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Belle Pointe
Karen Young
BELLE POINTE IS WAITING LOR SOMEONE TO UNCOVER ITS SECRETSAnne Whitaker: Faced with an unexpected loss, Anne returns to the hot and sultry Mississippi Delta, leaving her husband, Buck, to ponder his future–with or without her. Looking for distraction, she immerses herself in the history of Belle Pointe, the plantation house that has been home to generations of Whitakers, including her husband.Buck Whitaker:A professional athlete, Buck is in an emotional tailspin when his career is jeopardized by scandal. Then his wife adds to his troubles by threatening divorce and fleeing to Mississippi, a place that holds bitter memories for him.Victoria Whitaker: By marrying into the Whitaker family, Victoria has enjoyed a life of privilege and position as matriarch of Belle Pointe. But now her daughter-in-law Anne has unwittingly uncovered family secrets that Victoria does not want revealed–secrets that will change the course of Whitaker family history…secrets that will change Anne's own life, as well.
Praise for KAREN YOUNG
“The suspense is almost unbearable.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub on Never Tell
“Karen Young is a writer who delivers intense, gripping
and dark suspense…bound to keep you hooked.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
“Young skillfully mixes romance with
edge-of-your-seat suspense.”
—Library Journal
“…a powerful novel that was extremely
hard to put down.”
—Romance Reviews Today on In Confidence
“…a moving tale of second chances.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub on Private Lives
“Karen Young is a spellbinding storyteller.”
—Romantic Times BOOKclub
Also by KAREN YOUNG
NEVER TELL
IN CONFIDENCE
PRIVATE LIVES
FULL CIRCLE
GOOD GIRLS
Belle Pointe
Karen Young
www.mirabooks.co.uk (http://www.mirabooks.co.uk)
Acknowledgments
As in all my books, I’m indebted to so many people who helped make this one happen. I took a leap of faith when I chose to build the story around a professional baseball superstar. Most of what I know about baseball I learned in grade school.
Therefore, I relied on guidance from Doug Simmons, my son-in-law, for the technicalities of the game and the effect of injuries on a pitcher. For guidance on the workings of a cotton plantation, I relied on Peggy Peal, my grandson’s other grandmother, whose family has lived on and worked a cotton plantation in the Mississippi Delta ever since God invented dirt.
For insight into the social culture of the Delta, I owe thanks to Gloria Dunbar. For the business stuff, Bob Wood, my lawyer son-in-law, proved, as always, a fabulous asset. Finally, to my editor, Valerie Gray, for insightful critique. Thanks to you all.
For my grandson, Josh.
Baseball, football, basketball—
the family’s very own super athlete!
Contents
Chapter One (#ua6217082-c4e0-5520-b2ec-45e3ff763148)
Chapter Two (#ucbf771d8-c010-5269-8bfb-b5fb5daaaa94)
Chapter Three (#ub95dcd43-304e-5ea3-96d6-f8198fa25d08)
Chapter Four (#u4fc0eb29-61ef-55ba-b46e-8bf255e49b01)
Chapter Five (#u42d04367-7233-5432-946d-85f803251d15)
Chapter Six (#ud198fa2b-1b9c-59fe-ac4e-8d2a129018f2)
Chapter Seven (#u70617aab-aebf-549c-ad4a-d62085afcfc5)
Chapter Eight (#u5c46e958-f212-55db-876a-722f16d359c5)
Chapter Nine (#uc55942b4-7436-51e6-86dc-27948c759423)
Chapter Ten (#u58812ac9-fbb6-5a3d-8a3b-446126f7e03f)
Chapter Eleven (#u0bb3c024-199f-5fbe-9d94-620bf07349cc)
Chapter Twelve (#u90b99316-1c39-50ef-afcd-36345f9a9cca)
Chapter Thirteen (#u700c03f8-1a5f-58d2-bed4-3c47855bbdcc)
Chapter Fourteen (#u4ac14f40-5de8-57d9-834a-dca437056761)
Chapter Fifteen (#u1c2ddac3-9924-54ce-9df0-7b8ffefe50e1)
Chapter Sixteen (#u976e2e19-ef5f-5ad2-ad1e-8d81edac95aa)
Chapter Seventeen (#ud9b5b7d7-a2c3-56d9-9da1-968feb7a0e4b)
Chapter Eighteen (#udaf7428c-29c5-5364-aec2-0a61d9314da4)
Chapter Nineteen (#uf1d1be5c-42fc-566d-9112-28534fbff839)
Chapter Twenty (#ua6442512-5548-5be0-8bdc-1a8d4c09f5d7)
Chapter Twenty-One (#u582e7504-8695-54a6-828a-1c43eccdc877)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#u7f9dc131-6db8-5205-b746-4797b690d512)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#u385ac865-b947-5d02-9a26-542a3a5f5244)
Chapter Twenty-Four (#udfcec9fd-37c2-5cac-ae2c-4a8ffe685ec8)
Chapter Twenty-Five (#u430714c3-b25f-5874-a79e-d306544b0ce8)
Epilogue (#ueb581fa1-8e21-5d79-933d-0062a53d7160)
One
As it always happened at these events, the room was filled to capacity. Scanning the crowd, Anne Whitaker estimated the number at better than three hundred, well surpassing the goal of the nonprofit sponsor. Amazed that all it took for folks to plunk down five hundred dollars a plate was the appearance of the star pitcher of the St. Louis Jacks—who just happened to be her husband. Buck’s name was a strong draw, so he was constantly in demand. Not only was he a gifted speaker and utterly relaxed in front of an audience, but he was genuinely funny. And, perhaps most appealing of all, he came across as modestly unimpressed with his superstar status.
Anne smiled politely and murmured in response to a comment from the baseball commissioner’s wife seated on her left. With the din of voices and the music of a live band, it was impossible to have any real conversation. As distracted as she was, she wouldn’t have been able to talk anyway. She was ten weeks pregnant and feeling distinctly ill. It wasn’t the classic nausea that came with pregnancy, but something different and it filled her with panic. During the cocktail hour, she’d made no less than four visits to the powder room fearing the worst, but so far nothing. More than anything, she wanted to go home. But a glance at her watch told her it would be a while yet before that was possible.
When she glanced up to find Gene Winston, Buck’s agent, watching her narrowly, she managed what she hoped was a natural smile. No surprise that Gene had picked up on her distraction. Even if he knew the reason she was distracted, he would be unmoved. Buck’s public image was all he cared about. He never needed to remind her of her role at these events. She knew it and played it well.
Buck, finally sensing something, let his napkin fall to the floor. Leaning close on a pretext of retrieving it, he murmured in her ear, “You feeling okay, sugar?”
“I’m just a little…queasy,” she told him, hoping against hope that what she feared wasn’t happening.
“We’ll be out of here soon.” He squeezed her hand and turned his attention back to the commissioner.
She longed to lean against him just for the comfort it would bring but—again—not possible here and now. Even if she weren’t okay, there was nothing to be done about it. The sponsor’s spokesman would soon be up introducing Buck.
She shifted to allow a waiter to refill her water glass and caught the concerned look on Marcie Frederick’s face. Marcie, wife of Monk Frederick, one of the Jacks’ managers, had already commented on the odd fact that Anne was refusing wine lately. Although Marcie was a friend, she didn’t know about the pregnancy. No one knew.
Not even Buck.
Which was the cause of much of Anne’s agitation. She was going to have to tell him and soon. Probably tonight. But after the initial surprise, she told herself he was bound to be pleased. He knew she’d dreamed of having a baby for years. Time would tell if he’d be happy enough to forgive her for the way she’d gone about getting pregnant.
A waiter removed her untouched dessert, while another appeared at the table with after-dinner coffee. Anne put a hand over her cup to refuse just as sharp pain struck in her lower abdomen. She gave a small, involuntary gasp but, in the noisy ballroom, nobody noticed except Marcie. For a stunned moment, Anne didn’t move, and then another searing pain struck.
Rising shakily to her feet, she murmured a distracted apology to the table at large. Buck looked a little surprised at her untimely exit. It had been barely fifteen minutes since she’d last left. But she was too intent on getting to the now all-too-familiar powder room to explain.
Flashing a strained smile to a waiter who courteously opened the exit door, she slipped out and dashed down the hall. Thankfully, the powder room was empty. Her heart thumping with dread, she entered the first stall.
Please, don’t let it be blood.
But it was. Not much, but it was there. She closed her eyes and fought an urge to scream a denial. But no time now to panic. It wasn’t so much that it signaled disaster, she told herself, but she would have to leave. She had strict instructions from her doctor if there was ever any sign of spotting.
Go to bed immediately. Feet up. Total bed rest.
She would have to ask someone to deliver a note to Buck so that they could leave. As for Buck’s speech, he would just have to make some kind of explanation. Their baby’s life was at stake.
A few moments later, she stood at the ballroom door and saw, to her intense relief, that Buck was not on the podium yet. But it would not be long until he was introduced. She stopped a passing server and thrust a note into the startled man’s hand. “Will you give this note to Buck Whitaker, please?”
Slipping back out of sight, she watched as Buck was handed the note which he read without any show of emotion. He was good at that. He had plenty of practice keeping his cool under extreme pressure. No one who played major league baseball panicked easily.
Meanwhile, waiting for him, it was all she could do not to panic. With her insides in a knot and dread in her heart, she took a deep breath. The cramping was irregular, but every nerve in her body screamed at her to run to the escalator and leave. Which would definitely cause a stir. As it was, she was not going to be voted most popular when, because of her, the guest speaker had to bow out early, but there it was.
Their baby’s life was at stake!
Another peep through the crack in the door and she saw Buck finally making his way toward the exit. The instant he reached her, she opened her mouth to tell him, but he shushed her with a look. Taking her arm, he guided her toward an alcove across a sea of hotel carpeting. Even then, before he said anything, he checked to see that they were well out of earshot of anybody. Facing her finally, he asked bluntly, “What’s wrong?”
She struggled to keep a tremor from her voice. “Buck, we have to leave.”
“What are you talking about? We can’t leave. I’m on in five minutes.”
“I know, I know, but we have to go. Now.” She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tell you this way, but I’m bleeding.”
His mouth dropped open. “Bleeding? What—”
“I’m pregnant, Buck.”
With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he said, “Are you kidding me?”
She couldn’t keep the terror from her voice. “No! No, I mean it, Buck. I’m pregnant and I’m cramping and there’s spotting.”
He made a restless movement, turning away before looking at her again. “How could you be pregnant?”
She shook her head, impatient with the question. “Can we just not talk about it, at least not right now? Right now I need to go home and go to bed.”
He rubbed at the side of his neck, still struggling to take in what she was saying. “I thought the Pills—I mean, they’re supposed to be just about foolproof, aren’t they?”
“Didn’t you hear me, Buck? I’m bleeding!” Her voice rose frantically. “Something is going wrong. Bleeding is a warning that can’t be ignored.”
“Ah…I guess you’ve sort of caught me off guard here.” He glanced back at the closed doors of the ballroom where three hundred plus guests waited. “Does…uh, this…uh, bleeding necessarily mean that something serious is happening?”
“I’m not sure, but I’m not willing to take that chance. Are you?” She’d had ten weeks to adjust to her pregnancy and he’d had less than ten minutes. Maybe he was entitled to a shocked reaction, but she didn’t have time to deal with his feelings. “I’m telling you we have to go home, Buck, now,” she repeated firmly.
“We can’t, Anne. Think about what you’re saying. I’m the freaking guest of honor. I can’t just up and leave. These people have paid a lot of money.”
“Money? Money? I don’t care about money! This baby is what I care about.” She pressed her fingers to her mouth, trying to calm herself. “Don’t you care at all, Buck?”
“I’m still trying to take it in that you’re pregnant. But one thing I do care about is that I have an obligation to three hundred people waiting in that room.”
