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Journey to Love (Angels of Mercy)

Page 30

by Charlotte Hubbard


  “You would like a photograph with your new daughter, oui?” Tucker suggested.

  Michael’s eyes lit up. “A fine idea! And I want one with all my daughters, too. Come on, girls!”

  As they watched this proud papa gazing at his baby for the camera, and then gathered around him, Christine knew a blissful completeness. And as she stood beside Michael, holding Solace, while Miss Lily posed proudly in front of them, she knew again what it meant to be part of a family.

  Mama saw this, for she stood off to one side with Harley Carson, watching. Seeing how the Malloys had taken her daughter and Billy not just into their home but into their hearts. Her chin lifted; her aloofness kept her at a safe distance from such intense emotion.

  For the first time ever, Christine felt sorry for her. Mama looked brittle—not like the wayward, freewheeling mistress of misdirection she’d been with Richard Wyndham—even though she and Mr. Carson clearly enjoyed each other. While Tucker took more pictures, she went over to spend some final moments with her mother. By this time tomorrow, Christine would be on the train to San Francisco.

  “It’s been quite a day, Mama,” she said. “I’m glad you were here to share it with me.”

  Mama shrugged with a wounded sniff. “You certainly didn’t need me here. Made all your plans without even asking me to—”

  “Mama.”

  Christine squeezed her mother’s hands. “I wanted you here or I wouldn’t have followed you all the way to California,” she said. “We see things differently than we did before the war, but you’ll always be my mama. I’ll always love you.”

  For just a moment, Mama was stunned enough to bat her eyes. “Fine way you have of showing it, going to California to live. Leaving me to—”

  “Make your own decisions,” Christine finished pointedly. “Just like your leaving me has taught me to design a life of my own.”

  Christine gazed into green eyes that didn’t want to see reason, but Harley Carson’s expression encouraged her. He was sipping punch in the shade, allowing them these moments alone.

  “A lot of girls never learn how to do that, Mama. So thank you for teaching me how not to be a helpless, clingy little thing,” she continued. Then she grinned, thinking of what awaited her. “I’ll be running a shop soon—designing fine gowns. I’ll be a wife and a mother, and I’ll spoil my children and show them off, just like you did.

  “And Mama,” she added, “You should know that every time I look in the mirror, I’ll be seeing you. If we think of it that way, we can spend time together every day, even if we’re miles apart.”

  She managed a smile, squeezing her mother’s hand again. “And I bet, if you sweet-talk him just right, Harley’ll bring you out to see us. You’ll only be a stranger if you choose to be, Mama.”

  Behind her, the baby cut loose with a series of earsplitting cries that had everyone looking her way sympathetically.

  As though drawn by an inexplicable magnet, Christine turned. With open arms, she walked toward Michael Malloy and his tiny, bawling daughter. Yes, she felt wondrously happy as her beautiful dress whispered around her and drew admiring smiles from the crowd. And yes, she counted herself lucky to have Tucker Trudeau gazing at her with such love on his handsome face.

  But when Michael placed baby Grace in her arms, Christine felt an awe that could only come straight down from Heaven, as though God Himself held them both in His warm, comforting hand.

  Grace hicced and then gazed quietly up at her. She kept rocking side-to-side, in that innate rhythm, her eyes locked on the baby’s until she could see into the depths of that little soul.

  Christine sighed. She’d just fallen in love all over again.

  “Tucker,” she murmured, her gaze still on little Grace, “I can’t wait to have babies. Your babies.”

  As the man beside her stroked Grace’s cheek, his chuckle had a devilish edge to it. “Whatever you want, ma femme,” he whispered. “Today you’ve been the darling of everyone here—their bright and shining star. But tonight you become the moon of my desires and you will shine only for me. Oui?”

  A delicious little thrill tickled all the way up her spine. It was a moment for embracing all the ways of love she’d learned: its patience and kindness, its endurance and faith. But also its passion and joy.

  “Oui, mon amour,” she whispered. “I will shine, always and only, for you.”

 

 

 


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