Navy Blues. Debbie Macomber

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СКАЧАТЬ him in the night, Claire who’d fed him, bathed him, taken him for checkups, played with him. And Claire who had paid for anything and everything the child had needed. And though it had been Claire who’d loved him more than her life, none of that had counted for anything with the judge.

      Farrah hadn’t bonded at all with the child and she certainly hadn’t wanted the responsibility of raising him. The truth was, she’d only kept the unplanned and unwanted pregnancy in hopes of getting her rich former boyfriend to marry her. Or failing that—and she had failed to wrangle a marriage proposal out of the father—she’d meant to extort some lavish amount of child support from him. But then Cliff Pierce had been killed before Cody had been born.

      That was all Claire had known. The day after Cody’s birth, Farrah had brought the infant directly to her, then promptly gone to live with one of the few friends she hadn’t yet alienated.

      The moment Claire had taken the tiny infant into her arms, she’d fallen instantly and irrevocably in love. She’d understood right away that her flighty stepsister meant for the arrangement to be permanent, but she hadn’t been able to persuade Farrah to make her the baby’s legal guardian.

      Claire had recognized Farrah’s refusal for what it was: an opportunity to maintain legal control over the child in case a future opportunity presented itself.

      And it had presented itself in the form of Cliff Pierce’s older brother—his very rich older brother—who was sole heir to all things Pierce.

      That’s why Logan Pierce had shown up at Farrah’s funeral to make contact with Claire. That’s why he’d taken her to court to continue the process of claiming his late brother’s only child. Farrah hadn’t informed Claire that she’d already petitioned the courts for child support from Cody’s uncle, so finding out about it after Farrah’s sudden death had been a shock.

      Cliff Pierce had taken a blood test before Cody’s birth, and once Cody was born, his blood had also been tested, so there was no doubt of paternity. Then a week ago, the court had deemed Logan Pierce more entitled and qualified to raise little Cody than she was.

      A stepaunt’s rights—though she’d virtually been a mother to the child—had been trumped in the courts by the rights of blood kin. If she’d had the money to continue to fight for access to the boy, she might at least have had a legal chance. But her money was no match for Pierce resources.

      And because Cody’s blood kin was too coldhearted to concede her right to anything to do with the boy, today was the beginning of the end. Her last obligation was to hand Cody over. But would the man who was so determined to have his nephew all to himself allow her to at least help the child through what would surely be a traumatic transition?

      She would find some way to survive the loss of the boy, but Cody was far too young to make sense of any of this. All he would understand was that the woman he thought of as his mother had suddenly abandoned him. Why the judge hadn’t been able to understand that worried her less than Logan Pierce’s apparent indifference to the emotional consequences of separation for little Cody.

      The temptation to throw herself at Logan Pierce’s feet and beg to be allowed at least a miniscule part in the boy’s future was pitifully strong. If she could somehow keep the child from being devastated, she was willing to do whatever it took to spare him.

      And yet she knew instinctively that she couldn’t show even a particle of emotion. A man who apparently had no feelings wouldn’t respect anything but the cool poise she’d shown him so far.

      She’d already determined that the best course would be to convince Logan Pierce that her ongoing contact with Cody would benefit Logan Pierce. He didn’t impress her as a man who tolerated upset or insubordination of any kind, much less any ripples in his otherwise rigidly ordered life. Little boys were inherently disruptive and not given to rigid order. They should be expected to behave, but children were still learning. Mistakes and little problems were inevitable.

      Suddenly every reasoned point she’d considered making to him about the wisdom of allowing her frequent, regular contact with the boy seemed doomed to fail. Her limited experience with Logan Pierce had more than convinced her that he considered her just as shiftless and troublesome as Farrah.

      But the boy considered her his mother. Farrah herself had encouraged Cody to call Claire “Momma.” Though Claire had worried about that from the start, she had been Cody’s momma in every way other than actually giving birth to him. The tragedy for her, but now especially for the boy, was that she hadn’t.

      As if he’d sensed her upset, Cody moved restlessly in her arms and drew back to rub his eye with a back of his hand. His soft whimper was a strong signal that he was out of sorts. He’d not slept well in the car, and the lack of a good nap would leave him cranky until he felt more fully awake. This wasn’t the best time for him to meet his uncle.

      The housekeeper had offered no real welcome to the boy, though most people did. Cody was a handsome child, with black hair and blue eyes, and he was usually well behaved. It helped to remember that he’d had his little arms fastened tightly around Claire’s neck when they’d come in, so perhaps the housekeeper hadn’t thought he was awake enough yet to cope with a stranger.

      Claire so hoped that was the reason the woman had all but ignored the boy. At least she’d brought a carafe of cold orange juice with the pitcher of iced tea, so perhaps that was an indication of the woman’s thoughtfulness.

      Cody began to fuss a little then, and Claire tried to distract him.

      “Would you like some orange juice, sweetheart?”

      That got his attention and she scooted forward on the sofa with him on her lap to reach for the small glass. Cody seemed to perk up a bit after he’d had a sip, but he refused a second sip. He’d noticed a small bronze sculpture of a wild horse on the table at the end of the sofa and immediately wiggled out of her arms to investigate.

      And promptly knocked the small, weighty piece on its side!

      Horrified, Claire put the glass of juice on the tray then jumped up to right the sculpture. The moment she picked it up, she saw that the rippling mane of the horse had gouged the fine, high gloss tabletop. The whitish cut stood out starkly on the dark wood.

      How would Logan Pierce react to this? The question made her nauseous, and her heart began to race with real fear. But then her fear shot up what must have been miles as she heard heavy bootsteps coming from some unseen hall outside the wide doorway of the living room.

      There was no way to fix or conceal the damage to what was surely a very expensive table. She would gladly pay for the damage whatever it cost, but a two-year-old was bound to have other small accidents in a home filled with fine furniture, and she wouldn’t be around to intervene with those.

      As the steady bootsteps grew closer, she sent up a desperate prayer.

      Please, God, let him be tenderhearted with this boy. And understanding and wonderfully patient…

      That was the moment Logan Pierce walked into the room. Claire looked up from the damaged table and tried to read his somber expression as she clutched the small sculpture.

      There was nothing even remotely tender or understanding or patient about the way this man looked. His rugged face was all planes and angles and harshness. He looked almost ruthless. She doubted he’d ever smiled in his life.

      And then he leveled that cold black gaze on her and she felt the sharp impact of it. She could СКАЧАТЬ