The questions had suddenly gotten harder. She didn’t see the possibility of a relationship in her near future, but it was something she obviously needed to consider...at least for the sake of this interview. “I guess, as you said, my idea of relationships will change and I would be looking for not only a good husband, but also a good father...someone who loves children...has a good idea of family and what it means.” No doubt finding someone who would embrace her situation would be difficult. “And honestly, Michelle, I’m fully prepared to raise a child on my own. I’m not currently looking for or hoping for a change in relationship status.”
Michelle smiled. “But we can never say never, right? Life happens beyond our control sometimes, so it’s just something we like all of our applicants to seriously take time to consider, as it affects everyone involved with this process—you, your baby and the birth mother.” She paused. “Okay. Another difficult question, and if you need to take a moment to give it some thought, please do.” Michelle’s voice was gentle as she put the paper aside. “There is the concern over your own fertility and whether or not you have grieved sufficiently over your inability to have a child of your own. Do you think you’re ready to abandon those avenues? It’s not to say that you couldn’t adopt and then someday have a child of your own...it’s just something we need to consider.”
Leigh had to wipe away tears.
“Sorry if that topic upsets you,” Michelle said, reaching for her paper.
Leigh held out a hand to stop her. “Not for the reason you may think. I’m overwhelmed by your agency’s commitment to finding the best possible homes for these children. I’ve known for a long time that having my own child wasn’t an option and I’ve come to terms with that. Trying for a baby of my own dominated a lot of my life and ultimately ruined my marriage, so I have put that possibility aside permanently. I’m not prepared to put myself or anyone else through that heartache anymore. Yet I have a lot of love to offer a child, given the opportunity.”
Michelle touched Leigh’s hand. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of her tea. “So, as I mentioned on the phone, this process could still take a while. We are now going to review your letters of recommendation and we may call a few of your references...but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve passed the home-study interview.”
Overwhelmed with relief and happiness, Leigh sighed. “Thank you.”
“Let me tell you about the possible candidate.”
Leigh swallowed hard, fisting her hands on her lap. Don’t get too excited...not yet. The word may hadn’t escaped her notice.
“There’s a young woman in our system due to deliver in two weeks. She placed the request for this home study after reviewing your file. Yours and one other.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, after we complete the second home study, we provide her with our findings and offer our suggestions on the best fit. Ultimately in an open adoption like this, the decision is hers.”
“Will I meet her?” The idea was both terrifying and exhilarating. By Thanksgiving, she could have a child of her own...if this woman chose her.
“Only after she makes a decision based on the paperwork and our recommendations. We don’t believe in raising the adoptive parent’s hopes, only to disappoint them. As I said, she is considering two separate files and there is the chance that she will select the other applicant. Either way, we should have an answer for you by the end of the week.”
Friday suddenly seemed a million years away. “That sounds wonderful.”
“Oh, but I can give you this,” Michelle said, handing her a folder. “This is information about the birth mother, as much as we’re permitted to disclose at this time, in case you have any questions or concerns.”
Leigh clutched the file to her chest. Information about the birth mother of a baby that could potentially be hers was inside.
She couldn’t wait to open it.
* * *
FROM HIS WINDOW at the bed-and-breakfast, Logan could see a thin, young woman leaving Leigh’s house next door about an hour after she had gone inside. He couldn’t help feeling like a stalker, but he also couldn’t help feeling relieved that Leigh had been telling the truth about her evening plans. And then there was the nagging curiosity plaguing him and the tiny voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he wasn’t even supposed to care. The problem was that he did care. A lot. And yet he’d already started to look for homes in L.A. He’d been serious when he told Leigh that if he couldn’t have his home back with his daughter, he didn’t want to risk building a home with anyone else ever again. The hurt was too great.
His cell phone rang on the desk, and Clive’s number lit up the display. He contemplated ignoring it, but the man deserved an update at least. “Hey, Clive,” he said, taking the call.
“Tell me you’re making progress.”
“I’m making progress.” Sort of. Maybe progress in the wrong direction, but it was still progress right?
“Really?”
“Yeah. I...uh...hired a typist.”
“You’re lying.”
“No, really I did.” They hadn’t exactly talked payment, except for his brief mention of it at the haunted hike, but he certainly planned on compensating Leigh. Of course, he’d rather show her his gratitude in other ways like taking her out on a real date, telling her how wonderful she was and helping to erase some of the pain in her past. But he wouldn’t allow himself too tempting a prospect of a future with her.
“From what agency?” Clive asked suspiciously.
“No agency. She’s just a woman who lives here, next door to the B-and-B.” It was such an understatement of who Leigh was that Logan was almost embarrassed by the lie. But what could he tell Clive? That he was getting help from a woman he would not let himself fall in love with in the small town?
“Not the same woman who pushed you off a ladder?”
“Actually yes.”
Clive laughed. “Wow, way to call in the guilt favor.”
Logan moved away from the window and sat in the desk chair. He knew that was exactly how Leigh had gotten wrapped up in this. Her guilt over his injury had certainly been the only logical explanation for her agreeing to help, but he hoped there was more to it now. They’d grown so close in the matter of a week. If he hadn’t been experiencing it, he’d never have believed it was possible to have a connection this strong to a woman he’d known for such a short period of time. “I’m getting it done, aren’t I?”
“Yes, and really that’s all I care about. Oh, and of course that it’s great.”
“Now you’re pushing it.”
“It will be great. You owe it to your loyal fans.”
Logan sighed. “Now who’s using the guilt card?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
DESPITE HIS CONVERSATION with Clive the night before, Logan was feeling more productive than he had felt in a long time the next morning as he scribbled the last few lines of a scene, trying to ignore the ache in his hand and his growling stomach. He was getting somewhere. Whenever he thought of the final chapter, he still wasn’t convinced it was the right way to end the series, but with a deadline a week away, he needed to push through with the original idea, unless by some miracle another one came to him. He was just thrilled to be writing. Cringing, as he jotted down the last word, he dropped his pen and gripped his aching fingers sticking from the end of the cast. He smiled despite the pain.
His stomach demanded attention and he stood. He’d woken early to start writing the scene that had come to him in his half-awake state, and it was now only a little past eight. The bed-and-breakfast served a hot meal until nine, and the smell of bacon and toast drifting upstairs from the dining room below was mouthwatering. Running a hand through his disheveled hair, he went into the bathroom and splashed hot water
on his face, before heading downstairs.
“But Luke was the murderer,” he heard a woman say in the dining area. She was clearly distraught.
Murderer? There was a murder in the small town? When? Where? And as he was an outsider, would he be a prime suspect? Man, he had to start writing something other than mysteries. He glanced at the stack of Brookhollow View, the town newspaper, on the front reception desk as he passed. The incident hadn’t made headlines either. Instead the front-page story was about the results of a dispute that had occurred the night before at the local bingo hall. He picked up a copy. This he had to read.
As he peered into the dining room, it seemed the only one in a panic was a thin, blond, older woman.
“I know, Darlene, but he’s stuck in Boston. There’s no way he can make it back in time,” Victoria was saying as she delivered plates of food to the table in the corner near the front window.
The other woman followed her. “What are we supposed to do now?”
“Can’t someone else play the part?” Victoria waved to him as he took a seat at a smaller table near the kitchen door.
“The characters have all been assigned already. That son of mine...”
Victoria held a finger to indicate she’d be a moment longer, before turning to face the woman who was presumably her mother-in-law. “Darlene, you knew when you assigned such an important role to him that he travels outside Brookhollow for work. I know he told you this was a possibility. In fact, I’m pretty positive that he said he wasn’t available.” He read the exasperation in her green eyes as she made her way to him, mouthing the words Oh my God, her hands clenched at her sides.
The older woman stood pouting for a second before continuing to follow her. “Okay, let’s put our heads together. Who wasn’t originally invited? Preferably male...”
Victoria let out a deep breath and ignored her as she asked, “What can I get you, Mr. Walters?”
“It’s Logan. The breakfast special smells wonderful.... I also wanted to say I’m sorry about how I acted...before...when I first arrived.” This was the first chance he’d gotten to say it. The petite blonde always seemed incredibly busy.
“Apology accepted. We all have our moments,” she said, darting a look at the older woman, who was inspecting him. “Your breakfast will be out shortly.”
“No rush,” he said, reaching for his Brookhollow View on the table, trying to ignore the way the older woman still studied him. A large advertisement for a murder-mystery party in town that evening at the community hall caught his eye. So that’s what this was about.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the older woman said, moving closer.
“Please don’t bother the guests, Darlene,” Victoria said as Darlene sat in the wicker chair across from him.
“Logan Walters.” He extended his good hand to the woman. If he had to guess, he would have said she was in her early fifties, but he knew if she was Victoria’s mother-in-law, she must be quite a bit older. She hid her age well.
“I’m Darlene Dawson, president of the Brookhollow Social Committee. I plan and organize almost all of the events for the community.” She folded one long leg over the other and straightened her fashionable pencil skirt.
“Pleasure,” Logan said.
“You’ll be rethinking that in a minute,” Victoria mumbled loud enough for him to hear as she escaped into the kitchen.
“What brings you to Brookhollow, Logan?” Darlene asked.
“Just needed a quiet place to get some work done,” he said as Victoria returned with his coffee and placed it on the table in front of him. “Thank you.”
“I’d love a coffee as well, Victoria.”
“Oh, Darlene, I’m sure Mr. Walters would appreciate being left to have his breakfast alone.” She gave the woman a warning look.
“Nonsense, no one likes to eat alone.”
“It’s okay,” Logan said, enjoying the interaction between the two women. Since his arrival at the bed-and-breakfast, Victoria’s demeanor had been nothing but professional and friendly, but now with her mother-in-law, she was clearly frazzled.
“Don’t say I didn’t try,” she said as she grabbed an empty cup from the table behind her and filled it with coffee for her mother-in-law.
“So, Logan, what do you do?”
“I’m a writer,” he said, noticing too late Victoria shaking her head behind Darlene.
“How fascinating. What kind of books do you write?” She leaned forward on the table.
“I write mysteries.”
A wide smile spread across the woman’s face and, if possible, she looked even younger. “Well, isn’t that just perfect? I’m sure you overheard the conversation I was just having with Victoria. It turns out that we are without a murderer for tomorrow night’s murder-mystery party at the community hall.” She pointed to the ad on the paper.
Victoria had been right; he should have insisted on dining alone. “Oh, I’m sorry, Darlene. I’d like to help, but I’m on a deadline.”
She looked at his cast and arched one thinly curved eyebrow.
“I know how it looks, but I really am here to work.”
“It’s just a few hours. Surely you could use a break, no pun intended,” she said with a light laugh.
“Um...” Why was it that words seemed to depart him at the worst possible times?
Darlene stood and pointed to the advertisement again. “Here is all the information you need. Upon arrival, I will hand out the scripts. Oh, and you wouldn’t happen to have a suit with you by any chance?”
“No, I...” Had he agreed already?
“No matter, just wear a dress shirt and tie. That will be fine.”
“Oh, but—”
“Thanks a million. You’re really helping us out.” With a quick turn and small wave, she was gone.
Mouth agape, Logan sat staring after her.
Reappearing with his breakfast, Victoria set the plate on the table in front of him. “I tried to warn you,” she said.
* * *
WHILE THE KIDS took their afternoon nap, Leigh wandered down the hall to the last bedroom on the right, the one across from her own. Opening the door for only the second time in over four years, she entered what had been meant to be the nursery. A dark mahogany crib was pulled away from the wall in the corner of the room, its sleigh bed design covered in a thin veil of dust. Several yellow paint cans sat on an old bedsheet on the floor beside it. The matching dresser and change table lay in pieces, waiting to be assembled. In the open closet still hung pink and purple baby girl clothing sets and dresses—all for the child she’d lost.
She picked up a butterfly mobile from the top of one of the many boxes and touched one delicate crystal-blue wing. A soft lullaby played in the otherwise silent house as the butterfly wings flapped slowly and the mobile spun. Reaching for a large stuffed baby-elephant toy, she sat in the plush rocking chair in the middle of the room. She closed her eyes as she propped her feet up on the swaying, matching ottoman.
As she’d expected, memories of those excitement-filled afternoons spent planning the baby’s room with Neil came flooding back. Three months pregnant, and her wish had been his command. She’d wanted yellow for the walls and three attempts later, he brought home the perfect shade. She’d refused to consider his sisters’ secondhand crib sets, wanting her baby to have the best and safest. It seemed as if every other day, Neil came home from work with new clothes to hang in the closet, and the best surprise had been the rocking chair, where she now sat. He’d covered her eyes as he led her down the hall where he’d spent the afternoon putting it together for her. Tears of joy had been the only ones she’d known back then.
She allowed the memories to linger just a fraction longer, before she released them with a deep breath. She’d moved on. She’d let go of the past. Now
this room represented something new, something different. A new chapter in her life that was equally exciting.
The ringing of the telephone in the hallway made her jump, and rushing out of the room, she closed the door softly behind her before answering on the third ring, hoping the sound hadn’t woken any of the children. “Hello,” she whispered, glancing into the playroom’s designated nap area. All six kids still slept like little angels on their padded mats, curled up with their favorite stuffed animals.
“Leigh? I can barely hear you.”
She recognized the voice immediately, and rushed into the kitchen. “Hi, Michelle. Sorry, the children are napping.”
“Oh, sorry, I hope I didn’t wake them,” the woman said.
“Not at all.” Leigh held her breath. Please have good news. It was only Tuesday. Michelle had said she would hear something by Friday. Before, early news was good news. She hoped it was the case this time, as well.
“I have news,” she said.
News—that didn’t help.
“The young mother I mentioned to you said Brookhollow sounds like a lovely place to raise a child and she’s impressed by your experience with children, operating a day care and all.”
Life-altering news. Too choked up to speak, she managed to squeak out an “okay” before Michelle continued.
“She would really like to meet both families before making her final decision. I know, I said we usually don’t allow this—”
“It’s fine,” Leigh said quickly. “I’ll do it.” At this point she would do whatever it took. If the young woman wanted to meet her to feel more confident in her decision to choose her, she would readily comply. Heck, if the young woman asked for anything, no request would be unreasonable. After all, she was deciding the fate of her child. She deserved the right to make the most informed decision possible.
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