Almost four years later…
THE CARDBOARD coffee cup trembled in David Mitchell’s hand. And he hadn’t even taken a sip of the high-octane espresso yet. Few people lingered in the café area of the Barnes & Noble. The final Saturday of September had brought Indian summer with it, so everyone was probably enjoying a last hurrah down on the Peninsula or someplace else outdoors before the long Pennsylvania winter descended.
He glanced at his watch. Where the hell was she?
As if summoned by his thoughts, the fifth, and hopefully last, private investigator he’d hired appeared around the half wall that separated the rest of the store from the café. Short, stocky, with an olive complexion and hair more gray than black, she looked more like someone’s Italian grandmother than a P.I. or ex-policewoman.
When she met his gaze, Betty Leicester’s face lit up. A broad grin appeared as she hurried toward the table he’d claimed in the corner.
David hastily set the coffee down as the liquid sloshed toward the rim. Surely an expression like that meant good news, right?
She dropped into the chair across from him, laying a black leather briefcase on the table. “I told you my methods would work. I found her.”
The muscle along the side of his jaw tensed. He sat up straighter. “Where? And? What’s the story?”
“A small town out West.” She reached over and patted the back of his hand. “Congratulations. You have a daughter.”
A daughter.
For four years he’d wondered if the child he’d fathered had actually been born or not. Worried he or she was out there, living without him. Living without a father’s guidance, support…
And now he knew.
He had a daughter.
His hand curled into a tight fist and he resisted the urge to cover his mouth with it—or smash it down into the wooden tabletop, torn between shouting with glee and venting his frustration at having four years of his child’s life stolen from him. Torn between elation, and hanging his head with shame. “How is she? Are they together? Is she okay? How did you finally find them?”
Betty held up a hand with a chuckle. “Whoa, easy there. One thing at a time. Yes, they’re together, and your daughter is being extremely well cared for. Lexie is an excellent mother, so there’s nothing to worry about there.”
David raised an eyebrow at Lexie Jacobs being referred to as his child’s mother. He’d thought of Lexie as many things over the years, but mother of his child—that concept took enormous getting used to. It wasn’t what they’d planned on. But after almost four years…his child surely thought of her as her mother.
He chugged back a swallow of the now-lukewarm coffee to prevent a sharp retort. He hadn’t told this P.I. everything. It wasn’t her business.
Besides, the full story sounded almost like something you’d read in one of those trashy tabloids from a grocery checkout counter—a tangled web of relationships, intrigue and…betrayal.
“How I found them…” Betty’s face grew serious, and she shifted in the chair. “David, I found them through a temp receptionist who did some work for a plastic surgeon. It was the lucky break we needed. I knew those missing-persons posters and the Internet exposure would get you a better response.”
“Plastic surgeon? Lexie went that far to hide from me?”
The older woman shook her head. “Not for her.”
“I don’t understand.”
She reached into the briefcase. “Your daughter, whose name is Sarah, by the way—” she shot him a look that said he’d failed in some way by not asking “—is being treated for a birthmark on her face.” She laid several three-by-five photographs across the table.
His fingers shook as he reached for them. Definitely too much caffeine in the espresso. The first picture, of a small girl with a tentative smile, sandy-brown curly hair and a purplish stain marring a large portion of her one cheek, made him suck in his breath.
His little girl.
A bizarre sensation struck, as though a giant had grabbed him and was squeezing his chest.
“Do you still want her?” Betty asked softly.
His head jerked up from the photo. “What kind of question is that? This is my child, for God’s sake. You think a mark like that is going to make a difference to me? If anything, it makes me more determined to get her back.”
The investigator smiled and reclined in her chair. “Good. Because the way that woman loves that sweet little girl, if you’d said anything less, I’d have been sorely tempted to return your retainer and keep their location to myself.”
“How do you know so much about the relationship between my daughter and Lexie?”
“Lexie manages a bed-and-breakfast in a little town called Mill Creek, Montana.” Betty’s expression turned bemused. “Gotta give her that one. Who’d look for someone in a town with the same name as home? I spent three days with them last week. On your tab.”
“And your evaluation of their relationship is based on…what? Your years as a cop?”
“No, it’s based on raising three kids of my own and having five grandkids.” Betty pulled out a manila folder. “My complete report is in here.” She grinned.
“Along with my bill.” She held out her hand. “It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Mitchell. I wish you lots of luck in reuniting with your girlfriend and child.”
He closed his fingers around her hand, pumped it a few times. “One more question. Do you think she’ll run again?”
“Only if you scare her. You take it nice and slow. Avoid making ultimatums. Get to know her again, and your daughter. Court her some.”
He nodded. “Thanks, Betty. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to find my little girl.”
She rose, picking up the leather bag. “Send me an update. I want to know how it all works out.”
So did he.
After she left, he dumped the folder’s contents onto the table. A brochure for the Mill Creek Bed-and-Breakfast offered several images of the huge white Victorian house his daughter called home.
And knowing Lexie, it was a home. For him, the word conjured images not of the house he’d lived in as a child, but the house down the street where he’d spent countless hours. Lexie’s home. With Lexie’s two older brothers, her mother and father.
David picked up the stack of photographs. One showed Lexie, with Sarah cuddled up next to her on a burgundy leather couch, reading a book. No surprise since Lexie had been a children’s librarian in Erie. Briefly.
Before she’d run.
She’d named his daughter after her own mother. A woman who’d been as much of a mother to him, as well, as his own had.
Guilt, mingled with anger, swirled over him.
Stuffing everything into the folder, he tucked it under his arm and strode from the bookstore, squinting against the bright afternoon sunshine. He tossed the package to the passenger’s seat of his Toyota 4Runner. Settled inside, he pulled out his cell phone and stared at it awhile before dialing a number he hadn’t called in quite some time.
He cleared his throat as a woman answered. “Mrs. J.? It’s me…David.”
“David! Oh, it’s nice to hear from you. How are you?”
“Good. More than good. I—I have some news.”
“News?” Her voice quivered. “About Lexie?”
“Yeah. I finally found her.”
“Oh my.” He could hear a chair scrape across the floor and visualized Mrs. J. sinking into it. “She’s okay?”
“Yes. She seems to be doing quite well.”
“And…the baby?”
“I have a daughter. Named Sarah.”
A deep sob echoed through the phone, followed by muted crying.
Making him feel even worse for what he was about to do. What he’d done. They’d never openly blamed him for Lexie’s taking off. Except for Marc, her older brother, who’d been David’s best friend since second grade, the best man at his wedding. The guy who no longer spoke to him and gave him frosty glares when they happened to stumble into each other around town. At least the rest of them were civil to him. Kenny, the younger brother, still talked to him. David had even been invited to Kenny’s wedding three years ago, but hadn’t gone, not wanting to cause chaos on Kenny’s special day. Marc had threatened him with bodily harm if he showed up.
“Where is she? I want to talk to her.”
“Mrs. J., I’m sorry. I can’t tell you that. I need some time first. I don’t want to spook her so she runs again before I can get to her. I want my daughter home with me, where she belongs.”
The soft sniffling sounds stopped. “And I want my daughter home with me, David Edward Mitchell. Don’t you give me any lip. Where is my Lexie?”
“I can’t risk it. I’m sorry. Really.”
“Then you bring them both home. Wherever they are, whatever it takes, you bring them both back here to Erie.”
Erie was the last place he wanted Lexie Jacobs. He wanted Sarah, but not the complication of Lexie. She’d betrayed him. Stolen his child.
“You tell her right off the bat about Angela, and I’m sure Lexie will come home. Do you hear me, David?”
“Yes, ma’am. I hear you.” But he didn’t want to think about Angela. Not now, not ever, if he could manage it. The ache it caused deep in his gut…talk about betrayal.
“Oh, I have to call Tim. He and Marc are fishing at Walnut Creek. They’re both going to be so happy! Thank you for letting me know she’s safe, David.”
“You’re welcome.” At the very least, he owed them that much.
He’d already lost too much time. Missed too many things. Three birthdays and Christmases had happened without him, first steps and words, too many other things he didn’t even want to consider. He needed to settle some details with his software-design company, but being the owner helped a lot with flextime and working out of the office.
He’d have his daughter back home long before the next round of holidays. She’d celebrate her fourth birthday with him.
“MOMMA, I want the mousie cupcakes for my birfday.” Sarah’s plaintive voice rose to overpower the rattle of the now-empty cookie trays in the wooden wagon as it ka-chunked along the cracks in the sidewalk. A cool breeze stirred the just-turning-gold leaves on the cottonwoods, but the bright sunshine warmed Lexie’s face. Not bad for the first Saturday in October.
Lexie spared a quick glance over her shoulder at the little girl in the faded pink windbreaker who rode in the wagon. “They were cute, weren’t they? Sure, honey, you can have those for your birthday.”
“When is it again?”
“A little over a month.”
“Oh. Okay. Is that, like, next week?”
She chuckled. “No, it’s a lot longer.”
“Oh. Okay.” They traveled the next block in silence. Then Sarah piped up again. “Fallyn can’t come to my party. She’s mean.”
Lexie stopped the wagon and turned to face her daughter. “Why? Did she say something to you at the bake sale?” The kids had played in the church’s nursery while the women of the Mill Creek Ladies Auxiliary ran the bake/rummage sale to benefit the town’s new fire engine fund.
Sarah clutched her love-worn Raggedy Ann doll to her chest and shook her head.
“Are you sure? You can tell me if she did.”
“No.”
“All right.” Lexie resumed her trek back toward the house at the far end of Main Street that had been their home since just before Sarah’s birth. Converting it into a bed-and-breakfast had given both her and Pappy a new lease on life—something to occupy their time and provide for them.
“Know what else I want for my birfday?”
“What’s that, sweetie?”
“A daddy.”
Lexie froze, then she coughed, choking on the saliva that suddenly didn’t want to go down her throat. A shudder rippled over her despite the fact that the air had stilled. She turned once more to the child behind her. “Honey, it doesn’t work like that. You can’t just say you want a daddy for your birthday.”
“Why not?” Sunlight glinted off the reddish-blond highlights in Sarah’s brown curls. Her face tightened as she looked up at her mother.
“You just…can’t.”
“Do I not have a daddy ’cause of my mark?”
“What?” The metal handle clattered to the walkway as Lexie moved along the wagon’s side and dropped to her knees, heedless of the tiny pebbles jabbing through the denim of her jeans. She wrapped her arms around the child who, as far as she was concerned, was the reason the sun rose every morning. “Absolutely not! Why would you even think such a thing?”
A soft sniffle emerged from the head crushed against Lexie’s oversized University of Montana sweatshirt. “F-Fallyn said so.”
Lexie sucked in a deep breath, then counted to ten before exhaling. Her nails dug into her palms, and she forced her hands open. Luckily, the monster…er…child in question wasn’t within reach. She cuddled Sarah, rocking slightly, wishing she could draw the little one’s pain into herself. “Fallyn doesn’t know what she’s talking about, baby.”
“B-but—”
“No buts.” She stroked the soft hair. The scent of generic baby shampoo rose with the breeze. Gently disengaging herself from the small arms wrapped around her neck, she put her finger beneath the sharply angled chin and lifted it until Sarah’s eyes met hers. “You’re beautiful, Sarah. Special.”
“And—and, it’s better, right?”
“With every treatment, baby, it’s better.” Lexie silently blessed the people at the Happy Face Foundation who made Sarah’s laser treatments possible. It had been for exactly this reason that she’d wanted the port-wine stain lightened. Kids—and sometimes adults, too—could be cruel. But Lexie hadn’t expected Sarah to be feeling the effects of it at not quite four. It didn’t seem fair.
But then, little in life was.
“O-okay. But…”
“But what, baby?”
“If I can’t get a daddy, can I have a pony?”
Lexie laughed, amazed at the resiliency of kids. Her kid in particular. “A pony? And just where would we keep a pony?”
“In Pappy’s garage.”
“And then where would Pappy keep his truck?”
Sarah shrugged.
“I don’t think a pony is on the list of possible birthday gifts, either, sweetheart. Try to think smaller.” A lot smaller. She sighed, hating to burst the little girl’s fantasies, but determined that Sarah would be well grounded in reality. Hell, their reality—a patchwork family that barely made ends meet—determined that her daughter be well grounded. Practical. Pragmatic.
And that was for the best, Lexie told herself. She’d grown up with her head in the clouds—maybe head in a book was more accurate—a dreamer, living a comfy, cushy life, fed fairy tales and happily-ever-afters by her parents.
She’d been ill equipped when life had soured, and she’d been forced to flee with a baby in her belly, a baby she’d sworn to protect. Which was why she clung so fiercely and gratefully to Pappy and Mill Creek.
Despite her desire that Sarah be well grounded in reality, Lexie had already passed on her love of books to the child, whose advanced vocabulary and blossoming reading skills bore testament to the fact that reading aloud to kids made a big difference. “Ready to go home?”
Sarah nodded, clutching her rag doll tighter to her chest.
“All right.” Lexie kissed her, then continued the journey home. When they reached the white picket fence running the front of the property, she lifted her hand to shade her eyes. On the opposite side of Main Street, in front of the medical clinic, Dr. Kegan Riley had one foot propped on the running board of a black pickup truck as he carried on a conversation with the driver, Bernie Kellerman.
“Morning, Kegan!” Lexie called.
He turned and waved. “Morning, Lexie! Sarah!”
Besides Pappy, Kegan had become one of her first friends in town. He’d delivered Sarah, and hadn’t batted an eyelash in judgment when she’d shrugged in response to his question about what to fill out on the birth certificate under Father’s Name.
“Don’t know or aren’t telling?” he’d asked, pen poised. She’d shrugged again, so he’d written Unknown in the space on the paper.
Unknown.
The guilt of that one word weighed heavily on Lexie’s heart, knowing how it would break David’s. But then she’d watch Sarah playing, or sleeping, and know without a doubt she’d done the right thing to protect her.
The tinted window of the truck Kegan leaned against slid lower. He turned toward the driver for a moment, then looked back at them. “Any of your cinnamon bread left at the bake sale?” he asked.
“No, sorry. It sold out in the first twenty minutes.”
“Dang,” said Bernie, the town pharmacist, who was probably hassling Kegan over his handwriting again. “I was hoping to get some,” she called across the street.
“Sorry, Bernie!”
Lexie waved to both as she turned onto the dirt driveway. A dark blue Ford Explorer with Montana plates was parked in the guest area.
She picked up her pace. Maybe it was the mystery guest Western Bed-and-Breakfast magazine had been promising to send out. If she scored well, they’d do a four-page spread complete with color pictures of Mill Creek B&B, and that could mean a big jump in their bookings.
“Momma!” Sarah giggled and clutched the sides of the wagon. “Yeah, go faster!”
Lexie drew the wagon into the detached two-car garage, stowing it on the side littered with wooden saw-horses, old screens and other assorted junk. Sarah scrambled out as Lexie retrieved the cookie trays.
The little girl darted ahead of her, running to the back door on the enclosed porch. Lexie caught up with her as they entered the airy country kitchen. Sarah struggled with the zipper on her windbreaker, then sighed deeply. “Momma, it’s stuck again.”
Setting the trays on the floor, Lexie knelt down and worked the thrift-store-purchased windbreaker’s flannel lining free of the zipper. “There you go. Sorry about that.” She hung the jacket on one of the pegs by the back door.
“Annie needs a nap, Momma. I’m taking her upstairs.”
“Okay, baby.” Lexie picked up the cookie trays and crossed the enormous kitchen, dropping them into the sink. Sarah opened the door that concealed the back staircase and trotted upstairs.
Washing the dishes from the morning’s hurried baking projects would have to wait. She wanted to be sure their new guest had settled in and was comfortable. Especially if it was the mystery guest.
Leaving the kitchen, she strolled down the center hallway, passing the dining room and first-floor bathroom, then Pappy’s room. His knees demanded a bedroom on the first floor, so they’d converted the old parlor. Finally she emerged in the foyer, where the front stairs boasted a massive banister, and there were entrances to the library on one side of the house and the living room on the other. A small mahogany table near the front door held their guest book. She peered down at it, but there was no new entry. The loud roar of a televised football game came from the living room.
“Pappy?” she called.
“In here,” he answered. “Flag on the play! What in tarnation was that?”
Inside the spacious living room, Pappy lounged in his faux-leather recliner, his sock-clad feet propped up, the tip of his big toe visible through a tiny hole. “Whose car is that outside?” she asked him. “Do we have an unexpected new guest?”
“Yup. I think he’s in the library. Wanted to locate how to hook up his computer or something. I told him about the phone-jack thingamabob in there.” He leaned forward to yell at the TV. “Damn it, boy, catch the ball!”
Lexie chuckled. “Pap, how many times have you watched the video of this Grizzlies game? It doesn’t change, no matter how many times you yell at them.”
He offered her a sheepish grin. “I know. Hey, they won, and I’ll watch it till I get to see the next game.”
She just shook her head at him. “I’ll go and welcome our new guest. What’s his name?”
“David something-or-other. Didn’t catch the last name.”
“And did you catch how he was paying?”
“Nope. Not my job. I just own the place, Missy. You run it.” He reached into the bowl of red pistachios on the end table and grabbed a handful.
With a soft sigh, she turned and crossed the foyer to the library, lingering in the archway. Several large woven rugs covered the varnished floor. Dark leather sofas and chairs, old books, rich wooden surfaces. Bright sunshine streamed through the picture windows that looked out onto the wide wraparound porch.
On the far side of the room, a set of sturdy shoulders and a head of wavy brown hair showed over the back of the wooden chair in front of the huge antique rolltop desk. Lexie pasted a welcoming smile on her face as she crossed the room. “Hi, I’m Lexie, I’m the manager. And you are…?”
The wheels on the chair squeaked as he pushed away from the notebook computer on the desk. He rose somewhat stiffly and turned to face her. “Has it been that long, Lexie?”
Her smile faltered. Recognition seared every circuit in her brain, like a glass of water poured over his laptop. The muscles in her legs tightened, as did the ones along the back of her neck and shoulders. Moving—shoot, even breathing seemed to be an optional activity. And Sarah’s innocent birthday wish came back to her.
Be careful what you wish for…
“Nothing to say to me after all these years?” David asked.
Numerous possibilities occurred to her, like how had he found them and what did he want and go to hell…yeah, that was a good one.
But then something more solid, more horrifying, occurred to her.
He was here.
Sarah was upstairs.
And Angela…
“Ohmigod! Sarah!” Her knees started to shake and every muscle in her body screamed awake. “Where’s your wife?”