too dry and perfect. “Came to say good-night.”
He held out his hands to Marcy. She leaned coyly against Annie’s shoulder for an instant, then lunged into his arms, chortling.
Link lifted her over his head, laughing up at her. The laughter transformed his face from its earlier bleakness. Annie’s heart lurched.
“Let’s see if we can get her into bed without a struggle,” she said.
This was the moment that had been difficult each night. Marcy, who normally went to bed without a peep, had been clingy and reluctant.
Link hugged the child, then swung her into the white crib, snuggling her down next to the soft, white, stuffed dog. Marcy lay still for an instant, then popped up again. She looked from one to the other of them, her blue eyes very round.
“Mama?” she asked tentatively. “Mama?”
Annie blinked back tears. “It’s all right, sweetheart. Nan is here.”
Link leaned over the crib railing, patting her. “You go to sleep now, darling. Link and Nan are here. We’re not going to leave.”
Marcy’s eyes clouded up, as if tears weren’t far off. He patted her again, humming in a soft bass. While Annie held her breath, Marcy lay down, pulling the dog close and slipping her thumb into her mouth. In a moment her eyes had closed.
Link straightened slowly. The movement brought him brushing against her as they stood side by side, looking down at the baby. The room was so silent she could hear Link’s slow, steady breathing. She could almost imagine she heard the beating of his heart. Her own seemed to be fluttering erratically.
She took a breath, trying to steady herself. It was certainly a good thing this marriage was going to be a long-distance one. Because she didn’t think she could cope with too much time spent in close quarters with her new husband.
Chapter Three
Gratitude mingled with her apprehension as Annie walked toward the courthouse the next day. She’d expected to be accompanied by only Link and the attorney. She’d thought she’d feel very much the outsider in the redbrick courthouse that was one of a row of similar buildings—town hall, public library, courthouse—that lined one side of the square.
Instead, Pastor Laing had turned up at the house early, saying he thought they might need moral support at such a difficult time. And Nora Evers, hat firmly in place on her white hair, had marched out of her house to join them.
The support helped, especially after the mostly sleepless night she’d endured. She’d been so aware of her responsibility for Marcy that even putting the baby monitor next to her pillow wouldn’t relieve her concerns.
She shouldn’t try to fool herself. Some of her sleeplessness had to be chalked up to Link’s presence in the house as her husband. Husband. The word reverberated in her thoughts. That had to have been one of the strangest wedding nights in history.
She hadn’t expected anything else. Of course not, she assured herself quickly. This was a business arrangement, not a marriage. That fact hadn’t lessened her awareness of Link’s presence. Even after his bedroom door had closed, her awareness had remained. Maybe soon, she’d get used to it. Maybe.
“Are you okay?” Link, carrying the baby, glanced at her as their little procession crossed the street.
Was she? “My stomach feels like I’m walking into an IRS audit without my notes.”
His smile flickered. “As bad as that?”
She nodded. “What if…”
Link took her hand in a reassuring grip. “Let’s not venture into what-ifs, not until we have to. That’s what we have an attorney for.”
“That’s right.” Chet mounted the three steps to the courthouse’s double doors and held one side open for them. He smiled, but Annie thought she detected tension in him, as well. Maybe Chet wasn’t as confident of the outcome as he’d like them to believe.
She entered the tiled, echoing hallway. Ahead of her a cluster of people stepped into the elevator— Frank, Julia and a woman who was probably their attorney. Her heart jolted.
Please, Lord, be with us this morning. We are doing the right thing, aren’t we? Don’t let them take Marcy away.
Link’s tension vibrated through the hand that clasped hers.
“Looks as if they’re not giving up easily.” His grip tightened.
“We didn’t expect them to, did we.” Now it was her turn to try and sound reassuring. She didn’t feel assured. She felt panic-stricken.
“I guess not.” Link waited until the door had closed and the elevator was carrying the Lesters upward before pushing the button.
“Do you think the judge knows the Lesters?” That was probable, given how small the town was. Maybe this would be over before it began, a victim of the Lakeview old boys’ network.
“Judge Carstairs knows everyone in town,” Chet said, answering the question before Link could say anything. “But that doesn’t mean she won’t be fair. After all, she’s always dealing with people she knows.”
Somehow she hadn’t been thinking of the judge as a woman. She didn’t know whether to be reassured by that or not. Would it make any difference in the way Judge Carstairs viewed a custody case?
She worried at it all the way up in the elevator, into the courtroom with its lofty ceiling and murals of Revolutionary War scenes, right into her seat behind a polished table. The judge’s bench rose intimidatingly, towering above them.
She’d pictured someone elderly and severe, but Judge Carstairs couldn’t have been more than fifty. Her glossy dark hair swung around a face that was discreetly made up, and the hand that wielded the gavel sported polished nails.
The judge looked down at the papers in front of her, then questioningly from one attorney to the other. “I thought this was a routine custody hearing for a minor child.”
The Lesters’ attorney stood. “Frank Lester and his wife contest awarding custody to the aunt, Your Honor. As you may be aware, Mr. Lester is the cousin of the child’s father.”
Judge Carstairs frowned. “What I may be aware of isn’t pertinent, Counselor.” She nodded toward the door at the side of the courtroom. “Let’s move this into my chambers.”
Annie sent a startled glance at Chet, who shrugged.
“She does things her way,” he murmured. “All we can do is go along.”
They trooped out of the courtroom and into a book-lined room that looked like an elegant library in a private home. The judge took a seat behind the desk and waved them all to chairs. She glanced at Pastor Laing. “Garth, are you here to testify in this case?”
“I’m here as little Marcy’s pastor,” he said, sitting down next to Link. “I’m concerned that we do what’s best for her, that’s all.”
The judge’s dark gaze rested
