When Love Returns

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Her phone rang. She reached into her purse and pulled it out. Mr. Mallory’s number glared up at her. She clicked On and pressed it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Mrs. Allgood, do you have time this morning to come by my office? I need a mouth swab from you, and I also want you to listen to a message on my machine.”

  Cynthia needed to be at the library by nine, but if she hurried, she could make it. “Yes, I can do that. So you’re back from Kansas?”

  “Yep. Front door’s unlocked. Just let yourself in. I’ll give you a full report of my time in Kansas while you’re here. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  She cringed. “How many hours did you rack up?”

  A laugh blasted her ear. “Lots. But don’t worry about that. Just get over here.”

  Her pulse leaped, both worry and anticipation battling within her. “Okay, thanks. I’ll see you soon.” She dropped her phone and twisted around to send a smile into the backseat. “Barrett, guess what? Mr. Mallory—” Her voice stilled. The backseat was empty.

  Barrett had slipped out, and she hadn’t even realized it.

  Franklin

  Alexa

  Alexa tucked a pan of cinnamon rolls in the oven and set the timer. She was getting too used to these lazy mornings. Neither Linda nor Tom, who operated on what Tom called their “retirement clock,” wandered out of their bedroom before eight. She presumed the smell of rolls and coffee would rouse them soon enough, though, so she poured herself a cup of rich black coffee and sat at the table to wait for them.

  As she lifted the cup to her mouth, her cell phone rang. She glanced at the clock, frowning. Who would call her so early? The number seemed vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She flicked the phone on and offered a hesitant greeting. “Hello?”

  A gruff male voice boomed, “Is this Alexa Zimmerman?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “Ms. Zimmerman, Owen Mallory here.”

  The PI! Alexa automatically jolted to her feet. She bumped the table, and coffee splashed over the edge of the cup. She gripped the phone with both hands and rasped, “Y-yes, Mr. Mallory. You must have gotten my message.”

  “I did. And I’d like to talk to you. But not on the phone. In person. Can you come to my office today?”

  Her heart set up a thrum stronger than any bass drum. “What time?”

  “What time suits you?”

  She scrambled for a reply. Tom and Linda were still in bed, the rolls were in the oven, she hadn’t brushed her hair yet, it was at least a thirty-minute commute to downtown Indianapolis…“Maybe, um, tenish?”

  “Let’s say ten thirty. Will that work?”

  Alexa hoped Tom wouldn’t mind. “Yes.”

  “All right. See you then.” The line went dead.

  Alexa hugged the phone to her chest, her breath puffing out worse than after she’d run the hurdles in high school track. Ten thirty. Two and a half hours. How would she last that long? She raced up the hallway to Tom and Linda’s room and banged on their door.

  “What—Who’s out there?” Linda didn’t sound at all pleased.

  Alexa pressed her face close to the door. “It’s me, Linda. You guys have to get up. You have to get up now.”

  “Is the house on fire?” “No.”

  “Are you bleeding?”

  Alexa danced in place. “No!”

  “Then what’s so important?”

  “I have to go to Indianapolis. The private investigator called and he wants to see me.” She pressed her ear to the door. Scuffling noises came from behind the wood along with muffled whispers.

  The doorknob turned and Alexa stepped back. Tom, decked out in his Christmas plaid bathrobe, grinned at her from the other side of the opening. “He wants to see you, huh?”

  She nodded eagerly, her entire frame trembling. “Yes. At ten thirty.”

  Tom squinted at the little clock on the dresser, then looked at Linda, who sat up in bed with her hair all askew. “What’cha think? Do we send her by herself, or do we go with her?”

  Linda flung the covers aside and hooked her heels on the edge of the bed, pulling herself out. “You must’ve lost every bit of sense the Good Lord gave you if you’d even consider sending her off to some strange man’s office all by herself.” She waved at Alexa while she marched toward the door of their attached private bathroom. “Pour me a big cup of coffee, girlie. I’ll be out after I’ve dunked my head in cold water and woken myself up.”

  Alexa laughed and Tom joined her. He winked. “Ditto on that coffee.” He chucked her under the chin with his knuckles. “Settle yourself down now. We’ll be ready soon.”

  Alexa headed for the kitchen. She borrowed one of Linda’s favorite phrases and called over her shoulder, “Don’t dally now. Time’s a-wastin’.”

  Tom laughed and closed the door.

  Alexa tapped her phone and pulled up her mother’s number. One more tap of her finger, and the call connected. She waited for Mom’s hello and then blurted, “Mom, guess what!”

  Indianapolis

  Cynthia

  Cynthia sat forward, tense and attentive, in the hard plastic chair in Mr. Mallory’s office and listened to the voice-mail recording. “My name is Alexa Zimmerman. I was abandoned behind the Indianapolis Home for Unwed Mothers in December twenty years ago. Ms. Reed from the home told me you’d been there asking about records. I thought you might want to talk to me. Please return my call at—”

  Mr. Mallory pushed the button to silence the machine. He rocked in his chair and squinted across his desk at Cynthia. “That voice sound at all familiar to you?”

  Cynthia eased into the chair, frowning. “Should it?”

  He shrugged. “Dunno. That’s why I’m asking.”

  “Play it again.” He did, and she listened intently. She shook her head. “No. It isn’t familiar.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll be talking to her. Interrogating her, actually, just to make sure this isn’t some stunt.”

  Cynthia jolted. “A stunt? Why would somebody pretend to have been abandoned?”

  He chuckled. “Mrs. Allgood, there are all sorts of people in the world, and attention getters make up a strong percentage of the population. You wouldn’t believe how many people crawl out of the woodwork when rewards are posted or a plea’s made for the public’s help in apprehending a criminal.”

  “I haven’t offered any reward.”

  “Didn’t say you had. But some people’s reward is just getting noticed—feeling like they’re important. This girl might be one of that kind. Especially considering I’ve already got a strong lead on where your baby ended up.” He bounced his fist lightly off the envelope of samples. “The DNA will prove or disprove my theory soon enough.”

  Cynthia gripped her hands. “How long ’til you get the results?”

  A sly grin climbed his cheek. “A week at most. One nice thing about having connections with the police department is getting access to the crime lab. Got a buddy there who helps me out now and then. He’ll run the swabs in between his other duties and let me know.”

  Cynthia pulled in a big breath and let it out slowly. “A week…”

  “Yep. I’ll swab the girl who left the message, too, after I’ve talked to her.” He laughed. “That’ll make her feel important. Then if the first swab I took doesn’t match yours, we’ll run hers. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough.” Worry struck hard. She bit her lower lip for a moment, gathering courage. “Mr. Mallory, I’m sure you’ve already used up our retainer. How much more am I going to owe you before this search is complete?”

  He flopped a notebook open and ran his finger down a column, his eyebrows pinching so close they formed one bushy line above his gray eyes. “I wrote off my travel hours and only clocked the ones I actually used for research while I was in Kansas. Right now you’ve got two hours left on the clock.”

  “Will that…be enough, do you think?”

  He closed the book and shrugged. “Hard to say. Let’s worry ab
out that bridge when it comes time to cross it. In the meantime lay low and wait for me to call.” He grinned again. “If all goes the way I think it will, you’ll have an answer by the beginning of next week.”

  Arborville

  Suzanne

  Thank goodness it was Monday. The café was closed, so she didn’t need to bake pies. Suzanne’s hands were shaking so badly that if she tried to peel and slice apples she’d probably cut off her own thumb. She could hide out in the cottage instead and pray the morning away.

  She stared at her phone, which lay on the table and blinked off the seconds. Alexa’s voice rang in her mind. “Just think, Mom, by the end of today I could call you with the name of the woman who left me to freeze in the alley.” Alexa had sounded excited, but there was also a hard edge to her tone. A resentment so unlike her normally kind, forgiving daughter. But Suzanne hadn’t tried to correct her or advise her. She’d just promised to be in prayer.

  Now she needed to figure out how to pray.

  She paced the floor, her stocking-covered feet echoing dully on the hardwood floors. Should she go to the house and ask Mother to pray with her? No, Anna-Grace was in there. They couldn’t risk her overhearing. Maybe she should drive to town—ask for Tanya or Sandra to join her in prayer. She shook her head. How could they focus with toddlers underfoot? Besides that, Mother always said, “Little pitchers have big ears.” Clete and Tanya’s Jana and Derek and Sandra’s Ian had big ears and the ability to repeat whatever they heard. She couldn’t go to either of their houses. Shelley would be alone. Suzanne almost laughed. Had she really considered going to Shelley? She shuddered, imagining Shelley’s reaction if she showed up unannounced on her doorstep.

  If Linda wasn’t with Alexa, she’d call her longtime mentor and ask her how best to help Alexa through the conflict. Linda would have advice ready, and she’d pray with Suzanne without even being asked. But she couldn’t pull Linda away from Alexa now. Alexa needed her even more than Suzanne did.

  Her feet slowed to a stop, and she stared unseeingly out the window at the empty cornfield behind the house. The barren field seemed a reflection of the hollowness in her chest. “If only I had a friend here in Arborville…”

  Another voice rose in her memory and whispered through her mind. “What I’m saying is, anytime you need to talk about Anna-Grace, you can come to me. You don’t have to hide in the barn and cry. Okay?” Twice already she’d called Paul and unburdened herself about Anna-Grace. He’d proven his willingness to be her friend and listener. Would he still be as willing if she needed to talk about Alexa? If she needed him to pray with her?

  “I just need a friend.” She groaned the statement to the empty room. Quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, she marched to the table, snatched up her phone, and punched his number.

  Paul

  Paul, coat buttoned to the collar and baseball cap secure over his hair, reached for the front door. As he closed his hand on the doorknob, the telephone on the kitchen wall blared. Eagerness to hop in the truck and make his trip to Wichita pulled hard. Surely whoever it was could wait until he got back. He listened to the rings—five in a row. Then six. And seven. He grimaced. The call must be important or they would’ve hung up by now.

  He trotted to the kitchen and snatched up the receiver in the middle of the ninth ring. “Aldrich Construction.”

  “Hello, Paul.”

  Boy, was he glad he’d answered the phone. He leaned against the wall, his muscles turning liquid. “Hi, Suzy.”

  “Are you busy?”

  He was. He had an order of twelve-foot Sheetrock waiting in Wichita, and he’d promised to be there before noon to retrieve it. “Not particularly.”

  “Do you have time to talk?”

  A grin yanked at his lips. He’d thought about her all day Saturday, wishing he’d been able to convince her to drive to Wichita with him. Then sitting beside her Sunday at Derek and Sandra’s place had stirred all kinds of old feelings. He wanted time with her. He wanted more than just time. “Sure we can. But—” He glanced at the wall clock. He really needed to go, but he didn’t want to put her off. An idea struck. He straightened and let his words race from his mouth. “I need to make a run to Wichita. Wanna ride along? We can talk all the way up, maybe grab some lunch in town, then talk all the way back.” A whole day with Suzy. He couldn’t imagine anything better.

  “Well…”

  “Otherwise it’ll be this afternoon before I’m free. And I’ll have Danny with me. If you need privacy, then…” He let the offer dangle, holding his breath while he waited for her to make up her mind.

  She must have been holding her breath, too, because a whoosh sounded in his ear. “All right.”

  He let his breath rush out.

  “Do you want me to drive in and meet you?”

  He tapped his chin, trying to decide what would be best. “How about we meet at the filling station north of town? You can leave your car there until we get back.” Would she think they were being sneaky? Honestly, it was the perfect meeting spot—smack between his house and Abigail Zimmerman’s farm. “I know it’s on the highway, but nobody will bother it. The attendant on duty will make sure of it. I meet Amish folks there when I give them a ride to town for appointments or shopping.”

  “All right. Give me fifteen minutes or so, okay?”

  “Okay.” They disconnected the call, and he darted for the front door with an even greater eagerness than before. Just before leaving he paused, whipped his coat open, and sniffed his armpit. Being in the warm house while trussed up like a turkey had made him sweat. Or maybe talking to Suzy Zimmerman had made him sweat. Either way, he needed another splash of something.

  He zipped to the bathroom, doused his armpits with his sandalwood aftershave, and even patted another few drops onto his smooth cheeks just to be sure it would cover any hint of perspiration. Satisfied he wouldn’t offend her nose, he left his coat flapping and jogged to his truck.

  Suzanne

  When Suzanne pulled into the parking area of the gas station and saw Paul’s truck waiting, she almost changed her mind about going with him. Mother’s uncertain expression haunted her. She hadn’t forbidden Suzanne from going, but she’d warned, “You’re playing with fire, Daughter.” The sight of him revved her pulse into overdrive, and she was afraid Mother was right.

  But she couldn’t just turn around and leave. She’d at least need to tell him she couldn’t go after all. She parked next to his truck where she could roll down her window and shout a message to him. But shouldn’t she be more polite about it? She shut off the ignition and climbed out. At the same time he hopped out of his idling truck and rounded the hood, a huge smile of welcome on his face. “Hi, Suzy. Are you ready to go?”

  “Actually, I—” A spicy scent came with him. The essence, so masculine and intoxicating, filled her senses and chased away her determination to stay behind. “I’m ready.” She hit the lock on her car door and gave it a shove. The slam sealed her fate.

  He opened the passenger door for her. His pickup stood much higher than her car, and she had a little trouble climbing in with her narrow corduroy skirt. Embarrassment heated her face. She must seem a clumsy clod. But if he thought so, he hid it well. He offered another grin before he closed her door and trotted around to slip behind the steering wheel. His long legs—and the freedom trousers offered—made it look easy to get into the cab.

  They both buckled in, and he put the truck in Reverse. As he pulled onto the highway, he sent a short apologetic grin at her. “This is a business trip. That’s why I’m dressed in my work clothes.”

  He wasn’t all business minded, though, no matter what he said. She couldn’t recall him smelling this wonderful when he came over to rebuild cabinets or fix the basement wall. If he’d applied the cologne to please her, he’d succeeded. She forced a smile. “It’s fine. I appreciate you taking time for me. I’m”—she chose her next words carefully—“a little lost and in need of a friend.”

&nbs
p; For a few seconds disappointment seemed to pinch his face, but another warm smile cleared the expression. “I’m glad you thought of me. What’s going on?”

  The truck’s engine rumbled and the tires hummed against the pavement, creating an oddly soothing background tune. “It’s Alexa.” She filled him in as best she could, detailing Owen Mallory’s visit to the B and B and Alexa discovering he’d also visited the home in Indianapolis. She finished by telling him Alexa was on her way to the man’s office right now to tell him she’d been left behind the home.

  Paul listened intently, but he didn’t ask any questions while she talked.

  She finished by saying, “I told Alexa I would pray for her this morning, but to be honest, I don’t know what to pray. Part of me wants to pray that whoever sent Mr. Mallory is not Alexa’s mother—that it’s all a big misunderstanding. And the other part of me wants to pray that this person is Alexa’s mother because Alexa is very angry with the woman and intends to tell her to stay away.”

  “Either of those scenarios end the same—with Alexa remaining your daughter, and yours only.”

  She nodded. “I know. So why am I so hesitant? Either way, I win.”

  He drove in silence for several miles, his gaze aimed ahead and his focus seemingly on the road. Suzanne was beginning to wonder if he’d forgotten what they were talking about when he suddenly glanced at her and said, “You win, yes, but are you afraid Alexa will lose?”

  How had he summed up the root of her fear? She loved her daughter. She wanted the very best for her always and in all things. If Alexa rejected her birth mother without taking the chance to really get to know her, she might be denying herself the opportunity for a loving, positive relationship. If she never found her birth mother, she might always feel as if a part of her was missing. Suzanne didn’t want her precious child living with regrets.