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Had Hannah always exhibited such effervescence or had this particular quality suddenly appeared after Katie’s heart had been gently placed in Hannah’s chest? He needed to know this…and so much more. Time, he reminded himself. Time would answer all his questions.
“So, exactly what sort of work do you do?” he asked Erica after he and Hannah had exhausted the gardening topic.
“Bookkeeping here at home. I work for a couple of doctors and a dentist. I take care of their accounts receivable and issue monthly statements for them.”
“Sounds like the best of both worlds,” Caleb said. “You have a nice business, but get to do it here from your home and care take for your daughter.”
She nodded. “Child care is so expensive, I wanted something that would keep me home full-time. I also edit a couple of newsletters.”
“Really? What kind of newsletters?” He leaned forward, surprised to discover himself drawn to this woman, who radiated a cool composure and an aura of intense reserve.
She looked quite pretty despite her tousled hair and face devoid of makeup. She wasn’t the type of striking beauty who would make men turn and stare, but she had a quiet loveliness that was very attractive.
“Different kinds,” she hedged, as if unwilling to talk about herself or her work.
“Ah, that clarifies it,” he said with a smile.
She blushed, the pink of her cheeks appearing to deepen the blue hue of her eyes. “There’s one for mothers who work at home, another for men who drive classic cars…it’s freelance work that earns me a little extra money.”
“Sounds fascinating,” he replied, and meant it. She was obviously a resourceful woman who was trying to make the best of her situation.
“Mr. Man?” Hannah slid off her chair and sidled up next to him. “Are you gonna build a tree house in that tree?”
“I was just thinking about that this morning,” he replied. Hannah gazed at him eagerly, her big brown eyes filled with hope. “And I think that tree would look mighty magnificent holding a special house, complete with windows.”
“And pink curtains?” Hannah asked, breathless with the kind of excitement only a child could maintain.
“Hannah,” Erica said in protest.
“And pink curtains,” he agreed, laughing as she suddenly threw her arms around his neck.
The unexpected gesture surprised him and the warmth of the hug, coupled with the sweet smell of childhood, overwhelmed him.
A shaft of pain, a breathless ache of loss engulfed him, inundating him with wave after wave of immutable sadness.
“Hannah, run along and let Mr. McMann finish his coffee,” Erica instructed her daughter.
Hannah let go of Caleb and Caleb shot up from his chair, needing to flee, to escape and be by himself. “I’d better let you get to work,” he said, almost panicked with the need to remove himself before he broke down.
In three long strides he was at the back door. “I’ll see you both later,” he said.
“Wait…your donuts…” Erica called after him, her face registering her surprise at his abrupt departure.
“Keep them,” he replied, then with a quick wave he walked out of the house.
As he hurried toward his place, even the unusually warm morning sun couldn’t banish the utter bleak coldness that clutched his heart…a coldness that was as familiar as his own face in the mirror.
He felt the icy fingers of despair, the chill wind of anguish, the frigid indictment of guilt. From the moment his aunt Fanny had sent that damned doll, he’d been thrown into an arctic landscape that offered no relief.
“A big mistake.” That’s what his sister had told him when he’d told her of his intention to find the child who had received Katie’s heart.
Once his decision had been made, it had been remarkably easy to find the information he needed. Although there were strict codes of confidentiality concerning transplant donors and recipients, Caleb remembered overhearing a nurse in the hospital telling somebody that Katie’s heart was being sent to St. Louis.
An afternoon in the library reading St. Louis newspapers for the appropriate date had given Caleb his answers. On the day Katie had died, one Hannah Marie Clemmons in St. Louis had received a heart transplant. The article was a human-interest piece, indicating that a fund had been started for the little girl to help defray her medical bills.
At first, Caleb had hired a private investigator, hoping that the information the investigation yielded would be enough to satisfy his curiosity about the little girl.
The investigator had told him she lived alone with her mother and that they were struggling financially, but he’d been unable to garner the kind of information Caleb really needed. So Caleb had decided to come to St. Louis.
Now he was unsure if he’d made the right choice in coming here, in contacting them. He’d had no second doubts when he’d contacted a real-estate agent, no reservations when he’d bought the house next door to theirs. But Hannah’s hug, so achingly sweet, had evoked doubts about everything.
His sister had told him over and over again to get on with his life, that his need to find Hannah was unhealthy. “Move on, Caleb,” Sarah had told him. “Keep your memories close to your heart, but allow yourself to move past them.”
Everyone had advice for the grieving father, but nobody understood the force that had driven him to be here now. Even he didn’t understand it. All he knew was that he had a driving need to know Hannah, to discover what, if anything, the heart retained.
Poets wrote sonnets about hearts; every emotion ever felt was expressed through the heart. How certain could scientists be that some essence of a person, even after his or her death, didn’t remain and continue to live as long as the heart was alive?
If anyone could read these kinds of thoughts in his mind, he’d be whisked away to the nearest psychiatric facility, he mused ruefully.
He vaulted the chain-link fence, then sank down beneath the tree he planned to build a tree house.
Someplace in his head, he’d known that meeting Hannah would be an incredible mix of pleasure and pain. What he hadn’t anticipated was the attractiveness of Hannah’s mother.
A bit prickly, yes. Skittish, indeed, and yet he found himself drawn to her. He sensed sadness in her…a sadness that had its roots in something other than her daughter’s health…. a sadness that somehow called to the same emotion inside him.
What had happened to Hannah’s father? Was Erica Clemmons a divorced woman or a widow? As the single parent of a terminally ill child, she must have gone through hell in the past several years.
He stood and walked around to the front of his house. The work crew should be arriving at any moment, ready to start the renovations that were too big for Caleb to tackle on his own.
And while the workmen did what needed to be done, Caleb would build a tree house.
He frowned as he thought of the little house he’d just left. Apparently the landlord was none too eager to provide the repairs it so desperately needed. Caleb knew without question that Erica Clemmons would eschew any help he might personally offer, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t arrange something with Mr. Stanley Brown to get the work done.
For Hannah, he told himself, although in truth he knew he would be doing it for Katie. And for the woman with the lovely blue eyes who seemed to be working so hard to provide for herself and her daughter.
As a pickup and a panel truck pulled up to the curb in front of his house, Caleb went out to meet the workers, his mind already racing with plans for the very special tree house he’d build for a very special little girl.
“No, Keith, I don’t think it’s a good idea. Maybe another time.” Erica twisted the phone cord around her thumb as she spoke to her brother.
“That’s what you always say,” Keith protested. “It would be good for Hannah to come over and spend some time with her cousins. We never get a chance to spend any time with her.”
“Her birthday is in a couple of weeks, and I’m planning a big party. Of course you and Amy and the kids are invited. We can all visit then,” Erica replied.
“Erica…” Keith sighed. “Never mind. Just let Amy know what time the party is and we’ll be there.”
Erica said goodbye to her brother, then hung up the phone with a frown. Every so often Keith or Amy called and invited Hannah over to play, or to spend the night, or to go to the movies with them, and each time Erica declined on behalf of her daughter.
Erica feared that Hannah wasn’t strong enough yet to spend time with Keith’s three rambunctious children. Accidents happened, illnesses were passed from one child to another. It was simply too big a risk for Hannah.
She moved to the kitchen window and looked out to the backyard.
Hannah was there, digging in the little patch of her garden. She’d come in earlier, eaten an apple, then carefully picked out the seeds and run back out to plant them. Stretched out on the ground next to Hannah, Peaches watched her mistress with interest.
The evening sun was still unusually warm. Although it was only the first of June, it had already become unseasonably hot.
Beyond where Hannah was digging in the garden, Erica could see the huge tree in Caleb McMann’s backyard. Yesterday Caleb had worked to build a platform in the perfect cradle of branches. Today a wall had been erected, much to Hannah’s delight and Erica’s consternation.
For the past two days, the air had been filled with the banging of hammers and the buzz of saws, both from inside the big house and outside where Caleb worked. She still couldn’t believe he was actually building a tree house for Hannah. It just didn’t make any sense.
She finished washing the last of their supper dishes, then stepped outside the back door. “Hey munchkin, how are you doing?”
“Okay,” Hannah replied, waving the child-size hoe in the air. “I’m getting all the weeds away so everything will grow big and strong.”
Erica nodded and eased down on the multicolored chaise longue. The evening warmth instantly produced a pleasant lethargy and she closed her eyes, able to hear the sweet music of Hannah’s voice as she talked to her growing vegetables.
Erica sighed, for the moment at peace with the world. With the approach of sunset, a tiny breeze had kicked up, alleviating the intense heat of the day.
Hannah’s voice became lulling white noise as sleep teased at the edges of Erica’s consciousness. It had been a long day and talking to her brother always unsettled her.
Her relationship with Keith had been strained for so long. Erica sighed and gave in to the healing warmth of the sun. She didn’t want to think about Keith now. She didn’t want to think about anything.
“Hey, neighbor.”
The familiar deep male voice jarred her out of her drowsy state. She kept her eyes firmly closed, tension instantly tightening relaxed muscles. Maybe if she pretended to be asleep, he’d go away.
“Mommy, look who came to visit.” With little fingers, Hannah pried open one of Erica’s eyelids. “See, Mr. Man is here.”
Caleb McMann, her own personal version of Mr. Rogers in the neighborhood, stood holding a tray with three tall glasses of what appeared to be pink lemonade.
However, Mr. Rogers would never appear shirtless, nor would he look as good as Caleb did at the moment. Caleb, with his expanse of tanned, muscled chest and a smattering of dark chest hair, banished all sleepiness, all pretense of relaxation.
This man is dangerous, a tiny voice whispered in the back of her head. He was temptation to all the things Erica had put behind her, all the emotions she’d sworn she’d never feel again. He was a man to be avoided at all costs, a man who could make her remember things better left forgotten.
What was he doing here? Why did he seem so intent on being friendly with her? What was he doing popping in and out of her house, fixing sinks, building tree houses, bearing donuts, then lemonade? What did he want from her?
She sat up, deciding it was definitely time to explain to Mr. Rogers in no uncertain terms that she wanted him out of her neighborhood.
Chapter 3
“Mr. McMann,” Erica began as she sat up in her chair. She was acutely conscious of the fact that her denim cutoffs were almost indecently short and her T-shirt was far too tight. She hadn’t exactly been expecting company.
“Please…make it Caleb.” He grinned boyishly as he set the tray of refreshments on the nearby picnic table, then carried one of the glasses back to where she was seated. “It’s so warm this evening that lemonade seemed to be in order.”
Reluctantly Erica took the glass from him.
“I love lemonade,” Hannah said, reaching for the smallest of the glasses left on the tray.
Erica looked at her daughter in surprise. Hannah had never professed to loving lemonade before. It seemed Caleb McMann was a hit with at least one of the Clemmons ladies.
She frowned, watching as Caleb grabbed the last glass and sat down on the picnic bench. Hannah perched beside him and smiled up at him.
Erica had a feeling her daughter didn’t love lemonade as much as she was growing fond of Mr. Caleb McMann. Daddy eyes, that’s what Hannah had said about the man the first day she’d met him.
Daddy eyes, indeed! Erica needed to nip this in the bud somehow. The last thing she wanted was for her daughter to get any ideas about Caleb having any special place in their lives. She intended to protect her daughter from any hurt.
“People in this neighborhood don’t usually do much casual socializing,” Erica said, her voice cool and holding a slight note of censure.
Caleb shrugged and leaned over to scratch Peaches behind her ears. “I guess that makes me one of three odd ducks in town.” He grinned at Hannah and winked. “Quack,” he said.
Hannah giggled and Erica sighed, realizing her attempt to make a point had drifted away with the warm evening breeze.
“Where I come from, neighbors are neighborly,” he said. “That’s the way it should be in the world.”
“And where are you from Mr., uh, Caleb?” Erica asked.
“Originally, a little tiny town in Illinois. More recently, Chicago.”
“I can’t imagine Chicago being so very different from St. Louis,” she said dryly.
“True,” he agreed. “But both Chicago and St. Louis are very different from Shady Bluff, Illinois. In that little town folks knew how to be friendly.”
Erica had never heard of Shady Bluff, Illinois. “And what brings you to St. Louis?”
He paused a moment to take a sip of his drink. “Sort of a working vacation.”
The answer was vague and Erica eyed him curiously. “A working vacation?”
“Yeah, you know…you go on vacation but you accomplish a little work at the same time.” He smiled at her, but the smile did nothing to alleviate the whisper of distrust that swept through Erica. His answer hadn’t really been an answer at all.
Before she had a chance to ask him more questions, he turned and smiled at Hannah.
“So, little Miss Muffet who sat on a tuffet. How does your garden grow?”
Hannah giggled once again. “That’s not right. It’s Mary, Mary, quite contrary. And it grows just fine. Wanna see?”
“Sure,” he agreed. He set his drink down and stood as Hannah jumped up and eagerly danced toward her garden. He smiled at Erica. “I’ll be right back.”
“Don’t hurry on my account,” she muttered, watching as he walked with long strides behind Hannah.
It irritated her that he looked just as good going as he did coming. His broad, bare back gleamed a honeyed brown and muscles rippled beneath the bronzed skin. A wave of heat swept through her, heat that had nothing to do with the day’s temperature.
Despite her desire to the contrary, curiosity niggled at her. She wondered what exactly he did for a living, why he’d left Chicago for St. Louis. What exactly was “a working vacation”? Sounded like a sinful indulgence to her.
It was obvious from the work going on at his house that money didn’t seem to be a problem for him. During the several days since he’d moved in, she hadn’t seen him leave the house for any extended period of time. So, what kind of work did he do?
The questions fluttered through her mind. What had brought him to St. Louis? And more importantly, what had brought him to the house next door to theirs? He appeared to have lots of money yet no visible means of support. Again an edge of distrust sliced through her. Who was Caleb McMann and why did he seem to be going out of his way to spend time with her and Hannah?
She shoved the question from her mind.
