A Bride In Waiting. Sally Carleen
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survived. The First National Bank of Briar Creek, Texas. That’s why I came here. It’s the only clue I have.”
Lucas flinched at the mention of the bank where his father had worked, the bank that had sent his father to prison, but Sara’s expression was guileless.
“That bank was bought out several years ago,” he said, watching her closely for any reaction.
“I know. I tried to call them. I found out some big banking company from Dallas took them over, and they wouldn’t tell me anything. So I had to come here. It’s a small town. Surely someone here knew my mother. My adoptive mother. Maybe somebody will even know who my real mother is.”
“What about your father? The one who raised you, I mean. Your mother’s husband. You haven’t mentioned him. Where is he? What does he think about all this?”
She held the music box up to the sunshine coming through the windows and watched the play of rainbow colors as the light refracted through the crystal onto the mirrored surface. “I don’t have a father,” she said, the words matter-of-fact, detached, though he suspected the feelings associated with her statement weren’t nearly so unemotional. “My mother never married. She always told me he deserted us when he found out she was pregnant with me. But, of course, that part wasn’t true.”
He rose slowly and crossed the room to her. Cupping her face in his hands, he forced her to look at him. “Sara, you’re a beautiful young woman with your life ahead of you. Forget the past. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is what you do from now on.”
“What would you do if you didn’t know who your parents were, what they looked like, what kind of lives they’d led, whether you had brothers and sisters, if your father was a rocket scientist or in prison?”
Lucas dropped his hands. “What if you do find out he’s in prison?”
She winced at the harshness in his voice, turned away and busied herself with repositioning the music box on the shelf.
“Maybe you’re better off not knowing,” he said softly. “Having a family isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be.”
“Neither is ignorance,” she said firmly.
Lucas smiled. “Touché. Okay, Sara Martin from Deauxville, Missouri. I’ll give you credit for another likeness to Analise. You’re both stubborn. So, what can I do to help? That was our agreement. You help me, and I’ll help you.”
He looked into her eyes which were the color of the magnolia leaves outside the window. That was strange. They were the same shade of green as Analise’s, but he’d never thought of Analise’s eyes as being like the magnolia leaves. Maybe it was because the scent of magnolias seemed to surround Sara, soft and sweet with an underlying, tangy hint of lemon. Her skin reminded him of magnolia flowers—creamy and velvety and fragile.
Helping Sara, spending any more time around her, might not be such a good idea. He enjoyed it entirely too much for an engaged man.
“Thanks, but other than introducing me to Analise when she returns, I can manage on my own.”
Good. That let him off the hook.
“Absolutely not,” he heard someone say. “A deal’s a deal.” He had to be the one who’d said it. He was the only person in the room with his lips moving.
What the heck. He might as well deal with and get over this strange fascination he had for Sara. If by some fluke she did prove to be a distant relative of Analise, he could be seeing her every Christmas, Thanksgiving and birthday. Drooling over the in-law would most certainly not come under the heading of proper etiquette.
“You can do one thing for me,” she said firmly. “Tell me where Analise gets her hair cut.”
“What...? Why do you want to know that?”
“So I can get my hair cut like hers and see how much I really look like her.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Why not?”
Good question. Because he was enthralled with the luxurious length of her hair? Because he liked her just the way she was?
“Because it’s Saturday, and you’ll never be able to get an appointment. They’re always booked solid on Saturdays.”
She frowned, picked up the picture of Analise and looked at it again. “Then I’ll cut it myself.”
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