True Devotion

“Why didn’t you tell us the truth about who you are, Mrs. Laine?”

He knew.

Susannah took a breath, trying to think, trying to organize some sort of response. What could she possibly say to Nathan that would make sense of her actions?

“I’m sorry about your husband’s death,” Nathan said after a moment. “The accident was a terrible thing.” His eyes were filled with sympathy. “But it wasn’t necessary to hide your identity from us. We wouldn’t intrude on your grief.” Nathan’s deep voice had gone very soft. He put his hand on her shoulder.

Warmth. Comfort. Hot tears stung her eyes. Susannah had an almost uncontrollable urge to step forward, lean against his strong shoulder and let her tears soak his shirt.

She took a deep breath and nodded, trying to swallow tears.

She couldn’t give in to that longing to lean on him. She couldn’t.

MARTA PERRY

has written everything from Sunday school curriculum to travel articles to magazine stories in twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her writing home in the stories she writes for Love Inspired.

Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her beautiful grandchildren, traveling or relaxing with a good book. She loves hearing from readers and will be glad to send a signed bookplate on request. She can be reached c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279, or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.

True Devotion

Marta Perry

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God.

—I John 4:7

This story is dedicated to my dear sister, Patricia,

her husband, Ed, and her beautiful family,

with much love.

And, as always, to Brian.

Contents

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Letter to Reader

Chapter One

Most people wouldn’t throw a pregnant woman out into the cold. But the October sun was warm, and Nathan Sloane wasn’t most people. The discovery that his unwanted renter was pregnant just made him more eager to be rid of her.

Nathan stood on the porch of the lakeside cottage, realizing he’d been staring for too long at the auburn-haired woman who’d opened the door to him. He glanced at the registration card in his hand.

“Ms. Morgan?”

She hesitated momentarily. “Yes.”

He tried to smile, but the tension that rode him probably made it look more like a grimace. “I’m Nathan Sloane. My father, Daniel, owns Sloane Lodge.”

She gave a brief nod, edging the door toward him slightly, as if ready to close it in his face. “Is something wrong, Mr. Sloane?”

“I’m afraid so.” Besides the fact that just being near the cottage rubbed his nerves raw. “My stepsister made an error when she rented the cottage to you.”

The woman opened the door a bit wider, letting the autumn sunlight hit her face. It turned her hair to bronze and caught the gold flecks in eyes as deeply green as the hemlocks on the hillside across the lake.

It also showed the purple circles under those eyes, marring her fair skin. She looked like someone who’d been fighting a losing battle with insomnia.

“I don’t understand,” she said, frowning as if he’d just told her that her credit card had been rejected. “What sort of an error?”

Again he tried the smile. “We’re getting ready to winterize the cottages. In fact, my father will be closing the lodge for the season before long.” He hoped. “So you see, I’ll have to ask you to make other arrangements.”

“The person who checked me in earlier didn’t say anything about that.” She didn’t look particularly impressed by the explanation he’d rehearsed.

He spared an irritated thought for his stepsister. “Apparently Jennifer didn’t understand. The cottage is not available to rent at all. And certainly not for an entire month at this time of the year.”

Her lips tightened. “That’s impossible. I’ve already rented it.”

He didn’t seem to be getting very far. “Perhaps you’d like to move into the main lodge for a few days until you find something else. Or we’d be glad to call around for alternative accommodations for you.”

The woman’s fingers were white where they clutched the edge of the door. She released it abruptly. “You’d better come inside.”

She walked away from the door, giving him no choice but to follow her. If he clenched his jaw any tighter, it would shatter.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience…” he began.

“It’s more than inconvenient.”

The woman stood turned away from him, staring out the windows of the small living room that fronted on the lake. She was so slender that from this angle she didn’t even appear to be expecting. Irrationally, he found that made it easier to deal with her.

“I do apologize.” He tried to express a warmth he didn’t feel.

Get the woman out—that was what he had to do right now. No others were rented. Then he could shut the cottages and persuade his father to close the lodge early for the winter. Maybe by spring he’d have been able to convince his stubborn father that a man who’d narrowly survived one heart attack shouldn’t court another by refusing to retire.

Ms. Morgan turned toward him, and for a moment her figure was silhouetted against the windows, her hands pressed against her stomach.

The image hit him like a blow. He saw Linda standing in front of those same windows, head thrown back in laughter as she pressed her hands to her swelling belly.

No. He fought the grief that threatened to overwhelm him. This woman was nothing like Linda. Linda had been gentleness and warmth. This woman was all chilly, sharp edges. He wouldn’t let her remind him.

He forced himself to concentrate on her words, shutting out everything else.

“As I said, it’s not a question of inconvenience. We have an agreement.” Even her smile had an edge to it. “I don’t intend to leave.”

“An agreement?” He lifted his brows. “I don’t recall signing a lease with you, Ms. Morgan.”

She didn’t look intimidated.

“There’s no need for a formal lease in this situation. The person who was operating as your agent checked me in and gave me the keys to this cottage. In my opinion, we have a legally binding agreement.”

He suspected his eyebrows went even higher. “You’re an attorney.”

She wasn’t just a nuisance. She was an intelligent nuisance who wouldn’t let him gain the slightest advantage.

“As a matter of fact, I am.”

He glanced at the address on the registration card in his hand.

“What’s a Philadelphia lawyer doing in a place like Lakemont in October?”

Pregnant. And alone, obviously, in spite of the gold band and large matching diamond on her left hand.

“I’m sure Sloane Lodge gets its share of tourists who come to admire the autumn leaves, doesn’t it?” She put that hand up to push back a lock of auburn hair that had strayed onto her cheek.

“Leaf peepers generally come on the weekends. And if you’ll forgive my saying so, you don’t look the type.”

She certainly didn’t fit his idea of the kind of person who’d settle down in a rustic cottage on a smallish lake in the Pocono Mountains to watch the leaves change colors. Every inch of her, from the burnished auburn hair to the black outfit to the expensive and impractical shoes, shrieked urban professional.

She shrugged. “Let’s say I’m looking for quiet and let it go at that.”

Too bad he couldn’t import a few bulldozers to increase the decibel level.

“Look, Ms. Morgan, surely we can resolve this in a way that suits both of us.”

“As far as I’m concerned, this is resolved.”

He tried not to look around at the cottage that was only too familiar to him—living room and kitchen downstairs, with a deck over the lake. Two bedrooms and a bath up the narrow stairs, still decorated in the casual country charm Linda had insisted upon.

And he’d certainly better not think about the master bedroom, with its quilt-covered king-size bed situated to give a view out over the lake immediately on waking.

“This place is too isolated for a pregnant woman alone.” The words were like poison on his tongue, and a fierce anger rose in him that she’d pushed him into saying them. “You ought to have someone around.”

Her face tightened, the skin drawing bleakly against her high cheekbones. “Frankly, whether I’m alone or not is none of your business. And if you try to evict me because I’m pregnant, you’ll be borrowing more trouble than you’ll know what to do with.”

He’d gone too far, obviously. He tried to tamp down his emotions. “I’m not saying anything of the kind. I’m just asking that you be reasonable.”

“Reasonable?” Lightning seemed to spark from her eyes.

His choice of words had been a mistake. He raised his hands, palms outward. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’d just like to persuade you that you’d be more comfortable elsewhere.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable.” She rubbed her arms on the sleeves of the loose black sweater she wore, as if chilled, then nodded toward the still-open door. “I am, however, a little tired of this conversation. So if you don’t mind…”

Short of removing the woman bodily, he didn’t have many options. It was clearly time to beat a strategic retreat. He nodded with as much grace as he could muster and went to the door.

He paused once he reached the porch. “We’ll talk again later.”

“I won’t have changed my mind.” The door snapped shut behind him.

He took the two steps off the porch and started down the lane toward the lodge. At least he could breathe again, once he was away from the cottage.

Ms. Susannah Morgan clearly thought she’d won that round. He grimaced. Well, maybe she had.

But that didn’t mean he was giving up. For a lot of reasons, he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d convinced Susannah Morgan that she didn’t belong here.

Several hours had passed, and Susannah still wasn’t sure why she’d reacted so vehemently to Nathan Sloane’s presence earlier. She closed the cottage door and stood on the porch for a moment, struggling to zip her jacket.

You’re getting bigger, little one. She smoothed her hand over the rounded bulge. I just wish…

What did she wish? That she’d taken Sloane’s offer and moved into the lodge, putting off an argument until another day?

There was no real reason she couldn’t move into the main building. Her reason for being here required that she stay at Sloane Lodge, but not necessarily in the cottage.

Still, when she’d walked into the cottage, tired and stressed from the trip, a sense of peace had come over her. She’d moved slowly around the small rooms, letting the feeling seep into her very bones, feeling a comfort she hadn’t felt in a long time. She didn’t want to give that up for Nathan Sloane’s arbitrary decision.

She touched the porch railing, noticing the window boxes on the windows and the ladder-back rockers on the tiny porch. Someone had taken a lot of trouble with the cottage. It was a happy place. A place where perhaps, in spite of the disturbing situation that had brought her to Sloane Lodge, she could find the peace that had eluded her for months.

She started up the lane toward the lodge. In spite of Nathan’s comments about the cottage being isolated, it really wasn’t that far—certainly not more than a quarter of a mile. It would be pleasant to walk on this brisk evening, and the doctor had told her to walk.

Trees spangled with russet and golden leaves lined the lane, but the rounded mountain ridge on the far side of the lake hadn’t given up its deep green color yet. Still, the season was turning. What had once seemed like an endless year moved inexorably on. In a month and a half their baby would arrive, another milestone of life without Trevor.

Why did you do it? The question she’d asked so often burst out of hiding again. Why, Trevor? I know our marriage wasn’t perfect, but I did think we were honest with each other. Why did you lie to me about where you were going? Why did you come to this place?

Any answers Trevor might have given had died with him in the car accident. If she were to find out what had brought Trevor to Sloane Lodge in Lakemont, instead of to the business conference in Boston he’d told her he was attending, she’d have to do it herself.

And she’d have to do it here. If the answers were anywhere, they were at Sloane Lodge.

Only one month. That was all she had before her obstetrician insisted she not travel. One month in which to learn the truth.

The trees gave way to a thick clump of rhododendrons, their glossy leaves hiding the foundation of the lodge. She rounded the building, heading for the door she’d used when she’d gone inside to register. Maybe there was a back entrance from the cottages, but she didn’t feel inclined to search for it in the gathering dusk.

The sprawling frame-and-shingle building stretched a wide porch across its front, and welcoming light spilled from the many-paned windows.

She thought again of Nathan Sloane’s reaction to her presence. That had been anything but welcoming.

She’d probably see him again at dinner. Bracing herself for the idea of conflict, she mounted the steps and entered the lodge.

Once she was inside the wide front hallway with its bentwood coat racks and curly maple bench, the registration desk lured her. Access to the lodge’s records would tell her exactly how long Trevor had stayed before he died and whether that had been his only trip to the lodge. Barren information, probably, but more than she knew now.

But there was no chance to explore. Even now, someone approached from the shadowy rear of the hall.

“You must be Ms. Morgan.”

For an instant, before the man stepped into the pool of light from the hall chandelier, she thought the tall figure was Nathan. But this was a much older man, presumably his father. The two men had the same lean, square-jawed face, the same high forehead, the same piercing dark eyes and level brows.

But where Nathan’s face was guarded, this man’s was open and friendly. Where Nathan’s gaze had been antagonistic, his father’s radiated welcome.

“Yes, I’m Susannah Morgan.” She took the hand he extended, feeling strength and calluses—the hand of a man who worked hard despite his age.

“Daniel Sloane. Welcome to the lodge. Let me show you into the dining room.”

Apparently Daniel had no problems with her presence. He didn’t seem in the same hurry his son was to close for the winter. He took her arm as gently as if she were made of crystal, guiding her through the archway to the left of the registration desk.

“How lovely.”

She paused, glancing from the wall of windows with their view of the lake to the fire that crackled in a massive stone fireplace. Eight or ten round white-linen-covered tables dotted the wide-planked floor. Sloane Lodge might be small, but it was also charming.

“We like it.” Her escort looked around, too. His expression was…not pride, exactly. She sought to pin it down. Satisfaction, that was it.

Daniel Sloane looked like a man who had found his place in the world. He was what Nathan might be in thirty years or so, but with an inner peace that shone in his face.

“Now, let’s find a seat for you.” He moved as if to lead her toward a table where several older couples chatted with the ease of long acquaintance. “I’ll introduce you to a few people.”

“No. Thank you.” She’d have to start talking with people here if she was going to learn anything, but she wasn’t quite ready to do that yet. She gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m a bit tired from the drive.”

“Of course.” He was instantly solicitous. “I get carried away sometimes. Take this table by the window, where you can have a nice, quiet meal.” He pulled out a chair for her. “One of the servers will be with you in a moment.”

When he’d gone, she looked around cautiously. She’d like to assume Nathan had given up his efforts, but she couldn’t quite convince herself of that.

His face loomed in her mind, rigid with determination. He was like the rocky cliff that reared behind the lodge—solid and immovable. Not a man who’d easily give up once he’d decided something. And what he’d decided, unfortunately, was that he wanted her out of here.

Her gaze reached the archway and stopped. Nathan Sloane walked quickly through from the hall. The slightest check in his step when he saw her just confirmed what she already knew. The man had an instant reaction to her, and it certainly wasn’t a positive one.

Big, broad shouldered, muscular—he probably often got what he wanted just through the sheer force of his presence. Well, not with her. She faced down worse than Nathan Sloane in Philadelphia courtrooms.

At least, for the moment, he didn’t seem to plan on approaching her. He joined his father at a table in the corner, and she let out a small sigh of relief. She really wasn’t up to another battle with the man tonight.

She’d been too angry to see it before, but he’d changed. She toyed with her salad, looking back across the years. Nathan wouldn’t remember, but she’d met him once before.

She’d been an unhappy ten-year-old, shipped off to stay with Trevor’s family for a few weeks at the vacation home they’d owned on the lake. Nathan had been a teenager then, working as a lifeguard at the lake, with no time to notice a pouting child.

Still, through some odd fluke of memory, she could picture him clearly—tall, tanned, laughing and carefree. The center of every group.

He’d changed.

Well, she had, too. Life had a way of doing that to people.

By the time she’d finished her chicken, weariness was taking a firm grip on her. Even Daniel’s announcement that dessert and coffee would be served in the lounge couldn’t tempt her. She’d planned to slip out quietly and make an early night of it. Tomorrow would be time enough to think of plans.

She’d reached the hallway when she heard a step behind her and felt a light touch on her arm.

“Ms. Morgan.”

Morgan. She’d better keep in mind that she’d registered under the maiden name she still used professionally. Given her mother-in-law’s tearful opposition to any inquiry into what Trevor had been doing in Lakemont, that precaution had seemed wise.

Besides, if you didn’t know what you were going to find, you’d better tread cautiously. That advice worked both in the courtroom and in life.

She turned slowly to give Nathan an inquiring look, trying not to be intimidated by his frown.

“I hope you’ve had a chance to reconsider your plans,” he said.

He was nothing if not persistent. Annoyingly so. The kind of person who, if you gave an inch, took a mile. If she tried to pacify him by moving into the main lodge, he’d undoubtedly consider it a step toward getting her out entirely.

She pasted a smile on her lips. “There’s nothing to reconsider. I’m very comfortable in the cottage.”

Daniel came up behind his son just in time to hear her, and he nodded with satisfaction. “Good. We’re happy to have you there.”

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows. “That wasn’t the impression your son gave me.”

The flash of anger in Nathan’s eyes told her the shot had gone home. She should be ashamed of giving in to the desire to annoy him, but she wasn’t. He hadn’t had any compunction about harassing her, had he?

Nathan battled to force the anger back under his usual strict control. He wouldn’t give Susannah Morgan the satisfaction of knowing she’d gotten under his skin, and he couldn’t let his father be upset.

“Nathan?” His father’s frowning gaze was troubled and questioning.

“Ms. Morgan misunderstood,” he said quickly. If the woman had any sense at all, she’d heed the warning in his voice. “I was simply concerned about her staying at the cottage alone, that’s all.”

His father turned to Ms. Morgan with quick concern. “We’d be glad to move you into a room here in the lodge. No trouble at all.”

Trouble. Trouble was rushing Dad to the hospital in the middle of the night, not knowing whether the next breath he took would be his last. If he could just get Dad to understand he had to take it easy…

Well, that was a problem for another day. For now, he’d be content with convincing Ms. Morgan to leave his father out of their disagreement.

He focused on the conversation between the two of them, realizing with exasperation that his soft-hearted father was already feeling sorry for Susannah. The next thing he knew, Daniel would be adopting her as another one of his strays.

Look at the way he’d taken Jennifer in without question, even though he wasn’t responsible for a stepchild he barely knew. Daniel would keep the lodge open all winter if it meant taking care of one of his lost chicks.

That wasn’t going to happen. Determination hardened in him. He’d better detach Ms. Susannah Morgan from his father now.

He summoned up a smile. “Why don’t you let me show you around the lodge before you go back to the cottage. I’m sure Jen didn’t take the time to do that when you checked in.” Before she could think up an argument, he took her arm. “The library is down this hall.”

For just an instant he felt her resist. Then she nodded and fell into step with him.

He sensed his father’s smiling glance, and he shrugged it off irritably. Dad was too susceptible to anyone he thought needed his protection. Susannah Morgan, in spite of her shadowed eyes and fragile appearance, was well able to stand up for herself.

“This is the library.” He led her into the cozy, book-lined room.

She took a step away from him, holding out her hands to the fire burning in the small corner fireplace. “Very nice.” She spoke quickly, as if to head off whatever else he might say. “You mentioned Jen. Is she the person who checked me in this afternoon?”

“That’s right.” He hadn’t brought her in here to talk about Jen.

“So you have quite a family operation here, with your sister working the registration desk and your father running the lodge.”

“Stepsister,” he corrected. “She just helps out after school.” And then only when someone stood over her and forced her to.

“Stepsister.” She seemed intent on keeping the conversation on Jen, of all people. “Does her mother help with the lodge, as well?”

His jaw felt ready to shatter. “No.” He clipped off the word. “She divorced my father several years ago.”

She swung to face him, the firelight burnishing her auburn hair. “I’m sorry.” She seemed to assess the oddity of the situation and come to a conclusion. “Your father is a kind person.”

“Yes. He is.” He gritted his teeth, determined to say whatever was necessary to keep her away from his father. “He’s also not well. He barely survived a serious heart attack last winter.”

The green eyes he’d been thinking cold and untouchable warmed with emotion. “I’m so sorry. That must have been terrible for both of you.”

She reached out toward him. He had no thought of responding to her sympathy, but he found himself taking her hand in his. His gaze locked with hers as their hands met.