Nanny in Hiding

I should leave now.

Bryce’s heart beat faster as his gaze clung to Amy’s. She had the most incredible eyes. A man could fall into those eyes and never want to come out.

Afterward, he could never think how it happened. All he knew was he fully intended to say goodbye and the next minute he was kissing her. Not a peck, either. A real kiss. One that made his head swim and every hormone in his body leap to attention.

Holy crow, he thought as he raised his head and they stared at each other. What have I done?

And more important…what do I do now?

Dear Reader,

It’s October, the time of year when crisper temperatures and waning daylight turns our attention to more indoor pursuits—such as reading! And we at Silhouette Special Edition are happy to supply you with the material. We begin with Marrying Molly, the next in bestselling author Christine Rimmer’s BRAVO FAMILY TIES series. A small-town mayor who swore she’d break the family tradition of becoming a mother before she becomes a wife finds herself nonetheless in the very same predicament. And the father-to-be? The very man who’s out to get her job….

THE PARKS EMPIRE series continues with Lois Faye Dyer’s The Prince’s Bride, in which a wedding planner called on to plan the wedding of an exotic prince learns that she’s the bride-to-be! Next, in The Devil You Know, Laurie Paige continues her popular SEVEN DEVILS miniseries with the story of a woman determined to turn her marriage of convenience into the real thing. Patricia Kay begins her miniseries THE HATHAWAYS OF MORGAN CREEK, the story of a Texas baking dynasty (that’s right, baking!), with Nanny in Hiding, in which a young mother on the run from her abusive ex seeks shelter in the home of Bryce Hathaway—and finds so much more. In Wrong Twin, Right Man by Laurie Campbell, a man who feels he failed his late wife terribly gets another chance to make it up—to her twin sister. At least he thinks she’s her twin…. And in Wendy Warren’s Making Babies, a newly divorced woman whose ex-husband denied her the baby she always wanted, finds a willing candidate—in the guilt-ridden lawyer who represented the creep in his divorce!

Enjoy all six of these reads, and come back again next month to see what’s up in Silhouette Special Edition.

Take care,

Gail Chasan

Senior Editor

Nanny in Hiding
Patricia Kay

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to my granddaughter Kaylee,

who is already showing signs of becoming

a great writer! Love you, sweetheart.

PATRICIA KAY,

formerly writing as Trisha Alexander, is the USA TODAY bestselling author of more that thirty contemporary romances. She lives in Houston, Texas. To learn more about her, visit her Web site at www.patriciakay.com.

CAST OF CHARACTERS—
The Hathaways of Morgan Creek

Stella Morgan Hathaway (90 years old)—Matriarch of the Hathaway family.

Jonathan Morgan Hathaway (67 years old)—Stella’s only son.

Kathleen Bryce Hathaway (63 years old)—Jonathan’s wife.

Bryce Hathaway (40 years old)—A widower, he is Jonathan and Kathleen’s only son.

Amy Jordan (32 years old)—On the run from her ex-husband, Amy hides among the Hathaways.

Calista Jordan (3 years old)—Amy’s daughter.

Cole Jordan (37 years old)—Amy’s ex-husband.

Chloe Hathaway Standish (36 years old)—The oldest Hathaway daughter.

Lorna Morgan Hathaway (32 years old)—The middle Hathaway daughter.

Claudia Elizabeth Hathaway (28 years old)—The youngest Hathaway daughter.

Greg Standish (38 years old)—Chloe’s husband.

Cameron Kathleen Standish (14 years old)—Chloe and Greg’s daughter.

Stella Ann Hathaway (8 years old)—Bryce’s older daughter.

Susan Adele Hathaway (7 years old)—Bryce’s younger daughter.

Contents

Prologue

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

Prologue

“Mommy! Lookit me! I can do a summersot!”

Amy Jordan smiled at her three-year-old’s exuberance. “It’s summersault, sweetie. Can you say sault?”

“Sot,” Calista said, grinning up at her mother from her upside-down position.

Amy chuckled. Ls and Rs were hard for her daughter to get her tongue around. As Calista continued doing her version of a summersault, Amy glanced at her watch. With a pang, she saw there was only about ten minutes left of her allotted visiting time.

As always, at the thought of leaving Calista, Amy’s spirits plummeted. She eyed Mrs. Witherspoon, who sat placidly knitting. What was the woman thinking? Did she have any idea how painful these visits were for Amy? Just how hard it was for her to leave her daughter week in and week out?

The strict rules of visitation Amy was required to follow nearly overwhelmed her with despair. After all the abuse she had suffered, the unfairness of the judge’s decree made her want to scream or weep or both. But as hard as it was for her to maintain control and leave Calista, it was even harder on her baby. Remembering the scene last time, Amy girded herself to be strong and make parting as easy for Calista as she could.

To that end, she slowly rose from the floor where she’d been playing with her daughter for the past three hours.

“Almost time?” Mrs. Witherspoon said, putting down her knitting.

Amy swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded.

“Before you go, let me just run to the bathroom.”

Amy’s heart banged against her chest as she realized what the woman had said. Forcing her voice not to give away her sudden excitement, she said, “Okay.”

The moment Mrs. Witherspoon disappeared down the hall, Amy flew into the dining room. Grabbing one of the chairs, she hurried toward the bathroom where she jammed the chair up and under the doorknob. Then she raced back to the living room, snatched up Calista, grabbed her purse and ran out the door.

“Mommy?”

“It’s okay, honey.” Reaching her car, which was parked in the driveway, Amy unlocked it with shaking hands. Earlier, she’d covered the car seat she was never without and now she pulled the blanket off and somehow managed to get Calista buckled in without losing more than a couple of precious minutes. She had no idea how long she’d have before Mrs. Witherspoon realized what had happened and managed to free herself from the bathroom and alert Cole that Amy had taken off with Calista.

All she knew was this was her chance, the first opportunity she’d had in the year since the divorce, and she wasn’t going to blow it. She’d been ready for months. Every time she visited with Calista, the trunk of her car had been packed for a getaway. Everything the two of them needed to begin a new life was in that trunk: clothing, toys and games for Calista, food, money, a first-aid kit, sleeping bags. She even had fake ID, thanks to the underground network that aided abused women and children and helped them escape the men who persecuted them.

By now Amy’s heart was beating so fast it scared her, and when her car didn’t immediately start, she thought she might pass out. But the engine caught on the next try, and within minutes Amy was doing a sedate thirty miles an hour—she was terrified of getting stopped for speeding—and heading for the highway that would take her away from Mobile.

She still couldn’t believe it had happened. Never before, in all the time since the divorce, had Mrs. Witherspoon left her alone with Calista. Amy had begun to believe it might never happen, yet she had never given up hope.

“Mommy?” Calista said from the backseat. “Are we goin’ to the store?”

“No, sweetie. We’re going on a vacation.”

“A ’cation?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is Daddy coming?”

“Nope. Just you and me.”

“Okay,” Calista said happily.

Amy smiled, even though inside she was a mass of nerves. She kept looking in the rearview mirror, but so far she saw nothing suspicious. It had only been ten minutes since she’d left Cole’s house. Mrs. Witherspoon probably hadn’t been able to free herself yet, so Amy doubted if Cole knew what had happened. With any luck, it would be hours before he did.

God knew Amy was due a little luck.

Calm down, she told herself.

Just calm down and drive.

A mile later she approached the entrance ramp to I-10 West. Moving into the left lane, she increased speed as she entered the freeway. She wouldn’t be able to stay on the interstate long because that would be the first place the authorities would look. But she needed to get a ways out of Mobile before she transferred to secondary roads, so she was taking a calculated risk. She figured the least amount of time she had before Cole called out the dogs was thirty minutes. To be safe, she would then have to move to the smaller highway she had mapped.

Thirty minutes.

Amy stepped on the accelerator and began to pray.

Chapter One

The large blue-and-purple sign loomed on her right, as Amy rounded a bend in the two-lane road.

WELCOME TO MORGAN CREEK, TEXAS

Home of Hathaway Bakery

POPULATION 5,445

Amy was already driving slowly because the road was so narrow, with big ditches on either side. Now she braked to a stop and stared at the sign.

“Hathaway Bakery?” She frowned. Was it possible? Was this Lorna’s hometown?

Lorna Hathaway.

Amy hadn’t thought of her first college roommate in years. Lorna Hathaway. She had been so nice, so down to earth. If she hadn’t casually mentioned her family’s business, Amy would never have guessed Lorna came from money. The two girls liked each other immediately and had quickly become friends. But then, at the end of her freshman year, Lorna left Florida State where she’d only enrolled because of her boyfriend and his football scholarship. When the romance soured, she moved back to Texas, transferring to the University of Texas in Austin. Gradually, the girls had lost touch.

Amy looked at the sign again.

Morgan Creek.

Home of Hathaway Bakery…

Somehow, coming upon the sign this way seemed to Amy to be a sign itself. She’d been driving now for eleven straight hours, and she was exhausted, but she’d been uneasy about stopping again. Bad enough she’d had to take a chance on stopping last night. Thank God it had worked out okay. At least, she hoped it had.

She’d chosen a local motel in rural Louisiana. Even though she didn’t think Cole could possibly track her down via such a small, out-of-the-way place, she was grateful that the underground network had provided her with Louisiana license plates that she’d put on at the first opportunity. Still, Cole knew what kind of car she drove, and he could provide the authorities with pictures of both her and Calista. Amy wished she had been able to switch cars—something that was possible through the network—but only when you knew ahead of time when you would be leaving so the arrangements could be made. Unfortunately, Amy hadn’t known, so she’d had no choice but to use her own car.

Amy was banking on the belief that Cole would imagine her heading for Florida, where she’d grown up and where her widower father still lived. She hoped the first search would concentrate on that area and give her an edge. Even so, this morning she had awakened Calista while it was still dark, and they were on their way again by six.

No sense taking any chances. She wanted as many miles between her and her ex as she could possibly get, because new identity or not, if anyone could track them down, it was Cole.

Hearing a sound from the backseat, Amy turned around and saw Calista stretching and rubbing her eyes.

Amy’s heart swelled with love. “Hi, sweetie. Did you have a good nap?”

Calista’s forehead knitted into a frown. “Mommy, I hungree.” Her bottom lip quivered.

Amy dug into her tote and unearthed a Ziploc bag filled with Cheerios. She handed it back to her daughter. “Here you go, pumpkin.”

Calista folded her chubby arms across her body in a familiar pose that signaled impending mutiny. “I want French fries and a hambugger,” she said, her frown turning into a thundercloud.

Any other time she’d heard her daughter mangle the word hamburger, Amy would have been amused. Right now she was too tired and too scared to find anything amusing. All she wanted was a safe place to stay. Somewhere she and Calista could get decent food and a clean bed without fear of being found.

“Honeybun, I don’t have a hamburger, but as soon as I find a place to stop, we’ll get one, I promise.”

Calista started to cry, simultaneously struggling to free herself from her car seat.

Amy wanted to cry, too. Instead, she dropped the bag of Cheerios on the seat next to Calista and, forcing herself to ignore her daughter’s tears, headed down the road toward Morgan Creek.

What she would do when she got there, Amy wasn’t sure. She only knew she couldn’t keep driving indefinitely. She and Calista needed a break or else one or both of them was headed for a meltdown.

Five minutes later she saw the first signs of habitation. Once in the town proper, Amy drove slowly. By the time she’d gone through two stop lights, she’d passed half a dozen storefronts, one bank and two steepled churches—one red brick, one white frame. Spying a service station in the next block on the right, she suddenly knew exactly what she was going to do. She headed for the station. She needed gas, anyway.

The August heat blasted her as she exited the car. By the time she’d extricated Calista from her car seat, Amy’s T-shirt was sticking to her.

While the attendant filled her gas tank—Amy had almost forgotten there were still full-service stations in existence—Amy took Calista into the rest room. After washing their hands and faces, Amy combed Calista’s hair, as well as her own, then applied fresh lipstick. With Calista in tow, Amy headed into the main building to hunt down a phone book.

“Sure thing, sugar,” the dark-eyed woman behind the counter said to Amy’s enquiry. Reaching under the counter, she produced a slim, dog-eared directory. “Who would you be lookin’ for?”

Amy was taken aback by the woman’s question. “Um, just an old friend.”

“I know near ever’one in these parts.”

Amy hesitated, then realized it was ridiculous to worry about revealing Lorna’s name. “This is a girl I knew years ago. I’m not even sure she lives here. Her name is Lorna Hathaway.”

“Lorna! Well, sure, sugar, I know Lorna. Shoot, I’ve known all them Hathaways since they were born.” Taking the phone book back from Amy, the woman flipped it open, found the appropriate page, then handed it back. “She’s right there,” she added, pointing about midway down the right page.

Sure enough, there it was: Hathaway, Lorna. That would never happen in one of the bigger cities. Women in places like Mobile almost always listed by their initials if they listed at all. When it came to danger, Amy guessed living in a small town was very different from living in a city. Today she was very grateful for that difference.

After paying for her gas, Amy wrote down Lorna’s phone number and walked outside to the public phone booth.

Unfortunately, Amy’s cell phone could no longer be used, not unless she wanted to take a chance on the call being traced. Would Lorna be there? It was only five-thirty. Maybe she had a job and wouldn’t get home until later. The phone at the other end rang six times with no answer. Amy was just about to hang up in disappointment when a breathless voice said, “Hello?”

“Lorna?”

“Yes?”

“Lorna, this is Amy. Amy Summers.” Summers was her maiden name. “Do you remember me? From freshman year at Florida State?”

“Amy! I can’t believe it. Why, it’s been years. Of course I remember you. Are you still in Florida?”

“Um, actually I’m in the process of moving.”

“From Florida?”

“No, from Louisiana.”

“That explains it.”

“Explains what?”

“Well, last year I was in Orlando for a couple of days, and I thought of you and tried to call you.”

“You did?” That seemed promising.

“Yes. I was really disappointed not to find you. I even checked with the alumni office at the school, thinking maybe they had an address for you, but they said they didn’t.”

Amy thought about how Cole had discouraged her from holding on to any part of her old life and how he’d gradually cut her off from everyone and everything he considered a threat to his total domination of her. He had even tried to keep her from visiting her father, but in that, Amy had put her foot down.

“So where are you now?” Lorna asked.

“Actually, I’m right here. In Morgan Creek.”

“You are?”

“I don’t blame you for being surprised.” Amy grimaced. “It’s a long story. I’m just traveling through, but I was hoping we might be able to get together.” She mentally crossed her fingers. “I thought I’d try to find a hotel around here, at least for tonight.”

“I’d love to get together. And forget about finding a hotel. You’re staying with me. I’ve got tons of room. Oh, Amy, I’m so thrilled you called! Okay, where, exactly, are you?”

Amy told her, and Lorna quickly gave her directions to her place. “It’s the third house on the right-hand side of the street. You can’t miss it. A yellow Victorian with dark-brown trim.”

Just as Lorna said, Amy had no trouble finding her street or the house. It was lovely—a beautifully kept, gingerbready Victorian with a cupola and a wraparound porch filled with wicker furniture and even a porch swing. What a perfect house, yet it seemed far too big for just one person. Though Lorna’s name had been listed in the directory as Hathaway, Amy wondered if she might be married, and if she had children.

Amy parked her silver Toyota on the street in front of the house and had barely gotten her driver’s-side door open when Lorna came bounding out the front door and down the porch steps.

Amy would have recognized her old friend anywhere. Lorna was older, yes, but she was still slender and blond, although her hair, which used to be halfway down her back, was now worn much shorter, in one of those messy styles currently popular. Amy, whose own dark hair was wildly curly, would have loved to pull off that more sophisticated look but knew it would never be in the cards.

“Amy!” Lorna’s smile was huge, her bright-blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Before Amy could open the back door to retrieve Calista, Lorna had enveloped her in an exuberant hug. “Oh, it’s wonderful to see you.” Releasing Amy, she stood back and studied her. “You look great. Not a day older than the last time I saw you.”

Amy made a face. “You never were a good liar. I look terrible and I know it.”

“You couldn’t look terrible if you tried.”

“Mommee!”

Lorna’s eyes widened and she stooped down to look into the car. “And who’s this precious little one?”

“That’s Calista, my daughter. Here, let me get her out.”

Lorna stood back to allow Amy to free Calista from her car seat. Calista stared at Lorna curiously as Amy lifted her out of the car.

“Well, hello, Calista,” Lorna said. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?”

Calista, who even at three loved compliments, grinned, revealing the deep dimples she’d inherited from Amy’s mother.

“Oh, Amy, she’s beautiful.”

Amy couldn’t help noticing the wistful note in Lorna’s voice. While continuing to coo over Calista, Lorna helped Amy gather her belongings. Then the three headed up the walkway to the house.

Amy wished she could properly appreciate the well-cared-for lawn and the abundance of colorful summer flowers and shrubs surrounding the house, but she was too on edge to truly enjoy anything but the possibility of at least one night’s respite from worry.

The house felt wonderfully cool in contrast to the heat outdoors and smelled of lemon furniture polish. A quick look around the entry hall revealed shining hardwood floors, beautiful antiques and gorgeous carpets, that gave her an overall impression of both good taste and charm. A fan whirred softly overhead.

“The house is actually clean, thank goodness,” Lorna said. “I have a woman who comes in twice a week, and today was one of her days.”

“It’s lovely.” It was more than lovely. It was tranquil. Amy immediately felt less nervous and frightened just being there. It was as if nothing bad could possibly happen to her—to them—in a house this peaceful.

“Before I show you around, shall we take your things upstairs to the guest room?”

“This is so nice of you, Lorna.”

Lorna made a disparaging gesture. “Hey, we’re friends. Besides, I’m so excited to have you!”

“Well, I really appreciate it.”

Lorna took one of the suitcases and the tote Amy’d had in the car, then led the way up the graceful, curved staircase to the right of the entry hall. Upstairs she showed Amy to a large front bedroom that overlooked the street.

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Amy said. The walls were covered with a creamy wallpaper in an old-fashioned pattern of big pink cabbage roses and garlands of ivy. It was charming and reminded Amy of the wallpaper that used to be in her grandmother’s bedroom. The furnishings were just as charming: a four-poster bed with a pale-green comforter and matching dust ruffle, a walnut chest of drawers and armoire, a desk and accompanying chair, and best of all, a wide window seat covered with a thick green pillow. A large teddy bear sat on it.

“Bear!” Calista pointed, eyes wide.

“Oh, dear,” Amy said as Calista immediately headed for the stuffed animal.

Lorna smiled, watching her. “She can play with the bear. It’s a holdover from when my nieces were little.”

“Calista can be kind of rough with her toys.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Turning back to Amy, she added, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have a crib for her. I do have a cot, though.”

“Calista doesn’t sleep in a crib anymore, anyway.”

“If you don’t want the cot, she can have a room of her own, whichever you think is best.”

“She can just sleep with me.”

“Are you sure?”

Amy smiled. “I’m sure. That’s what we would have done if we’d gotten a hotel. This is perfect.”

“All right. Why don’t I leave you two alone for a little while, then? You can unpack your things while I make a phone call, okay? Then we can start catching up.”

“Okay.”

When Lorna had gone back downstairs, Amy sank onto the bed and let Calista explore the room. What she wouldn’t give to be able to remain here for a couple of days, but she knew she couldn’t afford to overstay her welcome. If Lorna should offer, that would be one thing. But Amy couldn’t ask.

While Calista played contentedly with the stuffed animal, talking her own version of “bear” talk to him, Amy unpacked their night clothes. It was probably pointless to take anything else out of the suitcases, since in all probability she would be on the road again in the morning, but she did take clean shorts and tops out for both of them to wear tomorrow.

“Okay, sweetie, time to say bye-bye to Bear.”

Calista gave her a dark look, shaking her head and hugging the bear tighter.

Amy sighed. “Oh, all right. You can take Bear downstairs.”

As the two slowly descended the stairs, Amy heard Lorna saying goodbye to someone, and by the time they reached the entry, Lorna had come out to meet them.

“Are either of you hungry? We won’t be having dinner until seven-thirty or later, but I have cheese and crackers and fruit we could have now.”

“I know Calista’s hungry,” Amy said, praying that her daughter wouldn’t turn her nose up at the snack and start demanding a hamburger again.

“Let’s go back to the kitchen, then.”

The kitchen was exactly what Amy would have expected it to be: big, bright and cheerful—done in pale yellow with red accents—and dominated by a fireplace at one end and a big, round oak table in the center. Looking like a Currier & Ives print, the fireplace was flanked on one side by an oak rocking chair and on the other by a fat calico cat who eyed them as they entered the room.

“Kitty!” Calista shouted, immediately racing over to the feline.

“Calista, don’t touch the cat,” Amy said, rushing after her daughter. “Sometimes cats scratch.”

“It’s okay,” Lorna said. “Buttercup is an unusual cat. She actually likes little kids.”

And she did seem to, Amy saw, because when Calista reached out to pet the cat’s head, Buttercup actually leaned into the caress, and Amy heard her purr.

Calista laughed delightedly and sat down on the hearth next to the cat. Amy watched for a while, but quickly realized she didn’t need to worry.

“Can I help you?” she asked Lorna.

“Thanks, but there’s nothing much to do. Just have a seat.”

Within minutes the table was laden with the cheese and crackers, a bunch of red seedless grapes and a wedge of some kind of paté that looked wonderful.

“Milk for Calista?” she asked.

“Please.”

“I’ve even got a sip cup left from my nieces.”

“Great.”

It took some doing to get Calista away from Buttercup, but after promising her if she ate everything, she could play with the cat again, she came to the table. Once she was happily eating, the two friends finally had a chance to talk.

“Before we start filling in what’s happened since we last saw each other,” Lorna said, “I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Tonight there’s a dinner party being given at my family’s home to celebrate my grandmother’s ninetieth birthday, and you and Calista are invited to come, too.”

“Oh, no, we couldn’t,” Amy said. “You go on and don’t worry about us. We’ll just find something to eat in town somewhere.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you ‘find something to eat’ while I go off to a party.”

“It’s not like you invited us to come,” Amy pointed out. “We practically invited ourselves. I don’t want you changing your plans because of us.”

“Look, I’m not leaving you here alone. I called the house and told my grandmother about you, and she insisted I bring you along tonight. She said it would be the height of rudeness to leave a guest home alone while I went out to dinner.” Lorna grinned. “Believe me, when Grandmother Stella issues a command, a good Hathaway obeys.”

Amy had to admit she was curious about Lorna’s family, especially her grandmother, whom Lorna had mentioned more than once in that year they’d been roommates. But tonight was such a special occasion, and Amy and Calista were outsiders. It just didn’t seem right for them to be taking part in a family celebration.

“Now, we only have about an hour until we have to start getting ready. Grandmother’s a stickler for punctuality and tonight’s shindig starts at seven…so let’s quit wasting time arguing about whether you’re coming with me or not and let’s catch up.”

In the next twenty minutes Amy learned that Lorna had come back to Morgan Creek after getting her master’s degree and had worked in the family business ever since. She had been married, she said, but was now divorced, and had no children. This last had been relayed matter-of-factly, but Lorna couldn’t disguise the longing she obviously felt. It was there every time she looked at Calista, and Amy felt bad for her friend. Calista was the light of her life, the best thing that had ever happened to her—despite the fact she’d had to be married to Cole to get her—and Amy felt sorry for everyone who hadn’t experienced that same joy, especially when it was so obvious they wanted children.

“Now let’s hear everything about you,” Lorna said when she’d finished.

Amy looked over at Calista.

Lorna immediately nodded. “Calista, would you like to play with Buttercup in the backyard? She needs to get some exercise.”

Calista grinned. “Yeah!”

“We can sit on the back porch and watch her,” Lorna said to Amy.

Once they were settled outside—with Calista playing happily and out of earshot, Amy felt free to talk.

“Like you, I’m divorced. My ex lives in Shreveport. He’s an investment banker.” Neither was true. Cole was a high-powered lawyer turned politician and he lived in Mobile, but Amy knew from the women in the underground network that she couldn’t afford to take any chances or trust anyone, no matter who, and had rehearsed the story she would tell to everyone from now on.

“He never really wanted children,” she continued, “so he didn’t object when I decided to head for the West Coast where I understand teachers—even preschool teachers like me—make really good money.” This was partially true. Cole hadn’t wanted children. After all, how could he remain the center of Amy’s universe if he had to share her with a child? But he would have objected violently to Amy’s leaving Mobile with Calista if he’d known about it. Not because he cared about Calista, but because he knew Amy did.

The divorce had infuriated Cole. He’d fought Amy every step of the way. Where she’d gotten the strength to actually leave him and file for divorce, she’d never know, because Cole had beaten her down so much over the years, it had always been easier to just go along with whatever it was he wanted than to actually assert herself.

To retaliate and hurt her in the worst possible way, he had produced “witnesses” who swore under oath that they had seen Amy doing drugs and neglecting Calista. Because of Cole’s position and the friends who lied for him, he was given custody of Calista, and Amy was only allowed to see her twice a week under strict supervision.

“So you’re a teacher?” Lorna said. “I thought you were a journalism major.”

“I was, briefly. But during the summer between my freshman year and my sophomore year, I worked at a day-care center. I loved working with kids so much, I decided to switch to early childhood education. Up until I got married, I taught kindergarten.”