WIFE BY DECEPTION

by Donna Sterling

  At least he knew a little more about her now. This morning while she'd been asleep, he'd taken a peek in her wallet. Not a thing he would normally do, but she'd waived her right to privacy by staging her impersonation. Identification cards became fair game, in his opinion.

  Kate Jones, Ph.D., Florida State University.

  He still couldn't get over it. She was as different from Camryn as night from day. A professor of history, by God. No wonder she'd been fascinated by his mention of Jean Lafitte and civil war relics. He wondered what she'd think of nearby places he could take her where history lingered so palpably that one could feel the ghosts. She'd be enthralled. He wanted to take her.

  Fat chance of that. She probably couldn't wait to resolve the situation with Arianne, shake the Louisiana dust from her sandals and get back to her highbrow life in the city. She'd probably been appalled to learn that Arianne's daddy was a lowly shrimper from the swamplands.

  But when he thought back to the time they'd spent together on his boat, he remembered only her vital interest in everything, and her enjoyment of the sea. He also remembered every kiss they'd shared, every heated gaze. Had she just been slumming, since she had little else to do?

  He didn't want to believe that.

  Why the hell wouldn't she just be honest with him? When did she intend to admit the truth? What did she have up her sleeve?

  Needing to reestablish communication with her, Mitch glanced up at the moss-draped cypress tree. "You know, Civil War soldiers used Spanish moss to bind their wounds."

  Kate opened her eyes at that. Arianne even peeked at him from beneath her lashes, surprised, no doubt, by the proximity of his voice.

  "Yes," Kate finally responded with a slight smile. "I know."

  "Did you know we Cajuns sometimes stuff it in our shoes to make 'em fit better?"

  She lifted a golden brow. "You do?"

  "Well, maybe not me personally, but I've heard it's a common practice." As he spoke, he held his hands out to Arianne. She hid her face against Kate. That would have bothered him a lot more if she hadn't come so willingly before. With patience and time, he'd win her over again.

  He wished he could be as sure of Kate. Rising higher on his forearm, he searched her gaze, which hadn't left him. She looked deeply troubled. "The world isn't ending, chèr'," he said softly, brushing a blond tendril from her face. "I believe we can work things out, you and I."

  Hope sparked in her eyes like a tiny silver fish in a murky sea, but vanished just as quickly. She forced a smile through her sadness. A breathtakingly tender smile. "I know you'll be a good father to her, Mitch."

  It occurred to him then that she hadn't known that. How could she have, when she hadn't known him? And when she'd finally met him, he'd forced his way into her house and dragged her off in handcuffs. He'd been an angry stranger, and she'd been afraid … not only for herself, but for Arianne.

  Was that why she was impersonating Camryn—to see just how badly he'd treat her, and what she could expect for Arianne? If so, he couldn't blame her for going to any lengths for answers to those vital questions. Had he been in her shoes, he'd have done the same.

  "I'd like to meet your parents," she said.

  Ah. So the appraisal was still going on. It seemed that she'd reached a favorable opinion of him but hadn't decided about his family yet. What would she do if she concluded they weren't good for Arianne?

  Whatever it took to get her away from them. He knew that much about her already.

  The heaviness that had settled in his chest now swelled to a new fullness. How could he feel so damn proud of her, so grateful for facing hostile strangers to protect his daughter … yet also want to shake some sense into her? Tell me who you are, damn it. Prove to me that I'm right about you. That you're honorable to the very core.

  "Let's go talk to my parents." He stood up, held out a hand and helped her rise with Arianne. "Keep in mind that they … well, might not entirely believe you lost your memory, or that you've, uh, changed."

  "Don't worry, Mitch. I'm not expecting an outpouring of warmth."

  Which was probably a good thing.

  The usually lively gathering of neighbors and friends had grown subdued since he'd escorted Kate into their midst. Clusters of adults stood around chatting, idly watching the children play, and sneaking concerned glances in his direction.

  His mother looked at the picnic table, spreading out newspapers on which to set the boiled shellfish. His sisters hovered nearby. Their eyes were all fixed on him and Kate. They watched her like a dog tending sheep, as if she might try to make a run for it with Arianne. At one time, he might have worried about that, too.

  But no longer. I know you'll be a good father to her, Mitch.

  Keeping her hand firmly in his, which drew worried frowns from his sisters, he led Kate first to his father, who had propped his tall, burly body against the base of a tree—again, strategically placed for an unimpeded view of his prodigal daughter-in-law. He now sat whittling a chunk of pecan wood into the shape of a dog.

  Considering that his father had snorted at the idea that Camryn had lost her memory, Mitch decided to forgo a formal introduction. Settling in the grass beside him, he struck up a casual conversation. Kate sat beside Mitch with a sweetly contented Arianne in her lap.

  Before long, Kate got around to asking his father about his whittling. His father replied in monosyllables.

  Mitch brought up the subject of his ducks. He saw his father's mouth flatten. Though he was a world-class carver of decorative wildfowl and had won prestigious awards for his work, Camryn had found it funny that a grown man would spend his time making wooden ducks. She hadn't been openly contemptuous. Just mildly amused.

  "Duck carvings?" Kate said. And from the tone of her voice, Mitch knew what was coming next. She had to learn more. "You mean, like the ones the Ward brothers display?"

  His father lifted a stunned gaze to her. The Ward brothers were pioneers in the art of wildfowl carving, and sponsors of the championship competition. Kate went on to talk about their museum, which she'd visited in Maryland, and soon had his father expounding on topics such as primary flight feathers, the speculum colors of certain ducks and his vermiculation techniques. Before long, he allowed Mitch to bring out a sample of his carvings.

  Kate reverently examined every finely detailed feather. "It's exquisite. Truly a masterpiece." She then showed the duck to Arianne. "Ooh, look. A duck. See his head, his eyes, his bill? And all these beautiful feathers." She guided her tiny fingers lightly over the handiwork. "Your grandpa made this. He's making something else now. See?"

  Arianne was too young to understand that information, Mitch knew, but she seemed to take interest in most everything Kate brought to her attention. She was now bringing his father to her attention.

  His father, the strong, quiet type, wasn't a man who actively sought interaction with babies. Despite this fact, his grandchildren always ended up gravitating to him eventually.

  Kate somehow sped up the process. His father couldn't resist Arianne's wide-eyed perusal of him. He spoke to her in soft, gruff tones. Showed her the carved dog. Made the dog bark, which delighted her. Before they walked away, Kate held Arianne to his cheek to give him a kiss.

  His father's stunned, bemused stare followed Kate as Mitch led her away.

  Mitch took keen pleasure in watching her flabbergast the rest of his family, too—mostly by her interaction with the children, whom she drew into lively conversations with questions about the bayou, Cajun festivals and their fishing-hunting prowess.

  She surprised everyone, as well with her fastidious care of Arianne, who refused to be parted from her. He knew his mother and sisters were having a hard time reconciling this woman with the one who had focused strictly on the adults' entertainment at social gatherings, leaving others to care for her baby.

  Only once did Kate ask for help with that task. Procuring a blender from his perplexed mother, she showed Mitch how to puree fresh fruits and vegetab
les, then asked him if he'd like to feed Arianne.

  Grateful for the unexpected lesson and the chance to interact with Arianne, he bungled through the task—one he'd rarely performed with his nieces and nephews—but won sloppy smiles and gurgles from his daughter.

  Kate and Mémère sat at the kitchen table and watched. Kate's teasing comments and soft smiles soon relaxed his mother's spine. Before long, she'd unwound enough to show Kate the family photos.

  Kate paid particular interest to the ones of Arianne during her first three months, and pictures taken of Camryn and him at their impromptu wedding. She also spent a good deal of time leafing through pictures of him, from infancy to manhood.

  Mémère, of course, beamed with motherly pride.

  "I'll send you pictures I have of Arianne," Kate promised her. "Videos, too. Expect three or four crates, at least," she said with a small laugh. She then bit the corner of her lip, blinked back tears and looked away. "I … I think it's important for children to know they were loved from the very start of their lives."

  Visibly moved and conflicted by Kate's obvious emotional distress, Mitch's mother wholeheartedly agreed with her theory, and showed her the "trophy corner" of her bedroom, where she displayed her children's achievements.

  By the time they returned to the party outside, his mother was regarding her with the same dazed expression his father had. And when Kate exclaimed in incredulity over the spread of food on the supper table—a subject close to his Cajun mother's heart—she urged Kate to try some of every dish. Mitch had to stifle a grin. That would be a Herculean task for all but the very hungriest.

  Boiled crawfish, shrimp and blue crabs were piled on spread-out newspaper, accompanied by platters of steaming corn on the cob, tiny new potatoes and sweet onions. Fish, both fried and grilled, widened the selection, as did spicy white beans and crusty French bread. Which had to be followed by pie—pumpkin, pecan or sweet potato.

  By God, she put a little of each on her plate. A very little, but the effort was made.

  All the guests sat down at two long picnic tables, or on surrounding chairs and blankets, to partake of the feast. His sisters and parents joined him and Kate at one end of a table. Arianne relaxed enough to go to Mitch, but granted him the honor of holding her only as long as he sat beside Kate. He wasn't averse to that. He couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

  Besides, her conversation with his sisters was simply too interesting to miss. She asked who would be watching Arianne while Mitch worked. Suspicious of her motives, they declined to answer. So she addressed them all as she described the things Arianne liked best. Back rubs when she was upset. Cuddling on the rocking chair when she couldn't sleep. Lively music during play time. The company of other children whenever possible. Vanilla wafers, bubble baths, dogs and kittens. Long walks in the stroller. Happy cartoons on TV. Picture books. The blanket she called her "bankie."

  Kate's voice grew choked; her eyes filled. Unable to blink the tears away this time, she excused herself from the table and practically ran to the house, the skirt of her pretty, coral-colored sundress wafting behind her.

  His family sat staring at one another in confoundment.

  Mitch himself, however, was no longer confounded. He now realized what she was doing. She was letting go. She was turning Arianne over to them and trying to make sure that all went well.

  She was going to leave him. He'd understood this all along, of course, but suddenly, her departure seemed too real. Too close. She hadn't even confessed her deception yet! When did she plan to do that—on her way out the door? Or … sacre Dieu … never?

  Anger took root inside him. She wasn't being fair, wasn't giving him a chance. What did she think he'd do if she confessed the impersonation—feed her to the gators?

  Arianne, who'd been contentedly chewing on a thick crust of French bread, looked at Kate's empty chair and let out an agonized cry. "Mama! Mama-Mama!"

  And as Mitch rose from the table to distract his squirming, bucking daughter from her distress, he suddenly knew what Kate was afraid of. Being locked out of Arianne's life. He had the power to do just that. Kate clearly believed that once she admitted to the impersonation, he'd wash his hands of her. Forbid all contact with his daughter.

  He could set her mind at ease on that score … as soon as she confessed. But not until then. Because if she didn't come clean … and soon … he would know he'd read her all wrong. That she was, in every sense, a stranger. And he would be afraid to trust her with his daughter.

  Unable to tolerate the thought, he distracted Arianne from her anguish by whistling for Molly-goo, his mother's Catahoula pup, with a patchwork coat, one blue eye and one brown. So enraptured was Arianne with the lively scamp that she barely noticed Mitch shift her to Joey's arms.

  He then strode to the house to talk to Kate. Maybe she just needed the right opening to explain her impersonation. He'd give her one. He'd say that he'd decided to honor their joint-custody agreement, with a few minor modifications that would require her signature on legal forms. Her response would tell him what he wanted to know.

  But as he entered his parents' house, he heard Kate's voice murmuring from the guest bedroom. With a covert glance around the corner, Mitch saw she was talking on the phone. He hadn't caught her words, and now she seemed to be on hold.

  He ducked back around the corner, into the hallway, and waited for her to speak again. Who was she calling, and why? Her lawyer, maybe? The sheriff? Someone to come and get her?

  Another possibility hit Mitch like a fist to the gut. Could she be calling a man, a lover, someone who shared in her real life? She could be engaged. Or married. No, she hadn't been wearing a ring, and she hadn't acted as if she were committed elsewhere. And when he'd asked if she had a man, she'd told him "no." But had she been talking as Camryn then, or as herself?

  Mitch shut his eyes and waited in silent torment to hear her speak.

  "Yes," she finally said, her voice a near whisper, "I'd like to make a reservation for tomorrow, from New Orleans to Tallahassee. One adult. One way. Coach fare. The name's Kate Jones…"

  Mitch released a long breath and quietly headed outside. At least she hadn't been calling a lover. But she was planning to leave. Tomorrow. Alone.

  Incredible, the feeling of abandonment that gripped him. She was willing to walk out of his life before they'd even had a chance to really know each other.

  He loitered tensely on the front porch, exchanging quips with his musically inclined neighbors and his irrepressible Uncle Mazoo, who were setting up a microphone and tuning their instruments for the dancing portion of the party—the fais do do.

  Mitch's mind wasn't on the casual chatter, though. He'd decided to wait there, right there, near the front door, until Kate stepped foot outside. Then he'd whisk her to some private place and test her with that joint-custody proposal. Would she admit to the impersonation?

  The door opened, and Kate stepped out. Before he said a word, she took hold of his arm and drew him to a far corner of the porch. "Mitch, I need to talk to you. There's something I've got to tell you." And he saw it there, in her golden-brown eyes—the decision to bare her soul. To come clean. To put a definite end to the game.

  A heavy feeling of foreboding pressed down on him. What then?

  He hooked his arm around her waist and swept her down the porch steps, around the corner of the house and into the small, deserted backyard. Without releasing his hold on her, he guided her to the garden swing, where they sat side by side.

  Anguish, guilt and anxiety showed in her face. "I haven't been entirely honest with you, Mitch. All I can hope is that you'll understand the reason I wasn't. Arianne…" She paused, pressed her lips together, blinked against a tears. "I wanted to make sure she'd be okay. I thought she'd need me. But now I see—" She paused again, swallowing hard this time. "I'm only making the transition harder. As long as I'm around, she won't accept anyone else as her primary caregiver. The longer I stay, the more difficult it will be
for both of us. I think it's best that I make a clean break and let her start fresh. With you. Now. Tonight."

  He couldn't utter a word. She really was going to leave them, him and Arianne.

  Dragging in a breath, she forged on, "But first, I have to tell you something that will come as a shock, I'm sure. Please keep in mind that I had the best of intentions when I … deceived you."

  From the finality in her tone, he knew what would happen once the words had left her lips. She'd apologize, kiss Arianne goodbye and fly off to her own life. Nothing he could say would stop her, because she was leaving for Arianne's sake. And once she left, Mitch Devereaux would be nothing more than a reminder to her of the loss she'd suffered. The cause of her heartbreak.

  He couldn't bear that.

  "Mitch." Her gaze grew soft and misty with compassion as she took his hands in hers. "Do you remember when I told you that my sister died in that accident?"

  He nodded slowly, fighting against a rising sense of desperation. What reason could he give her to stay? He hadn't had the chance to show her his good side. In fact, he was amazed that she'd decided he'd make a good father. She'd seen him angry, hostile, cynical and preoccupied. She believed he'd dived off the boat for kicks, and had intended to jail her sister. What cause had he given her to prolong their relationship? He hadn't once shown her a good time, or danced with her, teased her. Made her laugh.

  He hadn't made love to her. How could he let her leave when she didn't yet understand how damn good they'd be together?

  "My sister was my identical twin," she pronounced in a tone of weighty revelation. "And I—"

  "Don't talk about your sister now," Mitch cut in, running his hands up her bare arms to her silky shoulders. "This isn't a time for sadness, or grieving, or even confessing whatever's on your mind. Tomorrow's soon enough for that. Tonight, let's celebrate the good things. After months of worrying about Arianne, wondering if I'd ever see her again, she's back home and doing fine. That's cause to celebrate."

  "But, Mitch, you don't understand. What I have to say is very important, very—"