Suzanna's Surrender

She was trembling. Even when she lowered carefully into a chair, she couldn't stop. She felt as though she'd been jerked back five years, into that terrible helplessness. She couldn't stop him. She'd read the custody agreement word for word before signing it, and he was within his rights. Oh, technically she could have demanded more notice, but that would only postpone the inevitable. If Bax had made up his mind, she couldn't change it. The more she fought, the more she argued, the harder he would twist the knife.

And the more difficult he would make it on the children.

Her babies. Rocking, she covered her face with her hands. It was only for a short time – she could survive it. But how would they feel when she shipped them off, giving them no choice?

She would have to make it sound like an adventure. With the right tone, the right words, she could convince them this was something they wanted to do. Pressing her lips together, she rose. But not now. She would never be able to convince them of anything but her own turmoil if she spoke with them now.

“Damn place is like Grand Central Station.” The familiar thump of a cane nearly had Suzanna sinking back into the chair again. “People coming and going, phone ringing. You'd think nobody ever got married before.” Suzanna's Great – Aunt Colleen, her magnificent white hair swept back and diamonds glittering at her ears, stopped in the doorway. “I'll have you know those little monsters of yours tracked dirt up the stairs.”

“I'm sorry.”

Colleen only huffed. She enjoyed complaining about the children, because she had grown so fond of them. “Hooligans. The one blessed day of the week there's not hammering and sawing every minute, and there's packs of children shrieking through the house. Why the hell aren't they in school?”

“Because it's July, Aunt Colleen.”

“Don't see what difference that makes.” Her frown deepened as she studied Suzanna. “What's the matter with you, girl?”

“Nothing. I'm just a little tired.”

“Tired my foot.” She recognized the look. She'd seen it before – the weary desperation and helplessness – in her own mother's eyes. “Who was that on the phone?”

Suzanna's chin came up. “That, Aunt Colleen, is none of your business.”

“Well, you've climbed on your high horse.” And it pleased her. She preferred that her grandniece bite back rather than take a slap. Besides, she'd just badger Coco until she learned what was going on.

“I have an appointment,” Suzanna said as steadily as possible. “Would you mind telling Aunt Coco that I've gone out?”

“So now I'm a messenger boy. I'll tell her, I'll tell her,” Colleen muttered, waving her cane. “It's high time she fixed me some tea.”

“Thank you. I won't be long.”

“Go out and clear your head,” Colleen said as Suzanna started by. “There's nothing a Calhoun can't handle.”

Suzanna sighed and kissed Colleen's thin cheek. “I hope you're right.”

She didn't allow herself to think. She left the house and climbed into her pickup, telling herself she would handle whatever needed to be handled but she would calm herself first.

She had become very skilled at pulling in her emotions. A woman couldn't sit in a courtroom with her children's futures hanging in the balance and not learn control.

It was possible to feel panic or rage or misery and function normally. When she was certain she could, she would speak with the children.

There was an appointment to be kept. Whatever Holt had to show her might distract her enough to help her keep control of her emotions until they leveled.

She thought she was calm when she pulled up at his house. As she got out of the truck, she combed a hand through her windblown hair. When she realized she was gripping her keys too hard she deliberately relaxed her fingers. She slid the keys into her pocket and knocked.

The dog sent up a din. Holt had one hand on Sadie's collar as he opened the door. “You made it. I thought I might have to come after you.”

“I told you I'd be here.” She stepped inside. “What do you have to show me?”

When he was sure Sadie would do no more than sniff and whine for attention, he released her. “Your aunt showed a lot more interest in the cottage.”

“I'm a little pressed for time.” After giving the dog an absent pat, she stuck her hands into the pockets of her baggy cotton slacks. “It's very nice.” She glanced around, took in nothing. “You must be comfortable here.”

“I get by,” he said slowly, his eyes keen on her face. There wasn't a trace of color in her cheeks. Her eyes were too dark. He'd wanted to make her aware of him, maybe uncomfortably aware, but he hadn't wanted to make her sick with fear at the thought of seeing him again.

“You can relax, Suzanna.” His voice was curt and dismissive. “I'm not going to jump you.”

Her nerves stretched taut on the thin wire of control. “Can we just get on with this?”

“Yeah, we can get on with it, as soon as you stop standing there as if you're about to be chained and beaten. I haven't done anything – yet – to make you look at me that way.”