by Billie Green
He stiffened. "Sara—" he began, his voice worried.
"No, wait, Charlie. I know what you're thinking, but why couldn't I take care of her? I know I'm not the motherly type, but Trudy doesn't seem to know that. Irma could take care of her during the day, and—"
"You've got this all worked out," he said in shock.
"—and if an emergency came up we would both be right here. I could take breaks during the day to be with her, and do my paper work at night. I never realized it before, but I have the perfect setup for a working mother."
"Sara." He grabbed her shoulders to give her a hard shake. "You've got to stop it. You're letting yourself get carried away by a fairy tale. Trudy's parents are probably frantic right now."
"Then why did they leave her on my doorstep?" she asked stubbornly. "They obviously don't care about her."
"You don't know that. Maybe she was kidnapped. Maybe they're going out of their minds with worry."
"They should have taken better care of her. They should have watched her more carefully."
"Sara." He stroked her cheek, his blue eyes revealing his concern for her. "Don't do this. Please . . . you'll only end up getting hurt."
Sara didn't pursue it, but she didn't stop thinking about it, either.
That night when Trudy was asleep in her drawer, Charlie held Sara tightly in his arms inside the sleeping bag. "You're not still thinking about keeping her, are you?" he asked softly, his lips brushing the hair from her ear.
She wrapped her arms around his waist. "And if I am?"
"Sara, if you want a baby this badly, why not have one of your own?"
"It wouldn't be the same. You don't understand, Charlie," she whispered in the darkness. "I don't want to get married and have a family. I can't. But Trudy is special. She accepts me totally."
His arms tightened around her. "Sara, Sara," he whispered as he buried his face in her hair. "What am I going to do with you?"
She blinked at the desperation in his voice, but before she could question him, his lips met hers and she was lost in the wonder of loving Charlie.
Within minutes she knew this would not be a repeat of the lazy lovemaking they had experienced that morning. His every movement, every caress, was shatteringly urgent. Pulling her into a fevered pleasure, he made love to her as though it were their last time together.
She was exhausted and deeply, thoroughly loved when she at last fell asleep in his arms.
❧
Sara came awake abruptly. At first she thought it must have been Trudy who had wakened her, but the baby was still sleeping. Sara only had a moment to notice the sunlight streaming through the window before she heard the pounding at the front door.
She dragged herself awkwardly out of the sleeping bag. Pulling open the door, she found a man standing there, lines of worry etched into his young face.
"Yes, can I help you?" she asked, her voice still husky with sleep.
He swallowed hard, his hand gripping the doorframe in a way that made Sara watch him warily. "I'm looking for my daughter," he said hoarsely. His voice cracked on the last word. "Have you seen my baby?"
Chapter 10
Sara stared at the man on her front porch as though he were the forerunner of an invading army. She knew he expected her to speak, but she couldn't. She held on to the door, swallowing heavily, her thoughts frantic.
"Please, ma'am," he said, raising a trembling hand to his face. "Have you seen her?"
For a split second, a split second that seemed to hang on forever, Sara considered denying that the baby was there. But before she could say anything, before she could even get a grip on what was happening, Charlie was standing beside her with Trudy in his arms.
"Is this what you're looking for?" he asked gently, his voice filled with compassion.
As the man stumbled into the house to receive his daughter, Sara closed the door on the cold sunshine and leaned against it, watching in silence.
There were tears shining in the man's eyes as he clasped the baby close to his chest, raining kisses on her small face. "She's—she's all right," he whispered roughly. "Thank God, she's all right."
"Why don't you come in and sit down?" Charlie said. He led the young man to a chair close to the fire. "You look exhausted."
The man sat down, still holding his daughter close. "I haven't slept in two days," he said, then glanced up at Charlie. "You were my only hope. I—"
His voice broke completely, and Charlie looked away, giving him a chance to compose himself. Sara pushed herself from the door and walked stiffly toward the two men. Holding on to the arms of the chair opposite Trudy's father, she carefully sat down. Her movements were awkward, as though she had suddenly aged. She stared blindly as the man began to speak again.
"I kept praying—over and over again, feeling so damn helpless—that this was where she had left Dawn," he said quietly.
"She?" Sara spoke at last, trying to take in the fact that Trudy's name was Dawn.
"My wife," he said.
Charlie sat cross-legged on the sleeping bag. "What made you think your wife would bring her here?"
"I admit it was a long shot," the man said. "But it was my only hope. Irma had talked so much about you two to Marilyn—"
"Marilyn," Sara whispered as the pieces fell together at last.
"She's my wife," he said. "She's Irma's niece. She hasn't been well."
Sara ran a hand through her hair. "Irma's niece," she said. "Yes . . . yes, Irma told us that she had been ill. Then you must be Harmen." He nodded. "I still don't see what that has to do with her leaving Tru—" She broke off and cleared her throat. "I don't see what that has to do with Marilyn's leaving the baby on my doorstep."
"She didn't know what she was doing," he said, and leaned his head against the back of the chair.
"You don't have to explain," Charlie broke in. "You've been through enough already."
He shook his head. "No, you have a right to know. You've had to take care of a strange baby for two days." He laughed weakly. "The longest two days of my life."
Charlie glanced at the baby. "We didn't mind. In fact, it was kind of fun, wasn't it, Sara?"
She bit her lip. Then, when both men stared at her expectantly, she nodded shortly. "As Charlie said, we didn't mind."
"But I want you to know that this has never happened before . . . and it won't happen again. Sometimes—sometimes when the fever gets high, Marilyn sees and hears things." His voice was rough, as though talking about his wife's illness was painful for him. "She really thought Dawn was in some kind of danger. She thought she had to take her somewhere . . . somewhere away from the house to keep her safe." He shook his head. "I know it sounds crazy, but she wasn't to blame. She just wasn't thinking straight."
Harmen paused, touching his child's face as though to reassure himself that she was really there in his arms. "Marilyn truly thought she was doing what was best for Dawn. She's still very ill, and worried out of her mind, but she can remember being terrified, and she can remember leaving the house with the baby. After that there's a big blank. I found her about a mile from our house, just before the blizzard hit. She was in the car, but she had pulled over to the side of the road. She was delirious." His fingers tightened fractionally on the baby's head. "When I realized Dawn wasn't in the car with her, it was the worst moment of my life."
He closed his eyes, and his voice was almost expressionless with exhaustion. "Irma and I took Marilyn to the hospital this morning as soon as the snowplows cleared the streets. She didn't want to go. . . . She begged not to go. She hasn't stopped crying since she woke up . . . after I found her alone in the car." Harmen opened his eyes and tried to pull himself up straighter. "Irma is with her now, and the hospital is calling in a specialist from Houston—an internist who's supposed to be a genius at diagnosis."
"She'll be all right," Charlie said quietly. "You've got to stop worrying, because Dawn needs you now."
Harmen smiled shakily. "Yes, Dawn needs me. Thank
heaven for that. And thank both of you for taking such good care of her. You can't imagine the terrible visions I've seen in the last two days."
"I think I can," Charlie said, smiling grimly. When Harmen began to struggle out of the chair, Charlie stood and gave him a hand. "If there's anything else we can do, we'd be happy to help."
We'd be happy to help, Sara thought broodingly as Charlie helped bundle the baby up in a blanket. She felt tense to the point of breaking and wanted desperately to accuse the young couple of neglect. She wanted to tell Harmen that they deserved to lose the baby. But she couldn't. It wasn't true. There was too much remembered pain in the man's face, too much relief at having found his daughter at last. She couldn't take away his happiness.
She followed the two men to the door, and even managed to smile when Harmen glanced at her.
"I know you said you enjoyed it," he said as Charlie opened the door for him, "but I still wish I could show you how much I appreciate what you've done. I'm going to take her to the hospital to see Marilyn right now. My wife won't rest comfortably until she knows Dawn is safe."
"Tell her we're pulling for her," Sara said, finding strength in conventional politeness. "And tell Irma she can take off as much time as she needs."
And then he was gone. Sara stared at the driveway long after the car had disappeared. She only closed the door when she noticed the biting cold.
"Well," she said brightly. "That ended happily. Now maybe things will get back to normal around here."
"Sara," Charlie said softly.
She couldn't stand the pity she heard in his voice. "I imagine the electricity will be back on before long," she said quickly. "And the telephone." She laughed. "What on earth did people do before the telephone was invented?"
"Sara." He gripped her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "Sara . . . it's for the best. You can see that, can't you?"
She didn't answer him. She couldn't. Maybe it was for the best, but right at that moment it didn't feel that way. It felt as though something were missing.
She pulled away from him and walked to the fireplace. Sitting down on the sleeping bag, she stared blindly into the dying flames. She heard Charlie leave the room without really taking the fact in.
This was crazy, she told herself. The baby had been with them for only a short time. Why was she so upset? It had been totally unrealistic for her to think she could keep it. But unrealistic or not, for a wild moment she had thought it was possible.
She closed her eyes, fighting the numbness that was invading her mind. She should have known it wouldn't work. What did she know about taking care of a baby? It would have disrupted everything. But right now logic didn't help. She cursed herself for having gotten carried away, because now she was paying for it.
It was over an hour later when Charlie came back into the room. He sat on the floor beside her and held one of her hands in his. "Okay, you've had enough time for brooding. Let's talk about it."
She smiled. "What is there to say?"
"Plenty," he said firmly. "First of all, tell me why this baby was so important. We didn't even have her for forty-eight hours. Why did she make such an impact on you?"
Sara glanced at him. "Don't give me that," she said dully. "You know well and good you fell for her too."
"Sure, I did. Why shouldn't I? I've never met a kid I didn't like. But you—" He kissed the palm of her hand. "You've always said you didn't want children. In fact I had the distinct impression you didn't even like them."
She stared down at her hand in his. "Oh, I like them, all right. I just didn't think ... I was sure that kind of thing wouldn't work out for me."
"Now we're getting somewhere." There was satisfaction in his voice. "Why didn't you think having a family would work out for you?"
She drew in a deep breath. "Because my career is too important to me."
"Wait a minute," he said, staring at her in confusion. "How did we get from babies to your career?"
"Oh, Charlie, don't you see?" The old feeling of inadequacy flooded over her. "No, of course you don't. How could you? It all comes so easy for you."
"Sara," he said gently, "I'm trying to understand. I can see that this—this thing is eating at you, but I can't make any sense of it."
She shook her head. She had never had to put her fears into words before. They were all jumbled up in her mind in a way that didn't even make sense to her. How could she expect Charlie to understand?
"Okay," he said. "Let's tackle one thing at a time. You said everything comes easily to me. What did you mean by that? Is there something about the business that's worrying you?"
"Something?" She laughed helplessly. "Everything. For two years I've had to work myself ragged trying to keep up with you. If you hadn't been there pushing me and holding me up, my side of the business would have gone down the drain."
He stared at her wide-eyed, as though he were seeing her for the first time. "I don't believe this. This is not you, Sara. You're the most confident person I know. Where did this come from?"
"Confident?" She pushed away from him and stood up. "Lord, that's a laugh." She began to pace. "Every single day I'm scared, terrified that this will be the day I finally bomb out." She clenched her hands into fists. "Everyone thinks I'm Ms. Businesswoman of the Year—remember the award they gave me last year? I wonder what they would think if they knew I've been faking it. The whole thing is a giant joke. I've been pretending, Charlie. All this time I've been pretending."
He stood slowly, a stunned look on his strong face. "That's why you fought me on diversification," he said carefully. "Because you thought we would lose everything." He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't understand, Sara. Where did all this come from? When did it start? It couldn't have been your parents. You always told me they thought you were brilliant."
" 'Thought' is the operative word," she said tightly. She bit her lip to keep it from trembling. "Nothing I did was ever enough for them. When I brought home a report card, they never saw the A's. They would look at the B's and shake their heads and say, 'You can do better than that, Sara. You must not be trying hard enough.' "
She swung around to face him. "But I was trying, Charlie. I studied longer and harder than any student I knew. I simply couldn't do better. They wouldn't listen when I told them I was doing my best." She shook her head to displace the memory, then sank into a chair. "That doesn't matter. I haven't been carrying a grudge against my parents all these years. I know they loved me and only wanted what was best for me. I'm just trying to make you understand that this is the same thing. I'm constantly having to pretend that I'm better than I really am."
He inhaled slowly, then walked toward her. "You're wrong, Sara, but I don't know how to convince you. In the first place, you're all mixed up about why you've succeeded in business. I've seen you fighting twice as hard as necessary. When you have all the facts you need to make a sale, you run around getting more. You know everything you need to know about real estate, but you're constantly updating, constantly gathering unnecessary facts and figures."
He knelt beside her. His voice was intense. "I always assumed you were a perfectionist. But that's not it, is it? You've worked ten times too hard because you thought you needed to to keep from failing."
"But it was necessary." Her nails were digging into her palms. "I know what failure is all about, Charlie. In fact you might say we're intimate friends. I can look back on a list of failures that would boggle your mind."
"Everyone has failures," he said urgently. "Everyone. But have you ever once stopped to look at the successes? Because they're there, Sara. Hell, just since I've known you, you've had more than your share. I'm sure there must have been a lot before I met you." She shook her head helplessly. "You're simply being stubborn," he said in frustration. "Listen to me. You're wrong about the part I've played in the success of the business. You would have done just as well on your own. I don't suppose you can see it, but if I hadn't been there you would have come up with another re
ason for your accomplishments. Everything except the real reason—you're one damn sharp lady. You got where you are under your own power, Sara. And when you say you've been fooling everyone, you're wrong. Not only are you wrong, but you're doing me and a lot of other intelligent people a big injustice."
She heard the words; she even vaguely understood the idea. But it was all coming at her too quickly. You couldn't wipe out the ideas and feelings of a lifetime in just a few minutes. Suddenly she felt Charlie stiffen and back away from the chair.
"Wait a minute," he whispered harshly. "I've been a little dense, haven't I? As crazy as it would sound to any sane person, this is what it's all about."
She stared at him in surprise. He looked angry, even angrier than the night he had found her with Ted.
"This is why you don't want marriage or a family," he said. "Simply because you think every success you've ever had is a damned fluke!"
"Don't say it that way," she said, rising awkwardly. "You don't understand. You've painted some kind of shining picture of me, and I've tried to live up to it, but marriage and children . . . Don't you see? That would be a failure I coudn't take."
"You're damned right I don't understand," he said harshly. "I told you once I don't have martyr's blood in me. You would throw away everything—everything that means anything. And all because you're too scared to take a chance."
"What do you mean?" she asked. "What am I throwing away?"
He threw back his head. His eyes closed and his nostrils flared, as though she had struck him. "You really don't know, do you?" His voice was hoarse and tight. "I'm good ole Charlie . . . only for fun, isn't that right? And if I ever hinted that I might be serious, that I just might feel that way about you, you ran as fast as you could in the opposite direction." He opened his eyes and stared at her. "That's why you latched on to Alston. You knew you couldn't fail with him because he expected nothing from you." He laughed, but it wasn't a pleasant sound. "My Lord, I couldn't win. I've been beating my brains out, trying to find a way to get through to you, without ever knowing that I had lost before I even started. It was always, 'Grow up, Charlie. Be serious, Charlie.' But it scared the hell out of you to see me sober. You couldn't accept the side of me that wanted to enjoy life, but you refused to see the other side of me either."
