You’ll Find Out

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

S hane’s vigil didn’t end until early morning. He refused to leave, even long after the wrath of the storm had passed and Angie had fallen to sleep, cradled in his arms. It was a sight that, under a different set of circumstances, would have warmed Mara’s heart. As it was, Shane’s powerful presence as he dozed restlessly with his child in his arms reminded Mara of his threats. She found it impossible to believe that the man she loved, with his rumpled black hair and dark beard, would go so far as to take her child from her unless she married him. Never once had he asked her to live with him for love. No, it was only to give him back what he considered rightfully his.

Although Mara loved him deeply, and she knew that people were married for far less noble reasons, the thought that he was coercing her . . . with her child as bait, began to anger her. And so, as he sat in the leather recliner near the fireplace with the sleepy Angie on his lap, Mara found herself resenting the fact that he would do anything to have his way. It was several hours before she finally dozed.

When the first few silent rays of dawn crept over the high plateau and the sun cast fresh shadows on the wet lawn, Shane roused himself, and with a pleased expression on his face, carried Angie up to her room. Assured that the tired little girl would sleep until late in the morning, he stretched and went back downstairs. Mara was where he had left her, curled up under a plaid blanket on the couch in the den. He knew that she hadn’t slept much the night before, and he also knew that he was the cause of her sleeplessness. If he had thought that the reason for her restlessness was a simmering passion for him, he would have been pleased. But as it was, he knew that it was his threats that had kept her awake, and he briefly wondered if he had pushed her too far. Was he asking too much? As he watched her in the early morning light, sunbeams filtered through the paned windows and her tousled hair glistened with gilded highlights. The strain that had aged the contours of her face last night had lifted in the peaceful repose of slumber.

For the first time since he had read Peter Wilcox’s obituary, Shane Kennedy was unsure. Was he making a vast, irreparable mistake with not only Mara but also his daughter? Was Mara right when she charged him with being selfish to the point that he was interested in only his happiness. For a moment, he wavered. And then the picture of Angie’s terrified face, starkly illuminated in a flash of lightning, burned in his memory. His lips curled in a grim smile. No, he was right, damn it, he was right!

Shane was gone when Mara finally stirred. She squinted against the bright sun, and it took her a minute to realize that she was in her clothes in the den. It must have been after three o’clock when she had finally dozed off. She stretched and counted each of the chimes from the grandfather’s clock . . . five, six, seven, eight. She got up with a start—June would be at the house within fifteen minutes!

Thoughts of the storm, Angie’s terror, Shane’s threats, and unfulfilled passion whirled in Mara’s head as she straightened the den and began to put on a pot of coffee. Gravel crunched in the driveway, and Mara knew that she had to face her mother-in-law. The thought that Shane had issued her an ultimatum still bothered her, but, Mara promised herself, she owed it to June to tell her the truth. Today was the day.

However, her resolve shook a little as she saw the stoop of June’s shoulders and the tight whiteness of June’s lips.

“Good morning,” she called with feigned cheerfulness to the older woman.

“Same to you,” June replied. “Aren’t you going to work today?” June’s pale blue eyes traveled up Mara’s body, noting the rumpled jeans and wrinkled blouse.

“Yes . . . it’s . . . just that Angie didn’t sleep well last night, and well, we sort of camped out in the den.”

Relief relaxed June’s face. “I know what you mean; that storm kept me awake for hours!”

“How . . . how are you feeling this morning?”

The question made June straighten her shoulders sharply and stare, unblinking into Mara’s concerned gaze. “I told you, I’m a little tired, but other than that I’m feeling just fine.” The tone of June’s voice indicated that the subject was closed. Mara wasn’t convinced that lack of sleep caused June’s pale complexion, nor curved her thin lips into a tight, uncomfortable frown. To Mara, it was obvious that June was in pain.

After handing June a cup of coffee, Mara went upstairs and checked on Angie, who was still sleeping soundly. Then, after a quick shower, she changed into a soft, lilac print dress, and went back downstairs to the kitchen, intent on telling June the truth. But, apparently Peter’s mother hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps, and when Mara reentered the kitchen, she found June sitting at the table, swallowing several brightly colored pills from a variety of vials.

June’s features mirrored her guilt as she looked up and saw Mara standing in the doorway. Quickly, she recovered herself and, with an effort at dignity, recapped the bottles and put them back into her purse.

Mara’s blue eyes took in the entire situation, and she found that she had difficulty swallowing. June’s condition must be far worse than even Mara had realized.

“Are those the nerve pills that Dr. Bernard prescribed for you?” Mara asked. She poured herself a cup of coffee, and although she was already late, took the time to sit across from her mother-in-law, hoping to communicate with her.

“Yes,” June admitted, dusting the lapel of her moss-green jacket nervously. “Among others.”

Mara took a scalding sip of the dark liquid and observed June over the rim of her cup. Why did the older woman look so defeated? Just how ill was she? Mara scowled into the cup and then, in a soothing voice, tried to broach the painful subject again.

“June,” she reproached, “you would tell me if you were seriously ill, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course,” the gray-haired woman snapped, but she couldn’t find the strength to meet Mara’s concerned, intense gaze.

“And you would let me know if watching Angie was too much of a burden?”

“Yes, Mara, I would.” This time, watery blue eyes reached out to Mara and begged her to understand.

“But, this morning . . . because you didn’t sleep well . . . don’t you think Angie might be too much trouble for you?”

“Nonsense! She’s never any trouble for me! And . . . and . . . well, if I do get tired, today, Sylvia Reardon comes in to clean, doesn’t she . . . I’m sure she’d give me a hand.”

“Of course she would,” Mara agreed thoughtfully. June’s eyes pleaded with her, and Mara couldn’t find the heart to refuse. Putting her coffee cup down on the table, Mara rose and grabbed her purse. “You will call me, won’t you, if you need help. Shane’s in the office today. So, if you need me, I can run home . . .”

June’s smile seemed frozen on her face at the mention of Shane, and fleetingly Mara wondered if Dena had told her mother the truth. All during the drive into Asheville and for most of the morning, Mara was wrapped in worried thoughts about her mother-in-law. She stayed close to the telephone and waited in case June should need her.

It was late in the afternoon when Shane walked into her office. Although he had been in the building since early in the morning, he had been busy making sure that the computer was functioning properly and that the conversion of space in the factory for assembly of the new line of video games he hoped to promote was complete.

“I’m leaving for Atlanta,” he said after closing the door to her office and dropping into a chair opposite her desk. He folded his fingers under his chin and studied every emotion that traversed her face. “Are you coming with me?”

“For the weekend?” she asked, hedging. She had been writing on her memo pad, but she stopped doodling, and her blue eyes fastened on his.

“For the rest of your life.”

Mara took a deep swallow of air, let it out wearily and dropped her pen, before leaning back in her chair.

“You know that I want to Shane,” and she seemed as if she meant every word she breathed.

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“I just can’t . . . not yet.”

Shane’s jaw tightened, and his dark eyes promised that he would carry out his threats of the night before.

“I tried to talk to June this morning, but . . . I caught her taking some pills. And I’m very worried about her,” Mara explained.

“How can I make you understand that June Wilcox’s problems aren’t yours?” he asked. “And as for popping a few pills . . . don’t you ever read the papers. Drug addiction, whether it’s Valium, uppers, downers, whatever, isn’t confined to California. Lots of men and women, wealthy or not, use—”

“That’s not the way it is!” Mara shouted, interrupting him. Her tired nerves were stretched as tautly as a bow string. “She’s ill, for God’s sake!”

“Then she should see a doctor!”

“She will!”

“And until then, whenever it may be, I should content myself in the thought that it will probably be soon?” he inquired, disbelieving.

“It’s only a few more days . . .”

“You think! And what if your suspicions prove true? What if the doctors do find that there is something seriously wrong with June, what then? How long will you expect me to wait then?”

“I’m not asking for much,” she pleaded quietly, inching her chin upward in a show of dignity.

“Too much, Mara,” he hurled back at her as he rose from his position in front of her expansive desk. He whirled toward the door and began to leave, but Mara’s soft voice stopped him.

“Shane, wait . . .” she commanded, rising from her chair and reaching for him.

He spun on his heel to face her, but refused to capture her extended hand. All of the anger and pent-up rage of four years of frustration showed on the bladed contours of his masculine face as he stood before her. His dark eyes narrowed, almost wicked in their arrogance, and he looked down at her with his lips curling in undisguised contempt “I’ve waited, Mara. God, how I’ve waited. And I won’t, I can’t wait any longer! It seems as if you’ve made your choice!”

He left her standing helpless in the middle of the room, and he didn’t turn back to face her. No “goodbye,” no “I’m sorry,” no. “I’ll understand,” and no “I love you.” Nothing but a helpless, empty feeling that crept into her heart.

“Mrs. Wilcox . . . Mrs. Wilcox?” Lynda was inquiring through the intercom on Mara’s desk. “Did you want me to come in for that dictation now? Mrs. Wilcox?” Lynda’s voice brought Mara crashing back to reality.

“Yes, Lynda . . . but, make it in about five minutes, okay?” Mara asked into the black receiver. She needed a few minutes to gather her poise.

“You’re the boss,” Lynda quipped back lightheartedly.

Mara lifted her finger from the intercom and let the hot, fresh tears run unrestricted down her face. She was tired, not only from lack of sleep, but with worry. And she was frustrated, caught in the middle of a situation she couldn’t control, torn with concern for a woman whose own family cared little for her, and in love with a man she didn’t entirely understand. Mara let the bitter tears run unchecked, if only for a moment. “I’m not going to lose, Shane,” she murmured to herself as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes with the tissue. “I absolutely refuse to lose to you . . . or to June. Somehow, I swear, we’re going to find our way out of this!”

“Pardon me?” Lynda asked, standing in the doorway. Color washed over her face as she noticed that her employer had been crying. “Oh . . . well . . . if you want to do this . . . later . . . I’ll come back,” Lynda stammered, backing out of the office. Mara took command of the situation.

“It’s all right, Lynda. Come in. I’ve got quite a lot of correspondence to get out before we go home tonight.” Mara smiled sincerely at the young girl as Lynda took a seat near the corner of the desk and poised her pencil in readiness over her stenographer’s tablet. With as much authority and poise as she could pull together, Mara began the dictation, and was relieved to see that Lynda’s embarrassment faded. Somehow, Mara promised herself, she would get through this day and straighten out the problems she faced. It couldn’t be impossible, she reasoned, her spine stiffening at the thought of the challenge. It was going to work!

With her new confidence neatly in place, Mara finished work at the office for the weekend. It was the first Friday in many that she was able to leave by five o’clock. Although the traffic in downtown Asheville was snarled and the evening was slightly warm, Mara refused to have her spirits deflated. Rather than use the air-conditioning in the car, Mara rolled down her window and listened to the sounds of the busy city. A few horns blared impatiently, an occasional motorist mouthed a stream of invectives, but for the most part, even in the height of rush hour, the feeling in the air was of calm equanimity. It was as if, by finally deciding to somehow solve her own problems, Mara had begun to defeat them. When she finally maneuvered her car out of the city limits, and the tree-lined streets broke from suburbia into the quiet of the mountain countryside, Mara pushed her sandaled foot more heavily on the accelerator and let the sporty car race toward home. The wind whipped and twisted her hair, the radio played lighthearted, soothing music, and soon she would be able to spend a quiet, warm summer weekend with Angie. She smiled at the thought of a picnic near the river.

As for June, Mara had convinced herself that she could deal with the older woman gently and fairly. Her plan was simple: it was time that she took the bull by the horns and began handling her own life. Whether June agreed or not, Mara was going to call Dr. Bernard and request a complete physical for her mother-in-law. And then, if June was strong enough, Mara would tell her the truth of Angie’s identity. If June’s health prevented a forthright confession, Mara would find a gentler way to break the news.

With her spirits soaring higher than the tops of the ancient oaks that welcomed her home, she hurried into the house and called out her usual greeting. “Angie . . . June, I’m home.”

But the house sounded incredibly empty. No running footsteps or laughing chatter warned of Angie’s arrival. The television had been turned off, and there was no noise in the house except for the regular ticking of the great old clock and the smooth hum of the air conditioner. Mara’s voice echoed back to her, and though she tried to ignore it, a small tremor of anxiety taunted her. The house didn’t feel right. “Angie?” Mara called a little louder.

The house was immaculately clean, evidence that Mrs. Reardon had been working earlier in the day. And the grass was freshly cut, Mara noted, her eyes scanning the lawn. Mr. Staples, the gardener, had worked outdoors. June’s sky-blue Lincoln was parked in its usual spot in the garage. But the house was empty. Mara checked all the rooms—Angie’s bed was freshly made. Hadn’t she napped? Still, no sign of grandmother and child.

Rather than panic, Mara went back downstairs to the kitchen. Perhaps June left a note. Maybe someone came and took them for a drive . . . or a walk. Unlikely. No note. The only evidence that anyone had been in the deserted house since Mrs. Reardon had been in was a tiny, neat pile of dishes in the sink.

Mara, with real dread beginning to take hold of her, walked out onto the porch, and noted, with a slight sense of relief, that Southpaw and her family were snoozing in the late afternoon sun. But there was no sight or sound of Angie.

“Mara, is that you?” June’s familiar voice called out as the screen door scraped against the boards of the porch. Mara nearly jumped at the sound, but was relieved when she saw June propped up on the yellow chaise lounge in a shaded portion of the broad expanse of porch. Sunlight, filtered through the chestnut tree in the back yard, cast moving shadows over June’s delicate features.

“Didn’t you hear me calling you?” Mara asked with a laugh as she approached the older woman and noted the open magazine that had dropped to the floor.

“Well, I must have dozed off,” June apologized and attempted to stretch. She grimaced in pain as her cramped muscles refused to straighten. “I was reading this article on floral arrangements, and I guess my lack of sleep caught up with me,” she admitted with a sheepish frown. She tugged the reading glasses off of her nose and tucked them into her purse.

“It’s been a long day for everyone,” Mara agreed, her eyes skimming the hedge where Angie sometimes hid. The sun was still bright, and she was forced to squint. “Where’s Angie?”

June stiffened, and her eyes snapped with fear. “What?” she asked. “I thought she was with you . . .”

“But I’ve been at work,” Mara reminded her, wondering if her mother-in-law’s tired mind was beginning to play tricks on her. “I left her with you . . . this morning.”

“I know, I know,” June snapped almost hysterically as she looked from Mara to the back yard, and back to Mara. She wrung her thin hands nervously. Mara swallowed the dread that was rising in her throat as June began to speak. “But I thought . . . I mean, that man told me that the three of you were going out somewhere. . . to the park or something . . . for the afternoon.”

“What?” Mara gasped, and then controlled herself when she saw her own fear reflected in June’s pale eyes. “What man?” she tried not to look desperate as she grasped the older woman’s arm.

“Shane Kennedy!”

“He was here?”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” June retorted. “He was here, earlier . . . around two-thirty, I think.” Nervous, trembling fingers were toying with the strand of pearls at her neck. “It was just before Angie’s nap.” A fast calculation indicated to Mara that Shane must have come to the estate directly after the argument in the office. “And he told me that the three of you were going to take the afternoon off and go see some sort of jazz festival in the park . . . or something like that. I honestly don’t remember,” she sighed, filled with hatred for Shane and self-remorse that she hadn’t stood up to him and kept the child. June’s stern eyes impaled Mara. “He lied to me, didn’t he? He deliberately tricked me into giving him the child!”

“I . . . I don’t know,” Mara answered as honestly as she could, hoping that the fear that was beginning to take hold of her wasn’t being conveyed to her mother-in-law.

June slumped back onto the plump, yellow pillows of the chaise. “I didn’t want to let her go, you know,” she admitted in a tight voice. “I wanted to call you, but he insisted that you had already left the office and were probably waiting for him at the park. It was a lie, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember making any plans with Shane . . .”

“Damn that man!” June hissed, slamming her small, bony fist into the soft cushions. “Oh dear god, Mara. What have I done?” she whispered, and the fist unclasped to fall over her small breasts.

Mara was scared, but not for the safety of her child. She knew the power of Shane’s love for the little girl, and she knew that he wouldn’t allow anything or anyone to hurt Angie. As long as Angie was with Shane, the child was safe. But of course, June knew nothing of Shane’s devotion to his child, and coupled with that, Peter’s mother disliked Shane intensely. Mara read the fears on June’s worried face, and somehow, she knew that she had to calm the older woman.

“It’s all right,” Mara began, placing a comforting hand on June’s thin shoulders. June averted her gaze.

“No, it’s not . . . I should never have let her go!” Self-doubt tortured her. “If anything happens to Angie, I’ll never forgive myself!”

“Nothing’s going to happen, don’t worry,” Mara said with a thin smile, knowing that her words didn’t ring true. “There’s just been a mix-up of some kind. That’s all!”

June’s watery blue eyes impaled Mara with the lie.

“Come on, now,” Mara insisted, ignoring June’s rueful stare and helping the older woman to her feet. “Let’s go into the kitchen and I’ll make you some lemonade. I’m sure that Shane will call shortly, or bring Angie back very soon.” She smiled confidently at her pale mother-in-law as they made their way back to the inside of the house, and she hoped that June wouldn’t notice the nervous collection of moisture that had beaded in the palms of her hands. What was Shane doing with Angie? He was supposed to be on his way back to Atlanta! And what, if anything, was all this nonsense about a jazz festival in the park?

June sat rigidly on the couch in the den. Her forehead was creased with a worried scowl, and she watched, unseeing, through the paned windows, out past the gardens. Mara hurried back into the kitchen, obsessed with her worries for Angie and her mother-in-law. What kind of game was Shane playing? Was he hoping to force a confrontation between Mara and her mother-in-law by abducting his child for the afternoon? Did he just need some time alone with Angie? Why would he take her away from Mara? The words froze in her mind, and thoughtlessly she cut her finger on the can of lemonade she had been opening. Without realizing what she was doing, she took a paper napkin and wrapped it over the finger.

The shrill ring of the telephone startled her from her dark thoughts, and in her anxious attempt to pick up the receiver, she spilled some of the lemonade onto the counter. Ignoring the mess, she grabbed the phone and answered it breathlessly.

“Hello? Shane?” Dear God, please let it be him, she prayed, closing her eyes.

“Mara!” Shane’s controlled voice came to her over the wires. Mara’s weak knees buckled and she slumped against the counter, unconscious of the dripping lemonade.

“Shane,” she whispered, after swallowing with difficulty. “I’ve been half out of my mind! Where are you? Where’s Angie?” Her fingers tightened around the ivory-colored plastic receiver.

A thick pause. Mara felt the seconds creep by. “I’m home.”

“In Atlanta?” she nearly shouted. Then, thinking about June in the next room, she hushed her voice. “And Angie?”

“She’s with me.” His voice sounded cold, indifferent.

“Why?” she asked. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Let’s not go through all of that all over again.”

“But, I don’t understand . . .”

She heard his deep, resigned sigh. “Neither do I. Not really,” he admitted. “But I felt that I had to do something to get your attention.”

“Get my attention? By stealing my child?” she hissed vehemently, and glanced furtively toward the den. How much of the conversation could June hear, piece together? Surely the older woman had heard the telephone ring and might wonder if it was news of Angie. Another fear assailed Mara. Perhaps June was, at this moment, listening on the extension, but she pushed the thought aside. It was ludicrous. June was, above all else, a lady, and she wouldn’t stoop to listening in on someone else’s call.

“Bring her back, Shane,” Mara demanded.

“No.”

“What?”

“I said ‘no,’” he repeated quietly. “If you want her, come and get her.”

“ If I want her?” Mara gasped. “Oh, Shane, don’t do this. Don’t play games with me, and please, please, don’t use Angie . . . don’t put her between us. It’s not fair to her!” Mara pleaded desperately.

“And living with one parent, and a lie, is?” he asked, his voice rough.

“That could all be changed, very soon.”

“I’ve heard that one before!” His voice sounded dead, emotionless.

“Shane, for God’s sake, what are you doing? Can’t you see what you’re asking of our child?”

“If you’ll listen, I’ll explain,” Shane retorted. Mara clung with both hands to the phone. Her eyes were closed as she concentrated on what he was saying.

“I did lie to June,” he admitted, “and I’m not proud of it. But I knew that she wouldn’t let Angie go with me unless she thought I was meeting you.

“I really hadn’t planned on taking her with me. I just stopped by to say goodbye, and there Angie was, so glad to see me. She was filthy, covered with dirt from head to foot from chasing those cats, and . . . and it was impossible for me to leave her . . . I just couldn’t.”

“I . . . I understand,” Mara whispered, her eyes shining with pooled tears as she imagined the vivid, touching picture he was painting.

He continued. “And of course there was June Wilcox, standing guard over my child—standing in the way of what should be ours alone, Mara. Our family. Our happiness. She had my child, and I couldn’t stand it, not one minute more.”

There was a pause, thick with agony. Mara heard Shane draw in a long, deep breath before he continued.

“And so you have it. I took Angie on impulse, but during the drive home, while she was sleeping in the car, I had time to do a lot of thinking, and I’ve decided to keep her.” Mara’s breath stopped. “She’s safe, and she’s happy. If you want to see her, then you’ll have to come to Atlanta.”

“That’s blackmail!”

“No, kidnapping,” he retorted angrily. “I’ve talked with Henderson, my attorney, and instructed him to start custody proceedings for Angie.”

“No,” she interrupted as panic gripped her, but Shane continued.

“And unless you get down here as fast as you can, I’m going to call the local paper, along with a few syndicated gossip sheets, and tell them the whole story from the father’s viewpoint, of course, including the fact that I had to kidnap my own child.”

“Shane don’t—”

“I just don’t want you to be under any illusions, Mara. You know that I mean what I say, and I’m telling you that I’m going to fight you tooth and nail for custody of Angie, if that’s the way you want it. I mean it, I don’t care what it costs to get the best attorney in the country, I’m willing to take my chances in court! Are you?” he asked, brashly. In the background, Mara could hear Angie chattering away.

“It . . . it doesn’t have to be this way . . .”

“The choice is yours. If you don’t want the fight in court, then prove it!”

“How?” she asked weakly.

She heard his naked sigh on the other end of the line, somewhere deep in Atlanta. “Oh, Mara, baby,” he whispered, “it’s all so simple, if you want it to be. If you’re really concerned with June’s health, I understand that. But I think that the solution to the problem is to tell her the truth, as soon as possible. She’s stronger than you think, and I’m sure she can handle the news. The sooner you tell her, the better.” His voice, raw with emotion, became soothing, coaxing. “It would hurt the least, coming from you . . .”

The click in her ear indicated that he had hung up, but Mara still clung to the phone, unwilling to believe that the fragile connection that had bound them tenuously together, had been severed. “No,” she whispered into the receiver.

“No . . . no . . .”

Finally, realizing that she had to take some kind of action, she numbly hung up the phone and turned back toward the den. But June was in the doorway, grasping the molding for support.

“That was Shane, wasn’t it?” she accused, blue eyes unblinking.

“Yes . . . and Angie’s with him . . . safe.” Mara tried to sound cheerful, and in an effort to meet June’s inquisitive gaze, she began pouring lemonade. If June’s sharp eyes noticed the mess on the counter that had dripped to the floor, she didn’t comment.

“Why did he lie to me?” The question knifed Mara in the back.

“He didn’t . . . I mean it seems that he and I had a slight misunderstanding. That’s all.” Mara shrugged, reaching for the tall, frosty glasses of lemonade and handing one to June. The glass was visibly shaking.

“You’re not telling me all of it!”

Mara took a sip of the liquid. “Mmm . . . no, but I will,” she said, moving toward the den and hoping to appear calm. Mara flopped down on the recliner, in a position she hoped looked worry-free and unconcerned. “Shane took Angie to Atlanta . . . and I had forgotten all about it.”

June studied her daughter-in-law dubiously, and the ashen color of her complexion didn’t improve. Mara didn’t blame the older woman for seeming suspicious; her story sounded too much like the hastily contrived lie that it was. She tried to amend it.

“Shane had talked about it with me earlier in the week, but with all of the fuss at work, you know, the new computer, those formidable video games, quarterly reports. . . it slipped my mind. I really didn’t think that we had anything fimily planned.” She shrugged her shoulders, smiled at her mother-in-law, and took a long sip from her glass.

“Then why didn’t he tell me about it when he was here. I would have packed Angie’s bag . . .”

“Oh, well,” Mara gulped, “he thought I was bringing her extra clothes, and I suppose . . . that he thought you already knew about the trip. It wasn’t a lie—he did plan to meet me at the park. I guess he left a message with the receptionist or something, and I just didn’t get it.” Mara almost cringed visibly at her ridiculous excuses.

“Lynda seems more efficient than that,” June commented dryly, but the fear in her eyes seemed to have lightened a little and her stiff, fragile shoulders relaxed slightly.

“It doesn’t matter how the mix-up occurred,” Mara answered with a wan smile. “The important thing is that Angie’s safe!”

“You’re right, of course,” June agreed. “Perhaps I over-reacted, a little. It’s just that I love Angie so much.” Mara’s heart began to bleed for the little old woman. “And . . . that Shane Kennedy, he has a way of unnerving me.” June rose with difficulty, reaching for her purse. Mara swallowed, and before June could leave, tried once again to tell the older woman about her relationship with Shane.

“He’s an . . . unsettling man,” Mara observed, bracing herself. June’s entire body tensed, but Mara continued. “I thought so when I first met him . . . nearly five years ago . . .”

“Some people are just like that, aren’t they . . . always putting you on edge,” June commented nervously as she started out of the den toward the back door. “I’ll see you on Monday, if not before,” she said, and then added, “Have a nice time in Atlanta.”

“June, wait!” Mara nearly shouted. “I need to talk to you. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you . . .”

June turned on her heel, her eyes cold as ice as she looked through Mara and donned her mantle of easy, Southern sophistication. “Can’t it wait, dear?” she asked without waiting for a reply. “I’m really very late already, and I have a bridge game scheduled for seven.” She looked pointedly at her watch, and Mara noticed the sharp edge of impatience in her eyes.

“It . . . it can keep,” Mara whispered, and June gave her a smile that reminded Mara of the way a person looks when they pat a dog on the head after it had obeyed an order.

“Good,” June called cheerily . . . too cheerily. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Sure,” Mara whispered to herself, and mentally kicked herself for her own lack of courage. She watched June walk slowly to the garage and noticed her uneven gait. And with the same well-measured stiff carriage, June got into her car, pressed the throttle so heavily that the Lincoln’s large motor raced in the garage, and turned the wheel of the car until it rolled awkwardly down the drive.

Mara waved as she watched June’s lumbering vehicle roll lazily down the drive. Once the car was out of sight, Mara propelled herself into a whirlwind of action. She raced through the house, throwing whatever she could think of for herself and Angie into a suitcase. She only paused when she came to her daughter’s room and found the tattered blanket and bedraggled Lolly Doll. Clutching both to her chest, she looked around the frilly empty room with its green and white gingham accents, the chest full of forgotten, unused toys, and the large, comfortable bed where Angie slept. Shane couldn’t take the child away from her, Mara thought desperately. He wouldn’t! And yet his promise of just that was what she most feared.

A custody battle that she might have won a few years ago wouldn’t necessarily be in her favor today, not with all of the national attention given to the father’s rights. And the fact that she had lied and had hidden the paternity of her child, whatever the motivation, wouldn’t look good to judge and jury, especially since she, as Angie’s mother, had inherited the bulk of the Wilcox fortune. Of course there were Peter’s relatives, all of them to consider. When they found out what deception she had planned, innocent or not, they would be more than willing to testify against her. Mara clutched the tattered piece of blanket as if it were her child. No matter how innocent her intentions, she would appear guilty by all who judged her!

The other option open to her was to marry Shane as he had suggested. God, if only she could! She would have to tell the truth and get it out—end the speculation and the misery. Soon, no doubt, Dena would make good her threats.

That she wanted to marry Shane, Mara had no doubt. How many years had she wished for just that? The thought of uniting their small family sounded perfect, if only for one, vital flaw. Never in the last few weeks had Shane whispered one word of love to her. She wouldn’t deny the depth of his passion for her, it was never in question. But still she doubted his love.

Her marriage to Peter, by the time that he had fallen ill, had become a sham. Mara had married once for the sake of her child, and she had survived that one loveless marriage vowing never to enter another. Now she was confronted with the same problem. Mara knew that Shane loved Angie, just as much as she loved her child, but she also realized that love for a child wasn’t enough to support a marriage. What about the relationship between husband and wife? Could a marriage with Shane possibly work after all of the battles they had suffered together, after all of the wounds they had inflicted upon one another?

Questions, doubts, and fears kept nagging at her all the while that she fed the cats, locked the house, and threw her baggage in the little yellow Renault. Shane’s address was wadded up tightly in her clenched fist, but she had already committed it to memory.

Knowing that she was in for the most heart-wrenching battle of her life, Mara twisted the key in the ignition, eased off the parking brake, and after expelling a long, uneasy breath, raced down the driveway. The drive to Atlanta would take over three hours. Mara bit her lip and ripped through the gears with renewed determination. Somehow, no matter what, she had to have Angie back . . . forever!