Little Miss Matchmaker
Dana Corbit

Published by Steeple Hill Books™

To our youngest daughter, Alexa. I admire the way you see each day as an adventure, each unopened door as

a mystery to be explored. May you always dream big

and see the world for all it can be. Also to my friend,

Elaine Heaton, who has faced this new twist in her life

with such dignity and grace. My heart will follow you

wherever you go in the world.

Contents

Acknowledgment

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Acknowledgment

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Dana Corbit for her contribution to the A TINY BLESSINGS TALE miniseries.

A special thanks to Mark Pehrson, our friend and veteran of the Novi (Michigan) Fire Department, for opening your world to me. You are a hero in every way.

Chapter One

If only everything were as easy to compartmentalize, Alex thought as he stared at the wall of lockers. His own reflective jacket, bunker pants, boots and helmet were back in their proper places under the nameplate A. Donovan. Outside Station Four’s gray brick walls, early October had already dressed Chestnut Grove, Virginia, for autumn in its deepest reds and oranges, but Alex couldn’t erase the scene he’d just left from his thoughts.

There would be no golden fall colors this year for the young family that had lived in the tiny house Engine Four had paid a visit to that morning. Only black, black and an unattractive gray.

The cruel irony of that loss of color ate at him when he needed to be praising God that there’d been no serious injuries or loss of life. That family had been blessed; he knew that. Even the family cat had made it out unscathed. Alex had pulled the terrified and hissing kitty out from under the bed himself.

Still, Alex imagined that it was hard for this family, already struggling and underinsured, to feel fortunate when they’d lost their furniture, family pictures and even the children’s toys. At least they had memories, even if a lifetime of souvenirs had perished.

Some people weren’t even fortunate enough to have memories—at least honest reflections that weren’t based on a foundation of lies, he thought bitterly. Images of the day he’d discovered his adoption records entered his thoughts uninvited. His parents had carried the secret of his adoption to their graves rather than face him with the truth, and he would never forgive them for it.

Alex tucked the thoughts away the best he could as he trudged away from the lockers, past Engine Four and the utility truck, Squad Four, and into the back of the building. The only thing that mattered to him now was the shower to come. Perhaps the soap and water could wash away the funk in his heart along with the sweat and grime on his skin.

He was halfway up the stairs, halfway to his destination of steaming hot water and fresh-smelling soap, when a familiar voice rang out behind him.

“Hold up, Donovan.”

Alex stopped on command, but he couldn’t hold back a sigh as he turned to face Fire Chief Bill Nevins. The chief never liked to let too much time pass before analyzing his crew’s performances on a run. Just this once, Alex wished Bill would let them recover before he began his analysis.

“You had a message in the office.” Chief Nevins extended a pink note to Alex while still gripping a stack of his own messages in his other hand.

“Thanks.” Alex returned to the landing and reached for the message, already uncomfortable though he didn’t look at what it said right away. He didn’t often receive messages at the station, and the last one he’d received had been bad enough news to make him dread the next.

“If memory serves, you might want to get on that message right away.”

His boss’s strange comment made him look down at the slip of paper in his hand. The feminine name at the top didn’t ring any bells, but he recognized the location written beneath it: Grove Elementary School.

Chelsea? Was she all right? Had something happened at school? Had someone at the hospital made a mistake and called the school first instead of him? The questions were still pinging through his thoughts as he glanced up at his boss again. Bill wore a knowing smile.

“It hits hard and fast, doesn’t it?”

“What’s that?”

“The need to shelter and protect. That whole father thing.”

Father thing? Alex shook his head to push aside the incredulous idea. He was no father, just a temporary guardian to two kids who had nowhere else to go. Not even a great guardian at that.

Still, he couldn’t help looking back at the paper he held and backing away from the man who was getting a kick out of his discomfort. Written at the top of the sheet was “Dinah Fraser,” whom he now remembered as the “Miss Fraser” that Chelsea spoke about in the evening over frozen-dinner lasagna or carryout roasted chicken. Even if he hadn’t met her yet, Chelsea’s teacher was one bit of stability in the child’s otherwise out-of-control life.

“Don’t worry. It’s probably nothing,” Bill told him, showing the decency that made him a good leader.

“Thanks.” Turning, Alex headed down the hall instead of up the stairs as he’d planned. Inside the lounge was a partitioned area where firefighters could make personal calls either on their cell phones or the pay phone.

He dialed the number on the pay phone and waited, his heart pounding despite Bill’s assurances.

“Grove Elementary School, how may I assist you?” said a voice so pleasant that the receptionist must have been smiling as she spoke.

“May I speak to Miss Fraser, please?”

“She’s in class right now. May I put you through to her voice mail?”

Voice mail? Was she kidding? “No. I’m sorry, but I must speak to her right away.” He managed to keep the agitation out of his voice, but there was no way he would hang up until he made sure everything was okay with Chelsea.

“But—” she began.

Alex cut her off. “This is Alex Donovan, Chelsea White’s guardian. I’m returning Miss Fraser’s call.”

“Oh. I see.”

Soon another line was ringing. And ringing. A feminine voice answered on the sixth ring.

“This is Miss Fraser.”

“Hello. This is Alex Donovan.”

“Oh, sorry it took me so long to get to the phone. We were outside conducting a diet soda and Mentos explosion experiment. It was so cool.”

“Sounds like fun,” he said because she seemed to expect it.

After a lengthy pause, she cleared her throat. “Thanks for returning my call. Yours came earlier than I expected.”

He frowned at the phone. “Excuse me?”

“I told the receptionist to have you call after three.”

“After three?” Alex looked down at the pink sheet still clutched in his hand. Sure enough, it said to call after three.

“Oh. Sorry.” He didn’t even bother to correct her that she’d spoken to the dispatcher at the station, not a receptionist. He’d made his own mistake by interrupting her class.

“Not a problem. I just wanted to set up a time to meet with you. I’m concerned about Chelsea.”

Strange, the teacher had just suggested a problem, and Alex was breathing a sigh of relief. Chelsea was okay, at least physically. Her teacher was worried about her, but then so was he.

“How about after three this afternoon?”

Her question brought him back into the conversation with a start.

“Oh, yeah. That’s when you get out of school.”

Suddenly, the background noise of boisterous kids came through the line. He must have filtered it out before while anxiously awaiting what she had to say. By now her students must have been hanging from the fluorescent lights and taking turns leaping from the teacher’s desk.

“This afternoon will be great, if you’re not too busy. Sorry again for the interruption.”

“It’s fine. Really.”

Alex glanced at his watch as he stood up from the desk and hurried upstairs. He needed to get moving if he planned to shower before he visited Grove Elementary, and showering wasn’t optional unless he wanted to meet Chelsea’s teacher smelling like a campfire gone bad.

So much for the long steamy shower he’d planned, to wash away his frustration from this morning along with the soot. He wasn’t forgetting that young family’s problems, but he and his relatives had some problems of their own right now. For his cousin Karla’s sake, he was going to find a way to help her daughter cope.

Alex felt like a giant in a dollhouse as he walked through the halls of Grove Elementary School, passing low-set drinking fountains and artwork displayed far below his eye level. After a few wrong turns in the maze of hallways, he reached Room Twenty-three. A colorful display of artwork made from autumn leaves covered the partially closed door.

Knocking, Alex popped his head inside, looking around for the teacher’s desk. Of course she wasn’t sitting at it. He was more than fifteen minutes late. He would probably have left, himself, if someone made him wait that long.

But just as he started to back out of the room, the door to a storage closet behind the desk closed, revealing an auburn-haired beauty standing behind it. Her eyes were as blue as the buttoned sweater she wore with a simple black skirt.

Alex knew he should look away—it was rude not to—but he just couldn’t pull his gaze away from the woman who stared back at him. She’d tried her best, but even in her prim schoolteacher outfit, she couldn’t hide her feminine curves.

Okay, he’d had an unfair picture of what a third-grade teacher might look like. Pixie came to mind. Even matronly. He remembered plenty of teachers like that from his own school days. But captivating? He’d certainly never expected to find a woman who looked like that at Grove Elementary.

A woman who just happened to be Chelsea’s teacher, he reminded himself when she cleared her throat and glanced down at the black toes of her shoes. Great, now Miss Fraser probably thought that he was some kind of creep.

“Miss Fraser?” he asked in a voice that barely resembled his own.

“Mr. Donovan?” But as if she’d answered her own question, she gestured toward her desk. “Come in. Have a seat. And please call me Dinah.”

Funny, calling her by her first name sounded like a really bad idea when “Miss Fraser” or something even more distant like “Miss Chelsea’s Teacher” might be better.

Still, he found himself nodding at her suggestion. “Call me Alex.”

He gripped her hand—another mistake—and retreated to the other side of her desk, pulling up a too-short chair from one of the desks. The tingling in his fingers probably had nothing to do with the woman seated across from him and everything to do with the subject they were about to discuss. That she smiled then and left him distracted was beside the point. Dinah—make that Miss Fraser—was probably used to having that kind of effect on men.

“Thank you for coming, especially on such short notice.”

“It’s for Chelsea,” he said because it really was as simple as that.

“Chelsea and Brandon are blessed to have you as their guardian.”

Blessed was a strong word, but Alex thanked her, anyway.

Settling back in her chair and crossing her arms, Dinah squinted her eyes as if deep in thought. “You’re Chelsea’s ‘Uncle Alex.’ Are you her mother’s brother or her father’s brother?”

“Technically, Karla and I are cousins.” Not even that if they were talking about blood relatives, but he didn’t mention that. “But the two of us have always been more like brother and sister. Chelsea and Brandon are like my niece and nephew.”

Dinah had a strange look on her face, as if what he’d said had surprised her. “As I said, Chelsea’s a blessed little girl.”

Alex cleared his throat. What was he supposed to say to that?

“But she’s also a very troubled girl,” she added.

“Can you blame her?” He shrugged and lowered his gaze to the floor. “As if it wasn’t bad enough that her dad’s a Marine rooting out insurgents in Iraq, now her mom’s in a Philadelphia cancer-treatment center undergoing intense chemotherapy.”

“She’s had an awful lot to deal with,” she agreed.

Dinah was studying him when he looked up at her again, suggesting that she was including him in her compassionate comment. Alex stiffened. He didn’t want her pity. Opening his guest bedrooms, juggling a few schedules and learning to make something edible out of frozen chicken breasts couldn’t come close to comparing to what Brandon and Chelsea had been facing.

“Everything’s going to be okay, though. Karla’s husband, Mike, is trying to get leave soon, and Karla will be just fine.” Even as he said it, Alex wondered which of them he was trying to convince.

“You just keep reassuring Chelsea of that at home, and I’ll do the same here at school.”

“How is she doing in school?” The question sounded strange in his ears. He’d always figured that one day he would attend parent-teacher conferences, but this wasn’t at all how he would have imagined it.

“That’s just the thing. Her grades are as high as they were last year.”

“Last year?”

“Our principal likes to loop second-and third-grade classes, so the children benefit from the stability of spending two years with the same teacher and the same classmates. Next year, Chelsea will go on to a new teacher, and I’ll start with a new group of second-graders.”

Stability. For the second time that day, Alex was thankful Chelsea had it at school if she couldn’t have it anywhere else. But it was also strange to realize that this Dinah Fraser, a stranger to him, probably knew the child he adored better than he did.

“So it’s not her grades?”

She shook her head. “She’s just so withdrawn and depressed. It’s as if all the sunshine has been lifted out of her eyes.”

That was it. As much as he’d known there was something different about Chelsea, he hadn’t been able to describe it. Dinah’s description had put his thoughts into words.

“In class, she’s so distracted that I had to move her desk away from the window to get her to pay attention,” she continued. “Still, I can barely get her to participate in classroom activities.”

Dinah planted her elbows on her desk and rested her chin in the V formed by her hands. “She used to make all this beautiful artwork, and now she doesn’t even want to color. She let herself be eliminated from the class Spelling Bee in the first round when I know full well she remembered that the e comes before the i in receive. You know, that i before e except after c…”

She stopped herself when she glanced up and caught him grinning at her. Shrugging, she smiled back at him. It was obvious that Miss Fraser loved teaching, and she was proving by this meeting that she loved her students, as well. If he’d ever had a teacher like her, maybe his own academic records would have leaned closer to the beginning of the alphabet instead of a few letters in.

He must have looked at her a little too long because Dinah blushed prettily and glanced away. Dinah Fraser might be used to getting more than her share of male attention, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with it. She would have laughed if she’d realized that at least this time his thoughts weren’t on her appearance at all.

Still, he wondered how he could have lived in the area a whole year without ever meeting her.

“Fraser. I’ve heard that name before around here. Do you have relatives in Chestnut Grove?”

“Yes, there are a lot of us around.”

When she didn’t elaborate, Alex figured it was time to quit procrastinating. No matter how out of character it was for him, he needed to ask this woman for help.

“So…ah…what suggestions do you have for helping Chelsea outside of school?”

“Does Chelsea talk about her mom at home?”

He shrugged, frustration replacing his earlier discomfort at asking for help. “Not much. In fact not at all unless Karla’s just called, and even then it’s just to say that her mom says hi and she’s doing fine.”

“It might help her to talk more about her mother’s illness or the danger her dad’s facing, or both. She could even keep a journal, writing down feelings.”

Alex frowned. He’d known she shouldn’t keep her feelings bottled up, but he felt powerless trying to help her. “She doesn’t seem to want to talk about it.”

“You know there’s a difference between want and need. She needs to talk about her feelings, and if she won’t initiate the conversations, you might have to. Either that or I can have her talk to the school counselor.”

“No, that’s okay.” Counselor. He didn’t even like the sound of that word. It was bad enough asking the teacher for help, but asking some professional counselor would be like admitting failure. Like admitting he couldn’t handle the situation when he’d promised Karla he would.

Instead of arguing for counseling as he expected—he’d always thought that women single-handedly financed the counseling industry—she nodded. “Be prepared, though. There might be a lot of tears when she finally opens up.”

Alex shivered at the notion. “You sure know how to kill a guy.”

“Where is Chelsea now?”

Alex glanced at his watch. “She’d be off the bus now. My next-door neighbor stays with Brandon and Chelsea until I get home from work. I know it isn’t a perfect situation.”

“You’re doing the best you can. It has to be good enough.”

He doubted that whatever he did would be good enough. But she was right. He was doing the best he could. He’d had to call in favors from all of his fellow firefighters to even be able to temporarily pull weekday eight-to-five shifts when usual shifts were twenty-four hours on and forty-eight off. He didn’t know how long he could expect his coworkers to make concessions for him so he could care for his cousin’s children.

“How’s Brandon doing with having a babysitter?”

“He doesn’t fight me too much on it anymore, not since I told him the sitter was really for Chelsea. It’s about the only thing he doesn’t fight me on lately.”

“Sounds like a normal teenager.”

Alex frowned. He didn’t have a clue what normal teenagers did, and he barely remembered his own teen years.

“You’ve had an introduction to parenting by fire.”

“What do you mean?” he asked, cocking his head.

“Oh.” She straightened, drawing her hands into her lap. “I guess I just assumed this was your first parenting experience. Since you weren’t…uh…wearing a wedding ring or anything. But I guess I shouldn’t assume…anything nowadays….”

Dinah let her words fall away, her blush deepening with each of her awkward comments. The familiar need to protect and preserve filled Alex, and he didn’t even have on his gear. He hated making her feel this uncomfortable even if he was secretly pleased that she’d admitted to checking his hand for a wedding band.

“Assume away. I don’t have any little Alexes running around anywhere. I’m a bit traditional when it comes to the marriage-before-kids order of things. And I’ve never done the first, so…”

She nodded as he let his words fall away, but her cheeks were still stained pink.

His gaze lowered to her hand again, where she wore nothing more significant than a thin gold pinkie ring. Her title had given him the heads-up that she was unmarried, but he still was surprised that she didn’t even wear an engagement ring. She probably had to dodge proposals left and right.

“Then we’re even,” she said finally.

“Even?”

“No kids.”

“At least you have some training with them.”

She smiled. “Nothing like the on-the-job variety you’re getting.”

“Training,” he said, scoffing at her comment. “I guess you could call it that. But usually in on-the-job training you have a supervisor to tell you if you’re doing things wrong. I hope I’m not messing these kids up forever.”

“They’ll be fine.” She paused long enough to give him a smile that could warm the North Pole by a few degrees. “Kids are resilient and forgiving, just like hostas. Ever planted a hosta?”

She must have seen his incredulous look because she explained. “Hostas are really hardy perennials. Pretty much no matter what you do to them, they’ll still come back in the spring.”

“So if your analogy holds true, Chelsea and Brandon will survive no matter what I do to—”

She was shaking her head before he’d presented the whole premise. “The theory need not be tested.” But she smiled as she said it.

“Good. Do I look like the kind of man who might grow hostas?” He raised his hand as a sign to stop her. “Wait. Don’t answer that. My masculinity might be bruised.”

“Probably not. You didn’t strike me as the green-thumbed type.”

“What type did I strike you as?” He took an unhurried look at her, waiting for her to glance away. For the longest time she didn’t, and it surprised him how dry his mouth was by the time she did.

“Don’t answer that, either,” he said to diffuse the electrical charge filling the air. Even a fire hose couldn’t douse that spark.

“You struck me as Chelsea’s very important guardian.”

So much for the charge. He couldn’t decide whether she’d said it for his sake or hers, but either way, she was right. His plate was already overfilled with his temporary family. The last thing he needed was to let a beautiful woman distract him from the all-important job of caring for Chelsea and Brandon.

Besides, he’d avoided female complications for the last year and the plan was working for him, so he didn’t want to mess that up by letting a pretty redhead turn his head.

From now on he would see Miss Fraser—yes, it was better to think of her that way—only as a partner in helping Chelsea get through this tough time. He wouldn’t allow himself to be attracted to the lovely teacher with the sweet disposition.

That was final. Finito. So why did he feel as if it was a little late for him to be making that decision—like running into a blaze when there was nothing left but smoldering embers?

Chapter Two

Dinah watched as Alex strode out of her classroom, all muscle and sinew—proof of a man who regularly put his back into his work. A sigh escaped her before she knew it was coming. Even as she pulled her gaze away from his retreating form—from the pale yellow polo shirt that stretched across his back as he moved—her cheeks burned.

Since when did she notice broad shoulders, toned biceps or even deep brown eyes and neatly trimmed dark hair when the only thing that truly mattered about a person lay deep inside him where no one but God could see? What mattered was his heart.

A small smile settled on her lips. That argument wouldn’t work when Alex Donovan appeared to be just as appealing on the inside as he was outside where the rest of the world could see. And the world had to see unless all the people in it had simultaneously closed their eyes. Still, what other bachelor could she name who would drop everything in his life and step in to care for a cousin’s children when he had none of his own?

Her brother, Jonah? She shook her head as she flipped open her grade book and glanced down at the list of names and corresponding scores for spelling and geography tests and daily math homework. Jonah was a great guy. He’d even served his country and fought for freedom in Iraq, but he would probably draw the line when it came to becoming guardian to someone else’s kids. She wouldn’t have put it past him to recommend her for the job, though.

Okay, there was one other man she knew of who might have done something that extreme in his bachelor days, but then her father had always stood head and shoulders above other men in her opinion.

What did that say about Alex Donovan? That he was brave? He did fight fires for a living, and most cowards probably avoided that high-risk career like a case of leprosy. Did it say he was a loving person then? She had only to see the way that Chelsea talked about her “Uncle Alex” to know that one was true.

Dinah stopped herself before she applied every desirable personality trait her amazing father possessed to Alex, the majority of which she couldn’t possibly confirm or discount.

You struck me as Chelsea’s very important guardian. She reminded herself of her own words that she’d used to cut off his flirting. He had been flirting, too. She might not have been a true veteran of the dating wars, but she’d been in enough minor skirmishes to know that one for sure.

If she were honest with herself, she would have to admit she hadn’t discouraged him initially, but she decided to attribute that to the shock of seeing a massive, gorgeous man in her classroom when the males who surrounded her most days stood about waist high. Sure, she’d scheduled the three o’clock appointment with a grown-up, but this was her excuse, and she was sticking to it.

“What kind of daydreams are you having?”

Dinah jerked her head toward the sound, finding kindergarten teacher Shelley Foust standing in the doorway to her classroom, her arms crossed and a knowing expression on her face.

“What do you mean?” Dinah did her best to act nonchalant as she closed the grade book she hadn’t been looking at anyway.

“You know what I mean. Tall, dark and hunky who just walked out of this room, his shoulders barely fitting through the doorway.”

For a brand-new teacher, straight from Penn State, Shelley didn’t miss much, especially the interesting stories at Grove Elementary. “Just try to tell me you didn’t notice.”

Dinah opened her mouth to try and then closed it again, remembering how her mother and father taught her that lying was sinful. She cleared her throat. “Oh, him? That was just Alex Donovan, Chelsea White’s guardian while her mom is undergoing cancer treatment.”

Shelley stepped farther into the room and brushed away the wrinkles on her darling prairie skirt and fitted blouse. Everything looked effortlessly cute on the petite kindergarten teacher, and sometimes Dinah had to try not to envy that when she always struggled to find clothes modest enough for her too-curvy figure.

“I doubt that man could be called just anything, but whatever you say,” Shelley said. “Now I need details. Age. Occupation. Marital status.”

Dinah frowned at her but still relented. “Thirty-something if I were to guess.” Those crinkles around his eyes had given her a clue. “Firefighter.”

Shelley rubbed her hands together. “Ooh, I just knew he would be something manly like that. I was leaning toward construction worker or forester from the National Park Service or something, but I can picture him now rushing into burning buildings or rescuing kittens from trees.”

Because she could see it, too, Dinah turned her attention to the dry-erase board at the other side of her classroom. She would need to clean that and jot down tomorrow’s assignments before she left for the night.

“What about that last, all-important detail?”

“Oh, that. He’s single.”

Why was it that she wanted to be able to tell Shelley that Alex was married with a half-dozen children and a set of twins on the way? If a little forward, Shelley wasn’t a danger to local single men. She’d dated only a few since the beginning of the school year and was always kind when she ended a relationship. For some reason, though, Dinah hoped her friend didn’t set her sights on Chelsea’s kind guardian.

“But taken?” Shelley lifted a delicate brow when she glanced back at her.

Dinah shook her head. “I only met him today, but he did seem awfully busy working and caring for his cousin’s two children right now. Probably too busy for a lot of socializing.” He’d found time for a few minutes of it with her, but Dinah didn’t mention that.

Though Shelley nodded, she didn’t appear convinced.

Dinah’s cheeks burned as realization dawned. “You mean me? I told you I just met him during a conference about Chelsea.”

“You certainly know a lot of his details.”

“Because we were discussing the difficult situation that Chelsea’s in.” Maybe it wasn’t necessary for her to know his personal value regarding marriage and children, but that was beside the point.

“Whatever you say.” Shelley still didn’t sound convinced, but then she sighed. “You’re probably right. The fabulous firefighter would be too busy right now to spoil me properly, so I guess I won’t be asking you to introduce us.”

It was Dinah’s turn to lift an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

“You know how I expect to be spoiled when I date someone.”

Though she knew nothing of the sort, Dinah nodded. She sensed that her friend might be stepping aside for her sake, and she should let Shelley know the gesture was unnecessary, but she couldn’t speak up.

It was probably for the best. Alex’s life was complicated enough without Dinah introducing him to the spunky kindergarten teacher. She was probably doing him a favor by not giving him another distraction.

Whether he would see her sacrifice as a favor or not, she wouldn’t have to find out since she didn’t plan to tell him. She also wouldn’t have to confess to feeling relief that the firefighter she barely knew and shouldn’t be planning to get to know better wouldn’t be meeting someone else.

Ross Van Zandt set a heavy file box next to the sofa, leaning back into the cushions without opening it. He could have worked in his office this afternoon, but he preferred to be home as much as he could these days.

He reached for the remote control and flipped on daytime television, not expecting quality viewing but still looking for white noise. As if to confirm his prediction, a local celebrity’s face appeared on the screen in an extreme close-up.

“Good afternoon, Richmond. I’m Douglas Matthews, and I would like to welcome you to Afternoons with Douglas Matthews.”

“How many more times can he cram Douglas Matthews into one sentence?” Ross grumbled.

As the camera pulled away, the black-haired and blue-eyed talk show host leaned in and smiled with unnaturally white teeth, as if he was talking to his best friends. All half a million or so of his buddies outside the screen.

“You’re going to love our lineup today. First up, is your garden ready for the snowy season? Our garden expert will offer the Top Ten tips for planting, pruning and primping to ensure a plentiful spring.”

Ross rolled his eyes as he opened the box at his feet. The talk show host prattled on about how to make marinated salmon with some local celebrity or other, but Ross tuned out the rest.

Why did people watch that garbage, anyway? Afternoons didn’t deal with anything meatier than the best food for roses or favorite boat tours on Richmond’s Kanawha Canal.

From what Ross had heard, Matthews had made a scene at the Starlight Diner when Richmond Gazette reporter Jared Kierney had suggested a show on the Tiny Blessings adoption scandal. Even if Matthews didn’t want to help people by sharing their stories, at least Ross would have expected the talk show host to jump on the story for a ratings boost. With material like today’s lineup, he probably needed it.

“You’ve procrastinated long enough, Van Zandt.” Ross blew out a breath as he forced his attention back to the box of records.

He knew this drill. For the last two months he’d been going through these records systematically, comparing them to the documents on file at Tiny Blessings and trying to weed out the truth from an overgrowth of lies. He was glad he could provide pro bono private investigative services for the agency his wife headed because Tiny Blessings would never be able to afford those services otherwise.

At the squeak on the stairs, Ross was sorry he’d decided to leave the office and pore over more records at home today. Kelly didn’t need any more aggravation these days, and this newest crisis facing the agency was nothing if not aggravating.

Just when they thought they’d put the scandal involving illegal adoptions behind them, more falsified records had been discovered in the walls of the Harcourt mansion during the renovation project by Ben Cavanaugh’s construction company.

Ross had hoped Kelly would relinquish more of the responsibility, and the headaches that went along with it, to Eric Pellegrino, the agency’s new assistant director she’d hired to take the pressure off her pregnancy. But he knew Kelly better than that. For all the crises and bad publicity the agency faced, his wife believed the buck stopped with her.

The woman he loved appeared then at the end of the sofa, her hands resting on her rounded belly, her hair mussed from a nap.

“I thought you were supposed to be resting.”

Kelly frowned at him and then lowered herself on the sofa cushion. “I’m too tired to sleep, but I’m sure I won’t be sleeping tonight, either. Our little acrobat likes choosing that for gym time.”

Still, she gave her stomach a loving pat. “This counts as resting. I’ll even put my feet up if you scoot over.”

Ross did as he was told, as all husbands of extremely pregnant wives should do for their self-protection. Tucking a pillow beneath her feet that she had settled on the brown leather ottoman, he reached in the box and pulled out a stack of files.

“Who are we looking at today?” she asked, holding out a hand for him to offer her a stack.

“I just thought I would flip through these again. Maybe this time a name will ring a bell.”

“I hate thinking that some of these adoptive children searching for their birth parents will never find the answers they’re looking for though we have the answers right here.”

“With a lot of work and even more prayer, we’ll help them find those answers,” he told her.

Ross scooted closer to his wife, propped his feet next to hers and glanced down at the names on the file tabs.

“Bailey-Brock-Brown,” he read aloud. “Brown? If that won’t be like finding a needle in a haystack.” Every single name in those case files was another needle, but neither of them needed a reminder of that.

“Daley-Davenport-Dexter,” Kelly read aloud from her own pile before looking over at him.

Ross shook his head. “No. Nothing.”

“Yeah, me, neither.”

They continued on, listing names back and forth, but none sounded familiar. Even if one had, it wouldn’t have made a difference since these could have been the mothers’ maiden names—if these were the real files and not just another round of doctored documents.

Ross stopped on a file that said “Harcourt.”

“Now there’s a familiar name.” He turned the tab to the side, letting Kelly take a look. “I wonder how many Harcourt offspring are running around Chestnut Grove and the rest of Virginia without any idea who they really are.”

“Maybe a few. As long as the young women’s parents were willing to pay for Barnaby Harcourt’s silence. I doubt he gave relatives a discount on his rates.” Kelly frowned as she always did when she mentioned the founding director of Tiny Blessings whose illegal acts had tarnished the agency’s reputation.

For curiosity’s sake as much as anything, Ross flipped open the file and started calculating.

“This baby’s a thirty-three-year-old man now. Birth mother is named Cynthia. Recognize that one?”

She shook her head. “And her last name could be anything now.”

“The father is listed as ‘unknown.’”

Kelly made a sound of acknowledgment in her throat but didn’t comment further. The absence of a birth father was as common an occurrence in the adoption-agency business as the lack of complete information.

Ross’s hands tightened on the folder. If he couldn’t solve the problems for the agency his wife loved, then he’d at least hoped to help her reunite some of the adoptive children with their birth parents. Even in that plan, he was failing Kelly.

Shuffling the papers again, he smacked the file closed, but when he did, something fell to the ground. It wasn’t much, just a tiny slip of yellowing paper, about the size of a sticky note.

Ross automatically reached down to grab it and stuff it back in the file, but the two words stopped him with his hand still held high: “See Donovan.”

He cleared his throat, his pulse pounding. “Honey, ever see this?”

“What is it?” she asked, but her eyes widened and she reached into the box between them.

It was all Ross could do not to shove his pregnant wife out of the way and start riffling in the box himself, but somehow he managed to wait until she was finished. Her frown didn’t leave any doubt that she hadn’t found the file, but her expression lifted again, and she tilted her head to the side.

“You don’t think—”

“No,” he blurted. He didn’t need her to finish to know how crazy the idea sounded. It was too easy. He’d been a P.I. long enough to know it was never that easy.

But what if it is? an unwelcome voice inside him suggested. Maybe just this once, a case could be as simple as someone forgetting to remove a note from a file that the owner never intended anyone to find.

Ross glanced across the room, his gaze landing on two more boxes of files next to the breakfast bar. Kelly had been bringing them home frequently, cross-checking files from the office with the duplicates found inside the wall at the Harcourt mansion.

“You don’t happen to have any more Ds, do you?”

“I think so,” she said, already trying to push herself off the couch.

“Here, let me get it.”

He couldn’t get to the box fast enough. It was the thrill of the chase, and he knew it well. He flipped through the files, his hands landing on one that said “Donovan.” He carried it back to the couch, so they could look at it together.

“It might not even be the same Donovan,” he said to keep his own hopes from getting too high.

As he opened the file, his gaze, well trained from looking at so many documents, went right to the date of birth.

“It’s a match.”

That they’d both said it at the same time made them laugh, but they stopped just as quickly. Okay, they had a match. Now what?

Ross flipped through the file, reading about George and Edie Donovan and the newborn infant they adopted and named Alex. This version listed the birth mother as Mary Something-or-other, but it was probably the bogus one.

He handed the file to Kelly, already planning his steps. First, he would do an Internet search for the Donovans’ son, and then he would start eliminating from that pool those who couldn’t be this particular guy. Part of him hated to mess up another person’s well-ordered life, but the man deserved the chance to know the truth.

For a long time, Kelly didn’t look up from the file. She simply stared at it as if willing it to complete the puzzle. She leaned her head to one shoulder and to the other as if considering, and finally she turned back to him.

“Isn’t Eli Cavanaugh’s friend, the fireman who moved from Richmond, named Alex Donovan?”

“Hey, Donovan, get out here and shoot some hoops with us,” Trent Gillman called from the court adjacent to the parking lot as Alex climbed out of his SUV.

“Give me a few.” Alex shut the door and started toward the station. Basketball was one of the ways the men and women at the station killed a few hours on slow days or burned off steam after busier or more stressful ones. Today had certainly been one of the more stressful variety.

“Make it quick. We need somebody to kill in three-on-three.” To make his point, Trent drove by Cory Long for a perfect layup and then lifted his arms in a Rocky-style victory dance.

“You mean you need me to let you win?”

When a ball came sailing toward him, Alex ducked inside the gray brick structure through the side door.

He traded his khaki pants and polo shirt for a hooded sweatshirt and loose-fitting warm-ups and jogged back outside to join the game. Already, several firefighters, including Fire Chief Nevins, were taking shots.

“Think fast.”

Alex shot his hands up to his face in time to catch the ball aimed at his head. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” Trent said.

On the court, Alex executed a perfect chest shot. “You see boys, nothin’ but net.” Going in for the rebound, he balanced the ball on his right hand, setting up for a shot with his left.

“How was your afternoon with the preacher’s daughter?” Trent asked just as Alex took the shot.

No net this time, the ball bounced off the backboard with a thud and then dropped into the grass. Alex turned back to him, drawing his eyebrows together. “What are you talking about? I don’t know any preacher’s daughter. I was just at a conference with Chelsea’s teacher.”

“You mean Miss Fraser? Miss Dinah Fraser?”

“Daughter of Reverend John Fraser,” Bill Nevins filled in the blank when Alex turned his perplexed expression on him.

Fraser, of course. He’d met Reverend Fraser of Chestnut Grove Community Church, a few times during last year’s Community holiday toy drive.

It was strange, though, that when he’d asked Dinah about her common surname, she hadn’t even mentioned her well-known father. She’d said only that there were a lot of Frasers around. What was that all about? It had been difficult enough for him to picture someone like Dinah as an elementary teacher, but a preacher’s daughter? That just didn’t seem possible.

“Puts a whole new spin on the lovely Miss Fraser, doesn’t it?” Trent said.

Cory, who hadn’t spoken up until then, snickered.

Alex wheeled on his coworkers. It didn’t matter that Trent had only voiced Alex’s thoughts. He didn’t feel like cutting his tactless friend a little slack the way he usually did. Today even the fact that he had a good heart might not keep Trent from landing on his backside.

“Have a death wish, Gillman?” Bill asked, before Alex had the chance. “Then I wouldn’t say another word about the lady.” He put enough emphasis on the last two words to show he meant business.

After a few strange glances among the other firefighters, the subject fell away, leaving only six guys and a round orange ball to fill the void. Alex jumped higher, dribbled faster and guarded more aggressively than he had in a long time. That Trent happened to get fouled a few extra times—in the pursuit of the game, of course—couldn’t be avoided.

Alex couldn’t explain his need to defend a woman he barely knew, but there it was. As much as he would like to believe he would rush to protect any woman’s honor, he wondered if he would be as forceful in every case.

When the game ended, all six men poured off the court, drenched and a little bruised. The chief looked more winded than most as he came up behind Alex and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Some game, wasn’t it?” Alex said, resisting the urge to shake his boss’s hand off his shoulder. His arm was sore, and he was regretting his “enthusiasm” in the game.

Bill made an affirmative grunt and rubbed his elbow where he had battled tendonitis over the years. “There’s only one thing I can say, Donovan.”

“What’s that?”

“That must have been some conference with Miss Dinah Fraser.”

Chapter Three

Dinah startled in her seat as the fire alarm squawked in deafening, repetitive bursts. As if the alarm signaled the beginning of chaos rather than an announcement for safety, a clamor broke out in the classroom around her.

“Everyone, please be quiet,” she said in a loud stage whisper. “It’s probably only a fire drill.” At least she hoped it was, though she hadn’t received advance warning of a scheduled drill.

Dinah set aside the copy of The Secret Garden that she’d been reading to the class and grabbed her grade book. She would need that to check attendance once they reached their designated meeting place by the curb.

“Now let’s line up by the door. I want everyone to stay in line and be silent until we’re past the flagpole.”

At a lower level of chaos, her twenty-four students followed her down the corridor to the side entry. Just as she reached the flagpole, two fire engines and two smaller trucks that must have been for paramedics came roaring up the street toward the school, lights flashing and sirens blaring. When all four trucks stopped, two firefighters, dressed in full gear, including helmets, climbed down from one of the fire engines and entered the building through the front door.

Definitely not a drill. Dinah’s chest tightened, and as she glanced back to the children and then at the building behind them, she hoped her smile didn’t falter.

She switched from the front of the line to the rear so when they all turned an about-face, she could lead her students back into the classroom. It also put her between the children she adored and the building in the unlikely case this was a real fire.

All around them, other classes poured out of the building, some well controlled and others as chaotic as Dinah’s had been. Some classes had stopped to grab jackets, but most of the students were shivering and fidgeting to keep warm. High-pitched voices chatted about the supposed causes of a fire and the amount of time until recess.

Dinah scanned down the names in her grade book—from Austin Carlyle to Lily Polson to Kellan Stolz. As always she felt a twinge of nervousness until she’d made certain that all of her students stood with her on terra firma.

When her gaze fell to Chelsea White’s name, she looked back to the fire engines. Though all four trucks were still parked in front of the school, most of the firefighters remained inside them. Was Alex Donovan one of the men in the truck, or maybe one of those still in the building? Not that she really cared or anything. She was only curious, and he happened to be the only firefighter she knew in Chestnut Grove.

Still, her cheeks and neck warmed at the thought of him, an unfortunate reaction she’d experienced too frequently these last few days, even more problematic since she thought of him so often.

Dinah shrugged. No matter what she thought and even no matter that they’d made a connection of sorts in their first meeting, the handsome firefighter would probably lose interest the minute he discovered from which branch of the Fraser family tree she’d sprung.

The alarm stopped blaring as suddenly as it had started. Another false alarm. There had already been three since school started. Someone had probably pulled it again and was standing out here, just as cold and miserable as everyone else but now holding a secret, too.

For the next few minutes, they all stood shivering and waiting for the bell that would signal their permission to return to the building. Dinah was so focused on the school entrance as she waited for the firefighters to exit through it that she didn’t notice the other firefighter who approached from behind her and touched her sweater-clad arm.

“Hey there, Miss Fraser.”

She didn’t need to see his face to know who was there. His familiar voice felt like a warm caress sliding up her neck, and her arm tingled where he’d touched it. The sensation surprised her because she’d thought her skin was too numb to feel anything.

Still, when she turned to face him, she did her best to appear surprised. Already a large man, Alex appeared massive wearing bunker pants and a cumbersome tan jacket with reflective bands on its chest, bottom edge and sleeves. He must have left his helmet in the truck.

“Oh, Mr. Donovan, it’s good to see you again.” She cleared her throat. “I mean…well, the circumstances aren’t the best, but—”

“I know what you mean.”

She smiled, grateful he’d saved her from whatever inane thing she would have said if she’d had time to come up with one. “Sorry about the false alarm.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“We’ve had a few lately.”

His nod and his frown combined. “It’s unfortunate and not just because it’s illegal to trigger a false alarm. If you have a lot of false alarms, people begin to not take them seriously.”

It was Dinah’s turn to frown. She’d worried about that exact thing. “You don’t mean…”

He shook his head as he must have picked up on her meaning. “No, the fire department responds every time as though it’s a real emergency. Even to those locations where there’s a bad track record.”

Dinah grimaced. Her school certainly had one of those.

But instead of criticizing as he had every right to, Alex waved away the situation as water under the bridge.

“What can you do?” he said with a sigh as he scanned the rows of students. “Since I was here anyway, I thought I would come over and say hello to my best girl.”

Dinah swallowed hard, and her neck tingled before she had the chance to really process what he’d said. Best girl? Did guys in the New Millennium still use an old term like that? Maybe they did when they were referring to a child who looked up to them with adoration in her huge, light brown eyes.

Chelsea was doing just that when Dinah caught the tiny blonde’s approach in her side vision. The child’s cap of straight, chin-length hair blew every which way, and her long-sleeved T-shirt probably wasn’t keeping her warm, but Chelsea still grinned like a child on Christmas morning as she stared at her hero.

Best girl. Of course. It humiliated Dinah to admit that, just for a second, she’d wished Alex had been talking about her. Who could blame the little girl for some hero adoration over Alex when Dinah had a mild case of that herself, and she was nowhere near a child.

“Hi, Uncle Alex,” Chelsea said almost shyly as she stepped closer to him.

“Get over here, you goofy kid.” Alex bent at the waist and held his hands wide.

That wouldn’t have been Dinah’s choice for what to say to a child, but the petite nine-year-old grinned and ran into his arms. So much for what she knew.

“Did you come here to put out the fire?” Chelsea asked him when she pulled back.

“There’s no fire. It’s a false alarm.”

“Oh.” The child stared back at the building and nodded as if just realizing that it wouldn’t be burning to the ground today.

“But you should always react to an alarm as if there could be a real fire,” he reminded her.

“Okay.”

Dinah couldn’t help but smile at that. Alex was so worried about being an inadequate guardian, and already Chelsea accepted his direction without question. Sometimes she would have given anything to have that kind of authority in the classroom.

“What are you smiling about?”

Alex lifted an eyebrow when Dinah turned after hearing his question. His bare hands must have been cold because he stuffed them in the pockets of his jacket.

When he might have looked away, he continued to watch her. His intelligent eyes seemed to see right through her, to recognize the loneliness in her that she’d always tried to hide. She wasn’t used to feeling this exposed, and yet for the life of her, she couldn’t look away.

If not for the bell that rang, signaling the all clear and making her leap back at least four inches, she might have gone right on staring back at him. Alex seemed to look away reluctantly, as well.

As if they both remembered where they were at the same time, Alex and Dinah glanced down at Chelsea. The two of them hadn’t been the only ones staring the last few minutes, and the child’s knowing smile hinted at just what she’d seen. Chelsea looked back and forth between them, her smile widening. If Alex really had been able to look into Dinah’s eyes and sense her thoughts, maybe Chelsea shared that family trait.

Dinah cleared her throat and turned to the rest of the class. “Okay, everyone. It’s time to go back inside. Please keep quiet and stay in line until we reach the classroom.”

“Well, I’d better get back to the truck. See you tonight, kiddo.” Alex gave Chelsea one last hug.

“Good seeing you, Mr. Donovan.”

Dinah started forward, putting on an air of nonchalance that she hoped Alex would buy. She couldn’t remember ever being around a man who put her nerve endings on alert the way he did. Her palms were so damp that she would be embarrassed if one of her students took her hand on the way inside the building. Despite her best resistance, she glanced over her shoulder at Alex, hoping he wouldn’t catch her.

He did, and he smiled and waved. “Goodbye, Miss Fraser. Tell Reverend Fraser I said hello.”

Dinah swallowed. If he knew about her family, why had he pretended not to the other day? But she had no time to process the information, not when she had twenty-four students behind her, who all needed to return to their classroom. Their chatter followed her inside the building and down the hall, but she didn’t take time to correct them.

She had a job to do, had a class full of third-graders relying on her to restore order and to make them feel safe at school, and she wouldn’t let anything, even her own hormones, get in the way of her doing it.

Soon, she’d taken her place behind her desk, and the students were back at their own grouped desks working on the illustrations for their personal narratives as they had been before the alarm. Dinah had just opened her copy of The Secret Garden again, when Chelsea raised her hand. Dinah would have been annoyed with the interruption, but at least the child was participating in class again.

“Yes, Chelsea? Do you need help with something?”

Chelsea nodded, as if she had a serious matter to discuss. Dinah straightened in her chair. She wasn’t sure what she would say if Chelsea said she was worried her father would die in the war or that her mother might not survive her cancer treatment. Should she encourage her to talk, even if it wasn’t the most appropriate time? Dinah braced her hands on the edge of her desk and waited.

“Miss Fraser, is Uncle Alex your boyfriend?”

“Hey, Brandon,” Alex called out as soon as the door to his spare bedroom opened. Heavy footfalls could be heard in the hall.

The lean teenager appeared with a baseball cap backward over his sandy-brown mop of surfer-dude hair, his perpetual slouch and frown firmly in place. He answered with a grunt, his usual greeting. Alex was probably supposed to feel privileged that he’d responded at all. Whoever thought mood swings were exclusive to teenage girls hadn’t met any teenage boys.

“Did you get your homework done?”

Brandon grunted again. Who had kidnapped that sweet little boy he’d known and left this crabby teenager instead? It wasn’t a fair trade as far as Alex was concerned.

“Was that a yes?” Alex had considered working out a communication system with the boy—one grunt for yes and two for no. Maybe they could add eye blinking and finger snapping to increase their vocabulary.

“Yeah,” Brandon said.

For the last hour, Alex had lain sprawled on his living room floor working with Chelsea on an impossible puzzle of Colorado’s Pike’s Peak. He’d hoped Brandon might join in, too, but he was glad now he hadn’t been holding his breath waiting for it. The boy barely paused by the closet for a jacket before heading to the front door.

Alex sat up first and then stood to face the boy. “Where are you going?” He’d hoped to keep the annoyance out of his voice but hadn’t quite managed it.

There was only so long that they could all walk around on eggshells, trying not to set off Brandon before Alex had the urge to stomp the shells to dust. Alex figured he’d been plenty patient already, not insisting that Brandon get a haircut and not blowing a gasket over the hat the boy insisted on wearing in the house.

The hot look that appeared in Brandon’s deep brown eyes and the tightness of his jaw suggested he didn’t think Alex had a right to ask questions, but the boy mumbled an answer anyway. “To Jake’s.”

“Who is that, where does he live, and what are you going to do there?”

Ah man, when exactly did you turn into your parents? Was it the moment he’d agreed to bring his cousin’s two children into his home, or was it a nanosecond after that ill-conceived decision? Either way, he now had everything in common with his parents, except for his dad’s pocket protector and his mom’s ode-to-the-fifties haircut, and the two were probably laughing down from Heaven right now.

Brandon must have conveniently forgotten the first two of the three questions because he only answered, “A bunch of us are just going to hang out.”

Alex might be new to this parenting business, but did Brandon really think he’d been born the day he accepted guardianship? He’d even survived his teens, somehow, and he knew most of the tricks. “A bunch of us” was probably just code for kids with names like Spike and Rex or, worse yet, Brittney and Nicole. And “hanging out” was something teens did when they didn’t have anything better to do than to pack at somebody’s house and get into trouble.

He didn’t know if real parents had moments of panic where they were certain that a wrong decision could mean disaster for their kids, but Alex understood he was at a crossroads. One wrong move and…oh, he didn’t want to think about what could happen.

“I guess I’ll see you later then,” Brandon said with hope in his voice.

“Nah,” Alex said, already shaking his head. “I don’t think so.” He paused, searching madly for a good reason, and then his gaze landed on the wall clock.

It was already eight o’clock. “I don’t think hanging out is a good idea, especially on a school night.”

Brandon stared at him as if he’d suddenly grown antlers or something. “Are you kidding?”

Alex shrugged. “Not much of a comedian.”

“I live in a prison.”

“The food’s probably better in a real one,” Alex shot back, trying to lighten the tense situation, but Brandon was already out of earshot.

The boy’s stomping would have drowned out any comment he’d made, anyway. Once Brandon reached his room, he rushed in and slammed the door behind him. Soon the house vibrated with the bass sounds of the teen’s awful music, but at least he was inside and safe.

Alex released the breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding. He’d dodged a bullet, and he would be foolish to believe it would be the last one Brandon would lob at him. Chelsea wasn’t the only one taking her mother’s illness hard. Brandon was acting out, and Alex didn’t know how to handle him or to help him.

He felt as powerless as he always did when he looked at the ruins of a fire his station had reached too late. Who knew parenting could be so hard? He’d always imagined children as a part of his future, but maybe this was a signal that he wasn’t cut out for the job.

The whole nasty scene had taken place with Chelsea lying on the floor and fitting more pieces of the puzzle than Alex had all night. Now the third-grader popped up and moved to sit cross-legged.

“Brandon’s mad,” she pointed out needlessly.

“I gathered that.”

She twirled her fingers through a pile of white pieces destined to find a home somewhere in the puzzle’s snow-capped mountains. “He just misses Mom and Dad.”

Alex swallowed. He’d been waiting for this, had prepared himself for when she would talk about her feelings, but Chelsea chose to come to him now, when his temporary parenting well was all but bone-dry. Still, he had to step up. He could handle a four-alarm fire, and he could do this.

“You probably miss them, too.”

Chelsea’s tiny right shoulder lifted and dropped. “I hope they’re okay.”

“Yeah, me, too, kiddo.” He lowered himself to the floor and painfully bent into a pretzel seating position to face her. “I’m sure they will be. God’s watching out for them, you know.”

“I know. I pray for them at bedtime.”

Alex hoped the awe didn’t show in his expression. What he wouldn’t have given to have that kind of childlike faith. She just listed her petitions to God and waited on Him to do the rest. For Chelsea’s sake, Alex hoped she received the answers she wanted because he’d been around long enough to understand now that God sometimes said “no.”

“That’s good to pray for them.” He would have known that she did if he would have remembered to share nighttime prayers with Chelsea, but he could worry about his failures later. This was about her. “It’s okay to be scared, too.”

“I think Brandon’s scared.”

Oh, so this was how they were going to play it. A little projection would probably make it easier for her to open up to him. “I’m sure he is.”

“He wonders if Dad is afraid at night in the desert. He wants to know if the hospital people remember to put socks on Mom’s feet so she doesn’t get cold.”

A knot formed in Alex’s throat so suddenly that he was shocked by the tide of emotion. He cleared his throat to tuck the uncomfortable feelings back under a blanket of proper control. “But Brandon knows that your dad has his friends with him in the desert, right? And he has to know that the doctors and nurses are giving your mom really great care.”

She nodded, not looking convinced of either of his assertions. “Brandon probably just needs to spend more time with friends so he can feel better.”

Alex’s gaze narrowed. He’d assumed that Chelsea was opening up about her feelings. But was this really a sibling attempt to increase Brandon’s chances of hanging out? Wow, he’d been played, and he hadn’t even realized it.

“Friends, huh?” Frowning, he ruffled her hair. “I’m not letting him—or you for that matter—hang out on a school night, and that’s all there is to it.”

Despite the tough front he was trying to portray, Alex couldn’t help blowing out a breath in frustration. “I don’t even know this Jake or any of the rest of his friends,” he said more to himself than her.

“He should make some friends at church.”

Alex opened his mouth to shoot down whatever argument she had next, but he closed it when Chelsea’s words sank in. It wasn’t a bad idea.

“At church?” He’d reached a new low if he was seeking parenting advice from a nine-year-old, but at least one of them had an idea.

“You know, like a youth group.”

“I don’t think they have one of those at my church.”

“What about at another church?”

Alex thought about it for a few seconds and then frowned. The only local church he knew of that boasted a large, active youth group was Chestnut Grove Community Church, known for its Fall Carnival. That this just happened to be Reverend Fraser’s church and where his daughter attended was just a coincidence. It had to be.

“I do know of one at the Chestnut Grove church.”

“Let’s go there.” Chelsea had a strange look in her eyes, but it was probably just enthusiasm.

“Maybe we can visit there sometime soon. Do you think Brandon will go for it?”

“Maybe.” Chelsea nodded as if the matter was settled and then flipped back on her belly to return to their puzzle pieces. Immediately she found a pair that fit together and held them up to show him.

“Good job.” Alex stretched out next to her on the deep pile carpeting, planting his elbows on the floor and resting his chin in his hands.

He’d done a good job himself tonight, deftly handling Brandon’s attitude and managing to get Chelsea to talk to him—all without pulling out a single clump of his own hair. Dinah would be proud of him.

Dinah. He shook his head. Why did she keep turning up in his thoughts these past few days? They barely knew each other. He shouldn’t care what Chelsea’s teacher thought of his parenting skills, but he would be kidding himself to say he didn’t.

As he continued trying to stuff ill-fitting puzzle pieces together, images from earlier in the day flitted through his thoughts. At the school Dinah had looked so pretty with her auburn hair blowing in the wind. He’d been so tempted to tuck one of those soft-looking strands behind her ear that he’d had to put his hands in his pockets to prevent it.

Then and now, he fisted those hands, trying to get a stranglehold on his straying thoughts. He had no business thinking about any woman right now, not when his plate was so full with caring for Karla’s children, not when he didn’t even know who he was as an individual let alone as part of a couple. Like the pieces of this puzzle, he just didn’t fit.

Finally back from the journey of his thoughts, Alex glanced over at the section of the puzzle on which Chelsea had been working. She’d already completed the pieces forming one of the tiny mountain peaks.

“I’ll have to work harder if I ever want to catch up with you.”

Chelsea smiled, but she continued concentrating on her project. With focus like that, no wonder she was such a good student.

After they’d worked together several minutes in silence, Chelsea glanced sidelong at him. “Can I ask you something, Uncle Alex?”

“Sure.” He tried not to stiffen too much, imagining questions about enemy fire and terminal illness. Whatever it was, he would answer as honestly as he could.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Alex blinked. Okay, he hadn’t expected that one. “No. Why do you ask?”

Without bothering to answer his question, she asked one of her own. “Why not?”

He made a dismissive sound in his throat. “No time for that.”

“Because of us.”

He drew in a startled breath. “Oh, no, kiddo. I didn’t mean because of you. I’m just a busy guy.” He cleared his throat. Backpedaling was tough work. “It’s been great having you here.”

She didn’t say anything, but he hoped her silence meant she’d forgiven him for his slip. He wasn’t blaming her and Brandon for his lack of a social life. He’d made that choice himself.

“You should take Miss Fraser on a date.”

Alex started shaking his head the moment the words were out of Chelsea’s mouth. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

The only problem was that part of him thought it sounded like a pretty good idea. The part that wasn’t rational. The part that took risk for granted every time he donned his gear and climbed aboard the truck to go out on a run.

He needed to ignore that dangerous part as much as he needed to forget about Chelsea’s suggestion. As the only adult here, he had to be the sensible one. He didn’t know whether he would be able to accomplish any of those things, but the one thing he knew for sure was that he wouldn’t be able to get Dinah Fraser out of his mind this evening, either.

Chapter Four

Alex used his forearm to swipe at the sweat on his forehead and started buffing the fire engine’s shine again. He didn’t care that his hands were already red, and a few blisters had popped out on his palms. By the time he was done with the job this morning, none of the pretty boys at the station would need to primp in the bathroom mirrors because they would be able to see themselves just as well in the truck’s shine.

It hadn’t been his turn to wax. He’d volunteered, figuring he needed the workout with as many visits to the gym as he’d missed lately. The burn in his biceps convinced him he was right. That the manual labor helped him burn off some stress didn’t hurt, either.

Busy trying to expend more energy, he didn’t notice anyone approaching until the man tapped him on the shoulder. He jerked around, coming to his feet at the same time.

“Sorry about that, buddy.” The dark-headed man, similar in height and build to Alex, took a step back. He clasped a briefcase in his hands.

Alex frowned. Good thing he’d chosen firefighting instead of police work because he’d probably be lying in a pool of his own blood by now. On the other hand, the guy standing across from him and scanning the perimeter of the room, probably looking for alternate exits, had to be a cop. In his line of work, Alex had been around enough of them to recognize one of the guys in blue when he met one.

“May I help you?”

“Yeah. Are you Alex Donovan?” The man waited for his nod before he continued. “My name is Ross Van Zandt, and I’m a private investigator working with Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency.”

Alex swallowed, trying his best not to look surprised. “Good to meet you.” Wiping his filthy hand on a towel, he gripped the man’s hand.

He would have remembered that name from the newspaper articles even if Ross hadn’t made the association to Tiny Blessings. Not that Alex had followed the reports that closely. Or calculated the dates. Or wondered.

Ross patted his briefcase. “I have a private matter I’d like to discuss with you. Is there somewhere we can go to talk?”

The only private matter Alex could think of was one he wasn’t ready to discuss with anyone, much less allow the rest of the firefighters to overhear, so he glanced around the main bay. A few of the others were working in the office on the other side of the window, and two more had gone to pick up lunch.

Alex cleared his throat and tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. “I guess here is as good as anywhere.”

“I’m investigating some falsified birth records from Tiny Blessings, the agency where my wife, Kelly, is the executive director. Have you heard anything about the duplicate birth records?” He lowered his briefcase to the floor at his feet.

“I read about it in the newspaper.” Tried to get it out of his mind was a more accurate statement, but both were true.

“Then you know that two sets of doctored documents have been uncovered—the first behind a false wall at the agency office and a second group at the Harcourt mansion.” He waited for Alex’s nod before he continued. “Are you also aware that you were adopted through the agency during the period in question?”

“Yes, I am.” Alex didn’t want to say the words, knew that speaking them would open a can of worms, but he did it anyway. “You’re here because my records were found with this newest batch, right?”

“That’s right,” Ross told him.

Alex pulled his hand from his pocket and braced it against the truck, not caring if he marred the shine. He felt numb. Why did having his suspicions confirmed feel like another affront? More lies piling upon earlier lies. No, that wasn’t right. These came first, before his parents’ lies of omission, though those were the ones that had hurt the most.

“Now you understand that we don’t know for sure which, if either, set of birth records is authentic,” Ross continued. “But the fact that Barnaby Harcourt built a secret room in his home to hide these makes a strong statement of guilt.”

“Sure sounds like it.”

Ross stopped and studied him, his gaze narrowing. “Aren’t you going to ask me what we’ve discovered in the records?”

“Why would I?”

“Don’t you want to know who your birth parents are? Or at least your birth mother?”

Clearly, the guy didn’t get it, so Alex repeated himself. “Why would I want to know? Did you see any requests in my original file to know about my birth parents or even to learn about their medical histories?” He waited for Ross to shake his head before he continued. “Why would I feel any differently about these new files?”

Because Van Zandt probably hadn’t even considered that he wouldn’t want the information, Alex tried to explain. “You assume that every adopted child is just dying to know who brought him into the world. To know those people who have no more connection to him than sharing a species and some DNA.”

Ross tilted his head and studied him, as if considering the idea for the first time. Alex couldn’t blame him. Until a year ago, he probably would have thought some of the same things. Now he knew differently, but he realized it wasn’t this guy’s fault.

“Look…” Alex paused, holding his hands wide. “I really appreciate your making the effort to find me. If I were some guy searching for his birth parents, then all your research would have been a gift.”

“You just don’t happen to be that guy.”

“’Fraid not. But I’m also not your average adoptive child, either.”

Ross raised an eyebrow and waited.

“Let’s just say I had a rude awakening with that news, but not until after my adoptive parents died.”

“You didn’t know you were adopted? Oh, sorry, man.”

The look of pity in Ross’s eyes was the exact reason he hadn’t shared that information with many people until now. “Anyway, if I were that guy, what were you offering to do for him?”

“I would help him track down a woman who might be his birth mother—the woman whose name is written in a file right in here.” Ross glanced at the bag at his feet.

The impulse to reach for that bag took Alex by surprise. He didn’t want to know about his biological parents, did he? He’d never wasted any thoughts on those people who didn’t care enough about him to keep him.

“You’re sure you don’t want to know?”

Ross lifted the briefcase that possibly held a piece of the puzzle that had become Alex’s life. A puzzle he hadn’t asked for. Didn’t deserve. But there it was.

“Look, why don’t you think about it?” Ross offered. “In the meantime, I have plenty of other files to work through. If you decide you want the answers, just give me the word, and I’ll use my resources to help you find them.”

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.” Alex looked up from the briefcase that still tempted him with its information. “I’m sure you could work on some of the other cases for people who’ll appreciate your effort a lot more than I would.”

“Wouldn’t take much for that.” Ross chuckled. “Hey, you’re one of Eli Cavanaugh’s football buddies, aren’t you? Have you heard anything about Eli’s brother, Ben? He found his birth family not long ago.”

“I didn’t know, but I’m glad for him, if that’s what he wanted.”

“It had to be bittersweet for him. Ben found his half siblings, but his biological mother had already passed away.”

Ross didn’t say more, but his suggestion that Alex shouldn’t wait too long hung in the air between them. Would Alex feel even more betrayed if he finally decided to search for his birth mother only to find her name printed on a headstone? Who would answer his questions then?

Ross crossed to the fire engine and walked along its length, admiring it. “You know, there might not be anyone who needs to know the truth more than you do.”

“Maybe not.”

The topic closed for now, Alex led Ross to the back entrance that faced the parking lot. The two men shook hands once more at the door.

“Thanks again,” Alex said. “You know you caught me off guard when you said you were a P.I. The minute I saw you, I thought cop. In my line of work I have to trust my instincts, but lately…”

“Trust those instincts, man. I used to be on the force back in New York.”

Alex nodded, sensing that kinship that civil servants share. The private investigator left then, closing the door behind him.

Even after Alex’s explanation, it was clear that Ross still didn’t understand why he would turn his back on the answers when they were right in front of him. Alex didn’t know why he’d even promised to think about letting the P.I. investigate further. Probably just to humor the guy.

Through the window, Alex watched Ross as he headed to his car. Ross waved before he climbed in and closed the door. Alex didn’t bother waving back. The other guy probably thought he would eventually get in touch with him, his curiosity growing until he had to know the answers. Alex could tell him right now he wouldn’t be calling.

“Who’s up for foosball?”

Dinah glanced around the Chestnut Grove Youth Center for any takers, but no one could hear her over the chatter and laughter in the room. Tyler and Dylan just continued capturing enemies in their board game, Tiffany and Gina sat mesmerized by the animated movie they probably knew by heart and Jeremy and Billy wrestled on the couch.

With all the chaos, Dinah didn’t hear her mother’s approach until Naomi Fraser touched her on the arm, startling her.

“Here, try this.” The redhead pressed a child’s-style, wireless microphone into her daughter’s hand, mischief shining in her vivid blue eyes. “I would give you a whistle, but the power might be too much for you.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom.” But her frown softened. Flipping on the switch, she tapped her hand a few times on the microphone’s head, sending out a crackly, pounding sound. To her surprise, the room fell silent.

She covered the mike with her hand. “Wow, Dad sure has this group trained.”

“Haven’t you noticed that when your father uses the microphone, he’s usually saying grace before he hands out snacks?” Naomi winked.

“I can’t believe you set me up. Now everyone’s going to be hounding me for food.”

Naomi rolled her eyes as she brushed her hand back through her no-nonsense short hair. “Just make your announcement before they go back to what they were doing.”

“Fine.” She turned back to her audience and uncovered the mike. “Hey, everybody. Our foosball tournament starts in ten minutes. Do we have any other late entries so we can make teams?”

She scanned the group for any takers.

Near the front entrance a boy with light brown hair stood with his arms crossed. Not a likely joiner. She couldn’t get a real good look at the boy because he had hair falling over his eyes, but he still looked familiar.

She knew why he did the second Alex and Chelsea came through the door. Though both the boy’s hair and eye color were a few shades darker, his square jaw and distinctive, straight nose were too similar to Chelsea’s for him not to be her brother, Brandon. If the two children bore any resemblance to Alex, she didn’t see it yet.

Chatter erupted again as the teens noticed the visitors in their midst. Soon the three of them were surrounded by a bunch of youths giving them the welcome treatment. Somehow Alex extricated himself from the crowd and made his way over to Dinah.

“Friendly bunch, aren’t they?”

“We try to be.” Her throat felt dry. She cleared it, covering her mouth with her fist. “What are you doing here?” Was it because she would be there? No, that was ridiculous. He couldn’t possibly have known that she volunteered at the center that her father also ran. But he did know her dad was pastor of this church, so…

“Sorry. I thought the youth center was open to anybody. Youth, I mean. But if it’s not…” He let his words trail away, waiting for her to explain.

Again she struggled with the frog taking up long-term residence in her throat. “It is. Of course. I just meant—” Stopping herself because she didn’t know what she’d meant, she lowered her gaze to the floor. That was when she noticed the microphone still dangling from her free hand. She didn’t have to examine it closer to remember that she hadn’t switched it off yet.

Apparently, she was the only one who hadn’t noticed until then that she was broadcasting their brief conversation, and now more than a few confused faces were trained on her, their owners wondering why she was trying to uninvite their guests. Her mother lifted an eyebrow and smiled. Naomi Fraser never missed much.

Dinah tapped the microphone again. “Let’s try this again. The tournament is about to begin. Anyone can play as long as you sign up in the next five minutes. Now would anyone like to introduce our guests?”

Tiffany raised her hand to do the honors, and Dinah couldn’t help but smile. The slightly plump teen, who was a bit of a tomboy, had carried a torch for Billy for a long time, but he might have some competition in Brandon.

“I’d like you all to meet Brandon and Chelsea White and their, uh, guardian…” Tiffany shot a questioning look at the new kids.

“Alex Donovan,” Dinah said, filling in the blank too quickly. Alex was kind enough to look away instead of picking this moment to trap her in one of his infamous stares.

“Anybody else want to play?” Dinah asked. “If so, I need you to sign up immediately at the tennis table.”

Not surprising given that the center had guests, there was a renewed interest in foosball, and she registered five more participants, Brandon included, before the competition began. Only after the start of the first game could Dinah make her way back to her mother, who just happened to be talking to Alex.

“…were looking for a youth group for the kids, and my own church doesn’t have one,” Alex was saying when she reached them.

Of course he’d come here because of the children. Why else would someone visit a youth center other than to find Christian fellowship for young people? When was she going to stop wishing Alex’s words or motives had something to do with her instead of with the children in his care? Just because Chelsea thought Alex was Dinah’s boyfriend didn’t mean he was interested in her—or even that he should be.

“Oh, Dinah, Alex says you two know each other.” Naomi didn’t say more, didn’t need to. Those mischievous eyes spoke volumes.

“We had a conference about Chelsea at school.”

“And a false alarm from what Chelsea tells me.”

Dinah glanced at her mother, who could barely contain her amusement, and then looked around for Chelsea. The child had joined the teens in the movie-viewing area but was watching the three adults out of the corner of her eye.

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