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“Oh, yes, I guess so. Angie’s found the spot where Southpaw has hidden her kittens,” June explained with a chuckle. “I haven’t been able to pull her out from under that porch all afternoon!” Mara laughed aloud at the thought of her daughter and her fascination for Southpaw’s proud new family.

Mara reached into the refrigerator and gathered some vegetables for Angie’s dinner. She glanced at her mother-in-law and noticed that June seemed preoccupied while staring out the window at Angie. “June, are you feeling well?” Mara asked carefully.

“Of course, dear,” June replied spritely, and Mara wondered if she had imagined the strain on the older woman’s face.

“You’re sure?” Mara prodded.

“Of course, Mara. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I was hoping that you would be able to stay with Angie tonight,” Mara mentioned, and hastily added, “but if you have other plans . . . or if you would like to rest . . .”

“Nonsense! I’d love it!”

“Good. I really do hate to bother you, but the man that came to see me late this afternoon insists that I hear him out—tonight!” Mara’s thoughts lingered for a moment on Shane.

“That’s perfect!” June responded, and her tired eyes brightened at the prospect of having Angie for the evening. It was a luxury that she hadn’t experienced much. Since Peter’s death, Mara hardly ever went out. “She can stay at my place with me! I’ve been meaning to take her on one of those miniature train rides in the park, but it’s been impossible. The train only runs on the weekends.”

“Great,” Mara whispered.

June knew her daughter-in-law well, and she regarded Mara’s oval face thoughtfully for a moment. There seemed to be a trace of disturbance in her wide-set blue eyes. “Mara . . .”

“Yes?” Mara looked up from the potato that she was peeling.

“Is everything all right?” Gentle concern forced June’s graying eyebrows together.

“Sure.” Mara laughed, but she heard the hollow sound of her voice. How could she explain to her mother-in-law, the woman who showered so much love on Angie, that Mara was going out with her old lover—the father of her child, the man that she would have married if it had been possible? How would June react to the knowledge that Angie wasn’t Peter’s daughter, and that the man who fathered the little girl whom June cherished was a total stranger to his child? How could Mara wash away the deception that she had committed for the last four years, under the false belief that Angie’s father was dead?

“If you say so,” June agreed, absently, as she studied Mara. June had been raised with Southern manners, and she never was a woman to pry, not even into the private lives of her own family. She watched Mara’s slim and graceful figure anxiously as Mara headed out to the back porch in search of Angie. In June’s opinion, Mara took life much too seriously.

“Angie,” Mara called as she opened the screen door and searched the back yard for her spritely young daughter. “Angie! Where are you?”

“Right here,” was the muffled reply from somewhere nearby. Mara looked down the porch steps in the direction of the sound. Two dusty tennis shoes were the only evidence that Angie was close at hand. Mara hurried down the steps and balanced on one slender knee as she grabbed Angie’s exposed ankles. A muted squeal of surprise and anticipation erupted from somewhere under the porch.

“Angie Wilcox! Just look at you!” Mara exclaimed, with a good-natured laugh. She extracted the little girl from beneath the lattice work that supported the back porch, and she brushed the cobwebs from Angie’s golden curls. “You’re a first-class mess!” Mara teased as she surveyed the dirty child.

“Kitties! Kitties! Southpaw got kitties in there!” Angie jabbered excitedly and pointed a knowing finger at the porch. Against Angie’s better judgment, Mara picked up her daughter and carried her up the steps toward the house.

“Let’s go up and have some dinner,” Mara suggested, hoping to deter Angie’s interest in the newborns. Angie looked longingly back to the porch until Mara whispered in her ear. “Guess what, dumpling?” Mara asked in a secretive voice.

Angie’s eyes widened expectantly. “What?” the little girl whispered back, in a show of affectionate collusion with her mother.

“You get to stay overnight with Grammie tonight. What do you think about that?” Mara asked, and poked a loving finger at the exposed belly button in the gap between Angie’s shirt and pants.

“Are you coming, too?” Angie asked eagerly, and Angie’s cherubic face, aglow with anticipation, tugged at Mara’s heartstrings.

“Not this time, sweetheart,” Mara admitted, and Angie’s animated face lost its smile. Mara hurried on. “But you’ll have to tell me all about it tomorrow. Grammie’s going to take you on a train ride in the park.”

“A train with a whistle?”

“I think so . . .”

Once again Angie’s impish face illuminated with expectation, and Mara gave the child a bear hug as she carried the little girl into the kitchen for dinner.

* * *

The grandfather clock in the living room chimed eight o’clock, and Mara could feel herself stiffen with each vibrating note. She thought about pouring herself a drink but discarded the idea, seeing it as a show of weakness. The big, old house was dark and cold ever since June had left with Angie, and the tightness in Mara’s stomach seemed to knot and twist with each passing minute.

It had been impossible not to think about Shane in the last half hour, and each time his image assailed her, Mara sensed the same old feelings that he had aroused in her in the past: intrigue, joy, contentment, and finally despair. Now, new and ugly sensations marred the beauty of the past as she felt the chill of betrayal and the heat of anger.