Always in Her Heart. Marta Perry
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have satisfied her for trying to part Becca and Davis. She and Link had quarreled, if you could call it quarreling when one person argued and the other stood as unmoving as a…a block of granite.
Davis and Becca had married in spite of everything Link had done to stop it. The two men had eventually mended the rift, settling in Davis’s hometown to start their construction business. Becca had even asked Link to be Marcy’s godfather.
Everyone had been able to forget the quarrel but her. She’d seen Link every time she came to visit Becca, but she’d maintained a polite, smiling distance. The man had dented her heart and hurt her beloved sister. She wasn’t about to become his dearest friend.
But now he didn’t want her to be his friend. He wanted her to be his bride.
A chill went through her in spite of the warm September sunshine that poured through the windows. If Link was right about the Lesters…
Please, show me what to do, Lord. Every time I think of Link’s words, I feel paralyzed.
She badly needed some impartial advice. She reached for the white phone on the marble-topped table. But who?
Her father was probably exhausted from the drive back to Boston and the effort of soothing her mother’s distress at his absence. Alzheimer’s had robbed her mother of knowing who he was, but she did seem to realize she depended upon him.
Dad would have to know, but not yet. She dialed Sam Watson’s number.
Sam, an attorney she’d dated casually over a year ago, had remained a friend even after they’d drifted apart. That seemed to be the romantic pattern of her life. Maybe the ability to inspire passion had just been left out of her makeup. If so, she was doing very nicely without it, especially after the fiasco with Link.
Once Sam answered, she quickly described the situation, leaving out Link’s proposal. She waited for Sam to say something reassuring.
“I’m not an expert in family law.” Sam’s tone was cautious. “Your sister and her husband ought to have spelled out their wishes in a will. You need a good local attorney.”
For once she was impatient with caution. “Give me your best guess. Will I have problems getting custody of Marcy?”
“Custody wouldn’t be a sure thing, even if your sister had named you in her will. The court could still exercise its discretion.” He hesitated. “If these cousins do file for custody, the court might favor a local married couple over an out-of-state, single, working woman.”
That was what Link had said, and her heart sank. “What can I do? I might feel differently if they even cared about Marcy, but they don’t.”
“Get a good attorney,” he said. “And pray for a sympathetic judge.”
She sat staring at the phone after she’d hung up, trying to think her way through this. Had Becca ever mentioned an attorney she might call?
She was leafing through Becca’s address book when she heard a faint wail. Dropping the book, she hurried up the stairs to Marcy’s room.
Becca had decorated the nursery with pastel-colored animal figures. A line of yellow giraffes ambled across the wallpaper border, while a pink elephant formed the base of a lamp. Marcy stood in the white canopied crib, shaking the railing impatiently. Her fine blond hair curled damply around her face, and her cheeks were rosy with sleep.
“Up, up,” she demanded, holding out chubby arms to Annie. “Up, Nan.”
She’d happily be called “Nan” until Marcy mastered “Aunt Annie.” She scooped her niece from the crib, putting her cheek against the soft curls. “Did you have a good sleep, sweetpea?”
Marcy patted her face, and Annie’s heart melted. Nothing had prepared her for the wave of sheer love she’d felt when she first held her sister’s child. Blood of my blood, she’d thought, and known the infant had her heart in a tiny hand.
She dressed Marcy, listening to her mostly incomprehensible chatter, and took her downstairs. The doorbell rang as they reached the family room. Her defenses went up instantly, and she marched to the front door carrying Marcy. If Link had come back to press her for a decision again—
But it wasn’t Link. Frank and Julia Lester stood at the door, wearing identical smiles.
“Frank. Julia. I wasn’t expecting you.” She had an irrational urge to close the door in their faces. She stepped back. “Please, come in.”
“Naturally we came by to see how you’re doing.” Frank led the way into the living room as if this were his home. “Yesterday was so difficult for all of us.”
“So difficult,” Julia echoed, her expression blank.
“Thank you.” They all stood awkwardly on the pale beige carpeting Becca had chosen. She should ask them to sit down, but if they stayed, she might blurt out Link’s suspicions. “I appreciate everything you did to help, you know.”
“As Davis’s closest relative, I felt responsible. Who else would do it?” Frank looked at his wife as if silently prompting her.
Julia glanced down at her silk jacket, then held out her hands to Marcy. “Why don’t you let me take her.”
Annie’s arms tightened around the baby, tension traveling along her nerves. Frank smiled, and Link’s words echoed.
Frank smiles and smiles, and all the time he’s looking for a weakness.
She told herself she didn’t believe that, but Link’s suspicions affected her anyway. “She just woke up. She doesn’t feel like going to someone else just now.”
Julia stepped closer, determination in every line of her fashionably thin figure. “The baby loves Cousin Julia. She’ll come to me.”
Ridiculous, to feel menaced by the woman. Annie tried to produce a smile. “Not now. Much as I’d like to chat with you, I have a great deal to do. So if you’ll excuse me…”
“Of course, of course. I’m sure you’re busy getting packed to go back to Boston.” Frank’s smile didn’t falter. He moved closer, almost as if he and Julia were closing in on her.
Annie’s tension jacked upward. “I’m not—”
“We realize how eager a career woman like you must be to get back to your job.” Frank reached for Marcy. “So we’ve come for the baby.”
He should have known Annie wouldn’t let herself be swept along with his idea. Link swiveled his desk chair to look out the window of Conrad and Morgan, Builders. Their tiny offices were located diagonally across the town square from the house that had been “the Conrad place” for generations.
No, he should have approached Annie in a way she’d understand. She’d always had to have every detail at her fingertips.
That had come between them before, when he couldn’t explain why he was so opposed to Davis’s abrupt decision to propose to Becca, bound as he’d been by promises and obligations. Whatever had started between the two of them had come to an untimely end.
He rubbed at the tension that had taken up residence at the back of his neck since the state police call had wakened him with the news of Davis and Becca’s accident. He and Davis smiled from the silver-framed photo atop the bookcase, taken the day they’d won the tennis doubles cup. He’d never hear Davis laugh again, never enjoy the interplay of ideas as they planned a new project, never see Davis’s joy in his baby daughter.
Something steeled inside him. All he could do now for his friend was to ensure Marcy’s inheritance. All he could do to protect the life he’d built in Lakeview was to save the company. Everyone in town knew how quickly Frank had run through his inheritance from his father. He wouldn’t let that happen to the company, for Marcy’s sake and his own. If the only way to those aims was marrying Annie, so be it.
An image of Annie’s stubborn