eBookReissue (Reissue)
Available on Compatible NOOK devices, the free NOOK App and in My Digital Library.
Related collections and offers
Overview
Her daughter, Mandy, had died in the icy waters of Lake St. Claire, Michigan, three years ago—or so widow Joanna Fuller was told. At the urging of family friend Ben Drake, Joanna tried to accept her loss and move on. But mysterious phone calls reawakened her doubts. Was someone trying to reunite her with Mandy? In a frantic search for her daughter during the season of hope, Joanna unraveled the web of one man's hatred…and came face-to-face with the truth she'd known all along.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781460362396 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Harlequin |
| Publication date: | 11/15/2014 |
| Sold by: | HARLEQUIN |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 192 |
| Sales rank: | 280,230 |
| File size: | 1 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
"Mommy!"
The plea whispered in her mind. Not a voice exactly, but a feeling.
Joanne Fuller spun around, overwhelmed by the sensation. "Mandy?" A chill rolled down her back.
Her legs gave way and she sank to the floor, covering her face with her hands. Her three-year-old's image hung in her thoughts like a star, once shining but now dimmed.
"Mom my!"
The fear-filled voice resounded in her head again.
Joanne pressed her hand against her heart to steady the beat. Why now, after three years? She knew it couldn't be real. Yet lately, the cry had come to her in the night more than once.
Steadying herself against a chair, Joanne pushed herself up from the floor and waited for the dizziness to pass. Why was this happening? She'd gone through counseling, and the horrifying nightmares had passed. She'd become stronger, but she'd begun to question her sanity since the night her daughter's cry had come to her in a dream.
The telephone's ring pierced the silence and Joanne's heart rose to her throat. She darted across the room and grasped the receiver, and when she said hello her voice came out breathless and strained.
"Joanne?"
She heard her name reverberating through the line across a canyon.
"Benjamin?"
"It's me. What in the world is wrong?"
She crumpled into a chair, clutched her chest to calm the thudding that felt as if it would break her ribs. "It's a long story. I can't talk about it now." Tears filled her eyes—tears of relief and anxiety.
"It's okay," he said, his voice as reassuring as a morning cup of coffee.
"Where are you?" she asked, trying to get her thoughts together.
"Here in Detroit. I'm back."
"Will you be here for the holidays?" Christmas. The vision rose in Joanne's mind, and she felt overcome by the feeling of loneliness.
"I sure will. I'm here for good, I hope."
The news settled over her, and she relaxed her shoulders. "That's wonderful news. Will I see you soon?"
His warm chuckle met her ear.
"That's why I'm calling. How about dinner? Tonight."
Her stomach churned at the thought of food. Stress always affected her that way, but to see her old friend, she would force herself to eat. "Tonight's good. I need company."
"It sounds like it," he said. His voice radiated tenderness. "I'll pick you up in an hour."
After she hung up, Joanne sat without moving, amazed at the emotion that filled her. Benjamin Drake. She hadn't seen him since the funeral. Gooseflesh rolled down her arms at the memory. She, Greg and Mandy. Such joy. She'd expected it to last a lifetime. A perfect husband, a perfect child—both taken one cold November night. She'd begged God to tell her why, but she'd never heard His answer.
Joanne's gaze shifted to the calendar stuck to the side of the refrigerator next to the curled, yellowed page of crayon scribbles. Tears pressed against her eyes again, and she tugged her focus from her three-year-old daughter's drawing to the November dates. They'd died nearly three years ago today.
Drawing back her shoulders, Joanne hoisted herself from the chair, suddenly feeling tired, but thoughts of Benjamin returned and so did a smile. She hurried into her bedroom and pulled off her business suit, then rummaged through her closet and slipped on a skirt and sweater. She replaced her pumps with casual slip-ons, and her knotted calves eased as she settled into the soft suede shoes.
Joanne moved to the vanity and eyed her once-neat hair. She pulled out the clasps and brushed the long strands, ready to capture the wispy ends, but taking another look, she let it fall around her shoulders. Thinking of her old friend, she felt younger than she had in years.
As she turned toward the door, Joanne's gaze fell on a small photo on her dresser of Mandy playing in a pile of autumn leaves. She'd taken the picture a month before her daughter's death. Joanne picked up the photo and studied it. She could see Greg's rake at the edge of the picture. Now she wished she'd stepped back to capture them both, but in those days, she and Greg only had eyes for Mandy. Joanne's heart felt heavy again as she set the frame on the dresser top and left the room.
While she searched for her handbag, the doorbell rang. When Joanne opened the door she caught her breath. "Benjamin." A rush of admiration washed over her—his dark wavy hair and chocolate-brown eyes, his familiar easy smile. "You look wonderful."
His gaze drifted over her as he grinned. "You look beautiful as always." He grasped her shoulders and pressed his wind-cooled lips against her cheek. "Ready?"
"I am," she said, lifting a hand to capture his chin. "It's so good to see you."
She opened the closet and pulled out her jacket. Benjamin held it while she pushed her arms into the sleeves, then shrugged it on. She tossed her purse over her shoulder and checked the door lock before pulling the door closed.
Benjamin clasped her elbow as she moved down the snowy steps to the sidewalk. He opened the passenger door for Joanne, then rounded the car to the driver side. "What are you in the mood for? Italian? Mexican? American?"
"I'm in the mood to visit," she said, patting his arm. "Whatever you'd like is fine."
"Let's try Jimmy's," he said, backing out of the driveway. "They have fish and Black Angus. Even pasta if you prefer it."
As he drove through Grosse Pointe, they caught up on the past couple of years.
"Are you still at Solutions, Incorporated?"
"What else?" She smiled, realizing her job had become her life. "I just got a promotion. I'm heading the think tank. It's exciting, and I have my own office with a window."
"Good for you. And a window—now that's really something." He paused for a moment and his smile faded. "Are you seeing anyone?"
The question surprised her. "You mean dating?"
He nodded.
"No. I'm not ready for that."
"It's been three years. I thought maybe…"
"No, I—" Dating hadn't entered her mind. Ever.
The conversation lulled. Joanne didn't mention the disturbing sensations she'd been feeling and Benjamin didn't ask why she'd sounded stressed on the phone. She knew he would, sometime before the evening ended, but she was willing to wait.
They'd settled at a table and made their selections from the menu before Benjamin slid his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. "So what's all this about?"
For a moment she didn't understand his question, but when she studied his face, she knew. "It's difficult to explain."
"Give me a try," he said, releasing her hand to pick up his water glass.
Joanne lowered her head. She formed the words in her mind though they made little sense. "I hear Mandy's voice calling to me."
A frown pulled at his mouth and his eyes darkened. "I'm so sorry, Joanne. I'd hoped—"
"I know," she said. "I have been doing well until the past couple of weeks." Her pulse skipped. "Greg and Mandy have been gone for three years…almost to the day."
He slid his hand over hers again comfortingly. "I know. It's tomorrow. It hit me this morning."
A feeling of desperation hit her. "Sometimes I'm drowned by the loss, Benjamin. I awake disbelieving, praying it was only a bad dream, but the bed is empty beside me, no dent in the pillow. Mandy's room is silent, and I know it's true." She glanced at the patrons around her, realizing her volume had risen.
She released a sigh. "This isn't the place to talk about that, but I have no one really who'd understand." She looked so deeply into his eyes that she felt lost in them. "Except you. They were part of your life, too."
He wrapped his fingers around her hand and gave it a squeeze. The warmth filled her with memories, and she realized how much she'd missed his friendship. Benjamin had been such a good and faithful friend, always there when she or Greg needed him, and he had doted on Mandy.
"Thanks," she said. "It's wonderful that you're back in Detroit." She tried to smile. "I'm praying the weird feelings go away. I should be over my grief by now."
"Don't expect so much of yourself," Benjamin said, still holding her hand. "You lost a husband and child in the blink of an eye, and you've never had…" He paused as if not knowing what to say.
"Never had closure," she said, knowing that's what he meant. "I buried a husband and a tiny empty casket holding some of Mandy's toys. That was all." She felt tears surfacing on her lashes, and Joanne knew she had to stop. "If they'd found her body—if only they'd found her, at least I'd believe it happened."
"I know. I wish I could make it better for you."
He looked as desperate as she felt, and Joanne's good sense and social graces returned. This was no time or place to talk about something so heart wrenching. She pulled herself together and drew in a deep breath.
"So how was Seattle?" she asked.
"Wet. Foggy."
She grinned, and the experience felt wonderful—though it faded too quickly. "I didn't realize you would be gone so long." She hesitated and then added, "And with so few visits."
His expression changed, and she sensed he was avoiding something he wanted to say. "You knew the firm opened a branch there. It took time. I had an opportunity to return earlier, but I decided to stick it out and finish the project."
"I see," she said, confused by the look on his face.
After the waiter arrived with their food, Joanne only shifted the pasta around on her plate, curious about Benjamin. He focused on his steak. She had many things to ask him—for one, why he'd kept such a low profile after he moved to Seattle. After attending the funeral, he'd called a couple of times, but as time passed, she rarely heard from him other than an occasional brief call or an e-mail at her office. He'd been Greg's friend, a fellow attorney, but Joanne had always considered him her friend, too.
As she pondered, the answer fell into her mind. She spi-raled the pasta around her fork, wondering if she should say what she was thinking. "Losing Greg was hard on you, too, I guess. Avoidance makes it easier."
His head jerked upward as if he was surprised at her comment.
"I hadn't really thought about that before," she said.
Benjamin held his fork suspended in the air and didn't say anything for a moment. "Greg was closer than a brother. It hurt." He lowered the fork and set it on his plate. "But nothing like what you went through, Joanne. I felt lost on how to respond to you. I'd never known the kind of emptiness you had to deal with."
"I thought you'd come home for another visit after the funeral. I was disappointed." Disappointment had been her mainstay, she realized. Not only Benjamin, but her whole family had let her down.
He glanced away without speaking, looked back at her, taking a sip of water as he regarded her over the glass. "I wanted to. I wanted to be here more than I can ever explain, but."
His voice faded, and she tried to read his expression. "But?"
"It didn't seem right. You were a new widow, and I was a—"
"Friend. I considered you my friend, too, not just Greg's."
"You know you are, Joanne. You can't think differently."
"But I thought friends were supposed to be there when you needed them." She heard the bitterness in her words and wished she could take them back, but she'd been hurt by so many people and hadn't expected him to be one of them. "Benjamin, I'm sorry. Forget what I said. I'm having a pity-party here."
"No apology necessary. You're right. I let my own fears stop me."
Fears? She didn't know what to say.
"I was afraid people would talk."
"Talk? I don't understand."
"About you and me. I worried about gossip—that Greg had been gone only a few weeks and his best friend was already hitting on his wife."
She felt a flush crawl up her neckline. Hitting on his wife? She would never have thought that, and no one else would have, either. "You were nothing but a wonderful friend, Benjamin. Mandy loved you. Greg loved you and so did I." She caught his look. "So do I," she corrected. "I haven't changed. You were always there for us. You even baby-sat Mandy once. Remember?"
A crooked grin brightened his face. "How could I forget? It was my first experience changing diapers."
Joanne laughed, her body relaxing with the lighthearted feeling. "I didn't know that."
He set the glass back on the table. "I'm sorry about the past, Joanne. I'm here now, and maybe I can make it up to you."
"You don't owe me anything, my dear friend." This time she slid her hand over his. "I was just telling you my feelings. You're here now, and I feel better knowing that. It's been lonely. I miss them both so much."
"I missed all of you."
He turned his attention to his dinner while Joanne clung to his comment. Being missed felt good. Her family lived out of state, and while they'd been attentive for a short while, their lives had gone on, and they had healed, while Joanne still worked at it. She'd struggled with the resentment until she hardened her heart to them, just as her family seemed to have done to her.
She tore off a crusty hunk of bread and nibbled on the corner as she watched Benjamin devour the rare steak. The red juice ran onto his plate, making her think of her own life juices that had drained away for so long until she'd started to heal.
Her work had saved her. At Solutions, she delved into other people's problems. It was easier than dealing with her own issues. She could hand over a well-tuned plan to a customer for developing a new company policy or rejuvenating a sluggish business and feel good about what she'd accomplished. She'd started to feel at least halfway alive again—until she heard Mandy's cry in her head.
After Benjamin finished his dinner and Joanne maneuvered her food to appear as if she'd eaten, he suggested they leave. They spoke little on the ride home, and when they pulled into her driveway, Joanne didn't want to part company.
"This is the best I've felt in a couple of weeks. Come in for coffee?"
He sat without moving, then turned off the ignition. "Sure.
Why not?"
Benjamin followed her inside to the kitchen and slipped his jacket over the back of a chair. "So tell me what else is going on in your life. No dating…so what keeps you busy besides work?"
The question surprised her, and she edged around to face him, holding the canister of coffee. "Not much, but I'm doing okay. Really." She returned to her task and spooned grounds into the basket, poured in the water and hit the brewing button. When she turned back, he stood behind her, so close she stopped breathing.
"You can't fool me," he said, resting his hands on her shoulders.
"I—I…" She didn't want to talk about all the old feelings, and she tried to sum it up in a few words. "It's hard being a widow, that's all."
"I'm sure it is. Life changed for you."
His searching gaze made her uncomfortable.