Billion Dollar Bride. Muriel Jensen

propped up on an elbow and laughed lightly. “Oh, you do not. Having a man along would just cramp your style.”

      “That’s true. The gigolo I’m looking for would think I already had a young man. Are you still getting married?”

      He’d stood firmly against her disapproval since he’d announced his plans just before she’d left for Africa. When he’d driven her and her friends to the airport, she’d lectured him on the necessity of marrying for love.

      “You married for love,” he’d told her, “and look at what happened. You held everything together, and if my father hadn’t killed himself by driving drunk, you’d still be supporting him.”

      “It apparently wasn’t love on his part, because love gives you comfort and the ability to endure. Austin, I wish you wouldn’t think of marriage as just another merger.”

      “Mom, I’m doing what’s right for me.”

      “You’re doing what’ll get you a child. That’s all.”

      “A child is all I want.”

      “That’s insane, Austin!”

      He’d framed her face in his hands as her flight was called. “Mom,” he’d said gently. “You don’t exactly set the standard for sanity, so don’t judge, all right?”

      He’d tried to turn her toward the boarding gate, but she’d taken hold of his lapels and held on, her dark eyes gravely serious.

      “Darling, don’t do this to yourself,” she’d pleaded. “I like Caroline. She’s a good friend to you. But don’t miss the chance for a love relationship just to have things your way. Please.”

      Then her friends had tugged on her, and the three of them had disappeared past the gate.

      He sat up in the cool bed and said firmly, “Yes, Mom. I’m still getting married.”

      “You know what’ll happen,” she predicted. “You’ll be married two weeks, and you’ll meet someone you’ll want to spend the rest of your life with. But it’ll be too late.”

      “That wouldn’t happen to me, Mom.”

      “Austin, everyone is skeptical of love until it happens to them. You think because you saw it fail that it fails all the time. But it doesn’t. Dorothy had a wonderful marriage for half a century. Emily was married to Ray for thirty-seven years. And they were happy.”

      That wasn’t precisely the point, but explaining required too much thinking, too much analyzing. And it was three in the morning, for God’s sake. “That’s great. It’s just not for me. You have enough money?”

      She emitted a high-pitched sigh, which he recognized as surrender. It was her signal that she was tired of arguing with him.

      “You gave me enough money for my birthday to allow me to buy Africa. Money isn’t everything, you know. I thought I taught you that.”

      “You did. It’s just more reliable than people. Except for you, of course. I love you, Mom. Be careful, okay?”

      She made that sound again. “Okay, Austin. But I give you fair warning. When the day comes and the minister asks if anyone has a reason the wedding shouldn’t take place, I’m going to speak!”

      “Mother…”

      “Bye, dear. Dorothy and Emily say hi.”

      The line went dead, and he cradled the receiver, the room suddenly very dark and very quiet.

      Lying back and pulling the covers up, he rested his hands behind his head and listened to the sounds of his loneliness. Quiet, distant traffic, the ticking clock, the nighttime sounds of the hotel—furnace, plumbing, soft steps walking past his door.

      He remembered how quiet their Dallas apartment had been at night when he was a child. His father had been out drinking or home sleeping it off. He’d died when Austin was eight, but the house remained quiet because Austin’s mother had slept in exhaustion from working twelve hours a day, six days a week just to keep a roof over their heads and food on the table.

      Austin could clearly recall lying in bed and worrying about his mother, worrying about himself. He’d loved his father and hadn’t understood his need for the booze that rendered him unconscious. And like most children in similar situations, he’d been convinced that something he’d done had made his father unable to cope.

      He used to wonder if it would drive his mother away one day.

      When he felt bold enough to share that worry with her, she’d wept and assured him that nothing in the world would ever separate them until he was old enough to make his own life. He was everything in the world to her, she’d said, and she would always be there for him.

      And she had been. She’d slaved with overtime and extra part-time jobs all through his childhood, until he was old enough to help and finally take over responsibility for their household.

      What he’d liked best about money, he thought now, was that generating it created noise and activity. It filled the awful silences where fears bred and worries accumulated.

      And so he’d dedicated himself to making money. He had a gift for it and eagerly learned all that he could to turn the gift into a skill.

      Was he really missing something, as his mother insisted?

      It didn’t feel as though he was. He had everything he wanted and, probably within a year, he would have a child. If Caroline chose to stay with him, that would be fine because they were good friends and she was pleasant company.

      If she chose to leave, that would be fine, too. Although he liked having her around, he didn’t really need her. And he would be there for their baby. He’d learned parenting skills from the very best.

      He closed his eyes, relieved to have heard from his mother and to know that she was safe. He was also satisfied with his analysis of his life. He had things perfectly balanced at the moment, and the love his mother was so sure he needed would only unsettle that balance.

      Yes. Life was good as it was.

      “MOM THINKS this would be the perfect setting for your wedding,” Anna said, stopping in the middle of her mother’s garden and gesturing around her. “Of course, not all the flowers are in bloom yet, but they should be beautiful in time for your wedding. What do you think?”

      She turned to face the couple following her through the garden. The path spilled into a broad expanse of velvety green lawn.

      Connor O’Hara and Janelle Davis came toward her hand in hand, he a tall, well-muscled man and she a slender brunette with watchful eyes and an effusive manner. Both looked around appreciatively at the setting.

      Their story was one for the soap operas, Anna thought.

      Their baby had unwittingly invaded the lives of Anna’s mother and her children last September, the day Megan invited the press to Maitland Maternity Clinic to talk about preparations for the hospital’s twenty-fifth-anniversary celebration.

      The infant lay in a Moses basket on the back step of the hospital, fragile and beautiful, causing a commotion among the hospital staff and the press.

      Connor arrived in October, and the Maitland siblings eventually learned that he was their cousin, the adopted son of their father’s sister, Clarise.

      Janelle came to Austin in January, claiming that she was the baby’s mother and Connor his father. She’d explained that she’d abandoned her relationship with Connor because he’d been a workaholic. When she discovered she was pregnant, she’d tried to contact him, only to learn that he’d sold his ranch and moved on.

      When she’d given birth to the baby, she had no job, no money and no family, and she’d heard about Maitland Maternity Clinic.

      Anna’s mother believed them, but Social Services insisted that Janelle produce