The Mommy Plan

by Susan Gable

  “I…I don’t know if I can. I don’t think I want people to know.”

  “Well, in your own time. Come on, I’ll show you where your cabin is.”

  Rachel let the camp director lead her from the office. She felt numb as she methodically placed one foot in front of the other.

  The funny smoke from Trudy’s hippie past had apparently addled a few too many of the woman’s brain cells. What else would explain the fact that she expected Rachel to tell the parents of transplant children that Daniel, her sweet four-and-a-half-year-old son, her only child, had been an organ donor?

  “OH, DAD, ISN’T IT GREAT?” Molly skipped up the steps to the bright blue cabin, the second to last one in the row. A nearly identical structure—this one painted a shade of yellow that reminded James of corn on the cob and melted butter—sat to his right. The dirt road dead-ended in front of it.

  He dragged the suitcases from the back of the SUV and followed his daughter. “It’s very nice. Wait for me.”

  He gritted his teeth at the twinge in his right shoulder, compliments of Molly’s bag. How many clothes did an eight-year-old need for camp? What else did she have stashed in the case? Books, more than likely. Molly was an avid reader. She’d certainly had plenty of time in her short life to cultivate the hobby. But how many books did it take to make a suitcase over the weight limit for some small bridges?

  He looked around. Tall trees—some pine, most hardwood—filled the area across from the cabin. Molly ran her hand across a set of purple metal wind chimes near the front door, setting off a series of melodic tinkling sounds. Several hundred feet behind the cozy wooden structure, a lake beckoned, small ripples slapping gently against the shore.

  The peacefulness of the place invited serious relaxation. If he was lucky, maybe there was a hammock nearby. He hadn’t had a real vacation since before Molly was born.

  “Dad! Come on, hurry up!”

  “I’m coming,” he muttered, following his daughter up the steps. The small screened porch contained two folding lawn chairs and a wooden coat tree. James dropped the luggage and searched his pocket for the key.

  Molly plastered her nose against the window.

  “I can’t open it with you in the way, sweetheart.”

  She stepped aside to let him unlock the door, then rushed in ahead of him, dodging the table and four chairs near the front windows. James walked past the efficiency kitchen and tossed his carry-on on the blue couch in front of the fireplace.

  Molly popped out of a door on the far end of the living room. “I want this bedroom, Dad. I can see the lake from the window!”

  James fished a can of disinfectant spray from his bag, returned to the porch to pick up Molly’s suitcase and headed into the room she had chosen. After depositing the hernia-maker on a luggage stand, he began to spray the white wicker furniture.

  Molly turned at the hiss of the can. “Dad! Can’t you give it a break? Jeez.” She threw open the window. “That stuff reeks.” The second window in the room resisted, but with a grunt, she shoved it halfway up.

  “Germs are—”

  “The enemy, yeah, I know.”

  James nodded. With an immune-suppressed child, he couldn’t take germs lightly. The medications that prevented Molly’s immune system from attacking her new heart also left her susceptible to sicknesses other kids could brush right off. A summer cold or a virus could turn into something serious, even life-threatening, for Molly. Pins and needles jabbed at the back of his neck, and his shoulder muscles tightened at the thought.

  “Stop complaining. Unpack your clothes, then I want you to lie down for a little while.” He held up his hand to forestall the whine he saw coming. “Tonight after dinner there’s a bonfire to welcome everyone, and you’ll probably be up late. So, take your pick. Lie down now for a while, or leave the party early.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Okay, you win.”

  “That’s my girl. I’m going to get the rest of the stuff out of the car.”

  Molly began unpacking as he headed out. Several large hardcover books appeared from the depths of her bag and James groaned. “Next time, do your old dad a favor and bring paperbacks, would you, tiger?”

  She grinned at him, eyes shining. “You’re not old, Dad. You’re just slightly used.”

  “Oh, thanks a lot. Was that supposed to be a compliment? If so, you need to work on it a little more.”

  Slightly used? He pondered the words as he thudded down the cottage steps. Sometimes badly used felt more like it. His ex-wife, Tiffany, who rarely contacted their daughter, was responsible for most of that.

  And Molly’s medical condition had also contributed to the battering he’d taken. All the surgeries she’d needed as the doctors tried to correct her birth defect. All the unknowns. Finally having to put her on the transplant list. And then, the waiting. It was so hard to live your life not knowing if this day would be your child’s last. Tiffany hadn’t even tried. She’d bolted by the time Molly was five months old and fled to the West Coast.

  Sunlight glinted off the polished black surface of a car at the yellow cottage. James blinked, then raised his hand to shield his eyes. It was the GTO convertible belonging to the flustered blond woman. A woman shouldn’t be driving it—a classic muscle car—no matter how good she looked in a pair of tight shorts. It was a man’s car. Testosterone and leaded fuel.

  If the P.C. police knew his thoughts, he’d lose his psychologist license for sure.

  But he had to get a closer look at it again. Biting back a grin and the urge to grunt like Tim Allen, he strolled down the dirt lane, one eye on the car, the other on the cabin. When the owner didn’t appear, he lost himself in admiration of the machine of his dreams, inspecting it closely from one end to the other.

  Bent over the engine some time later, he became aware of the faint scent of lemon and the distinct feeling of warmth behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed his suspicion. Busted.

  “Don’t you know it’s rude to get under someone’s hood without permission?”

  James straightened, then turned, finding himself close enough to touch the nameless woman.

  “Well?” She propped her fists on her hips and eyed him the same way he did Molly when he caught her up to no good.

  He forced a casual grin and stole a few seconds of observation time. Her shoulder-length corn-silk hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and in the bright sunlight, he noticed small lines around her eyes and mouth. Smile lines. Obviously this was a woman with a sense of humor. Only she wasn’t smiling now. “Sometimes it’s easier to ask forgiveness than it is permission,” he said.

  One corner of her mouth twitched, then she shook her head. “So you’re sorry you’re under my hood?”

  Could he coax that tiny twitch into a full-blown grin? “I’m sorry if I made you mad. But I’m not sorry I’m under your hood.”

  Her eyes widened, and she drew a sharp breath. With another shake of her head, she stepped back, clearly delineating the line he’d inadvertently crossed when he’d turned to face her. “Men. You’re all the same.”

  “Aah, so you’re harboring some hostility toward my entire gender.” As a psychologist who counseled many couples and families, he should know. He often had a ringside seat for the battle between the sexes.

  He stole a quick look at her left hand. No wedding ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. “This is a great car, and I couldn’t resist checking it out.” He gestured toward the engine. “Is that a four-hundred-turbo trannie?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? You own this terrific car, and you don’t even know what’s under her hood?”

  “No, and I don’t really care, either. It gets me where I want to go, and that’s all that matters.”

  James closed his mouth to stop it from gaping. After several seconds, he found his voice again. “You want to sell it?”

  Her eyes narrowed. She freed the prop stick and slamm
ed the hood, forcing him backward. “It’s not for sale. Trust me, you don’t have enough money to buy it.”

  “Try me.”

  “No. There are some things money can’t buy, and this car is one of them.”

  “A gift from a man friend?” he asked. Though how any man would part with a car like this was beyond him.

  Her hollow chuckle lacked humor. “In a manner of speaking. This car belonged to my ex-husband. Now it belongs to me.” She ran a palm over the hood, then slapped it soundly.

  James winced. Classic displaced aggression. “Not too fond of him, then, are you?”

  She looked back up at him. “You know the nickname for this car, James?”

  He nodded. “Goat.”

  “Right. Let’s just say I got Roman’s goat in the divorce settlement.” She folded her arms across her chest, as though daring him to make something of it.

  What a tough cookie. Wonder what else she took the poor sucker for? He glanced at the GTO again. “There’s no way I’d have let my ex-wife end up with a car like this.” No way in hell. She’d gotten enough of his money, but a car like this he’d have fought for.

  Just like he would have fought for Molly if he’d had to.

  But then, Tiffany hadn’t wanted Molly. Couldn’t deal with Molly’s condition, with the ever-present risk of losing her, with the hospitals and doctors…

  The woman’s ghost of a smile disappeared, and she lowered her hands to her sides. “I didn’t think I’d get it, either. But when a man wants his freedom badly enough, he’ll give up just about anything. Including his most prized possession.” She kicked the tire. “I didn’t ask for anything else. Not alimony, nothing. Just this stupid car.” She brushed her sneaker in the loose dirt around the wheel. “A small way to make him pay.”

  The tough cookie had been replaced by a woman with obvious wounds. Experience told him there was a lot more to the story than the exchange of a car for freedom. “Ouch. I’m sorry.”

  Rachel glanced up from the gravel she’d been scuffing with her toe. “Don’t be. I’m not. He played, and he paid.” Although, there had been a far greater cost to his playing, a cost he’d never be able to compensate for. If he hadn’t been so distracted by his new squeeze, maybe Daniel would still be alive.

  “So you got his goat, but didn’t take him for a ride?”

  “Nope. Just wanted his car. You know, hit him where it hurts?”

  “Remind me not to mess with you.” He smiled broadly at her, showing a solitary dimple deep in his right cheek. Paired with the cleft in his chin, it made him even more attractive. “We never did finish our introduction.” He held out his hand. “Since we’re going to be neighbors for the next two weeks, maybe we should try again. I’m James McClain.”

  “Rachel. Rachel Thompson.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Rachel.” He gave her fingers a light squeeze, then let go. “My daughter, Molly, had a heart transplant a year ago in September. How about you?”

  Daughter? Heart transplant? She hadn’t seen a child in the back of his car, but then the windows were tinted. She’d gotten the impression he was a single guy without a family, another employee stuck at the far reaches of the family cabin loop due to one of Trudy’s assignment mix-ups.

  But that wasn’t the case. This man had one of those walking miracles she’d been sent here to see. A miracle born of a tragedy like hers.

  “Rachel?”

  She looked back up into those soft brown eyes, which now shone with concern. “Uh, I—I’m here to observe and teach arts and crafts.”

  “No kids?”

  Damn. Now he’d really done it. Her nose tingled as though someone had poured soda into it, her eyes misted over. She pinched the bridge of her nose hard and struggled for composure. “I have to go. I have lesson plans to write up.” She turned on her heel and headed for her cabin. In her mind she could hear her father’s clipped voice barking the phrase he’d used so often during her childhood. “Good little soldiers don’t cry.”

  Chin cleft and good looks be damned, James McClain was nothing but trouble with his miracle child and probing questions.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE’D SURVIVED A HEART defect and a transplant, but figured she’d eventually die of embarrassment. Caused by her father. He could be such a dork. Molly crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at his back as he carried their dinner trays to the garbage cans on the far side of the dining hall.

  “I saw that,” a soft voice with a faint Southern accent drawled. “What’s he done now?”

  Molly spun on the bench, then jumped to her feet. “Aah! Cherish!” She flung her arms around her friend and squeezed her tight. “You made it!”

  “I told you I was coming.” Cherish wiggled from the embrace, then plopped down at the table.

  “Yeah, but your biopsy was last week. You were supposed to call me.” Molly frowned at the other girl. Rejection right after her transplant a year ago had almost killed Cherish. “How was it?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Relief washed through her. “No rejects?”

  “Clean as a baby’s butt.” Cherish grinned and grabbed Molly’s hand. “During a bath, that is.”

  The two girls giggled. “You should know,” Molly said. “What’s it like having a new baby around?”

  Cherish wrinkled her nose. “Noisy, stinky and usually wet at both ends.” She tugged Molly down onto the seat next to her and whispered in her ear, “But I’ll tell you one thing. It sure gives my mom something better to do than fuss over me all the time.”

  “Jeez, I wish Dad had something better to do.”

  “You still didn’t tell me what he did this time.”

  Molly swiveled her head to check on her father’s return. He was still on the far side of the room, talking to a short lady with orange hair. Orange? Eewww. That was even worse than her own red mop.

  Molly turned back to her friend. “The usual. Eat this healthy food. Take a nap. Don’t overdo it. Wash those hands. Oh, and my very favorite, the disinfectant spray. You know, I could clobber the people who invented disinfectant wipes. Dad wiped down the table and bench when we got here.”

  “Omigod. How embarrassing. Even my mom’s not that bad.”

  “Tell me about it.” Molly searched the dining hall. “Where is your mom? I want to see the baby.”

  “She’s at our cabin, feeding him.”

  “You came by yourself?”

  “Yeah, so? I’m ten, I can come to the dining hall without getting lost.”

  “Must be nice,” Molly muttered.

  “Look, your dad will back off a little when you’re older.”

  “Sure. Maybe when I go to high school.” Guilt poked at her. Her dad loved her and was only trying to protect and take care of her. He was always there when she needed him. He just hadn’t learned to let go when she didn’t. If he had his way, she’d still have training wheels on her bike. “Let me ask him if we can go to your cabin.”

  Molly jumped up, slamming into someone.

  “Oh, no! Watch out!” The woman’s dinner tray hovered just over Molly’s head and she fumbled with it, just barely saving it from crashing to the floor. The contents of a tall plastic glass sloshed over the top and spattered the tray, the woman’s meal and her pretty pink shirt.

  “I’m sorry!” Molly looked up at the woman’s face. Recognition slowly dawned. It was the lady with the sunny blond hair she’d caught Dad staring at earlier.

  The woman offered her a slight smile. “No harm done, luckily.” Her smile wavered. “You nearly wore my dinner.”

  “I…I should have looked where I was going.”

  “Like I said, no harm done. Have a nice night.” The lady circled around her and scanned the room, finally choosing a seat at an empty table in the far corner.

  Something better to do, huh? Molly thought about what she’d told Cherish. Maybe a new lady friend would keep her dad busy so Molly could enjoy her time at camp without being smothered. Bes
ides, he needed someone in his life. They both needed someone.

  She’d overheard conversations between Dad and Gram, and knew her mother had been a big disappointment to him—Gram’s words, not his—but maybe in a place like this Molly could find a woman who didn’t think kids with new hearts were such a big deal. Maybe the blond lady? She didn’t have any kids with her.

  “Uh-oh, what are you thinking?” Cherish asked. “I know that look. It’s the I-have-a-plan-that’s-going-to-get-us-into-trouble look.”

  Molly grinned. “Yep, I have a plan. And you’re going to help me. I think Dad needs something better to do at camp than worry about me, and I think maybe a girlfriend is just what he needs.”

  The two girls burst into giggles, then hooked their pinkies together. “Best friends for life?” Cherish asked.

  “Best friends for life,” Molly agreed. “And then some.”

  RACHEL EASED FARTHER INTO the shadows, resting her back against a gnarled tree. A roaring bonfire and lit torches illuminated the man-made beach along the lake. The chatter of families mingled with pops and crackles as the fire shifted; the aroma of burning wood filled the air.

  “Hi, again.” The little girl from the dining hall held out a thin stick with something on the end. “I brought you a toasted marshmallow to say I’m sorry for running into you.”

  “That was very thoughtful.” Rachel pushed off the tree and bent over, trying to get a good peek in the dim light. “Are you sure you don’t want it yourself?”

  The child lifted one shoulder. “I’ve had my limit. I made this one for you.”

  “Thank you.” Rachel’s fingers sank into the gooey peace offering, and she tugged it off the end of the stick, then popped it into her mouth. “Mmm, delicious.” Actually, it was a burnt cinder surrounding molten goo, but she didn’t want to hurt the child’s feelings. She swallowed and forced a smile. “I haven’t had a toasted marshmallow in a long time. Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome.” The little girl grinned. “Where are your kids?”