Private Lives

  They were approaching the restaurant, which had half a dozen umbrella-covered tables set outside. She stopped and looked about, caught in full sunshine. Her hair was an incredible color, he thought, not red, but a dark auburn and shot through with rich fiery highlights. Thick and lustrous, it fell to her shoulders, wanting to curl in Houston’s humid air—going its own untamed way. He preferred her looking natural and feminine, as she did now in jeans and soft T-shirt. As for those green eyes…A man could learn to love the look of a woman like Liz.

  “Liz—” He stopped her as she started inside. She turned, giving him a questioning look. “After this is over, would you have dinner with me? Could we get to know each other better without all the complications of Austin…and everything else?”

  “I…don’t know.” She frowned.

  “Are you seeing somebody?”

  “No. It’s just—” Shaking her head, she looked sort of frantically at the traffic. “I’m really not interested in…that.”

  He smiled, a half tilt of his mouth, knowing the risk he took teasing her. “Don’t tell me Austin’s tacky accusations were right after all?”

  “Austin’s—” She looked confused a second or two before she understood. “Oh, that Gina and I—” She stopped, giving a soft laugh. “No, his accusations were probably a fantasy in his own mind. He’s just that sick.” She glanced at the door. “Are we having lunch or not?”

  She hadn’t promised to go out with him, but he hadn’t been completely shot down, either, he thought. He felt hopeful. “Want to sit outside?”

  Also available from MIRA Books and KAREN YOUNG

  FULL CIRCLE

  GOOD GIRLS

  IN CONFIDENCE

  KAREN YOUNG

  PRIVATE LIVES

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’m grateful to several people for advice, information and moral support in the writing of this book. To Metsy Hingle for the idea and a long list of other favors. To Emilie Richards for being a sensitive and insightful sounding board when I needed it most. To my daughter, Alison Simmons, who is tireless and patient with me in avenues of my career that do not include sitting at my computer and writing. To Jon Salem for his canny grasp of the workings of the publishing world, and the world at large, and his willingness to share it with me. To my nephew, Mike Farris, for the boat stuff. And finally, to my editor, Valerie Gray, with thanks for her astute suggestions and attention to detail.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  One

  “Lizzie. What’s wrong? You’re pale as a ghost.”

  “I don’t believe this, Louie.” Elizabeth Walker’s attention was riveted on an article in the Sunday newspaper. Her picture was front and center in the article, but it was the content of the piece that dismayed her. “You remember that reporter from the Houston Chronicle who interviewed me a couple of weeks ago?”

  “After a bit of pressure from your publisher?” Louie Christian broke a piece off his bagel and tossed it from the gazebo to his dog, Archie, who caught it with a quick snap of his teeth. “Is the article in the paper today?”

  “It’s the front page feature in the ‘Lifestyle’ section.”

  Louie leaned over to see for himself. “Nice photo. You look very professional sitting at your computer.”

  Elizabeth’s response was a disgruntled snort. “I knew I shouldn’t have agreed. Listen to this.” She moved her coffee cup aside and spread the paper flat on the low table across from Louie. Grimacing, she read aloud, “‘Houston author Elizabeth Walker, winner of the prestigious Newbery Award for children’s books, leads an almost reclusive life. Repeated attempts to interview her were unsuccessful. It was only after her publisher intervened that Walker, an auburn-haired beauty who looks more like a runway model than an author of sensitive stories for children, reluctantly agreed to the interview at her home in the exclusive Memorial area. Consequently, her reluctance had this reporter’s nose aquiver. Deeper research revealed a very interesting history quite apart from her life as a writer. Walker, it seems, is the daughter of Matthew Scurlock Walker, a judge who was once a powerful political figure in Houston legal circles. After his death in a mysterious house fire twenty-five years ago, Walker left behind three daughters. Elizabeth, the eldest, was five years old at the time. Having no other relatives, her two younger siblings were adopted, but Elizabeth landed in the care of the state of Texas, then spent the remainder of her childhood in and out of various foster homes.”’

  Elizabeth stood up abruptly and began to pace. “What possible relevance does any of this have on my career, Louie?”

  “None, specifically, but you’ll have to admit it adds spice to the reporter’s article.”

  Bending, she swept up the article. “I suppose this part is also titillating,” she said, snapping out the page smartly. “‘According to sources, Walker has had no relationship with her siblings since their adoption. She has not seen them since the night of the fire.’ How does he know that, Louie?”

  “Deeper research, I suppose.”

  She muttered something unintelligible and tossed the paper aside. Moving to the steps of the gazebo, she looked out, tears blurring her vision. “What’s missing from the reporter’s story is that my sisters’ adoptive parents never made the slightest effort to contact me.”

  Behind her, Louie picked up the paper and scanned the article. “You can’t let something like this upset you, Lizzie. Your success makes you an interesting person to the public at large. The reporter struck it lucky when he researched a little deeper and discovered your past to be a bit extraordinary.”

  “I feel violated, Louie. It’s almost like…rape.” She closed her eyes and took a deep, unsteady breath.

  Louie sighed, knowing her well enough to leave it alone for now.

  But Elizabeth wasn’t ready to leave it. “It’s no wonder the media is suffering from a reputation only slightly better than used car salesmen,” she said bitterly, turning to face him. “I’m amazed at my own naiveté, Louie. The questions he asked were so benign, such as, ‘How do you get your ideas?’ and ‘How difficult was it to get published?’ and ‘What made you choose to write books for children rather than adult fiction?’ And I actually thought that was what the article would be about.”

  “He appears to cover that, too,” Louie said, still reading.

  She turned and looked at him, then after a beat, she managed a short laugh. “I’m overreacting, right?”

  Louie put the paper down. “I wouldn’t say that, since he’s opened your life to the world, but your editor and your agent would probably remind you that any publicity, favorable or otherwise, is good.”

  She made a disgusted sound and picked up her cup. She could always trust Louie to spin even the most awful experience in a positive light. She knew that he understood her reaction to the reporter’s insensitive expos�
� of her history, knew that to her it was like pouring salt in a wound that had never quite healed. Still knowing all that, he wouldn’t let her wallow in self-pity. She studied him over the rim of her cup with affection. At seventy-one, his white beard gave him a distinguished air even though she’d noticed he’d begun to stoop a bit. She wondered if she could persuade him to have a full physical.

  Louie had been her neighbor for about five years, but they hadn’t become friends right away. Her fault, not his. Those years in foster care had shaped her well. She’d learned early the hazards of trusting too soon. But Louie had patiently persevered. Elderly and lonely himself, he’d finally breached her shy defenses with a variety of neighborly gestures: offering tomatoes and cucumbers from his garden, bringing her newspaper to the door on rainy days, returning her trash can to the garage after the garbage was picked up. And, best of all, assuming a vital role in Jesse’s life.

  A sharp shriek from across the lawn brought her to her feet. But it was joy, not distress making Jesse squeal. The little girl and her best friend, Cody, were in wild pursuit of Archie who now had not a bagel, but something dark blue and crushable in his teeth. There was no likelihood that the big golden retriever would be overtaken, but both kids were giving the race their personal best.

  “Is that something valuable in his mouth?” Louie asked, moving up behind her.

  “Cody’s cherished Texans ball cap? Priceless.” Elizabeth smiled, watching Jesse try to outsmart the dog by circling behind while Cody stood out in front and yelled as a distraction. Squealing, Jesse leaped on the playful retriever from behind and Cody dived gleefully into the tangle of little girl and big dog. Amazingly, Cody emerged from the fray with his cap. Archie got up, too, shaking himself vigorously, tongue dangling in a doggie grin.

  “Maybe we’d better go check for broken limbs,” Louie said dryly as the two five-year-olds sprawled on the lawn, winded and giggling.

  “Whose, Archie’s or the kids?”

  “Good point.”

  Smiling, they watched as the children tore off in another direction, Archie between them, barking joyously. Elizabeth felt a rush of love. Jesse was a delightful mix of tomboy and sprightly femininity. And a constant delight, despite the fact that lately her welfare was a constant concern.

  And on that thought, Elizabeth’s smile faded. Gina D’Angelo, Jesse’s mother, was living with Elizabeth now after her longtime lover, Austin Leggett, had finally broken off their relationship. Elizabeth was holding her breath praying the affair was truly over this time. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d opened her home to Gina and Jesse after one of Austin’s tirades, but in the past he would soon apologize, Gina would forgive all, and the whole dysfunctional cycle would begin again. It was frustrating and painful to Elizabeth to see that Jesse was forced to live in an atmosphere of fear and violence. Gina was an adult and free to make her own choices, but Jesse, the child of their stormy relationship, was without options. Maybe this time the split would be permanent, as Gina had confessed that she suspected Austin was having an affair. She had no wish to see Gina hurt, but she knew the relationship would end only when Austin decided to end it. For Jesse’s sake, she hoped the time had come. The fact that Gina had hired an attorney and a law suit was filed regarding Jesse’s custody gave Elizabeth hope. On the other hand, she worried about Jesse’s fate if the breakup turned ugly. As the little girl’s father, Austin Leggett would have considerable standing in the eyes of the court.

  “Is Gina sleeping in this morning?” Louie asked, his eyes still on the kids.

  “She has a lot on her mind lately.” Elizabeth knew what he was thinking. It should be Gina out here watching her daughter, not Liz. But Gina hadn’t come home last night until after eleven. In spite of the fact that she was forced to move on with her life, she was devastated by Austin’s rejection and stressed out over the upcoming custody hearing. Seeing that she felt cooped up after weeks in the house, Elizabeth had suggested she take in a movie. But hours after the movie was over, when she still had not come home, Jesse had been worried. Elizabeth was sympathetic over Gina’s situation, but she didn’t—couldn’t—condone Gina’s occasional lapses in parental responsibility.

  Finally, Gina had called, apologetic and contrite over waiting so late to check in. She’d taken in a movie and then decided to browse in the Galleria, she told Elizabeth. Next, she’d bumped into a friend who was a paralegal in the law firm where Gina no longer worked, thanks to Austin, and simply lost track of the time. Was Jesse okay, she’d asked. What if she weren’t, Elizabeth had thought with some irritation, but she’d reassured her and agreed to give the little girl her bath and put her to bed.

  “One more book, Aunt Lizzie, pul-eeezze,” Jesse had begged later when Elizabeth was trying to coax her into settling down for the night. Sleepy-eyed, her tattered Barney clutched tight to her chest, she was doggedly determined to wait for her missing mommy. Elizabeth closed Miss Spider’s Wedding and tucked an equally tattered blanket snugly around her.

  “Three’s the limit, Jesse-girl,” she said, letting her touch linger on the child’s cheek. “It’s way, way past your bedtime. You know how hard it is to wake up in the mornings when you go to bed too late.” Elizabeth rose from the side of the bed, but Jesse caught her hand, stopping her.

  “Will you stay beside me until I go to sleep, Aunt Lizzie?”

  It had been weeks since Gina had arrived in the middle of the night with Jesse, pale and frightened and clinging to her mother’s jeans, but the ordeal was far from forgotten by the child. Jesse played hard during the day and even seemed okay at kindergarten, but at bedtime her anxieties surfaced.

  Elizabeth was sympathetic to Gina’s plight, but her first thought had been for Jesse that night when she’d opened the door and the little girl had flung herself into her Aunt Lizzie’s arms. There was no telling what the child had witnessed in that final scene between Gina and Austin, as Gina had never quite revealed all the ugly details. But tension—and worse—between the child’s parents had taken a toll whether Gina allowed herself to see it or not.

  “I think I will just have a seat in this old rocking chair,” Elizabeth had said in a reassuring tone as she pulled the antique close to Jesse’s bed. “I’ll rock awhile and you can count sheep.”

  “Don’t turn off the light, Aunt Lizzie.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And don’t close the door.”

  “No way. G’night, sweetheart.”

  Jesse’s eyes darted to the window. “Does my daddy have a key to this house, Aunt Lizzie?”

  “No, darling. Only your mommy and I have a key.”

  “She might give it to Daddy.”

  “She won’t. She promised. It’s just for her.”

  “Good.” Jesse paused a beat or two. “Could he get in the window, do you think?”

  “No, sweetheart. I have a security system, remember? When a door is opened or a window is raised, it goes off and the police hurry over here.”

  “Police are good. They help people.” Reassured somewhat, Jesse yawned widely, eyes heavy at last, wanting to close. “We learned that in school.”

  “Yes, police help people.” Elizabeth had reached over and rubbed the child’s back, her own throat tight with emotion. It wasn’t fair for a child to have these fears! “Don’t worry, Jesse. You’re safe here with me. Always.”

  “Is my mommy safe?”

  “I’m sure she is, but she’s probably stuck in traffic, sweetheart. She’ll be home soon.”

  “I’m glad you’re not stuck somewhere, Aunt Lizzie. I need you to be here…with…me.” Words had slurred into silence then. And with a last flutter of lashes, Jesse had finally surrendered to sleep.

  Elizabeth had actually felt the tension easing from the child’s body. Recalling it now, Elizabeth wrestled with conflicting feelings of loyalty to Gina and her love for Jesse. With a sigh, she rested her hands on the railing of the gazebo and felt frustration and not a little fear. Jesse was safe now, an
d yet Elizabeth knew how tenuous that security was. She was unable to control the other forces threatening this child of her heart. How many lectures had she given Gina about her responsibility to Jesse? And how little did anything she said matter when Gina’s obsession with Austin was so much stronger? It mystified Elizabeth how Gina could choose the brutal, unsafe existence she had with her lover over other options. And to subject Jesse to it defied understanding.

  The truth was, no matter how Elizabeth wished it otherwise, Gina was basically flawed as a parent. She was a less-than-perfect mother. Of course, Elizabeth would never tell her that, or anyone else. She, above all others, understood Gina, knew where she came from. Her personality had been set in their early years as they’d been shuffled from one foster home after another, both longing for permanency and parents of their own. Knowing firsthand the damage that was done when children were denied the stability of a good home, why didn’t Gina do the right thing? It was this failure on Gina’s part to protect Jesse from the damage they’d suffered that confounded Elizabeth most.

  Watching Jesse now, Elizabeth knew the bittersweet pain of loving someone else’s child. If Jesse were hers, she’d never be subjected to the terror of feuding adults. If Jesse were hers, she’d treasure the child as a gift from God. If Jesse were hers, it would be a second chance for her and she’d be a good mother the second time around. And this time, she’d never let go.

  Two

  Elizabeth received an e-mail the day after the article appeared in the newspaper, and her first reaction was total surprise. The address on the screen was unfamiliar, but the subject grabbed her instantly, which was exactly what the writer intended, she decided later. Usually, she went through her messages and deleted anything she didn’t recognize, as well as annoying advertisements and worse. How she’d managed to get on some of those lists, she hadn’t a clue. But the highlighted e-mail wasn’t an advertisement or a pitch to draw her into a porn site.