The Christmas Cradle

by Linda Warren

  HE STOPPED AT A GAS STATION to buy a map of Dallas. He spread it out over the steering wheel and searched for the street Ms. Michaels had given him. The Highland Park area caught his eye. When he’d started his boot business, he, Tulley Becky, Jen and Bart had dinner with a business lawyer who’d given them his advice. He was a man Becky had met in college and he lived in Highland Park.

  Colter knew exactly where Richard Preston lived. He remembered the sprawling estate and the large security gates with the Dalton logo. Marisa was probably there at the time and he hadn’t known. So close, yet…

  He folded the map. If he wanted the truth, he’d have to get it from Richard and Vanessa Preston. They would know what Marisa was talking about.

  MARISA PARKED IN FRONT and ran up the steps to the double doors. Instead of ringing the bell, she went in. Winston, the butler, was instantly at her side.

  “Ms. Preston, it’s so good to see you,” he said in surprise. “I’ll tell your father you’re here.”

  “No.” She stopped him. “There’s no need.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She made her way through the living room to the library. She heard loud voices and paused, frowning. It can’t be, she told herself, as she listened to the high-pitched voice that sounded like her mother’s. What was Vanessa doing here? She was supposed to be on a cruise.

  She walked uneasily toward the closed doors. Yes, it was definitely her mother’s voice—shouting angrily at her father.

  “Leave her alone, Richard.”

  “She’s working as Madame Hélèna’s gopher and making us the laughingstock of Dallas. I won’t have it.”

  “I can’t take any more.” Her mother’s voice was no longer angry, just resigned.

  “Then why the hell didn’t you go on your cruise? I can take care of Marisa. I can take care of both my children.”

  “Marisa belongs to me.” Vanessa’s voice rose an octave. “That was in the agreement, Richard. You would raise Reed and I’d raise Marisa—without interference.”

  “You’re the one who called me, Vanessa.”

  “I never should have listened to you. You said Marisa would come back to New York, but she hasn’t.”

  “Texas is her home and this is where she belongs,” her father bellowed. “If he hadn’t shown up, everything would be fine.”

  “But he has, and now…”

  There was a moment of silence, and the chill inside Marisa turned to an icy foreboding. Then she heard her mother’s voice.

  “Yes. We’ll lose her. We will lose her forever.”

  What was her mother talking about? Marisa restrained herself from charging into the room. Her heart pounded painfully, and she tried to steady her erratic pulse as she waited for her mother’s next words.

  “It wasn’t easy having full responsibility for Marisa when she was seventeen and pregnant. I handled things badly and I wish…”

  Unable to stand still for one more minute, she opened the door. “You wished what?” she asked.

  Her parents stared at her, shock on both their faces. Her mother was the first to recover. Dressed in a fashionable cream-colored suit, she rushed over to greet Marisa, giving her a quick hug. “Darling, you’re back.”

  “What were you talking about?” she asked again.

  Her mother looked nervously at her father, and it was clear that Vanessa didn’t want to answer. Marisa was about to insist when her father spoke up.

  “Your mother is dramatizing everything as usual.”

  It was more than that and, for a change, she was getting some straight answers. “Mother said she never should’ve let you talk her into something. What did she mean?”

  Richard shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit slacks. “She was talking about our decision to call the police when you were stranded on his ranch. It was probably the wrong move, but I couldn’t tolerate the thought of that man hurting you again. You almost didn’t survive the last time, and when I think of the pain he put you through—well, I did what I figured was best.”

  Normally she would have accepted that explanation, but not now—not after what she’d heard. “His name is Colter Kincaid, and it was my decision to go to his ranch. He didn’t force me.”

  “Of course not, darling. We’re just glad you’re home,” her mother put in.

  “Yes,” Richard added. “I’m very glad you’re home. Your room’s waiting for you and so is your job at Dalton’s.”

  “I have a job, Father, and I get paid for the work I do, not for being Richard Preston’s daughter.”

  Her father bristled. “You are a Dalton and a Preston, and you belong here and at Dalton’s.”

  “Really?” She lifted an eyebrow as she remembered parts of the conversation she’d overheard. “I thought I belonged to Mother.”

  Her father was speechless, and suddenly she could see the past for what it was. “That’s it, isn’t it? You brought me to Texas to get me away from Mother. I’m like a prized object, and neither of you has ever thought about my feelings. It’s just you and this tug-of-war for dominance of your children.”

  “Darling, please, let’s not argue,” her mother begged.

  Marisa turned to Vanessa. “Why aren’t you on your cruise?”

  “I couldn’t leave with you running off like that. I had to know you were okay.”

  “Surely Father’s PI told you I was.”

  “All right, Marisa,” Richard said, his words sharp. “This rebellion isn’t like you, and I’ve had enough. It’s time for you to come home.”

  In the past she’d always submitted to that tone of voice, but not today. Not anymore. “Sorry, Father. I’m not seventeen and I’ve earned the right to live my life the way I choose.”

  “Fine, you want more control at Dalton’s, you’ve got it. You want an apartment somewhere, you’ve got it. Just tell me what the hell you want.”

  “Peace, Father. That’s what I want.”

  He scowled, looking perplexed. “What are you talking about?”

  “I need peace about the past. I’ve never recovered from losing my son.”

  Richard’s features softened. “Sweetheart, no woman ever truly recovers from something like that.”

  “I know what my problem is.”

  “What?” Richard asked.

  She turned to her mother. “Where’s he buried?”

  Vanessa turned a pasty white. “Darling, why are you putting yourself through this?”

  “Because a mother should know where her child is buried.” She swallowed visibly. “When Colter asked me, I couldn’t answer, and I realized that I left my baby behind and I never visited his grave. I was emotionally traumatized by his death, but—”

  “You told Kincaid about the baby?” her father asked.

  “Yes.” She glanced at Vanessa. “Where did you bury him?”

  Raised voices interrupted them, and Marisa turned to see Colter and Reed walk into the room.

  What was Colter doing here? Had he followed her? A new hope lightened her heart. Was he ready to listen? Was he ready to hear about their son?

  He looked tired and angry—just as he had earlier. He wasn’t wearing a hat and his dark hair had been tumbled by the wind. There was a disturbing glint in his eyes.

  Richard confronted Colter. “How did you get in here, Kincaid? You’re not welcome— Winston!” he shouted.

  “I let him in,” Reed said. “He asked to see Marisa and I didn’t see any harm in that.”

  “You know what this man did to your sister. Can’t you use some common sense?”

  “I am,” Reed replied, undaunted by their father’s temper. Then he looked at Marisa. “Do you want to see him?”

  “Yes,” she answered in a low voice.

  Winston rushed into the room. “Yes, sir.”

  “Remove this man immediately,” Richard ordered.

  Colter stood almost six feet tall, broad shouldered and whipcord lean. Winston was five foot six, thin and almost effeminate. The thought o
f Winston bodily removing Colter was ludicrous.

  “Come this way, sir,” Winston said.

  “I’m not going anywhere until I speak with Marisa.”

  “I’ll call the police,” Richard threatened.

  “Go ahead,” Colter said.

  Richard stepped toward the phone.

  “No,” Marisa insisted. “Colter’s here for the same reason I am. We want to know where our son is buried. Just tell us and we’ll leave.”

  Colter stared at her blankly. “I deserve more than your lies,” he said coldly.

  Marisa stared back at him. Lies? What was he talking about? She’d been as open and honest as she could. What else did he want from her?

  His gaze swung to her mother. “We meet again, Mrs. Preston.”

  Marisa’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’ve met my mother?”

  “Of course,” he answered, as if that should make sense.

  “But how?” she asked, her voice like a film of ice that threatened to crack at any moment.

  “Come on, Marisa, stop playing games,” Colter warned.

  “Games?” she choked out. “Do I look like I’m playing games? I feel I’m going insane and everyone around me is talking in riddles! I tried to tell you how much I wanted our son, how I fought to keep him, how he died before I could even hold him, but you wouldn’t listen. Now, you’re accusing me of lying. Please tell me what—” Her voice cracked as a sob rose up in her throat.

  Colter took in the pallor of her skin, her harassed appearance and the desperate look in her brown eyes. She wasn’t acting or lying. She believed everything she was saying. That realization fueled his anger and resentment, and he turned to face Vanessa Preston with a look bordering on suppressed violence.

  “You didn’t!” he demanded, begging to hear a denial.

  Vanessa remained silent, studying her long pink fingernails.

  Her refusal to speak gave Colter his answer. “OhmyGod, you did,” he groaned. “OhmyGod.”

  His body stiffened and he clenched and unclenched his hands, fighting for control. “Tell her the truth, dammit—tell her!”

  Chapter Ten

  Vanessa looked at her daughter, her eyes filled with torment, then she shook her head. “Don’t do this, Mr. Kincaid,” she begged. “It’ll destroy her.”

  “There’s no choice. She has to know.”

  A vein in her mother’s neck jerked erratically. “I can’t, I can’t,” she sobbed, wiping tears from her cheeks.

  Marisa had never seen her mother cry. She was always so strong, so in control, and Marisa knew that her mother was confronting something she couldn’t handle. The thought scorched her nerve endings, but could do nothing to stop the panic.

  Richard grabbed Colter by the arm. “We’ll take care of it from here. You can leave.”

  Colter pulled his arm away. “I’m not going anywhere until the truth is said out loud.”

  Vanessa appealed to Marisa. “Darling, please ask him to leave.”

  “Why?” she asked, more confused than ever. Vanessa didn’t answer, and Marisa felt questions beating at her, but she wouldn’t acknowledge them. She had one goal and she focused on that. “Just tell us where our son is buried.” That was the only thing that made sense to her at the moment.

  “Tell her!” Colter shouted. “Tell her, or I will.”

  Vanessa flinched. “You were so young and I didn’t know what else to do. You had your whole life, a brilliant career, ahead of you, and I couldn’t…couldn’t let you throw it all away.”

  “What are you talking about?” Marisa asked, her voice sounding unfamiliar to her ears. “Tell me,” she demanded.

  Vanessa took a jagged breath, but before she could speak, Richard broke in. “Don’t, Vanessa.”

  It was clear that her parents had some information she needed, and Colter knew what it was. She glanced at him. “What don’t they want me to find out?”

  He opened his mouth, but there was no sound. He tried again. “You…didn’t have a…son.”

  The words ran through her head like the shrill of a whistle alerting her to danger, and she tried to rid herself of that sense of foreboding.

  “Yes, I did,” she said. “I carried him for almost nine months and I felt him kick and move and I talked to him. I named him James Colter, and he weighed five pounds, two ounces. He was stillborn.”

  Colter closed his eyes briefly. “Yes, except—”

  “Except what?” she asked, wondering how he knew all this. She had the urge to put her hands over her ears to block out his next words.

  “Except your baby wasn’t a boy and he wasn’t stillborn.”

  Marisa turned to her mother. “Tell him about my son, Mother. Please.”

  Vanessa hung her head, and Marisa turned to her father next—and what she saw in his eyes chilled her to the bone. “Father, you know what happened. Tell him.”

  Silence became a deafening sound that echoed through her heart.

  She looked at Colter and braced herself for his next words.

  “You had a daughter…and she was born alive.”

  “What!”

  “It’s true,” he said.

  “No, no, no.” She flung her head from side to side. “Why are you saying that? Why are you lying to me?”

  “It’s true, Marisa,” he repeated.

  She stared at Vanessa, mouth dry. “Mother, please, tell me he’s wrong.”

  Vanessa raised her head. “He’s not,” she said in a low, defeated voice. “Your baby didn’t…didn’t die at birth.”

  A black fog settled over Marisa. Her first reaction was to laugh, then cry, then scream, but of course, she did none of those things. Her mother’s words rendered her immobile as the full implication drove into her.

  She swallowed convulsively, and her body began to tremble. She was dangerously close to the breaking point and she tried to calm herself, but all she could do was continue to stare at her mother as if she was some diabolic stranger.

  “You’re lying! Why are you lying?” Marisa choked out. She closed her eyes against the shock, the truth, only to hear her baby cry once again. It was so clear, so real, just as it had been years ago. Everything began to fall into place: the crying, the dreams, Colter’s hostility, her mother’s nervousness. As her mind began to clear, she knew her mother wasn’t lying. Not this time.

  “Your daughter is alive,” her mother said.

  The words bounced in Marisa’s head like lead marbles, each one making an indention she could feel. “How?” she breathed, not knowing if she had enough strength to face the truth.

  Vanessa took a breath. “When you wouldn’t sign the adoption papers, I didn’t know what to do, so I called Richard.”

  Her eyes moved to her father. “You were there?”

  “I came when your mother called, and we decided what was best for your future.”

  “You decided. You decided,” she cried, almost hysterical. “I loved my baby and I wanted him—her, but you decided…you decided…” She had to take a breath before she could continue. “You took my baby from me! You told me he…I mean, she was dead and you let me live with that lie. How could you think that was best for me? I’ll never forgive you for this. Never!”

  A gasp of pain left her throat. Her baby was alive. Fast on that thought, a more agonizing one followed. Where was she?

  She fought the fear rising in her. “Where’s my daughter? Did you give her to strangers?”

  “No,” Vanessa said.

  “No?” Marisa echoed. “What does that mean? Who did you give her to? I demand to know.”

  There was a slight pause, then her mother glanced at Colter and said slowly, “We gave…gave her to…her father.”

  A tense silence followed the announcement. Marisa turned to Colter as the truth began to sink in. That meant…that meant…She couldn’t even formulate the thought that tortured her mind.

  “Ellie is our daughter.” Colter said the words for her.

  “No!” she
cried, her hands against her mouth. “No! She’s Shannon’s daughter.” As she denied it, Ellie’s face flashed before her eyes—the delicate features so like her own, the blond hair. Why hadn’t she recognized her own daughter? “Oh God,” she moaned. She didn’t want to be the woman who’d given away that adorable child.

  She could see how things had happened. Her mother had told her she’d had a son and that Colter had married—all lies to keep her away from him.

  Colter took a step toward her, his face etched with pain. “Your parents found me and told me you didn’t want the baby, so I gladly took her.”

  Another lie. Another deception.

  Ellie wasn’t Shannon’s. Ellie was her daughter.

  The reality was too much to endure, and she felt herself shattering into a million pieces. Through the pain and numbness, she held onto one fact. Ellie was her daughter…her precious baby. She was alive!

  She backed away from her parents, muttering incoherently, “No, no, no.” She knew she was shaking her head and the denial burned her throat, but she was only aware of grappling with the facts, striving desperately to comprehend and accept them. Backing into Reed, she clutched at him for support.

  “Reed, is this real or am I dreaming?” she asked in a feeble voice.

  “You’re not dreaming,” he said, his voice touching a chord of reality.

  It was true, then. Colter had their daughter and had raised her for over seven years, since the day she was born. That was why he hated her so much—he believed she’d willingly given their baby away.

  “Darling, listen,” her mother appealed.

  “No! I don’t want to hear anything you have to say. Being my parents didn’t give you the right to do this.”

  She could feel the pressure building inside her head, the sharp throbbing, and she sensed the walls closing in. She felt faint, but she fought back, needing to explain. She had to make Colter believe how much she’d wanted their baby.

  “Colter, I…” she began to say in a shaky voice as the dizziness consumed her. The room swayed and blackness engulfed her—and two strong arms reached out to catch her as she crumpled to the floor.