Читать книгу Father Most Wanted - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 6

“Ow.”

Brooke Carmichael pressed her lips together, sealing in any further sounds. The tips of her fingers where the hot espresso had sloshed over the side of the coffee container pulsed with pain. That’s what she got for not waiting for a cover, she thought.

Still hurrying, her eyes now riveted to the guilty container, she switched hands and shook the excess moisture off her fingers. The barely-out-of-puberty boy who was single-handedly manning Coffee Heaven’s counter had told her he was all out of lids, but there were some in the back.

Since he moved with the speed of a snail, his finding one didn’t sound like a feat that was going to be accomplished any time within the next half hour. Brooke didn’t have a half hour. She didn’t even have five extra minutes to spare. Since Heather had called saying she’d be late, there was no one to watch Tell Me a Story, the bookstore Brooke had owned for the past two years.

Ordinarily when Isaac, the regular clerk, was behind the trendy coffee-shop counter, the whole transaction took less than two minutes. But Isaac had been nowhere in sight and there was no way Brooke could begin the day without molten sludge oozing through her veins, waking her up. The coffee she’d had at home only got her as far as the store and no farther. She needed something guaranteed to jump-start narcoleptics before she could begin her work-day.

Her sister would pick today to be late. “When it rains, it pours,” Brooke muttered to herself.

Next time she’d bring a thermos, the way she used to when she’d been the only one tending to the bookstore. Having help had made her lax. She blew on fingers that still stung.

“Tiffany, where are you?” a male voice called.

Intent on not spilling her espresso again, Brooke didn’t see the tall, somber-looking man until it was almost too late. Coming to an abrupt halt, she barely avoided launching the contents of her container at him.

Her heart hammering, the fingers of her left hand christened in the exact same manner as the ones on her right and now smarting, Brooke narrowly avoided what could have been a very nasty accident.

Stepping back and to the side, Brooke realized that the man was not alone. He was flanked by matching bookends in the form of two identical little girls, no more than about five or six. Their dresses were similar, if not exactly the same, but one face was as close to a mirror image of the other as anything Brooke had ever seen. The man was holding their hands tightly and seemed to look through Brooke as if she wasn’t there.

Brooke’s gaze dropped to the twins again. What must it be like, she wondered, to know there was someone else walking around with a face exactly like yours? It might make an interesting children’s-book series. Something her father would have deftly written about, she thought with a bittersweet pang.

“Sorry,” she apologized when she caught her breath.

Oblivious to the near collision, the man hardly spared her a look. He seemed far more intent on finding this Tiffany person. Then, nodding vaguely in Brooke’s direction, as if the apology had replayed itself in his head, he hurried past her, the two little girls held fast in tow.

“Tiffany,” he called.

“No harm done, I guess,” Brooke murmured to herself, heading out into the mall.

The man no doubt had misplaced his wife, Brooke mused. He had that father-on-an-outing harried look. Turning back, she squinted, looking intently at the hand that held on to the little girl on his left. There it was, a wedding ring.

Had to be the wife, she decided.

Why were all the gorgeous ones taken? she wondered.

Not that she would be interested in the man one way or the other, she amended, entering her store. She was doing just fine the way she was, carving out her own business and her own niche in the world. At twenty-seven, she figured she was way overdue in both departments. She’d put in her time on the marriage-go-round and all it had done was make her dizzy—and incredibly cynical.

There was a time, she thought as she paused to straighten a display of books dealing with the adventures of a timid ladybug, when she would have said that there wasn’t a cynical bone in her body. But that was before Marc. Her ex-husband had done that to her, siphoned off her optimistic view of life and made her cynical.

Marc, with his dark good looks and his secret roving eye. Brooke sighed and shook her head, then took a long sip of her coffee.

Nope, she wasn’t going to spoil a perfectly lovely morning by thinking about the one dark spot in her life. The two-year-old divorce decree had physically removed Marc from her life; now it was up to her to eradicate all traces of him from her mind.

Taking another long sip of coffee, Brooke closed her eyes and waited for the double espresso’s effect to kick in. It didn’t take long. She blew out a breath. “Well, that’ll sure get you going in the morning,” she murmured.

As a rule, mornings in the mall were slow. Customers didn’t begin coming into Tell Me a Story until around noon or later. That was okay with her. Right now, Brooke decided, she could use a little alone time. She was comfortable with her own company. Always had been.

After a third sip, Brooke looked at the dwindling contents of her cup thoughtfully. There was a new trend taking hold amid the chain bookstores. She supposed she could go that route and start selling beverages. At least it would cut down on her making quick dashes to Coffee Heaven.

The next moment, the idea faded. Most of her customers were under four feet in height and tended to have sticky hands to begin with. Given her clientele, to provide only coffee was ridiculous. To provide punch and juice, instead, would be far from practical unless she began dealing in books with plastic-coated washable pages.

She thought of the man she’d almost bumped into. Maybe packets of vitamins for harried parents would be a better sale item. Something to help them keep up with their energetic offspring.

A smile curved Brooke’s mouth as her thoughts drifted to the past. She could remember her father commenting on that more than once. That he needed megavitamins just to keep up with her and Heather.

But that, she thought, was because Jonathan Carmichael had tried to do it all, be both mother and father to Brooke and her sister while he worked full-time at writing and illustrating children’s books. Her smile widened. He’d done a fair job of it, too. Not so much as a day ever went by when she and Heather didn’t feel loved. Most of the time, her father made juggling a million things look easy, but there were times, she knew, that it got to him. He tried not to show it, but she knew nonetheless. She was the older one and intuitive.

Now that she thought about it, the man she’d almost succeeded in dousing with coffee had that exact same harried look in his eyes.

She hoped he’d found his wife by now.

Sufficiently fortified with caffeine, Brooke threw the empty container into the wastebasket behind her cash register, then squared her shoulders. That new shipment of books in the back wasn’t going to unpack itself.

Making her way to the rear of the store and the storage room that also doubled as her office, Brooke stopped and sucked in her breath. She could have sworn she was alone, but there on the floor, making herself right at home, was one of the girls that man had had in tow just minutes ago. She’d obviously gotten away from him.

That was going to have to be fixed.

“Hi there,” Brooke said.

Large blue eyes, fringed with long black lashes, looked up at her before they returned to the books that populated the bottom shelf. “Hi.”

Brooke squatted down to the little girl’s level. Her young unchaperoned customer seemed to be scrutinizing the different titles on the book spines. Could she read them, Brooke wondered, or was she just pretending? Her own father had taught her and Heather to read at such an early age Brooke felt as if she’d been born reading. Maybe the girl’s parents had done the same for her and her twin.

In either case, Brooke knew that the last thing a child welcomed was a condescending adult. She knew she never had. She spoke to her the way she would to any adult. “May I help you find something?”

There was no shyness about the child. Instead, she seemed filled with purpose, a mission, and poise beyond her years. She nodded smartly before answering. “Yes, do you have any books about mommies?”

“I might. What kind of book did you have in mind?”

The girl hesitated, as if trying to find the right way to phrase what she was about to say. “One about finding one.”

Wasn’t that cute? She was trying to help her father find her mother by turning to a book for guidance. Whoever said reading was dead? Brooke nodded as if giving the choice serious consideration. “So, you’re looking for your mommy?”

The blue eyes took on a sparkle as the little girl looked up at her. “Yes. We all are.”

All. That would be her father and her sister, Brooke guessed. Ordinarily she would have led the girl to several books dealing with mothers. There was one about a lost bear cub Brooke particularly liked.

But the way she saw it, she had a far more pressing service to perform. “Well, right now, I think your daddy is going out of his mind trying to find both of you.”

The girl frowned thoughtfully, as if she didn’t quite follow that. “You know my daddy?”

“I don’t exactly know him,” Brooke confessed, trying to be strictly honest. Kids, she knew, respected and expected honesty. “But I do know what he looks like.” Brooke leaned her head in closer to the little girl, lowering her voice as if to share a secret with her. “Worried.”

There was a light in the blue eyes, as if a connection had just been made. The little girl nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, he does. He looks like that all the time now.” She turned her face up and frowned sadly. “Do you have any books to help?”

“No, but I think that taking you to him might help. A lot.” The poor man was already looking for his wife. Having to look for this little girl, as well, wasn’t exactly going to put him in a better frame of mind. Brooke stood up and took the little girl’s hand gently, drawing her to her feet. “What do you say we go look for him?”

It wasn’t unusual to have children wander into her shop. After all, she’d gone to great lengths to make it pleasing to the young eye. There were carefully painted murals depicting cartoon characters and fairy-tale folks either sitting, standing or comfortably sprawled out, their hands tucked around a good book. Blessed with her father’s gift for illustration, it had taken Brooke weeks to do, and she had purposely made it into an inviting peaceful version of Wonderland—if Wonderland had been a place where books were offered, instead of mind-confounding puzzles.

But usually any child who wandered in was soon followed by a parent or two. A parent who was happy to have a few minutes respite from the taxing job of parenting.

Brooke glanced toward the entrance. Mr. Drop-Dead Gorgeous with the worried frown was nowhere in sight. Not a good sign. She hoped he hadn’t gone off to the opposite end of the mall.

The little girl appeared undecided about whether or not to follow Brooke. Two large front teeth flanked by far smaller baby ones nibbled on her lower lip as she thought it over.

“Okay,” she finally agreed. “Daddy says we shouldn’t talk to strangers, but I guess you’re okay.”

Flattered, Brooke paused to make things clear. “Thank you, honey, but your daddy is right, you know. You shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

Walking out of the store, she drew the girl to her side and paused to press a button on the inside wall. A decorative gate, fashioned to look like the twining ivy that had grown around Sleeping Beauty’s castle while she took her extended nap, descended slowly into place. Brooke flipped a latch, locking it. Finding the little girl’s missing father could just possibly take longer than dashing out for a cup of espresso, and she couldn’t afford to have any more customers come wandering in. The way she saw it, she’d used up her luck with this one. The next pint-size customer might innocently or not so innocently make off with several books.

The little girl was still mulling over the warning she had just received. Confused, she looked up at Brooke. “Then I shouldn’t talk to you?”

Brooke looked around, trying to spot the man and his solitary daughter. She glanced at the girl’s face next to her. “I see we have a conundrum.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “We do? What’s a con—a ca—?”

“Conundrum,” Brooke repeated, grinning. “That means a tricky puzzle—like the one we’re in right now. You shouldn’t talk to strangers, which ordinarily would mean me, but you have to talk to someone because if you don’t, your daddy might not be able to find you. And I’m sure that would make him very sad.”

“He’s already very sad. Daddy’s been sad for a long time now,” the girl confided, then paused, thinking. Her eyes brightened as she looked up at Brooke. “If you tell me your name, then you won’t be a stranger anymore.”

There was a sweet innocence in the little girl’s thinking that touched Brooke. In this fast-paced world with its predators, things weren’t nearly that simple anymore. But right now, an explanation would only confuse things further, and time was probably of the essence.

“My name’s Brooke,” she told her.

The little girl cocked her head. “Like where water runs?”

Brooke laughed. “I guess that’s one way to describe it. Okay, now that you know who I am, let’s go see if we can find your dad.”

The smile went beyond cooperative straight to beatific. “Okay.”

A darkness closed around his heart. He knew that he was letting his mind get carried away, but nine months ago, he would never have dreamed that Gina’s life would be taken right before his eyes. Things like that only happened in the kinds of movies he didn’t care to watch.

As did kidnappings.

Even the hint of the word caused sharp chills to tingle their way down his spine. But what else could have happened? His daughter knew better than to wander off.

He’d only looked away for a second. But a second was all it took for something bad to happen.

He couldn’t think like that, he admonished himself. It would drive him crazy. And then where would the girls be?

“We’ll find her, Daddy,” Bethany told him. She sounded so much older than her years. Almost as if she were the parent and he the child.

Ironic humor tugged at his soul. “I’m supposed to be the one saying that to you.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about. Ever,” he told her, toning down the fierceness in his voice. “Your sister, when we find her, however, does.” He looked down at the little girl on his left. “Are you sure she didn’t say where she was going?”

The girl shook her head, her dark curls bouncing like tiny springs. “She was just gone.”

Gone. The word echoed in his mind. No, he refused to let himself go there, refused to entertain any idea except that he would find her. He had to.

“Look, Daddy, over there!” Excitedly Bethany pointed beyond the carousel at the same moment she began tugging on her father’s arm. “There she is, with some lady.”

His heart iced over, the words registering before he had the opportunity to see for himself. He turned his steps in the direction Bethany was tugging, hurrying before he even looked at the terrain. He zigged around the heavyset security guard just in time. The older man looked at him oddly as he made his way to his daughter.

Good. Keep watching. Maybe we’ll need you.

But the instant he saw his wayward daughter, he knew he’d just allowed himself to overreact. Instinct told him everything was all right. His daughter wasn’t in any danger. This time.

For the second time that day Brooke came to an abrupt halt because of the tall dark-haired man. But this time it wasn’t to keep from colliding with him, it was because she was stunned. His matching bookends still flanked him.

Confused, Brooke looked down at the little girl whose hand was firmly tucked into hers. She was a dead ringer for the other two.

Somewhere, Brooke decided, there had to be an overheated cloning machine given over to producing tight, almost jet-black curls, rosebud mouths and big, luminous blue eyes with lashes any grown woman would kill for.

“They’re triplets,” the man said in answer to the silent question she knew had to be written all over her face.

“I noticed.”

She was addressing the top of his head. He’d lowered himself to his knees, wrapping his arms around the tiny recipient, nearly burying her in them.

“Tiffany, where did you go?” he asked.

Tiffany? This was Tiffany? Brooke looked down at the little girl, feeling foolish. She should have known better than to think a grown man would look that worried about a missing wife.

“Into her store,” the child said matter-of-factly, pointing a finger at Brooke. “She’s got the best books, Daddy. You gotta see them.”

“Maybe later,” he told her.

Regaining control over emotions that had been, only moments ago, stripped raw, he rose to his feet and looked at the woman beside his daughter. He’d learned to be a quick judge and at the same time not to trust his first impressions. But she looked harmless enough.

Not everyone was a threat, he reminded himself.

“I’m sorry if she caused you any trouble.”

Judging by his tone, Brooke thought, Tiffany was probably every bit the handful she appeared. Brooke’s eyes swept over the three impish curious faces. Maybe they all were. “No, no trouble at all. As a matter of fact, she was delightful.”

If it weren’t for the fact that their clothes were slightly different, Brooke wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart. Her sympathy went out to the man and his wife. “Are there any more at home like her?”

“No, three’s about all I can handle.” He laughed softly, the deep sound undulating around the otherwise quiet early-morning mall. “Actually, more than I can handle, as you just saw. I should have grown a third hand the day they were born.” There was no mistaking the affection in his voice. He tried to pull his face into a stern expression as he looked down at his prodigal daughter, but failed. “Tiffany, what did I say about wandering off?”

Tiffany drew a deep breath before answering. “Not to.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the woman shaking her head and laughing to herself. “What?”

“Nothing.” But because she didn’t want him to think she was laughing at him, she explained, “It’s just that when I heard you calling Tiffany a few minutes ago, I thought you were looking for your wife.”

“No.” There was a quiet stillness in his voice. “I wasn’t.”

Uh-oh, looks like you’ve just trod on some toes, Brooke upbraided herself. Maybe she’d been hanging around children too long and absorbed their tendency to be too honest, she thought.

If he was about to say anything else, it was put on hold by his two other daughters, both of whom were determined not to remain on the sidelines for a second longer than necessary.

“I’m Bethany,” one announced.

“And I’m Stephany,” the other told her.

Dutifully Brooke shook first one hand, then the other. “Pleased to meet you, Bethany and Stephany. I’m Brooke.”

“And he’s Daddy,” Bethany nodded behind her at her father.

Brooke raised her eyes to his face. Amused by the introduction, she couldn’t help asking, “Does Daddy have a name?”

Was it her imagination, or had he hesitated before putting his hand out? “Tyler Breckinridge,” he told her after a beat.

He sounded so formal she wondered if the name was supposed to mean something to her. Was he known for anything? This was Southern California and you were as likely to run into someone famous as not. She’d once eaten dinner one table over from a movie star who’d won her young heart years ago. Out of makeup, it had been hard to recognize him.

She looked at Breckinridge closely, then decided he was merely being formal.

“Brooke Carmichael.”

She slipped her hand into his and shook it firmly. She saw a flicker of mild surprise in his eyes. He was probably accustomed to softer women who barely touched hands. Her father had always believed that a firm handshake was the mark of character, and she, he’d told her, had character to spare.

Brooke nodded in the general direction of her bookstore. “I own Tell Me a Story. I found Tiffany taking inventory of my books.” She smiled at the little girl. “Please feel free to drop by anytime with the girls.” Her smile broadened. “Tiffany can show you the way.”

Tiffany needed no more encouragement than that. “How about now, Daddy?”

Two more voices joined in, turning the entreaty into a choruslike refrain. “Yes, please, Daddy?”

“Please, Daddy?”

Tiffany turned up her face toward her father, triumph written all over it. “Three against one, Daddy.”

“I already told you, Tiff, this isn’t a democracy.” He looked at the other two. They had joined ranks with their sister. “It’s a dictatorship.”

If he meant that to be a no, he was going to have to be clearer than that, Brooke observed. Tiffany had already caught hold of her father’s hand and was pulling him toward the store.

“C’mon, Daddy, please?”

Breckinridge never stood a chance, Brooke thought. One look at his face told her that. The girls obviously held him in the palms of their hands. Just as she and Heather had held their father in theirs.

Idly, she couldn’t help wondering if the same was true of the girls’ mother.