Waiting for a Forever Love, page 15
At the desk, Caitlin asked the librarian about yearbooks.
Something seemed wrong until he realized the scent of old Mrs. Dunmore’s flowery perfume was missing. As a child, every time he approached this desk, the heavy sweetness surrounding the librarian made him sneeze. And yet today, he missed it.
The only smell he detected now, besides books, was the warm one that always said Caitlin to him. He focused on her, his lifeline in the sea of memories swamping him.
The current librarian appeared to be only a few years older than he was. He was dimly aware of the woman pointing them to a set of stacks on the far side of the room.
“We can find it,” Caitlin assured the woman. “Thanks.”
Holt followed her past the scarred wooden study tables and a new-looking row of digital workstations and monitors.
“All the latest gear,” Caitlin commented as they passed.
“The library certainly had nothing like those when I was a kid,” Holt said in agreement.
“Times change,” Caitlin responded and led him toward the stacks. “Did you spend a lot of time here?”
Did he? Only the best time, as it turned out. “Yes. My mother worked here part-time so I could read all the books I wanted.”
“Is that how she supported you?”
“She worked as a bookkeeper for an accounting firm a few miles from here. I drove over this way a few days ago, the day I got back from the city, but so much has changed, I couldn’t bring myself to come in here.” Something seemed to lighten within him with that admission, and the next. “I only found one friend from high school at the pizza place his family owns, but none of her friends or coworkers. No one to shed any light.”
“I’m sorry. I know this is hard.” She paused before one of a long row of wooden shelves bowed by the weight of the tomes they carried. Yearbooks. “Maybe these books will help. Look familiar?”
Not really. Here was something else that brought home how little he knew about his mother’s past. He ran a finger across the spines, studying the dates, heart sinking. “I don’t see the volume for the year she graduated.”
“What about the year before?”
Holt traced a finger across the volumes until he found the right one. He pulled it from the shelf and flipped pages. “Senior class…ah, Junior class…”
“Let me see, too!”
In another circumstance, Caitlin’s demand might have amused him, but he was suddenly awash with tension. What would they find? It was just a book, but it might hold a clue to his past. His father. His mother’s friends. He stepped to a mostly empty shelf and laid the book open on it. Caitlin crowded close as he turned pages. Then he was there. His mother’s picture all but leapt from the page. Jennifer Cooper, in a black portrait-neckline top, long blonde hair covering her shoulders. And right before her on the same row, James Coates, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, in a shirt collar a size too small, tie and suit jacket. And no other Coopers at all.
Caitlin pointed. “They did know each other. He told me,” she reminded him, “they were in the same class.”
“Apparently.” Holt’s eyes brimmed with moisture, and he looked away, determined to keep Caitlin from noticing how seeing his mother and the boy who would honorably serve his country, then become a veterinarian— after possibly becoming his father— affected him. “But it proves nothing.”
“Keep going. If they include class activities or clubs, there might be pictures of them together with other friends.”
He paged past the younger classes to the clubs and athletic team photos but found nothing, then closed the book with a dull thud and took it back to the shelf where it belonged. He didn’t know what he’d expected to find, so he couldn’t put a finger on why he felt so disappointed, but he did. “We need to talk to Doc Coates.”
“Now?”
Caitlin’s voice intruded on his glum mood, and he welcomed the distraction. “Why not?”
She glanced at her phone. “This time of day, he’ll likely be at the practice. If not, they’ll know where to find him.” Caitlin’s eyes sparkled.
With excitement or determination? Or both? Either way, Holt knew neither of them would be satisfied until they solved the riddle of the vet and his mother. “Let’s go.”
“He’s on his lunch break,” the receptionist, Rachel, told them when they arrived. “But I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Moments later, she led them back to Doc Coates’s office, along with the swarm of bees buzzing around in Holt’s gut. Now that they were in the veterinary practice, with its smells of dogs, cats, and disinfectants, Holt’s belly was less sure this course of action was a wise one. Too late.
The man Caitlin presumed to be his father stood as they entered. A half-eaten sandwich and cup of coffee sat on one side of his desk. Paperwork cluttered the center. He smiled at Caitlin, then raised an eyebrow at Holt. “Caitlin! What brings you in today?”
“Sorry to interrupt, Doc. You remember Holt Ridley? We…”
Caitlin trailed off and glanced around at Holt. Taking pity on her, he picked up the conversational thread. “We just came from the library, where we took a look at my mother’s junior-year yearbook. You and she were classmates.”
“Oh? Who was she?”
“Jennifer Cooper. Your picture is right next to hers in the book.”
The doc’s gaze dropped to the desk, and his cheeks colored, then he met Holt’s gaze. “I knew her well. We were friends…”
“And more?” Caitlin asked.
Her directness surprised Holt, and apparently the doc as well. He waited a beat before answering.
“Yes, I suppose you could say that. Before I left for the Army, we were pretty tight. She was popular— not that way. She cared about people in general, but she only had a few really close friends. They’re all gone now. I’ve checked.”
Gone now. The phrase resonated with something Mrs. Smith had said. Her son had been killed, and he’d lived right there in the same house as Holt’s mother. What if they were wrong about Doc Coates?
“Did you know she got pregnant?” Caitlin again, bless her, determined as ever to fight his battles for him. Why had he not seen that sooner? Everything she’d done since he met her, she’d done for him.
The doc’s eyes widened, and he shook his head.
Today, it appeared, was a day for Holt’s eyes to open, or for his brain to start exploring alternatives. “She had a son,” Holt told him, his blood suddenly running with chips of ice in his veins. So much depended on how this went. “Me. My birthday is a little less than nine months after her graduation.”
Doc frowned and lowered himself to his chair, nodding for them to take the visitors’ chairs on the other side of his desk. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” He shook his head. “Stupid question. Of course you are.” He studied Holt for a moment. “You look like her, you know.”
“I’ve been told that.”
“A DNA test will prove the connection…or not. I can arrange it.”
“Good,” Caitlin interrupted. “And we’ll do another at a separate lab, just so there’s no question.”
“I think I’ve been insulted.”
Holt glanced at Caitlin. He’d said he wanted only one, but here and now, he saw the sense of what she proposed. “Not really,” Holt interjected. “There are other factors to consider. For one, I’m wealthy. Very. I have to be sure of the people around me. I’m sorry, but it’s a fact of my life.”
Doc nodded but didn’t say anything. He looked to Holt like someone trying desperately to make sense of the sudden change in his world and not having much luck.
“You never knew?” Holt asked though the answer was obvious from Doc’s demeanor.
“I spent decades away, out of touch with anyone here. But, funny thing, Jenny was what brought me back. Memories of my time in school with her. Being here with her was the happiest I’ve been in my life. Until my father made it impossible.” He shrugged. “Or so I thought. Granted, I expected to find her still in the area, married and with a houseful of kids, so I was shocked and saddened to find her gone. Her aunt told me she’d died.”
“Not then, but six years ago.”
Doc’s frown turned icy. “That old…she lied. And I believed her.” He leaned his elbows on the desk and clasped his hands together in front of his mouth. “Why would I doubt what Jenny’s family told me?” He clenched and unclenched his fists. “All that time—.” He sat back and paused again; regret written clearly in the set of his mouth. “That’s all I knew. I should have talked to others in our class. Friends of ours. Of hers. Maybe they would have told me she’d had a son. Possibly my son.” He met Holt’s gaze again. “If it’s true you’re mine, we have a lot of catching up to do.”
“I’m sorry to spring this on you so suddenly. This has to be a shock for you,” Caitlin said.
Doc’s lips pressed together, then he blew out a breath. “If it is true, I’m damn sorry to have missed so much of your life, Holt. Not to have been there for you. For Jenny, when she needed me. She took it hard when her parents were killed in that car crash. She wasn’t happy living with her aunt.”
“After she started showing, her aunt kicked her out,” Holt said as the old resentment flared anew in his gut. “She raised me alone, a single mother, denied and disinherited by the only family she had left. She told me my father died. I guess she never knew where you went, why you disappeared so suddenly. You were her friend, and maybe more. But you disappeared.”
Doc rubbed his hands over his face. “My God.” After another moment, he took a breath and spoke. “It’s a long story, but the condensed version is I left after a fight with my father, signed up at the local recruiting center, and shipped out the next day.” His fist clenched. “I could have found a way to tell her I was leaving and why. I should have. Then she would have had a chance to tell me— but I was so angry with my father, my focus was totally on packing my stuff and getting the hell out of town. I was still a kid. I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself.” He shook his head. “If I’d had any inkling that my actions would affect two other people, ruin two other lives— I have no excuse. I only wish I could go back and make it right.”
Holt had a touch of the temper Doc Coates described, too. Caitlin shared a look with him that said are you hearing this? He gave her a nod. From her son, Mrs. Smith had known about fights Holt had with his father. Here was another indication that the work Caitlin had done had gotten him on the right track.
He was impressed with the vet’s willingness to consider their claim, and how his story aligned with what little they knew about Holt’s mother’s history, but he wasn’t yet ready to let the man off the hook. Holt could admit that in balance, his life hadn’t been ruined. He’d made the most of the hand he’d been dealt. But his mother’s? Hers had been destroyed, first by her parents’ deaths, then by her aunt who tossed her out with the trash when she got pregnant with him. He spoke before he could let anger overtake him. “Can you take the DNA samples here?”
Doc stood and motioned toward the door. “I’ve got kits in the lab. It’ll take five minutes, and then, I hate to do this given what we’ve been talking about, but I’ve got to get back to work. I’ve got a surgery scheduled in a few minutes. The usual— a dog hit by a car. I was grabbing lunch while the techs prepped him.”
“Let’s do the kits and get out of your way,” Caitlin prompted.
“We can talk more when the results come back,” Holt agreed, hoping after the news they’d just given him, the vet’s hands would be steady enough to do the surgery the dog needed.
True to the doc’s word, in five minutes, they were headed out the door, a set of samples in hand to deliver to a different lab than the vet used. His father. Maybe. Despite everything, Holt found himself hoping it was true.
CHAPTER 12
“You look like you found coal in your stocking.”
Caitlin jumped in surprise at the sound of Holt’s voice as he entered the office the next morning, coffee cup in hand. She inhaled the enticing aroma. “Is that for me? I beat Mrs. Smith to the kitchen this morning. The tea I brewed is hours cold.” She’d forgotten it. She’d been hard at work, putting more finishing touches on the catalog that would result in the sale of many of the treasures in the estate.
“Take this one. I can get another.” Holt set the cup on her worktable, his generosity an indication of the change in him since she’d first met him. Perhaps yesterday’s revelations, and the concrete step of doing the DNA tests, had a lot to do with it, but he’d been warming up to her and to this place since their discoveries in the attic.
He moved around the cluttered surface to look over her shoulder.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about the catalog anymore. True, she’d come here to do a job, and though she’d disagreed with Holt about the need for it, she’d done it well. But something in her couldn’t take pride in it. She hated to see the collection scattered to the four winds, the estate sold, and all of Holt’s family history, good and bad, out of his hands. “Thanks for the coffee.” After a sip that warmed her and chased away some of her dismay in pure, caffeinated pleasure, she added, “I don’t have a stocking,” in response to the first thing he’d said when he came in the door. “None of us do.”
He shifted and rested one hip on the desk. Then he quirked an eyebrow at her. “We need to fix that.”
“What? Celebrate Christmas? In this house? Who are you and what have you done with Holt Ridley?”
“It’s time, don’t you think? Christmas is two days away, and this old place needs some cheering up.” He glanced upward, as if staring through the ceiling. “We found several boxes of decorations in the attic. Let’s use them.”
Caitlin pushed up from her chair. Holt stood, too, and she threw herself into his arms. “That’s a brilliant idea. Let’s do.”
“In a moment,” Holt said and dipped his head.
His lips met hers, tasting of coffee and him. Caitlin tightened her hold on his shoulders, her knees too weak to support her weight as his lips moved over hers, teasing, coaxing, surprising her. The man could kiss! Better than she’d imagined that day on the beach. If this Holt was what she’d been missing, she regretted not acting on her impulse then. His arms wrapped her body like steel bands and held her against his solid strength. She could stay here forever, feeling the tip of his tongue grazing her mouth, his lips on her throat, his teeth nipping her earlobe before his mouth took hers, again.
She tunneled her fingers in his hair and kissed him back, heat sizzling through her veins and melting her core. When his tongue breached the barrier of her lips, she moaned and pulled him closer, sliding her hands down his back to his firm arse.
Holt growled and did the same, pressing her close and making his arousal unmistakable. By the time he broke the kiss, they were both panting and flushed, eyes dark with desire.
Caitlin rested her head on his shoulder for a moment, then pulled away, reminding herself she was leaving for Scotland in a few days and might never see this man again. A few hot kisses were one thing, but getting more involved than that? Regret made her tone bleak. “We shouldn’t.”
Holt brushed her hair back and nodded. “Not yet.” He gusted out a breath. “But soon. In the meantime, we have decorating to do.” He flashed her one of his rare grins.
Soon? She could have floated as she led Holt up the attic stairs, never touching a tread. Soon carried a lot of meanings, a lot of expectations, and possibly a lot of happiness. Though she knew better than to act on it, she could enjoy the daydream.
In the meantime, his eagerness to find the boxes of garlands, colored balls, wreaths, stockings, and all the other things his great-aunt had used to decorate the estate surprised and pleased her. She stopped halfway up the steps and twisted around. “Ach, nay. We don’t have a tree.”
“We can get one,” Holt assured her. “Or dispense with that this year and just use whatever strikes your fancy.”
This year, the man said. Did that mean next year— with her— was also on his mind? “So, you,” she teased, “draped across the mantle?”
“I can think of somewhere more comfortable than a mantle I’d rather be— but anywhere will do as long as you’re there with me.”
Caitlin laughed, hoping he meant what he said but afraid to take him too seriously. She wagged a finger at him, then bounded up the rest of the stairs. “First, we have to find those stockings!”
An hour later, boxes littered the front hallway, and both she and Holt were covered in dust. They’d found the stockings and hung them on the front room fireplace mantel. Scattered ribbons and bows and decorative balls were on the floor where Caitlin had dropped them while digging through the boxes. “Where is the garland these go on? And wreaths for the front door?”
“What are you two doing?” Mrs. Smith’s stunned voice echoed as she marched into the foyer from the long hallway leading from the kitchen, fists on hips.
Caitlin and Holt exchanged sheepish glances. “We wanted to find stockings to hang on the hearth,” she explained. “But there are no wreaths or swag in these boxes to decorate anything else.”
“That’s because every year, Farrell and I get them from the local farmers— fresh evergreens, mind you— and use all of those…things you’ve scattered about to make them festive. Given the circumstances and Mr. Ridley’s disinterest, we didn’t acquire any this year.”
“Mr. Ridley’s disinterest has taken a hike,” Holt replied with a grin. He brushed back his hair and left a smear of gray dust on his forehead.
