The Wrong Man Page 22

  Trent’s mouth dropped open and his cheeks turned crimson. “Lib—”

  “Please. Let me finish. All I’d ever wanted in my life was to be a wife and mother. To have children who would know they were loved and accepted. Brett’s actions were cowardly and base, but I got over that. All I wanted was my baby. And I vowed to do anything I could to protect my child. Even if that meant going up against Daddy—” she choked out the name “—Belton. Quiet, docile little Libby put up one hell of a fight.”

  “But you didn’t have any leverage.”

  She smirked, remembering. “Oh, I was desperate, but not stupid. I threatened to expose his abortion suggestion to the local newspapers. That sort of thing wouldn’t have gone over very well in our conservative congressional district.”

  He started to move toward her, but she held up her hand. “There’s more.” She couldn’t let him comfort her. Not now. She had to purge herself of memories she had entombed for years. “I finally forced him to agree to let me go someplace far away and have the baby. Give it up for adoption. There was only one catch.” She remembered the scene in his home office when the life of her unborn baby was reduced to a business agreement. “I could never mention my ‘shame’ to another person, or attempt to find my child so long as my stepfather held public office.” She shrugged. “That left me little choice. I moved to Oregon. All my friends thought I was going out there for summer school.”

  Mona stretched, then crept over and settled on Trent’s legs, but he seemed oblivious to her.

  “The baby…?”

  Until now, Libby hadn’t realized she was crying. She swiped at an errant tear, then shook her head.

  “He didn’t make it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  As if in a classic black-and-white movie, the doctor’s grim face loomed over her again, the delivery room behind him ominous with the unrelieved gleam of white and stainless steel. The doctor’s clipped “Sorry” still haunted her nightmares. “Your son is dead.”

  Lost in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized Trent had moved beside her until he gathered her in his arms. “He was stillborn at six and a half months.”

  “Oh, God.” Trent’s wail nearly deafened her.

  “I was there in Oregon all by myself.” She didn’t tell him that only the fact that she had known movement in her womb and the promise of new life had kept her from taking her own.

  He cradled her, rocking back and forth, his head bent to hers. How long they sat that way, drawing from each other’s pain, she didn’t know. Her heart ached with her losses and her tears seemed endless. But slowly she came to realize they were not her tears alone. Trent’s were mingled with them. At last, with a mournful sigh, he drew back, framing her face in his hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I—I couldn’t.” She cast her mind back, trying to remember why she hadn’t. “Out there in Oregon, I made a choice. I would have as little as possible to do with my stepfather from that point on, but I would damn well let him pay for my education. That’s how I ended up at Montana State. I vowed I would start my life from that point, never looking back, never acknowledging the neglect and loneliness and heart-ache of the past. I would be just like any other carefree coed. It was the only way I survived those first awful months afterward. I’ve spent years keeping that secret, even from myself. Otherwise, I would have fallen to pieces.”

  “So when you got pregnant with our baby…?”

  “It was as if I’d been given a whole new chance, a whole new life. I had a husband who loved me and a child on the way. My dream of family was coming true at last. You can’t imagine how happy I was.”

  “And I was too insensitive to get it.”

  She laid her head in the crook of his shoulder. “We were young, Trent. So very young. Besides, how could you have known?”

  Emotionally and physically spent, she comforted herself with listening to the steady beat of his heart, relieved there was nothing more to tell, but knowing that for a lifetime she would mourn her lost babies.

  WHEN LIBBY EXCUSED herself to go to the bathroom, Trent stood up, working the kinks out of his legs. But he couldn’t work the kinks out of his mind. What a shallow, unfeeling bastard he had been. And what did it say of him then that she hadn’t been able to confide in him? What kind of marriage had they really had?

  He paced from the fireplace to the window, fury building inside him. Senator Belton was a real piece of work! Selfish, egotistical—hell, there weren’t enough adjectives in the book. His behavior was inexcusable. Trent thought of Kylie. What if someone treated her so callously?

  The wonder of it was that Libby had come out of her experiences still able to love his daughter unconditionally and all those other children lucky enough to have her for a teacher.

  He wanted to be the man she loved so completely, and he would spend a lifetime proving to her that although he had been the wrong man for her all those years ago, he was the right one now.

  When she entered the room, her face was devoid of makeup and freshly scrubbed. Despite the redness of her eyes, she managed a soft smile and walked into his waiting arms. “I should have told you, Trent. Don’t blame yourself for what happened back then.” She snuggled closer. “And I want you to know one other thing. I love Kylie. Not because she represents the children I couldn’t have, but because she’s so special.” She paused, then looked up at him with such love it nearly blew him away. “And because she’s part of you, the man I will always love.”

  He felt the same rush he experienced after scaling a fourteen-thousand-foot peak. “I love you, too.” He kissed her lightly. “I’m not that same old guy, you know.”

  “I know,” she said. “Nor am I that same frightened girl.” She ran her hand through his hair. “I promised Kylie. Now it’s your turn. Trent, honey, I will always tell you the truth.”

  He clutched her to him. “Marry me, Lib. Again.”

  Before she threw her arms around him, she chuckled, then uttered the most welcome words he’d ever heard: “How soon?”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  GEORGIA SAT QUIETLY in the corner working a cross-stitch piece while Kylie slept. Gus and Trent were in the hospital cafeteria eating breakfast. From the hallway she could hear the clatter of meal carts and the distant hum of a floor waxer. The heater kicked on, sending a blast of warm air against the cold window.

  After a good night, Kylie had awakened ravenous. Yesterday she had complained of a headache and had slept a great deal, but this morning she’d been talkative until, finally tiring, she’d dozed off. She was determined to ski again, she had told her grandmother, and Georgia had decided not to fight her. Kylie was, after all, Trent’s daughter, and perhaps it had been his very zest for adventure that had attracted Ashley to him in the first place. She could hardly fight nature or nurture. Besides, she’d come to understand that accidents could happen anywhere—skiing or simply crossing a street.

  Her thoughts turned to the disturbing question with which Gus had confronted her Sunday. He had been pretty rough on her, accusing her of making Trent a scapegoat for all the disappointments and tragedies in her life. In a way, maybe that was what she had done with her father, as well—blamed him for all the deprivations she’d experienced as a child. Had she done the same thing with Trent—let anger and resentment, even her selfishness, compound her grief? Could she move beyond her own sense of loss? Glancing at Kylie’s still form on the bed, she reproached herself. Life in a hothouse wasn’t really living. Her beloved daughter had died far too young, and now this accident had brought home, in a way nothing else could have, how much she could still lose and how precious were the years remaining to her. Those years needed to be lived.

  Trent and Kylie had a long future ahead of them. Georgia stirred in her seat and, for a moment, let her hands fall idle in her lap. She wanted them to be happy, fulfilled. Ashley would have wanted that for them, too.

  If she were honest with herself, she had no reason to object to Libby Cameron, ot
her than the fact she and Trent had been married before, yet Georgia had never seen the slightest evidence that he had carried a torch for her into his marriage with Ashley. No. He had been devoted to Ashley, and his grief at her death had been genuine and heartbreaking. Last night in their bed at the lodge, Gus had reminded her that people change and grow. “Even us,” he’d said, chucking her under the chin before he drew her into his arms, where she fell asleep, secure in his love.

  “Grandma?” Kylie’s voice sounded sleepy.

  Georgia set her needlework aside and moved to the bed. “I’m right here.”

  “I had a dream.” She yawned. “Mommy was in it. She was so beautiful.”

  “I can just imagine.”

  “Know who else was in my dream?”

  “Tell me.”

  “Miss Cameron.”

  “What were they doing?”

  “Mommy had a crown. You know, like the Barbie princess. And she was putting it on Miss Cameron’s head. She looked pretty, too.”

  Georgia sat on the edge of the bed and raised Kylie’s fingers to her lips. “It sounds like a wonderful dream.”

  “It was.” Kylie closed her eyes, a smile hovering on her lips.

  Georgia’s heart rose in her throat. If Kylie needed a new mother, it was not her place to stand in the way.

  “You know what? Miss Cameron doesn’t have a mommy.” Kylie’s eyes opened again and she studied her grandmother soberly. “She was little just like me when her mommy died.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “She talks to me. We’re friends.” Kylie cocked her head. “She could be your friend, too, if you want.”

  Even if Georgia spent the rest of her life lavishing all the Barbie dolls in the world on Kylie, it wouldn’t be enough. What she needed to give her granddaughter was a loving stepmother.

  “What’re you gals doing?” Gus stepped into the room, trailed by Trent.

  “Talking, of course,” Kylie said.

  Georgia turned to her husband. “Could you give me the car keys?”

  He looked startled. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “Yes. To Kylie’s school, if Trent will give me directions.”

  “Sure,” Trent said. “But can I save you the trip?”

  “No. This is something I have to do. I’m going to see Libby.”

  Trent turned to Gus, as if looking for answers, but the older man merely shrugged. “She’ll probably be in class.”

  “That’s all right,” Georgia said, picking up her coat and purse. “I’ll wait.”

  After drawing a map on the hospital scratch pad, Trent tore the page off and handed it to her with a word of explanation.

  Georgia glanced at Kylie. “Bye, honey, I’ll be back in a little while.” Then she breezed past them, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. She hadn’t set foot in an elementary-school classroom in years.

  Hurrying down the hall, she felt immense satisfaction. For the first time in many months, her heart soared on the wings of promise.

  LIBBY SAT at her desk, lulled by the sound of the videotape the class was watching. The life cycle of honey bees had failed to keep her interest. She’d floated through the day in a daze, relief that Trent could forgive her almost palpable. She couldn’t have asked for a man to be more understanding. Maybe she hadn’t given him a chance all those years ago, or maybe life had taught them both the lesson of trust. Whatever the case, he had made her feel loved and protected.

  In fact, she might be totally at ease, were it not for this afternoon’s meeting with Jeremy Kantor, the one dark cloud in an otherwise beautiful day.

  “…honeybees are very good housekeepers. Their hives…”

  Libby felt a small hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes, embarrassed that maybe she had dozed off. Lacey patted her. “Miz Cameron, look. There’s a lady at the door.”

  When Libby wheeled around in her chair, expecting to see the secretary or maybe Mary or Lois, her eyes widened in surprise. Georgia Chisholm?

  She rose and greeted her quietly. “Georgia? Is something wrong with Kylie?”

  “No, indeed.” Georgia held her coat over her arm. She nodded toward an empty chair by the reading table. “I came to visit. Do you mind?”

  “Certainly not, but—”

  “Do you have a recess or lunch break soon?”

  “The children will be going out for recess in a few minutes.”

  “Good. I’d like to talk with you. What I have to say won’t take long.”

  “Very well.” Libby escorted her to the empty chair.

  Libby settled at her desk once again, attempting to appear interested in the film. Parents and relatives were encouraged to visit the classrooms, but she was ill prepared for Georgia Chisholm, dressed immaculately in a designer sweater and trim slacks. Kylie’s grandmother looked out of place in the child-size chair, her attention seemingly fixated on the life cycle of bees. Libby studied her, seeking any clue to her purpose for being here.

  Nothing she’d imagined could have prepared her for the first words out of Georgia’s mouth once she’d sent the children out for recess. “I want to apologize,” Georgia announced.

  “What for?” Libby asked, joining her at the reading table.

  The older woman straightened the neck of her sweater, then leaned forward. “For being a bitter old lady.”

  Something important was happening here, Libby realized. But before she could say anything, Georgia went on.

  “Tell me about your growing up.”

  Libby didn’t know what she’d expected, but not this. The dilemma was in knowing how much to reveal, but as she looked into Georgia’s empathetic eyes, she realized it would be safe to admit to the pain of those excruciating years. She talked for several minutes about her father and mother’s deaths, about feeling like a misfit in school and about her stepfather’s indifference to her in the face of his political ambitions.

  “You loved your mother a great deal,” Georgia said when she finished.

  Libby lifted her head and stared out the window at the faraway peaks, missing her mother, even after all these years, with an acute longing. She turned back to Georgia. “Yes,” she said.

  “Kylie told me she had talked with you about Ashley.”

  “Kylie and I have much in common.”

  “I imagine you have a strong desire for a family.”

  Once again the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. What did she have to lose by baring her soul? “You are very perceptive. All my life I’ve dreamed of being part of a happy, loving family.” She sighed. “Maybe it’s nothing more than a pipe dream. But I long to be a mother, to have children. To spend my life with the man I love…” She trailed off, the pressure in her chest making it difficult to continue.

  Georgia laid a hand on hers. “Is Trent that man, Libby?”

  In the older woman’s gaze was a compelling urgency. “Yes,” she said.

  “Good.” Georgia sat back, as if relieved. Absently, she picked up a primer from the stack on the table, running her hands over the cover before setting it down again. “In my bitterness and grief, I have been guilty of being judgmental. Of Trent…and of you.”

  “I would never try to take Ashley’s place.”

  “I know that now. But in a way, strange as it may seem, I want you to.”

  From the hall, Libby heard the giggles of children. “I don’t understand.”

  “You have no mother. I have no daughter. Kylie needs a family.” Georgia blinked rapidly. “She needs a mother. I see now what I couldn’t see before. She wants you.” Georgia held up a hand when Libby tried to say something. “Wait. Let me finish.” She collected her thoughts, then said, “I want you.”

  Libby’s cheeks flushed with a tide of emotions—all of them welcome. “A family?” Her eyes filled.

  “A family. You, Trent, Kylie, Gus and me. Sometimes we aren’t blessed with the families we wish for, just the ones we’re given. And we have a choice.” Again she laid a hand
on Libby’s. “Mine is to build something wonderful out of what is, and not merely for Kylie’s sake. For all of us.”

  Libby slipped out of her chair and knelt beside Georgia. “Are you sure?” she said breathlessly.

  “Positive.” The older woman put an arm around Libby’s shoulder in a way that made her feel cherished. “Welcome home, Libby.”

  “Are you sick?” Bart Ames’s unmistakable voice interrupted the moment.

  “Yeah, Miz Cameron,” another child added, “is that lady a nurse?”

  Libby gave Georgia a knowing smile, then got to her feet and faced the curious second-graders. “She’s not a nurse, boys and girls, she’s my new mother.”

  “Huh?” Bart looked totally flummoxed.

  “Yes, children,” Georgia said, standing beside Libby. “Sometimes families aren’t born, they’re made.”

  “Whatever.” Bart made an adults-are-so-weird face, then led the charge into the room.

  “I’ll see you later,” Georgia said, then slipped from the room, leaving Libby so overcome with emotion it was all she could do to restore order to the classroom.

  AT FOUR-FIFTEEN, Libby arrived home. This should have been a day of joyous celebration. Georgia had accepted her, Kylie would be released from the hospital in the morning, Trent loved her despite the past, and she had learned an important lesson about self-revelation and trust.

  But in fifteen minutes, Jeremy Kantor would appear on her doorstep, probing, digging, cross-examining. And she still had no idea how she would handle him. Or whether she had reached a point where she could forgive Daddy.

  When the doorbell rang, she stood in the middle of the living room, panic edging its way into her thoughts. She squared her shoulders. This issue had to be faced. If not Jeremy Kantor, then it would be another reporter.