“What does a wet diaper have to do with it, for pity’s sake?” Lawrence couldn’t contain his ire. “I’ve got a news flash for you, Morgan: babies piss their diapers until they’re soaked, and boy babies can soak their britches on a single piss. And did you actually
see
how that knot on his head got there?”
He wanted to grab onto his assistant and shake some sense into her. His pale blue eyes, framed by thick, dark eyebrows, narrowed as they took in her visible defiance. Stating the obvious, he growled, “Babies cry when they’re wet, or when they fall down and hit their heads. That’s all we can assume happened. And you of course know what happens when you
assume
, don’t you?”
Louise hissed, “Yes.
Sir.
”
Lawrence heaved himself to his feet and gave his troublemaker of an assistant a few final orders. “Go home, Louise. I want a report of this on my desk, first thing in the morning. Next time you receive a call from an anxious grandmother, you might want to make sure you have all your legal ducks in a row, before you go tearing off to save the child from the clutches of its loving family. You got that? Oh, and one more thing.” He tossed it out to her before she could reach his door and make her escape. “Next time don’t bring your personal junk to your job. As of right now, consider yourself on suspension.”
Annie collapsed on the living room sofa and expelled a breath of utter relief. If she’d had to remain at the county offices for even five more minutes, she’d have screamed her head off.
What a nightmare. She rubbed at eyes still gritty and swollen from all the tears she’d shed. But Hank was safe now, and that was the most important thing.
She looked up with a tired smile when Travis sat next to her. He pulled on a strand of hair near her temple. “I found breakfast.” With a flourish, he held out a small piece of dried oatmeal.
“Oh, good grief. I walked around with food in my hair—why didn’t you say anything?” Annie protested, horrified.
“I don’t think any of us cared that you had food in your hair, sweetheart.” He leaned close and kissed her. Their lips clung as his arm slipped around her and he pressed her close. Annie sank into his embrace and let his warmth soothe her.
From the doorway, someone cleared their throat, and Annie pulled away with a flush to her cheeks. Aunt Nan stood there with two steaming mugs in her hands.
“Here. Hot cocoa.” She brought them over to the coffee table and set them down. “You could both do with some extra calories.” She perched on the edge of the sofa near Travis and ruffled his hair. “And you could use a trim, my boy. When was the last time you went to a barber?”
“It’s kind of slipped my mind lately, Aunt Nan,” he replied. Annie could see the pleasure on her aunt’s face when Travis called her “Aunt.”
“Hmph. Let Susan cut it. She’s got a way with shears.” Aunt Nan laughed aloud when he paled. Annie loosed a rusty-sounding snicker. Actually, the thought of Susan wielding anything with sharp blades
was
pretty scary.
“Um—”
“Don’t tease him, Nan. He’s had a rough night.” Her mama chastised Aunt Nan as she entered the living room. Travis gave her a grateful smile. Annie’s eyes lingered on the lines weariness had left on Mama’s face. Well, they were all weary. It had been an awful few days.
Hank was out of her arms for almost forty-eight hours before she and Travis got him back. For a lot of that time, he’d been in Ruth’s hands. Just the thought of Ruth anywhere near her precious baby still sent shivers of fear up her spine. Luckily, Martha had kept Hank with her, the two of them locked in her bedroom.
She felt a smile quiver at one corner of her mouth, and her mama raised her eyebrows in query. “What? Thinking of a joke? We could all use a laugh right about now.”
Annie let some mirth bubble over. “I’m just trying to picture Martha with Hank in her arms behind a locked door, and Ruth, hopping mad on the other side.” As everyone released tired chuckles, she sobered. “I guess it’s not that funny, when you think of it. What if she’d gotten inside? Would they have had a tug-of-war with our baby?” she appealed to Travis worriedly.
“No, I doubt it. Even my mother isn’t that clueless around babies. And she’s always been intimidated by Martha.” He tried to reassure her.
After giving her a final squeeze, Travis got to his feet and faced everyone. Mama, Aunt Nan, Mark, who stepped through the door quietly with Susan on his heels. Travis met their eyes with a look of apology in his own, and Annie ached with empathy for what she knew he must feel. When her daddy walked in the room carrying Hank, dressed in his own pajamas and drowsy from his nap, she watched tears slip down Travis’s cheeks.
“I—I’m sorry. For what my mother put you through, I’m so sorry. She had no right. You must think she’s the most awful person in the world, and I couldn’t blame you at all for thinking that way.”
“Now, stop that.” Mark was the first to step forward. He clapped Travis on the back, pulling him in for a brotherly hug. Travis clung as Mark admonished, “How could you know what your mama had planned? None of us really thought she would.” He held Travis’s shoulders, made him listen. “Trav, what your mama did . . . I don’t think she can help herself. She’s got problems. I hope she gets help someday. In the meantime, I think we’d all best remember that her reasons for doing what she did are based on strong feeling. Maybe it’s the wrong feeling.” He gave Travis a brief shake. “But she’s still your mama. I’m willing to cut her some slack. Not much,” he winked, “but a little.”
“Mark’s right.” Annie got to her feet and wrapped an arm around Travis, caught her brother with her free hand, and squeezed his fingers in thanks. “And there’s blame, but it isn’t on you, Travis. You’re not in control of what your mother does.”
No, he wasn’t in control of his mother’s actions, Travis knew. It didn’t lessen the bitterness or the hurt. He sat with Annie on the sofa and snuggled her in one arm and Hank in the other, while the rise and fall of conversation around him soothed over his jangled nerves. He wouldn’t forget this day, not for a long time.
It was far from over. They still had to face the damned subpoena, and a court date had already been set. But this latest escapade would undoubtedly cost his mother some credibility points.
A few hours passed peacefully. One by one, the Turner family said their goodnights and trooped upstairs to bed, leaving Travis and his precious family clustered together on the sofa. Aunt Nan, the last to head up, kissed their cheeks before she left the room.
Sleepy-eyed, Hank babbled to the old stuffed dog in his arms. Travis recognized it as one he’d played with when he wasn’t much older than his son. Martha must have saved it all these years and given it to Hank when she had him upstairs with her at Quincy Hall.
He still couldn’t quite believe his mother had, in effect, kidnapped her own grandson. Though she kept him overnight, County Child Services ordered her to release Hank into their custody first thing the next morning, and two uniformed police had come to Quincy Hall and taken him. Travis found out Martha had refused to unlock the bedroom door, even after she heard their voices on the other side. Picturing it made him laugh aloud.
“What now?” Annie sent him a puzzled look.
He nestled her closer. “Oh, thinking about Martha, demanding to see some ID from those cops. She wouldn’t open the door until they slid their badges under so she could examine them.”
Annie released a coughing laugh. “Oh, Lord. I can see her doing it, too.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “We should head up. We’re both wiped out, and we have to go see that lawyer, Ms. Findley, tomorrow.” She moved away, stretched, and grabbed hold of the sofa arm to hoist herself up.
“Yeah, my energy levels spiked downward many hours ago.” Travis struggled to his feet with his son’s heavy weight on his shoulder, one hand still gripping the stuffed dog. “Let’s get the big guy to bed.” He carried Hank toward the foyer. Behind him, Annie snapped off lights.
“I think we should bring Hank with us tomorrow,” she commented as they climbed the stairs. “I don’t want him out of our sight.”
“You won’t get an argument from me.”
In the dark bedroom, Annie stroked Hank’s hair as he curled on his side and hugged the stuffed dog to his face. Seconds later she heard a tiny snort, Hank’s own baby version of a snore. She muffled a chuckle, afraid she’d awaken Susan.
When she turned to whisper goodnight to Travis, her jaw dropped at the sight of him, unbuttoning his shirt. “What are you—Susan’s in here!”
He snapped on the low-wattage lamp between the beds, and she squeaked in alarm as she spun toward Susan. Only to stare, confused, at the empty bed.
“Where’s Susan?”
“She suggested we swap rooms for the next few nights. She thought we’d feel better if we’re both in here with Hank.” Travis sat down on Annie’s bed and pulled off his sneakers and socks, calmly undressing in front of her with her folks just down the hallway from them.
She sputtered, “My parents, Travis!”
He shrugged and sent her a slow smile as he stood and unfastened his jeans. “Your mama heard what Susan said to me. She just patted me on the head, the way she usually does.”
He slipped out of his jeans, and her mouth went dry at the look of him, the tanned, smooth skin and lean muscles. He took a step toward her, his eyes darkened with emotion. “We’re getting married soon. Your mama knows how much we love each other. If she’s okay with me sleeping in the same room with you and Hank, then I’m sure okay with it.”
He reached her side and ran a hand over her braided hair, loosening it. Strong fingers slid against her scalp and massaged away her tension, while his other hand brought her closer as he worked at the tangles. She leaned into his body, loving the feel of his bare skin beneath her cheek. He stroked his thumb along the curve of her mouth until it reached her chin, then tipped her head back and took her lips in a deep kiss.
How easy and familiar, to fall back on the old, faded bedspread with him. How exciting, as well as a touch forbidden, the idea they’d make love with family members three doors down from them. Even if they were married, she was certain she’d have been self-conscious.
Then her hesitancy melted away, at the force of need Travis’s kisses aroused in her. She met each one of them with hunger, moaning when he tugged at her clothes.
The soft creak of the bedsprings beneath them, as they shifted on the mattress, didn’t disturb the child who slept in the crib tucked into one corner of the room. In the dim light, their gazes locked as he rose above her.
“Annie.” He breathed her name into the warm, shadowed room. Her arms reached for him, welcomed him. When he pressed against her and their bodies meshed together, they both sighed.
Catherine hadn’t been sleeping well at all.
It was her own fault. Listeners at keyholes usually heard things they’d rather not know about, and she had done a very stupid thing: she’d listened at the keyhole over at Quincy Hall. The evening of Travis’s birthday, she should have just kept walking right out of the house. But she hadn’t. Instead, after the bombshell she’d dropped concerning Travis’s and Annie’s baby, she’d made her exit but crept back toward the wide doors and hid behind them like the worst sort of eavesdropper. Why, she still wasn’t sure. Perhaps she’d needed to hear her mother finally acknowledge defeat, and then somehow persuade Ruth to give up, too.
Instead, her mother chose to conspire with Ruth. Some of the words were muted, but Catherine heard more than enough. She pressed a hand to her mouth, aghast, as Ruth plotted out what amounted to kidnapping her own grandson. A court would no doubt call it something else. They’d probably say it was a concerned and loving grandmother worried about the welfare and well-being of a small child.
But Catherine knew better. And so did her mother, damn it.