Books by Nora Roberts

by Roberts, Nora

  "Fine for you." Gray took another chance and skimmed a fingertip over the baby's head. "You didn't have to watch it all. This childbirth stuff's rough on a guy."

  "And at the sticking point, we're the least appreciated," Rogan added. When Maggie snorted, Rogan held out a hand for her. "We've calls to make, Maggie." "That we do. We'll look back in on you shortly." When they were alone, Brianna beamed up at him. "We have a family, Grayson."

  An hour later Grayson was anxious and suspicious when a nurse took the baby away. "I should go keep an eye on her. I don't trust the look in that nurse's eyes."

  "Don't be a worrier, Da."

  "Da." Grinning from ear to ear, he looked back at his wife. "Is that what she's going to call me? It's easy. She can probably just about handle it already, don't you think?"

  "Oh, I'm sure." Chuckling, Brianna cupped his face in her hands as he leaned over to kiss her. "She's bright as the sun, our Kayla."

  "Kayla Thane." He tried it out, grinned again. "Kayla Margaret Thane, the first female President of the United States. We've already had a woman president in Ireland," he added. "But she can choose whichever she wants. You look beautiful, Brianna."

  He kissed her again, surprised all at once that it was absolutely true. Her eyes were glowing, her rose-gold hair tumbled around it. Her face was still a bit pale, but he could see that the roses in them were beginning to bloom again.

  "And you must be exhausted. I should let you sleep."

  "Sleep." She rolled her eyes and pulled him down for another kiss. "You must be joking. I don't think I could sleep for days, I've so much energy now. What I am is starved half to death. I'd give anything and more for an enormous bookmaker's sandwich and a pile of chips."

  "You want to eat?" He blinked at her, astonished. "What a woman. Maybe after, you'd like to go out and plow a field."

  "I believe I'll skip that," she said dryly. "But I haven't had a bite in more than twenty-four hours, I'll remind you. Do you think you could see if they could bring me a little something?"

  "Hospital food, no way. Not for the mother of my child." What a kick that was, he realized. He'd hardly gotten used to saying "my wife"-now he was saying "my child." My daughter. "I'm going to go get you the best bookmaker's sandwich on the west coast of Ireland."

  Brianna settled back with a laugh as he darted out of the room. What a year it had been, she thought. It had been hardly more than that since she'd met him, less since she'd loved him. And now they were a family.

  Despite her claims to the contrary, her eyes grew heavy and she slipped easily into sleep.

  When she awakened again, drifting hazily out of dreams, she saw Gray, sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her.

  "She was sleeping, too," he began. And since he'd already taken her hand in his, he brought it to his lips. "They let me hold her again when I harassed them- said a few interesting things about the Yank, but were pretty indulgent all in all. She looked at me, Brie, she looked right at me. She knew who I was, and she curled her fingers-she's got gorgeous fingers-she curled them around mine and held on-"

  He broke off, a look of sheer panic replacing the dazzled joy. "You're crying. Why are you crying? Something hurts. I'll get the doctor. I'll get somebody."

  "No." Sniffling, she leaned forward to press her face to his shoulder. "Nothing hurts. It's only that I love you so much. Oh, you move me, Grayson. Looking at your face when you speak of her. It touches so deep."

  "I didn't know it would be like this," he murmured, stroking her hair as he cuddled. "I didn't know it would be so big, so incredibly big. I'm going to be a good father."

  He said it with such fervor, and such a sweet hint of fear, that she laughed. "I know."

  How could he fail, he wondered, when she believed in him so completely? "I brought you a sandwich, and some stuff."

  "Thanks." She sat back, sniffling again and wiping at her eyes. When the tears cleared, she blinked again, then wept again. "Oh, Grayson, what a wonderful fool you are."

  He'd crammed the room with flowers, pots and vases and baskets of them, with balloons that crowded the ceiling with vivid color and cheerful shapes. A huge purple dog stood grinning at the foot of the bed.

  "The dog's for Kayla," he told her, pulling out tissues from a box and stuffing them into her hand. "So don't get any ideas. Your sandwich is probably cold, and I ate some of the chips. But there's a piece of chocolate cake in it for you if you don't give me a hard time about it."

  She brushed the fresh tears away. "I want the cake first."

  "You got it."

  "What's this, feasting already?" Maggie strolled in, a bouquet of daffodils in her arms. Her husband came in behind her, his face hidden behind a stuffed bear.

  "Hello, Mum." Rogan Sweeney bent over the bed to kiss his sister-in-law, then winked at Gray. "Da."

  "She was hungry," Gray said with a grin.

  "And I'm too greedy to share my cake." Brianna forked up a mouthful of chocolate.

  "We've just come from having another peek." Maggie plopped down on a chair. "And I can say, without prejudice, that she's the prettiest babe in the nursery. She has your hair, Brie, all rosy gold, and Gray's pretty mouth."

  "Murphy sends his love and best wishes," Rogan put in, setting the bear beside the dog. "We called him just a bit ago to pass the news. He and Liam are celebrating with the tea cakes you finished making before you went into labor."

  "It's sweet of him to mind Liam while you're here."

  Maggie waved off Brianna's gratitude. "Sweet had nothing to do with it. Murphy'd keep the boy from dawn to dusk if I'd let him. They're having a grand time, and before you ask, things are fine at the inn. Mrs. O'Malley's seeing to your guests. Though why you'd accept bookings when you knew you'd be having a baby, I can't say."

  "The same reason you kept working with your glass until we carted you off to have Liam, I imagine," Brianna said dryly. "It's how I make my living. Have Mother and Lottie gone home then?"

  "A short time ago." For Brianna's sake, Maggie kept her smile in place. Their mother had been complaining, and worrying about what germs she might pick up in the hospital. That was nothing new. "They looked in and saw you were sleeping, so Lottie said she'd drive Mother back and they'd see you and Kayla tomorrow."

  Maggie paused, glanced at Rogan. His imperceptible nod left the decision to share the rest of the news up to her. Because she understood her sister, and Brianna's needs, Maggie rose, sat on the side of the bed opposite Gray, and took Brianna's hand.

  "It's as well she's gone. No, don't give me that look, I mean no harm in it. There's news to tell you that it isn't time for her to hear. Rogan's man, his detective, thinks he's found Amanda. Now wait, don't get too hopeful. We've been through this before."

  "But this time it could be real."

  Brianna closed her eyes a moment. More than a year before she'd found three letters written to her father by Amanda Dougherty. Love letters that had shocked and dismayed. And finding in them that there had been a child had begun a long and frustrating search for the woman her father had loved, and the child he'd never known.

  "It could be." Not wanting to see his wife disappointed yet again, Gray spoke carefully. "Brie, you know how many dead ends we've run into since the birth certificate was found."

  "We know we have a sister," Brianna said stubbornly. "We know her name, we know that Amanda married, and that they moved from place to place. It's the moving that's been the trouble. But sooner or later we'll find them." She gave Maggie's hand a squeeze. "It could be this time."

  "Perhaps." Maggie had yet to resign herself to the possibility. Nor was she entirely sure she wanted to find the woman who was her half sister. "He's on his way to a place called Columbus, Ohio. One way or the other, we'll know something soon."

  "Da would have wanted us to do this," Brianna said quietly. "He would have been happy to know we tried, at least, to find them."

  With a nod, Maggie rose. "Well, we've started the ball on its roll, so we won't
try to stop it." She only hoped no one was damaged by the tumble. "In the meantime, you should be celebrating your new family, not worrying over one that may or may not be found."

  "You'll tell me, as soon as you know something," Brianna insisted.

  "One way or the other, so don't fidget about it in the meantime." A glance around the room had Maggie smiling again. "Would you like if we took some of these flowers home for you, Brie, set them around so they'd be there when you bring the baby home?"

  With some effort Brianna held back the rest of the questions circling in her head. There were no answers for them yet. "I'd be grateful. Gray got carried away."

  "Anything else you'd like, Brianna?" With cheerful good humor, Rogan accepted the flowers his wife piled in his arms. "More cake?"

  She glanced down, flushed. "I ate every crumb, didn't I? Thanks just the same, but I think that'll do. Go home, both of you, and get some sleep."

  "So we will. I'll call," Maggie promised. The worry came back into her eyes as she left the room with Rogan. "I wish she wasn't so hopeful, and so sure that this long-lost sister of ours will want to be welcomed into her open arms."

  "It's the way she's made, Maggie."

  "Saint Brianna," Maggie said with a sigh. "I couldn't bear it if she was hurt because of this, Rogan. You've only to look at her to see how she's building it up in her head, in her heart. No matter how wrong it might be of me, I wish to God she'd never found those letters."

  "Don't fret over it." Since Maggie was busy doing just that, Rogan used his elbow to press the elevator button.

  "It's not my fretting that's the problem," Maggie muttered. "She shouldn't be worrying over this now. She has the baby to think of, and Gray may be going off in a few months on his book tour."

  "I thought he'd canceled that." Rogan shifted tilting blooms back to safety.

  "He wants to cancel it. She's badgering him to go, wants nothing to interfere with his work." Impatient, annoyed, she scowled at the elevator doors. "So damn sure she is that she can handle an infant, the inn, all those bleeding guests, and this Amanda Dougherty Bodine business as well."

  "We both know that Brianna's strong enough to handle whatever happens. Just as you are."

  Prepared to argue, she looked up. Rogan's amused smile smoothed away the temper. "You may be right." She sent him a saucy look. "For once." Soothed a little, she took some of the flowers from him. "And it's too wonderful a day to be worrying about something that may never happen. We've ourselves a beautiful niece, Sweeney."

  "That we do. I think she might have your chin, Margaret Mary."

  "I was thinking that as well." She stepped into the elevator with him. How simple it was really, she mused, to forget the pain and remember only the joy. "And I was thinking now that Liam's beginning to toddle about, we might start working on providing him with a sister, or a brother."

  With a grin Rogan managed to kiss her through the daffodils. "I was thinking that as well."

  Chapter Three

  I am the Resurrection and the Light.

  Shannon knew the words, all the priest's words, were supposed to comfort, to ease, perhaps inspire. She heard them, on this perfect spring day beside her mother's grave. She'd heard them in the crowded, sunwashed church during the funeral Mass. All the words, familiar from her youth. And she had knelt and stood and sat, even responded as some part of her brain followed the rite.

  But she felt neither comforted nor eased nor inspired.

  The scene wasn't dreamlike, but all too real. The black-garbed priest with his beautiful baritone, the dozens and dozens of mourners, the brilliant stream of sunlight that glinted off the brass handles of the coffin that was cloaked in flowers. The sound of weeping, the chirp of birds.

  She was burying her mother.

  Beside the fresh grave was the neatly tended mound of another, and the headstone, still brutally new, of the man she had believed all of her life to be her father. She was supposed to cry. But she'd already wept. She was supposed to pray. But the prayers wouldn't come.

  Standing there, with the priest's voice ringing in the clear spring air, Shannon could only see herself again, walking into the parlor, the anger still hot inside her.

  She'd thought her mother had been sleeping. But there had been too many questions, too many demands racing in her head to wait, and she'd decided to wake her.

  Gently, she remembered. Thank God she had at least been gentle. But her mother hadn't awakened, hadn't stirred.

  The rest had been panic. Not so gentle now-the shaking, the shouting, the pleading. And the few minutes of blankness, blessedly brief, that she knew now had been helpless hysteria.

  There'd been the frantic call for an ambulance, the endless, terrifying ride to the hospital. And the wait, always the wait.

  Now the waiting was over. Amanda had slipped into a coma, and from a coma into death. And from death, so said the priest, into eternal life. They told her it was a blessing. The doctor had said so, and the nurses who had been unfailingly kind. The friends and neighbors who had called had all said it was a blessing. There had been no pain, no suffering in those last fortyeight hours. She had simply slept while her body and brain had shut down.

  Only the living suffered, Shannon thought now. Only they were riddled with guilt and regrets and unanswered questions.

  "She's with Colin now," someone murmured.

  Shannon blinked herself back, and saw that it was done. People were already turning toward her. She would have to accept their sympathies, their comforts, their own sorrows, as she had at the funeral parlor viewing.

  Many would come back to the house, of course. She had prepared for that, had handled all the details. After all, she thought as she mechanically accepted and responded to those who walked to her, details were what she did best.

  The funeral arrangements had been handled neatly and without fuss. Her mother would have wanted the simple, she knew, and Shannon had done her best to accommodate Amanda on this last duty. The simple coffin, the right flowers and music, the solemn Catholic ceremony.

  And the food, of course. It seemed faintly awful to have such a thing catered, but she simply hadn't had the time or the energy to prepare a meal for the friends and neighbors who would come to the house from the cemetery.

  Then, at last, she was alone. For a moment she simply couldn't think-what did she want? What was right? Still the tears and the prayers wouldn't come. Tentatively Shannon laid a hand on the coffin, but there was only the sensation of wood warmed by the sun, and the overly heady scent of roses.

  "I'm sorry," she murmured. "It shouldn't have been like that between us at the end. But I don't know how to resolve it, or to change it. And I don't know how to say goodbye, to either of you now."

  She stared down at the headstone to her left.

  Colin Alan Bodine Beloved husband and father

  Even those last words, she thought miserably, carved into granite were a lie. And her only wish, as she stood over the graves of two people she had loved all of her life, was that she had never learned the truth.

  And that stubborn, selfish wish was the guilt she would live with.

  Turning away, she walked alone toward the waiting car.

  It seemed like hours before the crowd began to thin and the house grew quiet again. Amanda had been well loved, and those who had loved her had gathered together in her home. Shannon said her last goodbye, her last thanks, accepted her last sympathy, then finally, finally, closed the door and was alone.

  Fatigue began to drag at Shannon as she wandered into her father's office.

  Amanda had changed little here in the eleven months since her husband's sudden death. The big old desk was no longer cluttered, but she had yet to dispose of his computer, the modem, the fax and other equipment he'd used as a broker and financial adviser. His toys, he'd called them, and his wife had kept them even when she'd been able to give away his suits, his shoes, his foolish ties.

  All the books remained on the shelves-tax planning
, estate planning, accounting texts.

  Weary, Shannon sat in the big leather chair she'd given him herself for Father's Day five years before. He'd loved it, she remembered, running a hand over the smooth burgundy leather. Big enough to hold a horse, he'd said, and had laughed and pulled her into his lap.

  She wished she could convince herself that she still felt him here. But she didn't. She felt nothing. And that told her more than the requiem Mass, more than the cemetery, that she was alone. Really alone.

  There hadn't been enough time for anything, Shannon thought dully. If she'd known before... She wasn't sure which she meant, her mother's illness or the lies. If she'd known, she thought again, training her mind on the illness. They might have tried other things, the alternative medicines, the vitamin concentrates, all the small and simple hopes she'd read of in the books on homeopathic medicine she'd collected. There hadn't been time to give them a chance to work.

  There had been only a few weeks. Her mother had kept her illness from her, as she'd kept other things.

  She hadn't shared them, Shannon thought as bitterness warred with grief. Not with her own daughter.

  So, the very last words she had spoken to her mother had been in anger and contempt. And she could never take them back.

  Fists clenched against an enemy she couldn't see, she rose, turned away from the desk. She'd needed time, damn it. She'd needed time to try to understand, or at least learn to live with it.

  Now the tears came, hot and helpless. Because she knew, in her heart, that she wished her mother had died before she'd told her. And she hated herself for it.

  After the tears drained out of her, she knew she had to sleep. Mechanically she climbed the stairs, washed her hot cheeks with cool water, and lay, fully clothed, on the bed.