Читать онлайн книгу "True Love, Inc."
True Love, Inc.
Jackie Braun
THE BATTLE… Cam Foley was mad–scratch that–he was furious. The last thing the widowed father wanted was a dating service pestering him.THE BARGAIN… True Love, Inc. owner Maddie Daniels never intended to infuriate the sexy single dad. But the irresistibly gorgeous Cam hadn't had a date in years–and she was just the person to help. So she struck a deal that she could find him the perfect woman…or admit she was a fraud.THE BLESSING IN DISGUISE… But falling for her client was not part of the plan. So why did she hope every date she sent the devilishly charming Cam on was a total disaster?
She found herself staring at his mouth again, fascinated.
Cam must have noticed the direction of Maddie’s gaze, because he said, “Did I leave any evidence?”
Maddie didn’t know what possessed her, but she raised her hand, resting the palm lightly against his cheek, and with the pad of her thumb pretended to brush away nonexistent crumbs. He leaned forward slightly and so did she, bringing their faces into surprisingly close proximity. Neither she nor Cam moved. Her hand still rested on his cheek, and his eyes were clouded with some indecipherable emotion. They seemed frozen in time, the only two people on the planet, until he finally closed the gap and gently settled his mouth over hers.
Maddie had been kissed before. But this was like being struck by lightning—quite simply, nothing else compared. He tasted like dill…and heaven.
Dear Reader,
Summer’s finally here! Whether you’ll be lounging poolside, at the beach, or simply in your home this season, we have great reads packed with everything you enjoy from Silhouette Romance—tenderness, emotion, fun and, of course, heart-pounding romance—plus some very special surprises.
First, don’t miss the exciting conclusion to the thrilling ROYALLY WED: THE MISSING HEIR miniseries with Cathie Linz’s A Prince at Last! Then be swept off your feet—just like the heroine herself!—in Hayley Gardner’s Kidnapping His Bride.
Romance favorite Raye Morgan is back with A Little Moonlighting, about a tycoon set way off track by his beguiling associate who wants a family to call her own. And in Debrah Morris’s That Maddening Man, can a traffic-stopping smile convince a career woman—and single mom—to slow down…?
Then laugh, cry and fall in love all over again with two incredibly tender love stories. Vivienne Wallington’s Kindergarten Cupids is a very different, highly emotional story about scandal, survival and second chances. Then dive right into Jackie Braun’s True Love, Inc., about a professional matchmaker who’s challenged to find her very sexy, very cynical client his perfect woman. Can she convince him that she already has?
Here’s to a wonderful, relaxing summer filled with happiness and romance. See you next month with more fun-in-the-sun selections.
Happy reading!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
True Love, Inc.
Jackie Braun
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my true love, Mark. Here’s to happily ever after…
Books by Jackie Braun
Silhouette Romance
One FiancГ©e To Go, Please #1479
True Love, Inc. #1599
JACKIE BRAUN
began making up stories almost as soon as she learned how to write them down. She never wavered from her goal of becoming a professional writer, but a steady diet of macaroni and cheese during college convinced her of the need for a reliable income. She earned her bachelor’s degree in journalism from Central Michigan University in 1987 and continues to work as an editorial writer for a daily newspaper. Fiction remains her first love. She lives with her husband and son in Michigan.
CONFIDENTIAL
TRUE LOVE, INC.
Madison Daniels, President
Client Information—CONFIDENTIAL
Name: Cameron Foley (Goes by Cam)
Sex: Male (Very, very male)
Age: 36
Height & Weight: Six feet tall, 180 pounds (Judging from the fit of his clothes, probably all muscle)
Physical Description: Athletic build, light brown hair, brown eyes (Cocky grin reminds me of Dennis Quaid)
Marital Status: Widowed, three years ago (Lonely? He says no, but I think he is)
Children: Caroline, age six (Absolutely adorable! He seems to be a devoted father)
Occupation: Cherry farmer. Owns Foley Cherry Farm.
Health: Excellent (Very physically fit), nonsmoker (Thank goodness), social drinker (Likes French wine!)
Dating Preferences: Looking for a woman who is in her early 20s, tall, voluptuous, with blond hair and great legs. No divorcées. (In other words, look for a woman who is my complete opposite because that’s exactly who Cam Foley wants…or is it?)
Contents
Chapter One (#uc529e594-c5cd-5dc1-9afb-d119995eafa3)
Chapter Two (#u99b613ab-dfb2-5e2d-a4bf-d749c697962f)
Chapter Three (#u2ef64cb8-e50a-5833-a6b6-d6985a0cc4d9)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Cameron Foley was mad—no, more than mad, furious. And he allowed his temper full rein as he shoved open the double plate-glass doors that were etched with two large, overlapping hearts. A young woman, probably a college student, sat at the receptionist’s desk just inside True Love, Incorporated’s lobby, cracking her gum, head bobbing to the tune of whatever music played from her headphones. He spared her only a cursory glance before stalking down the short hallway behind her desk.
“Hey! Can I help you?” she called after him.
Without breaking stride, Cam waved the paper fisted in his hand in her general direction. “I’ll help myself.”
There were only two doors in the hallway. He stopped in front of the one that sported a brass plate engraved with the words Madison Daniels, president.
“You can’t just, like, walk in there,” the receptionist hollered from behind him. “You’ve got to, you know, make an appointment if you want to see Miss Daniels.”
“Miss,” he repeated half to himself. “Of course she’s a miss.”
The dating service’s president was probably some dried-up old prune of a woman whose only enjoyment came from poking her nose into other people’s business. “She’ll see me now,” he said, and pushed open the door.
Inside, the room’s lone occupant stood with her back to him looking out the window, which offered a rather uninspiring view of the parking lot. It was late June and already pushing eighty degrees outside, but her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle as if she were chilled to the bone. She turned when he entered and surprise registered on the pale oval of her face.
Cam had to admit, he was surprised, too. This was not the meddling old maid he’d been expecting. Madison Daniels was a looker, with hair as dark and wavy as a gypsy’s and an interesting little mole that transformed one eyebrow into a sideways semicolon. The wild mane and sexy mole, however, seemed at odds with the rest of the package. The large eyes that dominated her face were as blue as a summer sky and unmistakably sad. The delicate skin below them looked slightly shadowed, as if she hadn’t slept well the night before. Beneath her conservative long-sleeved blouse and tailored navy slacks, her curves were more lean than lush. He pegged her to be in her mid-twenties, about five-five, and maybe one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. Fragile. That was the word that came to mind. Her skin was as fair and freckleless as his was tanned. Clearly, she didn’t spend much time outdoors, despite the miles of beaches and hiking trails that enticed summer vacationers to the northern Michigan town of Traverse City from near and far. Cam thought he could pity her for that alone.
But pity wasn’t why he had come.
“I’d like a word with you.”
He watched surprise recede behind a mask of polite, if cool, professionalism, and for some reason he found himself wondering if those full lips of hers remembered how to smile. Yet there was a ghost of humor in her words when she replied, “You look like a man who has more than one word on his mind.”
The receptionist huffed into the room then, shooting Cam a nasty look and cracking her gum for good measure.
“Sorry, Miss Daniels. I told this guy he needed an appointment, but he wouldn’t listen. He just walked right past me.”
“That’s all right, Lisa.” She sent the young woman a reassuring wink that caused the mole to dip briefly. “I’ve got nothing pressing at the moment.” Glancing in his direction, she asked, “Can I offer you some coffee, Mr....ah, I don’t believe I know your name.”
“Foley, Cameron Foley,” he answered. Her voice was slow and smoky and made him think of the South. Wherever she hailed from originally, it wasn’t the Great Lakes state. “And I’ll pass on the coffee.”
“Very well. Hold my calls, please,” she told Lisa, dismissing her. The receptionist sent Cam one last squinty-eyed glare before closing the door on her way out.
Madison Daniels walked to the high-backed chair behind her desk, her movements stiff, awkward. She sank slowly onto the upholstered seat and folded her hands on the leather blotter. For the first time, Cam noticed the raised scars that ran along the back of her right hand and disappeared beneath the cuff of the long-sleeved blouse. He realized he must have been staring when she discreetly lowered her hands to her lap, away from his prying view.
“Are you interested in signing up for our services, Mr. Foley? We haven’t been in business long, but True Love, Incorporated has enjoyed quite a bit of success so far.” She plucked a square of ivory vellum from the desk blotter. “In fact, I’ve just been invited to a wedding.”
The woman’s fragility momentarily had taken the edge off his anger, but it throbbed back to life now and made him lash out.
“I’m here because of this.” He tossed the wadded letter onto her desktop and folded his arms over his chest. “I want to know what gives you the right to mail out solicitations like this one.”
She smoothed the wrinkles from the paper, eyebrows tugging together as she read it. Then she glanced up.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Foley. This is a simple promotion. Hundreds of other businesses use such mailings. It’s all on the up and up, I assure you. We get the names, addresses and marital status from the Secretary of State’s office in Lansing. The people who are interested can respond. Those who aren’t can toss it in the garbage.”
“No harm, no foul,” he scoffed. “Did it ever occur to you that not everyone is single by choice?”
She eyed him warily but nodded in agreement. “That’s precisely why we’re in business, to help people who don’t want to be single find someone to spend time with—perhaps even a lifetime.”
Cam snorted, irritated anew by her calm demeanor and the slightly sanctimonious edge to her tone.
“Lady, don’t pretend your motives are so pure. You’re not as interested in helping lonely people find one another as you are in drawing a paycheck.”
She shrugged off the barb, although he thought he saw temper spark briefly in the otherwise calm blue of her eyes.
“Are you lonely, Mr. Foley?”
The way she said it, she reminded Cam of the therapist he’d seen briefly a few summers earlier just after his wife died. He glanced down at the ring on his left hand, the feel of it comforting and familiar. Safe. Just that morning he’d taken it off and tucked it away in the back of his bureau drawer. It was the first time the ring had left his finger in ten years. Everyone kept telling him it was time to move on with his life. They all offered the pathetically clichéd reason that it was what Angela would have wanted—for him and for the daughter they’d made together. It didn’t matter that it was true, and that before her death Angela had made him promise to keep his heart open to love and the possibility of remarriage.
Even Angela’s own sister, whose grief came the closest to matching his own, was urging him to start dating again. For the past few weeks, he’d actually begun to consider it. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time to dip his toe in the water again, enjoy some adult company. There were times when he felt so lonely. But then the mail had come that morning, and with it True Love, Incorporated’s galling solicitation. How dare they call him single? His hand, wedding ring securely back in place, curled into a fist as outrage returned, fueled by something he refused to admit might be guilt.
“I’m not lonely,” he replied between gritted teeth, even though he knew it was a lie.
“But you are single, correct?” She waved a hand toward the solicitation on her desk.
He didn’t answer. To say yes seemed a betrayal of Angela, and yet no wasn’t quite accurate, either. She apparently took his silence for an affirmation.
“Well, if you’re single, I fail to see what the problem is. If you’re not interested in our services, fine. Throw the solicitation away. But True Love, Incorporated is doing nothing wrong—morally or legally—by seeking your business. You, Mr. Foley, are the single man living at 4255 Mockingbird Lane to whom this correspondence is addressed.”
“No, Miss Daniels, I’m not.” He laid the palms of his hands on the highly polished wood of her desktop and leaned forward, pinning her with an icy glare that he was gratified to see had her shifting back in her seat.
“What I am is the widowed man living at 4255 Mockingbird Lane who watched his wife die a slow and agonizing death from cancer. What I am, Miss Daniels, is a man who wants to be left the hell alone by people like you who have the audacity to try to put a price tag on something that’s beyond monetary value.
“True Love, Incorporated.” He sneered. “You ought to be arrested for fraud. You don’t know the first thing about true love. If you did, you’d realize it can’t be packaged and sold like cereal in some grocery store.”
Her face bleached of what little color it had. In a shaky whisper, she replied, “I’m so sorry. H-how long ago did you lose your wife?”
He backed up a step, crossed his arms again. “It was three years in May.”
“That’s a long time.”
“It’s an eternity.”
“Have...have you dated at all since then?”
He glared at her and said with a certainty he did not feel, “I have no reason to date. There’s no one I’d be interested in meeting.”
“How can you be so sure?”
How? He twirled the band that encircled the third finger with the thumb of his left hand. The gesture was comforting, familiar, affirming.
“I’ve already had my �true love,’ Miss Daniels. There’s not another one out there.”
Despite his intentionally surly tone, the woman faced him calmly, reminding him again of that loathe-some therapist his sister-in-law had badgered him into seeing.
“I’ve read that those who love deeply once are more likely to love deeply again. Who’s to say there’s not someone else who could make you happy? You’re a young man, Mr. Foley. Surely you don’t plan to spend the rest of your life alone?”
Young or not, that’s precisely what he planned—until just recently. Guilt nipped him again. “Let me guess. You think you can help me find the perfect woman.”
“That is my business.” One finely arched eyebrow lifted, tugging that intriguing little mole along with it. “Care to let me try?”
“No.”
“Why not? If you don’t believe in my service, what do you have to worry about?”
It wasn’t quite a dare, but it seemed awfully close. He narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”
“Nothing, really. I’ll even waive my usual fee. Call it a goodwill gesture.”
Good will, my butt, Cam thought. But two could play her game, and he was curious just how far she would go with her little matchmaking scheme. Make the stakes high enough, and she would back down.
“All right,” he said slowly, stalling so he could think. “But let’s sweeten the pot with a deadline. Forget true love, I’ll give you until...Valentine’s Day to find me a woman worth a second date. If you succeed, I’ll pay you twice your normal fee. Heck, I’ll even do a testimonial if you want.”
“And if I fail?”
She wasn’t backing down, he realized. Time to tighten the screws. Cam leaned forward, offered his most carnivorous smile. “If you fail, you’ll take out a full-page ad in the Traverse City Record-Eagle admitting you’re a lousy matchmaker, admitting, Miss Daniels, that you are a fraud.”
That should do it, he thought, as he watched her eyelids flicker in shock.
“That would destroy my business.”
“If you believe in your service, what do you have to worry about?” he said, parroting her earlier comment.
Her lips thinned, settling into a tight line. He knew he had her. She wouldn’t agree, which suited him fine. He had no desire to be fixed up with strange and probably desperate women. Feeling magnanimous, he decided a heartfelt apology on her part would suffice. As well as a solemn promise to take his name off her business’s mailing list.
But then she stuck out her scarred right hand.
“You have a deal, Mr. Foley.”
Maddie rather liked the way her announcement caused Cameron Foley’s mouth to slacken in surprise. Opened or closed, it was a nice mouth, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top one. But there was nothing soft about his features, nothing that could be called feminine. Cameron Foley was all man, from the slight stubble that shaded his strong jaw to the clearly defined muscles of his forearms. He reminded her a little of the actor Dennis Quaid, ruggedly masculine, cocky, just a bit reckless. And incredibly sexy. The unexpected direction of her thoughts shocked Maddie. In her line of work, of course she noticed such details about men. But this wasn’t some mere clinical observation—the little tug of attraction was as unmistakable as it was unwelcome and pointless. She lowered the hand that he had yet to shake and fiddled with a paper clip while she waited for him to find his voice.
Finally, he said hoarsely, “I do?”
To lighten her own mood she quipped, “Practicing for the wedding already?”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” he bit out, his face darkening like a thundercloud. “I’m not looking for another wife. No one can replace Angela.”
“Please forgive me. I was only teasing, but it was in extremely poor taste. You’re right. No one will ever hold that same place in your heart.” Her tone earnest, she continued, “But perhaps I can introduce you to someone whose company you’ll enjoy. Someone you’ll want to take out on that second date. So, do we still have a deal?”
Maddie wasn’t sure why she felt so compelled to help him. She had far more to lose than he did. But something about Cameron Foley tugged at her, making her want to reach out. Perhaps it was because despite all of his angry denials, he seemed so lonely.
He hesitated a moment, looking torn, before giving a jerky nod. And Maddie got the feeling that even though he’d been the one to set the terms, his participation in their wager would be begrudging at best. Well, the race went to the swift, so Maddie pulled her chair closer to the desk and booted up the computer.
“Terrific. I’ll need to gather some background information. Standard stuff like date of birth, height, weight, health history, that kind of thing. If you’ll take a seat we can get started.”
He backed up a step. “I don’t have time for that today. Driving into the city for this little discussion has put me behind schedule as it is. Some of us have real work to do.”
Ignoring the insult, she said, “Tomorrow, then?”
“Busy. Sorry.” He tucked his hands in the front pockets of a pair of well-worn jeans, looking not the least bit contrite.
The chair’s upholstery creaked as Maddie leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. “Do you plan to win this bet by default, Mr. Foley? I realize Valentine’s Day is nearly eight months away, but that’s not a lot of time. It will be a few weeks before I even have your video and background ready.”
“No video.”
“No video,” she repeated, and blew out a sigh of frustration. “So, you want to see them, but they can’t see you, is that the idea?”
“I don’t need to see them.” He inclined his head, smiled mockingly. “If you’re as good as you say you are, Miss Daniels, I’d be a fool not to trust your expert judgment. Besides, this way you can’t claim afterward that I only picked women I knew wouldn’t suit me.”
“Oh, I’m good,” she assured him, and had to quash the urge to blush when one of his eyebrows inched up in unmistakable male speculation. It didn’t seem to matter that she knew he was deliberately baiting her.
“Of course, I’ll have to do a more thorough screening than usual, which means taking up more of your time,” she said as sweetly as possible. “I’ll need to know everything about you, Mr. Foley, your likes, dislikes—all the telling little quirks and habits that often come through in my clients’ videos. So, when do we start?”
A muscle jumped in his jaw as he pulled his hands from his pockets and settled them on his hips. He glanced away, and she thought he might be ready to renege on the hasty bargain they’d struck. But then his gaze drifted back to hers and his lips twitched with a smirk.
“When you buy that ad in the Record-Eagle, I want it to be in color. It’ll attract more attention that way—and it will be more expensive.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Such a reaction would be neither professional nor, as her mother would point out if present, ladylike. Still, she made a mental note to write in Cameron Foley’s file that the man could be insufferable when he thought he was on the winning side of an argument.
“Fine, but it won’t come to that.” An idea occurred to her then. “I have a little stipulation of my own.”
“And that is?”
“The second date, you’ll bring roses—a dozen, long-stemmed and red. And you’ll take her to the Trillium,” Maddie added, naming one of the area’s nicest and priciest restaurants. “You do own a suit, I hope, because you’ll have to wear one.”
She pretended not to hear him mutter something obscene about neckties.
“So, when do we get started?” she asked again.
“Thursday is the best I can do, say noon, and you’ll have to come to me.” He nodded toward the wrinkled paper on her desk. “You know where I live.”
He walked to the door and opened it, but hesitated at the threshold. Turning, he smiled, losing all semblance of the outraged man whose grief had propelled him to stomp into her office fifteen minutes earlier, demanding an explanation, expecting an apology. But, if possible, his calm demeanor and that devilishly sexy grin on his face made Maddie even more determined.
“I’m going to win,” he said with conviction.
“Yes, Mr. Foley, you are.” She allowed herself a moment to enjoy his startled expression, before adding, “Just not the way you think.”
It was dark when Maddie arrived at her apartment, the converted upstairs of a souvenir shop in Traverse City’s quaint downtown. The shop had long since closed for the day, but several nearby restaurants and bars were open, so the streets were cluttered with tourists—“fudgies” as the locals liked to call them. The term was both derogatory and affectionate. The area’s economy—including its fudge shops—largely depended on downstaters, but no one particularly cared for the staggering crush of humanity that invaded the northern Michigan town almost as soon as the ice melted on the bay.
Maddie had no view of Lake Michigan’s lovely aqua water from her tiny living room window, and a closet might have been more spacious than the place’s only bedroom. It was a definite step down from the comfortable house she’d grown up in, and a huge tumble from the large Grosse Pointe estate she’d last called home. Its main selling points were cheap rent and a central location. She could walk to work—a definite plus since she didn’t care to drive even though she had a car, and the exercise was good physical therapy.
She toed off her flats, leaving them on the mat by the front door. A lamp burned cheerfully in her living room thanks to a timer, but other than that the place was dark and quiet. Lonely quiet, which was why she preferred to work late. No reason to rush home to an empty apartment. An empty life.
As she crossed the room to draw the blinds, she glanced hopefully at the answering machine. No messages. She picked up the phone, dialed the familiar number and waited. Her mother answered on the fourth ring, the South thick in Eliza Daniels’s honeyed tone.
“Hello, Mother. It’s Maddie.”
“Why, Madison, this is a surprise. It’s rather late. Your father and I were just getting ready for bed. How are you, dear?”
“I’m fine.” The polite response slipped effortlessly from Maddie’s lips. She shook her head, tried again with the truth. “Actually, Mother, I’m not fine. In fact, I’m having a really bad day.”
On the other end of the line, Eliza made an appropriately sympathetic sound. “I’m sorry to hear that you’re under the weather. Is it your...infirmity that’s giving you trouble?”
If it hadn’t so perfectly summed up the awkwardness of their relationship, Maddie might have chuckled at the discreet euphemism and the way her mother’s tone grew hushed whenever she used it.
“I am a bit sore today, but that’s not what’s bothering me. Do...do you know what today is?”
“Today? Hmm. I’m afraid not.”
For some reason—call it blind hope—Maddie had expected her mother, of all people, to know, to remember.
“Today should have been Michael’s birthday.”
“Michael’s birthday?”
“If he’d been born on his due date, he would have turned one...today.”
Maddie had spent her lunch hour beside his small gravesite—a gravesite only she had ever visited. Silence greeted her stifled sob, and she kicked herself mentally for seeking comfort and commiseration where neither had been forthcoming in the past.
“A good night’s sleep is what you need, dear. You’ll feel better in the morning.”
“My baby will still be dead in the morning. No amount of sleep is going to change that. Why can’t we ever talk about what happened, Mother?” she be-seeched.
Eliza Daniels considered an emotional outburst as gauche as wearing white shoes after Labor Day. It simply was not done. She went on as if Maddie had not spoken. “Do you have any of those pills left that the doctor prescribed after the accident? Perhaps you should take one.”
Ah, yes, as far as her mother was concerned, there was nothing a little Valium couldn’t fix. Maddie shook her head in sad acceptance. Arguing would be pointless. “Yes, perhaps I’ll do that. I should have thought of it myself. Thank you, Mother.”
Relief evident in her tone, Eliza replied, “You’re welcome, dear. Sleep well.”
“I’m sure I will. Give Daddy my love.”
Maddie hung up, feeling even more fatigued. Her limp was more pronounced as she trudged down the short hall to the bathroom and turned on the tub’s faucet. She wouldn’t resort to a tranquilizer, but a nice long soak might ease the aching pain in her knee and hip. She added a capful of lavender-scented bubble bath.
She shed her clothing, secured her hair in a quick topknot, and gingerly lowered her scarred body into the bathwater. As it had for the past several months, work remained her best source of escape, so she redirected her thoughts to Cameron Foley and the unconventional bargain they’d struck earlier in the day. He said he wanted to be left alone, but despite his vehement words, Maddie hadn’t been convinced. It was the aching loss evident beneath his gruff words that had prompted her to put her livelihood on the line to find him a match. He seemed so in need of a happy ending.
“A happy ending,” she mused aloud. The words echoed in the tiny bathroom, taunting her.
Cameron Foley had accused Maddie of being a fraud, and perhaps she was. At the very least, she knew she was guilty of living vicariously. There would be no happy ending for her.
She glanced at her left hand, which was ringless now. The sad truth was that as hard as she worked to find matches and mates for her clients, at twenty-eight, Maddie Daniels was divorced, broken and alone. And she had long since given up any hope of knowing or deserving the kind of true love that caused Cameron Foley to still mourn a wife who’d been dead three years.
Chapter Two
Thursday dawned clear and bright, the perfect weather for a drive. The roads were dry, the sun a warm, glowing orb climbing higher in the eastern sky. Even so, Maddie’s footsteps were hesitant as she walked to the parking lot behind the souvenir shop. Her slow pace had nothing to do with the stiffness in her leg and hip. In addition to her trepidation about seeing Cameron Foley again, she hated to drive.
Biting her lip, she slid onto the front seat of her car and fastened the safety belt even before inserting the key into the ignition. Since the accident fifteen months earlier, she’d gotten past the paralyzing fear of being in an automobile, but not the passionate dislike of operating one.
Driving five miles under the posted speed limit, she pulled onto Highway 22 and headed north toward the tiny, artsy town of Suttons Bay. To her right, sunlight danced on the calm waters of the west arm of Grand Traverse Bay. To her left, vacation homes dotted the hillside. The farther she drove, however, the more rural the landscape became. She smiled as row after row of cherry trees replaced man-made structures on the rolling countryside. The trees were heavy with fruit now, their boughs seeming to bend under the weight of sweet cherries that already looked ripe and inviting. This was cherry country, and despite the constant development pressure farmers felt to sell off the prime land their orchards occupied, the local people were proud of their crop. Eighty percent of the nation’s cherries were grown here and in a handful of other Michigan counties.
Recalling the statistic, Maddie wasn’t surprised when five miles outside of Suttons Bay, she spotted the big red sign that read Foley Cherry Farm.
“Of course.”
She might have guessed Cameron’s occupation. His tanned face and forearms, as well as the well-worn denim that had hugged his powerful build, had all hinted at time spent outdoors.
Gravel crunched under her tires when she turned the car onto Mockingbird Lane, nothing but a plume of dust visible through her rearview mirror. It had been a dry spring, and summer wasn’t promising to be any wetter. Cherry trees lined either side of the road as far as she could see, lush with fruit and postcard perfect. Finally, a large farmhouse came into view. It was set back from the road on the crest of a hill, its lowest level partially built into the slope. A big bay window jutted from the stone facade, above it two cedar-shingled gables gazed cheerfully out over the orchards.
It was a beautiful home, a serene setting, but Maddie’s pulse throbbed in her temples as she parked the car and gathered her briefcase. What kind of mood would Cameron Foley be in today?
Shrugging off her nerves, she walked to the front door. It was yanked open before she could knock. A girl of about six stood in front of her. She wore denim overall shorts and a pink shirt. Her dark hair was pulled into a pair of adorably crooked pigtails. There were matching bandages on her knees and a smudge of something that looked like flour on one of her chubby cheeks.
She eyed Maddie speculatively before asking, “Who are you?” The words whistled out from the darling gap between her two front teeth.
Maddie leaned forward at the waist. When she was nearly eye level with the girl, she replied, “I’m Maddie Daniels. And who might you be?”
“I’m Caroline Foley. I live here.”
“You’re lucky. It’s a nice house.”
The girl shrugged, then her pixie face scrunched comically. “Are you the know-it-all I heard Daddy telling Mrs. Haversham about?”
The insult, delivered so earnestly in the child’s squeaky voice, caused Maddie to chuckle. “Yes, that would be me.”
So, Cameron Foley had a daughter, a delightful little imp of a girl who apparently had inherited her father’s gift for being blunt. The envy she felt was instantaneous and accompanied by a painful mental chorus of “if onlys.”
“Oh, Miss Daniels!” a woman called, rushing into the foyer behind Caroline. She was about sixty and as plump as a Thanksgiving turkey. “I’m Mrs. Haversham, Cam’s housekeeper. He told me to expect you.”
Maddie shook off her melancholy and sent Caroline a wink as she straightened. “So I hear. And call me Maddie, please.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Maddie.” Mrs. Haversham wiped a pair of thick hands on the apron she wore and glanced over her shoulder when a timer chimed.
“I hope I haven’t come at a bad time. Mr. Foley did tell me noon.”
“Not at all. That will be my apple pie. Cam is in the orchard. He said to send you out when you got here.” She turned to Caroline, surreptitiously wiping the flour from the little girl’s cheek with a grandmotherly pat. “Dearie, why don’t you show Maddie the way?”
Maddie followed Caroline around the side of the house, across the lawn and into the orchard, falling farther behind with each tentative step she took. Walking on a sidewalk often proved a trial, but walking on an uneven dirt path littered with nature’s debris had Maddie wishing she’d brought the cane she’d relegated to the back of her closet. She hated the thing and the way it advertised her disability, but using it would have been far less humiliating than what happened to her next. She stumbled, her foot twisting on an exposed root, and her world tilted. Windmilling her arms like something out of a Saturday morning cartoon did nothing to restore her precarious balance, but it did send her briefcase flying. To her utter mortification, Maddie landed with a jarring thud on her backside in the middle of Cameron Foley’s orchard.
“Caroline!” she called. The little girl had danced several yards ahead, propelled by the boundless energy of youth, but she bulleted back now, eyes huge at the sight of an adult sprawled on the ground.
“Gosh, are you hurt?”
“No.” Unless she counted her pride, Maddie thought wryly. “But I think I’ll just rest for a moment. Could you, um, go find your father and ask him to meet me here?”
Maddie watched Caroline shoot down a row of trees, envying the girl’s surefootedness. When she was alone, she put dignity aside and crawled on all fours to the briefcase and the smattering of papers that had tumbled out of its exterior pockets. She gathered them up, stuffed them back in and was preparing to use the case as leverage to help her stand when an incredulous deep voice stopped her cold.
“What the heck happened to you?”
Cameron Foley could hardly believe his eyes. Maddie Daniels was kneeling in the dirt. The woman had fallen, just as his daughter had claimed when she’d come tearing down one of the rows of tart cherries he’d been walking along with a worker. Cam almost smiled at the picture the woman presented. Dust covered her navy slacks and a wave of dark hair dangled in front of her eyes. He never would have taken the cool, competent Miss Daniels for such a klutz.
“She fell, Daddy. I told you,” Caroline chirped, clearly perplexed by her father’s short memory.
“I see that, honey. Now, why don’t you run back to the house and tell Mrs. Haversham to put on a fresh pot of coffee. We’ll be along shortly.”
When his daughter was out of hearing range, he said, “I hope you’re not going to sue me. I’d hate to have to turn my farm into a condo development to pay out a personal injury settlement to some clumsy female.”
“Your concern is truly enough to make me weep,” Maddie replied, her tone as dry as the dusty patch of earth beneath her knees. Cam gave her points for dignity. Her stiff upper lip appeared unaffected, which probably was more than could be said for her dust-covered derriere.
“Yeah, well, why don’t we head back to the house? Less chance for you to get hurt sitting in my kitchen. I hope.”
It was a cheap shot, but he wasn’t feeling particularly cordial at the moment. He didn’t have time for this today. He didn’t have time for her any day. How he wished he’d never let pride push him into this foolish bargain.
He glanced around the orchard and suppressed the urge to sigh. It was not quite July, but a warm spring had caused the cherries to ripen early. The sweets were almost two weeks ahead of schedule, and the tarts were right behind them. If some of the trees weren’t shaken soon the fruit would spoil. He’d lost some of his help to better-paying jobs, three of his best workers in the past month alone. The good economy made it hard to keep employees, especially when the same economy didn’t do much for the price that cherries brought at market.
“We’ll have to make this quick. Daylight is dollars to a farmer, Miss Daniels.” He snatched up the briefcase and started off for the house.
“Mr. Foley.”
She brought him up short when she called his name in that formal, Southern-sounding way of hers.
What now? He blew out an exasperated breath before turning around, but the pithy comment he planned died on his lips when he realized she had not moved. She was still on the ground, one leg pulled beneath her as if she had tried to stand. The other one, however, was bent at a rather awkward angle out to the side.
“I’m afraid I can’t get up on my own.” The words were issued in a stilted whisper and her gaze slid away as she said them. A blush the color of ripe tart cherries darkened her fair cheeks.
Still not looking directly at him, she extended the scarred hand and Cam’s memory stirred. That day in her office her movements had seemed stiff and hesitant, painful even. Clearly, whatever accident had left her hand so marred had done far more serious damage to her leg. And he’d left her sitting in the dirt. He closed his eyes briefly, ashamed that his rude behavior had forced her to all but beg for his help.
Cam clasped the hand Maddie held out and, as gently as possible, helped her to her feet, apologizing profusely as he did so.
“You know, I’m not usually such a jerk.”
She was gracious enough to let him off the hook easily. “It’s all right, really.” She reached for the briefcase he still held.
“I’ll carry it for you. Is your leg...how did...?” He let the questions trail away on a hastily expelled breath. “Sorry. It’s really none of my business.”
She answered him, anyway, unintentionally creating more questions with her vague explanation. “I was in an accident. Sometimes it’s hard to get up.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Relax, Mr. Foley. I won’t be suing you, if that’s what’s got you worried.”
Cam winced. “I was only joking when I said that.”
“Really? And here I was already picking out colors for my condominium.” She brushed the dust from her clothes, and, inclining her head in the direction of the house, she said, “Shall we?”
Cam walked slowly this time, moderating his usually brisk stride to match her more halting one. It seemed to take forever to reach the house on their silent, slow walk back, giving him plenty of time to feel like a proper heel. They entered through a screened-in back porch, and the homey scents of apples and cinnamon greeted them.
“Mmm. It smells wonderful in here,” Maddie said.
“Mrs. Haversham promised Caroline apple pie for dessert. In the three years she’s worked for me, she’s never broken a promise to my daughter. I make sure her paycheck reflects my appreciation.” He motioned toward the table. “Why don’t we have a seat in here?”
Gratefully, he noticed his housekeeper and daughter were nowhere to be found, and hopefully they would stay that way for the duration of his interview with Maddie. As it was, Mrs. H. was already too eager for him to start dating again, and who knew what embarrassing things Caroline would blurt out. She was six, after all. That made her old enough to express her thoughts clearly and too young to censor the more inappropriate ones.
“I see the coffee is ready. Would you care for a cup?”
“Please. I take it black. Before we get started, is there someplace I could freshen up?”
“Just down that hallway on the left.” Despite her composed demeanor, Cam could almost feel her discomfort.
While he waited for her to return, he poured them both a steaming mug of coffee, lacing his own with a spoonful of sugar. When she reentered the kitchen, the last physical traces of her ordeal in the orchard had been wiped away.
“I’ll try to take up as little of your time as possible,” she said, slowly lowering herself onto the chair across from him. “I’ll need a photograph, just for my records, really. I brought my Polaroid.”
She pulled it from the interior of her briefcase, and before he had a chance to protest, she snapped his picture. While she waited for the image to develop, she surprised him by slipping a pair of glasses onto the slim bridge of her nose. They should have made her look even more professional, but Cam had long considered glasses scholarly and...sexy. He chased the thought away with a gulp of coffee, scalding his tongue in the process. Maddie glanced up in question when he hissed out a breath.
“Ready when you are,” he managed to say.
“Why don’t we start with the basics? Age?”
“Thirty-six. I’ll be thirty-seven in March.”
She wrote his response on a yellow legal pad. Other notes had already been jotted down in her no-nonsense script. He couldn’t quite make out the words, which were upside-down from his vantage point, but he thought he caught something about “well built and attractive.” He felt his face heat.
“Height?”
“Just a hair over six feet.” For some reason, he straightened in his chair as he said it.
“Weight?”
Cam sipped his coffee, blowing on it beforehand this time, and thought about what the scale had said just that morning. “Um, one-eighty.”
She glanced up. One eyebrow lifted over the top rim of her glasses, leaving that little mole hidden.
“Give or take a few,” he amended. “Caroline has been on a pizza kick lately and it’s easier to cave in than to argue with her.” When Maddie just kept staring at him, he added, “She’s six, but she’s good.”
One-eighty, give or take a few pounds, Maddie mused, and probably all muscle. As interesting as she found it that a man would hedge about his weight, she was more intrigued by the way this man looked. A faded Cherry Republic T-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders, and she recalled that softly molded denim had hugged a pair of well-formed thighs when he’d walked.
She cleared her throat, perplexed by the inappropriate direction her thoughts kept taking. Her voice was an embarrassing squeak when she asked her next pitifully obvious question.
“Occupation?”
“I’m a cherry farmer, Miss Daniels.” He grinned, a flash of white teeth in an otherwise bronze face, and nodded toward the window and the start of the orchard visible through it. “Foleys have farmed this land for three generations. My dad met my mother here. She was a migrant worker, one of the thousands of Mexicans who came to Michigan each summer to harvest the cherries before modern technology made hand-picking obsolete.”
Maddie studied his features. His hair was a light, sun-kissed brown, but the warm hue of his skin and the coffee-colored eyes that peered at her from below a slash of dark brows hinted at his heritage.
She broke off her gaze and pretended to jot down more notes.
“Do you smoke?”
“No, filthy habit.”
She stifled a relieved sigh. She couldn’t agree more. Of course, she told herself that the relief she felt was merely because finding Cameron Foley a match would be that much easier if he didn’t have a pack-a-day habit. The vast majority of her clients were nonsmokers.
“Do you drink?”
“I like a cold beer after a hard day.”
That fit, she thought, working up the mental image. She could picture him hoisting a long-necked brown bottle in the evenings, sitting on the steps of that inviting front porch, maybe listening to Ernie Harwell call a Tigers game on the radio.
Then he threw her a curve.
“And I like wine. I sometimes have a glass with dinner. I’m not particularly a connoisseur,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I’m partial to anything French and expensive.”
“French and expensive,” she repeated. This new data did not compute.
“Sure. No one knows grapes like the French. But, I have to say, the local vineyards are coming along. In fact, a few of the Leelanau wines are passably good. Have you tried any?”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t get out much,” she said as she wrote down social drinker.
Cam frowned. “You don’t get out much? That seems kind of odd for the president of a dating service.”
“My business is relatively young, so I spend most of my days, including weekends, at the office. It doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything else.”
The explanation seemed perfectly logical. Cam knew all about the demands of being the boss, meeting a payroll while trying to turn a profit, but for some reason he didn’t buy it. A woman with her looks would attract plenty of male attention. So why would she choose to spend Saturday nights alone?
Maddie settled the glasses more firmly on the bridge of her nose and said, “Let’s move on to your health. Is there anything, ah, contagious that I should know about? Anything you’re being treated for?”
The tone was polite enough to make him smile, especially since she was essentially asking him if he had a social disease. Again, he caught the slight hint of the South in her speech.
“You’re not from around here, are you? Originally, I mean?”
“No.”
“Your accent, I’m guessing South Carolina.”
“Georgia, actually. I grew up just outside Atlanta. My parents and brothers still live there.”
“Really? Kind of chilly up here for a Southern belle, especially come January. That’s one of the reasons my parents moved to Florida when they retired five years ago. What made you decide to relocate to northern Michigan?”
Before she could respond, he grinned and added, “I’m guessing it was a man, and I’m guessing it was a while ago. You’ve lost a lot of your honeyed drawl, Miss Daniels.”
Maddie didn’t like the way he’d taken over the interview or the way he had begun to probe into her personal life. He was good at it, too. She had moved north to be with a man—the man who, as of nine months ago, had become her ex-husband.
Turning her tone to one of frosted efficiency, she said, “That’s not really important. The point of this interview is for me to gather enough information to put together a basic personality sketch of you. I know your time is valuable, so, if you don’t mind, I’ll ask the questions. Health?” she repeated.
His lips thinned into a serious line, and he answered rather pointedly, “My health is excellent. I’ve been out of circulation too long to have caught anything deadly.”
She bobbled the coffee she’d been about to sip, although she managed not to spill any of it on her blouse. “What kind of woman would you say you prefer?”
It was his turn to be uncomfortable. He straightened in his seat and twirled the spoon in the sugar bowl. “I don’t know. I’m not very particular.”
Hogwash, Maddie thought. Cameron Foley would be very particular. Any man who would drive into Traverse City during the height of tourist season to protest a dating service’s mass mailing clearly had an opinion on more than mere marketing practices.
“I can’t do my job if you’re not candid. We had a deal, Mr. Foley.”
“Cameron,” he corrected her, sounding slightly irritated. “My friends call me Cam. Since you’re digging into my personal life, I’m thinking you should at least call me by my given name.”
“Very well.” She took a deep breath and settled on the more formal moniker. “Cameron.” The word seemed to linger on her tongue like peppermint candy.
“Does this mean I can call you Madison?” She thought he might be teasing her. A light danced in his dark eyes, but his lips remained unbowed.
“Maddie, please. Only my mother calls me Madison. And my father, when I’ve tried his patience.”
“I’ll bet that’s often,” he muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Isn’t Madison an odd name for a girl?” His gaze skimmed down her torso, lingered an uncomfortable moment. “Woman,” he corrected himself.
She felt herself blush. “My father is an American history buff. He’s big on presidents. I have two brothers, Lincoln and Carter.”
“A Republican and a Democrat. At least your father is bipartisan.”
She couldn’t quite stifle the unladylike snort of laughter that would have earned her mother’s censure. “My father’s a dyed-in-the-wool Democrat. That’s why he named my mother’s cat Nixon. Cats are too brazen and calculating to be named after Democrats, he claims.”
“Clearly this was before the Clinton administration,” Cam muttered.
She cleared her throat. “While I find your political views fascinating, I think we should get back to your preferences in women. Do you prefer blondes?”
Some men did, Cam thought, but not him. He’d never found a blonde to be half as sexy as a brunette. Perhaps that was part of his heritage poking through. He glanced at Maddie’s dark cascade of loose curls. The sunlight filtering through the window exposed its burnished highlights. Angela’s hair had been like that, dark and yet full of secrets that could be teased out by the sun. He’d loved to touch her hair, to bury his fingers in it. The memory made him ache.
“Blondes,” he blurted out. Trying to sound less defensive he added, “Yeah, I prefer blondes.”
“Tall, petite, slim, um...well-proportioned?”
He noted her discomfort, and the devil made him say, “I like tall women. And I like them to have a little meat on their bones. A little more meat in some places than others, if you know what I mean.”
She scribbled something on the notepad and, without looking up, she asked, “Any other physical attributes you find appealing, Mr., um, Cameron?”
“Legs. Long legs with thin ankles. Oh, and small feet. Nothing over size seven.”
He thought she might have rolled her eyes, but she kept her head slightly bent as she continued, “Do you have an age range that you would prefer?”
He didn’t really care about age. Angie had been a year older than he. But he stroked his chin, as if considering. “Hmm, how old are you?”
Maddie appeared startled. “Me?”
“Yeah, you.”
She tucked a lush wave of hair behind her ear. It was one of the few utterly female things he’d seen her do, and he found it intriguing. Almost as intriguing as the way that little mole dipped and lifted with her every expression.
“Twenty-eight.” She tucked more hair behind her other ear and moistened her lips before adding, “Last month.”
She looked younger than that right now, despite the eyewear and the formal air she put on.
“Ah, well, you’d be a little old for me, then. I think I’d prefer a woman in her early twenties at this point in my life,” Cam replied.
She definitely rolled her eyes at that, although she tried to hide it by pushing up her glasses. But her tone remained professional and impassive when she continued with, “Do you have a problem with a woman who was married and is either divorced or widowed now?”
“No divorcées.”
Maddie stopped writing and hugged the yellow pad of paper to her chest. The pose struck him as oddly defensive.
“Why’s that?”
“I took those same vows, and I made them work. Even when Angela got sick. Even when it got really ugly. ’Til death do us part.’ I’m not interested in someone who can’t keep their end of the bargain.”
Her expression remained clouded, but she nodded. “I can understand that.”
“Good, because I won’t compromise on this point.”
It was just icing on the cake if his stand on principle made it that much harder for her to fix him up. He wondered if that was why she seemed to take it so personally.
“Very well. What about...children? What if the woman either never married or is widowed and has children?”
He slouched back in his chair and folded his arms, the memories swarming him like flies at a barbecue. When he finally spoke, the words seemed to scrape against his throat, leaving it raw and aching.
“I like kids. Angie and I planned to have a big family, perhaps because each of us came from such small families. I’m an only child and Angie has one sister. Caroline was just starting to crawl when Ang first got sick.” He swallowed thickly, but the bitterness and something even more acidic remained. He doubted he would ever forget the terrible panic he’d experienced the day he first heard a doctor say the word cancer.
“So, you don’t mind children,” Maddie prodded, her tone gentle and magnolia-kissed.
“No. I like kids. One of my biggest regrets is that we weren’t able to have more before...I guess I would just prefer someone who got married first.”
“Is that another one of the points on which you won’t compromise?”
“Yes.”
She made a final note before sliding the pen behind her ear. Most of the ballpoint was lost immediately in the wavy mass of mahogany. Again, he found himself thinking that there was something out of place about that hair on Maddie Daniels. In every other way she was a polished, buttoned-down professional. Practical and conservative, almost to the point of being prim. She was a woman who wore classic styles that would look as tidy and unobtrusive in ten years as they did today. Yet the hair curled around her face, a little unruly, a tad spirited and free. He wondered if that was intentional or a piece of her subconscious poking through.
“So, just to recap, you’re looking for a tall, well-endowed blonde with great legs and small feet who is in her early twenties, never divorced and possibly the mother of children. Does that sound about right?”
It didn’t sound right at all, but Cam nodded, anyway. What did it matter? Maddie Daniels could ask all the questions she wanted. She could take all the information she wanted and feed it into some computer database filled with other singles. But she would never be able to find him a perfect match, another true love.
“Give me a couple of weeks to sort through everything. Then I’ll give you a call.” She stuffed the notepad and pen back into her briefcase and pulled off the glasses before rising.
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“Yes,” she said dryly. “I’m sure you will.”
Later that evening, while Maddie nibbled on a turkey sandwich in her quiet apartment, she spread out her notes on the small coffee table in front of the couch and went over Cameron’s responses one more time. So much of what he’d said had come as no surprise. Yet Maddie couldn’t say why it bothered her so much that his ideal woman seemed to be the antithesis of her: blond, younger, voluptuous, never divorced. She rubbed her aching knee and hip. He wanted a woman with great legs, and he liked children, so it followed that he would want a woman who could have them. The doctors had been clear on that point—Maddie would never become pregnant again.
Well, what did it matter that she wasn’t his type? She had no cause to feel slighted, no right to feel sorry for herself that her future yawned long and lonely. Maddie’s job was to find matches for her clients, and she was good at it. Very good.
The Polaroid snapshot she’d taken of Cameron was paper-clipped to the outside of a file folder marked with his name. She ran a fingertip over the strong, stubborn line of his jaw.
“I’m going to find someone to make you happy, Cameron Foley,” she vowed.
Chapter Three
On Saturday morning, Maddie decided to indulge herself with a rare day off of work. Traverse City’s annual weeklong National Cherry Festival was gearing up, and the televised coverage showed that tourists and residents alike were standing five deep along the parade route that snaked through downtown.
Maddie wasn’t one for crowds. Just the thought of being jostled and shoved in an exuberant sea of humanity made her eager to stay well out of its range. But the throbbing cadence of the marching bands had her tapping her toes as she sat on the couch reading the newspaper. And the cheerful chatter and excited laughter that floated through her open windows made it seem obscene to stay cooped up in her apartment, watching the parade on her small television, when she could hear it passing a couple of blocks away.
Besides, the day promised to be gorgeous, perfect for spending a little time outdoors, soaking up a judicious amount of sun while wearing a judicious amount of sunscreen. She would just walk down to the small coffee shop on Front Street and grab a cup of the house blend, staying as far away from the crowds as possible and experiencing the excitement of the parade from the periphery. She shrugged off the uncomfortable thought that too much of her life seemed to be lived that way these days—on the sidelines, watching rather than participating.
She applied a liberal amount of sunscreen to her face, neck and forearms, and dressed in a pair of white cotton slacks and a bright red T-shirt in honor of the occasion. The shirt had three-quarter-length sleeves, but it still exposed her right arm from just below the elbow. She stood in front of the full-length mirror that hung on the back of the bathroom door and nibbled her bottom lip. With the fingers of her left hand, she skimmed the length of the ugly scar. It had faded some in the months since the accident, but it was still a hideous purplish red, although the doctors assured her that someday it would turn a less eyecatching white.
Whether it was mottled red or shiny white, Maddie would always know it was there. She would always know the utter failure it represented. She could hide it from prying eyes with long sleeves, but she couldn’t hide it from herself. So what was the point? Securing her hair into a ponytail, she went off in search of her sneakers.
Maddie walked close to the buildings, brushing a hand along the reassuring comfort of their solid surfaces. Well back from the milling crowds, she couldn’t see much of the passing parade, except for the tops of some of the taller floats as they made their way down Front Street and a brightly suited clown who played a tiny concertina as he walked along on stilts. At the coffee shop, she ducked inside, grateful for the short line, but customers filled the small shop’s six indoor tables. Cradling the insulated cup in her palm, she returned outside, knowing even before she looked that the half-dozen wrought-iron tables arranged along the sidewalk would be occupied as well. Determined to enjoy the morning sun’s warmth on her face, she ignored the ache in her hip, leaned against the building’s brick facade and sipped her coffee.
“Maddie!” a high-pitched voice squealed a moment later.
She glanced to her right in time to see Caroline Foley closing the distance between them at a full-out run. The child’s pixie face was smudged with tears. Even more surprising, when Caroline reached Maddie, she barely managed to come to a complete stop before she threw her arms around Maddie’s waist in a hug so fierce, it almost knocked them both over. As it was, it succeeded in spilling most of Maddie’s coffee on the sidewalk.
“Hey, what’s happened?” she asked, when she’d managed to pry Caroline loose.
The girl’s lower lip trembled and a pair of fat tears spilled down her cheeks. “My daddy got lost.”
“I see.” Maddie set what was left of her coffee on the ledge of the shop’s front window and reached into her pocket for a tissue. Dabbing at the dirty tear tracks on Caroline’s face, she asked, “Do you remember where he was before he wandered off?”
A pair of slim shoulders shrugged as Caroline shuddered out a breath. “H-he was talking to Aunt Eve. Uncle Richard and the boys had gone to get elephant ears. I wanted to go, too, but Daddy said I had to wait. Then he just...disappeared.”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/jackie-braun/true-love-inc/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Если текст книги отсутствует, перейдите по ссылке
Возможные причины отсутствия книги:
1. Книга снята с продаж по просьбе правообладателя
2. Книга ещё не поступила в продажу и пока недоступна для чтения