Link swung away from her, exasperation in every line of his tall, strong figure. “You think, and figure, and debate.” He tossed the words over his shoulder at her. “If you end up by losing Marcy, maybe you’ll remember I gave you fair warning.”
He stalked out of the room, and she heard the front door slam behind him.
Annie sank into the nearest chair, fists clenching on its brocade arms. She’d certainly come out of that encounter the worse for wear. Link’s quick mental leaps had always outrun her need to unravel any knotty problem step by careful step.
She closed her eyes, shutting out Becca’s pastel living room. Eight years ago, she and Becca had been college students, and Becca had talked her into working at the shore instead of taking the internship she’d been offered.
“You don’t want to spend the summer in a stuffy old bank.” Becca’s face had lit with anticipation. “We’ll find great jobs at the beach. Think of the gorgeous guys we’ll meet.”
Becca always had managed to meet gorgeous guys everywhere, and they both knew their parents wouldn’t allow Becca to go unless Annie went to take care of her. But she’d said yes, because she couldn’t bear to see Becca’s disappointment if she hadn’t.
The jobs hadn’t been wonderful, but they had met Davis and Link, college roommates who’d had the same idea as Becca. Davis, fair and smiling, had taken one look at Becca and been a goner. His tall, dark-haired friend hadn’t had Davis’s looks and polish, but he’d made Annie’s heart do something she’d never felt it do before. She’d always been careful, never falling in and out of love the way Becca did. Then Link reached right past her guard and touched her heart.
Everything had been perfect—until Link decided his friend was getting too serious about Becca. In an instant he’d turned into someone Annie didn’t know—grim, determined, implacable. If he’d bothered to explain what he had against Becca—
Well, no. Link couldn’t have come up with any reason that would have satisfied her for trying to part Becca and Davis. She and Link had quarreled, if you could call it quarreling when one person argued and the other stood as unmoving as a…a block of granite.
Davis and Becca had married in spite of everything Link had done to stop it. The two men had eventually mended the rift, settling in Davis’s hometown to start their construction business. Becca had even asked Link to be Marcy’s godfather.
Everyone had been able to forget the quarrel but her. She’d seen Link every time she came to visit Becca, but she’d maintained a polite, smiling distance. The man had dented her heart and hurt her beloved sister. She wasn’t about to become his dearest friend.
But now he didn’t want her to be his friend. He wanted her to be his bride.
A chill went through her in spite of the warm September sunshine that poured through the windows. If Link was right about the Lesters…
Please, show me what to do, Lord. Every time I think of Link’s words, I feel paralyzed.
She badly needed some impartial advice. She reached for the white phone on the marble-topped table. But who?
Her father was probably exhausted from the drive back to Boston and the effort of soothing her mother’s distress at his absence. Alzheimer’s had robbed her mother of knowing who he was, but she did seem to realize she depended upon him.
Dad would have to know, but not yet. She dialed Sam Watson’s number.
Sam, an attorney she’d dated casually over a year ago, had remained a friend even after they’d drifted apart. That seemed to be the romantic pattern of her life. Maybe the ability to inspire passion had just been left out of her makeup. If so, she was doing very nicely without it, especially after the fiasco with Link.
Once Sam answered, she quickly described the situation, leaving out Link’s proposal. She waited for Sam to say something reassuring.
“I’m not an expert in family law.” Sam’s tone was cautious. “Your sister and her husband ought to have spelled out their wishes in a will. You need a good local attorney.”
For once she was impatient with caution. “Give me your best guess. Will I have problems getting custody of Marcy?”
“Custody wouldn’t be a sure thing, even if your sister had named you in her will. The court could still exercise its discretion.” He hesitated. “If these cousins do file for custody, the court might favor a local married couple over an out-of-state, single, working woman.”
That was what Link had said, and her heart sank. “What can I do? I might feel differently if they even cared about Marcy, but they don’t.”
“Get a good attorney,” he said. “And pray for a sympathetic judge.”
She sat staring at the phone after she’d hung up, trying to think her way through this. Had Becca ever mentioned an attorney she might call?
She was leafing through Becca’s address book when she heard a faint wail. Dropping the book, she hurried up the stairs to Marcy’s room.
Becca had decorated the nursery with pastel-colored animal figures. A line of yellow giraffes ambled across the wallpaper border, while a pink elephant formed the base of a lamp. Marcy stood in the white canopied crib, shaking the railing impatiently. Her fine blond hair curled damply around her face, and her cheeks were rosy with sleep.
“Up, up,” she demanded, holding out chubby arms to Annie. “Up, Nan.”
She’d happily be called “Nan” until Marcy mastered “Aunt Annie.” She scooped her niece from the crib, putting her cheek against the soft curls. “Did you have a good sleep, sweetpea?”
Marcy patted her face, and Annie’s heart melted. Nothing had prepared her for the wave of sheer love she’d felt when she first held her sister’s child. Blood of my blood, she’d thought, and known the infant had her heart in a tiny hand.
She dressed Marcy, listening to her mostly incomprehensible chatter, and took her downstairs. The doorbell rang as they reached the family room. Her defenses went up instantly, and she marched to the front door carrying Marcy. If Link had come back to press her for a decision again—
But it wasn’t Link. Frank and Julia Lester stood at the door, wearing identical smiles.
“Frank. Julia. I wasn’t expecting you.” She had an irrational urge to close the door in their faces. She stepped back. “Please, come in.”
“Naturally we came by to see how you’re doing.” Frank led the way into the living room as if this were his home. “Yesterday was so difficult for all of us.”
“So difficult,” Julia echoed, her expression blank.
“Thank you.” They all stood awkwardly on the pale beige carpeting Becca had chosen. She should ask them to sit down, but if they stayed, she might blurt out Link’s suspicions. “I appreciate everything you did to help, you know.”
“As Davis’s closest relative, I felt responsible. Who else would do it?” Frank looked at his wife as if silently prompting her.
Julia glanced down at her silk jacket, then
