anger, or guilt?
Marie felt sick at how she’d torn this man’s world apart, but now that she’d calmed down a bit, she couldn’t leave without learning the truth. “What does he—your son, Luke—look like?”
“You’re not getting my son.” His eyes bored through her. His volume dropped ominously, but the rumble carried conviction. “The Hallocks are never losing another child.”
Chapter Two
His words and tone stunned her. Had one of his other children died? Had he lost one in a custody battle? It wasn’t her place to ask, but Marie could tell from those agonized words Peter Hallock fiercely loved and protected his own. A host of primitive emotions crackled between them. Ricky squirmed and broke the tense silence. “I gotta go potty!”
When Peter failed to react, Marie prompted, “Could we please go inside?”
“Yeah. Sure.” He got up and helped her to her feet. “Give me a few days to get over the shock. No, give me a lifetime. This is a hideous nightmare!”
“I know.” His look of mixed anguish and bewildered hurt struck a common chord. Marie struggled to keep her voice steady, “I keep praying I’ll wake up and it’ll be behind me.”
Peter eased Ricky from her arms and glanced at her, then down at Ricky and back at her. His face appeared even more haunted. “I don’t know if we’ll wake up, Marie.”
The officers still hovered close by. “Ma’am? Sir—”
Peter took charge. “We appreciate your assistance. No one is at risk—unless it’s Ricky and me in danger of getting drenched. You can leave.” The cops chuckled as Peter increased his pace.
She hastened alongside him, up a cobblestone walk bordered by perfectly manicured hedges and lawn. His home looked like a Georgian mansion. It stood as evidence of power, class, and wealth. Marie hadn’t researched him—all she’d gotten were a name, address and phone number. She’d tried to get more information, but she didn’t know the ins and outs of investigating someone, and the few leads she had were useless. The gates hadn’t been mere façade—the home behind them and the man who lived in it were steeped in money. That fact increased her wariness.
When they reached the bathroom and Ricky fumbled to pull down his elastic-waisted jeans, Peter braced himself against the marble pullman. “I don’t want to believe it.” In a sickened hush he added, “But I think I do.”
His words only confirmed her worst fears. The days of praying and nights of sleeplessness all came down to this. Marie wanted to turn back the clock and return to the days when she innocently mothered the child she’d always thought was hers. As she soaped Ricky’s hands over the sink, she felt his slippery hand slide away from hers and knew it was symbolic. It took every last shred of her self-control to keep from weeping.
Peter stared at Ricky. His eyes held a dazed cast. “I hoped you were mistaken. We’d do tests—you know—and realize you’d just been…wrong. This nightmare is real. You have my s—”
“Daddy?” a high voice piped out in the hallway. “Lookie! I gots a—” As soon as the toddler discovered strangers, he halted midsentence and clutched his father’s slacks for security.
Transfixed, Marie stood still and stared at the boy. His corn-silk hair matched hers, as did his dimples. He had her small, straight nose and gently rounded chin, but he also carried some of Jack’s traits. She folded her wet hands to her chest to still the thundering in her heart. His name whispered between her lips.
Peter immediately grabbed the boy by the shoulder and turned him to divert his attention. “Hey, sport! I found someone to be your friend. Let’s go to the playroom.” He scooped up the child before Marie could even reach out for him. Peter threw a towel at Marie, grabbed Ricky, and headed down the hall.
“Wait!” She hurriedly dried her hands and chased after him. The man had an impossibly long stride. She kept her eyes on them—the boy who matched his red hair, and the boy who matched her blond. A jumble of emotions muddled her brain.
She hurriedly caught up with him at the doorway to a playroom. Sunlight streamed through gleaming windows, illuminating the bold primary colors of the simple furniture and toy shelves. Every imaginable thing a child might dream to possess filled the place. A very young woman in overalls carefully stacked blocks back into a red plastic bin and gave the boys a warm smile. Mrs. Hallock?
“Anne, we have guests,” Peter said in a friendly tone that still carried authority. “Please ask Mrs. Lithmas to bring lunch here for the four of us. You may have the rest of the day off. Have her call Paulette to cancel my twelve o’clock, too.”
“Yes, sir.” The nanny nodded and left.
Marie glanced around, then asked, “Is your wife home?”
“I’m widowed, too.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Her heart twisted. How long had little Luke lacked a mommy’s love?
Peter put both of the boys down, then held Marie back. “Please let them have time together. Don’t rush Luke. He’s shy, and you don’t want to scare him. He’s been taught not to go near strangers.”
Marie shot him a pained look.
Peter gently squeezed her arm and urged, “Give him time. It’ll be worth it—I promise.” He frowned a few minutes later. He and she still stood side by side in tense silence while the boys played with toys and ignored one another. “Why won’t they play together?”
Kneeling on the floor, Marie stated softly, “I work in a day care, so I see this all of the time. Kids this age do what’s called parallel play. They play alongside of one another and sense companionship, but they don’t necessarily interact. In a while, they will.” She turned back to Ricky and laughed as he worked the jack-in-the-box.
Luke let out an unholy screech and grabbed for the toy. “Mine!”
“Share!” Ricky yelled back.
“Let’s take turns,” Marie intervened. “Ricky, it’s Luke’s turn next.” She slowly reached out to the son she’d never held. Her heart almost beat out of her chest as he stared at her with wide blue eyes. He turned his gaze toward his father and received a nod of approval. Very tentatively, he drew closer.
Lord, he’s all I have left of Jack. You already instilled a mother’s love for him in my heart. Please, Father, stir the love of a son in his heart for me.
Marie wanted to grab him and hold him close, but she knew she’d spoil everything if she did. Summoning control she didn’t know she possessed, she gently hitched the children by their waists and held one on each knee. In her softest voice she prompted, “Okay, Luke, show me how to do it.”
She wanted to squeeze him silly. She wanted to cover his dear little face with kisses and vent the laughter and tears that warred within her breast. She couldn’t do any of that—not here, not now. She felt Peter watching how she handled both boys. Glancing at him, she cocked a brow as if to ask what he thought.
“He doesn’t usually take kindly to strangers. He kicks up a royal fuss.”
“Really?”
Marie remained motionless as Luke curiously raised a finger to trace her dimple, then she took his finger and guided him to touch one of his own. Afterward, she took that finger and drew it toward her face. Suddenly, she turned her head and gobbled up his arm and neck. He dissolved into gales of laughter.
“Me, too!” Ricky demanded, and she pulled him right into the fun.
To Marie’s amazement, Peter Hallock forced out a lion’s roar. He disregarded his beautifully tailored, visibly expensive suit and pounced from the sofa. Both boys shrieked, and Peter grabbed Luke. He tossed him in the air, caught him amidst squeals of joy, and then did the same to Ricky. He lay on the floor and wrestled gently with the boys. They piled all over