"You drove?"
"All night. There was an accident on the Interstate and I got held up more than once. But here I am. I want to do the interview with you. More than that." He took her hands between his and looked deeply into her eyes. "I want to marry you again. I want to become a family again. I love you, Amanda. I always have. I could never admit how much I felt, what I felt, but I am now. You know what I am. I can be a workaholic sometimes. I'm going to have to go to meetings. I might call my sponsor in the middle of the night, but I want to live each day beside you and recreate that night we had in Albuquerque."
"Oh, Max, I've been waiting for you to wake up. I've been waiting for so long… Yes, I'll marry you again. Yes!"
Max took a kiss that was deep and hard but short because he knew others were looking on. When he broke away, Amanda saw Tessa looking as if she'd just found the story of the century. Shara was grinning and Clare was teary-eyed, and Amanda felt like laughing and crying all at the same time.
Max squeezed her close, but then asked the journalist, "Can you pull in an extra chair for this interview?"
She answered him with a knowing look that said she was already rethinking her questions. "I sure can."
****
In Pittsburgh, Beth sat at the work station in her living room finishing up a website design for her client. She just had a few more bells and whistles she wanted to add. She took a break this time every morning to watch Tessa Kahill Winthrop's program NEWS NOW on one of the cable news channels. The journalist had a way with words and a point of view that Beth liked. She spent most days in her apartment working from eight to five, even though her adoptive parents encouraged her to get out more. But she was a homebody because of her background, a homebody because of her past, a homebody because she had a past and shadows she'd had to overcome in order to have close to a normal life, though who really knew what "normal" was.
Using her remote, she turned on the cable channel and swiveled her chair around for a good view. She was few minutes late turning the program on today, and Tessa was in the middle of her interview.
"So you're ready to raise your daughter's child?" Tessa was asking.
Beth froze. She studied the young woman's face Tessa was addressing. She was practically Beth's mirror image!
She turned up the volume.
"Our family has been through a lot," the young woman who Tessa had addressed said. "Ever since my sister Lynnie was kidnapped from our house when I was five, we've been split apart, everyone feeling their own grief and sadness and disappointment and guilt. Mostly guilt, because aren't parents supposed to take care of their child? Isn't a sister supposed to protect her little sister?"
Beth felt the breath whoosh out of her. She felt herself begin to tremble. She thought about years of counseling and trying to retrieve memories that hadn't been retrievable. She'd been three when her parents adopted her. She'd been abandoned at a mall. She'd either been too young to remember, or had traumatic amnesia. She figured her origins would always remain a secret.
But there was something about the woman who was speaking. They looked so much alike! And there was something about the older man and woman sitting there. There was something about the name Lynnie. There was something—
The longer Beth watched that TV screen, the longer something stirred inside of her. She wanted to reach out to this woman named Clare. She wanted to be with Amanda and Max Thaddeus…because that's where she felt she should be.
She remembered a house with green siding and black shutters. She remembered a huge yard. She remembered—Oh, Lord, she remembered.
Her breath coming in shallow pants now, she turned back to her computer, awakened it, searched for the cable news channel's website and found a phone number.
She picked up her phone and dialed.
****
FROM THE AUTHOR
When I decided to add another book to my Search For Love series, I knew I wanted it to be a women's fiction novel. ALWAYS DEVOTED, Book 3, had given me a taste of writing romance with a mystery twist. Recently I sold my first mystery series which begins this year. So my intention was to focus on a family and their struggle while adding romance, mystery and a touch of suspense as subplots.
My women in this book—Amanda, Clare and Shara—have stories to tell, desires to share and needs to fulfill. They are three generations who have been torn apart by crisis. Gillian Bradley from book 1 of my Search For Love series helps strengthen their bonds.
I hope you enjoy this novel that has a lot of my heart and soul in it. May you always find the bonds of family hold you close and heal your heart.
****
KAREN ROSE SMITH BOOKS AVAILABLE IN E-BOOK FORMAT
FINDING MR. RIGHT Series
Kit and Kisses, Book 1
Forever After, Book 2
When Mom Meets Dad, Book 3
Falling For Her Boss, Book 4
Toys and Baby Wishes, Book 5
Love in Bloom, Book 6
Ribbons and Rainbows, Book 7
Wish on the Moon, Book 8
SEARCH FOR LOVE Series
Nathan's Vow, Book 1
Jake's Bride, Book 2
Always Devoted, Book 3
Always Her Cowboy, Book 4
Heartfire, Book 5
Cassidy's Cowboy, Book 6
Her Sister, Book 7
EVERYDAYLOVE Short Story Series
Everyday Cinderellas, Vol. 1
Everyday Prince Charming, Vol. 2
Everyday Romance, Vol.3
A Man Worth Loving
Garden of Fantasy
Abigail and Mistletoe
Writing is a Business
SCIENCE FICTION SHORT STORY COLLECTION
Journey Into Chaos
BOXED SETS
Finding Mr. Right Box Set One
Finding Mr. Right Boxed Set Two
Search For Love Boxed Set One
Search For Love Boxed Set Two
Everyday Love Boxed Set
AUDIOBOOKS
Toys and Baby Wishes
Watch for these titles coming soon as audiobooks:
Wish on the Moon
Nathan's Vow
Always Devoted
Always Her Cowboy
Falling For Her Boss
Jake's Bride
When Mom Meets Dad
****
Excerpt from JAKE'S BRIDE
Search For Love series, Book 1
Prologue
Don't answer it.
Don't answer it.
Do not answer it.
Gillian Moore convinced herself to ignore the intrusive sound of the ringing telephone as the golden L.A. sun swept through her open living room window, along with the balmy June breeze.
Her phone rang a second time.
Plucking the leatherbound volumes from her bookshelf one by one, she dusted them with a soft cloth. She always cleaned and straightened her surroundings when her heart or mind was in turmoil. With a quick glance at the phone on her end table, she knew her mother wouldn't be calling on a Monday evening. Madge Moore called her daughter from Deep River, Indiana every Sunday at exactly seven p.m.
Gillian's phone rang a third time.
She swiped the cloth across the shelf, back and forth. In the three months since she'd relocated to L.A., she hadn't confided in anyone or encouraged close friendships. She needed this respite. She needed to find out whether her "gift" would continue to be the major force in her life or whether she had a right to keep it in the background, maybe even completely under wraps.
Her phone rang a fourth time.
It could only be him--the man who had called the past two nights, the man with the compelling voice, tinged with authority, commanding in its intensity as it directed her to return his call. She didn't know what he wanted, but she could guess. Heaven knew how he'd gotten her number because no one in L.A. had it, not even the manager where she worked.
Her answering machine kicked on with her brief direction for the caller to leave a me
ssage. Her usually lilting tone was serious and cool. She ran her hand through her long, light brown hair. Maybe she should get it cut short…make yet another change in her life. She'd made so many in moving here--she actually had time to herself...to be out in the sun, ride a bike, take long walks. She'd found peace along with the bright California sun and she wasn't ready to let go of either.
"Ms. Moore. This is Nathan Bradley. Again," he added in a deep, almost censuring baritone. "In case you haven't received my earlier messages, I need to speak with you immediately about a matter of great urgency." He paused. "Ms. Moore, I must speak with you. Please return my call." He gave his number slowly, hesitated a moment, then clicked off.
Gillian stopped dusting. He hadn't said "please" in his other messages. This time there was a quiet desperation in his tone. She recognized the emotion because the people she'd helped in the past had all been desperate. Nathan Bradley didn't sound like a man who was accustomed to using the word "please," and the huskiness edging the word made her feel vulnerable and guilty, two of the burdens from which she'd tried to escape.
Now this man had brought them to the surface once more. She wouldn't return his call. She deserved unpressured time to think about the direction of her life, to have fun working at something she'd never imagined she'd enjoy. Nathan Bradley could find someone else to solve his problem, someone else with a "gift" that had begun to feel more like a curse.
Chapter One
Nathan didn't want to be caught dead, let alone alive, inside a beauty salon. As he pulled open the glass door and stepped inside, feminine chatter, strange smells, and the glimpse of a woman with her hair rolled in blue and purple curlers was enough to make him decide he'd rather face ten irate CEO's whose firewalls had been breached in one day than to plow into this women's domain. But he'd do anything to find his daughters.
Anything.
Nathan's determination had pulled him out of the poverty of his childhood, earned him a scholarship to college, and pushed him to start his own company specializing in computer security after only a year with another firm. He'd wanted to be his own boss, bill his own hours, set his own standards. His determination couldn't save his marriage, but by God, it would lead him to his daughters. After six months of dead ends, he'd decided money and rational strategies weren't enough. That's why he was here. That's why he had to speak to Gillian Moore.
At his private investigator's insistence, Nathan had agreed to go this route--the only route left as far as Nathan was concerned or he wouldn't pursue it. He wouldn't debate about methods, not even weird ones at this point. He'd used every skill he'd possessed to find his daughters. So had his P.I. Now he had to put his logic and wariness aside if he hoped to find his children before he lost more time with them.
The woman at the desk inside the door smiled as her gaze traveled from his dark brown hair, down his charcoal pinstripe suit and striped silk tie, to his black winged-tip shoes. She tilted her head and her lips curved up a bit more. "Can I help you?"
Suddenly Nathan felt as if he were the center of attention. Two customers on chairs in the room beyond had craned their necks to avidly assess him along with the receptionist. His shirt collar felt tighter, and he resisted the urge to tug down his tie. "I'm looking for Gillian Moore."
"You want a manicure?" the redheaded, perfectly coiffed and made-up receptionist asked with a mischievous smile.
"No. My name is Nathan Bradley. I need to speak with her as soon as possible," he said in his best authoritarian tone. "Is she here?"
"Hold on a sec," the redhead answered, her smile flagging. Disappearing into the room beyond, she reappeared a few moments later. "She's with a client. She says she'll talk to you in five minutes."
Five minutes. What the heck was he supposed to do for five minutes? He spied several magazines in a basket in the corner beside two director's chairs. "Fine. I'll wait."
Waiting wasn't something Nathan did well. He hadn't become a successful CEO with company locations across the country by waiting. As he flipped one glossy page after the other, he was vaguely aware this publication didn't advertise fast cars or designer clothes. Tuning in to the sound of feminine voices in the next room, he tried to pick out the one belonging to a woman who had helped police departments solve missing person cases. As he had many times in the past few days, he imagined what she might look like. Probably fuzzy, wild hair with a red scarf tied around her head.
He could feel the receptionist watching him as she pretended to study the schedule book. Finally, a customer with bright crimson nails emerged from the room beyond and gingerly opened her purse at the desk.
"Gillian can see you now," the desk-keeper informed him.
Gillian Moore's lack of response to his phone calls had irritated and frustrated Nathan. He was accustomed to being in charge. But his reason for being here brushed all that aside.
Striding into the busy room, he took it in with one glance--the chairs, mirrors, blow dryers, three hairdressers chatting to their customers. But then his gaze fell on the small white wrought-iron desk in the far corner and the woman sitting behind it. Her face turned away from him, she slid a pack of acrylic nails to the side of the glass top and straightened her manicure paraphernalia. At his approach, her gaze met his, and he almost stopped short.
She didn't look like a psychic.
Her long, light brown hair was laced with sunny blond highlights. A few tendrils wisped along her cheek. Her bangs wafted across her honey brows. But it was her huge brown eyes that almost immobilized him. They didn't appraise him physically…they looked into his soul. He didn't like the invasion.
Gillian had wished her client a good day and unnecessarily organized her work table, hoping Nathan Bradley had decided not to wait. When she turned her head and saw a tall man with resolve shouting from his furrowed dark brows, the set of his mouth, and his slightly squared jaw, she realized it would take more than a few unanswered phone messages to deter this man.
Taking a slow breath and maintaining eye contact, she slid her hands into the pockets of her white apron. Nathan Bradley wanted something from her, all right, and she couldn't give it. Not right now.
"Ms. Moore."
It was more statement than question. She nodded.
"Could we talk for a few minutes?"
She gestured to her desk. "I'm working, Mr. Bradley. I really don't have time--"
"You don't have a client at the moment," he countered, his blue eyes steady, his voice firm.
This man could be intimidating. But she was used to dealing with hard-nosed cops, jaded private investigators, and a disbelieving public who wanted her help anyway. "No, I don't. But I am working. Now, if you'd like a manicure..." She almost had to smile at his expression of distaste, but then his next words made her heart beat faster.
"I want a few minutes with you. You're the last option I have."
"For what?" she asked, though she sensed what he needed.
"My two daughters. I need you to help me find them."
As she stood, Gillian glanced around the shop to make sure no one was listening. "Where did you get my name?"
"Does it matter?" As he asked, he slipped a photo from the inside pocket of his jacket.
His movement was quick, but Gillian caught a view of a narrow waist, slim hips, and a physique probably as taut as his demeanor and voice. When he offered her the photograph, her attention returned to the situation at hand and she took a step back.
The two young girls in the snapshot had their father's blue eyes and brown hair. She could tell that he loved them from the way the camera had caught Nathan Bradley' expression as he crouched down between them, one arm around each daughter. The pain in his eyes now attested to the fact.
He tried to hand Gillian the photo, but she wouldn't take it. She knew what might happen if she did. She might see images and feel emotions she didn't want right now. Folding her hands in front of her, she said, "I'm no longer doing that type of work."
But it was difficult f
or her to tear her gaze from the picture. When she did, the sadness in Nathan Bradley's eyes was almost as difficult to ignore.
"Why?"
For some reason, she couldn't hedge or lie to this man. Checking again to be sure no one eavesdropped, Gillian lowered her voice anyway. "Since I was sixteen, Mr. Bradley, my life hasn't been my own. I came to L.A. to escape the type of work you want me to do and to make decisions about my future." She stopped and tears pricked her eyes as she thought about the last few months before leaving Indiana.
Regaining her composure, she swallowed and went on, "For almost ten years, I've helped others when they've asked. Now I need time and breathing room before I decide if and how I want to use my gift again."
As she spoke, she could tell he listened. There was a spark of empathy in his eyes, but, of course, his need was more important. "Take this one case," he insisted. "I'll protect your privacy if that's what you're concerned about. Your help doesn't have to be public knowledge. I'm an internet security specialist. I know what safeguards we can take. No one else has to know you're here."
She steeled herself against the man's masculine appeal and turned away from the wonderful smiles of the children in the photo as well as the hurt still lingering in her heart. That hurt sprang up every time she remembered Brian Reston and the search for his son, the months she'd dreamed about a future for the three of them.
Despite the time that had passed, despite the miles between L.A. and Deep River, Indiana, she knew she wasn't ready for Nathan Bradley and his search...for any of it. The general public thought psychics could "know" anything they wanted, that they could answer any question, even their own personal ones. That just wasn't true. Gillian had realized early on that she couldn't use her "gift" for her own benefit or to predict events. All she could do was tune into impressions and use them along with her intuition. Words, pictures, and sounds sometimes popped into her head, but she never knew when that was going to happen. It hadn't happened since she'd left Indiana.
Her Sister (Search For Love series) Page 15
