Motive For Marriage (Marriage of Inconvenience) Read online

  Libby pointed with the clippers she held in one hand. To the desk with you, fair maiden.” She waved the clippers in mock threat. “Or off with your head.”

  “But Your Majesty, I wanna play with the flowers.” Sara’s blue gaze turned pleading. “I don’t have that much homework.”

  Libby relented. It was hard to deny the kid when she turned on that preadolescent charm. But Sara’s experiments cut into the slim profit margin of Country Tastes. “Well, okay. You can make a couple of small arrangements for the reception.”

  “Do they have to be blue?”

  “Well, they didn’t specify. Use a carnation or two, and see if you can use up some of this stuff instead of hitting the cooler for more.”

  “Cool!” Sara eyed the pile with delight.

  For a few minutes they worked together, while Sara talked about everything from a food fight in the school cafeteria to how she wanted her own wedding to look. Libby glued foam bases for bigger arrangements. The tall gladioli the customer had specified looked stiff, so she tucked in a few daisies at a rakish angle. Daisies the customer hadn’t paid for. But what the heck. She might get a referral or two out of this job. The high society of Harborside, such as it was, would be in attendance. She headed to the cooler for more material.

  When she came back, Sara was admiring her handiwork. Libby looked at the arrangements and couldn’t help a rush of pride. Karen Smithson might not appreciate these arrangements because Sara had broken the Rule of the Triangle, but if you appreciated art and flowers, you couldn’t miss the rough talent the girl brought to the work. Libby smiled. “You, fair maiden, are good,” she said softly.

  “I like flowers.” Sara hesitated. “I like living with you, Lib, and I feel really bad about bringing up those riding lessons again. I know Mom and Dad didn’t leave too much—”

  “Stop right there.” Libby waited until Sara was looking at her. “I’d want you no matter what your parents left. We aren’t using any of your parents’ money until it’s time for you to go to college. We agreed, remember?” She brushed the thick bangs out of Sara’s eyes. Libby’s voice softened to a whisper. “I always wanted a daughter. And I love you as if you were mine.”

  Sara blushed and averted her eyes. “I like it here,” she repeated.

  THE NEXT DAY, Libby put a damp herbal tea bag over each eye, willing herself to relax. Her eyelids were puffy, they always swelled when she hadn’t slept well. She’d spent several hours before bed last night poring over the adoption paperwork, speculating on her mysterious meeting with Judge Wyatt. She’d called her friend Tina, who’d helped her rationalize.

  Today she wanted to look her best, so she’d braided her hair into a chignon that felt ready to burst each time she turned her head, and now she was screwing around with these tea bags.

  Two minutes later she was up and checking the mirror. Nope. They were still there, tiny swellings under each eye.

  Deciding there wasn’t any point in lingering, she put on her coat and walked to the courthouse. She was a half hour early, and some of the courthouse personnel were just arriving. She’d lived in Harborside all her life, and knew most of them. With a wave, she greeted the janitor, then headed for the clerk’s office where Barbara Fielding was working. Barb and she had gone to school together, and were now both members of the garden club.

  “Hey, Lib, just the person I wanted to see.” Barb leaned forward over the counter. “Can we have a casserole for the meeting next week? Some of that brown-rice-and-herb medley?”

  “Sure,” Libby said quietly.

  “What’s up?” Barb asked immediately. “You seem sort of…subdued.”

  Libby quickly explained. Barb might just know what i Libby or her attorney had failed to dot in the adoption papers.

  “I swear I don’t know anything.” The woman’s expression was serious. “But you have my support…this town’s support. Everybody’s seen how Sara’s become so talkative and bubbly this past year.”

  “Thanks.” Libby felt comforted by the brisk, kind words.

  “But, Lib?” Her voice lowered. “There’s someone in the waiting room who’s here on Sara’s case, too.”

  Quickly, Libby craned her neck, but she could see no one.

  “He was waiting on the steps when I got to work. I think he’s a lawyer, an out-of-town guy. A way-out-of-town guy.”

  Barb leaned forward and lowered her voice once more. I mean, the man’s gorgeous, and I don’t think he bought that suit of his off the rack.”

  Libby frowned, ignoring the invitation to gossip. “I’ve got Cam Holling. What would another lawyer want with Sara’s case?”

  “I don’t know, but you’ll be okay. This is Harborside, and Judge Wyatt won’t take kindly to some outsider in a thousand-dollar suit telling him what to do.”

  That was true. And standing here worrying wasn’t Libby’s style. She’d done far too much of it these past sixteen hours. She made a quick decision. It was time to see what Mr. Gorgeous wanted with Sara’s case. Plunking her tote bag on the floor, and slinging her jacket over a chair, she headed through the double doors into the waiting room.

  She spotted the man in question immediately. Barb wasn’t kidding. The man did look as if he was from somewhere urban and rich. And he was gorgeous. Libby’s heart gave a tiny lurch, of nerves and something else entirely.

  She hadn’t been really attracted to a man in years, not since Brian, a slick charmer from out of town who’d shown his true colors eventually. The lesson had hurt. And the single men in Harborside were her buddies. Or maybe it was that she had never, ever been attracted like this. She certainly couldn’t remember when the sight of a man had made her heart thump erratically and her mouth go suddenly dry.

  He was tall. With hands in the pockets of his perfectly draped trench coat, he stood, half facing her, in front of a row of windows and stared out intently. The dim light of early morning streaming in brought out the shine in his wavy black hair. It was as black as Sara’s. In profile, his features were almost aristocratic.

  Damned if he didn’t look like a lawyer. Somehow, this man was part of the trouble that brought her to the courthouse this morning. Libby took a deep breath and strode forward.

  He turned to face her fully as she approached.

  “Are you ready for me?” he asked. “My lawyer isn’t here yet, but I don’t mind getting started.”

  “You’re not a lawyer?”

  His mouth thinned with impatience. “Of course not. I’m the litigant.” Then, as if just remembering his manners, he smiled and extended his hand. “Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind. I’m Nathan Perry. Are you the judge’s bailiff?” A tilt of his head indicated the employees-only area Libby had come from.

  She shook his hand. So he was a “litigant.” She wasn’t sure exactly what that meant. And she was irritated with herself, because she was sure that smile was designed precisely to charm, and she was charmed.

  Without being blatant about it, he seemed to look more closely at her face and figure. Then his smile deepened, reached his eyes, became genuine…and devastating.

  She was all mixed up—nervous, anxious about Sara’s case, attracted to this handsome stranger—and as usual, overly conscious of her appearance. “I had to wear these tights,” she blurted out. “I forgot to buy nylons again.” Oh, God, had she really said that?

  He chuckled, a sound as rich as a cup of espresso. Was there nothing about this man that wasn’t perfect? “You look fine.”

  “Sure,” she said lightly, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. “I’m Libby—Elizabeth—Jamieson, by the way.”

  He was still looking down into her eyes, so she could tell the precise moment that recognition crossed his face. Then his mouth tightened into a white line and his eyes narrowed. “You!”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re Elizabeth Jamieson? The one who has Melissa?”

  Melissa? Melissa…

  All of a sudden, some things fell into place. Jul
ia and secrets, her oft-repeated statement that things weren’t what they seemed. And those last words of Julia’s, just before she died: Her name is Melissa. Tell Nate I’m sorry.

  OhmyGod. Sara must be, had to be…Melissa. And Nathan Perry was a litigant. Nate Perry. Tell Nate I’m sorry.

  But what could all this mean? Libby wet her lips. “Just what is your interest in Sara?”

  “Melissa,” he corrected.

  “Nate!” another voice called. They both turned as a tall, well-groomed woman approached, clutching a briefcase and wearing a trench coat that looked practically identical to the one Nathan Perry wore. “I knew I should have driven out from Toledo last night. These country roads—” She cut herself off as she reached them. “Sorry. You know I don’t make a habit of being late.”

  Nate frowned. “But this was not the day to start, Marta. For chrissake, you know how important—”

  “Sorry,” she repeated briskly. “Has the judge called us yet?”

  “No.”

  She shrugged. “Well, with judges it’s hurry up and wait.” She laid a light hand on his arm for a second. “Relax. You’ll have Melissa soon enough.”

  Libby was confused, but one thing was clear. This Marta, whoever she was, was wrong. Nathan Perry would not have Melissa anytime soon.

  Nathan shook his head slightly at Marta, indicating Libby. “This is Elizabeth Jamieson. And we have not talked,” he added in a tone that suggested he and Libby had plenty to talk about.

  “Oh. Really.” An initial start gave way to a smooth introduction as Marta reached out a hand to Libby. “I’m Marta Wainwright, of Severn and Coxton, Chicago. We represent Mr. Perry in the matter of his daughter, Melissa.”

  His daughter? But Sara…Melissa’s father had been Heywood Clark. Libby’s mind searched frantically for any smidgen of information she had, any indication from Sara herself that Heywood Clark had been a stepfather. She could come up with nothing. But it was hard to think with her heart pounding against her ribs and her stomach feeling so tight.

  Now Nate was looking at her, a strange, intent expression on his face. For a moment the courthouse walls and the other woman seemed to fade, as Libby was caught in his compelling blue gaze. “Yes. Melissa is my daughter, Nate said in a husky voice. “Tell me. Did you know?”

  Know what? Libby thought half-hysterically. Know her name is somehow Melissa? Know you’re somehow her father?

  His gaze sharpened. “I asked, did you know?”

  She could not look away. “No,” she said softly.

  He stared at her as if he was searching for something beyond her denial. Finally he looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly.

  The spell was broken, but the whole situation was unreal. In a numb fog, Libby heard their names called, went into the judge’s chambers ahead of Marta Wainwright and Nathan Perry, explained to the judge that Cameron Holling was late and barely heard the judge growl, “Again!”

  They all took seats around the conference table. The small conference area was paneled, intimidating, clearly a place where serious decisions were made. The judge sat at the head of the table, just underneath a huge plaque of the Great Seal of the state of Ohio.

  Marta opened her briefcase and made a great show of arranging a stack of papers. Libby caught sight of the top one. Motion to Intervene in the Matter of the Adoption of Sara Clark.

  Nate Perry sat still, straight. His hands were open, resting palm down on the polished oak table. She had a feeling that what he really wanted to do was fist them.

  Nate Perry wanted his daughter. That much had penetrated her shell-shocked brain. But the situation still made no sense. Julia had been sort of dizzy at times, dramatic, but essentially a timid woman. Her husband had been a jerk, and Libby had always suspected Julia was afraid of him. At times, she had seemed anxious and sad.

  But maybe Julia had been more than anxious. Maybe she’d had a good reason to be scared. Maybe her friend had kidnapped Sara—Melissa—from her father. Those kinds of things happened, she knew. But Libby had known Sara since the child had been about three years old. Didn’t the FBI or someone track down missing kids? Would that kind of thing take seven years? And Libby truly couldn’t imagine Julia as a kidnapper.

  But one thing was certain. Libby loved Sara. She thought of the nervous, quiet kid Sara had been a year ago, and knew that Barb Fielding was right. Libby was good for Sara; they were a real family. They belonged together.

  The judge settled in at the head of the table and silence descended over the group. Marta had arranged every paper four times and had finally quit. Nate Perry looked as if he was beginning a slow boil he wouldn’t be able to contain for long.

  Where in God’s name was Cameron? Libby hoped he was a good lawyer. The people in town used him, but she wondered if he would be intimidated by the formidable-looking Marta Wainwright of Severn and Coxton, Chicago. Cam was perpetually rumpled, and his idea of dressing up was to put on a corduroy blazer.

  But appearances didn’t mean a thing. Like Libby, Cam had chosen to come home to Harborside when he could have taken a job in the city. As far as she knew, Cam was competent. Looking at the single-minded determination on Nate Perry’s face, Libby had a feeling that she would need more than just competent.

  CHAPTER TWO

  FINALLY, Cameron Holling arrived. As he settled into his seat, he whispered an apology in Libby’s ear. She whispered back, “That’s okay,” but it wasn’t. She felt as if she were going to explode with her unanswered questions.

  At the head of the table, the judge pulled a set of papers toward him. “I’ve asked you all together because of an extraordinary situation. Yesterday I received a Motion to Intervene in Sara Clark’s adoption, which is Mr. Perry’s legal way of challenging Ms. Jamieson’s right to keep Sara. I tried to reach you yesterday, Mr. Holling, but you were out of town.”

  There it was, out in the open. Nathan Perry wanted Sara. Libby realized that until that moment, she’d hoped she’d misread the situation. She looked up, across the table toward Nate. He was looking straight at her, too, and for a second, their gazes meshed. It was as if there had never been that brief moment of shared warmth in the waiting room. This man now had eyes as cold as ice, and as determined. There wasn’t even the barest hint of a smile. I want to win, she read in his eyes. And it was obvious he was a man who was used to winning.

  The judge cleared his throat. “Mr. Perry’s story is extraordinary, but his attorney has provided all the documentation to assure me he’s the natural father of Sara Clark, and that he hasn’t been allowed to see his daughter, or even know where she was living. Eight years ago, while in the custody of her mother, the child entered the federal government’s witness protection program.”

  Beside her, Cam made a sound of disbelief, at the same time reaching for the documentation Judge Wyatt handed him. The judge explained the mechanics of the program and how Nate had had no choice in the matter.

  Libby clenched her hands in her lap and waited as Cam looked over the paperwork. Across the table, she could feel Marta Wainwright’s self-assurance. Finally, Cam gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  It was true. Nate Perry was Sara’s father. Studying him, she saw what she should have recognized instantly. He had black hair and sky-blue eyes that tilted at the corners slightly, giving him a look of intelligent curiosity. His cheekbones were a touch more prominent than most. No wonder Libby had found Nate Perry a handsome, appealing man. She was looking at a grown-up, masculine version of Sara.

  According to the judge, Nate had lost his daughter eight years ago through no fault of his own. Sara would have been two or three at the time. For a second, Libby pictured what life must have been like for this man, and couldn’t hold back the compassion that flowed through her.

  Cam handed her a copy of Nate’s motion, and Libby read it rapidly. It stated that Nathan Perry was the natural father of Melissa Perry, also known as Sara Clark, and that “simple biology” gave him a “preeminent right” as opposed
to “adoption by a legal stranger, Elizabeth Jamieson.” He wanted his child returned to him immediately. As she read, Libby grew angrier and angrier.

  “Simple biology” be damned. If anybody was a stranger to Sara, Nate Perry was. Libby remembered all the things she and Sara had shared, this past year and in years gone by—the birthdays, the school plays, the community theater, the flowers, the squaredancing lessons that Sara loathed—the ones where the girls had to dance with the boys.

  “You don’t even know her.” Libby looked to Nate, who remained still and impassive. Waiting. “You have no idea what she likes or dislikes.”

  He leaned forward. “Of course I don’t. You heard the judge. Eight years ago my ex-wife and the government of the United States robbed me of my daughter. How could I possibly know? All I ever got was a telegram telling me she was safe. I didn’t even know until last week that her mother had died almost a year ago.” For a second, his husky voice went a note or two lower. It was the first sign that he was feeling anything but impatience at the legal formalities.

  Libby took a deep breath. “You don’t know that she loves celery sticks with peanut butter but won’t eat brussels sprouts. You don’t know that she likes cherry icing but won’t touch chocolate.”

  Cam put his hand on her forearm, said, “Lib—”

  But Libby went right on. “Do you know she hates carnations but is crazy about orange tiger lilies? Do you know her favorite play is Once Upon a Mattress and that when she was a toddler I had to read Beatrix Potter to her over and over, and you don’t know anything about any of that…”

  “Mr. Holling,” the judge warned.

  “Lib, be quiet,” Cam whispered, more urgently.

  Libby fell silent immediately, but she had so much more to say. Surely, if Nate Perry understood how much she loved Sara, he’d…

  His hands on the tabletop fisted. “You don’t get it, do you? I want to find out all those things about her. I want—his mouth twisted “—I want my daughter.”