’s bad luck, you know.”

  A slow grin spread across Sam’s face. He leaned forward, a glint in his eye. “What if I promise to kick you out of bed before midnight?”

  “Tempting, but no. Tonight, I’m sleeping alone.” She pulled away from him and slipped through th
e connecting door with a great sigh of regret.

  Sam went to bed alone, but it was a good while before sleep claimed him. Memories of Rosie lying across his bed, her hair sprawled over the pillow, kept him tossing and turning.

  One taste of her was not enough to end his need for her. Even a night of loving had been much too short. Would a year be long enough?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  In the wee hours of the morning a thunderstorm washed away several days of dust. Later, Rosie woke to iffy weather, overcast and gray. By early afternoon, the clouds hadn’t completely dissipated.

  After having been pampered and fussed over by her mama, Claire, and Sara, Rosie stood waiting in a white tent that doubled as her dressing room. Everyone but Claire had left to take their seat. As planned, Rosie wore no veil, but a circlet of silk violets tucked into snowy baby’s breath nestled in her hair. She’d chosen a dress with a sweetheart neckline, fitted waist and softly gathered skirt. A chiffon overlay ended in handkerchief points and swirled about her calves as she walked. She’d opted to carry a small nosegay of miniature irises and white roses.

  “Sure hope those clouds scram soon. They’re making the guests nervous.” Claire peered through the front opening, waved at someone and ducked back inside, clearly not expecting a response.

  Rosie wasn’t worried. The park gleamed when the sun occasionally found an opening, and the temperature had, thus far, stayed at a more moderate level than had been felt in months. It was a good omen, reflecting the positive attitude she had adopted the evening before.

  In the gamut of emotions she’d endured while rocking Lorelei, the sweet torture of having a child in her arms had awakened a possessive streak a mile wide. Oh, she wasn’t about to forget this marriage would be temporary, or that Sam and Lorelei weren’t hers to keep. He’d made that very clear. But she had months, possibly a year to experience the joys of being a wife and mother.

  Assured that Sam hadn’t changed his mind about their arrangement, she fully intended to embrace every aspect of their marriage and store memories while she could. No one could take that from her.