Marriage Is Just The Beginning. Betty Sanders Jane

had tried everything he could think of to make her happy and had failed. Nothing seemed able to prevent the downward spiral, the disintegration of their marriage, except illness. Cancer. Frightened, angry and blaming, Catherine had clung to him, though their love had long died. He’d held and soothed her, accepted the blame and watched, totally helpless as death relentlessly claimed her with a swiftness that allowed little time for forgiveness.

      Cold washed through him. He sprang to his feet, heart pounding, hands clenched. Sweat dampened the back of his shirt. He snapped the lamp off and strode down the hall to his room.

      He would never put himself in such a vulnerable position again. Any love he had left was for Cassie, and Cassie alone.

      The last thing he wanted was another wife.

       Chapter Two

      Three women answered his ad for an in-home baby-sitter.

      Marcie, with long, blond hair hanging straight down her back. Black, shiny tights topped by a low-cut blouse showing far more than a hint of cleavage left nothing to the imagination. She had a disconcerting habit of leaning toward Grant, which he supposed was designed to raise his blood pressure. It did—not with lust but with anger. When she suggested it would be best for all if she moved in with them, he concluded the interview and walked her to the door, not bothering to have her meet Cassie.

      A dull throb began in his brow.

      Sandra was a quiet woman, with pale-gray eyes that seemed to match her spirit. She was in the process of going through a divorce and wasn’t sure how long she would remain in Valdez. It depended, she said, on whether she met another man soon, because she was not a woman who could live without a man in her life. Grant thanked her for coming, ushered her from the house without meeting Cassie and crossed his fingers that the next woman would be perfect.

      The throb turned to a pounding.

      Beth had six children, watched five others and needed to earn more money because her good-for-nothing exhusband was behind on child support once more. Though Grant felt the full impact of her imploring eyes, he thanked her, also, and explained that he would keep her in mind if he couldn’t find someone who would come to his home to care for Cassie. Cassie remained in her room, playing.

      The pounding exploded into a full-blown headache that had him pinching the bridge of his nose as he settled back into the leather chair in the den.

      “Did you find one?” Cassie asked from the doorway.

      Grant shook his head as she crossed the room and crawled onto his lap. She tucked her head beneath his chin and the headache began to dim.

      “Maybe Sharon would do it,” Cassie said in a small voice.

      “Honey, Sharon has a job, remember? How would they run the bank without her?” Sharon would be perfect, he thought, tightening his arms slightly.

      “Oh.”

      Silence.

      “I wish Mama didn’t the.”

      Her voice was but a sad murmur that drove nails of guilt into his heart. “I know you do, pumpkin. So do I,” he finally answered in a harsh whisper. Then he squeezed her in a tight hug, as if able to protect her from all pain, past and future—an impossible task that made it all the more important.

      They sat in silence in the heavy dusk of the room. Snow fell from gray clouds; thick, fat flakes captured in the frame of the window. Cassie snuggled closer to Grant. He held her close, heart aching with love, and wondered what he was going to do.

      * * *

      Grant’s anger filled Sharon’s kitchen in almost visible waves. He stormed from counter to counter, jaw clenched so tight she feared for his teeth. She was thankful that Cassie was playing with Brittany in the backyard, enjoying the six inches of new snow.

      He turned and slapped Hugh’s letter on the table with a thump. “I can’t believe Hugh and Dorothy, that they have the nerve…” He swallowed as if to gain control. “I simply cannot believe they are doing this to me, to Cassie, after all that we’ve been through.” He ground the words through clenched teeth.

      “Read it—read the damned thing.” He nearly flung the letter at her.

      Sharon shook her head and pushed it away. “It’s not my letter to read,” she said. “Besides, I think you told me everything they said.”

      “You’re right.”

      He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, then slumped into a chair opposite her. Dark circles shadowed his glittering eyes. Sharon Wished with all her heart that something she could do or say would change matters.

      He leaned toward her, eyes burning. “Don’t they understand I am trying…trying to find a damned sitter. And I don’t ask to go on business trips. I shouldn’t have to travel so much once, the project starts, just a few more months.” He closed his eyes briefly.

      Sharon reached to clasp his large hand, which was clenched in a tight fist. He brought his gaze to hers and held it.

      “They think they can provide a better, more stable home for Cassie. A better home for my daughter than I can provide. A muscle leaped in his jaw, then tightened.

      Her heart ached for her friend. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Grant, but though misguided, they mean well,” she said softly. “They aren’t suggesting a change in custody to hurt you.”

      He pulled his hand away to drum his fingers against the table, frowning.

      “They love Cassie and only want what’s best for her, she added.

      “And taking her from her father is best?” He nearly spit the words.

      Sharon shook her head. “No, I don’t think so, but—”

      Grant held a hand to stop her. “They want what can’t be had—their daughter back. And since that won’t happen, they want mine.” His voice grew harder as he spoke. “I’m not even sure having a sitter would matter. They would probably question the permanence. The only way to provide a foolproof solution—” he emphasized the words “—is for me to marry. And it will be a cold day in hell before that happens.”

      “Grant, you won’t always feel that way. With time—”

      “Time? To hell with time. To hell with Hugh and Dorothy. They want Cassie as replacement for Catherine, as payment because I took her from them and brought her back in a coffin.”

      “No.” Sharon nearly shouted the word, frustrated and a little angry herself. Grant arched a brow. She continued, shaking her head. “You’re twisting this, distorting it, Grant. Hugh and Dorothy are not vindictive people—”

      “Aren’t they? You weren’t there, didn’t see how they acted toward the end,” he shot back with an angry growl.

      “Maybe they did act a little strange, but that is certainly understandable under the circumstances.” She paused. “You might have read more into it than was meant.” He snorted. She ignored him and continued. “There is no way I can really know, but I don’t think they are doing this to make life hard for you. If they’re guilty of anything, it’s of loving Cassie, and we are all guilty of that.”

      “Are you defending them?” He glared at her.

      “Only their right to care.” She glared back.

      “You need to keep in mind that this is not about you or me or Hugh and Dorothy,” she finally said quietly. “It’s about Cassie and what is best for her.”

      After a minute of silence. Grant dropped his gaze. He carefully folded the rumpled letter and slid it into his pocket. Then he looked at her. “I am sorry for losing my temper like that. It wasn’t fair to you,”