The Christmas Cradle. Linda Warren
shared was special—a once-in-a-lifetime love. She saw now that as a naive young girl, she’d been in love with love. She also saw that she’d needed to come here—to see Colter and his family. It was cathartic. This was what she needed to bury the past and get on with her life.
And she prayed she could.
COLTER TOSSED AND TURNED so much that his leg started to throb. Dammit. Would this night never end? At least Ellie had fallen asleep, and the quiet outside signaled that the storm had stopped.
He sat up, grabbed a flashlight and made his way to the bathroom near the laundry room. A couple of Tylenols would help. He got a bottle of water, swallowed two pills and headed back to the den. As he did, the lights came on. Thank God. Looking at his watch he saw it was 5:00 a.m.
The heat came on, but he stoked the fire and threw on a couple of logs. He glanced down at Marisa and Ellie sleeping on the floor. His eyes centered on Marisa, her blond hair disheveled, her features serene. She had that same appeal, that same look of innocence and beauty she’d had back then. He drew a deep breath. She wasn’t innocent or beautiful. Try as he might, though, he found himself wishing she could’ve been Ellie’s mother. The pain of that stabbed him.
Marisa stirred and sat up, pushing her hair behind her ears.
His stomach tightened at the gesture, and he remembered mornings like this when she’d wake and smile at him and the world became a brighter place. It had all been a lie, though. At the first sign of trouble, she’d given in to her mother and left him behind without even saying goodbye.
“The lights are on,” she said in a sleepy voice.
“Yeah. They just came on.” He walked to the sofa and sat on the arm, gazing down at her. He had to do this, so he might as well get it over with. “You came here to tell me something. What?”
She blinked, unable to believe what she was hearing. He wanted to listen, and she welcomed this opportunity. She’d decided it would be better for him not to know, but suddenly she changed her mind—maybe because his voice wasn’t so angry anymore.
Searching for the right words, she glanced at Ellie, unsure of whether to talk in front of her.
Colter followed her eyes. “She’s sound asleep and she doesn’t wake up until about seven.”
Marisa swallowed. “I wanted to tell you why I left.”
“Does it make a difference?”
She looked him in the eye. “Yes—to me.”
He shrugged. “You let your mother force you into leaving, and that pretty much said how you felt about me and the future we’d planned. What can you add to that?”
“Have you ever wondered how she forced me?”
“From what you said about her, she wielded immense power over you and your life. When she showed up, you caved and went home like the dutiful daughter.”
Marisa shook her head. “No, it didn’t happen like that. I refused to go with her.”
His eyes narrowed. “But you went.”
“She didn’t leave me much choice. When I refused, she said she’d have you charged with statutory rape.”
“What!”
“There was a policeman waiting outside, and I knew she meant what she’d said.”
“You were twenty-one.”
She locked her fingers together. “I lied. I was only seventeen, a month from my eighteenth birthday.”
He stood and jammed both hands through his hair. “Seventeen? I was ten years older than you. You were seventeen?”
“Yes. My friend Stacy had a friend who knew someone who made fake IDs. We just wanted to have some fun, and that was the only way we could get into the casinos.”
“You never said anything.”
“You never asked.”
“I just assumed— God, you were seventeen.”
“Yes.” A flush of guilt stained her cheeks. “I couldn’t let you go to jail, so I went with my mother. As soon as I reached New York, I called the motel, but you’d checked out. I was devastated. You didn’t give me an address or a phone number, and I didn’t know how to get in touch. I kept trying for weeks, then I hired a private investigator.”
Colter’s gaze sharpened. “Evidently he didn’t find me.”
“I made the mistake of writing him a check. My mother had access to my account, and she contacted him. She was furious at what I’d done and we had a big scene. In the end she gave me the information the investigator had found out—that you’d already married someone else.”
“I wasn’t married then,” he said in a controlled voice.
The fire crackled behind her, and daylight peeped through the blinds, but she was only aware of his words. They didn’t make sense. “What?”
“I married Shannon after Ellie was born.”
“Oh.”
His eyes flared. “Your mother lied to you.”
It took a moment to assimilate this, to believe her mother would do that to her. But then, her mother would’ve done anything to keep her away from Colter. That little lie was supposed to make Marisa forget all about him. It had done just the opposite. Every day she’d carried their son she had thought about Colter constantly, and over the years he’d never been far from her mind.
“Let’s stop playing games, Marisa. The decision you made years ago, under whatever circumstances, is final. The past is over and it’s been over for so long that I don’t even care anymore. Ellie’s birth may not have been the way I wanted it, but that’s something I’m honest about. I don’t think you even know what the word means.” He swallowed visibly. “As soon as the ice melts, I want you out of here.”
She paled at the cruelty of his words. The anger was back, and his eyes blazed as hot as the fire. Before she could retaliate, someone rang the doorbell, then knocked loudly at the front door.
“What the hell?” Colter hurried to answer it.
Marisa got to her feet and realized she was shaking. She wrapped her arms around her waist to still that reaction. After a moment, she heard raised voices and moved toward the foyer, surprised the racket hadn’t awakened Ellie.
“I’m sorry, Colter. I have orders,” a man was saying. “I have a warrant to search your house. Richard Preston says you kidnapped his daughter, and he has the Dallas Police Department in an uproar. The sheriff wants me to check it out before they call in the FBI.”
“Search away,” Colter replied. “But you might want to ask the woman herself what she’s doing here.”
Marisa stood in the doorway, her eyes big and troubled.
“Ms. Marisa Preston?” the man asked.
“Yes,” she answered in a weak voice.
The man stepped forward. “I’m Deputy Jimmy Walsh. Are you being held against your will?”
“Of course not! Why on earth would you think that?”
“Your family believes Mr. Kincaid kidnapped you and they’re very worried.”
Mother. She wasn’t going to stop…until Marisa stopped her. The only person who’d ever kidnapped her was her mother. She’d taken away her childhood and now she was trying to destroy what little peace Marisa had managed to find. A white rage filled her.
“Mr. Kincaid doesn’t even want me here. I came of my own free will, and you can tell my mother—”
The deputy held up his hand. “I’ve only spoken with your father, so if you’ll get your things, I’ll