Suddenly he pulled over and stopped the truck. He settled his arm along the back of the seat, casually against her bare shoulders, and studied her. "I know you've changed in a lot of ways, Cam," he murmured in a deep, gruff voice subtly spiced with a Cajun cadence. "I'd go so far as to say you're not the same person you were when you ran away with Arianne."
Her heart did a slow, uncomfortable roll. He didn't know how right he was. Or … did he? No, surely not.
He leaned his broad shoulders closer, slid two long, bronzed fingers beneath her chin and held her face in steady alignment with his. "But let me make something very clear, chèr'. If you try to run with her again, I'll come after you. And you'll wish you hadn't."
She stared at him in stark dismay. Not because she feared him. She didn't. Even here, in the heart of this alien and dangerous swampland, with an ominous threat hanging between them, she didn't believe he'd intentionally hurt her. But she wanted to promise him that she'd never run with Arianne, that she'd never intentionally hurt him … and she couldn't make that promise.
"Did you bring me here to scare me, Mitch?"
His gaze intensified, then followed his fingers as they skimmed from beneath her chin, along her jawline, to linger in her hair. "No, not to scare you. Warn you, yes. Tie up loose ends. Settle things between us." He met her eyes with a probing stare and retracted his hand slowly, as if the withdrawal took some effort. "But not to scare you. And if anyone does, let me know. I won't allow it."
Visions of clannish, backwoods strangers with hateful intentions sent another pang of unease through her. "Does your family know I'm coming with you?"
"Yeah, I called ahead. Told them about your accident and memory loss. Your sister's death." He frowned. "I doubt if you'll get much sympathy. They're good-hearted people, but they rally around their own. You made enemies when you took Arianne."
"I realize that." She wished she could apologize, at least, but she couldn't. Not until she knew if Camryn had been justified in taking Arianne away. Hating her need for deception, Kate sat perfectly still, her eyes locked with his, the eerie sounds of the swamp buzzing, humming and screeching around them. "Are you one of those enemies, Mitch?"
He searched her face, then chose his words carefully. "At one time I thought I was. Now I'm not so sure. Guess that remains to be seen. I'm willing to keep an open mind about you if you're willing to do the same about me."
She chewed her lip and nodded, inexplicably choked up by a welling of emotion. She was just so very glad that he wasn't going to continue holding Camryn's sins against her. Of course, he hadn't learned of her own yet.
"Maybe we won't have to bring any criminal charges into our personal affairs," he mused.
"That would be … nice."
His gaze meandered to her mouth. And hunger flashed in his eyes; the hunger they'd felt for each other last night. Hunger that stole her breath and warmed her blood. He was going to kiss her.
And she longed for it.
He didn't, though. He shifted away from her, settled behind the wheel, threw the truck into gear and drove down the narrow, twisting road, through denser, more surrealistic foliage.
It took Kate a while to breathe again.
She soon heard sounds through the thicket that seemed out of place in such raw wilderness: the murmur of voices, the peal of a child's yell, a cackle of laughter. The rousing beat of swamp-rock guitar by Creedence Clearwater Revival, with John Fogerty singing, "Better run through the jungle."
Maybe those sounds weren't out of place, after all.
Mitch drove past a hodgepodge of pickup trucks, Camaros and SUV's parked along one side of the narrow road, some new and gleaming, some old and rusted. By the time the road widened into a clearing, Kate realized a fairly large crowd of people had gathered.
"Why are all these people here? They can't all be family."
"At least half of them are. The rest are neighbors and friends. I'd say they're here to celebrate the reunion."
"Reunion?"
He tipped her a speaking glance. "Mine and Arianne's."
Unsettling emotion rose in her throat again, and she swallowed to dislodge it. She didn't like playing the villainness against him. It seemed unfair that she had to. Yet she'd taken on the role willingly. For Arianne's sake. The child of her heart. The sweet, loving, brown-eyed girl she'd nurtured as her own from an infant.
Kate had to learn all there was to know about the people who would take her place in Arianne's life.
* * *
Chapter 12
« ^ »
Mitch parked the truck between a scenic view of a wide, moss-draped bayou and a huge, pink-flowering mimosa tree, opened Kate's door, took her arm and leisurely ushered her toward the activity. She was fervently grateful for his calm, solid presence at her side—more for moral support than anything else.
She knew she wouldn't be welcomed.
Music played and laughter rang as people of all ages milled about the front yard of a stone-and-cedar house. A surprisingly spacious, expensively built house, from what Kate could see. For some reason, she'd been expecting much less.
Children romped about with squirt guns, some the size of cannons, happily saturating one another and any adults who crossed their paths. An old man in striped swimming trunks and a straw hat fought back with a garden hose. Other kids fished from a weathered wooden pier. Some swam and frolicked in another section of the bayou. Dogs barked and romped with the children.
Men drank bottles of beer and smoked cigars while grilling fish and stirring the contents of simmering kettles. Women chatted and arranged covered dishes on a long picnic table. A few of the younger women sunbathed on picnic blankets, their bikinis skimpy, their skin oiled and deeply tanned.
Older folks lounged in rockers on a wide front porch, some with babies on their laps. None of those babies was Arianne, though. Kate searched in vain for sight of her.
As they ventured closer to the house, more attention swung to Mitch, and Kate felt hostility aimed her way. Smiles for him turned to frosty glares for her. Bystanders muttered to one another from the sides of their mouths, and a harsh-faced old woman spat very near to where Kate walked.
Mitch's prediction proved true. Despite the fact that he'd told them of her supposed memory loss and the story of her sister's death, she would get no sympathy here.
Holding a firm hand at her elbow, Mitch strode with easy confidence, his air naturally commanding as he guided Kate into the midst of the crowd. Though he wore his usual dark T-shirt and faded jeans, his tanned, muscular body and ruggedly striking face glowed with an innate masculine splendor. More than one stunning, skimpily clad Cajun lady smiled at him with pointed warmth behind casual greetings.
A disturbing jolt of possessiveness shook Kate. The reaction bothered her all the more. He was nothing to her. At least, not in that way.
"Where's my daughter?" Mitch asked no one in particular, his gaze seeking her. Kate set aside her musings and tuned in to the strong anticipation she sensed in him. Her own need to see Arianne was simply too strong to focus on. Perhaps that was why she was diverting herself with inappropriate feelings for Mitch. Otherwise, she might very well shove through this maddening throng and snatch her baby away from these strangers.
"Oh, Mitch, she's just the cutest little sweet potato!" A slender, barefoot woman with long, dark, Gypsy-like tresses and laugh lines etched pleasingly around her green eyes stepped forward. She had to be his sister; the family resemblance was strong. Kate knew from the sound of her voice that she wasn't Joey. "Mémère brought out baby pictures of you, and I swear, Arianne's your living image."
"She is not, Lisette," countered a cute, petite woman setting napkins on the nearby picnic table, her short, shaggy hair the same light brown as Mitch's. "She looks exactly like her aunt Joey."
Kate recognized her voice, of course, as Joey's.
Joey shifted her regard to Kate, and the teasing light faded from her vivacious dark eyes. Her lips twisted and she sa
id something to Mitch in French.
He uttered a quiet but dismissive reply. Kate wished she knew what he'd said about her. Clearly it wasn't to Joey's liking, because she frowned and looked away.
"Take me to Arianne," Mitch said to the woman Joey had called Lisette.
"You know who's got her, eh? Mémère. Won't turn her loose. Felicia played with her all morning, since Joey brought her. I've been waiting my turn all day."
Mitch put his free arm around her. "Hate to break it to you, mon coeur, but you'll have to wait awhile longer. It's her papa's turn."
Lisette smiled and led him and Kate toward a cluster of mostly women and children beneath a huge cypress tree. As they neared, Kate saw a robust woman with the Devereaux green eyes, graying brown hair and a Madonna-like gentleness about her face, seated on a blanket with Arianne between her thighs. The woman's head was bent close to the baby's, her voice soft and lilting, as she walked her fingers across the blanket. "You see dat little ol' mud bug? Ooh, he's coming to kiss your toes!"
Arianne laughed and reached her chubby little hands for the woman's fingers fluttering toward her feet.
Kate's heart stood still. In a sweet pink-and-white sun-suit and tiny white sandals that someone must have recently bought, her blond ringlets caught back with matching bows, her brown eyes bright and smiling, she looked so … happy. Well cared for. Loved.
Mitch sank down onto one knee beside her, his expression one of awed reverence. Kate's heart lodged in her throat, her attention divided between his dark, emotion-filled face and the child she'd missed so badly. He said nothing, but his mother halted in her game, smiled lovingly at him and said to Arianne, "Look, ma petite chèr', who is dis man?" Directing her attention to Mitch, Mémère exclaimed, "Why, it's your papa!"
He didn't reach for his daughter. Not without her permission. He merely spread his hands in a silent invitation for her to come to him. Arianne's gaze focused on him—his radiantly tender face, his hopeful eyes. She then gifted him with a sunny, dimpled smile.
And leaned toward him.
His throat muscles worked; his eyes filled. And then he was lifting her, holding her; bracing the fair-skinned baby in his large brown hands, cradling her next to his heart.
It was the most painfully poignant moment Kate had ever experienced. He murmured hoarse endearments, some in French, some in English. The language didn't matter. Even a newborn would have known what he meant.
Arianne patted his clean-shaven jaw with her fat little hands, her brow puckering in concentration as she explored new territory. He turned his face and kissed her palm, surprising her into a grin. He then blew a loud, vibrating raspberry against her hand. She squealed with laughter. And her dimpled smile so resembled Mitch's that Kate's throat physically ached.
He was her father. And he loved her. He would give his life, his freedom, his everything, to protect her. He would give her the very best he possibly could. Only a fool would doubt it.
Kate forced her blurry gaze away from them in a desperate attempt to collect herself. All around her, she saw overly shiny eyes focused on the reunion of father and daughter, and unmistakable looks of tenderness for them both. She didn't know these people, but she knew what they were feeling. Many glanced at one another and shared embarrassed little laughs at being caught with teary eyes and constricted throats.
"Uncle Mitch, Uncle Mitch!" The jubilant cry cut through the moment as a pint-size boy with eyes like Joey's dashed to a skidding halt beside Kate. "Did you bwing me a seashell, Uncle Mitch?"
Mitch reached out and tousled the boy's hair, his one-handed grip on Arianne so easy and natural that Kate knew he'd held many babies in his time. "Of course I did, Claude. From the bottom of the Gulf. I told you I would, didn't I?"
The boy hopped and skipped, his dark curls bouncing, his eyes sparkling in clear adoration of his uncle. "You like ma petite cousine?" he asked with a distinctly French flair.
"I love her."
"Mais, oui … but she likes me best." His mischievous grin told Kate that these Cajun men learned how to tease at a very early age. He couldn't be more than four, she guessed.
From her comfy perch on her papa's hip, Arianne pointed at Claude, kicked her feet in excitement and babbled a bonny sound that, in Kate's opinion, could be construed as his name.
But then her gaze alighted on Kate. And after a stunned stare, her smile crumpled. "Mama! Mama-Mama!" Huge tears welled up, and she stretched her dimpled arms to Kate, pitching herself forward in clear anguish. "Mama. Mama!"
Kate took her. No one could have stopped her. She hugged her fiercely, buried her face in baby-scented ringlets and choked back sobs of her own. Arianne cried and wailed and clung with all her might. Kate knew what she was saying. Where were you? I wanted you! Why did you leave me?
"No, no," Kate whispered, "I didn't leave you. I didn't want to. Shh. It's okay, sweetheart. It's okay." She rocked her and murmured in her ear, stroked her back, patted her diapered bottom and, without a thought, paced toward a more private corner of the yard.
A woman briskly cleared her throat, and Kate glanced up to find Joey, Lisette and a buxom redhead who had to be Mitch's eldest sister blocking her way. Their narrowed eyes spoke succinctly. Where you going wit' dat baby?
It hit Kate then as it hadn't before. She could go nowhere with her. Arianne was Mitch's daughter. She belonged with him.
And she, Kate, would be lucky to play the part of an aunt who might visit her now and then. Chances were, when Mitch learned of her deception, he wouldn't trust her even in that minor role. She couldn't blame him. She had lied to him repeatedly. The rest of his family would despise her, too, of course, and believe the very worst about her.
"Take your daughter back, Mitch," Lisette demanded. "Camryn's had her long enough. Six months too long." The others nodded in stony-jawed agreement.
Kate tightened her hold on the baby. Arianne needed her. At least, for now.
"Why don't you three lovely hostesses round up some boys to carry the shrimp from my truck," Mitch said to his sisters, his low, pleasant rumble of a voice sounding from directly behind Kate, "and leave my business to me."
Their chins came up. Their mouths thinned.
Joey strutted forward, pulled him aside and whispered furiously, "Why did you bring her here, Mitch? You don't believe her story about an accident, do you?"
Kate couldn't hear Mitch's reply, but his sisters soon trudged away, and a strong arm came around Kate's waist.
"Come, sit," Mitch said, and shepherded her to an unoccupied blanket at the far edge of the shade. She settled down onto the blanket as Arianne clung to her and continued to cry—no longer an aggressive wail, but a quiet, droning complaint.
Shutting her eyes, Kate huddled with the baby, her emotions too sharp and ragged to easily control. She would have to give her up. The matter didn't require any in-depth research or screening of backgrounds or even further insight into Mitch's life. Love, loyalty, pride and devotion didn't shine with such totality in the eyes of so many for a man who didn't do right by them.
Even as a despised outsider, Kate couldn't miss the warmth this family shared, and though her heart was breaking, she wanted that for Arianne. Nothing would do her more good throughout life. Nothing.
But Kate wouldn't leave her just yet. An abrupt severing of their mother-daughter bond would hurt Arianne profoundly. Kate knew from personal experience. She'd lost her parents at an early age, then continually lost beloved teachers at the children's home and treasured friends there whom she'd come to regard as siblings. The pain of those abrupt departures had left Kate feeling that no one cared as deeply for her as she did for them, or they couldn't have abandoned her.
Maybe that was why she'd shied away from emotional relationships—because all the ones that had mattered the most had ended in heartbreak.
She wouldn't leave Arianne until she had to. Until then, she'd prepare her the best she could. Help her strengthen new bonds and get used to her new surroundings.
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But she knew she couldn't hope for much time with her. Perhaps no longer than today.
Reclining beside them on the blanket, Mitch propped himself up on an elbow and watched Kate hug and rock Arianne, whose crying had gradually declined into an occasional full-body hiccup. Kate's eyes were closed, her face against the baby's hair, her arms snugly around her.
She was crooning a lullaby. Her voice had the same pitch and quality of Camryn's, but was untrained. Not a polished work of art, but slightly flawed. And natural, warm and sincere. He'd never heard anything more beautiful.
And he'd never seen anything more beautiful than the two of them together, Kate and his daughter. Kate's hair, much of which had escaped her smooth French twist in loosely curling tendrils, was only a shade darker than Arianne's mop of blond ringlets. The baby's face, now resting on Kate's shoulder in sweet repose, had to be the closest he would ever see to an angel's. What had struck him the most forcibly when he'd gotten his first full view of her—after six months of longing for that view—was her resemblance to Kate. And to Camryn, of course. Same golden-brown eyes, heart-shaped face, adorably cleft chin. Same angelic beauty. No one would take Kate and Arianne for anything but mother and daughter. Especially now, when their bond was so damn obvious.
Questions pulsed through him with every beat of his heart. What did Kate intend to do? Why was she carrying on this impersonation of Camryn? He could simply ask her, but then he'd have no way of knowing whether her answer was true.
And he badly wanted to know the truth. All he could think to do was wait and see what she did. Actions spoke louder than words.
He expected to hear from his attorney with legal advice soon. Would Kate charge him with crimes against her? Would she fight to gain custody of Arianne? Would she try to run with her? He was having a hard time believing she'd do any of those things.
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