Little Girl Lost

This was her second shipment of tropical and ornamental butterflies this season. Their life spans were short, and she needed to restock the habitat every few weeks with specimens she ordered from a breeder in New Jersey. Someday she would like to raise the exotic forms of the species herself, but she would need a much larger operation and more disposable income to house and winter over the specific plants each species needed to breed.

Caitlin chuckled as the gentle puff of air from the specially designed door—which blew air back into the habitat so that the butterflies couldn’t escape—lifted the fine strands of her hair. It was very warm in the glass house, more humid than the outside air, at least for the time being. Faith turned on the exhaust fan in the far gable of the building. The opening was covered with fine netting so none of the butterflies could be sucked outside.

“Pretty!” Caitlin squealed, reaching for a huge blue morpho as it glided swiftly by. The spectacularly colored tropical butterfly was one of the visitor’s favorites.

“Daddy liked them, too,” Faith said. To everyone else, Mark was Caitlin’s father, just as Faith was her mother, and it wouldn’t be natural not to talk to her about him. Above all else Faith wanted everything she did for Caitlin to seem natural.

She glanced through the chrysalis-room window that gave a view of the parking lot. It was empty. She’d probably have a spate of customers again in the early evening if it didn’t rain, but now the two of them were alone.

She picked Caitlin up and sat down on one of the rustic wooden benches that were scattered throughout the habitat. She’d made the butterfly house as near to a tropical garden as she could manage. There were paving stone pathways, raised beds of verbena, impatiens, butterflyweed, rudbeckia. The plants all in shades of pink and blue, purple and yellow that butterflies loved. She’d added large specimen plants, ferns, small trees and host plants like dill and parsley, Queen Anne’s lace and African milkweed, to encourage the laying of eggs and as food for emerging caterpillars.

Steve and Peg had helped her build two waterfalls of lightweight landscaping rock—it was how they’d first met—a small one directly across from the door, and a much larger one that climbed almost to the ceiling in the farthest corner of the house so that the sound of falling water was everywhere. She loved this place, and Mark would have loved it, too. If he’d lived.

But if Mark had lived she would not have Caitlin.

She seldom let herself think of the dark days after Mark had died anymore. She preferred to believe her life had started the day Caitlin was born. It was a task she was mostly able to accomplish.

The sun disappeared behind a cloud and the butterflies disappeared from the air almost as swiftly, settling on leaves and flowers and feeding dishes to await the sun’s return. Faith stood up, deciding to come back for the dishes later, and set Caitlin back into the stroller, then checked her backside in the long mirror beside the door. Butterflies often landed on visitors unawares and had to be carefully removed before anyone left. Today no colorful hitchhikers had attached themselves to her.

A rumble of thunder came rolling across the fields, so faint and far away it was felt more than heard. The wind had shifted while she was inside the butterfly room and the big baskets of red and white impatiens and trailing blue lobelia were swinging wildly from their hangers.

“Darn, I should have asked Steve to take them down for the afternoon when he was here earlier,” Faith muttered half to herself, half to Caitlin. The hanging baskets were some of her best sellers and she didn’t want to see them ruined by a storm. Her brother-in-law was six foot five and he’d hung the baskets high enough so they weren’t a hazard to the skulls of customers, but they were out of Faith’s reach, even standing on her tiptoes.

“Stay put like a good girl and I’ll take them down,” Faith told Caitlin, wishing she’d remembered to bring a cookie along with her. Caitlin had been an inquisitive baby and now, in the midst of the terrible twos, she was always on the go, poking her little snub nose in every nook and cranny the moment Faith’s back was turned.

Faith retrieved the big stepladder that she used to open the vents in the roof of the greenhouse and set it up under the hanging baskets. But she’d positioned the ladder just a little too far from her objective and had to lean precariously to reach the first basket. To make matters worse the chain refused to come free of the hook. “Drat,” Faith muttered, wishing she could give voice to something a little more stress-relieving, but she’d learned the hard way that Caitlin was a perfect mimic when it came to swear words.

She wrestled the first basket free, making a mental note to get Steve to lengthen the chains, customer liability or no, and reached over to take down the second. A flicker of movement from the direction of Caitlin’s stroller caught her eye at the same moment a dusty black Blazer turned off the road and started down the lane. A last-minute customer stopping in on the way home from work, or the man who had rented the cottage? It didn’t really matter who it was, she’d rather not be seen struggling down off the ladder with the two heavy baskets swinging from each hand.

“Caitlin, honey,” she said over her shoulder. “Are you being a good girl and sitting still for mommy?”

A tremor of movement and a piping voice directly below her sent Faith’s heart into her throat. “I help you.” A small hand tugged on the leg of her slacks. Caitlin had crawled out of her stroller and climbed up the ladder. Now she was perched a good four feet off the ground, and blocking Faith’s way.

“’Fraid,” Caitlin mumbled suddenly, clinging like a limpet. Faith would have to lower the heavy baskets by their chains as far as she could, let them drop the rest of the way to the floor, then twist around and pull Caitlin into her arms. But as she shifted her weight one of the ladder’s legs began to sink into the soft earth. Faith let out a gasp as she pitched forward.

“Can I help you with those?” a male voice asked.

Faith looked toward the source of the voice. The occupant of the black Blazer was standing just inside the greenhouse entrance. He wasn’t a tall man, but solidly built with broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, and long blue-jean clad legs.

“No, don’t bother.” Faith swallowed to ease the lump of anxiety that had lodged itself in her throat. She could feel Caitlin wobbling on the step behind her as she attempted to look around at the stranger. “It’s…it’s what’s behind me I’m worried about.” She was going to have to drop the heavy baskets, there was no help for it. The ladder was sinking more deeply into the soft earth each time she shifted her weight. In another few seconds it would tumble over taking both of them with it.

The stranger in the doorway took two long steps forward to see what she was talking about. His eyes widened a moment at the sight of Caitlin clinging to Faith’s pant leg.

“So that’s what has you treed. Come here, little one,” he said, his voice slightly rough around the edges, but with a Southern lilt underneath. “Time to get down.”

“Hi,” Caitlin said, brightly and to Faith’s surprise she held out her arms to the stranger.

“Hi, yourself.” He lifted her up into one arm and steadied the ladder with the other.

“I climb high,” Caitlin informed him smugly.

“Too high.” Faith started down the ladder. It was still tilted at an awkward angle, but she made it without making a fool of herself by falling, even when he reached out and laid a steadying hand on her elbow.

A strange shiver went up and down her spine. Not because his hand was cold or his touch too personal. It wasn’t. His hand was warm, slightly rough against her skin and he let go of her the moment she was steady on her feet. But still his touch unsettled her.

“I go high. I big girl.”

“You are a very brave girl,” he said in a wondering tone. He had a strong face, stern looking, all masculine lines and angles. Not a handsome face, but an intriguing one. As she watched, it softened and relaxed as Caitlin’s laughing giggle coaxed a smile to his lips.

“I Caitlin.”

“Hello—” he hesitated for a brief moment, “—Caitlin.”

Caitlin wrapped her arms around the stranger’s neck. She was a loving child, but she was usually reserved around people she didn’t know, especially men. Caitlin planted a kiss on his cheek. “I like you,” she said.

Faith dropped the heavy baskets and held out her arms. A rush of protectiveness coursed through her. The instant connection between her child and this stranger unsettled her even more than his touch. “Thank you. I’ll take her now.”

He placed Caitlin in her waiting arms. “I don’t think she’s suffered any harm from her climb.”

Faith’s sudden anxiety attack faded away once she held her daughter. She tried to summon a smile and thought she mostly succeeded. “She climbs like a monkey.”

“And you’re all right, too?” he asked, fixing his dark gaze on her directly for the first time. His eyes were blue, like dark, still water, or the color of the sky at twilight. “You look a little pale.” Once more Faith’s breath caught in her throat. Whatever had made her think he wasn’t a handsome man? When he smiled it took her breath away. She would have to be a dead woman not to respond to that smile. “No strains or sprains? Those baskets look heavy.”

“I’m fine, really,” Faith insisted, although her left shoulder was aching a little. She fell back on formality to hide her continuing confusion. “Thank you for your help. I’m Faith Carson.” She shifted Caitlin’s slight weight and held out her hand.

He gave her his. “Hugh Damon. I’ve reserved one of your cottages for the week.”

“Yes, Mr. Damon. Please wait a moment. I’ll get you the key.” She attempted a smile of her own. “Let me thank you for your rescue of me and my daughter one more time. And, of course, welcome to Painted Lady Farm.”

THE STORM ROLLED through quickly leaving the air fragrant with the scent of wet grass. Twilight lingered a long time, the sky shading from red to orange to dusky pink and purple-gray, before the stars twinkled to life in the east. Hugh stood beneath the shelter of the high-pitched overhang at the back of the cottage. Beneath his feet were fieldstones that formed a small patio edged by a low stone wall and flowering plants, fragrant with scents that were heady but unfamiliar. He stared down at the lighted windows of Faith Carson’s house.

He’d almost given himself away earlier, when he’d let his reaction to seeing Beth’s child for the first time get the better of him. She was Beth’s child; he was convinced of it, although he couldn’t say how he knew.

Caitlin Carson looked a great deal like his sister had at that age, the same elfin shape to her face, the gossamer fine hair. But Caitlin’s eyes were not blue, like Beth’s, like his. They were green-gold and changeable, exactly the same color as the woman who called herself her mother. Otherwise there was little resemblance between them. Faith Carson’s hair was brown, her face more rounded. Her figure, too, was rounded. In all the right places he had to admit, but her body type was not the same as Caitlin’s, who would grow up as slender and petite as Beth. But if he commented on that fact Faith Carson would say her daughter took after her dead father, not her mother, and her suspicions would be aroused.

She was Caitlin’s mother according to all the laws of the land. He’d seen a copy of the child’s birth certificate. Everything about it seemed to be in order. But still he knew his hunch was right. Even though the accident that had killed Jamie Sheldon and taken Beth’s memory, had occurred a hundred miles away in another state, he was convinced she had been in this place. Here she’d given birth. And for some reason she’d left her child behind. Despite all the damage to her body and her mind, that memory had not been completely erased. She remembered the baby crying in the snow. And she remembered butterflies.

It was the slightest of hunches that had brought him here. A baby born to a woman alone, during a terrible ice storm. A woman who was a nurse. A woman who could have delivered a frightened teenager’s baby. A woman who raised butterflies. A young widow who, perhaps, despaired of ever having a child of her own and who would take the desperate risk of keeping another woman’s baby.

He didn’t know the details, but nothing he had learned led him to believe that Faith Carson was a cold-blooded baby snatcher. He was determined to find the truth for Beth’s sake but he had to proceed carefully. He didn’t want to bring the law down on his sister for abandoning her baby, anymore than he wanted to see Faith Carson jailed for kidnapping—at least not yet. The whole situation was a minefield. One misstep on his part could spell disaster for all of them.

Faith Carson was wary of him, and he would have to be careful to earn her trust before he brought Beth here. He was convinced his sister’s well-being, and certainly her happiness, depended on learning the truth of the events that were the basis of her nightmares.

But he wasn’t the only one searching for Beth’s baby. Jamie’s parents were determined to learn the fate of their lost grandchild. And they would not stop with merely learning that truth. They wanted the baby. And they were rich and powerful enough to take her from Beth, from Faith Carson. From him. If they discovered where she was.

CHAPTER THREE

“CAITLIN SEEMS TAKEN with your renter,” Peg said, peering out the window above the kitchen sink. Hugh Damon had been staying in the cottage for several days now, over the long Memorial Day weekend, and the third anniversary of Mark’s death.