CINDERELLA BRIDE Page 10

  "Are you sure," he finally asked, "this is an agreement you can live with? Think it through carefully, Marly, because I don't have any intentions of giving you a quickie divorce a couple of months up the line."

  "I realize that. You've made your intentions more than clear, and believe me, I've thought this through more times than you can imagine. Marrying you like this—our arrangement—it's not what I planned, not what I foresaw for myself, for my future. But under the circumstances…" She shrugged and turned toward the house. "Futures have a funny way of falling down midflight anyway."

  Carter looked away, focusing on some spot off in the distance to lessen the sting of her words and their implication. "You won't regret marrying me, Marly," he said, his voice low. "I know all you've got is my word on that, but I'll make good on it. You'll see."

  "Okay, let's discuss the terms."

  "I don't know if this is such a good time for us to negotiate," he admitted, aware there were other issues they would have to discuss. "You've been through a lot today. Maybe we should wait until—"

  Marly spun around. "But there's no time to wait. Please, just agree to the donation and protection for Tyler. I need to have your word on that much now, so I can get Tyler out of here. The sooner the better. Billy Ray's probably out knocking down every door in the Bricks looking for him. There's no telling when he'll decide to pay me another home visit.

  "I'm convinced he's the one who answered the phone last night when I called Linda's and gave my name like an idiot. Billy Ray knows someone's got Tyler, and I'm right up there at the top of his suspect list. Tyler can't stay here. He isn't safe. Please, just give me this much now—the donation and your word you'll help me hide Tyler. We can duke out the piddly stuff later."

  "Does he know? About his mother?"

  "Not yet. I … couldn't bring myself to tell him. He knows his father's after him, but that's about it. In so many ways, he's this street-smart kid, wise beyond his years. But in other ways, he's just a five-year-old boy, one of the sweetest, most affection-starved kids I know. And he loved her … he loved her with the unconditional love a child has for a parent, even when that parent doesn't deserve such love."

  Carter ran a weary hand through his hair. In return for what he was asking of her, Marly's demands paled in comparison.

  It was an easy concession to make. The wheels had already begun spinning in his mind. He knew exactly what phone calls to make, which people to contact. "You'll have everything," he promised. "The donation, protection for Tyler, whatever you want. I know a place where we can hide him. You won't have to worry. He'll be safe."

  "Thank you," she whispered, her voice a little breathless, as if she'd run some great distance and taken her first sip of water.

  "Come on. Let's get Tyler so I can take you home."

  In the pale moonlight, Marly saw Carter hold one arm outstretched as if in invitation. His handsome face looked worn, like that of a weathered seaman. She went to him willingly, drawing strength from the protection he offered. Tomorrow, she would put up her emotional barriers. But tonight, as they plodded through the garden to Annie Lou's house, they were two combat-weary souls trekking through a battlefield.

  At the back door, Marly stopped under the yellowish orange lamplight and pressed a finger to her lips. "Annie Lou's gone to sleep. I don't want to wake her, but I need to leave a note. I think she'd be safer if she went to visit her family for a while. She has a son in Texas."

  Carter nodded and pulled out his wallet. He counted five one-hundred-dollar bills, grasped her hand and deposited the money onto her palm.

  "What's this?"

  "Plane fare."

  "Carter, you don't have to—"

  "I'm not." He eased her fingers into a small fist. "I'm taking it out of your donation."

  Marly looked down at his large, rough hand, surprised again by his gentle touch. "Thank you," she said. "This will help."

  "It's a barter, Marly. Fair and square. We each have something the other wants."

  "Right." She bit her lip and turned to open the door.

  Inside, she wrote the note and left the money, then guided them through the kitchen and down the stairs in the dark. In her room, she released his hand and crossed to the bathroom, where she flipped on the light switch. With the door open a crack, enough light fell into the bedroom for her to check on Tyler without waking him.

  One knee propped on the mattress, Marly leaned over the boy. "He's fast asleep," she told Carter, starting to hoist his small body into her arms. At a restraining hand on her shoulder, she stopped.

  "You pack a bag. I'll carry him."

  She straightened, her gaze automatically roving over his broad shoulders. He was so big. Not just tall but broad. Marly spun around, heat flushing her cheeks. She didn't want to be caught staring at him. Methodically, she pulled an olive green duffel bag from the closet and went about stuffing it. But even with her back turned to him, she could still envision the man she'd agreed to marry.

  She went into the bathroom and gathered her toiletries, pausing at the sink to inspect the face reflected in the mirror. It had grown familiar over the years, but she would never forget the first time she'd seen it, the day after the doctors had removed the bandages and a stranger had stared back at her from the glass. Marly Alcott's name didn't seem to fit the face, but then, neither did hers, and that was the important thing.

  She stood before the mirror now and tilted her head from side to side as she had done on that day so many years ago. Soundlessly, she mouthed, "Mrs. Carter King."

  No, the name still didn't match, not the face and certainly not the person inside.

  She lifted a trembling hand to her lips. In the best-case scenario—and she reminded herself she had to hope for the best—they would convict Billy Ray without her involvement, Tyler would be safe, her center saved, and she would be left alive and well. Alive and well, married to Carter King, that is.

  For a fleeting second, she wondered what it would be like to be Mrs. Carter King. Did he belong to a country club? Would his wife be expected to host teas? She tried to picture what kind of house he would have, whether it had acres of unused space, furniture you weren't supposed to sit on, objets d'art no one could touch.

  She imagined a big, white mansion with tall columns, perched on top of some hill in the middle of one of Raleigh's most prestigious neighborhoods. Her heart constricted painfully at the vision of her own childhood neighborhood, of life ironically coming full circle, when she'd sworn never to go back.

  On her father's grave, she had sworn.

  Marly hastened to swipe a wayward tear, taking a deep breath in an effort to regain control. She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered a silent prayer for forgiveness. She was doing this for Tyler and the children and for no other reasons. If she had to repeat that affirmation to herself a thousand times a day for the rest of her life, she would.

  She emerged from the bathroom to find Carter leaning back, one shoulder against the doorjamb. Funny how the room appeared smaller with him filling it.

  "How many bedrooms does this house have?" he asked.

  "Three. Why?"

  "Is there a reason you're living in the basement?"

  "It's not a basement. It's a finished garage."

  "Whatever. Why are you down here when there are bedrooms upstairs?"

  "Because I need my privacy," she replied, hoping he would let it go at that.

  He gestured to her overnight bag. "All set?"

  She nodded.

  He crossed to Tyler and scooped him up into his arms as if he weighed no more than a stack of pillows.

  "You got him okay?" Marly asked, smoothing the hair back from Tyler's forehead.

  "Umm-hmm."

  Tyler mumbled something unintelligible but didn't wake up. Gently, Marly rubbed the back of one finger over the rosy pillow imprints on his cheek. Glancing up, she found Carter's gaze leveled on her. The intensity in his brownish green eyes held her entranced, made her unable to break
away from their intimate circle.

  "This is what I want one day, Marly."

  For one fleeting instant, Marly allowed herself to remember when this had been her dream, too, a family of her own to cherish forever. How long ago it seemed. A lifetime ago.

  "And you'll have it," she whispered, wanting to believe it for herself as much as for him.

  * * *

  Chapter 7

  « ^ »

  It was never going to work, Marly thought as they zigzagged along the country backroads. Never. Not in a million years. Yes, she had struck a bargain, and she swore she would do her best to uphold it. For her, the price was worth the payoff. But what about Carter? Surely he would come to realize, on his own, that the two of them simply did not make a good match for a lifetime.

  For one, they lived in different worlds. Not that she'd ever seen exactly how he lived. New money or old money. How much could it differ? At the core of every affluent lifestyle was money, plain and simple. It took first priority over all else. That's how it always was.

  Second, their personalities were completely different, and Carter was used to women far more sophisticated than she. Soon, the novelty of the chase would wear thin.

  Third, they had incompatible goals. He wanted to succeed in his chosen field, and he wanted a family. She wanted … to succeed in her chosen field … and she wanted a family.

  But it was different. Really. Very different.

  Marly wondered why Carter wanted a family so badly, if this was all an image thing with him, as she suspected. A grand scheme hatched to mold his public image into that of a family man. Could it be just a means to some career end? She'd already figured out the public relations benefit of their union.

  She studied his profile in the shadowy interior of the car. A man like Carter was made for the society pages, but a woman like her could never share his limelight. She slumped against the window.

  "You okay?" Carter turned his gaze away from the road for a brief second.

  "Umm-hmm. Just tired." She gazed out into the night. "I thought you lived in Raleigh."

  "Moved out to Cary about five years ago. Don't worry, it's not too much farther. We're almost there." They were on a straight stretch of road now, and he glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping form in the back seat.

  "Fast asleep," Marly whispered. "Poor little guy. He's just drained."

  Carter shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "I'm sorry."

  "Yeah, me, too."

  "I'm sure the police have been questioning the neighbors. Someone must have seen something."

  "Maybe, but it'll probably take some time before they get anywhere."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "You'd have to understand life in the low-income communities." Marly thought she saw him wince as he shifted gears around a bend. "It's just a lot safer to keep your nose clean, so to speak."

  "You don't say?"

  "People aren't going to get involved any more than they have to. Call it survival instincts. There's just been a murder, and they'll want to protect their own. It won't look good to be seen talking to the police, especially if it could be construed in any way as narking on Billy Ray." She shuddered, remembering the unconcealed threat behind Billy Ray's parting words, when he'd warned her not to mess with him. She, too, had to protect her own now. "He's not a man who takes disloyalty very well."

  Carter slowed the car, and the beam of headlights cut through the fog to reveal black, wrought-iron gates. Reaching for a remote control in the glove compartment, he explained, "The fence is for the horses."

  She nodded, focusing more on the assurance of security than the presence of horses.

  They wound up what seemed a mile-long driveway until they reached a point where the ground leveled. In the distance stood two structures resembling barns, but as they drew closer, Marly noticed one of them wasn't a barn at all, but a large, rambling farmhouse. Spotlights illuminated a stone chimney through the patchy fog.

  "That … that's your house?" She tried to keep her voice a whisper, so as not to wake Tyler.

  Carter's jaw set in a hard line. "You don't like it."

  "No, no. It's not that."

  "Then what?"

  "It just sort of surprised me. I guess I hadn't expected anything this…" She waved her hand, sensing she was digging herself even deeper into a hole with all these qualifications.

  "Anything this what?"

  "Well, rural for one."

  "Rural as in hick?"

  "I didn't say that." Marly felt like an insensitive idiot. "Oh, come on. We're not even married yet, Carter. Don't start putting words in my mouth already."

  "Then say what you mean. Do you like it or don't you?"

  She wondered why her inconsequential opinion of his house mattered so much. It wasn't as if she had any choice in the matter. Would he offer to move if she didn't like where he lived? Doubtful. He'd built his life exactly as he wanted it, a wife and children the finishing touches.

  Still, in an odd sort of way, his behavior reminded her of the children at the center, though they were much more forward in what they expected from her: "Isn't this a pretty picture I colored, Miss Marly?"

  She turned her gaze toward his profile and reminded herself not to forget she owed this man, and owed him big, for helping her. Carefully, Marly reached out and touched his knuckles, loosening his death grip on the steering wheel. "Your house is charming."

  He shot a glance at her out of the corner of his eye. "I wasn't fishing for a compliment. If you don't like it—"

  "I like it. I just stuck my foot in my mouth, and I'm sorry. It's just that I was so afraid you were going to live in some ostentatious place in some stuck-up neighborhood. I didn't know if I could go through that—" She cut herself off before she could say again. "What I'm trying to say is that if I sounded surprised, I was. But it was in a good way."

  She let her hand drop into her lap, not wanting to prolong their contact. If she were honest with herself, she would admit she liked touching Carter more than she should. But there were so many things she couldn't be honest about—why complicate matters further by owning up to insignificant feelings toward a man who wanted to marry her and father her children? Life was already tumultuous at best.

  "This isn't easy for me, Carter. It's as though I'm giving up my entire life and assimilating into yours."

  "That's not true."

  "Isn't it? This is your house."

  "It will be our home." He directed a pointed glance at her. "And I don't expect you to give up anything. I don't want you to give anything up. I'm only asking you to share a part of yourself."

  A part of herself. Marly glanced down at her abdomen. Dear God, was it really possible? For as long as she could remember, she had always wanted children, always coveted the chance to create her own family, a family so different from the cold, lonely one into which she'd been born through no choice of her own.

  She was almost afraid to think about it, after all these years of chastising herself for wanting something she could never have.

  Where once she faced nothing but a barren field of dreams, did she have a chance now, a chance to create something wonderful?

  She tried to imagine a part of herself and a part of Carter, together in one little body, but found she couldn't accept the possibility as something real. Not yet. Not after wanting it for so long, wishing that somehow there were a way, and knowing it was hopeless.

  Years ago, she'd accepted her fate as something she couldn't change. And now this. Out of nowhere, this handsome prince had come into her life, like some kind of fractured fairy tale. But she couldn't risk believing in it, couldn't bear the thought of awakening to find her worst nightmare a reality.

  Marly shivered as Carter maneuvered the car around back, then pulled into one slot of a three-car garage. Overhead, a light flickered on. Carter got out and unbuckled Tyler from the back seat, before lifting the boy into his arms.

  "Mama?" Tyler mumble
d, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal bleary, unfocused eyes.

  Marly felt a fresh stab of pain.

  With a look of helplessness, Carter turned to her.

  "Shh, it's okay," she whispered, brushing her fingertips over Tyler's eyelids. But it wasn't okay—Tyler still had a long road ahead of him, and they would have to take things one day at a time. Their first priority would be to get him out of harm's way. "Close your eyes, honey. Go back to sleep." She gestured for Carter to hold him closer, and when he did, Tyler snuggled into his arms. Within a few seconds, his breathing fell back into a deep, even pattern.

  Marly stood on tiptoe to peek at his face. "Is he asleep?" she mouthed. At Carter's nod, she preceded them to the side door. She felt him tap keys at her waist and reached down to take them. "Which one?" She held up each key until Carter gave her the okay, then inserted the proper key into the lock.

  "Wait a minute," he whispered, his lips close to her ear, his head next to hers.

  She held herself perfectly still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, for fear of brushing her cheek against his lips.

  There was danger in their shared comfort tonight. How easy it would have been to lean back, to lay her head on his shoulder and confess to what she had seen, to the guilt and fear that ate at her soul. But she couldn't, no matter how much she wanted to. Just like the secret buried deep in her past, she couldn't risk confiding this truth to anyone. She couldn't put her life on the line. Not again. Never again.

  "Yon have to disarm the security system," he said, and instructed her how to do it.

  Marly nodded and pressed the four-digit code once inside the door.

  Carter sidestepped her. "I'll be right back."

  "Where are you taking him?"

  "Just upstairs to the guest room."

  "Oh, okay." Marly took a hesitant step into what appeared to be a breakfast nook. A table and six chairs were assembled in front of a huge bay window with a cushioned bench seat. She noticed only one place setting at the table, and felt another twinge of shared isolation with the man who appeared to eat all his meals alone.