The Lewis Legacy Series Box Set: 4-in-1 Special Edition

by JoAnn Durgin

  Stunned, Amy swallowed her shock and met Juliet’s hard gaze. “Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

  “I understand you had a date with him last night.” Her voice sounded raspier than usual. Although it could be caused by a cold, she didn’t sound nasal. Most likely, she’d taken up smoking again. The woman was classic Type A. From what she knew, Juliet barely ate and rarely got a full four hours of sleep each night.

  Amy tamped down her rising anger. Was someone spying on her? That made no sense. Sure, they’d been in very public places, and Landon was considered one of New York’s most eligible bachelors. Had someone photographed them together? She envisioned the caption beneath a photo of them in the society pages: Mystery brunette shares cozy carriage ride in Central Park with Landon Warnick. Anything but that. Mitch would never let her live it down. Why would anyone feel the need to go running to her boss with that information?

  She shifted, struggling to appear nonplussed. “Yes, I met him for dinner, but with all due respect, may I ask why my personal life is a concern to either you or the magazine?” She prayed her boss wouldn’t either misinterpret the question or find it impertinent. “It was after working hours, on my own time.”

  Juliet tossed her head and narrowed her eyes. “I suspect he wants to steal you away and put you to work for his magazine. He’s done it before and he’ll do it again. I’m sure he impressed you with his knowledge of you and perhaps of the articles you’ve written.”

  A hundred different thoughts fluttered through Amy’s mind. That was the second time Juliet used the word “steal.” She closed her mouth, unsure what to say. During their time at the coffee shop, Landon mentioned a few of her articles and the topics—enough to understand he’d read them as opposed to surface skimming. She’d been flattered, and although the things Juliet said were true, it didn’t mean Landon’s intentions were underhanded or that he harbored an ulterior motive. The man had rushed to the aid of a possibly dying man. She refused to believe he would be . . . disingenuous. “He can’t steal me away if I’m not interested in leaving. I’m happy here at Habits, and I trust you know I’m a loyal employee.”

  “Of course. My point being you’re one of our best, and Landon knows it. The man is famously tenacious and stops at nothing to get what he wants.”

  Curiosity got the better of her. “When you say ‘he’s done it before,’ what do you mean?”

  Juliet returned to her chair and picked up her gold-plated fountain pen, twisting it between her fingers to the point where Amy wanted to grab it from her hand. “You know how I despise this kind of talk, but I also need you to understand something. About three years ago, we had a young writer working here. Very pretty and a talented writer. Landon took a ‘liking’ to her, shall we say, and lured her away. She subsequently defected from us with barely a decent good-bye, much less two weeks’ notice. Apparently, the man’s charms are irresistible.”

  Amy sat back in her chair, unable to meet Juliet’s stare. The whole idea disheartened her. “Surely you’re not implying he’d mislead me for the sole purpose of gaining a new employee?”

  Juliet’s brow arched. “Cozy carriage rides in Central Park aren’t normally the way one conducts business, although with him, I suppose anything’s possible. I’ll admit he’s an excellent writer and publisher. I’m not saying he plays dirty, but what I am saying is he knows how to play the game to get what he wants.” She finally put down the pen and fixed her with a firm gaze. “I knew it was only a matter of time before your talent became a known commodity, Amy. However—” she said, narrowing her eyes—“I’m only going to tell you this once: stay away from Landon Warnick.”

  Rising to her feet, Amy’s heart pounded. She’d fought for breath since Juliet mentioned the cozy carriage ride. Squaring her shoulders, she prepared to make a hasty retreat from the office. This was ten times worse than anything she could have imagined. “As I said, I’ll take it under advisement. Thank you.” How she got the words out, she wasn’t sure. And why am I thanking her? Polite to the end, you are. She ignored Marcheline as she hurried past her and down the hall to her office. The walls closed in on her, the narrow corridor endless. Although she felt like slamming her door, she was careful to close it quietly in spite of the tempest raging inside her.

  A wave of nausea overwhelmed her as she crossed her arms over her middle and leaned against the window sill. Tears stung her eyes as she digested Juliet’s words. One thing she’d learned was not to accept anything or anyone at face value. Good or bad, most everyone had ulterior motives. As a journalist, she needed to be fair and honest and not make hasty judgments. Was her boss’s warning a thinly-veiled threat? Could her position at the magazine actually be in jeopardy if she saw Landon again? The thought stunned her. Surely the terms of her employment didn’t expressly forbid seeing him socially. Juliet made regular appearances at cocktail parties and dinners where Landon would be in attendance. They moved in the same circles, after all. Such occasions were commonplace and inevitable. Like it or not, certain obligations came with the position.

  Stumbling to her desk, Amy dropped into her chair and stared straight ahead, lost in thought. Never would she have expected anything like this to happen. As it was, she rarely dated, by her own choice, and now she’d been told in no uncertain terms—by her boss, no less—to stay away from the first man who’d intrigued her in years. From the top of the mountain one day to the pit the next. Had the whole world gone crazy? Perhaps she was every bit as naïve as Mitch suspected.

  ~~**~~

  Later that same afternoon, Amy focused on her edits for the next article due. She jumped when the intercom buzzed, interrupting her concentration.

  “Amy, you have a delivery at the front desk.”

  With a frown, she pushed the button on her phone. “I’m in the middle of something, Lana. Is Nathan around? He can either bring it to me or I’ll come get it later.”

  She overheard a muffled male voice—deep and vaguely familiar—in the background. “The delivery’s on its way back to you now.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Sensing a presence in the doorway within the minute, she glanced up to see Landon leaning against the doorjamb. Oh my, this guy was more handsome than a man had a right to be in his dark suit. Tailored to absolute perfection.

  “Hi, Amy.” The way he said her name with that velvety-smooth, deep voice did untold things to her.

  Lord, can You please have a little mercy? When I said I needed help, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.

  “Landon. What a nice surprise.” Rising to her feet, she wondered if she’d chewed off all her lipstick. Frustrated with her edits, she’d also tugged on her hair and hoped it appeared halfway presentable. Preliminary notes for the piece on Sam were scattered across her desk along with a couple of articles she was editing. Smoothing one hand over the top of her head, she moved from behind her desk and waved him inside. “Come on in, but excuse my mess.”

  “It’s my fault for dropping by unannounced,” he said. “One of the signs of an effective editor is a chaotic desk. At least that’s what I tell myself. My assistant, Dona, has fits about my lack of organizational skills, but she learned early on not to rearrange anything. I won’t keep you, but I wanted to bring something to you.”

  “How thought—” Amy’s words stuck in her throat as he moved his hand from behind his back and held out a small bouquet of daffodils. For the second time in as many days, he’d stolen her breath in a most unexpected, wonderful way.

  “Daffodils?” She focused on the fresh blooms. “They’re my favorite. How . . . how . . .” she said, taking them from him. “How did you find them at this time of the year?” Tears stung her eyes. The sentimental gesture touched her more than if he’d brought her the rarest, most expensive roses.

  “I was hoping for a smile, not the opposite. Let me run down to the corner and—”

  “No, please. I love them.” This man makes all the right gestures. Is he incredibly sensitive or just way too smooth?
“Trust me, they’re happy tears. This is . . . very special.” She turned back to her desk. “Let’s see. I’ll need to find a glass or something to put them in. Surely one of the other ladies has a vase around here somewhere, but I’m not sure where.” She stopped. Being in this man’s presence transformed her into a blathering idiot. Taking a deep breath, she gave him a shaky smile. “Let’s try this again. Thank you, Landon. Should I ask how you know I love daffodils?” She eyed the bright yellow flowers with appreciation.

  “Confession time.” His sheepish grin was as surprising as it was charming and relaxed his features. “I called your brother.”

  “I doubt he could tell you my favorite color or food, but in this case, he got it right.” Her mental tug-of-war continued.

  “Actually, I think he was testing me,” Landon said. “Probably thought he was throwing me off by naming an out-of-season flower.”

  “I’ll make sure he knows you passed the test. Aced it, as a matter of fact.”

  “Mitch and I are a lot alike. For one thing, we love a challenge.”

  “I see. Are you giving me a rare glimpse into the elusive male psyche on a Thursday afternoon?”

  “Perhaps, but I should think my intentions are more obvious than elusive.” He glanced at his watch, affording her a few precious seconds to regain her equilibrium. “I have an appointment and then need to catch a plane in a few hours or I’d love to ask you to join me for a cup of coffee.” Landon’s smile broadened. “So you could pick my brain and explore the male psyche to your heart’s content.”

  Still digesting his comment about intentions, Amy felt the telltale flush invade her cheeks. “The thought’s there, and that’s what counts.” She sniffed the flowers. Silly girl. Daffodils don’t have much of a scent.

  “I wanted to thank you again for last night,” he said. “Tell me something.”

  “What’s that?” Amy walked with him toward the door, thankful he hadn’t burst out laughing because of her silly floral faux pas.

  “Why daffodils?”

  Her lips lifted with the hint of a smile. “Well, it’s certainly not because daffodils smell so wonderful.” Catching the amusement in his eyes, she continued. “It’s more what they represent. Rebirth. Renewal. The earth awakening after the long, cold winter. I love that Easter’s usually around the same time, and it’s a reminder of the resurrection and the Lord’s promise to return.” She blew out a breath as she fingered one of the sturdy, lovely blooms. “I love the color—so vibrant and full of life. The promise of new beginnings.”

  The way his gaze bore into hers made her wonder if she’d said too much. She hadn’t intended for it to sound leading. It really doesn’t take much for you, does it?

  “I see promise in what’s happening between us, and hope you do, too.”

  True to form, he’d found the perfect segue in her last statement. “Between us?” This was happening way too fast.

  “Surely you feel it, too.” Stepping closer, Landon’s gaze roamed a languid path over her features.

  She felt kissed although he hadn’t touched her. “Uh huh.” Her tongue seemed to be stuck to the roof of her mouth, and it’s all she could think to say. When one of her coworkers passed by, Amy lowered her gaze, her heart pounding. Landon’s presence in the Habits office could stir trouble. If her senior editor hadn’t personally witnessed his visit, she felt sure someone would be more than happy to tell Juliet. Wonderful.

  But the man brought her daffodils, so she’d defend him to the end.

  “By the way, my best guess is blue,” he said.

  “What’s that?” Either Landon was being obtuse again or her brain had departed on the express train.

  “Your favorite color.”

  How could he know? “Mitch?”

  Landon shook his head with a small smile. “Not this time. I’ll talk with you again soon. Until then, stay well.” He departed before she could form another thought, much less a coherent word.

  Amy’s eyes widened when she spied Marcheline headed down the hallway in her direction, carrying a cut crystal vase half-filled with water. “Here. You might need this,” she said, handing it to her with a wry grin. “I want your life. What a gorgeous man, and trust me, any guy who goes to the trouble to find daffodils at this time of year? He’s interested in more than friendship, honey.”

  Don’t let your boss hear you say that. After thanking March, Amy turned and glimpsed Juliet a few doors down, talking with another editor. Too late. Her arms were crossed and she glared in her direction. With a quick nod of acknowledgment, Amy ducked her head and darted back into her office. As much as she liked Landon, she was thankful he’d be out-of-town for a couple of weeks. Good thing she’d be gone for a few days, too. Give Juliet time to cool off. She’d also pray a little holiday cheer might soften her forbidding superior. Writing a great piece on Sam was the overall best strategy to maintain her boss’s favor.

  Arranging the daffodils in the vase, Amy prayed Juliet wouldn’t visit her office with another somber warning. She’d need to be careful and stay low on the radar until her trip to Louisiana. The prospect of getting away from New York and being with her closest friends in the world grew more appealing with each passing minute.

  Chapter 11

  Wednesday, December 11, 2002 — Late Evening

  Hearing the tone signaling an incoming e-mail, Amy scooted over to her desk. Angel777. With raised brows, she dropped into the chair and clicked on the new message, quickly skimming it. Angelina Delgado. Although happy to receive the e-mail, the timing was bad. The e-mail had two files attached. Blowing out a breath, Amy debated whether to take a look or save them for later. Her curiosity piqued, she printed them out and left them on her desk. If she needed a break in her pre-wedding trip chores later, she’d take a peek.

  After balancing her checkbook, doing three loads of laundry and taking care of a half-dozen last-minute details—she took a breath an hour later and stopped to read the first attachment. It was a funny, bittersweet story of growing up the only daughter in a family of six brothers in a small, cramped house in Queens. When she picked up the second story and took a quick glance, it captured her immediate attention.

  Grabbing an afghan and curling into the corner of the living room sofa a couple of hours later, she sipped a cup of coffee while she read through the second story, titled, “Just Maybe.” It was a heartrending, first-person account of a young girl finding herself where she never expected to be—pregnant.

  I guess I’m not supposed to ask why it happened. It’s not like Dante forced me. We’d been getting closer and the warning signs were there. The way he ran his hand over my arm. His gentle, coaxing words. The kisses on my forehead, my cheeks, my chin . . . . I feel unlovable most of the time, but Dante makes me feel like I’m the most important person in the world. Me. A short, sarcastic and not-very-pretty girl from the wrong side of town. Maybe it’s only for today, maybe for a few more tomorrows, maybe for a lifetime.

  No one ever paid much attention to me before. My mom doesn’t like me, my dad hates me, my brother and sister tolerate me. My art teacher says my paintings “show promise” and I might have a chance to “make something of myself” someday if I work hard and take graphic arts classes. I don’t know if she really means it or not, but I think she does. I guess some people really are good on the inside. Not because they have to be but because they want to be. I don’t know. Maybe it makes them feel better about themselves to help someone like me. Maybe they’ll find more favor with God. And now, because of what I did with Dante, I’ve got a little person inside me. It’s weird. I run my hand over my belly, and I can’t feel anything, but the lady at the clinic says I will soon enough. Is that what I want?

  “I’ll pray for you,” the blonde lady with big blue eyes tells me the next day as I walk to the clinic. “I’ve been where you are. I understand.” She looks like an angel, so I’ll call her that in my head. She has the most honest eyes I’ve ever seen. As I stand on the sidewalk, she hand
s me one of those pamphlets that show babies at different stages of development inside the womb. It looks interesting. Then this horrible fat man rushes toward me, holding a homemade sign with baby parts and fake blood stains all over it, screaming and spewing spit and venom in my face. He calls me a baby killer. Me, a baby killer? I’d rather kill him than my baby.

  I back away and turn to go inside. A big bruiser of a woman bars the front door. “Think about what you’re doing,” she says. She crosses her arms and plants her feet—encased in actual combat boots—and stares me down.

  “I am,” I assure her. “Please let me inside.”

  “Not if you plan on taking the life growing inside you. God will never forgive you.”

  Someone takes me by the arm—not rough, but with a gentle hand. I look into the blue eyes of Angel. “Come with me,” she says while telling the mean woman to step aside. Bruiser spits on the ground and says some very unkind things. But she moves.

  Ten minutes later, we sit inside the clinic, Angel and me. When she asks me if I want her to leave, I tell her no. I mean it. I want her to stay. She gives me comfort. The only one I told was Dante, but I have the feeling he might never come around again. When I start talking, the tears come. Then more. Angel pulls me in her arms and rocks me, hugs me, holds me.

  “Why does everybody have to be so mean?” I ask. “They accuse me of wanting to kill my baby. I love my baby. I don’t want to kill her.” I’ve started calling her that because it’s not fair to call her “it.” If the baby’s a boy, that’s okay, too, but I’d really like a girl. I can put bows in her hair and frilly socks on her tiny feet. Be the kind of mom mine never was. “Don’t they get it?”

  “No,” Angel says. “They don’t.”

  “But you do. Did you keep your baby?”