Leigh
Authors: Lyn Cote
Copyright © 2006 by Lyn Cote
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including
information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in
writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may
quote brief passages in a review.
Warner Faith
Hachette Book Group
237 Park Avenue
New York, NY 10017
Visit our website at
www.HachetteBookGroup.com
The Warner Faith name and logo are registered trademarks of the Time Warner Book Group.
First eBook Edition: October 2009
ISBN: 978-0-446-56866-1
Contents
To my own college friends: Angie Greene Kuchenbecker,
Barb Ullrich Baumgartner, Jan Shortness Mottaz, and
Jeanne Mosher Craig.
Thanks for all the fun and great memories
from when we were all young and foolish
—
I mean,
idealistic.
Also to Dar Listowski Holle, my traveling companion
to Europe and Hawaii.
When we were young and single and carefree.
And to Connie Brown Piper.
You’ve always been like a sister to me.
BETTE
“Lyn Cote weaves a powerful story of love, secrets, betrayal, and passion during the tumultuous years of World War II. Her
unique blend of storytelling and dynamic characters brings this era of history to life.”
—DiAnn Mills, author of
When the Lion Roars
“Lyn Cote lured me into realistic, gripping, and sometimes heart-wrenching encounters with an era that has left an indelible
mark on both history and human hearts. BETTE is truly unforgettable.”
—Kathy Herman, author of the Baxter series and
A Shred of Evidence
“Lyn Cote’s craftsmanship shines in BETTE. Her beautiful plotting includes textured settings that jet you around the world
into the lives of characters so real we think we know them. Add a heroine we can all admire, and once again the ladies of
Ivy Manor grab hold of your heart and hang on.”
—Lois Richer, author of
Shadowed Secrets
CHLOE
“Will steal your heart… With her customary high-quality plotting, Lyn Cote has brought to life [a] long overlooked period
of United States history. Appealing characterizations exemplify the pathos, despair, and courage of post-WWI America.”
—Irene Brand, award-winning author of
Where Morning Dawns
and
The Hills Are Calling
“Like finding the missing piece of a favorite puzzle… What a treasure! A fresh presentation of a world I didn’t know. I loved
this page-turner!”
—Patt Marr, award-winning author of
Angel in Disguise
“[A] rich journey… Meticulous historical detail and vivid characters… a treat for the reader.”
—Marta Perry, author of
Her Only Hero
“A romance of epic proportions, absorbing and satisfying, that never lets you forget how the Father takes you just as you
are and that His love can bring you home from the farthest journey. Cote has written a winner. You will remember this heroine
long after the final page is turned.”
—Deborah Bedford, author of
A Morning Like This
and
If I Had You
“A heart-warming tale… A compelling story driven by equally compelling characters”
—Valerie Hansen, author of
Samantha’s Gift
“Lyn Cote hooked me from the very beginning, then expertly reeled me across the pages… Pages full of romance, suspense, heartbreak,
forgiveness, acceptance, and, ultimately, a satisfying ending.”
—Sylvia Bambola, author of
Waters of Marah
and
Return to Appleton
“Lyn Cote’s return to historical fiction is a delight! CHLOE is lyrically written, enhancing a plot that’s teeming with zigs
and zags. Compelling characters take us on a journey toward happiness reached only by plumbing the depths of despair. This
one’s a keeper!”
—Lois Richer, author of
Shadowed Secrets
“
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now I’m found
Was blind, but now I see.”
—
John Newton
ROLOGUE
T
hrough two horrific days and one long night, Leigh Sinclair had held it together. Until an hour after she hugged her little
girl and watched a doctor give the child a sedative at the hospital and finally, thankfully, brought her here—home to her
own bed. Then Leigh had fallen apart.
All her self-control dissolved in an instant, and she started shaking and couldn’t stop. Nate had led her from her sleeping
child into the dark living room. He’d nudged her down onto her sofa. Murmuring, he’d sat down and laid her head against his
shoulder. And slowly the trembling had ebbed.
Just a few weeks ago, Leigh had only known Nate Gallagher, NYPD detective, professionally. He’d made it clear she interested
him, but she’d kept him at arm’s length as she did every other man. Then she’d needed him and he’d come through for her. Now
he stroked her long hair with steady hands, giving her wordless comfort.
“It’s all my fault.” The words flowed out of Leigh’s
mouth a second time. Through the crisis, she’d fought voicing this admission, knowing it wouldn’t help, knowing that guilt
was natural and unavoidable. Yet all the while fearful that someone else—
everyone else
—would point accusing fingers at her.
Nate said nothing in reply, just continued stroking her hair. In her weakness, she felt the latent strength in his large rough
hands.
“I’ve always carried so much guilt about Carly,” she whispered. “Not just now. But always.”
And I always will.
Little Carly’s face glowed in Leigh’s mind. Grandma Chloe always said Leigh’s little girl got her looks from Leigh’s grandfather,
who’d died in World War I. That was because Grandma Chloe had never seen Carly’s father. Carly was the spitting image of her
father with his fair skin, black hair, and gray eyes.
But Carly had never seen her father, either.
This fact never stopped gnawing at Leigh. She knew it had created an invisible barrier between her and Carly. Every time she
looked at her, her daughter’s sober little face—her silent little mouth, those somber eyes that hid every thought—haunted
Leigh.
“Everything will be okay,” Nate said at last.
Leigh gazed up at him. His face was guarded by shadow, but the moonlight illuminated the warmth of his auburn hair. She couldn’t
form words, her mouth paralyzed.
I’ve stood apart from my daughter since she was born. Secrets separate us. Secrets I can’t divulge. Will I never break through
to her, connect with her heart-to-heart?
C
HAPTER
O
NE
I
know why you’re doing this,” Leigh muttered beside her mother, Bette, in their Chevy Impala. Leigh kept her voice low, not
wanting to upset her five-year-old sister, Dory, who sat in the backseat with a coloring book. “You think if you get me out
of D.C., I won’t be able to get to Dr. King’s march.”
Her mother made no reply.
Leigh snapped on the radio, knowing it would annoy Bette. The air between them vibrated with the top-of-the-charts “Heat Wave,”
the words blurred by the hot wind rushing through the wide open windows.
Still her mother made no response. “I don’t know why you have to act like this,” Leigh muttered louder.
That was enough to break her mother’s silence. “This is not open for discussion,” Bette said. “You have no idea what may happen
this Wednesday. Have you forgotten mobs in Alabama clubbing Freedom Riders with baseball bats?
I haven’t.”
“This isn’t Alabama,” Leigh snapped. “And Mr. Pitney, the advisor to the school paper, doesn’t think there’ll be any violence.”
“Mr. Pitney is very young and should have better sense, Linda Leigh,” Bette answered back, her voice fierce but low.
“Don’t call me that name. I hate it.”
Hate you. “
I go by Leigh now.”
Bette gave a sound of irritation. “Linda Leigh is a perfectly good name.” She paused, obviously trying to control her temper.
“You’ll spend the last week before school starts at your grandmother’s. And tomorrow, I’m going to call the school and tell
the principal what I think of a teacher urging his students—my daughter—into harm’s way.”
“I will get back to Washington if I have to hitchhike there.” Leigh stared straight ahead.
“Why can’t I make you see sense? The march will be dangerous.”
Martha and the Vandellas sang out husky and loud, “heat wave…” The raucous song evidently finally got to Bette. She snapped
off the radio. “Why are we listening to that trash?”
“It’s not trash, Mother. It’s rock and roll.”
Looking out the window at the lush green tobacco fields rolling by, Leigh realized they were almost there, almost to Ivy Manor.
She folded her bare arms on the open window and set her chin on them, frustration roiling inside her.
