“How much time?”
Darla didn’t have an answer. He expected her to drop everything, relive the pain and embarrassment, and open up to him. She wasn’t sure she could do it. Not yet.
“Just forget it.” Jason stomped to the foyer and threw open the front door. “Meghan is better off not knowing you.”
The door slammed, rattling the antique sconces on the foyer wall. Darla dropped to the sofa. Who was he to characterize her as a selfish bully? He was the one pressuring her to meet Meghan, even though she’d just lost her precious kitty. Couldn’t he give her a couple of days to grieve? Now he would go back to his daughter and tell her what a horrible human being she was.
Darla jumped off the couch and rushed onto the porch, shouting to Jason as he climbed in his car.
“Fine. You win. Come back here tomorrow at ten. I’ll answer your questions.”
He tipped his head and drove away without an okay or a thank-you. He may have won this round, but she would control the narrative. Only she would decide how much she was willing to share.
***
Be careful what you wish for. Darla finally gave in to his demands to meet with him, but only after he served up a healthy dose of guilt. What kind of a jerk was he to badger her the day her cat died? The kind who didn’t really want to share his daughter with her or anyone, but who kept his promises. Meghan was expecting him to arrange a meeting between the two of them, but he had to be sure she wouldn’t get hurt by her mother. So far, Darla didn’t seem interested in forming a relationship with Meghan. On the one hand, he hoped they’d never meet and Meghan would drop her desire to know her mother, but on the other hand, he wanted to introduce Darla to the incredibly wonderful daughter she had created.
He stifled a yawn as he pressed her doorbell the next morning and waited. After a minute, he rang the bell again. Considering she may not have heard the bell, he pulled open the screen door to knock, and a pale-pink envelope fell at his feet. She’d written his name on the front in curly, feminine cursive, just as he’d imagined her handwriting to be. He ripped open the envelope and found a map inside with a short message.
I’m stocking shelves at the community center pantry. Could use some help.
So that was how she’d play it. He had to work for the answers to his questions. With a sigh, he let the screen door slam behind him as he walked down the steps toward the sidewalk. He really didn’t mind. It had been a while since he’d volunteered. If stacking a few cans for the hungry was the price for admission to the Darla Heartwood Historical Review, than he’d be glad to do it.
Ten minutes later, he walked through the double doors of the community center and was immediately hit with the musty, familiar smell of a former school. The food pantry was the first door on the right. He turned the knob and entered a large, windowless room with shelving lining the perimeter walls and several rows of shelves in the middle, appearing much like a supermarket. The room was empty, except for the orderly shelves, and he yawned deeply as he glanced at the labels on the cans and boxes.
“Another sleepless night?” Darla startled him as she came into the room, carrying a cardboard box. She smiled as he took the box from her hands. “Surely you didn’t stay at the Resting Place Motel again.”
“No, this time I stayed at the Holiday Inn.”
“At least you didn’t hear the train whistle.” She pointed at an open spot on the floor. “Just set it there by the peanut butter. Would you like some coffee?”
Darla was in much better spirits than when he saw her yesterday. For once she wasn’t crying or vomiting, and her face wasn’t streaked with runny mascara. This morning she looked lovely in a flowy, floral skirt and royal-blue blouse—not exactly stockroom attire—but he enjoyed seeing the creamy skin of her bare arms and legs. Her thick, dark hair swayed as she led him across the foyer to an office area where the smell of coffee mixed with her soft fragrance. She might be crazy or neurotic, he wasn’t quite sure, but she was damn pretty.
“How do you take your coffee?”
“Just cream.” As soon as she handed him the disposable cup, he detected the mouthwatering aroma of cinnamon and butter, something freshly baked out of the oven.
“I made some sweet rolls this morning.” She flicked her hand toward the table where perfectly rolled, iced buns sat on a footed, crystal plate. “Would you like one?”
He breathed in the sweet smell, taking a seat at the round, laminate table as Darla lifted a cinnamon bun onto a paper plate. “Here you go.” She sat across from him and flashed a bright smile before taking a sip from her paper cup.
Jason cleared his throat, momentarily stunned by her beauty. “So…um…again, I’m sorry about your cat. You seem better this morning.” She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and sitting so close, he noticed her thick, dark lashes.
“I feel better. Yesterday was just terrible.” She smiled as her cheeks flushed. “Some friends stopped over last night.”
“Sam?”
“No, Kate and Liza. They were at my birthday party last week.”
“Oh, right.”
“They know what Mr. Fluffybottom meant to me, and so, well, it was just really nice of them to check on me.”
Had she told them about his visit? Shared the news that her daughter wanted to meet her?
“Like you, I haven’t been sleeping well, but I drank some of Clara’s tea last night, which really helped.” Before he could ask who Clara was and what kind of tea she’d drunk, she continued, talking quickly, nervously. “I really wasn’t able to talk to you yesterday, what with the cat’s death and all. But I’m ready now. Please tell me about Meghan.”
“Okay, I—”
“You can start anywhere you want. Tell me anything. Whatever comes to mind.”
“She’s—”
“I mean, I know nothing about her. You know everything about her. She’s your daughter. You raised her and—”
“Darla.” He wrenched her coffee cup from her clenched hands and held them in his own. Yesterday, he’d left her house angry and frustrated at her seeming lack of interest in her daughter. But now, watching the color drain from her face and her voice quiver, he realized she was afraid to hear about the child she’d given birth to. It wasn’t indifference, but fear.
“What exactly do you want to know?”
“Well,” she whispered, glancing down at their clasped hands. “She would be eighteen by now, right? Is she in high school or college?”
“She’s a senior in high school. Graduation is set for the end of the month—May 29th.”
A bit more settled, she dragged her hands from under his and raked her fingers through her hair, clearing her throat. “Does she plan to go to college?”
“She’s going to Ohio State—my alma mater.”
She leaned back against her chair and stared at her coffee cup. Should he press forward with all his questions of how she was conceived, why she gave her up, and where her biological father was? Or should he let her lead with her own questions? She sniffled, batted her eyes, and plastered on a smile.
“Look at me. Such a terrible hostess. Would you like another sweet roll? More coffee?” She circled the table and lifted the coffeepot from the warming plate. Her hand quivered, even though they hadn’t talked about anything personal yet.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” When she placed the coffeepot back on the plate, she kept her back to him. He didn’t want to lose the momentum they’d started. “Tell me about yesterday. You weren’t making much sense when I got to your house. Something about a dead bird and a beast and—”
“I can only imagine what you thought.” Twittering nervously, she returned to her seat and picked up her cup. “It sounded crazy, even to me.”
“Maybe a little.” He pinched his thumb and forefinger together and chuckled along with her.
“Have you ever heard if a bird hits your window it’s a warning of death?”
“It’s just an old wives’ tale.”
“But it came
true yesterday. I went to visit my great-aunt Clara yesterday morning because I’ve been suffering from a little anxiety and insomnia ever since, well…”
“Ever since I told you about Meghan?”
“Yes.” She dipped her head, obviously embarrassed. “Clara is a natural healer. She raises herbs that cure just about anything.” His gaze followed her beautifully formed hands as she raised the cup to her soft lips. “Usually she throws in a bit of her psychic abilities—sort of a family trait on my mother’s side. She told me a bird would hit my window, and when it did, I should open my heart. But when it happened at the coffee shop, Virginia said it was a sign of death.”
“Ah, now it’s making sense.”
“So naturally, when I got home yesterday and found Fluffy along the curb, I realized Virginia had been right.”
He had never been one for superstitions and old wives’ tales, but it did seem rather coincidental that her cat died the day a bird hit the window in front of her. Maybe there was something to it, but why would her great-aunt tell her to open her heart?
“I showed up yesterday, too.”
“Yes, and you caught me at a really bad time. I’m sorry about that.”
“And I’m sorry about the way I spoke to you yesterday. I should’ve been more sympathetic. Losing a pet’s not easy.”
“All’s forgiven.” Darla popped from her chair, grabbed her coffee, and flicked her hand toward the door. “Come on. I need to get the stock put up. Would you mind carrying a few boxes from the loading dock?”
Leaving the coffee and uneaten cinnamon bun on his plate, he followed her down the hallway and through the kitchen. Instead of talking about Meghan, their little truce seemed to kick her into action. She pushed through the heavy, swinging doors to a small closet where a dozen cardboard boxes were stacked.
“Canned vegetables,” she said, reaching for a dolly pressed against the wall. “Would you mind bringing the boxes into the food pantry?”
“Sure.”
“Can you find your way back?” Before he could answer, she rushed through the swinging doors as if chased by a wild boar. He couldn’t figure out her changing moods. One minute she was smiling as she served up her homemade cinnamon buns, the next she talked at warp speed, and now she practically ran from him simply because he had apologized for yesterday. He better stick to safer subjects.
After loading five boxes on the dolly, he retraced their steps back to the pantry and unloaded them onto the floor between the shelves. Darla was concentrating on placing canned peas on the shelf, turning them so the labels all faced front. She kept her back to him, signaling she wasn’t ready to talk again, so he continued transporting the boxes until all were deposited in the food pantry.
“So you were telling me about your great-aunt Clara. She’s an herbalist and a psychic?” He stood beside Darla, handing her canned corn from the cardboard box at his feet, hoping to get her talking again. “Has she ever told you anything that has come true?”
“Yes, she’s amazing.” She put a few more cans on the shelf before she took a deep breath and continued. “She told me I would, oh, how did she put it?” Darla tilted her head in that adorable way he’d noticed before and rolled her big, brown eyes skyward. Her face lit up as she remembered. “She said I would reach the summit and look down at the other climbers.”
“Are you a mountain climber?”
She threw her head back with laughter, and her luxurious hair brushed her shoulders. “No, and I don’t ski, either, even though we’re surrounded by mountains. She was talking about my career.” Her hand brushed his as she reached for another can, and he was tempted to take hold. “The next day, I found out I had made the million-dollar sales list that month for the first time and went on to be the top-producing agent in our office that year. I was on top, looking down at the other agents. Get it?”
“I think you’re right.”
“Another time, she told me about my house. She worded it in some cryptic way, but basically said a house needed my loving touch to make it a home. The very next day, my house was listed in the newspaper as going up for auction. As soon as I saw it, I knew it was meant to be. We had so much fun restoring it, my brother Jamie and I decided to go into business together. He’s a contractor.”
“The jerk face you threatened to ruin?”
Instead of being embarrassed, she let out a hearty laugh and Jason joined in. Her mood had improved and her smile was dazzling. He was having a great time talking with her and couldn’t keep his eyes off her beautiful face. She looked so much like Meghan. They were very different people, but occasionally, he caught glimpses of their similarities, like the way Darla tilted her head. He’d seen Meghan do that her whole life.
“My little brother and I actually get along great. I’m probably closer to him than any of my other siblings.”
“How many do you have?”
“Five—two brothers and three sisters. Cassie and Andrea were at my birthday party. Actually, I only have four siblings now. My oldest brother, Tim, died when he was seventeen. He was two years older than me.” Her voice softened and the glow faded from her cheeks, but he had to know more. He reached into the box and held out two cans to her, holding his breath with his next question.
“How did your brother die?”
“It was tragic.”
“An illness? A rare disease?” Anything like the breathing issues and fainting spells that Meghan had been experiencing?
“No, it was a motorcycle accident. A semi-truck hit him.”
“I’m sorry.” Jason kicked the empty box aside and used the razor cutter to open another. He had to keep her talking if he wanted to learn about Meghan’s beginning. “So you mentioned Cassie, Andrea, and Jamie. You have another sister?”
“Yes, Marla, my twin.”
“You have a twin sister?”
“You may know her. She’s sort of famous.” Again her eyes rolled in her head, but this time without the sparkle.
“Is she?”
“Marla Conti. She dropped the Heartwood because she thought Conti sounded more glamorous. She’s a fitness guru. She’s always on the morning talk shows and that weight loss competition show. Her latest book hit the best-seller list.”
“Yes, I do know who you’re talking about. Now that you mention it, I see the resemblance. You’re identical twins?”
“Technically, yes, but she got the looks and the body, and I got…well, I guess I got the brains.”
Darla definitely got the beauty and the curves, which he found incredibly appealing, but for him, none of that compared to being a strong, smart, confident woman.
“Meghan got all of it—beauty and brains—just like her mother.”
SIX
Heat flooded Darla’s cheeks. Was he just trying to butter her up by alluding she was smart and pretty? Marla was pretty. Darla was just average at best. She didn’t feel sorry for herself—just stating the facts. They were supposed to be talking about Meghan, but somehow she’d done all the talking. He seemed genuinely interested in her stories, and she was becoming interested in him.
Until now, she hadn’t been able to really check him out. Being drunk at the Brass Rail, sick at the open house, and crying over Fluffy hadn’t given her the chance to really see Jason Byrne. He was incredibly handsome with his closely trimmed, silver hair and pale-blue eyes. Few wrinkles creased his face, so he must have gone prematurely gray. He couldn’t be much older than forty, but could he and his wife have adopted Meghan so young?
“I’ve been doing all the talking. What about you? Where do you live? What do you do?”
“I live outside Cleveland and work at a small college, St. John’s, teaching economics.”
“A numbers guy.”
“Yeah.” When he chuckled, his cheeks flushed pink. “I teach economics 101 and macro.”
“And your wife?”
He glanced down at the box of spaghetti at his feet and cleared his throat. “There is no wife. Just Meghan and me.�
�
“Did you ever have a wife?”
His face turned from pink to crimson red. “I did, but she left about a year after we adopted Meghan.”
“What? But she was around, right? Surely she was a part of Meghan’s life.”
“No.” He shook his head, keeping his gaze averted. “She moved out west. The last time I heard from her was the day our divorce became final. Meghan doesn’t remember her.”
“Oh my God.” Darla fell against the shelf, bowled over that her child had grown up without a mother. Guilt landed heavily on her heart. Her own parents didn’t have the best marriage and weren’t the warm and fuzzy type, but at least she had grown up with a mother and father. “You raised her alone?”
“With the help of my mom. She kept Meghan during the day when she was little, while I worked and finished my PhD.”
“You’re Dr. Byrne?”
“Yes. Mom died a few years back, but we have friends who help out when I need it. Like now. She’s staying with a friend while I’m here.”
“That’s nice.” There was no way her own mother would’ve helped her raise the baby. She had too many children of her own.
“My position at the college allows me to get her off to school in the morning and be there when she gets home. Take her to doctors’ appointments and such.”
“Have you always wanted to be a professor?”
“I had some other plans, but I enjoy teaching. Meghan needed me to be mom and dad, and I was happy to do it.”
It wasn’t exactly what Darla had hoped for her baby—to be raised by a single parent—but it was reassuring to know Jason had put Meghan first. At fifteen, Darla couldn’t have been much of a parent on her own.
“Would you like to see some pictures of her?” Before she could answer or prepare herself, he whipped out a stack of photos from his shirt pocket. “Here she is the day she came home with us.” He shoved the photo in her hand and Darla saw stars. She blinked a few times until a tiny baby appeared through her watery eyes.
Whatever It Takes: A Highland Springs Romance (Whatever Series Book 4) Page 5