Key of Light (Key 1)

“Sure, I would.” Dana settled the bowl between them. “Why not? I’m healthy. I think I’d be good at the parenting thing, that I have a lot to offer a kid. I’d want to make sure I had solid financial security first, but if I’m cruising toward say, thirty-five and there’s no guy in the picture, I’d do the deed.”

“Sort of takes the romance out of it,” Malory commented.

“Maybe, but it gets results. You’ve got to look at the big picture. If there’s something you want, deep down want, you can’t let anything stop you from getting it.”

Malory thought of her dream, of the child she’d held in her arms. Of the light filling her world, her heart. “Even if you really, really want something, there are lines.”

“Well, murder and a certain amount of mayhem are discouraged. I’m talking about making important choices, then going the distance and dealing with the results. What about you, Zoe? Would you do it again? The raise-a-kid-on-your-own part?” Dana asked.

“I don’t think I’d set out to do it again. It’s hard. There’s nobody to share the load with, and sometimes the load seems impossible for one person. But more, there’s nobody who looks at the child and feels what you feel. Nobody to share that love and pride and, I don’t know, surprise with.”

“Were you scared?” Malory asked her.

“Yeah. Oh, yeah. I still get scared. I think it’s supposed to be scary because it’s so important. Do you want babies, Mal?”

“I do.” She rubbed the stone gently between her fingers. “More than I realized.”

BY three, Dana and Zoe were sleeping in her bed, and Malory was picking up the worst of the debris, too restless to settle in on the sofa. There were too many thoughts, too many images flitting around in her mind.

She studied the little blue stone again. Maybe it would work. She’d accepted bigger things than having a piece of rock under her pillow as the cure for the insomnia that was plaguing her.

Or maybe she hadn’t. Maybe she really hadn’t accepted any of it, not in that deep-down way Dana spoke of. She was exhausted, yet she wasn’t putting the stone under her pillow and letting herself try.

She claimed to love Flynn, yet she was waiting, tucking a small part of herself safely away and waiting for the feeling to pass. And at the same time, she was annoyed and hurt that he didn’t simply fall over in love with her and even things out.

After all, how could she keep her balance, outline plans, and keep it all tidy if everything between them wasn’t equal?

Everything belongs in its place, doesn’t it? Everything has its slot. And if it doesn’t fit just right, well, you’re not the one who’s going to change. That’s up to the other guy.

With a sigh, she dropped down on the couch. She’d pursued a career in art like a demon because while fate hadn’t cooperated by giving her talent, she wasn’t about to admit that all those years of study and work had been wasted.

She made it fit.

She’d stayed at The Gallery because it was comfortable, because it was sensible and convenient. She’d made noise about striking out on her own one day. But she hadn’t meant it. Too big a risk, too messy. If Pamela hadn’t come along, she would still be at The Gallery.

And why did she resent Pamela with every fiber of her being? All right, the woman was pushy and had all the taste of overcooked trout, but a more flexible woman than Malory Price would’ve found a way around that. She resented Pamela primarily because she’d shifted the balance, she’d changed the lines.

She just hadn’t fit.

Now there was the business she and Dana and Zoe were starting. She’d been the one to drag her feet on that. Oh, she’d come through in the end, but how many times had she questioned that decision since? How many times had she considered backing out because it was too hard to see how it could all be neatly done?

And she hadn’t moved forward on it. Hadn’t gone back to the property or made any plans, put out any feelers for artists and craftspeople.

Hell, she hadn’t even mailed off the application for her business license. Because once she did, she was committed.

She was using the key as an excuse not to take the final step. Oh, she was looking for it, giving the quest her time and her energy. One thing she took seriously was responsibility.

But here and now, alone and awake at three in the morning, it was time to admit one undeniable fact. Her life may have changed in a dozen strange and fascinating ways in three weeks’ time, but she hadn’t changed at all.

She put the stone under her pillow. “There’s still time,” she murmured, and curled up to sleep.

Chapter Eighteen

WHEN she woke, the apartment was silent as a tomb. She lay still a moment, studying the lance of light that sneaked through the chink in the patio drapes and onto her floor.

Morning, she thought. Full morning. She didn’t remember falling asleep. Better, much, much better, she didn’t remember tossing and turning and worrying about sleep.

Slowly, she slid a hand under her pillow, feeling for the stone. She frowned, groping now, then sat up to lift the pillow. There was no stone under it. She searched under the cushions, on the floor, under the couch, before sitting down again with a huff of confusion.