“Okay.” Fiona waited until Claire had taken a few steps in the opposite direction and fled to the ladies’ room. She splashed water on her face and stared. The smattering of freckles across her nose popped against her still pale skin. She had to get a grip on herself, work out a systematic plan for finding her niece. Otherwise, she’d be seeing Mairi in every red-haired little girl she saw on the street, in the store...

Fiona returned to the hall and approached Marc and a man she assumed was Pastor Connor, who were adding a table to a stack leaning against the wall.

“Hi, I’m Fiona Bryce. You must be Pastor Connor.”

“Yes. Nice to meet you. I read about your program at the Research Farm.”

“Speaking of which,” Marc said, “did you get my voice mail?”

“No, sorry. I didn’t check it. I had meetings all morning and left the office early.” After reading Mairi’s letter, she couldn’t concentrate on work, so she’d gone home to research and contact Precious in His Sight and to rehash where she’d gone wrong with Mairi. She’d tried to give her the support and direction their parents hadn’t given them.

“Go ahead and write up a contract proposal for La Table Frais,” Marc said.

“Great. I’ll get to work on it tomorrow.” She tried to force the enthusiasm she should be feeling for her program’s first major client. “Your partners agreed, then?”

“They will.” Marc’s dark eyes sparkled.

This Marc jibed more with the description his sister had given Fiona of a man who could have won their high school’s most-likely-to-succeed award when he was in kindergarten than the quiet, intent man she’d met with at the farm.

“I’ve got to get ready for my meeting,” Pastor Connor interrupted, tilting his head toward the outer hall and his office. “You two should be able to handle setting up without me.”

“Where do you want the tables?” Marc asked as Connor walked away.

Fiona showed Marc the diagram Mrs. Hamilton had given her, unsettled by the awareness of him close beside her, looking over her shoulder at the paper she held. Sheesh! She’d stood next to attractive men before. Mairi’s letter had her nerves totally on edge about everything.

“Simple enough,” he said, and they went to work.

As Fiona watched Marc snap the legs of the last table into place and tip it upright, an elderly woman with a cane stepped into the hall from the parking lot and looked around.

“Can I help you?” Fiona asked.

“I have books to donate. I talked with Betty Hamilton.”

“Yes, we’re expecting you. Tell us which vehicle and we’ll unload. You can wait in here where it’s warm.”

“The gray SUV with the Essex County Farm Co-op sticker on the back window. The hatch is unlocked.”

Marc and Fiona grabbed their coats from the pile on the table by the door and headed out. Fiona quickly spotted the woman’s SUV. She pointed at the decal on the back window and touched her foot to the hatch opener. “It’s short notice, but I didn’t think of it yesterday. When we’re done unloading, remind me to talk with you about the co-op organizational meeting tomorrow morning.”

“Sure. Let’s get started,” Marc said, and she wondered if he was in a hurry to be done. Or was that just her perception because she wasn’t in any hurry? She traced his profile with her gaze as he leaned into the SUV. He probably wanted to get back to his daughter, and she had nothing else to do this evening except go back to her empty apartment and Mairi’s letter.

He lifted one of the smaller boxes and passed it to Fiona. Her hand brushed his as she took it from him. The warmth of the contact left an imprint on her in the cold evening air.

“Go ahead and take your box inside,” he said before reaching for another one. “If we alternate, we won’t be bumping into each other.”

“Good idea.” She gripped the box tighter and headed back to the hall. Had he felt something, too, when their hands had brushed? She glanced over her shoulder. He’d stacked two boxes to carry in, confirming her thought that he wanted to be done.

“Only two left,” Fiona said a few minutes later, placing a box on the table next to the two Marc had brought in.

“I’ll get them,” he said.

“And I’ll come and close the hatch.”

He opened the outside door, and she brushed by him.

“About the Farm Co-op meeting I mentioned. You might want to come and meet some of your potential food suppliers. I can tell you about it while we walk. I understand if you’re in a hurry to get your daughter home.” Fiona paused. “I saw her come in with you. She’s a cutie.”

“I have time,” he said.

“She must take after her mother, the red hair.” Fiona absently touched her own hair, then jerked her hand away. Why was she going on about his daughter and not the meeting? Because all she could think about was her unanswered questions about her sister and her niece.

His eyes narrowed. “I can’t really say. She’s adopted.”

Fiona stumbled, catching herself on the back of the car they were passing. Stella was adopted? Her heart leaped to her throat. From what she’d found out about Precious in His Sight, although the adoption agency was based near here in Glens Falls, it served Christian families throughout New York state.

Fiona pressed her palm to her throat as the realization hit her. Stella could be her niece.

Chapter Two

The north wind blew the icy snow in Fiona’s face as she dashed from her car to the Ticonderoga Birthing Center. She was here in search of answers to questions about her sister. She hadn’t gotten any answers about Stella last night. Before Fiona had been able to form coherent words to ask Marc about the little girl’s adoption, a teen had come racing out to the parking lot to get him because Stella was crying and wouldn’t stop. And the callback Fiona had received this morning to the voice mail she’d left with Precious in His Sight yesterday was what she’d expected. The adoption records for Mairi’s daughter were sealed.

Maybe she’d learn something about Mairi today from the birthing center’s midwife, Autumn Hanlon, or her ob-gyn husband, Jon. They apparently were the only game in town when it came to delivering babies. The next closest facility was in Vermont, and there were two others, each an hour away, in Saranac Lake and Glens Falls. But Mairi’s baby’s birth certificate said the Town of Ticonderoga.

Fiona stomped the snow off her boots on the entryway mat. But what if Mairi had given birth by herself? She shuddered at the thought of her little sister giving birth all alone in the remote cabin where her body had been found. And her date of death was almost four weeks after the baby’s birth date.

She removed her hat and gloves. Where had Mairi and the baby been during that time? Mairi had rented the cabin the day before her death, alone as far as the police could tell, giving a false name and paying cash for her stay. Of course, Mairi had known all about flying under the radar from their mother.

Fiona crossed the entryway and pulled open the glass door to the center at exactly two o’clock, fifteen minutes ahead of her appointment time. When she’d called the birthing center yesterday afternoon, she’d been thankful Autumn had a cancellation in her schedule and an appointment had been available today. Learning anything about Mairi, what she’d gone through, what she could have been thinking, would help Fiona fill the void inside her.

She walked to the reception window. “Fiona Bryce. I have an appointment to see Autumn Hanlon at two fifteen.”

The appointment clerk pressed a key on her computer and handed Fiona some forms. While she waited to be called, Fiona sat in the waiting area, tapping the clipboard with the uncompleted forms against her leg and thinking about Stella and Marc. Marc Delacroix was an attractive, interesting man. An attractive, interesting man who was a business associate and could be her niece’s adoptive father.

“Fiona Bryce.”

Fiona gripped the clipboard, rose and followed the nurse to the exam room. A few minutes later, the midwife knocked on the door and stepped into the room.

“Hi, I’m Autumn Hanlon.”

“Hi,” Fiona answered, pressing her hand to her stomach to stop the sudden flutter of guilt about approaching the woman under the guise of being a patient.

Autumn glanced at the clipboard with the blank forms and frowned. “What brings you in?”

Fiona cleared her throat. “I’m looking for information. I believe you or your husband delivered my sister, well, half-sister’s baby. Her name was Mairi Collins.”

“I can’t give you any information without your sister’s permission. HIPPA regulation,” Autumn said.

Fiona blinked. “I know the HIPPA rules. But Mairi is dead.” Fiona took a certified copy of her sister’s death certificate and two other documents out of her bag and handed them to Autumn. “I was the executor of her estate and had her medical power of attorney.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your sister.” Autumn glanced at the papers. “I remember her. We don’t have that many births a year, and she was unusual in that she’d gotten her prenatal care elsewhere.”

“Thank you,” Fiona said. “She OD’d at a summer cabin not too far from here.”

Autumn’s eyes widened. “That was your sister? The local news gave a different name.”

“She used a fake name. It took the police a while to actually ID her and contact me.”

“Again, I’m so sorry.” Autumn examined the document Fiona had given her. “Yes, I helped your sister birth her daughter.” The midwife looked as if she wanted to bite her tongue.

“I know it was a baby girl. Her original birth certificate recently came into my possession. That’s how I learned the baby was born in Ticonderoga and deduced she was probably born here.”

Autumn nodded.

Fiona squeezed her hands in her lap. “Were there any signs of drug use, that my sister was shooting heroine?”

“No. The baby was born healthy, and your sister tested negative.”

“About the baby. Mairi gave her up for adoption?”

“Yes, but not right away.” Autumn hesitated. “About a month after the birth, your sister returned with the baby and said she wanted to give her up for adoption. I talked with her for quite a while. From her demeanor and things she said, I suspected postpartum depression. I suggested an overnight admission so we could observe her and she could be sure adoption was what she wanted to do. Your sister was adamant about not staying. She started to fill out the papers, signed them and excused herself to use the restroom. She never returned. We released the baby to the adoption agency she’d chosen.”

“Precious in His Sight,” Fiona said.

Autumn tilted her head in question.

“That information was with the birth certificate. Do you think Mairi could have committed suicide because of the postpartum depression?” Fiona stared at her hands. “Our mother was an addict. Overdoses were something we were both familiar with.”

“It’s possible.”

The signs that Mairi had chosen drugs due to postpartum depression with the objective of suicide lifted one gray cloud of guilt. But it didn’t answer why Mairi hadn’t confided in her. Fiona would have given up her job and come back to the States if Mairi had said she needed her. Fiona closed her eyes. Hadn’t she known that?

“Are you all right?” Autumn asked.

“As all right as I can be. One more thing. I’d like a copy of Mairi’s medical records.”

“Of course. I can have the records ready for you to pick up after noon tomorrow.”

“Thank you. I’ll stop in on my lunch break.”

Fiona left in an emotional fog, settled her bill and almost physically ran into Marc and Stella in the building entryway.

“Hi,” Marc said.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted, failing in her attempt to pull herself together.

“Seeing the pediatrician who’s here at the center a couple of times a week.”

Her cheeks heated. “Is Stella all right?”

Fiona’s gaze dropped from his face to the little girl wrapped around his leg, finger stuck in her mouth. An arrow of pain struck her heart. Last evening when she’d seen Stella with Marc, she’d allowed that it could have been her imagination fired by her renewed grief over her sister’s death. But it wasn’t. Stella was a mini Mairi.

“It’s her regular wellness appointment.”

“Ah, does that mean someone has a birthday soon?” Fiona smiled at Stella, who tightened her grip on Marc.

“Not until March third, but I wanted to get her set up with a doctor here.”

Marc’s words after March third, the birth date of Mairi’s daughter, were more a hum in Fiona’s ears than actual words. “What agency did you and your wife use to adopt Stella?” Fiona blurted. But even before he answered, the truth rang in her like a bell, with the memory of her sister’s final words: Find her.

* * *

Marc stared at Fiona, and then over her shoulder at the door to the Birthing Center, Autumn and Jon’s practice. Bittersweet remembrances of Cate and all the tests to determine why they couldn’t conceive rolled over him.

Fiona shuffled her feet and twisted the strap on her purse. “I was wondering.” Her words rushed out. “For one of my classmates from grad school who I keep in touch with. I assume you used a downstate agency.”

She looked at him with an eager expression that made him wonder if the information really was for a friend. “No, we used Precious in His Sight, a private Christian agency in Glens Falls. It serves all of New York state.” He glanced at Stella and experienced the awe and gratitude he still got just knowing she was his. “Tell your friend I highly recommend them.”

“Daddy.” Stella tugged at his hand. “Good girl prize.” The pediatrician Cate had taken Stella to in New York gave her a small prize at every appointment. He had no idea if the doctor here did the same, and had explained that to Stella.

He turned back to Fiona. She was staring at his daughter with a look of longing that made him wonder if she was the one who wanted to adopt. “I’d better get Stella in for her appointment.”

“Of course.” Fiona pulled her gaze from Stella, concern replacing the longing on her face.

“Thanks for the information. I’ll tell...I’ll tell my friend, and be in touch.”

He watched her walk out, assuming she meant she’d be in touch about La Table Frais.

“Daddy. Her go away. ’Pointment.”

He didn’t know whether Stella was making an observation about Fiona leaving or expressing a preference—not that it mattered. His relationship with Fiona was business.

A half hour later, Marc was sitting in the pediatrician’s exam room with the doctor and Stella.

The doctor had finished Stella’s exam. “I read the medical records from Stella’s previous doctor. She’s always been in the lower third of children her age in height and weight. Am I correct in assuming her mother is petite?”

He leaned forward on the arms of the chair. “I don’t really know. Stella is adopted.”

The doctor made a note on a pad beside her. “I don’t want to alarm you, but over the months since her last checkup, she’s fallen into the lowest tenth. With that and the stomach upsets you said she’s been experiencing, I want to refer her to a gastroenterologist at the Adirondack Medical Center. Dr. Franklin.”

From the way the doctor’s expression softened, the fear careening through him must have shown on his face. She looked more the grandmother she might be and less the medical professional.

“Dr. Franklin is a good man as well as physician. Great with kids. We can set up the appointment for you, or I can send a referral and you can make it yourself.”

“Send the referral. I’ll make the appointment.” After I talk with Autumn or Jon. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the pediatrician. But he didn’t know her. He’d grown up with Autumn, gone all through school with her and knew he could trust her opinion.

“Daddy, Stella good girl?”

“Yes, you were a very good girl.” He lifted her down from the examination table and looked at the doctor apologetically. “Her other pediatrician gave her what he called a good girl prize after her exams.”

The doctor smiled. “It just so happens I have something for you, Stella.” She handed Stella a coloring book called Teddy Bear Goes to the Doctor’s.

“What do you say, Stella?”

The little girl beamed. “Fank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Marc couldn’t help but compare how at ease Stella was with the doctor to the way she’d hugged his leg and tried to hide behind him the whole time he’d talked with Fiona in the entryway. Maybe she was experiencing an aversion to younger women or, as Claire had suggested, women Cate’s age who had light hair like she’d had. Stella was okay around his sisters.

Marc rubbed the middle of his forehead. He didn’t know why he was even concerned about Stella and Fiona together. It wasn’t as if there would be many occasions for that—no matter his attraction.

The doctor typed a note into her tablet. “I’ll get that referral off to the gastroenterologist. You should be set to make the appointment this afternoon.”

“Thanks.” He took Stella’s papers and her hand and checked out.

“Let’s see what we can rustle up for lunch,” he said as he walked her to the car.

“Let’s rustle lunch.” She giggled, her full sentence capturing his heart with hope that she was making progress.

After lunch, Stella fell asleep on the couch while coloring in her new book, and he straightened up the place, waiting for his friends Autumn or Jon to return the call he’d left for them. He squatted to pick up Stella’s crayons but thought better. She should pick them up. It’s how Mom would do it.

His phone vibrated, and he pulled it from his back pocket. Private Caller. Probably the birthing center number. Marc swiped the screen to answer as he walked to the kitchen.

“Hello.”

“Marc? It’s Autumn. I got your message. What’s up?”

It could be his concern about Stella and the referral, but Autumn’s casual question sounded forced. He told her about Stella’s exam.

“What do you know about Dr. Franklin at the medical center?”

“The best in the area, especially for children.” Autumn paused. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s it. I wanted a second opinion.”

“Okay, then,” Autumn said with what sounded oddly like relief.

But that made no sense. He pulled the slip of paper with Dr. Franklin’s phone number from his wallet, but a text came in before he could dial. Fiona. He’d added her to his business contacts.

Hi, how did Stella’s appointment go?

Marc scratched the side of his neck. He was used to his mother and sisters’ friends and his business partner’s wives asking him about Stella because he figured that was what women, especially mothers, talked about. Although Fiona’s question wasn’t any different, it prickled his spine.

Okay, he typed back.

Could we get together this evening?

Fiona was using Stella as a lead-in to getting together? He couldn’t say it was the first time since Cate’s death that a woman had. He slumped against the wall. From their work together at church the other evening, he’d thought better of Fiona.

It’s about Stella appeared before he could form a response. Marc pressed the i-button at the top of his screen and then the telephone icon to call Fiona. He wore off the sudden spike of adrenaline by tapping his foot while the phone rang. He didn’t need this, whatever it was, on top of Stella’s doctor’s appointment.

* * *

Even though Fiona had expected Marc to respond, she nearly dropped the plate she was putting in the cupboard when her phone rang on the counter. She stared at his flashing caller ID and debated whether to let it ring. She’d thought he’d text back to her casual invitation to get together. Her fingers had seemed to go off on their own and added It’s about Stella. She drummed her fingernails on the counter before pressing the answer button with her other thumb.

“Hello.”

“This is Marc Delacroix. I got your text. Why would you need to talk with me about my daughter?”

“I’m sorry. My text was cryptic.”

Fiona clearly heard the derision in the puff of breath Marc released.

“Can I start over? I have an important reason for talking with you about Stella.”

“I’d like to hear it.”

Fiona took a deep breath and kept her voice low. “I had wanted to say this in person. I’m almost certain Stella is my sister’s child.”

The phone went silent for so long, Fiona wondered if he’d hung up, except her phone showed the call was still connected.

“I’m supposed to believe that because you, practically a stranger, say so? And what’s next? You’re going to tell me she wants her back? No way. Your sister, if she really is Stella’s birth mother, gave up her parental rights. The adoption was finalized nearly two years ago.”

“My sister is dead.”

“I’m sorry.” Marc’s voice had lost some of its edge. “But what do you want?”

Some family to love and to love me. She couldn’t say that. He’d think she was unstable. “To be part of Stella’s life, as her aunt, like your sisters,” Fiona answered.

He ignored her answer. “Can you prove it?”

“That Stella is Mairi’s daughter? I think so. I have information and documents and photos of Mairi at Stella’s age.” The last part sounded like she was grasping at straws. “Can we meet?”

“Not until I talk with a lawyer. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.” His phone clicked off.

That hardly could have gone worse. She leaned on the counter. So much for the fantasy she’d concocted on the drive home after Marc had dismissed her at the birthing center. A fantasy of her becoming part of the Delacroix family, of Stella staying over at her apartment, them exploring things together as she and Mairi had. A fantasy of Marc welcoming her help with Stella so he could put in more time on his restaurant launch.

Fiona slapped the countertop. But Stella was family. The only family she had, and she was going to fight to be in her life. It’s what she did, what she’d always done—fight to keep her family together.

* * *

Marc met Claire on her doorstep when she got home from work. He’d hated to drop Stella on his mom again, despite her insisting it was fine, but he needed to talk with someone away from little ears. And who got him better than his twin?

She eyed the bag from the Chinese restaurant around the corner from her apartment in Ticonderoga. “Happy Star? This must be serious.”

“More than you could guess.” Marc rose from his seat on the steps and followed his sister upstairs and into the kitchen.

“Get the food out, and I’ll get us drinks.” Claire opened the refrigerator. “I have lemonade, root beer and milk, or I can brew you a cup of coffee.”

“Root beer’s good.” He took the plastic cartons out of the bag and placed them on the table. “How well do you know Fiona Bryce?”

Claire raised an eyebrow suggestively as she placed the drinks on the table.

“Not like that.” Although the slight trip of his heart contradicted the force of his response.

“Just as a coworker. She seems nice, good at her job. We had lunch together the other day.” Claire hesitated. “From something she let slip about moving a lot, I got the feeling she may have had a rough childhood. But she seems like someone I could be friends with.”

He pressed his lips together. “Would you say she’s honest?”

Claire opened her food container and studied the contents. “As far as I know. Why?”

Marc took a slug of his drink. His throat was suddenly parched. “She says she’s Stella’s aunt.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh and then some.”

“Do you think she’s telling the truth?”

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