Mr. Elliott Finds A Family. Susan Floyd
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freezing out here.”
“I want to wear my pearls.”
“You can wear your pearls when we get home. But put this on now,” Beth Ann repeated, deliberately keeping her voice low and soothing.
“Nana, put on,” Bernie echoed insistently, as Beth Ann pulled the housecoat over the frail woman with one hand and then shifted Bernie further up her hip. Thank goodness, Iris was being cooperative today. She obediently put one arm in the blue sleeve and then the other, then looked down to find the zipper. With shocked horror, suddenly aware of her state of undress, she pulled the zipper all the way up to her chin. Her thin, pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“Beth Ann, what am I doing out here?” she asked, anxiety crowding her voice. She looked around, searching for something familiar in the landscape but the fog obliterated any view at all.
“Going for a walk, I imagine,” Beth Ann said equably, her heart rate finally slowing. At this point, she couldn’t even look at the driver who had reversed and straightened the car, a Jaguar no less, and had gotten out. Now that the crisis was over, Beth Ann felt absolutely drained, not inclined to explain anything to anyone, her mind only focused on holding down the fort until Glenn got there.
“Is she okay?” the tall stranger called, the deep timbre unfamiliar, the annoyed tinge in his voice belying how shaken he was.
Beth Ann nodded with a casual wave and a quick glance over her shoulder, and said with a dismissive nod, forcing her voice to be cheerful, “She’s fine, thanks. Sorry about that.”
“She shouldn’t be wandering about by herself.”
Beth Ann could hear his condemnation mixed with agitation but said nothing as she led Iris to the passenger side of the truck.
He continued walking closer, his voice now with a sharp edge of authority to it. Beth Ann took a deep breath, bracing herself for the onslaught of words. “I could’ve killed her. Are you sure she’s all right? Maybe you should get her checked out by a doctor.”
Beth Ann sighed and nodded, impatient to have him on his way. Then she opened the passenger side of the truck and helped Iris clamber in. When she had safely belted the older woman in, closed and locked the truck door, Beth Ann called as brightly as she could, “She’s fine. Not a scratch on her. I’ll get her home, clean her up and she’ll be as good as new.”
“Bethany Ann Bellamy?”
Her head snapped up in surprise at the formal use of her name, her eyes narrowing with dread as he came closer out of the fog. She was startled by his bearing and presence. She shouldn’t have been. Carrie always favored the austere type.
“Yes?” Beth Ann deliberately made her voice clipped, masking her recognition.
“Do you know me?” he asked.
With long easy strides, the man walked toward her, looking her over from head to toe. She returned his assessment with cool detachment. He was dressed impeccably. Buff-colored casual linen slacks, well-fit to his long legs, a button-down light green cotton shirt and fine brown leather jacket accentuated his lean, powerful frame. She looked down at his feet, not surprised by the expensive shoes. They matched the look of the vintage Jaguar. She could smell a rich, spicy cologne and swallowed hard as she met his compelling gray eyes, eyes the color of fog and just as chilly. She glanced at his left hand. He still wore his wedding band.
The best defense was a good offense.
“No,” she lied, badly at that, her voice trembling. “I have no idea who you are.”
Christian immediately stopped in his tracks when the woman glanced at him nervously, tightened her hold on the child and then looked furtively at the truck, ready to disappear into the fog. He studied the angles of her pixie face, her narrow chin, the damp brown, almost red, curls made unruly by the wet of the fog, searching for a resemblance to Caroline.
He found none.
While Caroline had been tall, nearly five-ten, with model-like proportions, the top of this woman’s curls would probably just brush the bottom of his chin. Maybe, if he stared at her hard enough, he could see some likeness around the nose and forehead. Her eyes were unfathomably dark, so dark that he couldn’t tell where her pupils ended and her irises began. So unlike Caroline’s sky-blue eyes. Maybe they shared the same nose. But, then again, maybe that was just the fog, his nerves or wishful thinking.
“Who are you?” Beth Ann repeated, her tone tough and uncompromising, even a shade rude for a woman so petite.
Christian cleared his throat. “Christian. Christian Elliott. Caroline’s husband.”
Beth Ann stared at Carrie’s husband, scanning his face. Her pulse thudded at the base of her throat. Even though she’d had a week to prepare for this meeting, she felt as if she were being choked and the shock made the back of her eyes water. For the briefest of seconds, she believed if she looked around this tall, remote man, she would see Carrie hiding in the car, laughing and saying her death was all just a big joke and Beth Ann shouldn’t take her so seriously and these past two years had only been a terrible dream. Her heart thumped against her chest in anticipation, as she shifted around, trying to peer through the fog at his car. But the Jag was empty.
She glanced up at the man, her bottom teeth plucking at her top lip, biting down hard to keep the tears back.
“You’re early,” she said, wincing at the roughness of her tone. Beth Ann put Bernie down, keeping a firm grip on a wiggling wrist as the toddler immediately tried to break free. Then Bernie looked up, way up, into the face of the handsome stranger and with a fit of shyness, turned away to clasp her arms tightly, very tightly, around Beth Ann’s knee almost buckling her leg as she buried her face in Beth Ann’s thigh. Beth Ann straightened herself and loosened Bernie’s squeeze as she smoothed back the little girl’s brown curls.
Christian stared at both of them, then surprisingly retreated two steps to put a more comfortable distance between them. He stared hard at Bernie, who ventured a peek and then dug her chubby cheeks deeper between Beth Ann’s legs.
“I didn’t know how long it would take to get here,” he said by way of explanation, then added, awkwardly, “Your directions were good. But the fog and all.”
Beth Ann blinked.
“Oh,” she said abruptly. “Well, come on. I have coffee ready.” She picked up Bernie again, who remained uncharacteristically silent, as if she sensed Beth Ann’s rising panic. Beth Ann turned to get into the truck.
A firm voice added behind her, “Carrie’s husband is always welcome at our house.”
Iris, the real Iris, had returned, her gray head poking out of the truck window, the confusion gone from her face, the authority back in her voice. She gave Beth Ann a matriarchal look of reproach. Beth Ann breathed a sigh of relief with Iris’s return to reality. Perhaps it wasn’t going to be that bad a visit.
“Yes,” she agreed quietly, finally remembering her manners as she shifted Bernie higher up her hip and opened the driver’s side door. She glanced at him, noting how out of place he looked standing in the middle of the road, the fog just beginning to clear around him. He belonged behind a teak desk in a penthouse office in San Diego, not on a dirt road in Mercy Springs with newly plowed fields surrounding him. “Carrie’s husband is always welcome at our home. Follow me. It’s just down the road.”
With Bernie strapped into her car seat, Beth Ann noticed her hand shook so badly she could barely put the key into the ignition. She felt a reassuring pat on her shoulder.
“All is well,” Iris said, her voice soothing and clear. “This is just what is supposed to be happening.”
Beth Ann gave her a watery glance and a half smile, wondering how many times Iris had said that to her, until it had almost become Beth Ann’s personal mantra. All is well. All is well. Beth Ann took a deep breath and tried to remember what peace felt like. All was well. But it wasn’t well. If it were, Bernie’s adoption