Always in Her Heart (9 page)

He put her down, and she held out the blocks. “Bock,” she announced, then ran to put them in her bright red plastic wagon. “Bock.” She ran to the far corner of the family room, where it looked as if a wagonload of blocks had been dumped, to pick up two more.

“She's been doing that for the last hour,” Annie said. She was curled up in the corner of the couch, wearing jeans and that soft yellow sweater that made you want to touch it. Touch her.

Concentrate,
he told himself. “Doing what?” He
sat down next to her, drawn by the smile that curved her mouth as she watched Marcy.

“She carries the blocks over two at a time and puts them in the wagon. Then when all the blocks are in, she pulls the wagon to the corner, dumps it and starts all over again.”

“Maybe she's getting ready for her partnership in Conrad and Morgan,” he said.

Annie transferred her smile to him. “It's more likely the fact that toddlers are into sorting things and putting them into containers.”

“You've been reading that toddler book again, haven't you?” He reached for the volume she held in her lap. “Is that what this is?” But he realized immediately that it wasn't.

“There's no harm in reading up on the subject.” She sounded a little defensive. “But no, this is one of our old family albums. I knew Becca had it somewhere. I told you we're all bringing pictures of mommy and daddy to play group tomorrow.”

“I remember.” He smiled, opening the album. “I also remember I promised to vacuum tonight.”

“I'll hold you to it.”

He leafed through the book. “Let's see which one I think you should use.”

“Those are just pictures of me.” She reached out to flip the page for him. “Becca is farther on.”

He pulled the book out of her reach. “No harm in checking out Aunt Annie's baby pictures, is there?”

She made a soft sound that might have been disagreement but she didn't try to take the album away.

He leafed through the first few pages. “You were a cute kid.” Annie had been a solemn-looking baby with dark hair that stood up in a little tuft on top of her head. After he'd turned a page or two, he realized something was missing. “I don't see your mother in any of these pictures.”

Annie clasped her hands together in her lap, as if she didn't know what else to do with them. “She… My mother had to go into the hospital after I was born. She was never very strong.”

He wanted to ask for details, but Annie so clearly didn't want to talk about it that he wasn't sure what to say. He turned a few more pages.

There was her mother, appearing in the photos when Annie was about six months old or so. A photo of the three of them showed Annie looking solemn, her mother strained and her father tense.

He glanced at Annie, wondering. Her face was averted, and a wing of shiny dark hair swung down over her cheek, shielding her expression.

Becca appeared on the next page—bright as a new penny, all chubby cheeks, dimples and blond curls. He looked from the photo to Marcy.

“Okay, I guess I have to give in on this one. Marcy does look like Becca did as a baby.”

Annie turned back toward him, her smile flashing. “I told you.”

She leaned closer, pointing to one of the pictures.
Her hair brushed his cheek, and he could smell the aroma that identified her, a clean mixture of soap and baby powder that was irrationally attractive.

“I picked this one. What do you think?” she asked.

“Cute.” He glanced past the photo of Becca standing in a playpen to the next one, then found he couldn't tear his gaze away.

Annie's mother was on her knees, arms spread wide, face relaxed and lit with love. Becca, arms reaching, toddled toward her laughing.

Annie stood in the background. It was probably only the quality of the old photograph that made it look as if she stood in the shadows while the other two were in the light.

But the quality of the photograph had nothing to do with the message that her little figure communicated. She hung back, an expression of longing on her face. She clasped her hands behind her, as if unwilling to ask for something she wouldn't get.

His stomach twisted. He recognized the longing because he'd felt it himself. Annie, with her nice, ordinary, middle-class background, still hadn't had the one thing a child needed most—that sense of being loved unconditionally.

You setting up as a psychiatrist now, Morgan?

Trouble was, he couldn't jeer himself out of this. He'd seen Annie make that exact same gesture in the past few weeks, as if inside she was still that little girl who didn't think she was the loved one.

“Link?” Annie looked at him, brown eyes questioning. “Is that photo okay?”

“Yes, sure.” He handed her the album, trying to dismiss his thoughts.

A man who couldn't risk loving. A woman who didn't think she could be loved. They were caught in a marriage that could cut both of them to pieces.

I
f she'd accepted Link's offer to go in late to work and help her get ready for play group, maybe she wouldn't be so stressed. Annie smoothed her hands down her slacks, trying to suppress the butterflies in her stomach, and assessed the kitchen and family room.

Ridiculous, to be so worried about having everything perfect for a play group. She ran through her mental checklist, grateful that Marcy was happily watching her favorite video. The fruit salad was cut up and in the fridge, the juice and coffee ready. Jenna had said she'd bring bagels and spreads.

They'd do the photo project on the folding table, and the pictures she'd chosen were already laid out. She paused, looking at the image of Becca at Marcy's age. Blond curls, big blue eyes, a happy smile. Even perfect strangers had responded to that smile, stop
ping Mom in the grocery store to say how beautiful Becca was.

The picture was perfect. She just couldn't help wishing that Link hadn't seen that album the night before. She'd had the sense that those pictures had revealed more about her family than she wanted him to know.

The barriers she'd been trying to hold up between her and Link kept crumbling, one by one. There didn't seem to be anything she could do about it, so maybe she'd better just concentrate on the task at hand.

She still had to put the quiche into the oven. She walked back into the kitchen and looked critically at the quiche. Not bad for her first-ever attempt to make something that complicated. She glanced at her watch. Should she start baking it yet?

A knock at the door decided her. If Jenna was here already, she may as well put it in. She slid the pan into the oven, then hurried to the door. Hopefully Jenna would be able to tell when the quiche was done.

She grasped the knob and pulled the door open. “Jenna, I—”

But it wasn't Jenna. It was Mrs. Bradshaw, looking formal and intimidating.

“Mrs. Bradshaw.” She tried to keep the shock from her voice. “I didn't expect to see you this morning.”

She couldn't possibly have forgotten something as
important as a visit from the social worker. What on earth was the woman doing here unannounced?

“I thought I'd drop by to see how Marcy does with her play group. I understand you're hosting it today.”

How do you know that?
She couldn't come right out and ask that question.

Mrs. Bradshaw raised an eyebrow, giving the impression that she tapped her foot impatiently. “May I come in?”

No.
“Yes, of course.” She stepped back away from the door. The butterflies in her stomach had turned into fire-breathing dragons. “I was just getting things ready for the group.”

The woman greeted Marcy, then put her bag down on the sofa and glanced at Annie. “You did realize there would be unannounced visits, didn't you?”

“Actually, I didn't.” Did that make her sound ill-prepared? “But you're very welcome to stay and observe or—”

Maybe she was ill-prepared. What etiquette was involved here? Did she ask the woman to stay for brunch? How were the other mothers going to react to having a social worker sit in on their play group?

“I won't stay long.” Mrs. Bradshaw settled herself on the sofa as if to belie that remark. “How does Marcy feel about the play group?”

“She loves it.” She brushed a strand of hair out of Marcy's face. “Don't you, sweetie?”

Please, don't let this be one of the days when
Marcy decided to get possessive about her toys.
Please, Lord, let this go well.

The doorbell rang, and with another silent prayer she went to answer it. Jenna was first, carrying a bag from the bagel shop, but before she could unpack it, the others arrived. The room filled rapidly with the mothers' chatter and the children's squeals.

“Nothing quiet about this bunch.” Jenna settled on the couch next to Mrs. Bradshaw as if she'd known her for years. “Hope you're not allergic to noise, Enid.”

Her use of the first name sent an unpleasant chill down Annie's spine. Apparently Jenna knew the social worker. It was a small town, as Link kept reminding her.

“Annie?” Jenna looked concerned. “Do I smell something burning?”

“The quiche!” Annie ran to the kitchen, snatching the pot holders from the counter and yanking open the oven door. Too late.

She stared down at the blackened remains of her beautiful quiche, tears prickling her eyes. Could this morning get any worse?

A deafening clamor erupted from the ceiling smoke alarm. Most of the toddlers began to cry.

She wanted to join them. Apparently the answer was yes, it could get worse.

 

“Come on, Annie. It couldn't have been as bad as all that.”

Link had come home from the work site early to
see how the play group had gone, since Annie had been so tense about it. He'd found Marcy peacefully napping and Annie sitting in the living room. That had been the first sign that something was wrong. They seldom used the formal room.

The second distress signal was Annie's tear-stained face. She'd tried to smile when he came in, but it had been a dismal failure.

He sat gingerly next to her on the peach-colored couch, half afraid he'd leave a mark. “It wasn't, was it? I'll bet people found enough to eat, even without the quiche.”

“That's not the point.” Her brown eyes were still bright with tears. “I messed up, not just in front of the play group mothers, but in front of Mrs. Bradshaw, too.”

He'd rather have her annoyed with him than crying. “I don't get it. We weren't expecting her.”

“She just showed up. Apparently we should have been expecting unannounced visits. She said she'd heard I was hosting the play group here, and she wanted to see how Marcy made out.”

His sense of unease deepened. “How did she know about the play group being here?”

“I've no idea. She couldn't have come at a worse time. I'd just put the quiche in the oven, and having her here rattled me so much that I totally forgot about it.”

They were back to the quiche again. He didn't un
derstand why she couldn't just laugh it off, but obviously she couldn't.

“I'll bet everyone who was here had burned something at one time or another.”

“That's what they said—” she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, like a child trying to disguise her tears “—after we turned off the smoke alarm, aired the place out and got all the children to stop crying. All the women tried to make me feel better with stories of their own culinary disasters.”

“There, you see.” He took her hand, hoping to comfort her and not sure how. “They understood.”

“They were being nice,” she corrected. “They're all kind, and they were Becca's friends.”

He thought about that revealing family picture he'd looked at the previous night. The relationship between Annie and Becca was more complicated than he'd realized, and he'd better be careful if he didn't want to make things worse.

Annie straightened, brushing her hair back from her face and attempting a smile. “Sorry. I didn't mean to turn the waterworks on for you. It was just such a fiasco.”

He could still read the distress in her eyes, and it troubled him. “You don't have to be perfect, you know. Even Mrs. Bradshaw can't expect that.”

“I hope you're right. I just wish I knew what she expected. What does she think is important? I feel as if I'm stumbling around in the dark, trying to do what Becca would do and not succeeding very well.”

She looked down, clasping her hands in her lap. It reminded him of the younger Annie in the picture, hands clasped behind her, left out of the relationship between her mother and sister.

“You're not Becca,” he said cautiously. “You can't—”

“Don't you think I know that?” She flared out so suddenly that her emotion shocked him. “Becca made people's eyes light up when she came in the room. I can never replace that.”

“I didn't mean it that way.” He felt his way through unexplored territory. “Okay, Becca was a special person. No one expects you to be just like her.”

He saw the movement of the muscles in her neck, as if she had trouble swallowing. She shook her head, turning away from him again, her brief anger apparently spent. Or maybe it was that she couldn't talk about this. He put his hand tentatively on her back, feeling her tension through his palm.

“It's a good thing nobody expects that, because they'd be doomed to disappointment.” She attempted another smile. “Sorry. This was a lot of fuss about a burned quiche.”

“Some people probably take quiche very seriously. I'm not one of them.”

He was rewarded with a smile that looked a little more genuine.

“Thanks, Link. I just wanted it to be perfect today. I guess I thought putting on the perfect play group
was a way of showing how much I care about Marcy.”

He needed to find the thing that would comfort her. Then the words surfaced in his mind as if they'd been waiting for him to recognize them.

“You remember that sermon we heard last week? The one about David?”

Annie nodded, obviously perplexed. “I remember. Samuel anointing David.”

“Garth said something about how God doesn't judge the way people do. God looks on the heart.” He touched her cheek lightly, wanting to find a way to erase her doubts about herself. “Anyone who looks at your heart sees how much you love that little girl, Annie. Don't ever doubt that.”

Her cheek moved against his fingers as she smiled. He felt the tension drain out of her.

“Then I guess we'd better pray that Enid Bradshaw looks with God's eyes. And that God doesn't care that I burned the quiche.”

The attempt at humor relieved him, and he realized he'd been holding his breath. One part of his mind stood back and looked at him, amazed. When had he ever worked so hard just to ease someone else's hurt?

This wasn't just someone else. This was Annie.

Thinking her name seemed to set up a vibration inside him. His palm flattened against her cheek, cradling it skin to skin. Her softness and warmth flowed into him.

“Annie.” It was almost a whisper.

He hadn't realized how attracted to her he was. Now he did, and it scared him.

Her lashes swept up, and she looked at him, her eyes darkening. He brushed his thumb against her lips and felt them tremble.

And then he kissed her. He couldn't think, couldn't analyze pros and cons, couldn't do anything except slide his arms around her and draw her close. Her kiss was as sweet and willing as it had been all that time ago, wiping out the years between.

She touched his face, and he thought she murmured his name. He felt the hard, cool metal of the ring on her finger. His ring.

It was a dash of cold water in his face. He drew back slowly. He couldn't let Annie feel as if he rejected her. But he couldn't let this happen, either.

Talking Annie into a marriage of convenience had been the worst possible thing he could have done to her. It had just confirmed her feeling that she couldn't inspire love in the way she thought Becca had.

Her parents had harmed her. True, her mother had been sick. They'd probably done the best they could under the circumstances. But still, they'd hurt Annie.

What was it she'd said?
Becca made people's faces light up when she came into the room.

She'd revealed so much with that simple statement. She wanted someone's face to light up for her.

And unless he knew he could be that someone, he'd better keep his hands off her.

 

She was swimming upward from a dream of being in Link's arms. For a moment Annie lay still in the comfortable bed, seeming to feel Link's lips on hers. Then she sat up, remembering.

Link had kissed her. Then he had put her away from him carefully and withdrawn, giving her no clue to what he was thinking.

Her throat tightened, and she frowned down at the blue-and-white patchwork quilt. What had happened? Link had had second thoughts, obviously. But why had he kissed her at all, when he so obviously felt there could be nothing between them?

Had she invited that kiss? Her cheeks went suddenly hot, and she pressed her palms against them. Maybe he'd read something in her eyes, in that moment when he was trying to make her feel better about her failure. Maybe he'd seen a longing that she was barely aware of herself.

No, that wasn't fair. She'd better be honest, at least with herself. She was aware of it, all right. In those moments at the building site she'd recognized only too well what was happening.

It
couldn't
happen. She'd let down her guard with Link once before, and he'd nearly broken her heart. Now they were trapped together in a situation that invited intimacy, and Link's withdrawal had shown her very clearly what his boundaries were.

Soft chatter from Marcy's room told her the baby
was awake. If she didn't go to her, the chatter would turn to crying.

She slipped out of bed, hurriedly pulling on jeans and a sweatshirt. Mornings were cooler now, the leaves on the maples in the square turning inexorably, even though they hadn't had a killing frost yet.

A killing frost. She paused for a moment, hand pressed against her chest, feeling as if the frost had struck there.

Selfish,
some part of her scolded.
You've always known Link wasn't for you. Stop thinking about him and get on with what has to be done.

Good advice, she thought as she went quickly across the hall to the nursery. Unfortunately, if she were able to take it, she wouldn't need it.

Hand on the nursery door, she adjusted her face. She remembered Becca saying, very seriously, that she always went in with a smile when Marcy woke up. She thought that helped account for Marcy's sunny disposition.

It couldn't hurt. She opened the door, her smile quickly turning genuine when she saw Marcy's face. Maybe it was really the other way around. Marcy's smile could touch the hardest heart.