Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 06] by Deadly Promise

and clearly revealing gown as if it had burned her hand, which it had not. But it did seem to burn her heart.
    Upset, she hurried from the bedroom, and as she crossed the short hall, she told herself that she had gotten what she deserved for snooping so unconscionably. His private life with his wife was just that, private, and none of her affair.
    “Frack!”
    Francesca blinked at the familiar little screech, and then saw a blond blur racing toward her just before Dot hugged her around her knees, screaming, “Frack! Frack!”
    It was simply too much—Francesca felt tears rising, fast and hard, as she bent to embrace and lift up the two-year-old. “Hello, darling,” she murmured, hugging her hard.
    Dot beamed at her, an angelic child with a head of blond curls and big blue eyes.
    Francesca smiled back, wishing she had a free hand so she could wipe away all traces of the tears trickling down her face. “I missed you, baby girl,” she whispered.
    “Dot hap,” Dot said, dimpling with laughter. “Hap hap!”
    “That means she’s happy.”
    Francesca looked past Dot and saw Katie, dark and unsmiling, standing in the doorway of the children’s room, her skinny arms hugging her chest tightly. “Katie, how are you?” Francesca cried eagerly.
    Katie simply stared accusingly at her, then turned and disappeared back into the children’s bedroom.
    Francesca’s heart lurched. Katie remained sullen and hostile, at least with her, and she had a very good idea why. “Hello, Mrs. Flowers,” she said to the tall, bespectacled woman who had come out of the room. As she spoke, she was aware of Dot playing with her hair. Her weight had become uncomfortable, so Francesca shifted her in her arms, ignoring Dot’s grip on her hair. She was expecting a friendly reply to her greeting but not the one that she received. For Mrs. Flowers never spoke—as she did not have the chance.
    “Hello, Francesca,” Leigh Anne said from behind her.
    Francesca whirled.
    Leigh Anne was smiling slightly at her. As always, she was more than stunning and she made Francesca feel like a clod. The first thing one saw was her breathtaking face—pale skin, black lashes, emerald-green eyes, a tiny nose, and full lips. Her long jet-black hair was neatly swept up, a startling yet perfect contrast to her fair complexion. She wore a pale green silk dress that was extremely plain and on other women would have appeared drab, but on her it was perfection. The gown revealed every single perfect curve: her tiny waist, her full bosom, her lush hips. Francesca instantly saw her in that scrap of a negligee she had espied in the boudoir, and she was sickened.
    Of course Bragg was smitten with this woman. Why wouldn’t he be?
    “I heard the doorbell and Peter said you had come up to see the girls,” Leigh Anne said. Her gaze moved over Francesca’s face slowly.
    Francesca suddenly realized that Leigh Anne had noticedher tears. She was horrified. “Yes, I hope you do not mind.” To make matters worse, her tone was thick.
    “Of course not. Dot, do stop playing with Miss Cahill’s hair,” Leigh Anne said in a firm tone, but it was too late. Francesca’s hair spilled free from its pins, landing wildly about her shoulders, a mass of honey-hued waves.
    “Dot, that wasn’t nice,” Leigh Anne said, quickly taking Dot from Francesca before she could react and protest.
    But Dot beamed at Leigh Anne. “Momma play,” she demanded. “Momma play!”
    Francesca felt the floor tilting beneath her feet.
    “No, Dot, I have guests, but if you are a good girl, Mrs. Flowers will bring you and Katie down and you may have dessert with us.” Leigh Anne spoke softly and firmly, but then she kissed the toddler hard on the cheek, her eyes closing as she did so.
    Francesca stared, forgetting to wipe the tears from her cheeks. She was stunned.
Leigh Anne loved Dot. And Dot was calling her Momma . . .
.
    “Mrs. Flowers? We will be serving dessert in a half an hour. I’d love for