Hair as silky and black as a ripple of satin, skin like creamy porcelain, eyes blue as a mountain lake.
Beautiful. Also way out of his class, with her designer clothes and superior air.
Well, beautiful or not, Ms. Anne Morden had to be checked out. He hoped he could find some ammunition with which to defend himself, before she blew his life apart.
He reached for the phone.
Chapter Two
A nne put a light blanket over Emilie, who slept soundly in the crib Mrs. Cavendish had installed in the bedroom of the suite. Nothing, it seemed, was too much trouble for a friend of Chief Donovan’s. No one else was staying at the bed-and-breakfast now, and Mrs. Cavendish—Kate, she’d insisted Anne call her—had given them a bedroom with an adjoining sitting room on the second floor of the rambling Victorian house.
The rooms were country quaint, furnished with mismatched antiques that looked as if they’d always sat just where they did now. The quilt on the brass bed appeared to be handmade, and dried flowers filled the pottery basin on the oak washstand. A ghost of last summer’s fragrance wafted from them.
She would have enjoyed the place in any other circumstances; it might have been a welcome retreat. But not when her baby’s future was at stake.
She had to get herself under control before her next unsettling meeting with Mitch Donovan. This afternoon—well, this afternoon she could have done better, couldn’t she?
Her stomach still clenched with tension when she pictured Donovan’s frowning face. She still felt the power with which he’d rejected her words.
She shouldn’t have been surprised. A man in his position had a lot to lose. The chief of police in a small town couldn’t afford a scandal.
The sitting room window overlooked the street, which wound its way uphill from the river in a series of jogs. Bedford Creek was dwarfed by the mountain ridges that hemmed it in. What did people in this village think of their police chief? And what would they think of him if they knew he’d had an affair with a young girl, leaving her pregnant?
They might close ranks against the stranger who brought such an accusation. A chill shivered down her spine.
If Mitch Donovan persisted in his denials, what option did she have? Making the whole business public would only hurt all three of them. But if she didn’t get his signature on the document, she’d live in constant fear.
What was she going to do? Panic shot through her. She pressed her hands against the wide windowsill, trying to force the fear down.
Turn to the Lord, child. She could practically hear Helen’s warm, rich voice say the words, and her fear ebbed a little at the thought of her friend.
Helen Wells had introduced her to the Lord, just as simply as if she were introducing one friend to another. Until Anne walked into the Faith House shelter Helen ran, looking for a client who’d missed a hearing, religion had been nothing but form. It had been a ritual her parents had insisted on twice a year—the times when everyone went to the appropriate church, wearing the appropriate clothing.
They’d have found nothing appropriate about Faith House or its director, Helen Wells—the tall, elegant woman’s embracing warmth for everyone who crossed her threshold was outside their experience. But Anne had found a friend there, and a faith she’d never expected to encounter. Helen’s wisdom had sustained her faith through the difficult season of her husband’s death.
Not that she was under any illusion her faith was mature. God’s not finished with you yet, Helen would say, wrapping Anne in the same warm embrace she extended to every lost soul and runaway kid who wandered into her shelter. The good Lord has plenty for you to learn, girl. But you have to listen.
God could help in this situation with Donovan. She had to believe that, somehow.
But maybe believing it would be easier if she had the kind of faith Helen did.
I’m trying, Lord. You know I’m trying.
A police car came slowly down the street and pulled to the curb in front of the bed-and-breakfast. She let the curtain fall behind her, her heart giving an awkward thump. Mitch Donovan was here.
In a moment she heard footsteps in the hall beneath, heard Kate greeting him—fondly, it seemed. Well, of course. Bedford Creek was his home. Anne was the stranger here, and she had to remember that.
By the time he knocked, Anne had donned her calm, professional manner. But after she opened the door, her coolness began to unravel. He still wore the uniform that seemed almost a part of him, and his dark gaze was intent and determined.
“Chief Donovan. Come in.”
He nodded, moving through the doorway as assuredly as if he were walking into his office. The small room suddenly filled with his masculine presence.
It’s the uniform, she told herself, fingers tightening on the brass knob as she closed the door. That official uniform would rattle anyone, especially combined with the sheer rock-solid nature of the man wearing it.
“Getting settled?” His firm mouth actually curved in a smile. “I see Kate gave you her best room.”
Apparently he hoped to get this meeting off to a more pleasant start than the last one. Well, that was what she wanted, too. You need his cooperation, she reminded herself. For Emilie’s sake.
“Any friend of Mitch’s deserves the nicest one—I think that’s what she said.” Anne couldn’t help it if her tone sounded a bit dry.
He walked to the window, glanced out at the street below, then turned back to her. “Kate said you took a walk around town.”
The small talk was probably as much an effort for him as for her. She longed to burst into the crucial questions, but held them back.
Cooperate, remember? That’s how to get what you want.
“I stopped by the pharmacy to pick up some extra diapers for the baby. The pharmacist already knew I’d been to see you.” That had astonished her. “Your dispatcher must work fast.”
The source of the information had to be the dispatcher. Mitch Donovan certainly wouldn’t advertise her presence.
He grimaced. “Wanda loves to spread news. And it is a small town, except during tourist season.”
“Tourist season?”
He gestured out the window, and she moved a little reluctantly to stand next to him.
“Take a look at those mountains. Our only claim to fame.”
The sun slipped behind a thickly forested ridge, painting the sky with red. The village seemed wedged into the narrow valley, as if forced to climb the slope from the river because it couldn’t spread out. The river glinted at the valley floor, reflecting the last of the light.
“It is beautiful.”
“Plenty of people are willing to pay for this view, and the Chamber of Commerce is happy to let them.”
“I
