Promises to Keep

by Chaffin, Char

  She drew in a ragged breath. Damn it, he’d hurt her feelings. They needed to clear the air, somehow needed to settle what was between them.

  And what so obviously wasn’t.

  There was a sign up ahead indicating a rest area in three miles. Before he could suggest they stop there for a while, she pointed to it. “Can you pull into that next rest stop? I would like to talk to you about something.”

  “Sure.”

  Five minutes later, they were parked in the deserted rest area. He left the car running and turned toward her, waiting for her to speak.

  A huge lump of what seemed like desert sand embedded itself in her throat as she looked at him. He was so beautiful. There was no other word for it. She could remember as a child feeling as if she’d been knocked sideways with a lightening bolt every time their parents brought them together for a play date. She’d only been eight years old, but even that young, she’d wanted to be near Travis Quincy. At least she was smart enough now to understand he’d be unhappy and resentful if their mothers succeeded in forcing them into a relationship he didn’t want.

  Her scattered thoughts were interrupted by his firm, “Catherine, you wanted to stop and talk. You can say anything to me. You should know that by now.”

  She felt herself flush, tried to keep her focus and not slide into a deep puddle right in her seat because she had his undivided attention. Twisting her fingers together, she searched for a vague opening to what she knew needed airing, and instead found herself blurting, “I saw Annie Turner in town yesterday, carrying a baby. I think it’s your baby.”

  Immediately she clapped her hands over her mouth in horror. Oh, Lord.

  But he just nodded. “I know. I saw Annie yesterday, too. And yes. He’s mine.”

  In spite of her best efforts, a tear slipped down her cheek. Then another. She cleared her throat. “Are you glad about it, Travis? It’s so hard to think of you as a father. Are you and Annie going to—will you—”

  “Are we getting married? I asked Annie to marry me two years ago. She still has my engagement ring. Yes, I want to marry her. I would have married her the night I gave her the ring, if it had been at all possible.” The certainty in his voice couldn’t be doubted.

  “What about your mother? Does she know about the baby?”

  “No, she doesn’t. And I have to ask you to keep quiet about this, Catherine. Please don’t tell anyone, especially your parents. I don’t know what my mother might do when she finds out. For all I know, she’d sue for custody and have Annie declared an unfit mother.”

  Shocked, Catherine exclaimed, “She wouldn’t do that! Would she?”

  “She might. I would put nothing past her, given the way she feels about Annie.” He leaned his head back against the seat, a sign of weariness. She longed to reach out to him, offer some kind of reassurance, comfort. He wouldn’t welcome it from her, though. She clasped her hands together to keep from doing just that. More tears pricked her eyes and slid down her face.

  He turned in his seat, and she quickly wiped at her cheeks. She didn’t want him to see her crying and feel sorry for her. Pity from Travis would be too awful to take. He’d never encourage her when there was no hope of a future between them. These last few minutes of revelation between them brought home to her like nothing else, how hopeless her dreams truly were.

  Chapter 23

  Annoyed at the intrusive knock on her study door, Ruth called, “Come in.”

  Bette stepped into the room. “Mrs. Quincy, Mr. Marley is here to see you.”

  Ruth looked up from the pile of notes and folders on her desk and frowned at the young day maid. “Did he call ahead for an appointment?” When Bette shook her head, Ruth sighed impatiently. “All right. Send him in.”

  Blast it, she just found the perfect wedding invitation. She’d been about to call Janice and tell her all about it. Now it would have to wait. Dan Marley, her most trusted employee, didn’t make a habit of dropping by for some frivolous reason.

  A minute later Dan entered her study, and Ruth waved him to a seat. “Come in, Dan.” She regarded him quizzically. “Is everything all right with Dorothy?” Dan’s wife suffered from a congenital heart condition, and Ruth knew the poor woman had her good and bad days.

  “She’s doing quite well, Ruth. In fact, she went to brunch on Sunday with some of the Garden Guild ladies. They asked about you.” He offered a somewhat harried smile that she returned, even as she wondered why he seemed shaken. It was so unlike him.

  Social pleasantries over, he moved toward the door and locked it, before he took the chair closest to her desk. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise at his actions, but she waited for him to speak.

  He didn’t waste any time. “I’m sorry for not calling first, Ruth. I know you’re busy. But I have something urgent to share with you. When Dorothy was in town on Sunday, she saw Annie Turner over on Main Street carrying a black-haired child, about a year or so old. Do you know anything about this?”

  Ruth gasped and her hands gripped the edge of the desk. She half-rose from her seat, then sank back into the rich leather as shock rendered her lightheaded.

  He shook his head and muttered, “Apparently you didn’t.” He hurried to the small sideboard and fetched a glass, poured a measure of brandy in it, and brought it to her. “Here. Drink it.” He waited until she’d taken a few sips and set the glass down with fingers that trembled.

  Her tongue felt thick. “A child. Boy or girl?”

  “A boy, Dorothy was fairly certain. She said the child was wearing a jacket and pants.”

  Ruth drained the rest of her brandy and motioned for Dan to pour her another. While he complied, she strove for outward calm, unwilling to reveal further turmoil in front of Dan. But it was difficult not to react to such a bombshell.

  A child with black hair. She turned as he handed her the drink. “Was she sure? Heaven knows that Turner girl could have easily become pregnant by any number of young men.”

  “I don’t know, Ruth. She just said the girl was holding a baby with the same hair color as Travis. They went into the Coffee Hut, which she thought was strange because the Hut is closed on Sunday. That’s all. She was curious as to whether or not the child could possibly be Travis’s, but you know Dorothy isn’t a gossip. She merely told me so I could in turn inform you.”

  He remained quiet as Ruth tried to deal with her shock and distress. She could feel a damned migraine coming on as well, which didn’t help matters any.

  Finally, she raised her head and pinned him with a determined stare. “Say nothing more about this, not even to your wife.”

  “Should I—”

  “No. Nothing, you’ll do nothing. I’ll check into it myself.” She rose from her seat with admirable calm—considering her insides felt as if they were being ripped out of her—and saw Dan out with a dismissive assurance and vague thanks for his diligence. Although he looked a bit bewildered at her haste, he departed without protest.

  Alone, she locked the door and took perhaps three steps before her knees gave out. She collapsed onto the leather settee across from her desk. All her satisfaction from poring over wedding invitations drained right out of her as she processed what Dan had told her.

  Intolerable. Impossible. Unthinkable.

  That her son would actually bed a Turner, and get her pregnant. That she in turn dared to actually give birth to it! Abomination. Ruth couldn’t even bear to think of it.

  Then, she gave herself a firm shake. She had to think of it. She had to consider this baby was a result of Travis’s sexual escapade with the Turner girl.

  What on earth he’d ever seen in that skinny, homely child, when he could have on his arm a lovely young woman like Catherine . . . Ruth had never understood his single-minded infatuation with those horrid Turners.

  She moaned aloud. Would she never be free of the name? Twenty-five years, and she still sometimes awoke in tears from nightmares, feeling Franklin Turner’s hands on her.

  As long as th
ere was a Turner in her town, she’d never be safe. Even after Travis married Catherine and settled into his rightful place here at Quincy Hall, Ruth wouldn’t be free of that family’s taint. Not as long as such trash lived here.

  Not as long as Annie Turner held any level of fascination for her son.

  She buried her face in her hands, gave in to the weakness of tears. And now there was a baby to consider. God, why her? Why was she cursed with such a contrary, rebellious, and careless son?

  Young men often forgot to practice safe sex in the heat of their passion, she knew this. And although utterly mortifying, a pregnancy could have been handled discreetly with a quick abortion. They’d all have continued with their lives, no one the wiser.

  Her head snapped up as she suddenly realized something vital: Travis didn’t know. He couldn’t know, otherwise he’d have come to her, would have found a way to rub that kind of knowledge right in her face. He’d have used it, wouldn’t he, to forge a wedge between his silly desires and her plans for his future. Travis wouldn’t have been able to resist thwarting her.

  Think. It might be a girl. A girl would pose little threat to the Quincy name.

  A boy, however—what a disaster. The child would legally be the next Quincy Heir. It could be denied, of course, but Ruth wasn’t stupid. DNA tests could prove it easily enough, and she’d be forced to acknowledge the child as Travis’s son and heir. The board of trustees, fond of Travis, thought he could do no wrong. They might tut-tut his impulsive behavior, but they’d welcome the child. And regardless of her feelings on the matter, she would be forced to recognize the child’s mother as having a place within the Quincy Legacy.

  No. She could not, would not, accept such an infiltration by Annie Turner into their lives.

  Ruth jerked to her feet. Her temples now throbbed and she rubbed furiously to alleviate the pain. No Turners, that was the first rule. The child would have to be claimed as a Quincy, as soon as possible. Which meant Travis, as the father, needed full custody.

  As soon as she thought about it, Ruth discounted it with a frustrated wave of her hand. No court would give a young college boy sole custody of a baby. It was ridiculous to even think of it.

  But—

  She steepled her fingers under her chin, considering. A court would give custody to that child’s paternal grandmother, once said court saw proof of its mother’s unsuitability and the emotional immaturity of its father. A court would award custody to the matriarch of one of the most influential and powerful families in the state of Virginia.

  Ruth straightened her spine and smoothed back her upswept hair. It was time to flex some of that power, and she knew just whom to call.

  Chapter 24

  Travis drove by Annie’s house three times. He’d resisted the temptation for so long, knowing if he gave in, then he’d stop and knock on the door. He’d beg anyone answering that door to tell him where Annie had gone. So he’d stayed away from this side of town for almost two years.

  He knuckled his gritty eyes. Thoughts of Annie and Hank made for several sleepless nights. Worried about his mother’s inevitable reaction to Hank’s existence, he drove himself nuts over what she would do to Annie and her family if she decided to take legal action. He knew how her mind worked: if she wanted Hank, she’d figure out a way to get him, no matter who she trod on or hurt in the process.

  Sometime before sunrise, Travis found a small and ugly knot inside himself, a person he didn’t want to recognize, wondering if his mother could help him gain his son. She had power and the financial influence necessary to win in court. If Annie tried to run with Hank, his mother would find them. As the day lightened outside, he broke out in an actual sweat when he replayed his thoughts. He sat up in bed and dropped his head into his hands.

  What the hell was the matter with him? Had he learned nothing from watching the way his mother operated, the way she took over and manipulated? Did he honestly think she’d let him obtain custody of his child, without controlling everything herself? He had to be out of his mind.

  Feeling an overwhelming need to be away from Quincy Hall, he’d sprang from his bed and hurriedly dressed. If he stayed there any longer, he’d go insane.

  Now, hours later, Travis parked across the street and killed the engine, staring at the weathered old house. For all its air of outer neglect, the yard was raked and nicely green, and there was no clutter on the old porch. Flowers bloomed along the front and sides, a mixture of lingering tulips and budding columbine, clumps of primroses. Lilac bushes, Mary’s pride and joy, dotted the borders of the lawn area.

  He’d spent so many wonderful hours in that house. All the meals he’d eaten there, devouring Mary’s delicious cooking. Surrounded by Annie and her brothers, with Susan trading insults and jokes, as she’d do with any other member of her family. Henry would wink at him as they bickered over the last spoonful of peach cobbler. Mary would slide a piece of corn pone from her plate to his with the insistence she was too full to eat it.

  And Annie would hold his hand, laugh with him, her brown eyes glowing with happiness at how easily her family accepted him. They gave him what he’d been starved for. Not necessarily home-cooked meals, but love. He’d enjoyed those meals, but he’d needed the love, and they’d been more than generous to him. They made him an honorary Turner, and he’d pushed them all away, just as he’d pushed Annie away through his own cowardice.

  And now she might lose Hank. With a groan of despair, Travis leaned his head on the steering wheel.

  “Travis?” The voice and the knock on his partially open window startled him. He sat up and blinked at Henry Turner, who stood next to the car with a concerned look in his eyes. “What’s wrong, son?”

  Travis stifled a sigh as he opened his door and stepped out. He hadn’t a clue what excuse to offer as to why he’d been in effect staking out the house.

  Dressed in old, loose-fitting clothes, Henry was as dear and familiar to him as his own father. And when he curved an arm around Travis in a hug, he felt as if he were fourteen years old again.

  Suddenly Travis was holding on with two hands fisted in Henry’s shirt, soaking it with hot tears.

  “Travis, whatever it is, it’ll be all right. Come on in. Have a cup of coffee and a piece of Mary’s apple pie, and then you tell me what’s wrong, okay?” Henry urged him across the street while Travis blotted his damp face on his sleeve.

  Once they stepped onto the porch, Travis hesitated. “Annie might not want to see me.”

  Henry took his hand and pulled him inside the cool interior of the small foyer. “She’s not here right now. Come sit at the table. You look pretty rough.”

  He pushed Travis toward the kitchen and settled him at the table. He reached into a cupboard for a plate and a mug, poured a cup of coffee and set it in front of him, then found a knife and unwrapped the pie. Two generous slices were already missing and Henry cut another wide slab and laid it on a plate for Travis. He added a fork and a paper napkin. “Here, eat.”

  The pie, packed with apples and brown sugar syrup, had a light, flaky crust. The fragrance of tangy fruit and sweet spice called to him like a siren song. Travis recalled many times when he’d eaten his share of one of Mary’s pies. Slowly, he picked up the fork and cut into the pie, lifted a chunk of it to his mouth and almost broke down again when the familiar taste exploded on his tongue.

  Travis ate four large bites before he set down his fork and gulped half his coffee. He had to tell Annie’s father what he suspected would happen as soon as his mother found out about Hank. He had to warn them to expect serious trouble up ahead. And he had to decide fast what his role in the upcoming battle would be.

  He parted his lips to speak, but before he could say a word, there was a commotion at the door. Susan darted into the kitchen, her blue eyes ablaze with fury. She skidded to a halt in front of Travis and swung her fists up in a defensive pose. Her voice lashed out, cold and rough.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Quincy? Haven’t yo
u caused enough trouble for Annie?”

  “Susan!” Henry’s voice snapped, uncharacteristically firm, and Susan lowered her hands and pressed her lips together. She continued to glare at Travis, who paled and got to his feet, preparing to flee. Henry gripped his shoulder in reassurance. Susan huffed out a last warning growl as Henry pointed at her with the index finger of his free hand. It was enough to make her subside. He pointed to the empty chair next to him, and she flopped down on the seat.

  “I should go.” Travis tried to ease out from under Henry’s hand and found out just how strong the older man was.

  “No, I think you should stay, Travis. You drove over here for a reason. Judging by the state of your emotions when I came up to your car, I’d say you need to talk. Now’s as good a time as any.”

  “But, Daddy—”

  Henry sent Susan a quelling glance. “Quiet. If you don’t want to hear, you can always go up to your room.”

  “I’m not a three-year-old any longer! You can’t send me to my room.”

  “Oh, can’t I?” His voice deepened, low and silky. Even Susan could surely hear the command behind it. She slumped in the chair and offered no further disruption.

  “Now, then. Travis, why don’t you tell us what’s going on? Whatever it is, son, it can be dealt with. You know that, don’t you?” Henry urged Travis back into his seat and sat beside him, his eyes steady and warm.

  Travis couldn’t hold that loving gaze. “I know about Hank. I know he’s my son. And if I know, then it won’t be long before my mother finds out, too. I think she’ll take Annie to court for custody, and if she does, she has the kind of legal counsel to assure she’ll win.” He kept his eyes averted, afraid of what he’d see in the face of the man he’d considered his second father.

  Then Henry knocked him sideways when he calmly replied, “Annie told us. She’s worried about the same thing, that your mother will find out and do everything she can to declare Annie an unfit mother in hopes of taking Hank. It’s not going to happen.” Henry clasped his shoulder and gave it a comforting rub. “We just got back from our attorney’s office, and—”