Where the Road Ends. Tara Quinn Taylor

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      The nanny’s gaze shot up, her brows straight beneath cocoa-brown bangs, her face a mask. “What kind of changes?”

      In that second Amelia was certain about a decision she hadn’t even thought she’d made.

      “Since Johnny died I’ve been forced to consider what’s important to me,” she began.

      “Your company is important to you.”

      “My son is important to me.”

      “Of course he is, which is why I’m here to look after him for you.”

      “But what about you?” Amelia asked, forcing her trembling hands to remain by her sides. “Your personal life has slowly dwindled down to nothing. You’ve not only tried to take Johnny’s place in Charles’s life, but you’re trying to make up for his absence in mine, as well.”

      Cloyingly so.

      Amelia hated herself for that reaction. Almost buckled under the guilt. Was she doing the right thing?

      Because if she was letting fear or insecurity take over, she had to stop. Now. She needed to make rational decisions based solely on what was best for her son; she couldn’t afford to lose emotional control. She had to be strong for Charles.

      And she wasn’t going to let Johnny down, either.

      For a moment, silence filled the space between the two women, and Amelia remembered the history they’d shared. The years. The celebrations. The grief.

      Kathy’s stoicism slid away into the silence, leaving a lonely woman with slumped shoulders. “My heart is here,” she said softly, as though that explained everything. Tears welled in her eyes.

      Amelia almost hugged her. This was the woman she’d entrusted with her son’s life. The only family she and Charles had left in the world.

      How could she fire her? What was she thinking?

      Could she even manage without Kathy? Could Charles?

      There was Cara, of course, Amelia’s best friend since childhood. But as Amelia’s right hand at Wainscoat, Cara was needed at work.

      And what about Kathy? Was it fair to let her go after she’d dedicated five years of her life to them?

      “You’re only twenty-eight, Kath,” she said, taking a step closer to the woman. The two of them were standing in the middle of the elegant front room.

      Facing off or moving together?

      “Until this past year, you’ve always had a lot of boyfriends. You wanted to get married and have children of your own, but you haven’t been away from Charles or me in months. And talk of any life outside this house doesn’t even exist anymore.”

      Kathy’s eyes darted around the room, her forearm jerking up and then back to her side as though signaling an end. “Charles is my child.” The words were sharp.

      Where was the woman Amelia had wanted to hug just seconds before?

      Suddenly, Johnny’s warning was all she could hear, all she could think about. Her husband had been observant, intuitive about people, and the most dedicated father she’d ever known. She remembered the immediate reason for this meeting, Kathy’s remark, in front of Charles, that Amelia did not have the right to make important decisions regarding her son’s life.

      How had it come to this? At one time, it had been a blessing just to have Kathy around. Amelia and Johnny had often marveled at how lucky they’d been to find her. They’d been so thankful.

      “You know he’s not really your child,” Amelia said softly, treading carefully in territory she neither recognized nor understood. “He’s my son, Kathy. Mine and Johnny’s.”

      Kathy motioned awkwardly again, her entire body jerking slightly, as though she’d been hit and was trying to hide the impact.

      “Johnny’s dead.”

      Amelia couldn’t argue with that. They’d brought her the shirt he’d been wearing that last day. Pulled out of the ocean almost a mile from the initial explosion. It was little more than shreds.

      “In body, not in spirit.”

      Kathy’s fingers fidgeted almost imperceptibly at her sides, then stopped and her chin rose belligerently. “You hired me to love Charles.”

      “To care for him, yes,” Amelia admitted. And of course she’d been gratified, and greatly relieved, to leave Charles in the hands of someone who not only kept him safe, but loved him. Kathy had been young and inventive; she’d entertained Charles, made his life fun. Made all their lives fun with her impromptu games and celebrations.

      “That love gives me rights.” There was no mistaking the challenge in the nanny’s tone.

      “Some.”

      “Do you love Charles?”

      “Of course! And because he’s my son, he’s my responsibility.”

      “He’s my responsibility, too. And I love him every bit as much as you do.”

      Amelia sighed. “Kathy, I’m his mother.”

      They stood there on the plushest of carpets, and continued to confront each other, one in business clothes, the other in capri pants and a pastel, button-down blouse.

      “But, I’ve raised him.”

      Amelia’s throat closed as she faced Kathy’s hard-eyed stare. The younger woman still maintained an outward calm. But she was way out of line. In her thinking. In her attitude.

      Just as Johnny had suspected.

      “You’ve helped, yes,” Amelia murmured, not at all sure how to proceed. “Tremendously. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s my son and you should have sons of your own.”

      Kathy started—not trembling, nothing so uncontrolled as that. “Charles is as much my son as he is yours, Amelia,” she said in an odd, faraway voice. “Being a mother is more than a biological function. We both know I’ve filled that role for Charles much more than you have.”

      Oh, God. Who was this woman?

      Fear rose within Amelia as she accepted that her deceased husband’s fears had been realized. On the verge of losing what little breakfast she’d eaten, she stood straight, strong, in control.

      “Which is why I’ve decided it’s time to change some things,” Amelia said, calmed by her own voice, her ability to sound as though she could handle anything.

      She didn’t know whether she was having any effect on Kathy, but she was convincing herself.

      “What things?”

      Was that panic she read in Kathy’s eyes?

      Could the bravado be just that, then—a СКАЧАТЬ