The Marriage Bargain. Stephanie Dees
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lives at the old Parker place now, just past the Springs church.”
“Thank you.” The knot that had been building in his chest since he first heard about the car accident that killed his sister and her husband eased, just a little, knowing the girls were safe. He leaned forward and kissed Bertie on the cheek. “I mean it—thank you.”
The cook came out of the kitchen door with a white container. “Figured you might need this to-go.”
“Take it, Cameron,” Bertie ordered, in her just-try-to-argue tone. “You look a little skinny.”
Cam took the box. For years, he’d imagined that there was no one in the world who cared whether he lived or died, but he was wrong. Here was one.
The curvy road out of town was familiar and it was pretty, with pine trees sending long shadows over the pavement and bright yellow wildflowers crowding the shoulders. He noted it, like he did everything, but he didn’t see it, not really.
Instead, he was in the front yard of the shabby little house where he and his baby sister, Glory, had lived with their mom and stepfather. She’d been six, a petite fireball of a kid missing her two front teeth.
That day, he’d tossed her into the air like he had since she was a toddler and she’d giggled before clinging to his neck. He still remembered how she smelled like cotton candy when she’d lisped into his ear, “Please don’t go, Cam.”
He was nine years older than Glory—the two of them had different fathers—and when their mother married again, he’d been fourteen. He’d stuck around for another year, until his new stepfather had kicked him out.
Glory at six years old was the carbon copy of their mom. Cam was a tall, muscular teenager who, with the exception of his green eyes, looked like his dad, dark skin and all. And it was his skin color, Cam figured, that his stepfather couldn’t live with.
His mom had walked to the door with a defeated expression. He’d waited a horrible long minute—wanting her to stop him, waiting for her to say she didn’t want him to go—before he’d gently set Glory on her feet and walked away without looking back.
He’d returned only once, when Glory graduated high school, but his stepfather threatened to kill him if he ever came near them again. He never did, but that didn’t mean he forgot about his baby sister.
Now Glory was gone and Cam had done the one thing he’d sworn he’d never do—come back to the small town where he grew up. Because when Glory died, she’d left two little girls behind, and he was here for them. He might’ve been a powerless, penniless kid when he left Red Hill Springs, but he was far from that now.
He turned onto the dirt road that led to the Parker place. Cam wasn’t sure what he expected, but the house that he remembered as a sagging pit was the bright white centerpiece to a pristine yard with a black minivan parked in the driveway.
When he got out of the car, the sun had disappeared behind the trees and a chill bloomed in the air. Decades-old camellia bushes with candy-colored blossoms flanked the stairs. A light clicked on in the house. He’d come so far to see them and now nerves jittered in his stomach.
He cleared his throat and knocked.
He waited. And waited, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning to look back at the highway, until the door slowly opened to reveal a pint-size version of his sister, wearing a pink nightgown and sucking her thumb. He lost his breath.
Her big green eyes studied him. “I’m Eleanor.”
“Hi.” Cam smiled at his niece, but inside he was reeling.
“Eleanor Prentiss, what did I tell you about opening the door without a grown-up?”
Cam looked up as a woman walked into view. Her blond hair was piled into a loose knot on top of her head and she carried a baby wrapped in a towel. Brilliant blue eyes locked on his and her feet stuttered to a stop, along with his heart.
He blinked, trying to gather the thoughts that scattered like leaves from winter-worn trees. “I’m Cameron Quinn. Glory was my sister.”
Those blue eyes had gone ice-cold as she stepped between Eleanor and the open door. “I know who you are. What are you doing here?”
“Eleanor and Emma are my nieces.” He could’ve told her about the promise he’d made himself, that he would find them. That, unlike him, they would never wonder if they were wanted or loved. But instead, he let those simple words hang in the air.
She stared at him for a long minute, then, with a deep breath, nudged the door open a little wider. “I guess you should come in.”
* * *
“People have been coming to the door with food and presents for the girls for weeks. Eleanor likes it.” Jules led her guest calmly into the family room, but inside, her stomach was quaking. Glory’s brother had been missing since she was a kid. But there was no denying those eyes.
“Understandable.” He glanced around the room. “Nice place. I remember it a little differently.”
“Yeah? It’s kind of a disaster right now. I’m usually at work all day so being home with kids is new.” She grabbed a couple of toys and a fleece blanket off the seat of the club chair with the hand not trying to keep hold of a naked, wiggly, slippery baby. “Have a seat. I’m going to find some pajamas for Emma and be right back. Come with me, Eleanor.”
“I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Jules hesitated. She might be new at this mom thing but she was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to leave your kids with someone you didn’t know. Even if that someone was drop-dead gorgeous and happened to be their long-lost uncle.
He held up his hands. “I’ll sit right here in this chair. Besides, I wouldn’t even make it out of the driveway before the cop sitting in the patrol car across the street pulled me over.”
She paused midstep and looked back. “Ah, yeah. My mom doesn’t hesitate to call in a favor. Sorry about that.”
“She’s the one who told me where to find you.”
“Hedging her bets. Pretty much my mom in a nutshell.” With Emma squirming vigorously now, and minutes if not seconds before the need for a diaper would become extremely obvious, Jules had to make a decision. “I’ll be right back. It won’t take but a minute.”
The girls’ room had, until six weeks ago, been her guest room. Now the walls were painted pink and the designer curtains she’d chosen so carefully had given way to sheers with pink and mint-green pom-poms. The dresser with its pretty flower arrangement and artfully placed picture frames instead held the changing table and baskets of diapers and wipes. She placed nine-month-old Emma on the changing table and tucked a diaper underneath her, mind racing.
Was he here to try to take them from her?
Jules had been there for both children’s births, for Eleanor’s first steps. For preschool plays and birthdays and holidays.
He might be their blood. She was their family.
She tucked Emma’s pudgy little arms and legs into a sleeper covered in ballerina bears, and zipped it up. “Up we go, pumpkin.”
As she walked into the family room, Cam looked up from where Eleanor had fallen asleep in his arms. Jules swallowed hard. His eyes were an exact match for his sister’s.
She missed Glory so much. Every bath, every feeding, every time she tucked the girls in and turned out the lights, she wished she could turn to Glory and say, “Wow, what a day, but these are some amazing children you made.”
Cam’s soft voice pierced her thoughts. “I read one story and she was out like a light. I hope I didn’t mess up her schedule.”
“No. She didn’t nap today, so she was probably ready. I’ll tuck her in. Just need to get a bottle out for Emma.” Jules