Always in Her Heart (4 page)

“Davis's share goes to Marcy, but with the custody still not settled…” Annie let her voice trail off.

“Exactly. It leaves us in limbo. Davis and I would vote together on any decision, and together we had a majority.” He didn't want to voice what he'd been thinking, but he forced himself to. “Even without Marcy's shares, Frank could outvote me if he got the rest of the board on his side. With Marcy's share, all he'd need is his great-uncle's vote for complete control.”

She leaned forward in the rocker. “But why would
he want it? He doesn't know anything about building, does he?”

“No.” Chet answered for him. “Frank manages the rental properties he inherited and sits on the boards of a few institutions. He likes running things. And there's that lakefront property. He's said more than once that it's a potential gold mine, and I've had the impression lately that his expensive tastes are outrunning his income.” He stood. “All I can say is that you should continue the way you are. The rest of the board won't rush into any changes. I certainly wouldn't advise it.”

Link stood, too, holding out his hand. “Thanks, Chet. For everything.”

Annie joined him as Chet moved to the door. “Yes, thank you.” She managed a smile. “I don't know how we'd have gotten through today without you.”

“Just doing my job.”

They stood together like any married couple saying good-night to a visitor. Was that what Annie was thinking, too? How were they going to do this, especially with a social worker looking over their shoulders, taking note of every mistake?

He closed the door, realizing that thought had been lurking at the back of his mind ever since the judge's ruling. Annie, with her nice, stable, middle-class up-bringing, couldn't possibly guess what terrors the threat of a social worker raised in his mind.

They'll take you away and put you in a home.
His mother's voice, slurred with alcohol, sounded in his
memory. Those were the words she'd always used when he got too much for her to handle.

At five or six, he hadn't understood what she meant, but it had terrified him enough to keep him in line through yet another move to yet another rented room in another town that didn't welcome them….

“Do you want anything to eat?” Annie gestured toward the kitchen.

“No.” He didn't realize how sharply that had come out until he saw anger flare in her eyes.

“If you think I should have produced a six-course dinner after a day like this—”

“No, of course not. I'm sorry. I wasn't even thinking about food.”

She looked a bit mollified. “What were you thinking about? The company?”

“Not exactly.” She didn't need to know he was remembering a childhood she couldn't begin to imagine. “Just all we have to do to make this work.”

Annie rubbed her forehead, as if the very idea gave her a headache. “Home visits, social workers. How do you prepare for something like that?”

That was certainly the last thing he wanted to discuss. “We'd better start with telling your parents what's going on. I know your father's worried. And then there's your job. You'd better apply for a leave of absence.”

He stopped, realizing that Annie no longer looked tired. She just looked mad.

“We?” she said pointedly. “It sounds to me as if all those things concern me, not you.”

He picked up her hand, touching the plain gold band on her finger. “Married, remember? We have to start acting that way.”

“That doesn't mean you need to tell me what to do.” She yanked her hand away. “But then, you're really good at telling people what to do, aren't you.”

Something seemed to snap inside him. “Are you still talking about the past? Get over it, Annie. We've got more important things to handle now.”

“Definitely more important. And that reminds me that I couldn't trust you once before.”

He put his fists on his hips, glaring at her. All the things he'd wanted to say for years bubbled up inside him. Only now, he didn't have any reason to keep them back. Everyone involved in his original promise was gone.

“It wasn't a matter of trust,” he said evenly. “I made a promise.”

“A promise to do what? Keep Davis safe from unworthy females like Becca?”

He could only stare at her. Of course that was what she thought. He hadn't given her any other possibilities.

“It wasn't that. Don't ever think that. Becca was probably the best thing that ever happened to Davis.”
As you were to me.
His first love had come back to haunt him. “It was Davis, not Becca. His parents made me promise to look out for him that summer.”

Her chin set firmly. “Did they expect you to keep him from falling in love?”

“No.” He took a breath, knowing it was time to speak. “They expected me to keep him from acting irrationally. Davis had bipolar disorder. They didn't want him doing anything rash while he was in a manic phase. I was supposed to prevent that.”

“Bipolar disorder?” She looked up at him, and he could see the wheels turning in her mind, trying to make sense of the term. “Well, for goodness' sake, why make such a big secret out of it? It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You know that. I know that. But Davis's parents never coped with it very well, and at the time, there was more of a stigma attached to it. And the least change in Davis's routine could trigger a problem.”

“And Becca was a trigger?” She flared up again, anger making her eyes bright. “You should have told me. You should have told Becca! She certainly had a right to know.”

“I couldn't. Will you get that through your head? I knew it was dumb, but I'd promised to keep it a secret, and I keep my promises.”

Quite suddenly the anger in her eyes was drowned by tears. “Becca never told me. She did mention stress a few times, when Davis didn't come with her on a visit, but she never explained. All these years I thought we shared everything, and she never told me about it.”

He felt helpless in the face of her tears. “She probably never thought it was necessary.”

“Necessary? I was her sister!”

He certainly had a gift for making a bad situation worse. “I mean, she probably didn't even think about it as a problem. His medication was so much better in recent years that it rarely became an issue. I worked with him every day, and I'd nearly forgotten about it.”

Annie brushed tears from her cheeks. “I thought—” She stopped, shook her head. “I'm sorry. It's ridiculous to be falling apart over that now.”

Sympathy welled up in him. No, not sympathy. Empathy. He knew exactly what she was feeling, because he felt it, too. They were both being blindsided by grief.

He touched her cheek gently, wiping away a tear. “I don't think that's why, is it? But if it helps, go ahead and be mad at me.”

Her sudden smile knocked him off balance. “Can I really?”

He was being drawn into that smile. He couldn't help himself. All the warmth Annie hid behind her cool exterior blazed in it, drawing him closer and closer.

His wife. The words seemed to twitch a chord inside him. Annie was his wife. He'd thought he was immune to what that phrase represented. He wasn't.

That sham wedding night had been bad enough. He'd seen the wariness in Annie's face as she'd said
good-night and scurried up the stairs. He'd deliberately stayed downstairs, giving her time to settle, aware of every footstep overhead, every creak of the bed.

Then she'd been at a safe distance. Now she was inches away, her warmth drawing him closer and closer.

Oh, no. He drew back, his hand dropping away from her face. No, indeed. This business of marriage was going to be difficult enough as it was. If he let himself give in to that surge of attraction for Annie, it would be impossible.

O
h, Becca, why didn't you tell me about Davis's problem? I thought we told each other everything,
Annie thought as she looked at the photograph on the bookshelf. Becca, Davis and Marcy smiled at each other in the pewter frame. Their love fairly radiated into the room, catching at her heart.

Well, if she were being honest, she hadn't actually thought that—not since Becca married Davis. Certainly a married couple would have secrets they shared only with each other.

A chill seemed to touch her spine, like the frost that would soon claim the flowers Becca had planted alongside the house. She and Link were a married couple now, but the only secret they shared was the reason for that marriage.

She straightened the picture gently, then dropped the paper she was carrying on the end table next to
the leather couch. She crossed to the French doors and looked out at the enclosed play yard.

Rain pelted down, as it had all day. It glistened on the red plastic slide and soaked into Marcy's sandbox, turning the sand from beige to brown. She traced a droplet that shivered down the pane as she thought about that wave of feeling that had swept over her when Link touched her cheek the night before, wiping her tears away.

Forget it,
she told herself fiercely. It had been a temporary aberration, a moment of empathy in their shared grief—it had meant nothing. It wouldn't come again, because she wouldn't let it. This whole situation was difficult enough without letting emotion get out of control.

She didn't do that, ever. She was run by her head, not her heart.
Except perhaps that once…

The
click
of the side door cut off a line of thought she'd rather not pursue.

Link paused, peeling off his windbreaker and shaking it outside before coming in. He eyed her with what she suspected was caution, probably no more eager than she was to venture into the emotional territory they'd found themselves in the previous night.

She pinned a smile to her face. “You're home earlier than I expected. Marcy's still napping.”

He nodded, hanging his jacket on the closet hook. “Too wet for most of what we planned to do at the site today. I sent the men home early.” Something that might have been worry darkened his eyes for an
instant. “Hope we don't have to do that too often. We need to get those houses under roof before the weather turns.”

Of course he was worried about the job. She'd learned enough in the past few days to guess that the company was overextended where this new project was concerned.

“Accountants don't have to worry about the weather. Just tax season.”

He nodded, then turned a questioning look on her. “Speaking of that, have you talked to your boss about taking a leave?”

“Not yet.” The words came out more sharply than she had intended, and Link couldn't know she was annoyed at herself, not him. The step was necessary, but she'd put it off all day, as if to hold back the moment at which her life in Boston would come to a halt.

Link's square jaw seemed to get a bit squarer. “You know that has to be done. If Frank's attorney looks into your situation, she can't find that you're holding on to a job in Boston.”

It didn't help her disposition in the least to know he was absolutely right. “I said I'd take care of it.” She put her hand on the phone. “I'll do it right now.”

“Fine,” he said brusquely. “I'm going up to shower.”

He stalked out of the room before she could say anything else. Not that she'd intended to apologize, had she? After all, this was her concern, not his.

Her mind replayed that moment when he'd lifted her hand, touching the gold band on her finger.
We're married, remember? We'd better start acting that way.

Before she could think too much about that, she picked up the phone and punched in the number of the Boston firm that was about to lose her services. As the phone rang, a flicker of doubt assailed her. If she'd just had a baby, they'd have given her maternity leave without question. But in this case…

Fifteen minutes later she hung up, feelings divided between relief and regret.

“What's wrong?” Link's voice startled her. “Did they give you a hard time about the leave?”

She turned, shaking her head, and her breath caught. He stood in the doorway, clearly fresh from the shower. His dark hair lay damp against his head, curling slightly at his neck. His white polo shirt clung to his broad shoulders, as if he hadn't bothered to dry himself completely before pulling it on.

She had to turn away so he wouldn't notice her staring. She wasn't going to let herself be affected by him, remember?

“Actually, they couldn't have been nicer. My boss insisted on paying me through the end of the month, and my job will be waiting for me, no matter how long it takes.”

“Sounds as if they consider you a valuable employee.”

She heard him cross the room as he spoke, sensed
him stop behind her. She kept her gaze glued to the white phone on the bar between the kitchen and family room, as if it were about to ring.

“They do. I am.”

“Then, why were you staring at the phone as if you were going to cry?”

“I wasn't.” She glanced up at him in surprise, then regretted it. He stood very close, his dark eyes intent.

“Yes, you were.” He frowned. “Look, I know it's going to be hard just to stay home with Marcy when you're used to a challenge every day, but we agreed this was the only option until the custody hearing.”

“Trust me, being home with Marcy will be a challenge.” She smiled, but felt the expression fade almost at once. “It's not that. It's just—”

“What?” His voice lowered to a rumble, soft as the patter of rain against the window. The room was so still she could hear the steady sound of his breath.

She rubbed her arms with her hands, suddenly chilled. “I've been in that job for seven years. That's who I am. Just as Becca was the wife and mother. Now everything's turned upside down.”

He put his hand on her shoulder as if to reassure her, and she felt his warmth through the soft knit of her turtleneck.

“You'll do a good job. Marcy loves you, that's the important thing.”

He didn't understand, and she didn't think she could make him.

“I love Marcy. That doesn't mean I shouldn't
worry about giving up something I do very well for something I probably won't do well at all.”

His hand fell away from her shoulder, as if he'd expended all the sympathy he had to spare at the moment. “I think you're worrying unnecessarily.”

Her skin was cold where his palm had been, and a tiny spark of anger flared. “How would you feel if it were your job that had to be sacrificed?”

All in an instant the atmosphere in the room changed. She felt his tension as if they touched—felt it pounding through his muscles and along his nerve endings. His eyes darkened.

“It's not.” The flat words admitted no argument. “I run the company. It's not a job. It's my life.”

The crevice between them widened into a chasm.
It's my life.

She'd known the company was important to him. She hadn't known how important.

The chill she'd felt seemed to spread to her heart. She'd told herself it was good, for Marcy's sake, that he cared so much about the company.

But she was in a situation where she had to trust him, and she couldn't forget that he'd been willing to put aside her feelings once before when it came between him and something he valued.

What might Link do now if he thought he had to in order to save the company?

 

Link pulled his pickup into the driveway a few hours later, the flat white box on the seat next to him
filling the cab with the aroma of cheese, pepperoni and tomato sauce. The pizza wasn't exactly a peace offering, but Annie
had
been upset. An unhappy Annie wasn't part of his plan to present a cheerful family face to anyone who was interested.

He shouldn't have snapped at her, but how could she possibly compare her job with what the company meant to him? Irritation sizzled along his nerves again. Her job, no matter how much her employer valued her, was just that—a job.

Annie had no way of knowing what his place in Lakeview meant to him, and she never would. The company was his life.

He looked back grimly at how far he'd come. The grubby kid who'd been an outsider in one town after another, living in one cheap dump after another, didn't exist any longer. Lakeview was home now, and no one in town knew about that kid who hadn't been welcomed anywhere.

People here respected him. They considered him one of them. Maybe part of that was thanks to Davis and his family, but most had resulted from his own hard work in building Conrad and Morgan into a company that brought good things to the town's economy. He wouldn't give up that respect and belonging, which meant he'd do what was necessary to save the company.

So the pizza probably was a peace offering. He and Annie had to get this marriage thing back to a safe,
rational business footing, with no erratic flashes of emotion ruffling the surface.

He turned off the motor and grabbed the box. The past few days had been stressful for both of them. Starting now, he would set the standard for the calm, friendly relationship that would help them get what they wanted most.

It shouldn't be hard. Knowing Annie, she was as eager as he to keep things on an even keel between them. Balancing the pie—half pepperoni for him, half broccoli for her—he ducked quickly through the drizzle to the family room door.

The door opened on a scene considerably more chaotic than the one he'd left. Marcy happily pulled books from the bookshelves he and Davis had built, while Annie tried to restrain the baby with one hand and juggle a book she was reading with the other.

He slid the pizza box onto the counter and scooped Marcy up in his arms, earning a giggle as he swung her high. “Hey, little girl, you don't need all those books, do you?”

Annie gave him an absent glance and returned to her book. “I'll clean them up later. I wanted to check on something before you got back.”

He tipped up the front of the volume she held. “
The Toddler Years.
What's so important you have to look it up right this minute?”

“I'm trying to find out if it's okay to give Marcy pizza.” Her forehead wrinkled. “I'm sure the book covers that somewhere.”

He snapped the book shut, trying to hide his amusement. “You should have been a librarian.”

“There's nothing wrong with looking up the answers to questions.” She led the way to the kitchen, her shoulders stiff.

“No, there's not,” he said quickly.
Don't ruffle her feathers, remember?
“It's just that I've been here when Marcy ate pizza. She loves it.”

“Oh.” She looked as if she was struggling to be grateful. “Thanks.”

She didn't like the fact that he knew something about Marcy that she didn't. Scary, that he knew so easily what she was thinking.

He slid Marcy into the high chair while Annie snapped a bib around her neck. She put the pizza carton in the center of the table, and they sat down opposite each other. While he was out, she'd set the table with bright blue place mats and flowered dishes, reminding him painfully of the times he'd eaten here with Davis and Becca.

Annie took Marcy's hand, then reached across to him tentatively with her other hand. “Davis and Becca always held hands when they asked the blessing,” she said. “I thought we should keep that up.”

“Good idea.” He clasped the hand she offered, wrapping his fingers around hers. For some reason, it made him think of that moment in the pastor's study when they'd held hands and become husband and wife. “Will you, or shall I?”

“I will.” Annie's fingers tightened on his as she
bowed her head. “Dear Lord, we thank You for the blessings of this day. Please bless this food, and make us fit stewards of this dear child. Amen.”

“Amen,” he echoed softly.

The moment of prayer seemed to restore Annie's good humor. She cut a small wedge of pizza for Marcy, then smiled when the baby shoved it eagerly in her mouth.

“Looks as if you were right.”

“Thanks for admitting it.” He helped himself to a wedge, relieved. She sounded normal, and that was what he wanted. No unexpected emotions on either side. They were just two people, partners in a difficult job, cooperating.

Her smile peeped through. “Okay, I guess I'm pretty obvious.” She handed Marcy another small piece. “But becoming a parent is scary. I feel as if everyone knows more than I do about it.”

“You're not having regrets about doing this, are you?”

“No!” The word leaped from her mouth. “Nobody could love Marcy more than I do. Nobody!” Love filled her expression.

He leaned back, a little shaken. Love that fierce was humbling. He hadn't expected that from Annie—hadn't realized the emotional strength that filled her where the child was concerned.

All right, this wasn't strictly a business deal. Still, his job was to run the company and keep Marcy's inheritance safe.

He'd leave the emotional end of things to Annie. She'd have to manage that on her own.

 

“I'm going to prove it to you.” Link pulled a heavy photo album from the bookshelf and sat down next to her on the black leather couch, opening it. “You'll see that I'm right.”

Annie leaned back, smiling a little. She was ready to forgive Link for knowing more than she had about Marcy's ability to eat pizza. And she was so relieved that the baby had gone peacefully to bed without tears or asking for Mama that she was willing to go along with Link's typical determination to prove he was right.

Their disagreement of the moment was over whether Marcy looked more like her mother or her father. Link, convinced she resembled Davis as a child, had pulled out the Conrad family photo albums to show her.