Where the Heart Lies

by Susan R. Hughes

  Where the Heart Lies

  Susan R. Hughes

  © 2012 Susan R. Hughes. All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  Snapping his suitcase shut, Clay set it beside the bed and then sank into the chair by the window. His hotel room afforded a spectacular view of the sprawling city of Athens; Acropolis rock rose in the distance, crowned by the ruins of the ancient Parthenon, the late afternoon sunlight setting its marble columns aglow.

  Clay had little attention to spare for it. In a couple of hours he’d be boarding a plane for home—if he could still call it home. He hadn’t lived in one place in so long that he could only think of home as the city he’d grown up in, where family still resided to welcome him back.

  He tapped his fingers on the tabletop in front of him, glancing at the email displayed on the screen of his laptop computer. He’d received the email from his sister over two weeks ago, and since then had opened it almost daily to study its contents, as though another look might reveal some detail he’d missed before.

  Within the message Sheryl had attached a photo of a little girl, ten years old, with expressive gray eyes and thick honey-blonde hair pinned back with ladybug barrettes. Standing on the rocky shore of Oak Bay in Victoria, British Columbia, she beamed for the camera, displaying an appealing pair of dimples in her cheeks.

  A sharp knock at the door tore Clay’s attention from the screen. “Come in.”

  The door swung open and Clay’s intern, Eric, peeked into the room. “Cab’s here. All set to go?”

  Clay sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, just about.”

  “You all right?” Eric wondered, stepping into the room to close the door behind him.

  Clay lifted his shoulders. “As all right as I can be, with my divorce finalized and my show cancelled in the same week.”

  The young intern offered a grim smile. Having just wrapped up the final series of episodes, everyone on staff was emotional. “It’s a fresh start for you, though, right? Although quite a change, I suppose, from TV host travelling the world to university professor chained to a desk.” Hearing his own words, he grimaced. “I’m not helping, am I?”

  “It’s all right. I think my body could use a break from the punishment.” Clay glanced at the bandage wrapped around his elbow. Two days ago he’d lost his footing at the entrance to an ancient Peloponnesian cistern and slid down a steep flight of stone steps, lucky to have walked away with only minor scrapes. The stark panic of that moment had been thankfully brief; he preferred it to the constant flutter of his pulse caused by the email message displayed in front of him, and the apprehension that swept through him each time he looked at it.

  “You didn’t mention you had a daughter,” Eric remarked, glancing over Clay’s shoulder.

  “What?”

  Eric nodded at the photo on the screen. “She has your eyes.”

  “She’s not … never mind,” Clay muttered. “I’ll be ready in a minute. I’ll meet you in the lobby, okay?”

  Eric nodded, eyeing his boss curiously as he left the room.

  Clay slid the laptop closer, meaning to shut it down—but instead glanced through the email again, though he’d practically memorized it by now. Skipping the opening pleasantries, he began at the second paragraph:

  I know you’ll be here in a few weeks, but I didn’t want to wait that long to tell you this. I think you have a right to know what I’ve found out, or think I’ve found out. I sent you this picture so you’ll see what I’m talking about. Take a close look at it, Clay. She’s a new girl in Alice’s class, who just moved here from Vancouver. She’s been over to our house to play a few times. Her name is Molly. Her mother is Jordan Lewis. Yes, Jordan’s living here in Victoria, of all places. She’s recently divorced and came here to run her late uncle’s bookstore.

  Now you are probably wondering why I would bring up your former fiancée, whom you haven’t seen in over a decade. Why don’t I start by telling you that Molly is the same age as Alice, ten years old. You may think I’m imagining things but hear me out. When I found out Molly’s mother was Jordan, and her age, naturally it caught my attention. I remembered that I was pregnant with Alice at the time that you and Jordan broke off your engagement. So I asked Alice when Molly’s birthday is. Turns out she was born in March. That’s just nine months after you left for Peru (eleven years ago in June). So I asked some more questions. I found out that Jordan’s ex-husband was Molly’s stepfather, and Jordan married him only five years ago.

  Molly says her natural father is dead. I don’t think he’d dead at all, Clay. Have you looked at the picture? She bears a strong resemblance to Jordan, no doubt, but look at her eyes. They’re gray, just like yours. That’s fairly rare. Clay, I truly believe this little girl is your daughter! Maybe I’m wrong about this, but you have to admit that it’s possible. And I think you need to see Jordan as soon as you get back and find out for sure.

  Finally closing the email, Clay shut down the laptop and slid it into his carry-on bag, knowing he’d be able to focus on little else during the twelve-hour flight. Even after a decade, he could still call to mind Jordan’s elegant features and soft smile as though he’d seen her yesterday, and his heart still constricted at the thought of her. He blinked a few times to clear the image from his head.

  Just as clearly, he could picture Sheryl’s face set with fierce determination as she typed the message to him. His sister knew him well enough to realize he’d be skeptical. He was surprised she hadn’t confronted Jordan herself. Four years older than Clay, Sheryl had never lost her impulse to protect and guide her little brother.

  Of course at first he hadn’t taken the email seriously. The fact that his former lover had given birth nine months after they were last together was compelling, yet it made no sense that the child was his. He may have left Jordan in Vancouver that June, but after six weeks in Peru he’d returned, offering to stay with her if she’d still have him. She’d turned him away. Had she been pregnant at that time with his child, why would she not have told him? All Jordan had wanted was for Clay to settle down with her in Vancouver and raise a family.

  The only explanation he could think of was that she’d met another man just after Clay left for Peru. Even weeks later would fit, if the baby were born early. Being pregnant with another man’s child would explain why she’d rejected Clay’s offer, a turn of events that had left him puzzled for years. It was a logical theory, but even so, it didn’t ring true to him, either. The Jordan he knew wouldn’t have been intimate with someone else so quickly, someone she didn’t love with her whole heart. She’d made Clay wait three months before allowing him to take her to bed.

  And so, since first reading the email, his mind had gone back and forth on an almost daily basis. One day he’d believe wholeheartedly that he was Molly’s father, and the next he was certain he was not. His emotions wavered between anger and hurt. Either way, he felt a deep sense of betrayal. It had taken him years to forget about Jordan Lewis, and now he could think of little else.

  One thing was certain—he intended to find out the truth, although he wasn’t yet sure of his approach. Sheryl’s news couldn’t have come at a worse time, with his heart only beginning to heal from his divorce from Kathryn, and his career taking a turn in a completely new direction. Before receiving the email his life may have been in disarray, but at least he’d known which pieces needed picking up.

  Rising from the chair, Clay grabbed his two pieces of luggage and the hotel-room key. He supposed his questions would be answered soon enough.

  * * *

  “Listen to me,” Adele implored, handing Jordan a 1931 edition of Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury. “The guy’s a doctor. Okay, he’s a foot doctor, but
he drives a Jag and everyone says he resembles Brad Pitt, so who cares? Jordan, what’s not to like?”

  Jordan slid the book carefully into a plastic sleeve before setting it on the countertop. She shook her head, smiling mildly. It was so typical of her married friends to try to set her up with every available man they knew. She decided to find it sweet.

  “I’m sure he’s lovely,” she replied, “but my divorce just came through a week ago. Like I told you, I’m not interested in hooking up with Brad Pitt or anyone else right now. As hard as you may find it to believe, I’m quite happy having no man in my life, just my daughter and my bookstore, thank you very much.”

  My bookstore. She liked the sound of it. Every morning when she unlocked the door, switched on the lights and stepped inside to find herself amidst shelves full of beautiful old books, lined up in neat rows, she could hardly believe it was all hers. Never mind that she felt like a fish out of water most of the time, and asked herself about a hundred times each day what she’d been thinking going into business for herself when she knew so little about the business she was in.

  Running an antiquarian bookstore had never been part of her life’s plan. The opportunity had simply fallen into her lap at a time when she needed a change of direction. Without Adele working with her, she’d never have made it this far, and she appreciated her best friend’s help and support more than she could ever say.

  Adele shrugged. “Suit yourself. But let me know if you change your mind.”

  Tucking her long, dark locks behind her ear, Adele bent to lift another pile of books from one of the cardboard boxes stacked behind the counter. It was just as well that there wasn’t much traffic in the store this afternoon, as the two of them were busy sorting and logging the lot of books they’d purchased at a country auction the previous weekend. Adele, who had years of experience in the used book trade, had assured Jordan an outdoor country auction was one of the best places to find rare and valuable antique books for bargain prices, and she couldn’t have been more right.

  Jordan didn’t realize how late it was getting until the door opened and in walked Molly, her purple backpack slung over one shoulder, her cheeks tinged pink from the cool spring air. Jordan was heartened to see the bounce in her daughter’s step; the move from Vancouver had been hard on her, but day by day she seemed to be settling in.

  “Hey, kiddo. How was school today?”

  “Okay. Alice and I tried out for choir. I don’t know if we got in yet.”

  “I’m sure you will. You’ve always had a pretty voice.”

  Molly rolled her eyes as she set her backpack on the floor. “You have to think so, you’re my mother.”

  “I don’t have to think so, I happen to know so. Got any homework?”

  “A bit of math.” It was Molly’s routine to come by the store after school and complete her homework at a desk in the back room, and at five o’clock when the store closed mother and daughter would drive home together. “Want to see what I did in art class?”

  “I sure do.”

  Zipping open her backpack, Molly pulled out a sheet of white paper with a colourful scene drawn on it and handed it to her mother. With coloured pencils she had sketched a pair of brown horses grazing in a meadow. For a ten-year-old’s work, it was a remarkably lifelike representation. Jordan felt a surge of pride at her daughter’s talent, tinged with regret. Their move to Victoria had forced Molly to give up her lessons at the riding school she’d adored.

  “It’s great,” Adele observed over Jordan’s shoulder. “You’re very talented. And I’m not your mother so I don’t have to say so.”

  Molly grinned, clearly appreciating the compliment. “Thanks. Alice’s grandmother lives on Salt Spring Island, and she has horses. She said I could go with her sometime to visit. Can I, Mom?”

  “I don’t see why not. But it might be nice if I got a chance to meet this Alice and her mother before I send you off with them.”

  “They’re both really cool,” Molly said, and the enthusiasm in her voice warmed Jordan. “Mom, can I have a dime or a quarter or something? I want to throw a coin in the fountain across the street, so I can make a wish.”

  “Sure, why not.” Jordan fished a nickel from her pocket and handed it to her. “Call me a cheapskate. All wishes get the same priority, no matter the value of the coin.”

  Molly rolled her eyes again. “Sure, Mom.”

  As Molly left the store, Adele remarked, “It’s encouraging that she’s making friends.”

  “Yeah, I’m glad. She was crushed to leave her friends in Vancouver. It’s only a ferry-ride away, and she’ll still get to see them when she visits Richard, but it’s not the same as having a best friend you can hang out with every day.”

  “I know,” Adele said brightly. “I felt the same way when I moved away from you. And I’m very selfishly thrilled you came here to join me.”

  Jordan smiled. “I’m glad, too. I think things are going to work out great for us here.”

  Hearing the door open again, she glanced up. A man had just entered the store and was approaching the cash. The first customer they’d seen in an hour. Jordan quickly pushed the stack of books she’d been sorting to the side and greeted him with a genial smile.

  “Hi there, can I help—”

  Her voice caught in her throat, as she stared at the man in stunned disbelief. For a moment, she thought the bright sunlight slanting through the window was playing tricks on her eyes, bringing to her mind a face that she had filed away in the recesses of her memory years ago. But after she blinked several times, he was still there, his steel gray eyes observing her with a familiar unwavering intensity.

  “Clay?” she said, her voice a hoarse croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Clay McAdam?”

  “Hello, Jordan.” He smiled placidly. Quite the opposite of her reaction, it was clear he wasn’t surprised to see her. “How have you been?”

  “Fine,” was the only response that came to mind, as she fought to quell a sudden, paralyzing rush of emotions that she couldn’t begin to sort out. All at once her heart was throbbing fiercely, her limbs as limp as rubber bands. “I don’t know quite what to say, it’s been so long,” she managed to add. “Are you in Victoria visiting family?”

  He nodded. “My sister told me you were running your Uncle Randall’s bookstore. I was sorry to hear he passed away.”

  Having never met Sheryl, Jordan wondered briefly how she had known about the bookstore. She paused to study Clay’s face for a moment, hoping it might offer a clue to what he was doing there. In his mid-thirties, he looked older but just as attractive as she remembered—perhaps even more so. The gray eyes were deeper, the chiseled features more rugged. His thick, wavy brown hair had darkened a shade and been cut shorter. The lean, muscular frame looked as solid as ever.

  He observed her coolly with an expression that was uncharacteristically cautious, appraising her as though trying to read her thoughts in her face. Was it possible he was still bitter about their breakup over ten years ago? Surely not. It seemed unlikely that anyone would hold a grudge that long.

  “Yes, it was unexpected,” Jordan replied, succeeding in gathering her wits. It was only Clay, after all, someone whose importance in her life had ceased years ago. “But it happened just after my divorce, when I was looking for a new start, and I happened to be Uncle Randall’s only heir. So here I am, jumping in with both feet.”

  Clay glanced around at the oak-paneled interior of the store, warmly lit by Tiffany lamps. “It looks great. The atmosphere is so inviting, like a cozy study in the home of a wealthy bibliophile. I’m impressed.”

  “Thank you.” Jordan felt warmth suffuse her cheeks, and wondered why his praise mattered to her at all. “I couldn’t do it without Adele, of course. She worked for Randall for a couple of years, but we were friends before. When she moved here my uncle was looking for help and I recommended her. Lucky for me, she’s staying on to teach me everything she knows.”

  Insta
ntly Adele was leaning over the counter, hand extended. “I’m Adele. Nice to meet you. You’re an old friend of Jordan’s?”

  “We knew each other some years ago.” As he squeezed Adele’s hand briefly, his penetrating gaze remained on Jordan. “About eleven years ago, would you say?”

  “About that,” Jordan agreed. It seemed like a lifetime since her nineteen-year-old self had felt her knees turn to jelly every time this man favoured her with one of his heartstopping smiles. Yet she remembered it all clearly. She remembered how safe she had felt crushed against the solid warmth of his chest, as though nothing in the world could harm her.

  She cleared her throat, reminding herself that all of that was far in the past, and for good reason.

  “I’ve seen your show,” she felt obligated to add, though she’d watched it only once, several years ago when it debuted. He’d looked tanned and fit, and terribly impressive, repelling down a sheer cliff on the way to visit an isolated ancient monastery in the Middle East. “I was really happy for you. You achieved just what you always wanted. Top of your profession.”

  “Actually the show’s been canceled,” Clay said. “I’ve been offered a position at the university here. I’ve just been divorced, I could use a change. So it looks like I’ll be staying a while.”

  Before Jordan had a chance to respond, the door flew open again and Molly strode into the store.

  “Mom, can I have some more money for a lemonade?”

  Clay spun around when he heard her voice. His gaze followed the girl as she passed him, his guarded expression dissolving into a peculiar blend of surprise and something like awe. Jordan felt alarm rise within her. Fast on the heels of Clay McAdam walking back into her life after a decade, in sauntered the secret she’d kept from him. Suddenly lightheaded, she gripped the edge of the counter to steady herself.

  Relax, he doesn’t know anything about Molly. And he has no way of knowing her exact age.