by Dana Corbit
“Where is Chelsea now?”
Alex glanced at his watch. “She’d be off the bus now. My next-door neighbor stays with Brandon and Chelsea until I get home from work. I know it isn’t a perfect situation.”
“You’re doing the best you can. It has to be good enough.”
He doubted that whatever he did would be good enough. But she was right. He was doing the best he could. He’d had to call in favors from all of his fellow firefighters to even be able to temporarily pull weekday eight-to-five shifts when usual shifts were twenty-four hours on and forty-eight off. He didn’t know how long he could expect his coworkers to make concessions for him so he could care for his cousin’s children.
“How’s Brandon doing with having a babysitter?”
“He doesn’t fight me too much on it anymore, not since I told him the sitter was really for Chelsea. It’s about the only thing he doesn’t fight me on lately.”
“Sounds like a normal teenager.”
Alex frowned. He didn’t have a clue what normal teenagers did, and he barely remembered his own teen years.
“You’ve had an introduction to parenting by fire.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, cocking his head.
“Oh.” She straightened, drawing her hands into her lap. “I guess I just assumed this was your first parenting experience. Since you weren’t…uh…wearing a wedding ring or anything. But I guess I shouldn’t assume…anything nowadays….”
Dinah let her words fall away, her blush deepening with each of her awkward comments. The familiar need to protect and preserve filled Alex, and he didn’t even have on his gear. He hated making her feel this uncomfortable even if he was secretly pleased that she’d admitted to checking his hand for a wedding band.
“Assume away. I don’t have any little Alexes running around anywhere. I’m a bit traditional when it comes to the marriage-before-kids order of things. And I’ve never done the first, so…”
She nodded as he let his words fall away, but her cheeks were still stained pink.
His gaze lowered to her hand again, where she wore nothing more significant than a thin gold pinkie ring. Her title had given him the heads-up that she was unmarried, but he still was surprised that she didn’t even wear an engagement ring. She probably had to dodge proposals left and right.
“Then we’re even,” she said finally.
“Even?”
“No kids.”
“At least you have some training with them.”
She smiled. “Nothing like the on-the-job variety you’re getting.”
“Training,” he said, scoffing at her comment. “I guess you could call it that. But usually in on-the-job training you have a supervisor to tell you if you’re doing things wrong. I hope I’m not messing these kids up forever.”
“They’ll be fine.” She paused long enough to give him a smile that could warm the North Pole by a few degrees. “Kids are resilient and forgiving, just like hostas. Ever planted a hosta?”
She must have seen his incredulous look because she explained. “Hostas are really hardy perennials. Pretty much no matter what you do to them, they’ll still come back in the spring.”
“So if your analogy holds true, Chelsea and Brandon will survive no matter what I do to—”
She was shaking her head before he’d presented the whole premise. “The theory need not be tested.” But she smiled as she said it.
“Good. Do I look like the kind of man who might grow hostas?” He raised his hand as a sign to stop her. “Wait. Don’t answer that. My masculinity might be bruised.”
“Probably not. You didn’t strike me as the green-thumbed type.”
“What type did I strike you as?” He took an unhurried look at her, waiting for her to glance away. For the longest time she didn’t, and it surprised him how dry his mouth was by the time she did.
“Don’t answer that, either,” he said to diffuse the electrical charge filling the air. Even a fire hose couldn’t douse that spark.
“You struck me as Chelsea’s very important guardian.”
So much for the charge. He couldn’t decide whether she’d said it for his sake or hers, but either way, she was right. His plate was already overfilled with his temporary family. The last thing he needed was to let a beautiful woman distract him from the all-important job of caring for Chelsea and Brandon.
Besides, he’d avoided female complications for the last year and the plan was working for him, so he didn’t want to mess that up by letting a pretty redhead turn his head.
From now on he would see Miss Fraser—yes, it was better to think of her that way—only as a partner in helping Chelsea get through this tough time. He wouldn’t allow himself to be attracted to the lovely teacher with the sweet disposition.
That was final. Finito. So why did he feel as if it was a little late for him to be making that decision—like running into a blaze when there was nothing left but smoldering embers?
Chapter Two
D inah watched as Alex strode out of her classroom, all muscle and sinew—proof of a man who regularly put his back into his work. A sigh escaped her before she knew it was coming. Even as she pulled her gaze away from his retreating form—from the pale yellow polo shirt that stretched across his back as he moved—her cheeks burned.
Since when did she notice broad shoulders, toned biceps or even deep brown eyes and neatly trimmed dark hair when the only thing that truly mattered about a person lay deep inside him where no one but God could see? What mattered was his heart.
A small smile settled on her lips. That argument wouldn’t work when Alex Donovan appeared to be just as appealing on the inside as he was outside where the rest of the world could see. And the world had to see unless all the people in it had simultaneously closed their eyes. Still, what other bachelor could she name who would drop everything in his life and step in to care for a cousin’s children when he had none of his own?
Her brother, Jonah? She shook her head as she flipped open her grade book and glanced down at the list of names and corresponding scores for spelling and geography tests and daily math homework. Jonah was a great guy. He’d even served his country and fought for freedom in Iraq, but he would probably draw the line when it came to becoming guardian to someone else’s kids. She wouldn’t have put it past him to recommend her for the job, though.
Okay, there was one other man she knew of who might have done something that extreme in his bachelor days, but then her father had always stood head and shoulders above other men in her opinion.
What did that say about Alex Donovan? That he was brave? He did fight fires for a living, and most cowards probably avoided that high-risk career like a case of leprosy. Did it say he was a loving person then? She had only to see the way that Chelsea talked about her “Uncle Alex” to know that one was true.
Dinah stopped herself before she applied every desirable personality trait her amazing father possessed to Alex, the majority of which she couldn’t possibly confirm or discount.
You struck me as Chelsea’s very important guardian. She reminded herself of her own words that she’d used to cut off his flirting. He had been flirting, too. She might not have been a true veteran of the dating wars, but she’d been in enough minor skirmishes to know that one for sure.
If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit she hadn’t discouraged him initially, but she decided to attribute that to the shock of seeing a massive, gorgeous man in her classroom when the males who surrounded her most days stood about waist high. Sure, she’d scheduled the three o’clock appointment with a grown-up, but this was her excuse, and she was sticking to it.
“What kind of daydreams are you having?”
Dinah jerked her head toward the sound, finding kindergarten teacher Shelley Foust standing in the doorway to her classroom, her arms crossed and a knowing expression on her face.
“What do you mean?” Dinah did her best to act nonchalant as she closed the grade book she hadn�
��t been looking at anyway.
“You know what I mean. Tall, dark and hunky who just walked out of this room, his shoulders barely fitting through the doorway.”
For a brand-new teacher, straight from Penn State, Shelley didn’t miss much, especially the interesting stories at Grove Elementary. “Just try to tell me you didn’t notice.”
Dinah opened her mouth to try and then closed it again, remembering how her mother and father taught her that lying was sinful. She cleared her throat. “Oh, him? That was just Alex Donovan, Chelsea White’s guardian while her mom is undergoing cancer treatment.”
Shelley stepped farther into the room and brushed away the wrinkles on her darling prairie skirt and fitted blouse. Everything looked effortlessly cute on the petite kindergarten teacher, and sometimes Dinah had to try not to envy that when she always struggled to find clothes modest enough for her too-curvy figure.
“I doubt that man could be called just anything, but whatever you say,” Shelley said. “Now I need details. Age. Occupation. Marital status.”
Dinah frowned at her but still relented. “Thirty-something if I were to guess.” Those crinkles around his eyes had given her a clue. “Firefighter.”
Shelley rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, I just knew he would be something manly like that. I was leaning toward construction worker or forester from the National Park Service or something, but I can picture him now rushing into burning buildings or rescuing kittens from trees.”
Because she could see it, too, Dinah turned her attention to the dry-erase board at the other side of her classroom. She would need to clean that and jot down tomorrow’s assignments before she left for the night.
“What about that last, all-important detail?”
“Oh, that. He’s single.”
Why was it that she wanted to be able to tell Shelley that Alex was married with a half-dozen children and a set of twins on the way? If a little forward, Shelley wasn’t a danger to local single men. She’d dated only a few since the beginning of the school year and was always kind when she ended a relationship. For some reason, though, Dinah hoped her friend didn’t set her sights on Chelsea’s kind guardian.
“But taken?” Shelley lifted a delicate brow when she glanced back at her.
Dinah shook her head. “I only met him today, but he did seem awfully busy working and caring for his cousin’s two children right now. Probably too busy for a lot of socializing.” He’d found time for a few minutes of it with her, but Dinah didn’t mention that.
Though Shelley nodded, she didn’t appear convinced.
Dinah’s cheeks burned as realization dawned. “You mean me? I told you I just met him during a conference about Chelsea.”
“You certainly know a lot of his details.”
“Because we were discussing the difficult situation that Chelsea’s in.” Maybe it wasn’t necessary for her to know his personal value regarding marriage and children, but that was beside the point.
“Whatever you say.” Shelley still didn’t sound convinced, but then she sighed. “You’re probably right. The fabulous firefighter would be too busy right now to spoil me properly, so I guess I won’t be asking you to introduce us.”
It was Dinah’s turn to lift an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”
“You know how I expect to be spoiled when I date someone.”
Though she knew nothing of the sort, Dinah nodded. She sensed that her friend might be stepping aside for her sake, and she should let Shelley know the gesture was unnecessary, but she couldn’t speak up.
It was probably for the best. Alex’s life was complicated enough without Dinah introducing him to the spunky kindergarten teacher. She was probably doing him a favor by not giving him another distraction.
Whether he would see her sacrifice as a favor or not, she wouldn’t have to find out since she didn’t plan to tell him. She also wouldn’t have to confess to feeling relief that the firefighter she barely knew and shouldn’t be planning to get to know better wouldn’t be meeting someone else.
Ross Van Zandt set a heavy file box next to the sofa, leaning back into the cushions without opening it. He could have worked in his office this afternoon, but he preferred to be home as much as he could these days.
He reached for the remote control and flipped on daytime television, not expecting quality viewing but still looking for white noise. As if to confirm his prediction, a local celebrity’s face appeared on the screen in an extreme close-up.
“Good afternoon, Richmond. I’m Douglas Matthews, and I would like to welcome you to Afternoons with Douglas Matthews.”
“How many more times can he cram Douglas Matthews into one sentence?” Ross grumbled.
As the camera pulled away, the black-haired and blue-eyed talk show host leaned in and smiled with unnaturally white teeth, as if he was talking to his best friends. All half a million or so of his buddies outside the screen.
“You’re going to love our lineup today. First up, is your garden ready for the snowy season? Our garden expert will offer the Top Ten tips for planting, pruning and primping to ensure a plentiful spring.”
Ross rolled his eyes as he opened the box at his feet. The talk show host prattled on about how to make marinated salmon with some local celebrity or other, but Ross tuned out the rest.
Why did people watch that garbage, anyway? Afternoons didn’t deal with anything meatier than the best food for roses or favorite boat tours on Richmond’s Kanawha Canal.
From what Ross had heard, Matthews had made a scene at the Starlight Diner when Richmond Gazette reporter Jared Kierney had suggested a show on the Tiny Blessings adoption scandal. Even if Matthews didn’t want to help people by sharing their stories, at least Ross would have expected the talk show host to jump on the story for a ratings boost. With material like today’s lineup, he probably needed it.
“You’ve procrastinated long enough, Van Zandt.” Ross blew out a breath as he forced his attention back to the box of records.
He knew this drill. For the last two months he’d been going through these records systematically, comparing them to the documents on file at Tiny Blessings and trying to weed out the truth from an overgrowth of lies. He was glad he could provide pro bono private investigative services for the agency his wife headed because Tiny Blessings would never be able to afford those services otherwise.
At the squeak on the stairs, Ross was sorry he’d decided to leave the office and pore over more records at home today. Kelly didn’t need any more aggravation these days, and this newest crisis facing the agency was nothing if not aggravating.
Just when they thought they’d put the scandal involving illegal adoptions behind them, more falsified records had been discovered in the walls of the Harcourt mansion during the renovation project by Ben Cavanaugh’s construction company.
Ross had hoped Kelly would relinquish more of the responsibility, and the headaches that went along with it, to Eric Pellegrino, the agency’s new assistant director she’d hired to take the pressure off her pregnancy. But he knew Kelly better than that. For all the crises and bad publicity the agency faced, his wife believed the buck stopped with her.
The woman he loved appeared then at the end of the sofa, her hands resting on her rounded belly, her hair mussed from a nap.
“I thought you were supposed to be resting.”
Kelly frowned at him and then lowered herself on the sofa cushion. “I’m too tired to sleep, but I’m sure I won’t be sleeping tonight, either. Our little acrobat likes choosing that for gym time.”
Still, she gave her stomach a loving pat. “This counts as resting. I’ll even put my feet up if you scoot over.”
Ross did as he was told, as all husbands of extremely pregnant wives should do for their self-protection. Tucking a pillow beneath her feet that she had settled on the brown leather ottoman, he reached in the box and pulled out a stack of files.
“Who are we looking at today?” she asked, holding out a hand for him to offer her a stac
k.
“I just thought I would flip through these again. Maybe this time a name will ring a bell.”
“I hate thinking that some of these adoptive children searching for their birth parents will never find the answers they’re looking for though we have the answers right here.”
“With a lot of work and even more prayer, we’ll help them find those answers,” he told her.
Ross scooted closer to his wife, propped his feet next to hers and glanced down at the names on the file tabs.
“Bailey-Brock-Brown,” he read aloud. “Brown? If that won’t be like finding a needle in a haystack.” Every single name in those case files was another needle, but neither of them needed a reminder of that.
“Daley-Davenport-Dexter,” Kelly read aloud from her own pile before looking over at him.
Ross shook his head. “No. Nothing.”
“Yeah, me, neither.”
They continued on, listing names back and forth, but none sounded familiar. Even if one had, it wouldn’t have made a difference since these could have been the mothers’ maiden names—if these were the real files and not just another round of doctored documents.
Ross stopped on a file that said “Harcourt.”
“Now there’s a familiar name.” He turned the tab to the side, letting Kelly take a look. “I wonder how many Harcourt offspring are running around Chestnut Grove and the rest of Virginia without any idea who they really are.”
“Maybe a few. As long as the young women’s parents were willing to pay for Barnaby Harcourt’s silence. I doubt he gave relatives a discount on his rates.” Kelly frowned as she always did when she mentioned the founding director of Tiny Blessings whose illegal acts had tarnished the agency’s reputation.
For curiosity’s sake as much as anything, Ross flipped open the file and started calculating.
“This baby’s a thirty-three-year-old man now. Birth mother is named Cynthia. Recognize that one?”
She shook her head. “And her last name could be anything now.”
“The father is listed as ‘unknown.’”