Little Girl Lost

“Stay put like a good girl and I’ll take them down,” Faith told Caitlin, wishing she’d remembered to bring a cookie along with her. Caitlin had been an inquisitive baby and now, in the midst of the terrible twos, she was always on the go, poking her little snub nose in every nook and cranny the moment Faith’s back was turned.

Faith retrieved the big stepladder that she used to open the vents in the roof of the greenhouse and set it up under the hanging baskets. But she’d positioned the ladder just a little too far from her objective and had to lean precariously to reach the first basket. To make matters worse the chain refused to come free of the hook. “Drat,” Faith muttered, wishing she could give voice to something a little more stress-relieving, but she’d learned the hard way that Caitlin was a perfect mimic when it came to swear words.

She wrestled the first basket free, making a mental note to get Steve to lengthen the chains, customer liability or no, and reached over to take down the second. A flicker of movement from the direction of Caitlin’s stroller caught her eye at the same moment a dusty black Blazer turned off the road and started down the lane. A last-minute customer stopping in on the way home from work, or the man who had rented the cottage? It didn’t really matter who it was, she’d rather not be seen struggling down off the ladder with the two heavy baskets swinging from each hand.

“Caitlin, honey,” she said over her shoulder. “Are you being a good girl and sitting still for mommy?”

A tremor of movement and a piping voice directly below her sent Faith’s heart into her throat. “I help you.” A small hand tugged on the leg of her slacks. Caitlin had crawled out of her stroller and climbed up the ladder. Now she was perched a good four feet off the ground, and blocking Faith’s way.

“’Fraid,” Caitlin mumbled suddenly, clinging like a limpet. Faith would have to lower the heavy baskets by their chains as far as she could, let them drop the rest of the way to the floor, then twist around and pull Caitlin into her arms. But as she shifted her weight one of the ladder’s legs began to sink into the soft earth. Faith let out a gasp as she pitched forward.

“Can I help you with those?” a male voice asked.

Faith looked toward the source of the voice. The occupant of the black Blazer was standing just inside the greenhouse entrance. He wasn’t a tall man, but solidly built with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, and long blue-jean clad legs.

“No, don’t bother.” Faith swallowed to ease the lump of anxiety that had lodged itself in her throat. She could feel Caitlin wobbling on the step behind her as she attempted to look around at the stranger. “It’s…it’s what’s behind me I’m worried about.” She was going to have to drop the heavy baskets, there was no help for it. The ladder was sinking more deeply into the soft earth each time she shifted her weight. In another few seconds it would tumble over taking both of them with it.

The stranger in the doorway took two long steps forward to see what she was talking about. His eyes widened a moment at the sight of Caitlin clinging to Faith’s pant leg.

“So that’s what has you treed. Come here, little one,” he said, his voice slightly rough around the edges, but with a Southern lilt underneath. “Time to get down.”

“Hi,” Caitlin said, brightly and to Faith’s surprise she held out her arms to the stranger.

“Hi, yourself.” He lifted her up into one arm and steadied the ladder with the other.

“I climb high,” Caitlin informed him smugly.

“Too high.” Faith started down the ladder. It was still tilted at an awkward angle, but she made it without making a fool of herself by falling, even when he reached out and laid a steadying hand on her elbow.

A strange shiver went up and down her spine. Not because his hand was cold or his touch too personal. It wasn’t. His hand was warm, slightly rough against her skin and he let go of her the moment she was steady on her feet. But still his touch unsettled her.

“I go high. I big girl.”

“You are a very brave girl,” he said in a wondering tone. He had a strong face, stern looking, all masculine lines and angles. Not a handsome face, but an intriguing one. As she watched, it softened and relaxed as Caitlin’s laughing giggle coaxed a smile to his lips.

“I Caitlin.”

“Hello—” he hesitated for a brief moment, “—Caitlin.”

Caitlin wrapped her arms around the stranger’s neck. She was a loving child, but she was usually reserved around people she didn’t know, especially men. Caitlin planted a kiss on his cheek. “I like you,” she said.

Faith dropped the heavy baskets and held out her arms. A rush of protectiveness coursed through her. The instant connection between her child and this stranger unsettled her even more than his touch. “Thank you. I’ll take her now.”

He placed Caitlin in her waiting arms. “I don’t think she’s suffered any harm from her climb.”

Faith’s sudden anxiety attack faded away once she held her daughter. She tried to summon a smile and thought she mostly succeeded. “She climbs like a monkey.”

“And you’re all right, too?” he asked, fixing his dark gaze on her directly for the first time. His eyes were blue, like dark, still water, or the color of the sky at twilight. “You look a little pale.” Once more Faith’s breath caught in her throat. Whatever had made her think he wasn’t a handsome man? When he smiled it took her breath away. She would have to be a dead woman not to respond to that smile. “No strains or sprains? Those baskets look heavy.”

“I’m fine, really,” Faith insisted, although her left shoulder was aching a little. She fell back on formality to hide her continuing confusion. “Thank you for your help. I’m Faith Carson.” She shifted Caitlin’s slight weight and held out her hand.

He gave her his. “Hugh Damon. I’ve reserved one of your cottages for the week.”

“Yes, Mr. Damon. Please wait a moment. I’ll get you the key.” She attempted a smile of her own. “Let me thank you for your rescue of me and my daughter one more time. And, of course, welcome to Painted Lady Farm.”

THE STORM ROLLED through quickly leaving the air fragrant with the scent of wet grass. Twilight lingered a long time, the sky shading from red to orange to dusky pink and purple-gray, before the stars twinkled to life in the east. Hugh stood beneath the shelter of the high-pitched overhang at the back of the cottage. Beneath his feet were fieldstones that formed a small patio edged by a low stone wall and flowering plants, fragrant with scents that were heady but unfamiliar. He stared down at the lighted windows of Faith Carson’s house.

He’d almost given himself away earlier, when he’d let his reaction to seeing Beth’s child for the first time get the better of him. She was Beth’s child; he was convinced of it, although he couldn’t say how he knew.

Caitlin Carson looked a great deal like his sister had at that age, the same elfin shape to her face, the gossamer fine hair. But Caitlin’s eyes were not blue, like Beth’s, like his. They were green-gold and changeable, exactly the same color as the woman who called herself her mother. Otherwise there was little resemblance between them. Faith Carson’s hair was brown, her face more rounded. Her figure, too, was rounded. In all the right places he had to admit, but her body type was not the same as Caitlin’s, who would grow up as slender and petite as Beth. But if he commented on that fact Faith Carson would say her daughter took after her dead father, not her mother, and her suspicions would be aroused.

She was Caitlin’s mother according to all the laws of the land. He’d seen a copy of the child’s birth certificate. Everything about it seemed to be in order. But still he knew his hunch was right. Even though the accident that had killed Jamie Sheldon and taken Beth’s memory, had occurred a hundred miles away in another state, he was convinced she had been in this place. Here she’d given birth. And for some reason she’d left her child behind. Despite all the damage to her body and her mind, that memory had not been completely erased. She remembered the baby crying in the snow. And she remembered butterflies.

It was the slightest of hunches that had brought him here. A baby born to a woman alone, during a terrible ice storm. A woman who was a nurse. A woman who could have delivered a frightened teenager’s baby. A woman who raised butterflies. A young widow who, perhaps, despaired of ever having a child of her own and who would take the desperate risk of keeping another woman’s baby.

He didn’t know the details, but nothing he had learned led him to believe that Faith Carson was a cold-blooded baby snatcher. He was determined to find the truth for Beth’s sake but he had to proceed carefully. He didn’t want to bring the law down on his sister for abandoning her baby, anymore than he wanted to see Faith Carson jailed for kidnapping—at least not yet. The whole situation was a minefield. One misstep on his part could spell disaster for all of them.

Faith Carson was wary of him, and he would have to be careful to earn her trust before he brought Beth here. He was convinced his sister’s well-being, and certainly her happiness, depended on learning the truth of the events that were the basis of her nightmares.

But he wasn’t the only one searching for Beth’s baby. Jamie’s parents were determined to learn the fate of their lost grandchild. And they would not stop with merely learning that truth. They wanted the baby. And they were rich and powerful enough to take her from Beth, from Faith Carson. From him. If they discovered where she was.

CHAPTER THREE

“CAITLIN SEEMS TAKEN with your renter,” Peg said, peering out the window above the kitchen sink. Hugh Damon had been staying in the cottage for several days now, over the long Memorial Day weekend, and the third anniversary of Mark’s death.

“She’s taken with anyone who spends time swinging her.” Faith was standing in front of the open refrigerator, enjoying the blast of cool air as much as searching for juice for Caitlin’s afternoon snack. It was 85 degrees, and the still air was heavy with humidity and the threat of approaching storms.

Faith snared the plastic bottle of apple juice from behind the milk where it had been hidden and shut the refrigerator door, coming to stand beside her sister. She had made up her mind to ignore her first disquieting reaction to Hugh Damon, but it didn’t mean she was comfortable talking about him.

Faith watched him push Caitlin in her tire swing, as Addy lolled in the shade beneath the picnic table. The muscles in his back and shoulders moved smoothly beneath the light fabric of his shirt. His thick, dark-gold hair lay heavy and straight against his forehead. He wore no jewelry except a serviceable-looking wristwatch. That was another direction she didn’t want her thoughts to take. He was a good-looking man, who didn’t wear a wedding ring.

“She’s usually a little shy around strangers,” Peg observed, running cold water into a glass she’d taken from the cupboard. Peg had started a wallpapering and painting business when she’d moved to Bartonsville and it was doing well. She was on her way home from a job and was wearing paint-splattered jeans and an old, long-sleeved white shirt of her husband’s. Her hair was tucked up under a ball cap and the smell of solvent and paint scented the air around her.

“She likes him,” Faith admitted. She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand. A storm coming always affected her that way, a tightness in her muscles, pressure behind her eyes.

“She’s female. Even a two-year-old woman can spot a stud like that one.”

Faith laughed. “Hey, you’ve only been married five months. You aren’t supposed to be ogling other men already.”

“I’m married, not blind. Steve’s a dear but not fantasy material. Put a leather kilt on that guy, give him a sword and he’d give Russell Crowe a run for his money any day.”

“Does this mean you’re taking back your warning about renting the cabins to single men?”

Peg drained her glass and shook her head as she set it in the sink. “Nope.” She tilted her head in Hugh’s direction. “Men as good-looking as that one are trouble. I ought to know—I married one the first time around, remember.”

“Men like that one are engineers,” Faith said, putting two Oreos on a paper plate for Caitlin.

“Engineer? I admit that sounds respectable enough.” If Peg had been a grasshopper her antennae would be quivering. “What kind of engineer?”

“The kind who build shopping malls, I guess. He’s working on that fancy new complex they did a feature on in the Cincinnati Enquirer a couple of months ago. You know, the one with all the high-end stores.” He’d told her that much the afternoon he’d inquired about continuing to rent the cottage for the month of June, since his work on the project would last several weeks.

“Has he asked you out yet?”

“No. Of course not.”

Her sister didn’t look convinced but she didn’t say any more. Faith had perfected the talent of sounding very sincere when she lied. And this was just a little white lie, not a universe-size one, like taking another woman’s child to raise as your own. Hugh Damon hadn’t asked her out on a date. Not officially, so her conscience was clear.

But he had offered to take her and Caitlin out to eat. It was while he was helping to rehang the baskets the day after he’d arrived. They had talked as he worked and she tallied the day’s receipts. She was alone in the greenhouse and it would have seemed churlish to refuse his offer of help. Or so she told herself.

He’d been wearing an old University of Texas T-shirt that stretched tight across his chest and shoulders, she remembered, and faded jeans that hugged his long legs. “Where do you find a good meal in Bartonsville?” he had asked. She brought out muffins and bagels, orange and grapefruit juice, and made coffee in the greenhouse every morning for herself and Steve and Peg, or whoever was around. Guests at the cabins were welcome to them, as well. Painted Lady Farm was as close to a bed-and-breakfast as you got in Bartonsville.

She had replied without hesitation. “The Golden Sheaf. It’s run by a family of old order Mennonites who make everything from scratch. The mashed potatoes are my daughter’s favorite. I’m surprised you haven’t found it already. All you have to do is follow your nose down Main Street.”

Caitlin had been sitting at the small table Faith kept for her behind the counter coloring in a SpongeBob SquarePants book. “Eat,” she’d said at the mention of food.

“Maybe the two of you could join me for dinner there this evening?” Hugh had said as he tested the strength of the chain extension before rehanging the planters. The invitation was offhand, but it caught Faith by surprise and she immediately said no. The refusal hung harsh and unfriendly in the air between them and she hurried to soften its uncompromising sound. “I mean, thanks, but I already have dinner started.”

“Some other time then. Do you recommend the meat loaf?”

“It’s the specialty of the house.”

He’d looked pleased. “Homemade meat loaf. Nothing better.”

“Don’t forget to try the pies. The coconut cream is to die for.”

“I’m a banana cream man myself,” he’d answered with a smile.

Faith had managed a smile in return. Her eyes had been drawn to the hard muscles of his thighs as he worked, and suddenly, from out of nowhere, she remembered the feel of legs and bodies tangled together in lovemaking, and she nearly dropped the stack of receipts she held in her hand. The flash of eroticism had come and gone in a heartbeat, but the aftereffect left her shaken. In her vision the arms holding her hadn’t been Mark’s. They’d belonged to this man.

She’d mumbled something about liking banana cream, too, and made some excuse to leave the greenhouse. Her legs were wobbly as she picked Caitlin up to carry her to the house, her breath coming in quick little gasps that couldn’t be blamed on the heat or the slight weight of the child in her arms. It was lust. Something that for three years had been completely absent from her thoughts.

That incident wasn’t the last erotic thought she’d had about Hugh Damon, but it was the last one she had let get the best of her. Perhaps because she also couldn’t quite forget the disquieting certainty that he was here, not just to avoid spending several weeks at an interstate off-ramp motel, but for some secret reason of his own.

A rumble of thunder announced the arrival of the storms that had been predicted all day. Peg angled her head to check the sky visible between the branches of the big maple outside the kitchen window. “Nasty-looking clouds,” she said, forgetting, at least for the moment, her fixation with Hugh Damon. “I have a feeling we’re going to get a real bad storm out of this cold front.”

“I think you’re right,” Faith agreed.

“You’re sure you don’t need me to watch Caitlin Wednesday and Thursday?”

Those were the days Faith was scheduled to work at the hospital. It was going to be her last week of duty until the fall. She would be busy with her own businesses from now on and had taken a leave of absence until September. “No, thanks. Martha’s going to watch her.” Martha Baden was Peg’s mother-in-law.

“Well, then she’ll probably end up at my house part of the day anyway.”

“Probably.” Faith laughed as they headed outside.

“Introduce me to your engineer,” Peg said under her breath as she held the screen door open for Faith.

Faith continued on into the yard, setting the paper plate of cookies and the sippy cup on the picnic table. She introduced her sister to Hugh Damon and then followed her to her truck to say goodbye.

“My Lord, he’s even better looking up close than he was from the kitchen window,” Peg said fanning her cheeks with her fingertips. “If he asks you out while he’s here, you go. You’ve been alone for three years, that’s long enough.”

“I don’t want another man—”

“That’s what I said, too, until I met Steve.” Peg switched on the engine and drove off. She loved having the last word.

Faith walked slowly back to the big maple. Caitlin dragged her little sneakered feet in the wood chips layered under the tire swing to slow its movement. She was wearing a pink top and darker pink shorts. Her fine silvery hair was in pigtails, and she looked like a spun sugar angel to Faith. An angel, but a mischievous one.

“Juice,” she squealed as Hugh stopped the swing so that she could hop out and come dancing across the grass to Faith. “I want juice. I’m hot.”

Faith bent down and gathered her daughter against her heart. “That’s because it’s hot outside and you’ve been swinging and laughing and talking real hard.”

“Hugh’s hot, too.” That went without saying. Faith was glad she had her face buried in Caitlin’s neck. She was having more and more trouble controlling such unsuitable thoughts. “He needs a juicy,” Caitlin declared.

“I’ll settle for a drink of water.” Hugh moved toward the old-fashioned hand pump that stood by the gate. Once there he took the antique ladle off the hook and began working the long handle up and down. The well was as old as the house, but the water was pure and spring fresh. Faith had it channeled into the greenhouse to water the plants and keep the waterfalls topped off.

As soon as a steady stream of water began to rush out of the pump into the shallow stone trough that had once held chicken feed a century before, Caitlin wiggled out of Faith’s arms and darted over to Hugh. “Swim,” she said loudly. “Let’s swim.” She squatted down and started to untie her shoes to wade in the trough.

“No way, Kitty Cat. The water’s too cold and I’m too big for the basin.”

Faith followed Caitlin to the pump. She wondered when Hugh had started using her pet names for Caitlin. The endearment came so naturally to his lips she felt churlish in mentioning anything about it. “No playing in the water now. It’s going to storm and you have to help Mommy bring in the plants and shut up the greenhouse.” Peg had offered to help before she left but Faith knew she was anxious to get home before the rain so had assured her she could manage on her own. Besides, she didn’t want to answer any more questions about Hugh Damon. Since she’d remarried, her sister’s mind was focused entirely too much on sex, especially Faith’s lack of it.

“Would you like a drink of water?” He rinsed and refilled the ladle and held it out to her.

She took it gratefully. It was hot and she was thirsty for something that wasn’t full of sugar or caffeine. Her hand brushed his knuckles and she felt a tremor like a tiny earthquake rattle her bones, just as another long rumble of thunder boomed overhead.

“It’s getting close,” Hugh said, raising his eyes to the sky.

“I have a feeling the cold front is going to get here ahead of the weatherman’s prediction.” She handed the ladle back to him. “Please excuse me, Mr. Damon. I think I’d better batten down the hatches in the greenhouse.”

“I’ll help. And I think we’ve known each other long enough to drop the honorifics. My name’s Hugh.”

“Thank you, Hugh.” She liked the way his name sounded on her tongue. “And please, call me Faith.”

Addy grabbed her much chewed Frisbee in her teeth and trotted along at Hugh’s heels as they walked toward the greenhouse, obviously hoping for a game of catch. So Faith could add her faithful sheltie to the list of females at Painted Lady Farm who had fallen for her guest.

“I can manage,” she started to say, but he was already moving the remaining flats of bedding plants off the old farm wagon she used to display them. It had grown noticeably darker in the ten minutes they’d been standing in the yard. And the clouds were moving fast, roiling like water in a saucepan. The green cast to their undersides was more pronounced than ever, a sure sign of hail.

Faith deposited Caitlin at her table behind the counter and went to help Hugh. They were both soaked by the time all the bedding plants were inside. She struggled to close the wide panels that were usually folded back against the side of the greenhouse. Hugh reached a hand over her shoulder and unhooked the panel, then tugged them into place. He had just closed the final one when the hail came pelting down.

The roof of the greenhouse was made of the same industrial weight plastic as the sides and the hailstones, small ones thankfully, bounced off harmlessly. But the roof of the butterfly habitat was made of glass. It was reinforced and supposedly shatterproof, but so far it hadn’t been put to the test. Faith picked up Caitlin and hurried into the chrysalis room. The sound of hailstones on glass was deafening. She’d reached for the handle of the pressurized door when Hugh spoke from behind her.

“It might be better if we get back to the house in case there’s a tornado.”

“Oh, God, don’t say that.” Ohio wasn’t technically a part of Tornado Alley, but they still had their share of the deadly storms.

“Back in Texas this is the kind of weather that has us heading for the nearest storm cellar. You do have a cellar, don’t you?” His tone was ordinary, for Caitlin’s sake, Faith realized. There was even a tinge of laughter beneath the faint drawl, but his eyes were grim.

“Yes, there’s a cellar. Have you always lived in Texas?” Faith kept her tone as light as his. She was determined not to allow her own fear to be transmitted to Caitlin.

“From time to time,” Hugh said. He turned to go back into the greenhouse. “My dad was in the military. We lived in a lot of places, but Texas was where I went to high school and college. My mom and my half sister stayed on there after I left home. When I got back to the States last time it seemed as good a place as any to hang my hat.”

“Back to the States? You build malls overseas then?”

His laugh was short and held little amusement. “I’ve only been building malls the past couple of years. Before that I worked all over the world. Dams in China, bridges in South America. Never more than a year or two in one place, and most of them were pretty far off the beaten track.”