A Mom For His Daughter. Jean Gordon C.
watching the kids in the preschool room. We’re going to make snowflakes with silver and gold glitter.”
“Stella help?” She looked up at him.
“Definitely. I’m sure they can use your help.”
Stella smiled and walked away with his niece. That was easy. He shoved Stella’s hat and mittens into his jacket pocket. A bit of him wanted to see Stella’s hesitation to leave him that he’d come to expect, but most of him was relieved that Stella was becoming more comfortable with other people. His family, at least.
“You made it. I wasn’t sure from your text if you would.” Claire appeared beside him.
“I’m here. What do you have for me to do?”
“Table setup. You can put your coat on the table by the door with the others. And a truck full of books is coming that needs to be unloaded.”
“Who else do you have to bring the tables down from upstairs?”
“Pastor Connor. Then he has an appointment. The rest of the guys bailed, as I said in my text.” Claire looked around the room. “Fiona can help you set up the tables and unload the books.”
Marc pinned his twin’s gaze, questioning the possibility of a different type of setup. “I didn’t know Fiona was a member of the group.” He hadn’t seen her at church service in all the time he’d been here.
“She’s not, but I’m working on it as I am with you. Fiona helped her landlady, Mrs. Hamilton, the other evening, sorting items for the rummage sale.”
Marc wasn’t sure what that had to do with tonight.
“Mrs. Hamilton was going to supervise the work tonight, but her hip is acting up, and she asked Fiona to step in for her.” Claire stopped. “What’s with the face? It’s like you want to avoid Fiona. Didn’t your meeting yesterday go well?”
“It went well enough.” What was with him was that he wanted to spend time with Fiona, and that put him on edge. Fiona belonged in the business part of his life, not the social one. He raked his hand through his hair. He didn’t have a social life anyway. Not anymore.
* * *
Fiona stopped dead, her gaze glued to the red-haired toddler holding Marc’s hand. The copper curls. Her profile. The little girl’s button nose. She looked so much like a photo Fiona had at home of Mairi as a toddler. Fiona’s lungs burned, reminding her to take a breath.
It couldn’t be. Claire hadn’t said anything about her niece, Stella, being adopted. Fiona pushed her hair back from her face. Her emotions were worn raw from reading and rereading her sister’s letter, trying to fully understand. She’d hoped busying herself with the bazaar setup would give her mind and emotions a rest for a few hours. Fiona watched the toddler walk out of the room with a dark-haired teenager. She couldn’t let her desires distort reality. She’d only be setting herself up for disappointment again.
Fiona started when Claire touched her shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” her friend said. “Are you okay? You’re so pale.”
Fiona waved her off. “I’m fine.” As fine as she could manage at the moment.
“Marc and Pastor Connor are bringing the tables down from upstairs. Give them a few minutes and they should be ready to help you arrange them.”
“Okay.” Fiona waited until Claire had taken a few steps in the opposite direction and fled to the ladies’ room. She splashed water on her face and stared. The smattering of freckles across her nose popped against her still pale skin. She had to get a grip on herself, work out a systematic plan for finding her niece. Otherwise, she’d be seeing Mairi in every red-haired little girl she saw on the street, in the store...
Fiona returned to the hall and approached Marc and a man she assumed was Pastor Connor, who were adding a table to a stack leaning against the wall.
“Hi, I’m Fiona Bryce. You must be Pastor Connor.”
“Yes. Nice to meet you. I read about your program at the Research Farm.”
“Speaking of which,” Marc said, “did you get my voice mail?”
“No, sorry. I didn’t check it. I had meetings all morning and left the office early.” After reading Mairi’s letter, she couldn’t concentrate on work, so she’d gone home to research and contact Precious in His Sight and to rehash where she’d gone wrong with Mairi. She’d tried to give her the support and direction their parents hadn’t given them.
“Go ahead and write up a contract proposal for La Table Frais,” Marc said.
“Great. I’ll get to work on it tomorrow.” She tried to force the enthusiasm she should be feeling for her program’s first major client. “Your partners agreed, then?”
“They will.” Marc’s dark eyes sparkled.
This Marc jibed more with the description his sister had given Fiona of a man who could have won their high school’s most-likely-to-succeed award when he was in kindergarten than the quiet, intent man she’d met with at the farm.
“I’ve got to get ready for my meeting,” Pastor Connor interrupted, tilting his head toward the outer hall and his office. “You two should be able to handle setting up without me.”
“Where do you want the tables?” Marc asked as Connor walked away.
Fiona showed Marc the diagram Mrs. Hamilton had given her, unsettled by the awareness of him close beside her, looking over her shoulder at the paper she held. Sheesh! She’d stood next to attractive men before. Mairi’s letter had her nerves totally on edge about everything.
“Simple enough,” he said, and they went to work.
As Fiona watched Marc snap the legs of the last table into place and tip it upright, an elderly woman with a cane stepped into the hall from the parking lot and looked around.
“Can I help you?” Fiona asked.
“I have books to donate. I talked with Betty Hamilton.”
“Yes, we’re expecting you. Tell us which vehicle and we’ll unload. You can wait in here where it’s warm.”
“The gray SUV with the Essex County Farm Co-op sticker on the back window. The hatch is unlocked.”
Marc and Fiona grabbed their coats from the pile on the table by the door and headed out. Fiona quickly spotted the woman’s SUV. She pointed at the decal on the back window and touched her foot to the hatch opener. “It’s short notice, but I didn’t think of it yesterday. When we’re done unloading, remind me to talk with you about the co-op organizational meeting tomorrow morning.”
“Sure. Let’s get started,” Marc said, and she wondered if he was in a hurry to be done. Or was that just her perception because she wasn’t in any hurry? She traced his profile with her gaze as he leaned into the SUV. He probably wanted to get back to his daughter, and she had nothing else to do this evening except go back to her empty apartment and Mairi’s letter.
He lifted one of the smaller boxes and passed it to Fiona. Her hand brushed his as she took it from him. The warmth of the contact left an imprint on her in the cold evening air.
“Go ahead and take your box inside,” he said before reaching for another one. “If we alternate, we won’t be bumping into each other.”
“Good idea.” She gripped the box tighter and headed back to the hall. Had he felt something, too, when their hands had brushed? She glanced over her shoulder. He’d stacked two boxes to carry in, confirming her thought that he wanted to be done.
“Only two left,” Fiona said a few minutes later, placing a box on the table next to the two Marc had brought in.
“I’ll get them,” he said.
“And I’ll