Whatever It Takes: A Highland Springs Romance (Whatever Series Book 4)

by Leigh Fleming

  “Yes, I was informed.”

  “Have you submitted your final exams to my office?”

  “Done.” Jason kept his back to him as he dumped sugar in his tea, hoping his boss would eventually disappear.

  “I noticed you cancelled your evening class last Monday.”

  “My daughter had a health scare during her softball game.” He stirred his tea, replaced the plastic lid, and turned to face his boss. Gary loved to nitpick at everything Jason did, but this was one thing he wouldn’t let his boss bully him on—tenure or no tenure. “She was taken to the emergency room.”

  “Oh? I’m sorry to hear that.” He sounded anything but sorry. “I hope she was okay.”

  “Just some shortness of breath. Nothing serious, but thanks for your concern.”

  Jason edged around Gary and headed out of the snack bar, but his boss wasn’t quite finished.

  “It’s just that things like how often you cancel class, how quickly you submit grades, even student satisfaction ratings have a strong impact on tenure consideration. You’re so close, I wouldn’t want you to miss out over a few cancelled classes.”

  His boss knew how to push Jason’s buttons. He spun around, gritting his teeth as he fought to control his anger. “Wouldn’t you? You’d like nothing better than to see me passed over again this year, even though I’m more than qualified.” Jason hovered over the chairman, glaring down at the man who’d done all he could to make his life a living hell. “My student satisfaction rates are the highest in the department. I have a waiting list of students every semester hoping to get in my classes.” Gary stumbled back as if he’d been physically attacked. “And I bring in more research dollars to this measly institution than anyone on faculty. So don’t stand there acting as though you’re concerned for my career or my daughter.”

  “My, my,” Gary said, brushing an imaginary wrinkle from his shirt. “Such a temper. The committee takes character into consideration as well, so perhaps you need a lesson on keeping your anger in check.”

  He’d had enough of his boss’s blubbering. Gary had worked past his prime, had lost his edge, and felt threatened by Jason and others who were more educated and accomplished. St. John’s College needed to change if it was going to survive the next few decades, and it was professors like Gary, so set in the old ways, who had caused the enrollment to drop. Jason waved him off and headed toward the door, not in the mood to deal with him any longer. Right now, all he wanted to do was get on the road and spend the three-hour trip to Highland Springs calculating a strategy to get inside Darla’s head, and to find out what was stopping her from meeting his daughter. A trip down memory lane might help to understand why she gave her up in the first place. He discovered, through his research, she was only fifteen when she gave birth, which would be the most likely reason she gave her up. But where was Meghan’s biological father, and what role did he have in the decision? Could either of them have a family history of health issues? Jason had a million questions needing answered before he let Darla anywhere near Meghan.

  Right on schedule, he pulled along the curb in front of a nicely restored Victorian a few blocks off Main Street, having found Darla’s address online. The house was beautifully painted in varying shades of blue, with a wide, wraparound porch and a turret with a copper roof. The house was large—too large for a single woman.

  As he climbed the staircase, he rehearsed what he would say the minute she opened the door. The front door swung open before his finger hit the doorbell.

  “Oh no.” Tears flowed down Darla’s cheeks. “I thought you were…were…” She burst forth a loud sob and fell back against an antique hall tree. Why was the woman crying? She must be unstable.

  “What’s wrong?” He stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him. “Who were you expecting?”

  Not wearing her glasses, she ran her hands along the seat of the hall tree like a blind person, knocking a shopping bag and a jacket onto the floor. She plopped down on the bench seat and dropped her head in her hands, crying as though her heart were broken in half.

  “Darla.” Jason knelt down in front her and laid his hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong? Tell me.”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Mr. Flufbram,” she muttered behind her hands.

  “Who?”

  “He’s on the porch.”

  Her words were muffled as she cried into her palms. “He’s dead. Sam is supposed to come get him.”

  “Who’s Sam?”

  “The funeral director.”

  There was a dead man on her porch? How did he miss that? “Here now…” He pulled her hands away from her tear-stained face. Even with her eyelids swollen and her skin blotched red from crying, she was lovely. “Tell me everything.” He pulled a cotton handkerchief from his back pocket—a habit his father had insisted he keep—and placed it in her hand.

  Darla swiped her eyes and blew her nose, sounding oddly like an elephant calling to her mate. She hiccupped a few times, sucked in a breath, and then looked at him through her watery, beautiful eyes. He teetered a bit and gripped the arm of the hall tree for stability.

  “I’m sorry. It’s been just an awful day.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I came back from Clara’s, upset about the beast and the hummingbird, so I stopped in Sit and Sip and sat with Virginia. A bird hit the window, and she said it was a sign of death. As soon as I got home, Mr. Fluffybottom was lying along the curb.”

  She pressed the handkerchief to her nose and squeezed her eyes closed, but it didn’t stop the tears from falling.

  “Mr. Fluffybottom?”

  “My cat. He was hit by a car and it’s all my fault. I left him outside.” She buried her face in the handkerchief and let out a sob, shaking her head back and forth. “Clara warned me about the bird, but she said it would bring happiness. I should open my heart.” Her head popped up and her eyes grew wide. “What did she mean? Open my heart to what? I loved Fluffy, and he got flattened by a car.”

  She leaned back against the mirror inside the hall tree and closed her eyes, silently letting the tears fall. Now what was he supposed to do? She had obviously loved this cat, Mr. Fluffybottom—a strange name by anyone’s standards—and it didn’t seem as though she was in any condition to talk about her teenage pregnancy. He couldn’t leave her here like this, alone and distraught.

  “Can I get you something? Water? Tea?”

  “Tea?” She hiccupped a sob and crushed the handkerchief against her nose. “Clara gave me tea and see what happened?”

  No, he didn’t see. Who was Clara? And what did she mean by a bird hitting a window? He felt as though he’d stepped into the twilight zone. Nothing she said made any sense.

  The doorbell rang, and Jason was momentarily relieved by the interruption. Darla rushed to the door and fell into the arms of a slim, dark-haired man. He felt like an interloper, as the man tenderly rubbed his hand up and down Darla’s back while he murmured kind words in her ear. A burning sensation coursed through Jason’s chest, strangely resembling jealousy. It had been decades since he’d experienced that emotion.

  “Come on, Darla. Let me fix you a cup of tea.” The man led her inside and nodded at Jason as he walked her down the hall and into a cozy living room. He helped her onto the sofa and laid a throw across her lap. Darla fell against the arm of the couch and tucked her legs behind her, keeping the handkerchief pressed to her nose.

  “I’m so tired,” she muttered, laying her head on the arm of the couch. “Can’t sleep.”

  “Rest a little while I get your tea.” The man patted her shoulder and then joined Jason in the hallway.

  “Hi, I’m Sam Smiley, Darla’s next-door neighbor.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Jason Byrne.”

  “A friend of Darla’s?”

  “Sort of. We’re…uh…working on a project together. She thought it was you when I knocked on the door.”

  “I�
��m going to fix her some tea. Would you like some?”

  “Sure.” Jason followed him down the hallway, through a swinging oak door, and into a large, modern kitchen. It was decorated to look old, with floral wallpaper and an antique dining table, but there was a six-burner, professional cooktop, double wall ovens, and an oversized, stainless steel refrigerator. Apparently, Darla liked to cook.

  Sam put a cup of water in the microwave and hit the button. “She called about a half hour ago to tell me her cat had been hit by a car. I got here as soon as I could.”

  “She said you were a funeral director. Is she planning to have the cat embalmed?”

  “No.” Sam chuckled, dunking a tea bag in the steaming water. “I’m going to bury him in her backyard.”

  Everything Darla had said today made her seem crazy, so he was relieved she wasn’t planning a wake and funeral for her cat.

  “She loved that cat, as you can imagine. It’s all she had.”

  Maybe Sam could shed some light on Darla’s past.

  “How long has she lived here? Seems like an awfully big house for one person.”

  “I’d say she moved in about five years ago. This place was a wreck.” Sam bobbed the tea bag up and down in the hot water. “She got it for a song and spent about two years restoring it. It’s a big place, but she has lots of friends. She likes to entertain.” He tossed the wet tea bag in the trash can under the sink and added a packet of artificial sweetener.

  “She’s never been married?”

  “Never has. It’s hard to believe such a kind, beautiful lady has stayed single all these years.” He picked up the cup and headed back to the living room. “Since my wife died, we’ve looked out for each other. We often joke we should get married.” Sam pushed through the swinging door with a chuckle, and the burn sizzled once again in Jason’s chest.

  A half hour later, Jason glanced out the living room window to check on Sam’s progress while Darla lay on the sofa. She had fallen asleep after finishing the tea, finally getting her tears under control. Sam spread the last of the dirt over the cat’s grave and lay several rocks on top. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket as he walked back toward the house. His heavy shoes stomped from somewhere in the back of the house, announcing he’d let himself in. He entered the living room quietly and waved Jason into the hall.

  “I have to go pick up a body. Third one today. It’s the damnedest thing. Tomorrow I won’t have any calls.”

  “When it rains it pours, huh?”

  “Feast or famine.” Sam chuckled again. His last name suited his personality. “Do you mind staying with Darla until she wakes up? I’d hate for her to be alone. Maybe I can check on her later this evening. Just all depends on how long I’ll be. I’ve still got to take care of Mrs. Jones, who came in this morning.”

  “I’ll stay with her. Take care of your…” What? His customers? Jason cleared his throat and tucked his hands in his pockets. “No need for you to stop by later.”

  “You sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. I’ll be here when she wakes up.”

  “Great. Here’s my card. Call me if you need me.” Sam patted Jason on the shoulder before he went out the door, whistling a happy tune. He had no intention of calling Sam Smiley—not any time soon.

  While Darla slept, Jason explored her house. It appeared so large from the outside, but once he poked around, he found it wasn’t much bigger than his townhouse. There was more square footage in the rooms, but about equal in number. There were three bedrooms upstairs, one of which she used for a home office. The turret he had admired from outside was part of the master bedroom. There was a round, built-in, upholstered bench and richly colored pillows below the windows, a perfect place to curl up with a book on a rainy day. Her bed was an impressive, antique, cannonball style with a mint-green, ruffled spread—a little too girly for his taste. Adjoining her bedroom was a large bathroom with modern fixtures, but the white, claw-foot tub was most likely original to the home, wide and deep enough for two. He shook his head as he rushed out of the room. Where in the world had that thought come from? On his way down the stairs, he heard Darla stirring.

  “Sam?” she called, foggy with confusion.

  “Sorry.” Jason came into the living room, making her jump. “I was just—”

  “Where’s Sam?” Her eyes grew large as she shrank into the sofa.

  “He had a call.”

  “Why are you still here?”

  “I promised Sam I’d stay until you woke up.”

  “Well, I’m awake, so you can go.” She rubbed her fingers below her eyes and covered a face-stretching yawn with her hand. “What time is it? Where did I leave my glasses?”

  He flicked his wrist to check the time. “Six ten.”

  She jumped from the sofa and felt along the wall until she reached the hallway. “Oh no. I’m supposed to be at the community center at six thirty.”

  “Community center?”

  “I’m on the board.” Jason stepped out of the way as she fingered along like Helen Keller. Her hands finally landed on her frames, sitting on the foyer table, and she slipped them over her nose. She blinked a few times and took a step back, as if she was surprised to find him there. “We…um…we’re dedicating the new scoreboard in the gym.” She grabbed her head and stumbled against the table, her face going pale. Afraid she would topple over, Jason crossed the hallway and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, helping her back to the sofa where he sat beside her. Being this close, he couldn’t help but notice how soft and creamy her skin was. He detected a light, floral fragrance, an alluring, feminine aroma that made him want to bury his nose against her neck.

  There was no chance of that. She glared at him, boring a hole in the arm he still had around her shoulder. “I’m fine now. You can go.” She scooted to the other end of the couch.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I promised Meghan I’d talk to you.”

  “Who’s Meghan?”

  “Your daughter.”

  FIVE

  “Meghan?”

  Her baby had a name. Until now, she had called her “Baby” or “Child” or “The One She Wished She Could Forget.” She—Meghan—had been conceived under the worst of circumstances. It was an event Darla had kept secret, and a period of time she’d tried to erase from her memories. She had deluded herself into believing she’d never be discovered, that her child would never come looking. What an idiot. She’d watched enough documentaries and news stories about adopted children who searched for their parents for years. What made her think Meghan wouldn’t do the same?

  “She didn’t have a name when she came to us,” he said, moving closer to her.

  She had no name because Darla didn’t give her one, having refused to see her or hold her after she was born. The only way she knew she’d had a baby was by the pain that had ripped through her body, followed by the baby’s loud wail. She had already signed the papers giving up all parental rights, so there was no point in seeing her. At fifteen years old, she was barely old enough to take care of herself, and there was no way she could ask for help from the man who did this to her. It was better that the baby go to a loving family who would never know the shameful cloud she would’ve lived under if she had gone home with Darla.

  “I really can’t talk about this right now.” Her knees nearly buckled as she attempted to stand. “It’s been a really hard day, and like I said—”

  “What about tomorrow?”

  “Look.” She reached for the arm of the sofa to steady her. “I’m sorry, but I don’t even know your name or what any of this has to do with you.”

  “My name is Jason Byrne and Meghan’s my daughter.”

  “You’re her father?” Stumbling from surprise, she plopped down on the sofa’s arm. She had done the right thing by giving her up. Her biological father was a perverted ogre. Even though she knew little about Jason Byrne, she could see he was a much better father than that monste
r could’ve been. She dabbed her forehead with the handkerchief he’d given her. “Well, that’s…it’s…it’s nice to meet you, Jason.”

  “Can we talk tomorrow? I have a lot of questions.”

  “I’m not sure if I’ll be available.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s Monday, and I’m usually bombarded with calls. I already have several appointments and have to go out to the jobsite. I just don’t know how—”

  “Aren’t you even curious about her?”

  “Not really, but—”

  He stood up and took a step back, as if he’d been slapped. “Christ, what’s the matter with you?” His eyes turned steely and his cheeks burned red. He threw out his arm toward the window. “You care more about a cat than you do about your own flesh and blood? Your daughter wants to meet you, and all you can think about is work. If I had my way, I’d keep you as far away from her as possible.”

  “How dare you! You know nothing about me.”

  “I know you’re a coldhearted, selfish bully. Your theatrical hysterics don’t fool me.”

  “Me? A bully?”

  “I heard you last week at the open house, badgering some poor schmuck over the phone.”

  “That was my brother, and besides, that’s none of your business.”

  “If that’s the way you talk to your brother, I can only imagine how you’d talk to Meghan.”

  It had taken her years to strengthen her backbone, and she wasn’t about to let this man—or any man—break her down again.

  “Now who’s being the bully?” He had no idea what she had been through back then or why she had given up her baby. A week and a half ago, she was perfectly content running her real estate business, volunteering for several organizations, and starting a new housing development with Jamie. She had a nice home with a cat that loved her unconditionally and plenty of friends. Since Jason Byrne came to town, she was having anxiety attacks, insomnia, and her cat had died. He had turned her world upside down. “You come storming in here, expecting me to drop everything and share my life story with you? Well, it’s not that easy. I need some time.”