Triplets Found: The Virgin's Makeover / Take a Chance on Me / And Then There Were Three

“That’s because they’re either after money or a father figure.”

“I’m not after anything.”

Sullivan realized he should have kept his opinions to himself and wished he’d never brought up the subject. “I’m sorry. This really is none of my business. And the conversation is way out of line.”

“You’re right.”

“Forgive me?” Sullivan asked, tossing her a playful grin meant to appease her.

She paused for a moment, as though giving it some thought. “Apology accepted,” she said. “It’s been a long and stressful night. Maybe we should start fresh in the morning.”

“Good idea.” Sullivan placed a hand on her shoulder, felt the tension ease. “I won’t say anything else about your choice of men.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you in the office at nine,” Sullivan said, before turning and heading out the door.

Lissa watched him go. The words they’d spoken still hung in the air.

Lots of women like older guys.

They’re either after money or a father figure.

Money had never been important to her. Not so important that she’d be attracted to a man’s financial portfolio. So there went the first of Sullivan’s theories.

And she had a wonderful father, a man who’d been good to her, even if he wasn’t her real father. And that took care of Sullivan’s other older man/younger woman theory.

Besides having a lot in common, she found Anthony attractive and his attention flattering.

Yet another explanation rose to the forefront.

Anthony was the first man who’d taken an interest in her, and that had to count for something.

No, the “father thing” had nothing to do with it.

Chapter Five

Jared slowed his black Lexus at the fork in the road then followed the route he’d mapped to Valencia Vineyards. The damaged files from the Children’s Connection had raised a lot of questions, and he hoped this two-hour trek from Portland would provide some answers.

From the bits and pieces of charred paper the private investigator had painstakingly studied and put together, Jared learned that Olivia had given birth to a boy named Adam Bartlite. And apparently, Adam had grown up on a vineyard. At least, that’s the address his adoptive parents had given the clinic.

A search of county land records revealed that Ken and Donna Cartwright had owned the property for nearly forty years. For that reason, Jared suspected that Adam’s father was probably the caretaker or another employee who was provided with family lodging on the property.

After proceeding a mile down the road, a big Ponderosa-style sign told Jared he’d found the place. He turned in and followed a long, winding drive past rows upon rows of grapevines growing on the rolling hillsides.

He assumed Adam had grown up on the vineyard, although there was a good chance the young man no longer lived here. His parents could have retired or moved on. Or he might have gone off to college and settled into a career near his alma mater, as Jared had done. But surely someone at the vineyard would remember the Bartlites, even if the family had moved away.

Jared wasn’t sure how his firstborn would take the surprise appearance of his biological father, but they’d have to deal with that when the time came. The first step was locating the boy—or rather the man.

As he pulled up to the house, a large, wood-and-glass structure with an A-framed entry, Jared parked and climbed from the car. His pulse raced with anticipation as he approached the front door.

At seventeen, Jared hadn’t been ready to take on the responsibility of being a father, nor had he wanted to marry a teenage girl he barely knew. But now that he’d matured and had a family of his own, he felt as though he’d let the kid down, even if Adam had been raised in a happy home.

Jared would like to make amends—somehow. Not that he had any legal responsibility; but morally, he did.

He knocked on the door. When no one answered right away, he rang the bell.

When was the last time he’d felt so nervous? He couldn’t remember.

A petite older woman with strawberry-blond hair answered the door.

“Mrs. Cartwright?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Jared Cambry. And I’m looking for Adam Bartlite.”

She furrowed her brow. “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name.”

A dead end?

Sam Hastings, the private investigator, had photocopied the charred scraps of paper, all that remained of a file on Olivia Maddison. Had this address been part of another adoption case? He supposed it was possible.

“There was a fire at the Children’s Connection clinic that destroyed many of their records, so my information is sketchy at best. But this is the address that was in the file.” Jared tugged at the knot in his tie.

The woman straightened and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We adopted our daughter from the Children’s Connection. But we don’t know anyone by the name of Bartlite.”

Maybe Adam and his parents had only lived here a short while and she’d forgotten.

“My son would be twenty-seven years old,” Jared said, trying to jar the woman’s memory, hoping he hadn’t hit an insurmountable wall.

“Our Lissa is twenty-seven.”

A coincidence? Or merely a mix-up of the scanty records they’d pieced together?

Grasping for a straw, Jared asked, “Do you know anything about her birth parents?”

“Not much. Just a few details. But that’s because an old high-school friend of mine worked at Portland General for a while. I was curious, so she gave me a bit of information.”

“What did you learn?”

“Lissa’s mother was only seventeen. She’d intended to keep her baby, but was involved in a car accident that left her in a coma. The doctors delivered Lissa prematurely, and the poor mother died shortly after the birth.”

Hope jumpstarted Jared’s pulse. “Was the mother’s name Olivia Maddison?”

Mrs. Cartwright sobered, furrowed a delicate brow and held on to the doorjamb. “Lissa’s mother’s name was Olivia. But that’s all I know. What’s all this about?”

“I think I may be Lissa’s biological father.” The revelation made him feel grossly inadequate. Why hadn’t he come looking for his child sooner? Come before a crisis made him look as if he would have stayed anonymous forever.

“But you were looking for Adam Bartlite,” she said, as though trying to negate his tie to her daughter.

“I’m not sure where or how Adam Bartlite fits into the picture. Maybe he was a child whose records had been mixed with Lissa’s when the clinic staff tried to salvage what they could.”

It really didn’t matter. Not anymore. He’d found what he was looking for—his child. A daughter.

Mrs. Cartwright pursed her lips and looked at him as if he were the angel of death. “What do you want from us?”

“Nothing,” he lied, not ready to reveal his purpose. “I just want to meet her, maybe get to know her.”

The woman who’d nurtured his child studied him critically. Assessing his character, he supposed. And maybe trying to spot a telltale resemblance. When she caught his gaze, her mouth parted. “Your eyes are the same shade as hers.”

“Was she born on January the thirteenth at Portland General Hospital?”

The woman nodded, but didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

Jared tried to keep the excitement—and hope—from his voice. “Is she here?”

“She’s down at the vineyard office.”

Apprehension slammed into him. And so did shame. He should have looked for her sooner.

What if she wasn’t happy to see him? What if she thought he was using her? In a sense, he was. Questions bombarded him. But the biggest one rang loud and clear. What if Lissa didn’t care about the life or death situation facing her biological father’s family?

“How do you think she’ll feel about me showing up unannounced?” he asked, hoping the child he’d given up wouldn’t harbor any ill feelings.

“I’m not sure.”

“Maybe she’ll resent me for not being a part of her life,” Jared said, revealing his fears. “Resent me for giving her up.”

“Lissa is a lovely young woman. And there’s not a day goes by that I don’t thank the Good Lord for giving her to us. I’d been unable to get pregnant for years, and I’d wanted a baby desperately.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to blink them back.

“I don’t want to interfere in her life or take her away from you. I’d just like to get to know her.”

Mrs. Cartwright nodded. “I can’t blame you for that. It might have been more difficult for me had you come looking for her while she was still a child.”

Jared tried to put himself in Mrs. Cartwright’s shoes. If someone showed up on his doorstep wanting to lay claim to one of his kids, he’d be concerned, too. “Thank you for loving her, for being her mother.”

“It’s been a joy and an honor, Mr. Cambry.” Then she grabbed a sweater from a coat rack in the hall. “Come along with me. I’ll introduce you. The rest is up to Lissa.”

She had that right.

How would Lissa react when she met him? And more important, what would she say when he asked her to be tested as a bone-marrow donor?

He would find out soon enough.

Lissa bent over the desk where Sullivan had displayed a marketing plan he’d developed. She might have put away any romantic ideas involving the handsome consultant, but she couldn’t overlook his musky, mountain-meadow scent, couldn’t ignore the brush of his arm against hers, the heat that raced through her blood. Nor could she keep her eyes off him.

He’d dressed casually today in jeans and a white dress shirt. Rolled sleeves revealed muscular forearms and an expensive gold watch.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

Okay. Mind back on business. “As I’ve already mentioned, I think your idea of opening the vineyard and winery for tours is a good one. I’ll discuss it with my father when he gets back from San Diego.”

Sullivan nodded, as a light rap sounded at the office door. Before Lissa could answer, her mother turned the knob and let herself in. A tall, dark-haired stranger followed her.

“Honey,” her mom began. “I know you’re busy, but there’s someone I think you should meet.”

Lissa straightened and approached her mother and the middle-aged man. His eyes seemed to study her with more curiosity than was the norm. Who was he?

“I’m Jared Cambry.” The man extended a hand in greeting, his green eyes scanning her face, her expression.

His name didn’t sound familiar, but Lissa shook his hand. “Lissa Cartwright.”

“You look like your mother,” he said.

Lissa glanced at Donna and wrinkled her brow. Eileen was the one who favored their mother. Was the guy blind?

“He means Olivia,” Donna said, her voice soft. And a little wobbly.

Olivia was her birth mother’s name. Did this guy know her real mother? Her real parents? A multitude of questions tumbled forth. But, for the life of her, the words wouldn’t form.

“I have reason to believe I’m your father,” the man said.

Lissa found it difficult to speak, to think. To react.

She finally said, “I’m a bit overwhelmed.” But flabbergasted was more like it. As a little girl, she’d always envisioned her real parents coming for her, but they usually arrived in a coach like Cinderella’s.

“I can understand your surprise,” he said.

Could he? As a kid, she’d dreamed of this day. Lived for it. But now? She wasn’t sure. Why had he come looking for her? To assuage his guilt? To satisfy his curiosity? Had he thought about her often? Prayed she was loved and cared for?

A childlike hope sprang from nowhere, wishing he’d say that he’d been searching for her for years, that he’d never meant to give her away.

“I’d been meaning to find you,” he said, “ever since moving back to Portland last year. But I hadn’t gotten around to it. I’m an attorney, and I’ve been trying to set up a new office. Now my family is faced with a crisis. And I’m hoping you can help.”

Did he want money? She quickly scanned his length, taking in the expensive, gray three-piece suit, the pale yellow shirt. The classy tie.

He didn’t appear to be poor or struggling.

“What kind of crisis?” she asked.

“My youngest son, your half brother, was diagnosed with a rare blood disorder. And he needs a bone-marrow transplant.”

A myriad of emotions swirled in her heart. Surprise that he’d walked into her life. Curiosity, too. But it seemed as though he’d only come looking for her because he stood to lose something. Someone special to him.

He hadn’t been looking for her.

“Mark is only eight years old.” The man pulled a wallet from the inside pocket of his jacket, withdrew a photograph of a kid in a soccer uniform and handed it to her. “He’s a bright and loving little boy—the greatest kid in the world. Without a transplant, he won’t live to see his tenth birthday.”

She looked into the smiling face of a dark-haired child with a splatter of freckles across his nose and a bright-eyed grin.

Her brother?

Her half brother.

This was all so overwhelming. She needed time to think. To react.

As though wanting some direction, some guidance, she glanced at her mother. The poor thing looked as though she was about to fall apart.

Lissa’s gaze drifted to Sullivan, who stood on the sidelines watching the scene unfold. She supposed it might have been better to meet privately with Mr. Cambry. But in a way, she welcomed the presence of others, appreciated their silent support. An audience made holding back the tears much easier.

“Whether you’re a match or not, I’d still like to establish a relationship with you,” Mr. Cambry…Jared said. For goodness’ sake. What was she supposed to call him?

Torn in a hundred different pieces, Lissa again looked to her mother, as though Donna could save the day, as she’d always done in the past. But this was a decision Lissa would have to make on her own. At least the father-daughter-relationship stuff.

She wouldn’t, of course, refuse to help his son. She glanced at the photo she held in her hand. The boy’s name was Mark. And he was much too young to be facing death.

Jared scanned the small, woodsy office, as though noticing the others for the first time, then focused on Lissa. “I’m sorry for blurting out news I should have revealed in private. But I’ve been so eager to find you…”

Because of the boy, she realized. Not because of her.

“Maybe we could have an early lunch together and discuss this further?” he asked. “We can drive into the nearest town. I noticed several cafés and diners as I passed through.”

“I’m afraid not,” Lissa answered. “I’m much too busy to take a lunch break today. But I’ll have the required testing done in the next day or so. Just let me know where I need to go. And if I’m a match, I’ll donate bone marrow to your son.”

Her brother.

“Thank you,” Jared said. “I can’t ask for more than that. But I really meant what I said about having a relationship with you—regardless of how everything else works out.”

She nodded, but again her voice failed her. For some reason, she didn’t want to make promises—or accept any—that might not pan out.

Her mother finally spoke. “I’ll walk you back to your car, Mr. Cambry.”

“All right.” Jared withdrew a business card from his wallet, wrote down several phone numbers. Then handed it to Lissa. “Please call me. Anytime of the day or night.”

Again she nodded, but when she returned the photo to him, he refused to take it. “Please keep it. I’d like you to have it.”

Lissa stood like a concrete angel in the center of a cemetery until the door shut behind her mother and her father—or rather, the guy who’d provided half her genetic makeup.

And, in spite of a determination to keep her feelings locked inside where Sullivan would never see, the tears slipped down her face. She set the picture of the boy—Mark—on the desktop, then wiped her eyes and nibbled at her lip.

Oh, God. Don’t let me fall apart here, in front of Sullivan. She could only imagine what the consultant was thinking of the surreal event that had just taken place.

Sullivan had been watching the awkward meeting, but only because he couldn’t find a graceful way to leave the room. He’d never been a sucker for tears, but as Lissa’s pain became evident, washing a path down her cheeks, it was tough to remain silent or invisible.

“Hey, if you’d like some time to sort through all of this, I understand. I can go for a walk.” He nodded toward the doggie bed on the floor. “I can even take Barney.”

“That’s all right,” she said, sniffling. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Yeah? If the situation were reversed, Sullivan would need time to regroup.

Did she expect to switch gears and keep going? Apparently so, because she stood over the desk and began to peruse the paperwork he’d already laid before her. But before they could return to the business discussion they’d been having, another wave of tears surfaced.

“I’m sorry.” She sniffled and wiped her face with the back of a hand.

“It’s none of my business,” he said, “but it seems to me as though you don’t want to talk to the guy. I’d think you’d be curious about your roots.”

“I am curious. But what if I reach out to him, and then he disappears from my life when the tests show I’m not a match for his son?” She blew out a ragged sigh. “To tell you the truth, I’m afraid of getting close, then having him turn his back on me after he gets what he wants.”

If anyone understood rejection—the fear of loving someone and having them walk out—it was Sullivan. Without a conscious thought, he slipped an arm around her and gave her a friendly squeeze. He didn’t say anything, though. Hell, he didn’t have any training in this kind of touchy-feely stuff.

But apparently, he’d lucked out. Lissa hadn’t needed any words of wisdom, because she leaned into his embrace, drawing comfort he didn’t usually offer anyone.

They stood there for a while, not talking, not really moving. But something weird began to happen. The friendly hug triggered a powerful awareness of Lissa as a woman.

She fit nicely in his arms. A little too nicely. Sullivan couldn’t help savoring her scent—something that reminded him of a peach orchard in the spring. And he grew pleasantly aware of the softness of her breasts as they pressed against his chest.

Without a conscious effort, his hands slid along the contour of her back, offering comfort, while providing proof of the curves she hid behind loose-fitting clothes.

He had an unwelcome urge to brush a kiss against her hair, to nuzzle her cheek. But he refrained. And even though he meant to keep things between them on a business level, he continued to hold her, unwilling to let go until she’d had her full dose of compassion and pulled away.

Lissa could have remained in Sullivan’s arms all day and into the night.

His musky scent taunted her. While he held her against his hard, muscular chest, she fought the urge not to nestle against him.

His hands slid up and down her back—in an effort to comfort her, no doubt. And she found her body stirring, her hormones begging for more than a friendly touch.

But there was too much going on in her life right now, too many emotions running amok. She didn’t need to shoot herself in the foot by reading more into his embrace than he intended.

She took a deep breath, stepped out of his arms, then let the air go, deflating her lungs and her silly dreams. How could she make something out of his efforts to be kind and supportive?

“I’m sorry for falling apart in front of you.” She offered a wobbly smile. “You’re proving to be a friend, as well as a business associate.”

He nodded. “Are you sure you don’t want to take the guy up on the offer to talk?”

No. She wasn’t sure about anything.

“We can discuss marketing later,” Sullivan added. “Even if you don’t want to see him, maybe you need to take a walk or something.”

It wouldn’t help. The questions that had been brewing for years, the questions she hadn’t asked her father while he was here, would only prod her into doing what she needed to do.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the business card he’d given her. She flipped it over and spotted the home and cell phone numbers he’d written on the back.

He couldn’t have gotten far.

She placed a hand on Sullivan’s cheek. “Thanks for understanding.”

Then she picked up the telephone and placed a call to Jared Cambry’s cell phone.

Lissa and Jared sat across from each other at the Golden Corkscrew, a trendy little restaurant that offered the best food and drink the Pacific Northwest had to offer.

For the most part, their plates remained untouched, a silent testimony that they had too much to talk about, too many reasons not to eat.

Lissa agreed to have her blood drawn at the Portland General annex lab located at the clinic in town, before heading back to the vineyard. And Jared promised to let her know as soon as he’d heard anything.

But their conversation didn’t end there, and Lissa believed he might be telling her the truth, that he might actually want a relationship with her, whether she was able to donate bone marrow or not.

He’d shown her photos of his wife, Danielle—a pretty woman with curly brown hair that reached her shoulders. From the way he talked about the woman, Lissa suspected they had a loving marriage, just like her parents had.

She still had the photograph of Mark, the boy who needed a bone-marrow donor. And through wallet-sized pictures, she met her other two siblings—seventeen-year-old Chad, who wore a football uniform and held his helmet, and fifteen-year-old Shawna, a pretty girl with braces.

“That’s an older picture of Shawna,” Jared said. “She’s had her braces off for about six months.”

“I’d like to meet them,” Lissa said. “Someday. I’m pretty busy right now, with the launching of the blend.”

Jared smiled warmly. “Your parents must be very proud of you. I certainly am. And I’d like to order a case of Virgin Mist as soon as it goes on sale.”

She returned his smile, glad that he’d recognized her accomplishment and wanted to be supportive. “It’ll be on the market after the reception later this month.”

“Well, I hope the unveiling is everything you want it to be and more.”

“Thanks. It will be a pretty special event. And I’ll probably have to break down and go shopping.” She blew out a sigh. “I hate dressing up.”

“Why?” he asked. “Most women love that stuff.”

“Dressing up just draws attention to me and makes me feel awkward.”

“I don’t know why. You’re a beautiful woman, Lissa.”

Her mother had said as much on many occasions. Her dad, too. But for some reason, hearing Jared compliment her made it almost seem true.

“I’ve got a ton of self-confidence when it comes to the vineyard, to farming and making wine, but…” She let the words drop.

Jared reached across the table and took her hand.

“You and I are going shopping. I’m going to buy you a whole new wardrobe, one that makes you feel good enough to stand out in a crowd.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “You don’t need to do that.”

“But I want to. It’s a very small way to make up for not being there for you.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “Please? It’ll be fun.”

She didn’t know about fun. But it might be interesting to go shopping with the man. Her dad never liked that sort of thing, leaving all the household and family purchases to her mother.

Jared motioned for the waitress and asked for their check. “I’m going to spring for a whole makeover, starting at that hair salon down the street.”

The salon? Lissa lifted her hand and fingered the heavy bun resting on top of her head. She hadn’t had a trim in ages. Of course, she’d never agree to a fullon haircut unless a personal beautician or a step-by-step styling lesson came with it.