A Woman's Heart (3 page)

"Well?" he prodded.

She tried again. "I can't believe you think I'm doing this for money."

"I didn't at first, but now I do."

"If you believe that—" She lifted her chin. "—then you know nothing about me or your sister."

"I know your type."

"What do you mean type?"

"My sister surrounded herself with people like you, people who used her to get what they wanted. You had me fooled, too."

His words were like bullets hitting her square through the heart.

"My sister didn't know any better, had never been taught." He stopped suddenly and caught his breath, as though he had more to say, but couldn't bear to utter the words.

"You're attractive," he finally went on. "I'm surprised you haven't linked up with some rich old man. That would be easier money, surely, than caring for a baby."

"You can think what you like."

"Your hair's an unusual color. If you need money, I understand beauty salons pay well to turn hair like yours into wigs."

"If you've completely finished." Jann's fingers formed fists. Claire's brother might dress like a gentleman and have the eyes of an angel, but he didn't play by the rules.

"Although your clothes will never do," he continued, ignoring her interruption. "That flower child look went out in the sixties." One brow lifted. "But perhaps that's part of the con. Work the sympathy element and force the sucker from back east into paying more."

Jann squeezed her eyes shut. She'd faced a lot in her life, but this man was hard.

"So, Ms Fletcher, what's your price?"

Opening her eyes, she met his gaze squarely. "You don't have that kind of money." Exhilaration surged through her at the surprise sweeping across his face. "The only thing I'll settle for is one... small... baby."

"I don't believe that."

"Believe it. If it takes everything I have, I'm keeping Alex."

"I've underestimated you, Ms Fletcher. Not a mistake I often make."

"What do you mean?"

"You're after it all." His lips pulled back in disgust. "Alexander's your ticket to the good life. No court in the land would object to you spending money to keep him in the style to which he's entitled."

"I've spent very little!" Before Alex was born, Claire had already purchased a crib and a high chair, a changing table and a car seat, too.

"Although there have been some expenses. Formula—" This time it was impossible to fight back the image of Claire lying in her hospital bed breast-feeding her newborn son. A few short days were all they'd had together. Idyllic days before Claire got sick.

"—and diapers." Every time Jann turned around, Alex was wet. "Clothes," she continued firmly. "I've sewn him some smocks, but he's getting bigger. He's going to need clothes to crawl around in soon." She reached for the high back of her leather chair and held on to it for support. "You're being unfair. The few things I've spent money on, Alex has needed. That's what his trust fund is for after all."

Claire's brother shrugged his shoulders. "It's a small step from necessities to luxuries. Of course you'd keep it down until your custody claim was assured, then..."

"Here!" Jann cried. She snatched up the bag she'd left next to her chair, a multi-colored woven one a friend had brought her from Greece. With trembling fingers, she rummaged in its depths. Finally, she felt the metal clip amongst a multitude of wrinkled papers, and with a sharp tug, extricated a stack of invoices from the bottom of her bag.

She flung the papers onto Moore's desk. "You'll find every penny I've spent accounted for in these receipts."

"Really, Miss Fletcher," Strickland's lawyer began, "you're not required at this time to show us an itemized account."

"No?" Jann turned and looked at Claire's brother. "Then it seems I've misunderstood Mr. Strickland. I thought he'd be relieved to know no one is interested in cheating Alex." Her voice caught. "Least of all, me."

"So you say," Peter replied. "But until I gain custody, my eyes will be on you."

Scrutinizing her. Watching. A trembling began in the pit of Jann's stomach and traveled at lightning speed through the rest of her body. No privacy. No freedom. No escape. She'd already been through that a long time ago, and had never forgotten how it felt. She couldn't do it again.

When Claire had refused to inform her brother of her illness and the very real possibility she might not survive, Jann had been aghast. She'd been convinced that no matter how imperfect the relationship between them was, Claire's brother should be there, if only to care for Alex when the time came.

But Claire had been adamant. Her brother would never understand, she had said.

Jann stared up at Peter Strickland.

It seemed Claire was right.

Chapter 2

Jann glanced down at Alex. One chubby arm flailed upward, but he didn't open his eyes. Even while sleeping, his hair, as black and thick as his uncle's, stood straight up from his head. Too much hair for a baby, she had always thought, and so wild, as though an eggbeater had whipped it into a twirling frenzy.

It was tough enough learning to care for a small baby properly, terrified she'd make a mistake, but if Peter Strickland made good his threat to watch her, something was bound to go wrong.

She trundled Alex's buggy down the short flight of steps leading to her friend Mitch's basement law office, then awkwardly swung open the door.

Betty, Mitch's secretary, glanced up from her computer keyboard and peered over the top of her bifocals. "Let's see that little angel," she cooed, flashing Jann a welcoming smile as she pushed back her chair and stood.

Jann smothered the smile of pride she'd been finding on her face lately and stood aside as Betty moved to Alex's buggy and lifted the baby out. His face puckered like that of a worried old man.

"Come on, doll," Betty crooned. "I'll show you around the office while your mommy talks business." She gestured toward her boss's office. "Go on in Jann. Mitch is expecting you."

Jann edged between the buggy and a hair-groping monkey fern and headed down the hall. Mitch would tell her she and Alex were safe. He was sure to. In all the years she'd known him, he had never let her down.

She pushed open his door. Sunlight poured in through a picture window, warming the pale green walls and the multitude of plants threatening to engulf the small amount of space not taken up by books. Mitch, tall, bearded, and infinitely comforting, rose to greet her.

"Well," Jann said, hating that worry laced her voice, "what do you think?"

"I phoned Richard Moore." Mitch gestured to the chair in front of his desk. His usually genial face was sober. "There are no guarantees, Jann, that Claire's custody wishes will be upheld."

Jann's heart thudded against her rib cage. "But why, Mitch? Claire left Alex to me."

"I know, Jann," he said softly. "I have the custody papers right here. But Peter Strickland has the right to file for custody."

"But the documents make Claire's wishes perfectly clear."

"They do..." Mitch's voice, as usual, was as soothing as a warm wind through a palm tree.

Only this time, Jann didn't feel soothed.

"...but custody cases are decided on what's in the best interest of the child."

"Alex will be best off with me."

"That'll be for the courts to decide." Mitch's brown eyes filled with sympathy and his pen beat an erratic tune on his desk.

"So Peter Strickland has a chance?" Fear constricted Jann's throat.

"Yes."

The single word exploded like a bomb in her head.

"He has filed for custody," Mitch continued, "although the hearing won't be for at least four months." He grimaced. "It usually takes much longer than that. Moore's obviously pulled in some favors."

Moore was probably the best lawyer money could buy, but money wasn't everything. Jann glanced across the desk at her friend. She'd rather pin her faith on a lawyer with a heart. It was all she had.

"So we have four months." Jann chewed her lower lip. "That's a long time. Surely Peter Strickland won't want to stay in Honolulu that long. Perhaps he'll return to Boston until the custody hearing." The tension in her shoulders eased at the thought of Peter leaving.

"I don't think so," Mitch said regretfully.

"What do you mean?"

"He's applied for access."

"Access!" She swept her tongue across suddenly dry lips. "He won't get it will he? What kind of a system do we have, for God's sake, when any Tom, Dick or Harry can apply for access?"

"He is the baby's uncle," Mitch reminded her gently. "He does have rights."

"He gave up on those rights when he gave up on Claire." She placed her hands flat on the desk. "Can we oppose this access application?"

"We could," Mitch said, "but you have to decide if it'll do you any good in the long run."

"What do you mean?"

"How will the courts view your blocking the uncle's opportunity to get to know his nephew? They may not look favorably on that. They'll wonder why you're doing it."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Well, it's up to you, of course, but you might wish to agree to the access."

"I don't want that man anywhere near Alex. What if he tries to take him out of Hawaii?"

"Kidnap him, you mean?" Mitch's eyebrows rose.

"Yes," Jann said firmly. "You've not met Peter Strickland. He's the sort of man who takes what he wants."

"We could suggest supervised access."

"What does that mean?"

"You'd be with him whenever he's with Alex."

"Impossible!" The very idea filled her with horror.

"Before you decide," Mitch said, "there's one more thing you should consider."

"What's that?"

"If he does go to court, they may well award him unsupervised access. If you offer him something enticing, it may be enough to keep the question out of court."

"Like what?" She braced herself.

"Unlimited supervised access. It may pay you to be generous, especially as the man presumably has a business to run. He won't want to be restricted to one afternoon every two weeks. With unlimited access, he may spend a lot of time with Alex for the next week or two, then return to Boston until the custody hearing."

Jann put her face in her hands, willing her brain to stop its whirling. Finally, reluctantly, she lifted her head and nodded.

Mitch was right.

* * *

Peter's steps began to drag the instant he entered the park. He wanted it to be over, wanted to grab hold of Claire's son and take him home to safety. Away from this island.

Away from that woman.

Where the hell was she?

There. Just where she had said she would be, looking as elusive as a tree sprite standing beneath those pink blossoms, her cotton dress shimmering in shades of mauve and green. His mother used to wear a dress that color, only hers was made of silk. He had always loved it, had felt enveloped by her colors into a land of magic and laughter. He had got sucked in.

"Good morning, Miss Fletcher." Peter stepped off the path onto the grass. He'd forgotten how blue her eyes were—the same color as the sky. They were watching him. "So you've decided to be reasonable?"

Color swept her cheeks. "It's only fair to Alex that he see you while you're here."

"He'll be coming with me when I go."

"I wouldn't count on that, Mr. Strickland."

Her eyes held the same defiant look Claire's had always held, a look that had secretly filled him with pride. His parents had tried to break his sister of it, but he hadn't. He'd figured the defiance and courage that went with the look would keep Claire safe, would provide a barrier against trusting too much, against giving her heart too easily. Peter swallowed hard. He had been wrong, and because of that error his sister was lying in a grave on an island in the Pacific.

"If we're going to spend time together, you'd better call me Peter," he said in a voice so tight he scarcely recognized it as his own.