Wife By Deception. Donna Sterling
But don’t go off half-cocked. Think about how you want to handle this. You and I know she ran illegally with your kid, but you can’t be sure how another state will deal with custody disputes. The law at home might be on your side, but you don’t have any guarantees outside of Louisiana.”
“That’s why I’m bringing her back. And I’m not about to call the cops, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Mitch knew better than to rely on anyone except himself. Camryn would flash her pretty smile and have the cops falling all over themselves to do her favors before he had a chance to show his joint custody papers. They’d probably arrest him and let her go free—to run with Arianne again.
If she still had Arianne. Mitch refused to put too much stock in the stroller the detective had noticed. Camryn could be staying with someone who had a baby. During her six months on the run, she might have left Arianne with a baby-sitter, or forgotten her outside a casino, or…
Mitch refused to think about the possibilities. The woman had a warped maternal instinct and absolutely no sense of responsibility. He believed she’d taken Arianne from him out of spite for what she considered his “interference” in her life. She’d resented the restraints imposed on her by marriage—as brief as their marriage had been—and even more, the demands of motherhood. She lived for fun and thrills. The risks she took in search of those thrills made Mitch’s muscles clench. What a sap he was! As furious as she made him, he couldn’t keep from worrying about Camryn as well as their daughter.
Their sweet baby daughter. Arianne. He hadn’t seen her in six months. She’d be nine months old by now. Did Camryn still have her? If so, was she taking decent care of her? He couldn’t imagine her taking care of anyone for that long, let alone fulfilling the constant needs of a baby.
Then again, Camryn could do or be anything she set her mind to, at least for a while. She was a chameleon, changing colors to suit her mood or to get her wherever she wanted to go. He hoped her current whims included mothering Arianne.
If only he’d known Camryn before he’d gotten involved with her! But he’d been pretty damn irresponsible himself. He, too, had taken foolhardy risks in search of excitement. Like sleeping with a gorgeous stranger.
But he had to admit, it had been more for him than just thrill seeking. He’d been poleaxed by the sight of her. In that first blinding flash of reaction, he’d been sure she was the woman of his dreams. Her face, her eyes, her voice. Her body. Everything about her seemed so damn right…as if she’d stepped directly from his fantasies, custom-made for him alone. He’d honestly felt that fate had brought him to this one golden moment in time so that he could meet his soul mate. Never before had he been overcome by such a powerful certainty.
And never since.
Her beauty, vivaciousness and fun-loving spirit had kept him flying high through the first couple of weeks of their relationship. But gradually he realized that the deeper, more profound qualities he craved in a life partner simply weren’t there.
She was like flauteau—the lush stretches of Louisiana grass and greenery that looked as solid as earth but were actually nothing more than vegetation floating on the surface of a swamp. A man foolish enough to step onto flauteau would sink beneath the dense foliage into stagnant, muddy water without leaving so much as a trace.
All flash was Camryn, without an inch of solid ground. And now he was drowning in his own foolishness over her.
When she told him she was going to have his baby, he insisted that she marry him. Old-fashioned of him, maybe, but he’d wanted at least the appearance of love for their child’s sake, once she was old enough to understand things like parenthood and marriage.
It turned out that Camryn herself didn’t know much about those things. She carried on a fairly convincing charade of wife and mother for as long as she could, but her true nature soon got the best of her. She craved fun and thrills and self-gratification, and when the conflict with him became too much for her, she filed for divorce. And then left town…before that divorce had been properly finalized…with Arianne. She’d barely been three months old.
And now, as he tried to track Camryn down, he was amazed at how little he knew about her. According to information gleaned from Arianne’s birth certificate, Camryn had been born in Pennsylvania, but his search there proved fruitless. She’d said her parents were dead; he didn’t know if she had any surviving family members. Her maiden name of “Jones” didn’t help much in a computer search; every state in the country had thousands of them.
He hoped to God that he’d finally found her.
Mitch finished his conversation with the detective and returned his cell phone to his pocket, his mind whirling and his heart pounding. He had strategies to plan and preparations to make.
“Mon Dieu! Have they found our Arianne?” His mother’s breathless question and anxious expression jarred him from his thoughts. Every pair of eyes around the table reflected the same deep-seated concern.
“Maybe. I’m about to go find out.” His throat nearly closed with emotion. “I might be bringing her home.”
The prospect awed him. He’d missed her so damn much—holding her, feeding her, making her smile. Watching her bloom into the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen. His daughter. Had she needed him? Had she wondered where he was? Could she possibly even remember him?
His eldest sister whispered a prayer in French and made the sign of the cross. His younger sister hugged him. His father gripped his shoulder in silent support. His brother-in-law insisted on going with him, and everyone else chimed in with offers of help.
A small hand tugged on his shirt. Mitch glanced down at his four-year-old nephew, who stood on the picnic bench, his dark eyes wide with concern. In incredulous tones, he asked, “Are you cwying, Uncle Mitch?”
Mitch blinked back the sheen that had blurred his vision and swallowed against the swelling in his throat. “Nah. Too much hot sauce on my crawfish, that’s all.” He caught the boy to him in a playful hold and scrubbed his knuckles across his head, tousling the dark curls. “You didn’t sprinkle more hot sauce in my jambalaya while I wasn’t looking, did you, Claude?”
Claude giggled and swore that he hadn’t.
Sensing a potential for roughhousing, the little boy’s older cousins sprang from their seats. “I did it, Uncle Mitch! I put more hot sauce in your jambalaya!”
“No, I did!”
“I did.”
Their impish grins and teasing claims eased some of the tightness in Mitch’s throat. Allowing himself the luxury of a moment, he captured as many kids as he could at one time, tickling each one he caught. They shrieked with laughter, scurried around him and mounted their own attack, some leaping onto his back from behind.
Mitch swore to himself that he’d bring his daughter home to join in the fun with her cousins. To dance to her uncle Mazoo’s fiddle. Eat her grand-mère’s jambalaya. Wrap her papa around her little finger.
He’d bring Camryn back here, too—to resolve the legal glitches in their divorce proceedings, and to face the judge who had granted them joint custody. Despite the failed divorce, they were legally separated, and that custody agreement was legal and binding. She’d had no right to leave the state of Louisiana, or to keep his daughter away from him.
Yes, indeed, she would face the judge and pay whatever price he set for violating a court order. Maybe that would stop her from running away with Arianne again.
LATE FRIDAY AFTERNOON, KATE rolled the stroller up to the gate of the clubhouse area just in time to watch parents clamber out of the swimming pool with infants and toddlers in their arms, rivulets of water trickling from matted hair, slick swimsuits and sagging diapers. As everyone headed toward lounge chairs and beach towels, the instructor called out reminders of next week’s class.
Drat. Kate had been hoping to watch at least some of this afternoon’s swim class in session. The walk through the two adjacent subdivisions had taken longer