Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)
Page 51He grimaced. “I knew people were being exploited. I didn’t feel I had much choice. However, I couldn’t tell anyone—like you. For everyone’s protection, this had to be completely covert.”
“How did you finally get out? Did you escape?”
“I couldn’t—they watched me day and night. I was in some kind of makeshift prison for two weeks. What a hellhole! I could even hear my guards arguing about the best way to kill me.”
Colette was horrified at the thought. He would never have been seen or heard of again; she would never have known what had happened to him.
“I think the reason they didn’t murder me right away,” he went on, “is that I’m a fairly well-known businessman, and there might be repercussions if I simply disappeared. Still…I knew I probably wouldn’t see you again. I expected to die, and just when I’d given up all hope, I was rescued by a coalition of American military and Chinese police.”
Colette gave him a puzzled glance. She’d combed the newspapers for any information to do with China and hadn’t seen a single mention of the undercover operation. “There was nothing about it in the papers.”
“There won’t be. The government wants to keep it quiet.”
“For obvious reasons,” she murmured.
Christian nodded.
“What about the anonymous letter I wrote?”
“I will say that letter stirred up a bit of interest,” Christian said with a grin. “If anything, though, it worked to my advantage. It deflected any suspicion the smugglers might have had—at least the ones in North America.” He gave her a solemn look, all traces of his smile gone. “I hated deceiving you, Colette, but I didn’t have a choice.”
She’d hated deceiving him just as much; like Christian, she didn’t feel there was any option. She’d had to keep the baby a secret from him.
They moved into the living room; when he chose the sofa, clearly expecting her to sit there, too, she sat in a spindly antique chair across from him.
“Is anything wrong?” he asked.
When she shook her head, he frowned. “Then why are you over there and not next to me?”
“Because I have something important to tell you and I’m not sure how you’re going to react.”
“Okay,” he said after a brief hesitation, “maybe you’d better tell me now.”
She braced herself, struggling to come up with the right words. In the end she just told the truth, without explanation or embellishment. “I’m pregnant.”
The color drained from his face. The longest minute of her life passed before he responded. “Is the baby Steve’s?”
If she thought he was pale before, it didn’t compare to the shock that showed on his face now. “I…asked,” he reminded her. “After that night, I came to you and asked if you were pregnant, remember?”
“I know. I lied. I’d found what I felt sure was damning evidence against you. I was afraid I couldn’t trust you. All I could think of was to get away.”
He leaned forward and ran his fingers through his hair. “That explains so much.” Still holding her gaze, he said, “I love you, Colette. I want our baby. I understand why you kept this from me, but please say you believe me now.”
“I do.”
“How can I prove to you that I’ll be a good husband and father? Just tell me and I’ll do it.”
An involuntary smile came then, because she’d never dared hope Christian would want their baby, let alone her. Only in the last month had she begun to feel there might be a chance for them.
“What you found on my computer was only part of the reason you resigned, wasn’t it?”
Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded.
“The baby played a role in that decision, too.”
Again she nodded.
“Then you sold your house and moved because you didn’t want me to find you?”
“Yes, but you did track me down,” she pointed out, “and for someone with your resources, that couldn’t have been too difficult.” She shrugged. “I wanted a fresh start, a new life for me and the baby.”
“The baby—that’s why you came to see me the night before I left for China?”
“That, and because I’d fallen in love with you.” Colette smiled. “It’s why your aunt was trying to be a matchmaker. But by then, I’d decided I had to tell you.”
“Aunt Elizabeth knows?”
“Three people know—my friend Alix, your aunt Elizabeth and now you. I admitted it to your great-aunt the first time we met.” She’d never intended to, but such were Elizabeth’s powers of persuasion…“All these months I’d kept this secret to myself. Not even my parents know. Then I met your aunt…and she figured it out.”
“Good old Aunt Betty.” It was Christian who smiled this time. “No wonder she demanded I marry you.” He straightened with a startled expression. “I’d want to marry you, with or without the baby. A child—our child—is a bonus I never anticipated.” He looked at her carefully. “You’re six months along?”
“Five and a half. My due date’s September twenty-first.”
She sat beside him and reached for his hand, which she placed on her stomach. Their child responded as if on cue. The look of astonishment on Christian’s face made her giggle. And then he smiled with such unreserved love and pride and joy, it brought tears to her eyes.
Holding her in his arms, he kissed her again and again, pausing only long enough to beg her to marry him.
“Yes,” she told him, kissing him back.
“Soon?” he asked.
“Soon,” she promised.
CHAPTER 38
“Creating and processing exotic yarns has given new meaning to adding fiber to my diet.”
Kathy Haneke, Haneke Enterprises, Inc., yarn shop and fiber processing mil
Lydia Goetz
I’d hoped that after Brad and I confronted my sister, there’d be a marked change in Margaret’s attitude toward Danny Chesterfield. My niece had made such a poignant plea to her mother that I couldn’t see Margaret ignoring Julia’s feelings.
Julia had impressed me with her insight, and what she’d said revealed wisdom far beyond her years. Julia knew she couldn’t heal until her mother let go of her hatred; she couldn’t move forward in her own life until Margaret did the same.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t seen the change I’d hoped for in Margaret. This didn’t completely surprise me, since my sister is rarely effusive. I hardly ever know what she’s thinking, unless it’s negative. Then there’s never any doubt. The first day I opened for business was a good example of that. Margaret marched in and told me A Good Yarn was doomed to failure. After that cheery announcement, she promptly left.
I’ll never forget her dire prediction (which of course didn’t come to pass). I also recall, just as vividly, the day I realized how much my sister loves me. A few months after I opened the yarn store, I had a cancer scare. Scare is a mild word to describe what I felt. Panic is more like it.
I was in the hospital. Margaret, who hates hospitals, came to see me and dragged Brad in with her. In my hopelessness and despair, I’d broken up with Brad, but she simply would not believe I didn’t want to see him again. So she’d taken matters into her own hands. That was a love so clearly spelled out I couldn’t disregard it.
If I were to look for a turning point in our relationship, I’d have to say that was it. She wept with me when I learned I was cancer-free. In some ways, I think she was more relieved than I was. You see, I’d already made my decision. If the cancer had returned for the third time, I was going to refuse treatment.
It all seems rather melodramatic now. Thankfully, the decision was taken away from me and the truth of it is that I don’t really know if I would’ve followed through. To refuse treatment meant almost certain death. No matter what I said, a part of me, even during the worst of the chemo, wanted to live. And now there’s no doubt at all about the decision I’d make if cancer ambushes me again.
It was Tuesday, and I’d arrived at the shop early to pay bills and take care of some paperwork.
A lot had been happening recently. First, there was Alix and Jordan’s wedding. Alix had looked lovely, so happy. But shortly before the ceremony, Pastor Turner, Jordan’s father, announced that his mother had died that morning. He’d told us she had her family there, gathered around her, and how she was ready for death. His prayer was moving and what might have been a tragedy became a celebration as Alix and Jordan exchanged their vows and honored a woman they both loved.
Mom was nicely settled in at the memory care facility and had made yet another major adjustment. Every day I marveled at the transformation in her since she’d started getting the kind of individual care she needed. In barely two weeks, she’d improved noticeably, joining in the center’s activities and having meals with the other residents.
The door opened at ten and Margaret walked into the store. She slapped the morning paper on the corner of my desk, where I’d been sitting with my cup of tea and a stack of bills.
“Did you read this?” she demanded.
“Ah…” I’d glanced at the headlines but little else. “I scanned the front page. Why?”
“Look in Section B.” Margaret handed it to me. Arms crossed, she stepped back and waited.
It was all the routine local stuff—break-ins, accidents, police activities. Not wanting to admit I couldn’t find what she wanted me to read, I shrugged.
Margaret rolled her eyes, then pointed to a small article at the bottom of the page.
Two lines into the piece, I read the name Danny Chesterfield.
“He was caught,” I said.
“So it seems.” There was no disguising the glee in Margaret’s voice. “He pulled another carjacking, only this time there was a patrol car driving past. Danny Boy pushed the driver out of the way and took off. The cops chased him.”
“He decided to make a run for it?” I asked.
“And put several innocent bystanders at risk,” Margaret said. “Fortunately, no one, including the driver, was injured.”
“But he didn’t get away, did he?”
“No,” Margaret replied, hardly able to contain her delight, “and the one involved in an accident was none other than Mr. Chesterfield himself.”
My attention returned to the article. Apparently Chesterfield swerved in order to avoid a head-on collision with a second police car, lost control of the vehicle and flipped over at least twice.