Wife By Deception. Donna Sterling

her toys out of the stroller, just for the fun of having Kate retrieve them. The walk had taken considerably longer than expected.

      Which was fine with Kate. It seemed to her that the journey itself was just as important as the destination—and they’d had a lovely journey. Maybe they would watch the swim class next week. At the neighborhood Fourth of July party yesterday, the lifeguard in her own subdivision had recommended this particular instructor for infant swimming lessons. Kate wanted to see for herself what methods the woman used.

      She peered at the parents trudging past her toward the parking lot. A few moms and dads were talking and smiling. Others looked exhausted and harried. And…frustrated? Not a good sign.

      Kate approached one young mother who had emerged from the pool area with a towel-wrapped infant huddled against her shoulder. Smiling at both the baby and his mother, Kate introduced herself as a resident from the neighboring subdivision. “I’m thinking of enrolling my nine-month-old for swim lessons. Are you happy with the classes so far?”

      “Oh, absolutely.” The deeply tanned brunette, who smelled of chlorine and suntan lotion, lovingly towel-dried her son’s reddish, downy-fine curls. “Davey has learned so much in just two months. He can already hold his breath underwater. And he’s only ten months old.” She fairly beamed with pride.

      “That’s great. Does he enjoy the lessons?”

      “Enjoy them?” She sounded surprised at the question. “Well, actually, he’d rather just play around in the pool with his toys than do what the teacher says. I suppose that’s only to be expected.” A flicker of frustration disrupted her smile. “And for some reason, he resists floating on his back.”

      Warning bells sounded in Kate’s head. If any amount of coercion was involved in teaching a baby to swim, the instructor was probably teaching at her pace rather than the baby’s. And, from the articles Kate had read on the subject, she’d learned that back floating was a skill to be explored later in a baby’s progression.

      No, she wouldn’t subject Arianne to the stress of these particular lessons. She wanted her to enjoy learning, not shy away from it. She wanted the lessons to be a happy, peaceful time. An opportunity for physical and spiritual enrichment. A chance for her and Arianne to grow closer.

      Maybe she should look into mother-baby yoga lessons, instead. “Thanks for the information,” Kate said. “I think I’ll wait another month or so before I sign Arianne up for swim lessons, though. You know, I’ve read some highly informative articles about infant swim lessons on the Internet.”

      “Really?”

      Unable to resist the chance to save Davey from distressful lessons that might negatively affect his attitude toward learning, Kate told the woman how to find the articles she’d read.

      Arianne, meanwhile, dropped the teething ring she’d been gnawing on, emitted a joyous squeal and pointed a stubby little finger at the pool. “Fwim!” Shifting her bright brown eyes to Kate, she repeated, “Fwim?”

      Kate smiled at her with all the pride, warmth and tenderness brimming in her heart. Only nine months old, and she could already say fwim. She clearly had genius potential. “No, sweetie. We can’t swim today. Tomorrow, maybe. In our own pool.”

      Arianne returned a still-hopeful gaze to the pool. Kate pulled a small foil-wrapped pack from her purse, knelt beside the stroller and distracted the little brown-eyed blonde with a teething biscuit.

      Davey’s mother shifted her towel-swathed son to her other hip and smiled at Arianne. To Kate, she said, “She’s adorable. And she looks so much like you. You couldn’t deny she’s yours even if you wanted to.”

      Kate felt her smile falter. Couldn’t deny she’s yours. If only that were true. “Thanks. I…I guess I’d better head back home. It’s quite a walk.” After wishing the woman luck with Davey’s lessons, Kate wheeled the stroller toward the sidewalk.

      And tried not to let the innocent remark hurt too much. Hard to do, though, when the wound was still so raw. Because regardless of the fact that Arianne resembled her—same honey-blond hair, same brown eyes, even the same little cleft in her chin—she wasn’t Kate’s. Not biologically, or even legally, as of yet.

      Her real mother had been killed.

      Camryn.

      A bittersweet pang went through Kate, as it always did when she thought of her sister. Then the grief set in. She was gone—her glamorous, high-flying rebel of a twin who had vexed her, angered her, worried her sick, but always brought tales of wild urban adventures that made Kate’s own life seem boring in comparison. Camryn had been a dreamer, outrageously self-centered and as flighty as a kite in a high wind. She’d always gravitated toward the wrong crowd, set her sights on impractical goals and gone about reaching them in the hardest possible way. They’d argued more often than they’d laughed together, but her rare visits had added a certain zest to Kate’s workaday life. There would be no more surprise-packed visits from out of the blue.

      After six months, the grief had only begun to mellow.

      At least she still had Arianne. A simple glance at her niece filled her with warm, comforting love…as well as concern. It had taken Kate more than five months—until last Friday, to be exact—to ask a lawyer about adoption proceedings. Because Arianne’s father presented an unknown variable, she’d felt she had too much to risk by bringing Arianne to the attention of the courts.

      Government bureaucracies always worried her. The Department of Family and Children Services had ruled her and Camryn’s lives from the age of five—when they lost their parents in an automobile accident—until the day they turned eighteen. As humiliating and dehumanizing as that experience had been, they’d actually fared better than many of the children trapped within that frightening system. At least Cam and she had had each other.

      Now Kate hesitated to contact the authorities for fear that some obscure regulation would result in their taking Arianne away from her. She shuddered to think of her dear little niece at the mercy of the heartless court system. Kate swore that Arianne would be raised by her— not shuffled around between foster homes or dumped into an orphanage, as Camryn and she had been.

      But Kate knew she couldn’t simply keep Arianne indefinitely. Too many questions would be asked—by doctors, school officials and the like. Kate believed in building a strong, unshakable foundation on which to base one’s life. That foundation was a person’s only real security. Arianne’s foundation would require the paperwork that made her a legal citizen of the United States and Kate’s legally-adopted daughter. Neither status was readily available without Arianne’s birth certificate.

      Her lawyer had warned her, too, that an adoption would be difficult without permission from Arianne’s father. And Kate had no idea who he was or where he lived. She had no record of Arianne’s birth, where she was born or even what her legal last name was.

      “Isn’t there a way around the red tape?” Kate had asked. “My sister told me Arianne’s father doesn’t want her. Even if we somehow learn his name, I doubt that we’ll find him. Knowing the kind of men my sister was involved with, he’s probably a drifter, or on the run from the law.”

      Although the attorney foresaw dozens of obstacles, he promised to delve into the matter as quickly and discreetly as possible.

      For the umpteenth time, Kate fervently wished she’d gotten more details from Camryn about her ex-husband. Unfortunately, Camryn hadn’t wanted to talk about him. All she’d told her was that his name was Mitch, he didn’t want a wife or daughter and he’d been “mean.”

      “Abusive?” Kate had asked, horrified.

      “Very,” Camryn had confirmed in a choked whisper.

      Kate had tried to pry more information from her, but to no avail. The very idea of a man abusing her sister and niece infuriated Kate. In order to get to sleep that night, she had to remind herself that in Camryn’s mind, “abusive” could cover anything from physical battery to a refusal to fly