ENCORE PERFORMANCE (THE MATCHMAKER TRILOGY)

by Marie, Bernadette

  She began to block in the shading and planes of the face etched in her mind. The broad forehead accentuated by the short dark hair, the well-groomed brows that shadowed the deep-set, dark eyes, and the mouth . . . That mouth that housed a perfect set of white teeth behind perfect lips, which she was sure were soft, yet strong.

  Hope lifted the pencil and looked down at the shadows on the white canvas. He stared up at her. She lifted her fingers to the canvas and felt the same shock travel through her fingers as she’d felt when he’d touched her.

  Dear God, what was it about the man? Trevor Jacobs, she reminded herself, with his smile and his deep voice that still rang in her ears.

  He’d happened upon her in a cemetery of all places. You didn’t meet the man of your dreams in a cemetery.

  She put down the pencil. The music from the school next door had stopped and she noticed that the light outside had dimmed. She’d been drawing the face of Trevor Jacobs for hours. She glanced down at her watch and decided she had just enough time to go home, shower, and change before she headed to her sister’s house for dinner.

  A smile slid across her lips. It was her birthday. Her twenty-third birthday to be exact, and she still loved blowing out candles and ripping into presents. Now it was even more fun. Her sister’s children begged to help blow the candles, and little Becky, who had just turned six, was very fond of ripping paper off of gifts. It couldn’t get any better than that.

  Trevor watched the lights in the small apartment turn on as Hope walked from the door to the back, where he knew her bedroom must be. He hadn’t actually gone through her apartment, but he’d studied her long enough. However, now that he’d spoken to her face-to-face he wasn’t comfortable watching her. Before it had been to ensure that Hope Kendal was in fact the daughter of Mandy Marlow and his client, but now he sat in his car out in the street just because he wanted to be near her.

  He tossed his head against the back of his seat. He’d never stopped from identifying himself when the time was right. His job had been to find a missing person. He’d done that. He’d found her buried in a cemetery in Kansas City, Missouri.

  Once he’d found Mandy Marlow his job was to prove that she did indeed have a child that, by calculation, would be twenty-three years old. If in fact he found that there was a child, he was to contact his client and inform him of the findings. He’d done that. What a phone call that had been.

  He’d told Donald Buchanan that he had found Mandy Marlow. The silence on the other end had been disturbing.

  “How is she?” Donald had asked.

  Trevor had frozen. Damn! The man hadn’t known she was dead.

  “Sir, she died twenty three years ago,” he said cautiously and heard a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. There was more silence. “Sir, are you okay?”

  “Yes. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I guess I hoped that . . . well, it’s not important.”

  “You were correct though. She did have a child that matches the age you gave me. In fact, she turned twentythree today.”

  The silence on the other end of the line was different. He didn’t hear deep breaths as he’d heard when he’d told him Mandy was dead. He was sure that if he could see Donald Buchanan, the man would be smiling.

  “I knew it,” he said simply. “You said she?”

  “Yes, sir. A daughter.” He was reluctant to give him her name. He still had half his fee to collect from the man, and he’d already finished what he’d been asked to do. Simply find Mandy Marlow and see if she had a child. He’d done that.

  “Thank you.”

  “Just doing my job,” he ensured him.

  “I would like to meet with her, but my wife . . . she can’t know about her.”

  “That will be up to you, sir. I can give her your contact information.”

  “No. She wouldn’t know about me, would she?”

  “Well she knew about Mandy, sir. She was at her grave today.”

  “Yes, but if Mandy died when she was so young, then she’s been raised by another family, perhaps a family that has protected her from me all this time.”

  Trevor was sure of that.

  Donald sighed into the phone.

  “Can you spend more time there getting to know about them? I would like to know who they are and what they are like before I approach her.”

  “I’m not sure that’s . . .”

  “Please, Mr. Jacobs.” He let out another sigh. “I’ve spent the past twenty-three years wishing I had found Mandy. I should never have let her disappear as I did. She was like that. She’d just disappear from your life. But I never forgot her.” He was silent for a moment. “Mr. Jacobs, imagine being my age and just now finding you had a child. Wouldn’t you want the best for that child?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “And wouldn’t you want to ensure that child was comfortable in her life before you added any possible joy”—he paused—“or misery to her life?”

  Trevor closed his eyes and battled with himself. He could walk away. Investigating people’s private lives was something of a hobby, a chance to earn extra money, and just a little dangerous sometimes too. It was living out a childhood fantasy. Going back to New York and investigating insurance frauds and claims paid the bills. His apartment was nice enough and so was his office. Things were comfortable.

  But what if a woman did to him what Mandy Marlow had done to Donald Buchannan? What if he’d fathered a child and wasn’t even given the knowledge that he was a father? What if his daughter had been given to her ex-lover to raise?

  A sharp disgust began to brew in Trevor when he thought about the injustice that Mandy Marlow had done to Donald Buchannan. What if Hope wasn’t happy in her life and Mandy had thrust her into a family that took her, but didn’t love her?

  Wouldn’t it be his job to find out and offer Hope an alternative? What if she didn’t like the Kendals at all? What if she’d always wished to be someone else? He could offer her something no one else could—the truth.

  He’d have to accept Donald’s offer, and of course, the fees that went along with that, and get to know Hope Kendal a little better before he could decide which path he should take in helping her.

  “It shouldn’t be a problem to get to know her better.” “Thank you for all that you’re doing.” Donald took a deep breath. “Mr. Jacobs, if I may ask, what is the first name of my daughter?”

  Trevor contemplated what he was asking and realized that Donald hadn’t asked for too much information. He too was keeping to the contract of what he’d asked Trevor to do. “Her name is Hope.”

  “Hope.” Donald sighed. “Thank you.”

  The line went dead.

  Trevor watched as the lights began to turn off in the apartment in the reverse order from how she’d turned them on. He also realized he’d stayed parked outside her apartment longer than he’d meant to. Donald Buchanan had asked him to find out about her family, he reminded himself. He ensured himself that was what he was doing. He’d follow her and see where she went. Maybe she’d lead him to her family.

  He was just doing his job.

  Then he saw her on her front stoop. She wore a short white dress. Her hair fell down her back in lazy curls. She locked the door to her apartment and hurried toward her car.

  The thudding of his heart was a surprise. The sweating of his palms and the drying of his mouth combined into a clash of discomfort. He watched her now without the interest of a private investigator, but that of a protector. But whom was he protecting her from? He’d just moved into a very strange roll of stalker, though the feelings inside of him were much different.

  He needed to meet her again, and this time, get to know her—and stop following her like a voyeur. He drove away in the opposite direction, disgusted with himself for having sat on her street. He needed to justify himself again with a long hot shower and an ice-cold beer before he decided how he was going to approach Hope Kendal.

  Hope climbed into her c
ar as quickly as she could and locked the door. The tingling in her hand had returned when she’d locked the door to her apartment. She looked around. She could feel him.

  She blew out a ragged breath as she started the car and turned onto the street. He was just in her mind, that was all. By tomorrow, she would have forgotten all about him.

  She pulled up in front of the house where her greatgrandmother and mother had grown up. Now her sister and her family lived in the house that almost a century earlier had been a boardinghouse.

  Hope’s nieces ran through the yard as she climbed out of her car.

  “Auntie Hope!” Becky jumped into her arms. “You’re going to let me help you open the book Mommy bought you, aren’t you?”

  “Becky!” Julie’s eyes were wide as she stared in disbelief at her little sister. At eight she’d learned the fine art of keeping a secret. “Mom is going to kill you for telling her.”

  “I’m sure you’re mother won’t kill her. But I won’t tell her I know.” Hope set Becky on the ground.

  “Tell me you know what?”

  Hope looked up to see her sister standing in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.

  “That Becky told Auntie Hope what her present was,” Julie told her mother, her voice filled with disgust.

  Hope watched as a smile slid across her sister’s lips and a laugh then escaped her throat.

  Julie stomped her feet up the front steps to the house.

  “Why are you laughing? Isn’t she in trouble?”

  Hope cocked an eyebrow at her sister. “I’m not getting a book, am I?”

  Carissa stepped back so Hope and Becky could enter the house. “I knew someone would spill the beans. I guess you’ll all be surprised, won’t you?”

  “Mom, that’s not fair!” Becky protested.

  “Well, I guess I knew you couldn’t keep a secret,” Carissa said as she patted her daughter on the bottom and sent her off laughing. “Mom, Dad, and Thomas are in the kitchen.” She laced her arm with Hope’s.

  “You’ll be glad to know I was working too hard to remember to buy treats.”

  “Glad to hear it. But you were working on your birthday?”

  “Painting.”

  “Ah, you got inspired today?”

  Hope stopped.

  “I met a man today,” she said and noticed that Carissa’s eyes widened. “Right after you left, he walked by searching for his aunt’s grave.”

  “Was he cute?”

  Hope laughed. “Oh my God! He was amazing.”

  “You were painting him?”

  “His face won’t leave my mind. He shook my hand and there was such a shock that passed through us, I can still feel it.” She clasped her hands together.

  “And if I know you, you think that was a sign?” Carissa was studying her and Hope smiled at her sister.

  “It was nice, that’s all.” She took her sister’s arm again and they headed to the kitchen.

  The aromas of Thomas’s signature spaghetti sauce filled the house and had Hope’s stomach growling. It was only then she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since her bagel that morning before heading to the cemetery. Her mind had been too occupied to think of food.

  Her father was the first to cross to her.

  “Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He kissed her on the cheek a smiled down at her.

  David Kendal, father of the year, every year, in her book. She knew she’d only be happy when she found a man like her father.

  He’d been a pilot until up until the beginning of the year when he’d retired. Hope wasn’t sure when he’d had time to work. He and her mother had been going nonstop since they’d cleaned up the retirement party.

  They had traveled Europe and spent a month in Australia. They spent time in Italy with her former boss Pablo DiAngleo and his partner, Pierre, before returning home and planting the biggest garden in the city and taken on the role of babysitter for Carissa children. Happiness was truly theirs.

  He wore his sixty-three years handsomely. His hair was pure silver, but as he always said, “It let go of the color but at least it didn’t let go.”

  Well-deserved lines peeked from the corners of his eyes. There had been a lot of world seen through them.

  “Thank you, Daddy.” She fell into his shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her.

  “Stop hogging her.” Sophia Kendal wiped her hands on a towel and crossed the kitchen to hug her. “Happy birthday, darling.”

  Her mother kissed her on the cheek and beamed at her. Hope couldn’t imagine that a child born into a family could be more loved than she was. Luck had been on her side when her birth mother had given her to them. They hadn’t chosen her, but they had taken her, and loved her.

  “There’s my girl!” Thomas put down his spoon and turned from the stove to envelop Hope in another hug. “I got your favorite almost finished. Why don’t you get the kids to wash up and sit down?”

  “I can do that much.” Hope smiled at her brother-inlaw. Carissa was a lucky woman. Sophia had set her sister and Thomas up to fall in love, just as her grandma Katie had done for Sophia and David years ago. Matchmaking. It seemed to be a family trait that lead to happiness. Hope could only assume they hadn’t found the right man yet, or she’d have fallen willing victim to their skills as well.

  As they gathered around the table Hope sat, as she often did, in awe of the commotion that ensued. Over the years, as each member of the family was added, she’d come accustomed to the changes at the table. Certain people sat in certain chairs. Some would eat their peas. Others would tuck them under other items on their plate to hide them.

  Her sister never actually sat down, and her meal wasn’t touched until her four beautiful children bounded from the table to find something better to do.

  Thomas could carry on a conversation with every person at the table simultaneously. Her mother had taken on her great-grandmother’s art of gossip. Never did Sophia say a harsh word though. She enjoyed sharing the happenings of those she knew.

  Her father, as usual, was more reserved. He kept his words, she always mused, until he was ready to use them, and then he’d use them all.

  Dinnertime at Carissa’s was noisy, and messy, and always the one thing Hope looked forward to being a part of.

  Thomas left the table and returned a moment later with a bottle of champagne. “I have something special for tonight. In honor of the birthday girl.”

  Hope smiled wide. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

  “Can I have some?” Becky asked.

  “You can have a little taste,” Thomas promised, though Hope knew he wouldn’t have his own. He didn’t drink. She’d never seen him drink. She’d been told that he drank plenty once. It had been enough to nearly kill him.

  Thomas opened the bottle and sniffed it.

  “I don’t think you’ll like it, Becky.”

  “Oh, it’s an adult thing,” she said with her face already scrunched up. Hope’s heart went out to her. She’d been that girl not so long ago. With Carissa being seventeen years older than she was, she’d shared the table with adults her entire life and wanted to always be just like them.

  Hope wrapped her arm around her niece’s shoulders.

  “Well, if you’d rather not have the bubbly stuff, then I think you should have a bigger piece of cake.”

  “Really, Auntie Hope? I can have a bigger piece of cake?”

  “That is, if there is cake.” She looked around at the others at the table.

  Sophia crossed her arms over her chest and shot her chin up. “Have I ever missed baking you a birthday cake?”

  “Not once.” Hope reached across the table and placed her hand on her mother’s.

  Sophia Kendal, what an amazing woman. What woman took on the responsibility of another person’s child and loved her like Sophia had loved her?

  Hope sat back and sipped her champagne, listening to the chaos, and thinking. She’d battled with the thought for years. Had Mandy had a change
of heart and given her to David because she actually loved her? Or was she hoping to punish him by dumping a baby on him and then dying? They’d all told her what he was willing to sacrifice to keep her, and she wasn’t even his blood. He could have lost Sophia altogether, but he wanted to give Hope a home and he wanted her with her sister. Not a day had gone by in her life that she hadn’t thanked God that David had decided to keep her and that Sophia had fallen in love with her.

  Sophia carried the cake from the kitchen and set it in front of Hope. Precisely placed on the cake were twentythree candles.

  Becky snuggled in next to her aunt. “I counted them and put them on the cake.”

  “I think you put too many.”

  “Nope. Mama said to put two whole boxes on and then take one off.”

  “Well now, that is one smart mama.” Hope touched her head to her niece’s as she watched Thomas light the candles on her cake.

  This family, her real family, was all the family she would ever need.

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  About the Author

  Bernadette Marie grew up obsessed with pens and notebooks, each one filled with lists and ideas for stories. Not much has changed. This wife and mother of five sons has a passion for writing stories about falling in love, finding love where you left it, and strong families.