His Brother's Fiancée

by Jasmine Cresswell

  "Need?" Dylan asked mildly. "Do you really need to find your birth mother for something like medical reasons, or was that just a figure of speech?"

  "A figure of speech. At least I think it was." Emily smiled wryly. "I don't have any hereditary diseases as far as I know, and psychologically I'm sure I'll survive if I never find out who my birth mother was, but I guess I've grown more and more curious about my origins as I've gotten older. Don't get me wrong. My parents, Sam and Raelene Sutton, are wonderful people. They've given me a great education, a secure home, and lots of material possessions. Most of all, they've loved me more than any child could possibly hope for. In fact, they were such terrific parents I made it all through the teenage years without ever once being tempted to run away to search for my 'real' mom. So I guess it kind of took me by surprise a couple of months ago when I found myself wondering about my birth mother."

  "You never thought about her before? That's unusual for an adopted child."

  "I thought about her occasionally, but not with any real intensity. On my birthdays, I would wonder if she remembered the day I was born, and if she missed me. But suddenly, after twenty-seven years, I have this nagging sense of urgency, and I've even started to dream about her at night. It's as if time's running out for me to find her. When I'm awake, the feeling of urgency isn't so strong, but I keep asking myself how she'd feel if she knew her daughter was about to get married—" Emily stopped abruptly.

  Fortunately, Dylan misinterpreted the reason for her sudden silence. "It's not surprising that you should start questioning the circumstances of your birth now you've reached the point in your life when you might have children of your own. Even so, before I agree to proceed with the investigation, I'd like to reassure myself that you're aware of the risks involved."

  "Risks?"

  "Emotional risks, chiefly. Although sometimes there are practical risks, too."

  "I've considered the risks," Emily said. "I realize this search will impact my adoptive parents as well as me. Obviously, I don't want to hurt them—"

  "Have you told them what you're planning to do?"

  Emily shook her head. "No, not yet."

  Dylan sent her a quizzical look and she acknowledged his tacit question with a rueful smile. "I'm not chickening out. Honest. I don't think they'll be hurt by the idea that I've chosen to look for my birth mother, but they'll be…anxious. Why worry them needlessly? Carolyn says your success rate in finding missing family members is very high, but even you must have the occasional failure. I didn't want to get everyone worked up over something that might fizzle out into nothing."

  "You have a point. But we're proud of our record, even though we've only been in business a short time, so I'm optimistic that we can find your mother. However, there are still a couple of warnings I need to run by you before we start the investigation. Until quite recently adoptions were governed more by custom than by law. Nowadays, most states insist on full disclosure, and open adoptions are the norm, with all the important facts on the table. But thirty years ago, case workers figured birth records were closed forever, and nobody was going to be hurt if they polished the truth to make it more palatable to adoptive parents."

  "I just want to know who my mother is and why she chose to give me up for adoption," Emily said. "I'm prepared to face whatever you find."

  "Are you certain? Even if it turns out that you were born while your mother was in prison? Or maybe she had so many sexual partners nobody has any idea who your father is? Or how about if she's a married woman, living in the suburbs with a second family and children she chose not to give up for adoption? How badly is that going to hurt you? Then there are the practical risks I talked about. You're a successful professional woman, with wealthy parents. What if your adoptive mother hits you up for money?"

  "Actually, I've thought about all those possibilities, and I've decided I want to know the truth, whatever it is," Emily answered without hesitation. Surprisingly, a fierce desire to find her birth mother was one of the few emotions she could still feel through the numbness induced by Michael's rejection.

  She realized she was gripping the edge of the desk, and she uncurled her tense fingers. "I appreciate the warnings, Dylan, and I'm prepared to face the worst, but I don't think I'll have to. The adoption agency provided some pretty specific details about my background. They said my birth mother was a nineteen-year-old student at the University of Texas. My father was also a college student, although he was a couple of years older. They had a brief affair, but by the time my birth mother found out she was pregnant, my father had already graduated—"

  Dylan shook his head, interrupting her. "Emily, every client who walks through these doors seems to have been told a version of the same story. Middle-class couples were more willing to adopt babies from middle-class backgrounds, so that's what the agencies provided—babies supposedly born to innocent young girls who had made a mistake. The truth might really have been that the birth mother was an illegal immigrant toiling in a factory sweatshop and boosting her income by working as a prostitute, but somehow she always got transformed into a college student who made a mistake."

  "Sometimes it must have happened that way, though. College students do have unplanned babies."

  "Yeah. Sometimes. Not as often as you might expect." Dylan leaned forward, his gaze intent. "I had a case where an older woman found out the truth about her past and wished she hadn't. The illusions of a lifetime were badly shattered and she's coping with information she'd have preferred not to have. Let me give you one last warning, Emily. Don't open the box unless you're one hundred percent sure you want to see the contents."

  Emily knew adoption agencies often lied about the circumstances of the birth parents…knew that her mother might be someone society would deem unworthy. Her dubious genetic heritage was one of the reasons she had always been so anxious not to disgrace Raelene and Sam. She didn't want to give people cause to whisper that bad blood always tells in the end. But the time had come in her life when she needed to replace comforting myths with the truth.

  "I'm prepared for whatever you find out," she said quietly. "I want to open the box."

  "Okay, I believe you." Dylan relaxed and gave her a warm smile. "Now I'm finally going to quit with the dire warnings and tell you one of my favorite adoption stories. Almost the first client this agency had was a man in his forties. His adoptive mother had just died, and he'd decided to start a search for his birth mother. We found her without too much difficulty, and they had a great reunion. It turned out his birth mother had been widowed a year earlier and had been looking for her son ever since. But it gets even better. Yesterday, I had a phone call from my client. His birth mother and his adoptive dad have just gotten engaged and he called to invite me to the wedding. Isn't that a great story?"

  "It sure is. It's the sort of fairy-tale ending every adopted child dreams of." Emily concentrated on feeling happy for the bride and groom, and not wallowing in self-pity for herself and her broken engagement.

  "I have a bunch more great adoption stories, but with your tight schedule, I guess we need to get down to business." Dylan's manner became brisk. "I'll need your birth certificate and the name of the agency that arranged the adoption. I assume you can give me that much?"

  Emily nodded. "I sure can. The adoption was arranged through the Lutheran Family Services. Unfortunately, their records were all destroyed in a fire, and the agency itself is no longer in business, which is why I couldn't take this investigation any further myself. I didn't know where to start."

  She laid a brown envelope on the desk. It contained the meager records of her adoption. "Other than the story I told you about both my parents being students at the University of Texas, I don't have any leads to give you, I'm afraid."

  "Don't worry. It's my business to generate leads. That's why we charge the big bucks."

  Emily acknowledged his smile. "Yes, Carolyn already provided me with your fee schedule. It took me a couple of days to recover, but I'm
no longer in a state of total shock."

  "Good." Smiling, Dylan pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. "Don't worry, Emily, we earn our high prices. We've traced birth parents with less information than you've given me, and quite quickly, too. So my advice is that you should enjoy your wedding, have fun on the honeymoon, and by the time you're back in town again, I hope to have news for you."

  He glanced down at some notes on his desk. "I have your address and phone number here—365 Market Street. Is that going to change after you're married?"

  Emily felt her smile freeze. Good grief, here was another problem she hadn't thought of. She was about to become a homeless person! She'd sold her small but beautiful condo with views over the River Walk because she'd expected to move into Michael's self-contained apartment within the Chambers mansion. Her furniture was in storage, and she'd been camping out for the past ten days at her parents' house. The new owners had already moved into her condo, and she had no place to go. Because much as she loved her parents, she simply wasn't going to continue living with them. She never again wanted to put herself at the mercy of their well meant but smothering protection.

  It took significant effort, but she managed not to let her worry show. "I'm not living at the Market Street address anymore, but I'll make sure Carolyn has my new address and phone number," she said. "I'll be in touch in a couple of days."

  Dylan wasn't a detective for nothing. She'd thought she managed to convey that information rather calmly, but he sensed the anxiety lurking only a hairbreadth beneath the cool surface.

  "Emily, what's bothering you?" he asked quietly. "I assumed it was the search for your birth mother that had you on the edge, which is why I pressed you hard about the risks involved. But I've been watching you closely, and I'm fairly sure it's not this investigation that has you half a step away from full-blown panic. It's something else. Can I help?"

  "No, but I really appreciate the offer. It sounded genuine."

  "It was. I have broad shoulders if you feel the need to unload a problem."

  It occurred to her that Dylan would be an easy man to confide in. It also occurred to her that he must encounter people all the time who were struggling with heartbreaking, life-or-death dilemmas. She suddenly realized that 350 disgruntled guests didn't amount to a life-or-death problem. As for heartbreaking… Her heart, now that she stopped to think about it, seemed remarkably unscathed by Michael's casual termination of their engagement. Her pride was rubbed raw and she was panicked by the sudden upheaval in her plans for her future, but there was no gaping wound in her emotions. In fact, for a bride jilted almost at the altar, she was embarrassingly free of grief.

  Emily flashed Dylan her first genuine smile in several hours. "I've just this minute come to the conclusion that I don't have much of a problem at all. Other than the fact that I've been indulging in an exaggerated case of self-pity, which I plan to snap out of right now. Thank you again for your excellent advice."

  "You're welcome." Dylan grinned. "Sometime you must let me know what I said that was so insightful." He walked her to the door. "You'd probably like to see Carolyn before you leave. Her office is two doors down. You can't miss it."

  "Thanks. I'll look forward to hearing from you as soon as you have any news about my birth mother." Emily said a final goodbye and marched purposefully down the hallway to Carolyn's office. The door was open and she stepped inside without knocking.

  "I'm not going to marry Michael," she announced. "You're the first person to hear the news."

  The sky didn't fall and the walls of the building remained standing. In fact, her announcement seemed considerably less amazing once she'd actually spoken it out loud.

  Carolyn, who'd been working at a computer, swiveled around on her chair and looked at Emily without saying anything. Her expression revealed nothing at all about what she was thinking, not even that she was surprised.

  "You want to sit down and tell me about it?" Carolyn asked finally.

  "No, I don't want to talk about it. Not yet." Whatever story she invented for the benefit of the world at large, Carolyn was her best friend and would have the plain, unvarnished truth. But not right now. Not today.

  "I've been really stupid, and it still feels too frightening to talk about," Emily said by way of explanation. Her heart might not be shattered, but it could still ache for dreams and hopes that weren't going to be fulfilled. "Give me a few hours to get my head fixed on straight and then I'll share all the gory details."

  "Okay. Subject closed. So what shall we do tonight?" Carolyn rallied like the trooper she was. "Want to come to my place and eat popcorn and watch bad movies? Hop on a plane to Dallas? Drive into the country and spend the night at a motel, drinking champagne and dissing men? You name it, I'm game."

  "Thank you," Emily said, feeling tears spring into her eyes. "You're a wonderful friend, Caro. But I think what you should do tonight is attend the Sutton-Chambers bridal dinner at the San Antonio Federal Club. Trust me, the food's going to be spectacular. The champagne is all from France, and there are a bunch of cute guys coming, and most of them dance really well."

  "But I thought you said you weren't going to marry Michael?"

  "I'm not. But it's too late to cancel the bridal dinner. Everything will have to be paid for anyway, so somebody might as well eat all the fancy food Mrs. Chambers has spent three months selecting." Emily was quite proud of her smile. "The bride and groom will be missing, but that should at least make for some interesting table gossip."

  "Well, I don't know, Em…"

  "Go, Carolyn. Please. I want you to. You bought a super new dress, you told me so. You might as well wear it and leave all the men of San Antonio eating their hearts out because you're so unattainable."

  Carolyn laughed. "You've got me mixed up with you," she said. "You're the one who left a trail of broken hearts when you accepted Michael's proposal."

  Emily sent her friend a grateful smile. It was so typical of Carolyn to say something to boost her morale. "Thanks, Caro. I wish we could have lunch together so you could pay me lots more slick compliments, but I ought to get back, I suppose. I can't put off talking to my parents any longer."

  "Do you want me to call any of the guests? Warn the other bridesmaids? Anything along those lines?"

  Emily felt herself break out in a cold sweat at this reminder of what she would shortly be facing. "I don't know what to say…" She drew in a steadying breath. "No. Don't tell anyone that the wedding's off. I think it's best if we just let everyone turn up for the bridal dinner tonight and then my parents will have to make some kind of an announcement."

  Carolyn sent her a look of real sympathy. "You went a bit white around the gills when you said that. Are you okay to drive yourself home, Em?"

  "Yes, I'll manage. I'm fine, really." She looked at her watch and realized that she'd left the Chambers' home well over two hours ago. "Wow! I really have to get back and face the music. I'll be in touch soon, I promise. Take care, Carolyn."

  "You, too, Em. Drive carefully. Love ya."

  "Love you, too, babe."

  Carolyn watched her friend leave. "But you didn't love Michael," she muttered under her breath. "Thank goodness you realized that in time to get out of marrying him."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Emily didn't need to ask where everyone was when she finally managed to fight her way through the crush of city traffic and return to the Chambers's house. The sound of loud, angry voices informed her she would find a large gathering of furious people in the family room at the rear of the house.

  Feet dragging, she walked slowly down the hallway, fighting a cowardly urge to hide in one of the formal reception rooms, where the heavy antique furnishings provided cover, and Victorian oil portraits of Chambers ancestors looked down at the goings-on of their descendants with bland indifference.

  The irate voices grew progressively louder, with Mr. Chambers's upper-crust baritone booming over a cacophony of other speakers. Her mother sounded as if she migh
t be crying, and Emily winced in anticipation. The prospect of opening the door to the family room and facing the hurt and disappointment of her parents was almost enough to have Emily turn tail and run as fast as her legs could carry her in the opposite direction. But the thought of Mr. Chambers berating her mother put some steel into her flabby backbone. Reminding herself that a canceled wedding barely rated as an earthshaking problem in the grand scheme of things, Emily opened the door.

  The family room was little used and quite small, converted from a combination of the old butler's pantry and housekeeper's sitting room. Right now it appeared crammed to overflowing with irate people. Her parents. Mr. and Mrs. Chambers. Michael. Jeff Greiff, his campaign manager. Michael's brother, Jordan, was also there, standing a little apart from the others and staring out of the window. He was the only person who wasn't yelling, shouting or crying.

  Emily swallowed hard. The tension swirling around the room was powerful enough to squeeze the air out of her lungs. Her vocal chords stubbornly refused to function and she pressed her hands to her rib cage, trying to speak, but no words came. Surprisingly, it was Jordan who noticed her arrival first, even though his back was toward the door.

  "Emily's here," he said, half turning. He spoke quietly, but his cool tones penetrated the hullabaloo, and the babble of exasperated voices stopped for a few seconds while everyone swiveled around to stare at her. She'd noticed before that Jordan rarely needed to raise his voice in order to make his presence felt, and she wondered why his family seemed unaware of the fact that on the rare occasions when he wanted to, Jordan could dominate any situation he found himself in.

  Amelia Chambers spoke first, her voice acid with sarcasm. "Well, it's the vanishing bride! How good of you to put in an appearance. Finally. I suppose we should be grateful for small mercies."

  Emily flushed. "I had an appointment on the far side of town, Mrs. Chambers. I'm sorry to have kept everyone waiting."