Читать книгу Winning Heart - Laura Browning - Страница 9

Chapter 5

Irene O’Reilly stared out the kitchen window of the trailer, her gaze not even absorbing the bright foliage of the trees in the woods beyond. Did all mothers go through this? Had her own mother ever wondered after she had left?

“I can hire a detective, Irene.” Wythe Bradshear tried again to convince her to look for Wynter.

“She’s legally an adult, Wythe.” She shook her head. “I had hoped she would send me some news by now, but I won’t pressure her.”

“Wynter has always been hot-headed, but I never considered her thoughtless.” Wythe’s voice held irritation.

“Wythe…”

“Yes, thoughtless and cruel. She has no business putting you through this kind of hell.”

His chair scraped, and his big hands rested on her shoulders before he turned her from the window to face him.

“Please let me hire someone to look. You don’t have to make contact, but it would give you some peace of mind.”

It was so tempting to let Wythe help. But she wanted to give Wynter until the end of the year. Whether she was on her feet or not, Irene knew Wynter would never let Christmas, her birthday, pass without some word. She shook her head again.

“I have to give her a chance. I have to have faith.”

Wythe snorted in frustration.

“I know you like things black and white. You like to take action,” she said. “They are the very qualities that make you so successful with the corporate acquisition stuff you do. But Wythe, parenting isn’t like that, not single parenting. There are a lot of gray areas.”

He raked a hand through his wavy, brown hair. Like always, it was just a bit too long, as though he couldn’t be bothered to take time for a haircut when there were so many other things to do.

“If you’d like to stay for dinner,” she offered, “I can give you a haircut.”

He grinned, his face boyish with amusement. “Your hints are getting less subtle.”

“If not, I can let you borrow some of the ponytail holders Wynter left behind.”

This time Wythe laughed. “Ah, Irene O’Reilly, if people knew what a smart-ass you are.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t stay tonight.”

“Hot date?” she inquired, hoping instead to hear it was some business matter as it almost always was.

“Not really.”

Her heart sank. Maybe not a hot date, but a date all the same. She watched Wythe turn and grab his suit jacket from the back of the kitchen chair. “I stopped by on my way home from the office to change clothes. I’m meeting an old college friend in South Boston tonight.”

She smiled, hope springing up. “He or she?”

“Nosy tonight, aren’t we?” Wythe grinned back. “She, if you must know. Trish Staunton. Her family’s from around here, and we hung out some.”

“Good luck.”

She watched him go out the door, her smile in place until the door shut behind him. Irene blinked and bit her lip. She would not feel sorry for herself. Even if he never became anything else, Wythe was her best friend. It would be enough. It must be.

She remembered the first day they’d seen him. Ten years ago. He was home from college for the Christmas holidays. Irene and Wynter had just arrived in Danville, where she’d tried to get hired at Dan River Mills, but she didn’t have a job yet. Money was tight. Everything went to renting a cheap room not far from the mill. Wynter’s birthday was Christmas Eve, and Irene had nothing to give her. Not an easy thing to tell an eight-year-old. It would have been even tougher to explain she’d had no money for dinner either.

Somehow Irene convinced Wynter they were eating out. She didn’t have to know it was a church soup kitchen where they served meals to the hungry and homeless. Irene smiled when she remembered how excited Wynter had been. They never ate out. Anywhere. Not even a hot dog from the convenience store. They couldn’t afford it. Wynter had thought it was a wonderful treat. As they went through the serving line, her eyes had landed on Wythe. When her daughter had smiled at him, he’d smiled back. It was the most beautiful sight Irene had ever seen.

“Guess what?” Wynter had told the young man as he served them turkey, while Irene had snuck glances at his handsome face. “My name’s Wynter, and me and my ma are eating out tonight because it’s my birthday!” Wythe had glanced at Irene, and she’d wanted to fall through the floor. What must he be thinking?

But without even missing a beat, he had laughed at Wynter. “Is it really your birthday?” At her vigorous nod he had asked, “How old are you? Sixteen?”

Wynter had giggled and twirled one braid around her finger. “No, silly. I’m eight years old. Ma says I’m the best Christmas present she ever got.”

Wythe’s eyes had darted to Irene and he had smiled again, genuine respect lighting their brown depths. “Well,” he’d said, turning back to Wynter, “we’ll have to see what we can do for your birthday celebration.”

They had almost finished eating when Wythe had come back into the room carrying a sheet cake with eight candles stuck haphazardly in the top. Irene had noted with chagrin they looked like candles from the advent wreaths scattered around the church. He had lit the candles, and the entire kitchen staff had sung Happy Birthday. Wynter had laughed in delight, and Wythe had laughed right along with her.

God knows, Irene thought, whether he had ever realized he had been more of a father to Wynter than any man they had known. He had made her give him their address before they’d left. The next morning when they had awoken, there had been a package out front with a note saying, “To Winter, from Santa.” It was the same teddy bear Wynter had left behind when she’d run from home in the spring.