Child by Chance

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Now every part of her was shaking.

  “I know it’s not signed and that it’s not official, but Dad says there’s a signed one at the adoption agency. But since we knew where to find you, we didn’t need to wait to call them. ’Cause it says there that anytime I want to find you I have your permission.”

  Sherman didn’t know she’d revoked that permission.

  Tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t wipe them away.

  “So...here I am.”

  “I think this is where you take your son into your arms.” The voice came from just beyond the deck steps.

  “Maybe we got it wrong, Dad...”

  The vulnerability in that voice, that hint of not being sure you were wanted, catapulted her. “No, no, no,” she said, touching his hair, running her fingers through the short strands, staring down at him. “You didn’t get it wrong. I just... Can I hug you?”

  Another shrug. “I guess it would be okay. If you wanna.” Talia pulled him up against her, held him close. Felt his small arms wrap around her middle. And hold on. Tight.

  She laid her head on top of his.

  “I love you, baby.” She’d been told not to name him those nine months she’d carried him.

  “I’m not a baby.” His words were muffled against her. Until he pulled back. “But...can I call you Mom?”

  * * *

  SHERMAN STOOD OFF to the side for as long as he could.

  “Can I come up now?”

  “I haven’t said the other stuff yet.”

  “What stuff?” Talia’s voice floated down to him.

  “About how Dad thought the most important thing was standing for what looks good, but you taught us that what’s most important is standing for what feels good.”

  “He didn’t get that quite right,” Sherman said, climbing up to the top of the deck to face the woman he loved with all of his heart, but didn’t deserve. “But close enough. It went more like, what looks good on the surface isn’t what’s worth standing for. It’s what’s underneath that matters.”

  She glanced over at him. And he saw all of the pain she’d kept hidden inside her. Not because she looked any different, but because he was looking at her differently.

  “You didn’t answer my question.” Kent shook his hand, which was attached to hers, but didn’t let go. He was getting her attention in a way that was all too familiar to Sherman.

  But brand-new to his mother.

  “What question?” she asked.

  “Can I call you Mom?”

  “Did you ask your father?”

  “No, I’m asking you. It’s your name.”

  “Then, yes. Please, yes!” She hugged him.

  He pulled back again. “Why did you give me away?”

  All of Sherman’s coaching had been for naught. The questions would come, had been coming ever since Kent had insisted on knowing about his birth parents. With Dr. Jordon’s coaching he’d told him the who, but said the why was up to Talia to explain to him. He’d also suggested—okay, ordered him—to give her some time before bombarding her with questions. He’d tried to explain how painful they might be for her.

  It was clearly a concept Kent didn’t yet grasp.

  And how could he blame him? He was thirty-eight years old and he was just starting to get it himself.

  While Sherman stood there, his hands in his pants pockets, Talia took Kent down on the beach. He could hear her voice, even hear her words, but he knew that this moment was not for him.

  It was between a mother and her son.

  * * *

  SHE TOLD KENT that she’d wanted him desperately. That his father had been taken away from her. And that she’d given him up because she wasn’t going to be married or have a job and wanted him to have a safe, happy place to live with people who wanted him and loved him as much as she did.

  He asked who’d taken his father away.

  She asked him if he’d mind waiting a few years for that part of the story. She asked him to trust her that it would be better. He scrunched up his sweet face. Had asked if his father—Sherman—knew about his biological dad. She told him yes. He wanted to know if the other man was around now. And when she said no, he agreed to wait to hear about him. And then asked if he could build a sand castle.

  They all three built one.

  * * *

  “ASK HER, DAD.” They were sitting on the beach, watching Kent dig a moat around the castle they’d built.

  Sherman loved his son. But there came a time when a man needed some time to himself. Or with another grown-up.

  “Do you mind if I take your mom for a walk?” The words flowed naturally off his tongue. Until he saw Talia’s look of shock. And the tears that sprang to her eyes.

  “Don’t ask me, ask her,” Kent said, still digging. The boy wanted to know that he was going to have a family again. A real family.

  And was scared to death that his dad had blown their chance.

  “Will you walk with me?”

  She stood, brushing off her ridiculous shorts, looking more beautiful than he’d ever seen her.

  Sexier, too.

  Sherman didn’t touch her. He wouldn’t. Not until she gave him that right. If she gave him that right.

  “I screwed up, Talia.” He started in as soon as they were far enough away not to be overheard.

  “No...”

  “Please, let me get this out. I was so busy trying to control my life, I missed out on living it. Brooke figured it out, but didn’t know how to tell me. Frankly, I’m not sure I’d have heard her if she tried. Hell, maybe she did try.”

  Digging her toes in the sand, Talia quit walking, and looked up at him. “Just tell me where we go from here,” she said. “You told him I’m his mother...” Her voice broke, and the trembling in her chin choked him up, too. “Thank you,” she said in between holding her breath.

  Tears blurring his eyes, he nodded. She was so gorgeous. And he’d done her so wrong.

  “From what I can see you’ve spent your whole life trying to spare the people you love from having to be around you.”

  Her head pulled back. She frowned.

  “It’s like you thought you were diseased and would make them sick if they got too close.”

  “I don’t—”

  “I’m not saying I’m right,” he interrupted. “I’m just telling you what I see. You asked where we go from here, and I know where I want to go, but it’s going to be up to you.”

  “That question Kent wanted you to ask.”

  She wasn’t smiling.

  Because she didn’t get it? Or didn’t want it?

  It was time for him to follow her example. To be as brave, as selfless, as she’d been. “Will you marry me, Talia?”

  Her mouth fell open. “I... My past... Your career...”

  “If it becomes an issue, we’ll face it. You took down the school board, Talia.”

  “With your help.”

  “You had them without me. I just might have helped you get the full-time position a little sooner. And that was completely selfish on my part, you know.”

  “How so?”

  “I wanted to make sure you’d be sticking around. And as much as you love your collage work, as good as you are at it, as much as you love kids, I figured...” He broke off with a shrug. “If your past becomes a problem, we’ll deal with it together,” he said, completely serious. “We might have a problem when the news of Brooke’s suicide hits the press. If it hits. There are going to be bumps ahead. We can count on them. One thing I’ve learned is that no matter how carefully you prepare, life is messy. Another is that a career is worth nothing when compared to standing up for the woman you love.”

  “You love me?” Her blue eyes w
ere huge, searching. The vulnerability he read in them would be with him until the day he died.

  “I do. Very much. More than I believed it was possible to love another human being.”

  “I love you, too. Like that.”

  He started to pull her into his arms. She held him off with one hand to his chest. “What about Kent?” She nodded toward the little boy who was watching them from a distance. “What happens when he hears about the career his mother had in between having him and finding him?”

  Sherman braced himself, knowing this was going to hurt her. “I’ve talked to Dr. Jordon about that. He suggests that we tell Kent, together, as soon as possible. Before he has a chance to hear it somewhere else. We’ll need to give him tools to use, words to have to respond in the eventuality some jerk kid tries to make a big deal of it.”

  When she bowed her head, he lifted it up again with a finger under her chin.

  “He’s a smart boy, Talia. He lives by his heart, not his head. Like his mother.”

  “I don’t get that.”

  “You... All your life you’ve been trying to make up for the woman your mother was—to the point of when you thought you were like her, taking yourself away to a world where you wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone.”

  “I—”

  “You’re all heart, my dear, sweet Talia. Thank goodness for you. Those of us who know you and love you get that you don’t see that yet.”

  “Tanner said something to me several months ago...”

  “Whatever it was, I’d believe him.” Sherman was grinning.

  “Why are you so happy? I haven’t said yes yet.”

  “Because I’m a positive thinker. You know that. And right now I’m feeling pretty positive that we’re going to have a pretty spectacular family.”

  He turned toward the ocean and raised his voice, calling, “Santa Raquel, world, watch out!”

  “Did you say ‘have’ a pretty spectacular family?” Talia asked, smiling as he turned back to her. “As in, maybe another baby someday, too? Assuming we can conceive?”

  About to tell her he was up to begin trying as soon as possible, to tell her that according to all of the tests that had been done, there’d been no apparent reason he and Brooke had been unable to conceive, he was interrupted as Kent came running up behind him.

  “Did she say yes?”

  Hooking an arm around his son’s shoulders he pulled him forward, a vital piece of their circle. “Not yet...”

  “Yes! I say yes!” Talia’s laugh was a new sound to him. Full bodied. Full of delight.

  And something else.

  Something he didn’t think either of them had ever fully known before.

  Happiness.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from SOUTHERN COMFORTS by Nan Dixon.

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Rule #1—The guests are always right, even when they’re wrong.

  Mamie Fitzgerald

  “SCORE ONE FOR Team Fitzgerald.” Abby tapped the occupancy permit against the porch railing and waved to her contractor as he headed for his truck. The final room on the second floor could be used.

  She propped open the bed-and-breakfast’s bright blue doors. For February 1, the day was gorgeous, with temperatures hitting the mid 70s. Sunlight streamed through the leaded-glass side windows and sparkled on the foyer’s crystal chandelier. The gold streaks in the green-marble entry floor gleamed.

  Abby wanted all of Fitzgerald House to sparkle like the entry.

  That meant renovating the rest of the third floor, and finally the carriage house. They just needed a reasonable bid, money and a whole lot of luck.

  Her hand brushed the brass plaque set inside the door.

  Fitzgerald House—1837

  Savannah, Georgia

  Bed & Breakfast opened

  March 1, 1998—Mamie Fitzgerald

  Owners—Abigail, Bess and Dolley Fitzgerald

  As always, she made a wish. Let the renovation costs be reasonable.

  A fresh floral arrangement graced the console table. The tang of lemon wax mingled with the warm scent of the foyer’s sandalwood candles. While she’d been with her contractor, the cleaning crew had performed their magic.

  With no one in the entry, she held out her arms and twirled, tipping her head up, grinning. The sparkling prisms were all she could see.

  Dizzy, she stopped. Whoa. Hadn’t done that since she’d been young.

  She’d call Mamma and her sisters later. Let them know they were one room closer to finishing the main house restoration. And she was one room closer to opening her restaurant in the carriage house. She gave herself a hug. One step at a time.

  Abby walked over to the Queen Anne secretary they used for a reception desk. The front door opened as she logged on to the computer, and she glanced up. “Welcome to Fitzgerald House. How can I help you?”

  A man stalked toward her. Black brows framed laser-blue eyes. He was tall and lean. My, my. Some days God took pity on working women and gave them something to dream about. She indulged in a quick fantasy of running her fingers through his thick black hair. Too bad he had a frown on his face and a cell phone glued to his ear.

  Mr. Fantasy dropped his bag, smiled and pointed to the phone, holding up one finger. He patted his pockets.

  She handed him a pen and a piece of paper.

  He mouthed a thank-you.

  “Severn,” he said. “What was the contracted completion date?”

  He wrote down the date in bold slashes.

  “What’s the remaining payout?” Again the hand-scrawled numbers on the paper.

  Abby tried not to look, but the number was big. With that kind of money, she and her sisters could finish off the third-floor rooms and still have enough left over for new linens.

  “So what’s the problem?” the man growled.

  Abby stepped back, giving him privacy. She wouldn’t want to be the person failing to meet this man’s expectations.

  “The only way I’ll extend the deadline is if we recontract,” he stated. “You have options. Overtime, more crew. Think about it and get back to me.” He switched off his phone without so much as a goodbye.

  Apparently Mr. Fantasy hadn’t gone to the same customer-service seminars Abby had.

  She stepped back up to the desk. “May I help you?”

  “Grayson Smythe. S-m-y-t-h-e.” The man’s voice was as rich and smooth as bourbon, and his smile was just as intoxicating.

  Abby searched the reservation system. Nothing. She tried incorrect spellings of the man’s name. Nada. She tried his first name as his last. Still nothing. Her fingers tapped the desktop in a staccato beat.

  The man’s intense gaze weakened her knees. His dark eyebrows came together over his bright blue eyes.

  Had the system eaten another reservation? She forced a smile. “Do you have a confirmation number?”

  “No, I don’t. My assistant confirmed the details yesterday.” He leaned over the desk, staring at the computer screen. The temperature in the room seemed to climb ten degrees.

  Abby kept smiling, but her mouth wanted to droop in
to a frown. She couldn’t. She had a guest in front of her.

  A quick patter of feet turned her attention to the open door.

  “I told you, Mama.” A blond boy, maybe four or five years old, darted into the entry. “I’ll catch you a rainbow.”

  Catch a rainbow?

  Sure enough, the sunbeams were now hitting the chandelier, and rainbows danced over her head. She hadn’t noticed, too caught up in their guest. But she really hadn’t noticed the rainbows since she’d been young. Since her dad had died.

  Mr. Smythe whipped around at the noise.

  “Joshua!” A thin young woman entered behind the boy. “Come back.”

  The boy jumped up and down, his hand outstretched. His clothes were clean, but the knees were patched. “I can’t reach them!”

  Mr. Smythe knelt in front of the boy. The little boy’s eyes widened and he stepped back.

  Abby moved out from behind the desk. She didn’t want her guest snarling at this cute kid the way he had on the phone.

  Before she could rescue the child, Mr. Smythe said, “Would you like me to lift you up?”

  The boy held up his arms. “Yes, please.”

  Abby’s eyebrows popped up as Mr. Smythe held him in the air. Joshua’s hands waved, trying to grab hold of the colors.

  “Hold still and the rainbow will shine on your fingers,” Mr. Smythe said.

  “I’m sorry.” The woman leaned a hand against the desk, catching her breath. “He’s so fast.”

  “Are you looking for a room?” Abby shouldn’t judge the woman, but her clothes were...worn.

  “Oh, no.” Color washed over the woman’s pale face. “I’m here about the help-wanted ad.”

  Abby nodded. “The housekeeping position?”

  Both the man and the boy had rainbows coloring their palms. Mr. Smythe whispered to the little boy and Joshua giggled.

  Joshua’s mother straightened. “I know the ad is a couple of weeks old, but is the position still open?”