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“Stella walk.”
He set her down and took her hand. “Okay.” Slowly, they made their way to the hall door. Marc opened it.
“London Bridge is falling down, falling down...” A group of preschoolers was playing London Bridge in the hall.
“See, Daddy, singing.”
“You’re absolutely right.” His heart lightened. “Let’s go talk with Aunt Andie about school.”
“’Kay.” Stella’s voice lacked the enthusiasm of a minute ago.
Andie walked over to them. He held his breath when she crouched to Stella’s level.
“Hi, Stella. We’re coloring our class banner.” Andie pointed across the room to several kids Stella’s age sitting at a table with a long sheet of white paper. “Want to help us?”
Stella looked up at him. “Daddy color?”
“Remember, Daddy has to work this morning.” He planned on talking with his partners. “You can color with Aunt Andie.” The counselor had told Marc that the little girl might feel more secure with him telling her what to do, rather than asking—at least for a while.
Stella stared at him silently for so long his heart stopped. Then she nodded and took Andie’s hand.
“She’ll be fine,” Andie said.
“Right.” He resisted looking back at Stella as he left the hall. Stella knew Andie. Andie was great with kids of all ages, and she had his number if there was any problem.
Marc dragged his feet walking out to the car. He needed to occupy his mind with something more than concerns about Stella. That fixation wasn’t good for her or him. He’d taken his first reluctant step yesterday toward an opportunity he would have jumped at in a New York minute two years ago. Marc wanted that excitement back. For too long, he’d been plodding through life placing one foot in front of the other.
He made his decision. He needed to get in the race again, call Fiona and let her know she could write up a consulting contract for La Table Frais. His partners would probably celebrate his taking the initiative to make the decision, rather than waiting for their approval.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, he thumbed to the Cornell Research Farm’s number on his phone, picturing Fiona, her coppery curls, wide-set hazel eyes and vivacious mannerisms. She was a stunning woman, and the first woman he’d noticed since Cate had died.
If he were honest with himself, that scared him. He closed his eyes. His main focus still had to be Stella, but to be what his daughter needed, maybe he needed something for himself.
He didn’t have to throw himself into the new restaurant 24/7 as he had with his work in New York. And having an adult relationship, a nonpressure business relationship that had nothing to do with his daughter, might give him a balance between family and work.
* * *
Fiona adjusted and readjusted the blinds on the small window in her work cubicle to block the glare from the afternoon sun and checked her email—again. Nothing from Marc Delacroix. She knew he’d received the copy of her presentation she’d sent him. She had the return receipt email. Had he shared it with his partners? It wasn’t a make-or-break situation, but getting Marc and his partners in New York City involved in her new program would be a great start toward making the program—and her job—secure.
She minimized her email. Marc had seemed interested in what she’d presented. Although he hadn’t taken many notes and had asked only a few questions, he’d been intent on the presentation, focused on her.
She pictured Marc, his dark, thickly lashed eyes, the all-masculine planes of his face. Claire hadn’t been exaggerating with her clichéd tall, dark and handsome description of her twin. In fact, she may have been underplaying his attractiveness.
Fiona blinked away the picture. This was work. Although from the glowing report Claire had given of her brother’s experience, his business connections in New York City and his personal attributes, Fiona couldn’t help but think there was more behind Claire’s push to get them together than simply business. Especially given Claire’s emphasis on how much she thought Marc and Fiona had in common—essentially their dedication to their work and interest in promoting locally produced food. Neither was anything to build a personal relationship on.
Fiona put a halt to the odd direction her thoughts had taken. If Claire knew more about her, she wouldn’t have given a thought to putting her and Marc together. But they had only met recently, new coworkers.
Fiona rubbed the side of the mouse. She was trying to put the unhappy parts of her past behind her by taking the position here, near Ticonderoga. The place where she’d had an intact family—at least for a while. The only place she remembered being truly happy. She hoped to find the peace she’d been searching for most of her life, and closure for her younger sister Mairi’s senseless death. She refused to believe all her efforts to hold her family together had been in vain, despite the fact that the sister she’d mostly raised had turned to drugs as their mother had.
Fiona’s desk phone rang.
“Hey, Fiona, you have a delivery you need to sign for,” the staffer at the front desk said.
“I’ll be right out.” As she walked to the front desk, Fiona searched her memory for anything she’d ordered that she’d have to sign for and came up blank.
“I’m Fiona Bryce. You have something for me?”
“Fiona C. Bryce?” the deliverer asked.
“Yes.” How many Fiona Bryces could there be here? “Do you need ID?” She tapped her employer badge hanging from the lanyard around her neck.
The man glanced at it. “That’s fine. Please sign here.” He handed her a clipboard and pointed to a line.
Fiona signed and accepted the cardboard envelope. The return address was the attorney in Glens Falls she’d hired to help her settle Mairi’s estate, what little there had been of it anyway. Her heart thumped. That had all been taken care of nearly two years ago. She hadn’t thought to give him her new address or phone number. He must have tracked her online to the Willsboro farm.
On her way back to her cubicle, Fiona tore open the cardboard. Settling in the chair behind her desk, she pulled out the attorney’s letter and read it.
“...the new owners of the cabin where your sister died were refinishing a desk there as part of renovations to rent it and found the enclosed stamped envelope addressed to you caught behind one of the drawers. They knew about your sister, so they passed the letter on to the local authorities. The chief of police, my brother-in-law, forwarded it to me, thinking I’d have your address. All I could find was the address of your business.”
Fiona’s heart slammed against her chest as she reached inside the cardboard mailer and withdrew a white business envelope with her name and the address of the USDA experimental farm in Guam where she’d been working when Mairi died. It was in Mairi’s handwriting, scribbled but definitely Mairi’s. Fiona drew deep inside herself for strength that was beyond her own.
Dear Lord, be with СКАЧАТЬ