8

Carly sat in the car, tears pouring down her cheeks. Huge sobs wracked her body. The nativity set lay on her lap. She’d never expected to see it again and for it to turn up here of all places? Her tears turned to anger.

Her mother had to be behind this, too. She had to be. Carly pulled out her phone and dialed the number. It was time to deal with this once and for all. She got the answerphone of what sounded like a nursing home. Narrowing her eyes, she left a short sharp message. “This is Carly Jefferson. I’m trying to get hold of my mother, Rose Jefferson. Could you have her call me on this number, please?”

A tap on the window made her jump. She opened it and turned to find Stan standing there.

“Are you OK?”

“Not really.” She rubbed her sleeve over her eyes. “Look at me, no, actually, don’t look at me. I’m a right mess.”

His finger caught a stray tear. “Do you want to come back inside, talk for a bit?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?”

“You mean the almost kiss?”

She shifted in her seat as his fingers lingered, sending her pulse sky rocketing. He wasn’t making this easy. “For one thing. The nativity set being another.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“It’s myself I don’t trust, not you. See, being around you my head goes skip and my heart takes over and …” She broke off. “Sorry. I’m not thinking straight.”

“We need to talk,” he said gently. He opened the car door. “Come on. I promise not to make a move on you.”

“OK.” She picked up her bag and followed him inside the house. She perched on the edge of the couch.

Stan sat beside her, his hand tantalizingly close, but not touching. “Want me to start?”

She shook her head. “Seeing the nativity set again just threw me. I bet it was my mother who gave it away. Along with everything else when she gave away my baby. She was told I wouldn’t ever wake; that I was going to die as a result of the accident. The baby was fostered at the end of September. When I woke, she told me the baby died at birth. It was only six months later she told me the truth.”

She held Stan’s gaze, but somehow he didn’t seem surprised. He looked at his hands for a moment, then back up. “Our papers were signed eight years ago on December twentieth. Julie told me the nativity set came with the baby, from her birth mother. The surviving relatives wanted us to have it. But, to be honest, seeing the two of you together this evening, I’d already wondered if you, if Haley-Jo was, if she might be…”

“My daughter,” she whispered as his voice broke.

Could it be true? Had this strange set of circumstances, a work assignment and a child’s request to Father Christmas, finally led her to her daughter?

“She looks so much like you.” He paused. “What do we do now?”

“What do you mean what do we do? Do you want me to have a DNA test to prove she’s mine or something?”

Stan sucked in a deep breath.

Did she really want to go down that path herself? Would it be better just to drop things? She wasn’t sure. But did either of them really have a choice in the matter?

Finally he looked up. “Do you want custody? You didn’t sign her over, so is the adoption even legal?”

“I don’t know. I do know I want to be part of her life.” Shock and awe filled her. But more than anything she was lost, as if she were drowning in a sea of her wildest dreams.

His hands shook on his lap. “I never imagined this scenario. Not in my wildest dreams of how we’d eventually tell her. The adoption agency told us both her parents were dead. They confirmed it again this afternoon when I asked them. After we’d spoken and you said your daughter had been adopted without your say so, I wanted to check the validity of…” He broke off.

Carly’s heart fell as Stan’s eyes glistened. The man looked positively broken. “I don’t know what I want to do,” she whispered. “A DNA test might be an idea.”

He nodded slowly and reluctantly. “OK.”

Carly reached out and touched his cheek. “It’ll be OK.”

“No, it isn’t. Never will be,” he managed.

She turned his face to hers and leaned in. “It will be.” She kissed him and then pulled back.

Stan looked at her for a moment, then pulled her close and kissed her thoroughly, taking her breath away.

Her heart pounded, the strength of her response adding to the turmoil inside her. “I should go before things get any more complicated than they already are.”

He nodded. “OK.”

“I need to talk to my mother; straighten things out. Would you come with me? I’m less likely to kill her that way.”

“Where does she live?”

“Cardiff. She moved there about four years ago.”

Stan rubbed the back of his neck. “I have a flight to Cardiff in the morning. Have her meet us at the airport sometime after ten. I’ll have a couple of hours before I have to be back on duty at one. I’ll get you on my flight. But you’ll need to be here at quarter to seven.” He glanced at the clock. “Or you can sleep in the spare room as it’s almost eleven now.”

“Is it?” She stifled a yawn. “I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

“Nor had I.”

“OK, then, thank you.”

After loaning her a shirt to sleep in, Stan led her upstairs to the guest room, pointing out the bathroom. “I’ll put towels in there for you. I’ll see you in the morning. Good night.”

“Night.” She paused in the doorway, watching as he peeked in on Haley-Jo before he headed into his own room and closed the door. She held the shirt to her nose, breathing in his scent, and shivered.

Carly shut the door and sat on the bed. There was a message on her phone from the nursing home saying her mother would like to see her tomorrow. Carly returned the call and said she’d be at the airport at ten if her mother could meet her there.

She closed the phone and laid it down. A Bible lay on the side table. She picked it up, running her hands over the cover. Opening it, she found the parable of the prodigal son bookmarked. She read it slowly, the realization that Stan was right dawning on her.

God had been there all along. He’d never let go of her. Just like the son in the story, she’d gone her own way, letting the past cling to her. But God was running down the road towards her and all she had to do was turn back to Him.