than having to tell them what a fool she'd been.
She couldn't begin to think of the future. Once again, it was a
frightening void. Each day was a challenge. Her only hope was in wiping
Mitch from her mind, and it was easier here in New York. They hadn't
spent time together here. There were no memories of him here, other than
of the deposition, but, there, he hadn't been the man she loved.
On occasion she thought of Vermont. Spring would be coming there. She
would have liked to see the lilacs bloom and smell their fragrance. So
there was a loss in this, too.
He stopped calling after the first few days, but, try as she might, she
was never able to push him far from mind. Her father actually mentioned
him one afternoon.
"I received a call from Mitchell Anderson the other night. You know, the
head of SEAA?"
Did she know him? Did she know him!
"Seems like a nice fellow. He wanted to make sure you were all right,
since you seemed so upset at the deposition."
"Wasn't that considerate of him," she snipped bitterly. Guilt feelings.
Good. Let him suffer "How did he know to call you? He doesn't know my
maiden name." But, of course, he could find it out. He could find out
anything he wanted. Powerful men got what they wanted without batting an
eyelash.
"He called Ted first," her father explained. "He hesitated to call you
directly, for fear of upsetting you more."
"Wise man." Upsetting me more. That was cute.
Anthony Faulke eyed her with gentle reproach. "It was considerate. After
all, his airline's been found innocent in the matter. Technically, it's
no concern of his any longer."
Anne didn't care that his airline was innocent. In her mind, Mitch was
still a deceiver.
She was angry with no one to yell at, heartsick with no one to hug, and
if she moped about for the better part of each day, the nights were no
better. She was obsessed by a living nightmare, waking and sleeping.
By the middle of the second week, she was at the end of her rope. So she
lined up several fast interpreting jobs that would get her away from
paper translations and out into a people-oriented mainstream again. And
it worked. She got a handle on her emotions.
Then she was thrown a setback. Her doorbell rang one evening when she
wasn't expecting anyone. Leaving the chain latch in place, she opened
the door the several inches allowed and peered out to find Mitch there.
She closed the door with a slam. The bell rang again and again. She went
to the most remote corner of the apartment, crossed her arms on her
chest, and vowed to let it ring.
She wasn't prepared for the loud pounding that followed. He was making a
godawful racket.
Fearing that he would have her neighbors out in no time, she returned to
the door. "Go away!" she yelled, hoping that her voice would carry
through his ruckus.
It did. His returning call was muffled, but she heard every word. "Not
until I've spoken with you, Anne."
"Go away! I don't want to talk!"
"You'll have to."
Irate, she reopened the door those few allotted inches. "I don't have to
do anything. Now, please leave, or I'll call the police." It took very
ounce of restraint for her to remain calm when she would have liked
nothing more than to run him through with a carving knife.
He looked agitated. "I'm trying to be patient, Anne, but you refuse to
take my calls. We have to talk. There are things I have to explain."
She seethed. "Sorry, bud, but you had your chance, and you passed it up.
You had all those days and nights to tell me who you were and what your
business was, but you didn't. You were so cagey. I'll see you soon,
Annie, soon." She contorted her voice to mock him. "But you didn't
bother to tell me when, did you, Mitch? Well, I don't want to talk now."
She leaned against the door to shut it, only to find he had a foot in
the way.
"Move!" she ordered hoarsely. She was wearing down in more ways than
one.
He swore. "Hell, Anne, but you can be stubborn. If we were back in
Vermont, I'd know just what to do."
"We're not in Vermont!" she screamed, uncaring that others might hear.
"I'll never be there again. Now, leave!" Every muscle in her body
quivered.
"Fine," he gave in. "I'll leave, but I'll be back. If not here, I'll
catch you somewhere else. On the street, in a restaurant, even at your
parents' house, if need be. I can be devious. You can't stay holed up in
this place forever. And I won't give up!"
When his foot slid back into the hallway, Anne slammed the door shut
then, she turned and ran, trembling, toward the bedroom, where she
huddled against the headboard like a hunted animal. He could be devious;
that was putting it mildly! She would see him again, and the thought
filled her with dread.
Determined not to be made a prisoner in her own home, Anne booked even
more jobs. She was all over town, with varied and interesting people,
but the diversion she wanted came only in bits and snatches. Ever on
guard against running into Mitch, she found herself looking over her
shoulder wherever she went, half expecting to find him ready to pounce.
It was nerve-racking, to say the least. After more than a week of
running from place to place and feeling haunted, she grew discouraged.
The worst of it was that that she didn't see him, and that deep inside,
in a place she didn't want to know about, she was disappointed because
of that. The pain went on.
Relief came from her parents in the form of an invitation to spend time
with them at the shore. Yes, they tended to smother her, but she could
use a little smothering now. She wanted to be pampered and loved. She
wanted to be protected from Mitch. The change of scenery would be good.
She planned to make the most of it.
The first of May found her dressed in a bright yellow sundress, waiting
beside her bags at the front entrance of her apartment building. She
checked the street, then her watch. Her parents had promised to be there
at one. It was one-fifteen now. They weren't usually late.
With a brief word to the doorman, she returned to her apartment, dialed
her parents' home phone, waited through ring after ring. Assuming they
were on their way, she went back downstairs. What she found there
stopped her cold.
With the doorman's ready assistance, her bags were being loaded into the
trunk of a shiny brown Audi that she didn't recognize. But she did
recognize the man who stepped from its far side. He was sun-bronzed and
gorgeous in a pullover and white ducks, looking as handsome and
masculine as could be, and very, very smug. Before she could find her
tongue, he opened the rear door of the car and leaned in. When he
straightened, he was carrying the most beautiful child Anne had ever
seen.
Her breath faltered. How could he? He wasn't playing fair, wasn't
playing fair at all-and he knew it, if the mischief in his grin meant
anything.
"Hi, Annie!" He greeted her as though nothing was wrong. "Hope we didn't
keep you waiting too long. Traffic was a bitch. I think we have all your
bags. Is there anything else inside?"
Anne may have been thick in the past, but she wasn't thick now. He had
known she would be waiting. He had known what time to come. He would
never have brought the child, if he hadn't been sure of the outcome.
That meant her parents were in cahoots with him.
Had it been Mitch, alone, she would have turned and run. But when she
looked at the child, she was lost. The six-year-old wore pink bib-topped
shorts, a white jersey, and clean white sneakers. Her limbs were tanned,
long legs dangling around Mitch's thighs. Golden cascades of curly hair
fell half%way down her back, held off from her face by gaily painted
barrettes above either ear. But the barrettes were small and couldn't
quite hold all her hair. Short wisps escaped into tendrils that framed
her face. And that face? If Anne hadn't been in love with the rest, that
face would have done it. It was softly rounded and rosy checked, with a
swarm of bright freckles over the bridge of a button nose, and eyes that
were chocolate-colored and soulful-and staring at her.
"Oh, my," Mitch said. "I've almost forgotten introductions in my rush to
get going. Anne, this is my daughter, Rachel Anderson. Rachel, this is
Anne Boulton."
With more poise than Anne could seem to muster, the child extended a
small hand. "Hello, Anne. I'm pleased to meet you. Daddy's told me all
about you."
Anne held her hand, loving its fragility and its warmth. "Only the good
things, I hope?"
Rachel's eyes rounded quickly. "Oh, my daddy would never say anything
bad about you. He-"
"That's enough, pumpkin," Mitch cut her off with a squeeze. "You can't
give away all our secrets, now, can you?"
The child broke into a wide grin, displaying a mouthful of small white
teeth with a wide gap smack in the middle of the top.
Anne was enchanted. "That's quite some hole you've got there. Did the
good fairy bring you something nice for those teeth?"
Again the grin, along with owl eyes. "I got a whole dollar for each of
them. Daddy says he only got a quarter when he was a little boy, but
that the good fairy was afraid I might swallow a coin, so she gave me
paper. I'm really glad," she bubbled and lowered her voice in
confidence, "'cause you can't buy much for a quarter."
Anne laughed. "You're a perceptive little girl."
Mitch appeared to agree. Pride was written all over his face, and he had
a right to that pride where the child was concerned. Not where his own
behavior was concerned, though. For starters, he should be ashamed of
himself for using her as a shield.
"Uh, perhaps you ladies are ready to go. The sooner we leave the city,
the sooner we'll reach the cabin."
The cabin? Her heart stopped. She couldn't go to the cabin.
But Rachel's eyes were glued to hers and Mitch's held clear warning.
"Rachel," she began softly, checking back over her shoulder, "do you
think you might wait here while your father helps me out with one last
thing upstairs? Maurice, the doorman, will keep you company."
The child looked to her father for permission. He kissed her and set her
back in the car. "We'll be down in a jiffy." He spoke gently, repeating
the same for the doorman. Taking Anne's elbow, he escorted her inside.
As soon as they rounded the corner and were out of the child's sight,
Anne turned on him. "You arranged this with my parents, didn't you?"
He grinned. "They're wonderful people. When I explained the situation,
they were more than glad to help out."
"Well, that's just fine, but I'm not going! For all your smugness and
your crafty little plans, I'm not going!"
His grin died. "I told Rachel that you'd be spending the week with us."
"You had no right to do that."
"But it's done. She's counting on your being there. Would you disappoint
her?"
Anne was exasperated. "How can you use her like this? You know I can't
hurt her."
"I was counting on that."
"So you're going to go out there"-she pointed a shaky finger toward the
street-"and tell her I can't go."
"But you can. Your bags are packed and loaded. Your work has been
cleared for the next two weeks. There's nothing left to hold you here."
Anne felt trapped. With a tired sigh, she slumped back against the wall.
"Why don't you leave me alone? Can't you see that I don't want to be
with you?"
He was sober then. "That's because you won't listen to reason. I've
tried to explain, and more than once, but you wouldn't answer my calls
or let me in when I banged on your door. You wouldn't give me the
courtesy of hearing me out. So now I'm asking you, for Rachel's sake, to
come with us. Just this once. At the end of the week, if you still feel
this way, I will leave you alone."
Anne wondered if it was the only way out. She couldn't bear the thought
of hurting a child who had already been so badly hurt in life. And the
little girl would be a chaperon of sorts. What harm could there be?
"Is that a promise?" she asked cautiously.
"Yes." There was no point belaboring the matter. With a defeated sigh,
she pushed away from the wall and returned to the car with Mitch.
Within the hour they left the traffic of the city behind and sped
northward. "When did you get the new car?" Anne asked, groping for
conversation with Mitch as Rachel knelt on the backseat, studying the
receding skyline.
"About a week ago. This is her maiden voyage. The Honda was a bit small
for three." The eyebrow that arched her way was subtle, but Anne had to
marvel at his presumption. If the three included her, he had paid a
whole lot for a single trip.
Rachel poked her golden head between the bucket seats and rubbed her
cheek against the soft velour. "I like this car. Daddy says the color
matches my eyes."
"It does, at that," Anne said with a warm smile. How not to smile at a
child who exuded sweetness like this one? She prayed there would be
pouts, crankiness, and temper tantrums as the week progressed.
Otherwise, she could be in big trouble.
There weren't any pouts, crankiness, or temper tantrums, and Anne grew
more and more attached to the child. Even knowing that Mitch contrived
it didn't detract from the pleasure Anne took in simple custodial things
