by Helen Lacey
“So you don’t actually spend a lot of time with her?”
It was a pretty mild dig, but it annoyed him anyway. “I have a business to run and I get home when I can, which is usually most weekends. Cecily understands that. She also likes living at Waradoon. She has her horse there and her friends are close—”
“She has a horse?”
“Yes,” he replied. “Something you have in common.”
Wyatt stared at her, intrigued by the way her eyes changed color. He liked the coppery shine of her hair and the way it bounced around her face. He liked it a lot. And her perfectly shaped mouth was amazing. Something uncurled low in his abdomen, a kind of slow-burning awareness. He’d met pretty girls before. Prettier even. But he couldn’t remember the last time a woman had attracted him so much and so quickly.
“So,” she said after a moment. “What now?”
Wyatt forced his focus back to the issue. “That’s up to Cecily.”
He watched as her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth for a moment. “It looks like it’s up to you.”
“I’m not about to rush into this.” In fact, Wyatt had no intention of rushing into anything ever again. If he’d shown that same sense less than two years ago, Yvette might not have had the opportunity to wreak havoc on his life and his family. “Although I understand how difficult that must be for you to hear.”
“Do you?” she asked quietly.
Wyatt didn’t miss the rawness in her voice. “There are a lot of people who risk getting hurt, and my primary job is to protect my niece.” And you. He didn’t say it, but the notion lodged firmly behind his ribs. He had what might be considered old-fashioned values...about some things. Maybe it came from having an older father. Whatever the reason, Wyatt wasn’t about to start making decisions that had the potential to turn lives upside down, without thinking them through long and hard.
“Can I see that?” she asked and reached across to finger the edges of the folder on the table.
“Of course.”
She slid it across her lap and opened the folder. Wyatt remained silent as she examined the contents. Her expression changed several times as she flicked through the pages, shifting from annoyance to sadness and then a kind of strained indignation.
“You’ve done your homework.” She pushed the folder toward him. “You’ve got everything from a copy of Cecily’s birth certificate to my sixth-grade report card. I hope you paid your investigator well for all the hard work.”
Wyatt’s spine straightened. “I needed to know who you were. Investigating your background was simply part of that process. I’m sure you can appreciate that.”
“That’s not who I am,” she said as she grabbed her small handbag and stood. “That’s a pile of paper.”
Wyatt quickly got to his feet. “Then tell me who you are.”
She glanced at the folder again. “I think you’ve already made up your mind. I think you know all about my childhood, you know my father ran off and that my mother was a junkie who couldn’t hold down a job and never had any money in her pocket. I think you’ve read about how I’ve moved nine times in as many years. And I think you’re wondering if I’m not just a bit too much like my mother and can’t quite be trusted to meet Cecily and that I might taint her in some way.”
She was close to the mark and he didn’t bother denying it. “I have to consider what’s best for Cecily.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “You do. But you came to me. You came to me because Cecily has questions about where she came from. I understand that. I know what it is to have an empty space inside. When I was fifteen, I was manipulated into agreeing to a closed adoption—forfeiting any hope I ever had of finding my daughter. I wasn’t allowed to know anything about the people who had her. And then you show up with your nice smile and ultrapolite conversation and throw a few crumbs in my direction about the possibility of meeting my child.” She took a shuddering breath. “Whatever your opinion of me, Mr. Harper, I won’t be manipulated again or walked over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need some time to consider what I want.”
Without another word, she turned and strode away from him and out through the door. Wyatt stared after her through the glass windows, watching the way her hair bounced as she walked, suddenly mesmerized by the stiffness in her shoulders and the gentle sway of her hips.
He only let out a breath once she got into her car and drove off. Wyatt grabbed the folder and closed it. Nothing in the report had prepared him for that exchange. He’d expected...what? That she’d be so grateful to reconnect with Cecily she wouldn’t put up any kind of resistance? That she’d be compliant and agreeable to everything he suggested or wanted? Right now he didn’t know what to think. Had he scared her off? Did she actually want to meet Cecily? Fiona Walsh had gumption and he liked that about her. She wasn’t a pushover. She was strong. He’d give her some time to settle into the idea, and then he knew he had to ask her straight out if she wanted to meet Cecily. Wyatt pulled his cell from his pocket. Glynis picked up on the third ring.
“Change of plans,” he said.
“Which means?” his assistant asked.
“Cancel my flight for tomorrow.”
There was a moment’s silence. “I see. Do I rebook?”
“I’ll let you know.”
Glynis tutted. “How long are you staying?”
Until I fix this. “I’m not sure,” he said and ended the call.
* * *
Fiona couldn’t drag herself to work the following morning and called in sick. Which wasn’t exactly a lie. She did feel genuinely unwell. Her head ached. Her heart ached. She never took time off. She kept herself in good health and loved her teaching job.
I just can’t face all those happy little faces today.
She blamed Wyatt Harper for it, of course. Since he’d entered her life, she’d become an emotional mess. Crying...for Pete’s sake, she never cried. When she opened the front door to Callie that afternoon, it took all her strength to not collapse in a heap at the other woman’s feet.
“I was worried when the kids said you weren’t at school today,” she explained as she crossed through the door. “With good reason by the look of things.”
Fiona sniffed and pushed up the sleeves of her dressing gown. “I’m sick.”
Callie’s perfect brows rose sharply. “Try again. And this time include what it has to do with that tall drink of water you were talking with yesterday.”
Fiona hesitated for a microsecond. But this was Callie, her best friend and one of the few people she trusted, and the only person she’d told about her teenage pregnancy. “Remember how I told you I had baby when I was fifteen?”
Callie’s eyes popped wide. “Absolutely.”
Fiona quickly explained how she’d agreed to a closed adoption and who Wyatt Harper was.
“Are you sure he’s telling the truth?” Callie asked once they were settled on the sofa, each with a coffee cup between their hands.
“Yes. He has Cecily’s birth certificate and he says she looks just like me.”
Callie looked at her over the rim of her cup. “Did you ask to see a picture?”
Fiona shook her head. “No...I wasn’t sure I could bear seeing her photograph. In case I never get to see her for real. Does that make sense?”
Her friend nodded gently. “So what are you going to do about it?”
Fiona shrugged. “I’m not sure. That’s to say, I’m not sure what he’s going to do about it.”
“You have rights,” Callie said. “She’s your child.”
“A child I gave away. Wyatt Harper is the one with all the rights. He’s her legal guardian. He’s who her parents entrusted to care for her.”
“But you said she doesn’t live with him?”
“She lives mostly with her grandparents. B
ut from what he said, I’m guessing they’re a close-knit bunch. He runs the family business, and his parents are retired, so they’d have more time to look after her. His younger sister lives there also.”
“Must be a big house.”
“It’s a hundred-acre property,” she explained. “His father runs a small herd of Wagyu cattle—his mother dabbles in showing orchids. They’re squeaky-clean and look like the perfect family.”
“And he’s what, thirtysomething and single and now a part-time parent to a teenage girl?” Callie rolled her big eyes. “Nothing is that perfect.”
“He seems like one of those annoyingly self-sufficient men who can handle everything. I’m sure one little teenager wouldn’t bring him down.”
Callie smiled. “He is very nice-looking. Not that you’d ever be swayed by a handsome face.”
“Er...no.”
“Maybe you should see a lawyer?” Callie suggested. “I mean, he hasn’t contacted you since yesterday—for all you know he’s gone back to Sydney.”
“I don’t think so. He wanted something and he didn’t get it. I don’t think he’s the kind of man who retreats easily, and I didn’t exactly leave him on friendly terms.” She smiled when she saw her friend’s look. “Yeah, I lost my temper.”
Callie’s expression softened. “So, how do you feel about it? I mean, how do you feel about reconnecting with your daughter after so long?”
Fiona sucked in some air. “Confused and shocked. I always had hope but I tried not to get swept away with the idea of meeting her one day. It was too painful. But now it’s a reality...and I’m scared. Because I’m still the person who gave her away.” She expelled a heavy breath. “What must she think of me?”
Callie made a reassuring sound. “You were young—not much older than she is now. She’ll understand once you explain. She’s come looking for you, Fiona. That’s a positive sign.”
Fiona hoped so. But she had doubts. Reservations. What if Cecily didn’t understand? What if all their reconnecting did was to upset her daughter? She didn’t want that. Cecily had lost her parents, and Fiona didn’t want to do anything that might add to her pain.
When her friend left about ten minutes later, Fiona, tired of looking like a washed-out rag, took a long shower. Once done, she finger-combed her hair, changed into comfy sweats and fed the dog. She had some assignments to grade and curled up on the sofa with her work and a fresh mug of coffee. She was about halfway through her pile of papers when Muffin started growling and rushed toward the front door after the bell rang.
When she pulled the door back, she found Wyatt Harper standing on the other side of the screen.
“Hello,” he said casually, belying the sudden awareness that swirled between them.
She stepped back on her heels and ignored the way her heart seemed to be beating a little faster than usual. “What do you want?”
He held up a bag. “Dinner.”
“I don’t think—”
“For three,” he said, cutting her off. “In case you have company.”
“I’m alone,” she said as her suspicions soared. “And I’m not hungry.”
He raised both brows. “Are you sure?”
Fiona fought the impulse to close the door. She didn’t want to be nice to him. But she wanted to know more about her daughter, and he was the key.
“You can come in.” She stood to the side and allowed him to cross the threshold.
He wore beige cargoes and a black golf shirt, and she couldn’t stop herself from checking him out. Okay, so the man had a nice body. She wasn’t a rock. She was a perfectly normal woman reacting to a good-looking man. She wasn’t about to beat herself up about it.
“Thank you,” he said and walked past her. “Where do you want this?” he asked as he motioned to the bag in his hand. “Chinese. A bit of everything because I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“The kitchen,” she replied as she shut the door and then frowned as Muffin, the traitor, jumped up and down excitedly by Wyatt’s feet, demanding attention. “This way.”
He patted the dog for a moment before following her. When they reached the kitchen, Fiona stood on one side of the small square table and waited for him to take his place on the other side. She needed something between them.
She watched as he unloaded half a dozen small containers from the bag, then pulled out two sets of cutlery and a couple of serving spoons and grabbed two beers from the fridge. “Only light beer, I’m afraid.”
“No problem.”
Fiona placed everything on the table and scraped a chair across the tiled floor. “How did you know I’d be home tonight?”
He shrugged. “I didn’t. I took a chance. It’s a school night...and I figured you’d stay in.”
Fiona pushed both beers toward him and he disposed of the caps quickly. “Actually, I didn’t work today.” When he didn’t respond, she explained. “I wasn’t much good for anything after our conversation yesterday.”
He pushed a beer back toward her. “That’s honest.”
“One of my many flaws,” she said and took a small sip. “I have plenty. I often blurt things out before I think about what I’m saying. And I have a bad temper.”
His blue eyes shone brilliantly. “Really?”
Fiona started opening the tops of the cartons and when she was done scooped a dumpling out of one of them with her fork. “Big surprise, huh?”
He grabbed a carton of noodles. “So, is there a boyfriend or significant other in the picture?”
She looked at him and colored beneath his penetrating stare. “Just me.”
“Good,” he said and piled food onto his fork. “More noodles for us.”
Fiona was tempted to smile. There was a casual, easygoing way about his mood and she liked it. Too much. She didn’t want to think about him that way. He was her ticket to her daughter, and she had to keep her head on straight. Imagining anything else was nonsensical.
“Wyatt...” She lingered over his name and discovered she liked the sound of it rolling around on her tongue. “What are you really doing here? I know it’s not to share Chinese food or inquire about my love life.”
He placed the fork on the small cardboard container. “I was concerned about you.”
Fiona’s skin tingled. “There’s no need to be,” she assured him. “I’m fine. I’m always fine.”
“So you’re fine?”
He was smiling at her, and Fiona experienced a strange dip low in her belly. Really low. She marshaled her wits. “So what have you decided to do about Cecily?”
He looked at her. “After our conversation yesterday, I thought it was more about what you wanted to do?”
I want to see her.
“I don’t really know,” she said instead. “I thought I did. I thought I knew how I’d react if this moment ever came. Instead I’m completely unprepared. In my mind, when I played this moment over and over, Cecily was an adult and came to find me on her own. Then I could have faced her as an adult. But she’s a child and I know I have to be the strong one...like I should know exactly how to respond and react. But I don’t,” she admitted. “Part of me is overjoyed. The other part...” She paused, waited and couldn’t believe she was exposing her most vulnerable thoughts. “The other part almost wishes you’d never come here.”
The air crackled as she waited for him to respond. “You are strong, Fiona. Anyone can see that. But I don’t want you to have any illusions,” he said directly. “Cecily wants this reunion—but she’s a kid and at the moment is caught up in the excitement of the prospect of reconnecting with her birth mother. Once the dust settles and the novelty passes, the questions will start. And perhaps the blame. Are you ready for that?”
No, I’m not. She knew what questions would come. But she wasn’t about to admit that to th
e man in front of her. “Are you saying I can see her? That you approve of me?”
* * *
Wyatt wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He’d read the investigator’s report and could easily come to the conclusion that Fiona Walsh was a good person. She was a schoolteacher and had friends in the small community. Was it enough? She seemed suitable to connect with Cecily. But he’d been wrong before. And he couldn’t be sure what Fiona intended, either, despite what she said. He knew what Cecily wanted, and that didn’t make the decision any easier. She was as headstrong as they came, particularly on this issue. But there was bound to be fallout—and he didn’t want his niece, his family or Fiona paying a heavy emotional price.
“I think...I think you’ll do what’s right for Cecily.”
“I will,” she said solemnly. “You have my word. My promise.” She stalled for a second and then spoke again. “What’s she like?”
“She’s terrific. Cecily’s a nice kid, but she doesn’t hold back. She says what she thinks, blurts out whatever is on her mind and has a temper to match her red hair.” His mouth flattened in a half smile. “Sound familiar?”
She nodded, and Wyatt saw her eyes shining just a little bit more than usual. “Do you have a picture?”
“Of Cecily? Yes,” he said and took out his smartphone. He pressed a couple of buttons and passed it to her.
Silence stretched between them. Food and beer were forgotten. She blinked a few times and drew in a deep breath as she stared at the picture on the small screen. The resemblance between them was unmistakable, and Wyatt knew that seeing her daughter’s image for the first time was difficult for her.
“Thank you,” she said and pushed the phone across the table. “Can you send me a copy of that?”
“Sure.” Wyatt popped it back into his pocket. “Have you any questions?”
“Hundreds.”
He grinned and reclaimed his fork. “Fire away.”
“Does she like school?”
“Yes. She’s a good student.”
