Authors: Bettye Griffin
A Love of Her Own (32 page)
“I never had a daddy,” Marcus said thoughtfully.
“Well, you’ve got one now,” Ava said, half laughing and half crying, but with a big smile.
Marcus
did a fist bump with Hilton, then turned earnest eyes upon Ava. “Since Mama is still my mother, what do I call you now, Aunt Ava?”
She felt her throat constrict
. Maybe it was selfish of her, but if she was going to perform all of the job duties of a parent she wanted the credit. It wasn’t fair for the technicality of Glenda Hudson’s imprisonment to prevent that from happening.
Max jumped into the breach. “
I call her
Miss
Ava. That’ll stay the same…right, Daddy?”
“That’s right, Dude
,” Hilton replied. “But Marcus and Monet’s situation is a little different from yours. You’ll get to see your mom, and they really won’t.” He didn’t mention that Max no longer had a stepfather, for Janelle had been unable to salvage her marriage to Donald. The man she married seemed to have lost interest once the gravy train that was her child support payments stopped. Heartbroken and unable to deny how happy and well-adjusted Max had become, she then relented to give Hilton custody, but Max had spent most of his summer vacation with her in Augusta and would be going back the day after Christmas.
“Marcus,
Monet, y’all listen to me,” Eva Mae said. “Believe me, your mama knows that Ava has been more of a mother to you in less than a year than she’s been all of your lives, before she went to prison. I’m not saying it’ll be easy for her, but I don’t think she’d mind if you called Ava your mama, too.”
Marcus looked at Ava, and
she was reminded of that first day when she’d planted her foot in his back to prevent him from running away. Except now, instead of scowling, he seemed hesitant.
“Is it okay, Aunt Ava?” he asked. “Can
Monet and me call you Mama?”
She opened her arms wide, beckoning them to come forward. “Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes!”
“I think this calls for a family hug,” Hilton said. He and Ava knelt to gather up all three children, then rose to their full heights, with the kids’ legs dangling and their arms stretched across the shoulders of the person on either side of them.
“I think we’d better join our guests and get this party started,” Hilton suggested.
“We’ll let the band know you’re on your way out,” Eva Mae offered.
“Thanks, Mrs. Hudson.”
Hilton tenderly brushed away the happy tears from Ava’s face. “Ready?” he asked.
She nodded.
As they emerged from the back door, the children first, the guests cheered, and the lead singer of the band, who’d been playing a quiet instrumental, spoke into his microphone. “Friends and family, I give you Mr. and Mrs. Hilton White and family.”
Once again
Hilton and Ava bent gathering the children for another group hug, to the delight of the audience, whose cheers were heard over the swell of music.
*****
As their guests helped themselves to the buffet that had been catered by Spencer Barnes’ Sundowner restaurant and the children socialized with their cousins, Ava and Hilton slipped into the small bedroom off the kitchen, where she stayed after her release from the hospital, and had a few private moments to express their happiness, first by sharing a kiss and a prolonged embrace with no words.
“Are you happy, Ava?” he asked.
“I never knew I could be this happy. I just married the man of my dreams, and thanks to the Hudsons’ efforts, I have everything I ever wanted.”
“That was
an incredibly kind thing for them to do.”
Ava nodded.
“You know what I’m looking forward to?” she asked.
“
Our honeymoon in St. Maarten.”
“
No.”
“
You and the kids finally moving in with Max and me.”
“No.”
Hilton looked baffled. “Well, you can’t be looking forward to packing up your stuff and moving it to my house, then getting your place cleaned up and ready to go on the market. That’s going to be a pain in the neck and is going to keep us busy for weeks.”
“
I can’t deny I’m looking forward to moving into that gorgeous bedroom I decorated and you’ve been enjoying all these months, but that’s not it, either.”
“
All right, I give up. What is it you’re looking forward to?”
Ava squeezed her new husband
’s arm. “Christmas. Putting up a tree. Shopping. Even wrapping gifts. I think that for the first time in a long time I’m really going to enjoy it.”
♥
Keep reading for an excerpt from Bettye’s contemporary romance
Isn’t She Lovely?
Contemporary Romance Titles currently available
3-eBook bundle:
Save the Best For Last/Something Real/Man of Her Heart
Women’s Fiction Titles
currently available
About the author
Bettye Griffin is the author of seventeen contemporary romances and six works of women’s fiction. Originally from Yonkers, New York, she now makes her home in Southeast Wisconsin.
You can contact Bettye through her web site,
www.bettyegriffin.com
, or the old-fashioned way at P.O. Box 580156, Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin 53158.
A Love of Her Own
in its original format was my second published novel, from way back in 1999. This eBook version has been updated and revised to reflect both the Twenty-First Century and my improved writing skills. This remains one of my favorite books, and I do hope you enjoyed the story of how one woman whose life had been defined by infertility achieved that love of her very own. If you did, please feel free to share your high opinion with other readers, either orally or in the form of a written review on Amazon, BN.com, Goodreads, or Shelfari!
I plan to continue bringing you re-releases of previously published novels, as well as brand new stories.
I thank you for continuing to read my novels that I publish through my own imprint, Bunderful Books…because good writing is always in fashion. Please drop in at the Bunderful Books website (www.bunderfulbooks.com) to stay current with the latest news on upcoming books.
As always, I wish you good reading!
Bettye
And now, for an excerpt from
my novel
Isn’t She Lovely?
, available at my
eStore
(where prices are usually significantly less than at
online retailers), as well as popular eBook retailers.
K
eith disappeared into the adjoining conference room just as a knock on the door sounded. Jeff strode over to the door and opened it. His assistant stood with a slim, simply dressed woman on the down side of thirty-five, whose natural hair was cut so short that Jeff found himself hoping she’d worn a hat to guard against the cold March wind.
“Come in, Mrs. Pegram,” he greeted, extending his hand. “I’m so glad you could come down this morning.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said nervously, not cracking the slightest hint of a smile. Her eyes darted around the room, lingering on the college and law school degrees that shared the wall with attractive artwork, the rich leather furniture and heavy oak desk.
He invited her to sit down, skillfully sitting next to her in the second easy chair that faced his desk rather than in his usual chair behind it. The first thing he did was ask about her son. He noted the relief on her face as she told him that the broken leg was expected to heal without complications.
“Mrs. Pegram,” he began, “I want you to know that your son was run over by a frightened teenager who’d taken his sleeping grandfather’s car for a quick trip to the library. He was trying to rush home before his grandpa woke up, and that’s when he collided with your son.”
“And kept driving,” she said in an unforgiving tone. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for him?”
Tough as nails
, Jeff thought. But what would he do in her position? “No, Mrs. Pegram. I have a child myself. She’s three years old, and if anyone harmed her I’d want to choke the life out of them with my own hands. I’m just trying to give you the background information. Now, the boy did confess what he’d done to his grandfather, who immediately contacted the boy’s father, my client, who in turn informed me.”
“How did you find out who my son is, and who I am?”
Again that unyielding tone, and suspicious to boot. If Keith was listening he was probably sweating rivulets. But Jeff was accustomed to high pressure. “I’ve got an excellent investigator working for me. I don’t know his methods; all I know is that he gets results. So here you are, and here I am…and the boy’s father is in the next room.” He hoped she would show interest and ask where Josh’s mother was, just to convey to him that she had some curiosity about the boy who’d run down her son, and maybe some compassion as well. He could probably score sympathy points by telling her the mother was dead, but a sixth sense told him not to mention it if she didn’t ask.
She simply sat with the same stony expression. The woman showed no signs of thawing, and he suspected when she saw Keith she would turn into a volcano and start spewing lava. Jeff found himself fearing for both Josh’s future and Keith’s political aspirations. Tracy Pegram looked like Keith’s worst nightmare personified—a woman whose son had suffered pain and who wanted Josh to suffer as well, and Keith, too. Jeff suspected she might have been one of those voters who felt Keith had no business continuing his candidacy after the accident four years ago.
“Why don’t I bring in my client now,” he suggested. He got up and crossed the room, opening the door to the adjoining conference room. “It’s showtime,” he whispered.
Keith was on his feet in an instant. “Tell me quick. What’s your impression of her?”
“I hate to tell you this, but I think it’d be easier to climb Everest than to pacify this lady.” Jeff raised his index finger to his lips just before he pulled the door all the way open, and Keith knew he didn’t want the boy’s mother to think they were whispering behind her back.
Keith quickly covered his distress and followed Jeff through the doorway into his office. In one of the chairs facing his desk sat a woman who looked nothing like what he expected. It was probably silly of him, but from Jeff’s description of a struggling divorced mother, he hadn’t expected anyone who looked, well, quite so
together
. For one thing, she was petite. Keith imagined that her schedule of full-time work, part-time college, plus caring for her children left little time for nutritious eating, but Tracy Pegram hardly had a figure of a woman who grabbed a lot of greasy hamburgers and French fries on the run.
She was also fashionable. Her hair was cut in an extremely short natural that emphasized delicate features and a graceful neck. From what he’d seen, the shorter a woman’s hair the larger her earrings tended to be—perhaps to prevent her from being mistaken for a man—but Tracy Pegram’s lobes were decorated with small gold love knots, just one in each ear. She wore a simple crew neck black sweater and black pants with a black-trimmed collarless kelly green suit jacket. A thin gold chain hung around her neck with a curvy capital T hanging from it. To Keith’s eyes, Ms. Pegram looked as well-dressed as, well, Wendy, who was in a considerably higher income bracket.
“Mrs. Tracy Pegram, may I present Mr. Keith Norwood,” Jeff said.
Keith saw the flash of recognition in her dark eyes. She shook the hand he offered like she was in a trance.
“You might recognize him,” Jeff added lamely.
She spoke for the first time since Keith entered the room. “Yes, I do.”
“Keith, you sit there,” Jeff instructed, indicating the chair to Mrs. Pegram’s right, then went around to sit behind his desk.
After Keith was seated he cleared his throat and began to speak. He noticed that while his back was firmly against the back of his chair, she sat upright, her legs bent backward at the knee and demurely crossed at the ankle. He tried not to be intimidated by her stern body language. “Mrs. Pegram,” he began earnestly, “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about what happened yesterday. My son, Josh, has been unhappy lately about my campaign. You see, if I should win it’ll involve moving to Springfield. He’s a high school sophomore and doesn’t want to leave his friends.”
“I don’t mean to sound rude, Mr. Norwood, but is that supposed to be an explanation for what he did? Your son has a tantrum because he doesn’t want to move and
my
son ends up with a broken leg?” Her eyes flashed with anger.
He resisted the urge to exchange worried glances with Jeff. The last thing he wanted to do was make Tracy Pegram think they were ganging up on her. “Of course not. I just wanted to give you some background information.”
She nodded. “I know about the accident that killed your wife and mother-in-law,” she said softly. “I truly am sorry for the…horrendous experience you and your son suffered, but perhaps he should be supervised more closely.”
Keith’s spine stiffened. He understood the message behind her words: that he shouldn’t be out campaigning, he should be at home with his son. And he didn’t like it. Who was this woman to tell him how to raise his son? With all she had on her plate, how much time did she spend with
her
kids?
She kept looking at him with anger in her dark eyes. Keith didn’t know if he’d ever had her vote to begin with, but if he ever had it, he’d definitely lost it now.
Jeff quickly intervened, leaning forward personably. “Listen, we’re all parents here. We have to realize that even the best-behaved child is going to act out every now and again. I’m not saying that Josh has had no problems stemming from witnessing the accident that killed his mother and grandmother, but that ordeal is pretty much behind him. What happened yesterday was really a one-time impulse that he regrets very much. Mrs. Pegram, I asked you here today in the hopes that we can reach some kind of a quiet settlement.” He put just the right emphasis on the word ‘quiet.’
Keith found himself holding his breath as he waited for her reaction.
Tracy felt torn. She was being asked to take money in exchange for not pursuing legal action. Josh Norwood had left the scene of an accident, and one with injuries at that.
But he was also the son of a wealthy man, and she’d begun to dip into her meager savings to keep her bills paid on time, something she wouldn’t be able to keep up for very long. She was still paying back the loan she’d taken against her retirement account to finance her divorce from Clint. Her credit card balance was creeping upward because of emergency repairs for a nine-year-old car she couldn’t afford to replace. And the kids always needed something, especially the rapidly growing Gabe. Things were worse now than they’d ever been before, and her stress level was becoming unendurable. Just last week she’d actually cried when she realized she’d accidentally picked up two half gallons of more expensive premium orange juice instead of the regular kind she usually bought. Things had to be pretty bad when an expenditure totaling a dollar and forty cents reduced her to tears. In that case it wasn’t so much the money as it was the strain of trying to keep up. And who knew when Clint would be able to send her anything?
It might not be fair that rich men like Keith Norwood could buy their children’s way out of just about any jam, but she had no choice. She had to hear him out.
“I’m listening,” she said quietly, trying not to sound defeated.
“I wanted to give you an amount that would cover your out of pocket expenses for your son’s medical treatment and would leave plenty left over,” Keith Norwood said. He paused, then said, “Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“You give the word, and I’ll get the papers drawn up right away,” Jeff added. “You’ll be able to pick up your check this afternoon. Of course, there are some terms we must ask you to agree to.”
Tracy’s fingers gripped the arm rests of the chair even as she kept her facial expression impassive. Twenty-five thousand dollars! That was probably two-thirds of her annual salary. To think that Keith Norwood could pay her that much money in one lump sum, the same way she would buy a ninety-nine-cent burger at McDonald’s. She could actually pick it up on her way home from work, Jeff said.
But nothing was as simple as it seemed on the surface, and Jeff Howard’s words suggested a catch. “What kind of terms?” she asked, her voice low with suspicion.
“Confidentiality. We would expect for the details of the situation itself, as well as the financial settlement, to be kept secret. No friends, no family…not even your ex-husband should be told.”
Her eyes narrowed. She had broken her promise to Amber and hadn’t yet telephoned Clint, but it bothered her that Jeff knew about Clint in the first place. “How do you know I have an ex-husband?” That same creepy feeling she’d gotten when Jeff called her house returned.
As he hedged, the answer came to her with the force of a strong ocean wave. “My God, you’ve had me
investigated
,” she said accusingly. “You did more than just find out my name and phone number. You’ve snooped into my personal business, going over any records that exist on me. You invaded my privacy!”
While listening to her tirade, Keith noticed that her voice had a husky quality to it that was charming. In a different setting he’d find it sexy. He pushed that outrageous thought aside and sought to reassure her. “Mrs. Pegram,” he said in the most soothing voice he could muster, “I can understand your being upset at the thought of a background check being done on you, but I’m sure you’ll agree that it’s only common sense to get an idea of a person’s character before you offer them cash to keep something quiet.” Too late, he realized that pointing out his ability to pay her for her silence would only antagonize her.
She turned on him with blazing eyes. “And what if my character had been questionable, in your opinion? That doesn’t change the fact that my son has a broken leg because of
your
son’s reckless driving. So then what would you have done?”
His answer came without hesitation. “I would’ve brought Josh to the police station to turn himself in. I would have let the insurance company handle the settlement and done everything I could to protect my son against the law, even if it meant dropping out of the race for governor and having to disappoint those who’ve supported me with their money and their time.” Keith spoke with quiet resolve that conveyed he was every bit as concerned for his son’s welfare as she was for hers.
He certainly sounded convincing, she thought. She felt herself softening, then swiftly changed her mind. She couldn’t cave in now. Josh’s leg would be in a cast for the next six weeks. She’d have to shuttle him to and from school all that time, and she was already exhausted.
No. As far as she was concerned, Keith Norwood was as sincere as Fred C. Davis, the character of a do-nothing, hot-air Chicago alderman on the old TV sitcom
Good Times
. His decision to stay in the governor’s race four years ago after witnessing his wife’s death in a fiery car crash suggested he was power-mad and wanted to be the nation’s second black president. Couldn’t he see that his son had been traumatized and needed his dad? That might be why the kid took his grandfather’s car keys in the first place, to get his father to stop running for office and pay him some attention for a change.
It almost seemed unfair that such a cold, unfeeling man—even if he did manage to show personality and warmth on the surface, like that heartfelt claim he’d just made—should have been blessed with a personal fortune, Tracy thought. Imagine, paying someone twenty-five thousand dollars just like that!
It just went to show how real estate often made people rich. Tracy had dreamed, at least she used to before her divorce, of one day buying a house, a place of their own that she would lovingly decorate, where she and Clint would raise their children. Of course, they would have owned just one house, the one they lived in. Keith Norwood, on the other hand, owned properties all over Lake County in a partnership with his father. It was likely those lucrative investments, more so than his salary as attorney general, that allowed him to write five-figure checks without a second thought.