Page 1 of Deny Me
Chapter One
The trailer park was definitely on the wrong side of the tracks, but Charlotte Alexander had never cared. She’d been here numerous times—to pick Becky up for appointments, drop her off afterward, to bring groceries or paperwork or supplies she’d stocked for the baby’s arrival. Three weeks. That’s how close they were to delivery. The couple planning to adopt Becky’s baby were ecstatic.
Tomorrow they’d be heartbroken.
This afternoon the dilapidated state of the white and rust trailer served to remind Charlotte of everything that was at stake, not just for the baby but for Becky. She parked her car in the patchy grass in front of the girl’s home, her gaze falling on shiny chrome and slick paint. A motorcycle gleamed in the weak sunlight filtering through the pines overhead. A very expensive motorcycle. She didn’t know enough about brands to identify it, but the sheer power in its body screamed money. Something Becky and her family didn’t have.
Or shouldn’t.
Her belly twisted as she stared at the machine, beautiful in comparison to the old pickup next to it, the neglected home beside it. Only one person in that trailer could drive a bike that size—Becky’s father, Richard Jones. Big and mean, he’d intimidated Charlotte from the get-go, but because she was helping get Becky’s baby “out of my goddamn house,” as he put it, Richard had kept his distance. Today might not go as well, but intimidated or not, Charlotte needed answers. Needed to make sure Becky and the baby were all right.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she pushed open her car door on the exhale and stepped out. Her heel sank into the red clay soil as she put her weight on it. There’d been no time to change after the late lunch she’d hosted with potential contributors earlier, and she was highly conscious of the luxury inherent in her dress clothes as she crossed the stubby grass toward rickety wooden stairs leading to the front door. Her usual daily uniform—dress slacks and button-downs—worked for the office and interacting with both less fortunate girls and couples from all walks of life, but schmoozing those in her social circle for funding was a fact of life she’d accepted long ago. And moneyed contributors preferred moneyed directors; hence, the fancy clothes.
Right now, though, the same clothes that helped draw large donations underscored the vast ravine between her life and sixteen-year-old Becky’s, something she never wanted to rub in the girl’s face. Today she had no choice.
The rail wobbled as she grabbed it on the first step up the stairs. When her foot landed on the second step, the sound of the chain lock sliding reached her ears. She paused in her climb.
The door cracked open a few inches. Becky’s features were pinched as she peered out of the narrow opening. “What are you doing here?”
The whispered words carried the rasp of fear. Anxiety was etched into the dark circles under her tired eyes, and a faint purple bruise marred her cheekbone.
“Becky, hon…” Instinctively her hand rose, needing to touch the girl, to reassure her. To yank her from the trailer and carry her far away where she’d never have to worry about being hit again. “Are you okay?”
“You shouldn’t be here, Charlotte.” Tears welled, but Becky sniffed them away. “You need to go. Now.”
“Come with me.”
The door opened a few more inches, allowing the swell of Becky’s belly to push through. Charlotte had walked beside the girl every step of the way after she’d come to Creating Families to talk about giving her child up for adoption. She’d watched that mound go from a tiny swell to a basketball. Taking a personal interest in the women who came to her organization was a point of pride with Charlotte. They didn’t only care for the babies they helped adopt—caring for the mothers, during and long after their pregnancies, helping them build new lives for themselves, was a hallmark of Creating Families’ work. But she’d always had a special place in her heart for Becky, maybe because the girl reminded her of herself at that age. Of what might have been had the love of her life not walked away without a backward glance.
Had her body not betrayed her.
Shoving the memories aside, she gripped the railing hard enough that a splinter sank beneath her skin. “Becky, please. Come with me. He can’t force you—”
“Yes, he can.” A wary glance over her shoulder told Charlotte exactly why Becky was whispering. “I know why you’re here. I know you don’t understand why I’d back out of the adoption. Trust me, if I had any choice, I wouldn’t. But I—”
“Who you talking to?”
The barked question sent a jolt through Becky’s body. Her eyes went wide, her grip tightening on the door just before it was torn from her hand. Richard towered behind her, his unshaven face and stained white tank so cliché Charlotte would’ve laughed if she wasn’t so busy trying not to reveal a hint of fear. The man’s mean eyes narrowed on her, turning her knees to water.
“Why you here, rich bitch?”
Speak, Charlotte. Becky needs you.
“I came to check on Becky.”
A heavy palm landed on Becky’s thin shoulder. The girl jumped. “Nothing for you to check on here, lady.” The man sneered. “We don’t need your charity no more.”
How had such a sweet girl come from this asshole?
“Becky doesn’t—”
“That’s right, she don’t. Her bastard don’t either. She don’t have to go through with no adoption. Now get out of here before I make sure you regret bothering us.”
She glanced toward Becky, whose face had gone ashen. Worry for the girl kept Charlotte in place. “Sir, I just want—”
A growl tore from the man’s mouth as he shoved Becky aside. “Get off my property, bitch!”
His bulk pushing onto the stairs caused Charlotte to teeter backward. One heel slipped from the step. For a second she thought she could pull herself back upright, and then she was falling through the air, her stomach lurching at the loss of equilibrium. Pain slammed into her as her butt landed on the concrete pad below the stairs.
