by Jade Kerrion
What had Tom done for her?
Slowly, a smile spread over Sheridan’s face. It spread until her cheeks hurt from the strain of the wide smile. It spread until the glow she felt on her face fully reflected the brightness in her heart. She took out her phone and stared at the one picture of Frances that she had not shared with anyone…the photograph of Frances, Tom, and Aria—with Tom between the two girls, his arms slung over their shoulders.
She had almost deleted that photograph—an image that mocked her shattered dreams after Tom’s betrayal. Her dreams, however, were picking themselves off the floor, repairing themselves—the broken pieces coming together once more.
She placed a call on her phone, and Candace picked up promptly. “How are you holding up, honey?” Candace asked.
“I’m all right. How is Frances?”
“Oblivious to all that’s going on, but perhaps that’s a good thing. I had my little piece to say when the press called. I think it’s awful what the state is doing to you. You’re the best mother Frances will ever have.”
“Oh, Candace. Thank you. I just can’t tell you how much…how grateful I am for everything you’ve done all these years, for Frances and for me.”
“We girls got to stick together, right?”
“Yes, absolutely. Actually, Candace, I was wondering if Frances could spend the night with me as we had originally planned? I’ll bring her back tomorrow by noon.”
“Yes, of course. I’ll get her ready. What time do you think you’ll come by to pick her up?”
“Within an hour?”
“She’ll be waiting for you.”
“Wonderful.” Sheridan slid her phone back into her purse and gathered her things. She was on her way out of the door when Nicole came back in.
The lawyer stared at her. “Oh, are you going out?”
“Yes, I am actually, to see Frances. To pick her up for her scheduled sleepover.”
Nicole smiled. “A week ago, I would have told you to keep your distance. Today, it’s a different story.”
“Yes, it is. Thank you for helping make it different.”
“My pleasure.”
“Did Tom have anything to do with it?”
Nicole didn’t miss a beat. “He had everything to do with it. It was his idea. Turns out, he knows lots of people who know lots of people, and it’s how things go viral.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“A plan like that can backfire, and if it does, it usually happens on the person who instigated it.”
“Tom.”
Nicole nodded. “It’s no small thing trying to manipulate the governments of two states, but he knew people. He made a few phone calls, casually dropped a couple of facts, called in many favors, watched the tidal wave build, and hoped he would not be drowned in the process.”
“Could it have hurt his career?”
“It could have damaged his reputation and ruined his career. Lawyers aren’t supposed to be pulling the strings behind the scenes like that.”
“But he did it anyway. Why?”
Nicole shrugged. “I don’t know why. Lawyers, in general, try not to tell personal things to other lawyers. We’re too manipulative and far too likely to use what we know in unauthorized ways.”
“But not cruel ways.”
Nicole smiled faintly. “Some of us, like Tom, aren’t cruel. A bit clueless, sometimes, but never cruel. So, dinner another night?”
“Yes. When I legally adopt Frances, I will take you out to dinner.”
“Square deal.” The two women shook hands. “Have a safe and wonderful new year.”
Candace had Frances dressed and waiting by the time Sheridan pulled up in a cab. “Hello, sweetie.” Sheridan leaned down to hug her daughter. “We’re going for a party tonight. Are you up for it?”
Frances had no response—she never did—but her gaze flicked, for one unsteady moment, to the waiting cab.
“Thank you so much, Candace.” Sheridan hugged the older woman. “Have a great night, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sure thing. You take care, hon.”
Sheridan, with the help of the cab driver, got Frances into the vehicle, and then she gave the man the address of Tom’s townhouse.
“You’re the woman in the news, aren’t you?” the driver asked Sheridan, after several narrow-eyed glances at Frances.
“Yes, I am. This is my daughter, Frances.”
“Yeah, heard about your fight against the state. Bastards, all of them, trying to keep a good woman down. You show them now.”
“I’ll try.”
“So where are you headed off to?”
“To spend New Year’s Eve with a man who cares for both Frances and me.”
The ride across town seemed to take forever, and the cab pulled up in front of Tom’s townhouse well after 8 p.m. Sheridan paid the cab driver and then wheeled Frances to the front door. Her heart thumped rapidly and it seemed to her that even her finger quavered as she rang the doorbell.
What if Tom wasn’t in? What if he had made other plans for New Year’s Eve?
What if she had made a horrible mistake coming over without calling first?
She had her hand on Frances’s wheelchair, ready to turn around, when Frances made a sound that seemed more the usual blend between a grunt and a snort. Frowning, Sheridan leaned down and stroked her daughter’s hand. “What is it?”
Frances’s face contorted, her lips twisting with superhuman effort. Her breath wheezed out of her. It almost sounded like a recognizable sound.
Sheridan leaned closer, and Frances wheezed again. “Here.”
She pulled back and stared at her daughter. “You said something. Here?”
“Here.” Frances’s gaze flicked to the door before darting back to Sheridan. “Here.”
Tears clogged Sheridan’s throat. “Yes, here, sweetie. We’re here.”
The door opened, and Sheridan looked up to see Tom framed in the doorway. He was casually dressed in a sweater and denim jeans—clearly not planning a night out. Sheridan straightened and smiled at the stunned expression on his face. “You did invite me over to spend New Year’s Eve with you and Aria. I hope I’m not too late.”
“You’re here,” he murmured. The disbelief in his eyes gave way to joy. He turned and shouted over his shoulder. “Hey, Aria, can you grab more meatballs from the freezer? Sheridan and Frances are here for dinner.”
“Yes!” Aria’s whoop of happiness sounded from inside the house. She dashed to the door, and a smile flashed across her face. “We don’t have enough ice cream, but Frances can have your share of the ice cream, Dad.”
“That’s fine,” Tom said. “That’s love for you.” He slipped his hand around Sheridan’s waist and hugged her briefly before stepping around the back of Frances’s wheelchair to push her into his home. “I’m glad you’re both here.”
Yes, here. Sheridan basked in the warmth and love of his welcome as she followed Tom, Aria, and Frances into the house. We’re finally here, where we belong.
Epilogue
A shadow fell over Nicole Lefton’s doorway. “So, how is Sheridan’s case going?”
She looked up to see Mitch leaning against the doorframe, his hands jammed into his pants pockets. “The usual hoops and red tape, but nothing out of the ordinary. It won’t be fast—because no adoption in New York is ever fast—but the road ahead appears clear. Eight to ten weeks, and Frances will be home with her mother.”
“Nice work,” he complimented her.
“Thank you.” She smiled and turned her attention back to her computer monitor.
Mitch did not walk away. Somehow, she had not expected him to. He stared at the carpet, as if fixated on an invisible spot. “Are we done?” he asked, his voice pitched low.
“We were done on Christmas Eve,” she said, her tone carefully neutral.
He nodded. To her, the motion seemed slow and sad, but she wasn’t crazy or deluded enough to believe that he had been in love wit
h her or willing to leave Charlotte for her. She hadn’t wanted permanence or his love, but for a while, it was enough for her to be excited by his ambition and thrilled by his business influence and political power.
But that game was done—the unintended damage certainly more than done—and it was time to move on.
Yet, late in the night, when the office was empty, when the people with families, with partners, with friends had left, it was hard to recall exactly why she shut the door on her affair with Mitch.
Companionship was companionship, even if it wasn’t ideal or intended for the long term.
Nicole released her breath in a sound that was almost a sigh as she slid her computer notebook into her business tote. She turned off the lights and closed her office door.
Her smartphone flashed an incoming text. Frowning, she glanced at the message from a number she did not recognize. Touch and go for a bit, but your dog is going to make it.
Not my dog; she scowled. That morning, while she had been on her way to work, a mutt had run in front of her car. She had slammed on the brakes, but her heart clenched when she heard the unforgiving thud of metal against flesh and the yelp of a wounded animal.
The phone flashed again. You want to see him? I can keep the clinic open if you want to come by.
She glanced at her watch. It was almost midnight. It’s not my dog.
But she had hit it. Fortunately, a veterinarian’s clinic was around the corner. She had rushed the whimpering dog there, and offered to pay for its care.
The best way to wash her hands of the responsibility was to pay the bill and have the vet either find a home for the creature or drop it off at the shelter. Might as well get it over with. Her To Do list did not have space for administrative hassles like stray animals, let alone any time for people like the rude man at the clinic that morning. He had probably been some kind of janitor or animal caretaker opening up the clinic before the other employees arrived. He had been horrid, mean, snide, and utterly unbearable.
Well, she probably didn’t have to worry about ever seeing him again. He didn’t look like the type who would be at work eighteen hours later.
A smirk twisted her lips. What was a half hour on top of an already absurdly long day? All it would take was thirty minutes of her life, and she would be rid of both the silly dog and that annoying man.
A heck of a return on my investment.
She sent a text—on my way—and strode out of her office, never imagining—not for an instant—how unconnected lives could change in just half an hour.
THE END
Nurtured
Nurtured
High-flying corporate lawyer, Nicole Lefton, does not have any space or time in her life for distractions, but a car accident saddles her with the unexpected company of a large dog and the attentions of a handsome vet.
She refuses to allow her casual fling with Dr. Rico Vargas to blossom into something deeper, but Rico wears down her formidable emotional defenses with his wit and his gentleness.
Nicole is on the cusp of saying yes to love when a crisis in Rico’s family awakens the trauma of Nicole’s past and shatters her growing trust in Rico. Will the fragile foundations of their love survive the lingering shadows of Nicole’s broken childhood?
Chapter 1
Nicole Lefton slammed on the brakes. Her almost-brand-new black BMW stopped dead in its tracks, to the loud honking of car horns all around her. Downtown Manhattan was not the place for a fender bender. Not to mention, an accident so early in the new year didn’t seem like a good omen under any circumstance.
Nicole’s chest heaved from the near miss. Thank God. She wouldn’t even complain about where the seat belt had scraped against her shoulder blade.
The car horns subsided enough for her to hear a soft whimper.
So much for the near miss. I take back the thanks.
Scowling, she hopped out of the car, causing a bicyclist to swear as he swerved around her. Sprawled on the asphalt in front of the car was a large dog that looked like a German Shepherd, minus the distinct fur coloration. A mutt, most likely.
Despite her three-inch heels, she squatted next to the dog. “How badly hurt are you?” Tentatively, she reached out. The dog did not snap. Good start. She stroked its side, well out of reach of its sharp teeth, and hoped it wouldn’t lunge. It did not.
“Can you stand?” She patted the dog’s rump. It flinched and yelped.
Okay, so it was hurt. Now what? Her gaze flicked over the dog. No collar. No leash. No pissed-off owner or dog walker yelling at her. The dog was too well-fed and groomed to be a stray. She just needed to find its owner.
The dog whimpered again. Behind her car, the honks were getting increasingly frequent, and to her ears, increasingly irate. She was blocking traffic—never a great idea in New York City. She gritted her teeth and bent down. “Give me a hand here, will ya?” she grunted to the dog as she tried to lift it up. “Can you carry some of your weight?”
The dog woofed and she realized she could feel its breath close to her cheek. She turned her head to see a mouthful of white, sharp canine fangs.
Oh, shit.
Their eyes met. The dog’s eyes were round, black, and liquid soft.
A large pink tongue darted out and licked her nose.
“Oh, you’re just a sweetie, aren’t you?” she teased. “Okay, get your butt up. Help me out here.”
The dog hobbled onto three legs, although it leaned against Nicole. All sixty pounds of it—no, eighty, Nicole corrected as it sagged against her. “You’re a heavy sucker. Now, here in the backseat.” Trying not to jostle its injured hind foot, Nicole boosted it into her car. “Let’s find you a vet.”
A quick search on her smartphone identified a veterinarian clinic three blocks away. Nicole threw a quick glance over her shoulder. “You okay back there, big guy?”
The dog huffed out its breath, as if it understood her.
“Don’t get comfy, okay? It’s just around the corner.”
Of course, in New York City, “around the corner” was fifteen minutes away by car on a Friday morning in rush hour traffic. Fortunately, the clinic had a small parking lot around the back. Nicole mulled over the few workable alternatives to get the dog from the parking lot to the front of the building before she marched to the backdoor and pounded on it.
She glanced at her watch. 7:29 a.m. Jeez, why wasn’t anyone at work yet? “Hey, I’ve got an injured dog here!” She slammed her gloved fist against the metal door. “Is anyone there?” Her fist was raised for another round at the door when it swung open.
The man who had opened the door shied back from the downward arc of her fist. “Hey, watch that. What’s with the racket?”
“I have a dog.”
“Look, the front door is on the other side of the building, and if you look real close, you’ll see a sign that says we don’t open till 9.”
His weary “Dude, I just work here” tone pissed the heck out of her. She knew people like him—people who skimmed through life, trying to get through it with as little effort as possible. What would a guy like him even be doing at his work place this early?
She took him in in a single glance. Mid-thirties. Olive-skinned with decent features and a smooth-shaven face. He wore a shapeless cotton shirt and pants of the same color. Maybe he was a janitor; at least it explained the attitude.
Nicole tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. She should have arrived at the office a half hour earlier; in fact, she would have, if not for the accident and detour. “I hit a dog. It doesn’t have a collar; I don’t know who it belongs to.”
“Is it hurt?”
Was he an idiot? “Why else would I be here?”
“Hey, get a grip, lady. No need to get so grumpy so fast.”
“Look, I’m already a half hour late. There’s an injured dog in my car because I tried to do the right thing. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Whoa, you really do need a grip. Where’s your car?”
She pointed her remote at it, and it beeped as the doors unlocked. The man gave her a look that blended exasperation with amusement as he brushed past her. She stared at his back. Was he crazy, walking into a frigid January morning with nothing on besides his thin cotton scrubs?
Yup, crazy, she concluded as he returned moments later, carrying the dog—its front paws slung over his shoulders and its rear end cradled in his arms—into the clinic. He wasn’t even breathing hard when he lowered the dog onto a metal examination table. “All right, let’s see how you’re doing, big guy.”
Nicole glanced at her watch. Running late, and getting later by the minute. “I have to go.”
“Wait, there’s all kinds of paperwork.”
“But it’s not my dog.”
“You brought it in.”
“I hit it, but it’s not my dog.”
“Don’t you want us to treat it?”
He was an idiot. “Why else would I have brought it here?”
“Then I need you to fill out the forms, all right? Someone needs to authorize treatment for the dog.”
“And pay for it, right?” she added. She could hear the snark in her tone.
He grinned, flashing a set of white, straight teeth. “Right.” He walked past her to the front desk, rifled through the contents of a drawer, and then handed her a sheaf of papers and a pen that had little teeth marks on its cover—hopefully not that of an animal. “Fill it out the best you can, then sign here, and here.”
Nicole scribbled down the little she knew of the dog, which came down to “Gender: Male,” “Color: Brown,” and “Breed: Mutt.” She included her phone number, an e-mail address, credit card number, and signed her name. Nicole raised her head and looked around for the man. “I’m all done with the forms.”
“You can just leave them on the desk.” His voice sounded far away.
That’s it? No goodbye? No have a nice day? Nicole rolled her eyes. Of course not. Why would she expect an indifferent janitor to mouth platitudes to a customer? She strode out of the building. Now, to salvage the rest of her day.