Always in Her Heart. Marta Perry
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“Garth said something about
how God doesn’t judge the way
people do. God looks at the heart.”
Link touched Annie’s cheek lightly, wanting to find a way to erase her doubts. “Anyone who looks at your heart sees how much you love that little girl. Don’t ever doubt that.”
Her cheek moved against his fingers as she smiled. He felt the tension begin to drain out of her.
“Then I guess we’d better pray that the social worker looks with God’s eyes. And that God doesn’t care that I burned a quiche.”
The attempt at humor relieved him, and he realized he’d been holding his breath. One part of his mind looked at himself, amazed. When had he ever worked so hard just to ease someone else’s hurt?
This wasn’t just someone else, he thought. This was Annie.
MARTA PERRY
has written everything from Sunday school curriculums to travel articles to magazine stories in twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her writing home in the stories she writes for Love Inspired.
Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her beautiful grandchildren, traveling or relaxing with a good book. She loves hearing from readers and will be glad to send a signed bookplate on request. She can be reached c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279, or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.
Always in Her Heart
Marta Perry
MILLS & BOON
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Man looks on the outward appearance,
but the Lord looks at the heart.
—1 Samuel 16:7
This story is dedicated with great affection to
Carol and Bill. Old friends are the best.
And, as always, to Brian.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Chapter One
“Marry you?” Annie Gideon stared, incredulous, at Link Morgan’s determined face. “Why would I marry you? I don’t even like you.”
The annoyed expression Link so often wore when he looked at her intensified. “Maybe you’d better figure out a way, Annie. Because if you don’t, we’re both going to lose what we value most.”
The headache that had been throbbing since the double funeral the day before clutched at her temples. “Why on earth are you saying something so preposterous now? And why here?”
Link gave a quick glance around the living room of her sister’s house, as if reminding himself that the delicate French Provincial furniture was as charming as Becca had been. Then he zeroed in on Annie.
Her heart gave a rebellious thump. Everything about Link, from his piercing dark eyes to his square jaw to his confident stride, proclaimed that here was a man who knew what he wanted and would do whatever it took to get it. She, of all people, knew just how accurate that impression was.
He’d exchanged the dark suit he’d worn at the funeral for gray pants and a black sweater that still gave an aura of mourning. But mourning or not, he was clearly back to business.
“Sorry. I know this is a bad time.” His deep voice softened slightly. “But time is just what we don’t have. The fact that Davis and Becca died without making a will has put both of us between a rock and a hard place.”
The pastel room swam before her eyes, and the scent of the lilies she’d brought from the funeral cloyed. She forced back a wave of sorrow. If she didn’t control it, grief for her sister would submerge every other instinct. She’d be no good to anyone, especially Marcy.
The thought of her twenty-month-old niece, napping unaware in the upstairs nursery, strengthened her. She frowned at the man who’d been Davis’s partner and best friend.
“I don’t see what’s so complicated about it. Doesn’t Marcy automatically inherit everything?”
“Exactly.” Link’s straight, even features might have been chiseled from stone. “That’s the problem. The baby inherits this house, whatever property Davis owned and Davis’s thirty percent of the firm.”
Light dawned. He was worried about the construction company he and Davis had shared.
“I can’t imagine that will make any difference to the way you run the company. Marcy’s certainly not going to interfere.”
Contempt probably sounded in her voice. Link’s best friend and her sister were dead, victims of a wet road and a missing guardrail, and apparently all Link could think about was his business.
“You don’t get it, do you.” A strand of dark hair fell on his forehead, accentuating his lowered brows. “What do you imagine is going to happen now to all this?” His gesture seemed to take in the gracious house that had been in the Conrad family for generations, the construction company, even the sleeping child upstairs.
She turned away from that intimidating stare, trying to get her bearings in a world that was suddenly alien. The wide front windows of Becca’s home overlooked the town square with its flower beds and gazebo, surrounded by early-twentieth-century shops. She caught a glimpse of blue lake through the trees. Lakeview was a delightful Finger Lakes village, but it had been her sister’s place. She didn’t belong here.
“I don’t know about the property,” she said finally. “I guess Davis’s lawyer will have to figure that out. If I have to stay until things are settled, I will. Then I’ll take Marcy back to Boston with me.”
“They won’t let you.”
For an instant her mind refused to process the words. Then she spun to face him, the room seeming to spin with her. “What