Her Dream Come True. Donna Clayton
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can’t sell the house,” he said
Ah, she thought, so that was what had upset him.
“What about Tammy? What’s going to—”
His mention of her sister sparked the flame of Hannah’s excitement—an excitement she couldn’t quell. “You know my sister? You know where she is?”
“Your sister?”
“You know where I can find Tammy?”
“You’re Hannah? Hannah Cavanaugh?”
“Can you tell me where she’s living?”
“You’re Bobby Ray’s oldest girl?”
Neither one of them was really listening to the other, so focused were they on working out the confused facts of the situation.
“Wait!” Hannah finally cried, lifting her hand, palm out, toward him. “Stop.”
It quickly became clear to her that she wasn’t going to get any useful information out of this man if she wasn’t willing to make him understand who she was and why she was here.
She heaved a sigh, her overwhelming curiosity about Tammy would have to wait. At least for a few moments.
“Yes,” she told him. “I’m Hannah Cavanaugh. Bobby Ray was my father. I’ve come from New York to pack up his personal belongings. I’m going to sell the furniture and the house and put the money away to ensure Tammy’s living arrangements.”
“You can’t do that—” The thought was cut off as another, evidently more significant, began rolling off his tongue. “What do you mean you’re going to ‘ensure Tammy’s living arrangements’? Why does she have to move at all?”
“Oh, I hadn’t planned to move her,” Hannah assured him. “She can stay right were she is. I don’t want to do anything that will upset her.”
“Well, you’re going to upset her—” his voice tightened with anger as he added “—and you’re sure as hell going to have to move her if you sell the house.”
Hannah felt blindsided by the surprising revelation. “She’s living here?”
The handy man gave a curt nod.
“B-but,” she stammered, “I was under the assumption that she...I was told to look for her...” She gazed off at the tree line, trying to regain her composure. After a moment she looked back at Adam Roth. “Tammy lived with my father?”
“For all the years I’ve known them.”
She shouldn’t feel jealous. She shouldn’t. She’d had a perfectly fine childhood. She’d been raised by a responsible parent. One who had wanted her. She was physically and mentally healthy, and for that alone Hannah knew she was far more blessed than her sister.
However, discovering that her father hadn’t put Tammy in an institution, as Hannah had been told, finding out that he’d allowed his youngest daughter to live at home when he hadn’t allowed his oldest to do the same was more than just disturbing for Hannah. It was earth-shattering.
Why? How could a father choose one daughter over another?
Unshed tears scalded the backs of her eyelids. She would not cry. Not in front of this stranger. Inhaling a deep, soul-steeling breath, Hannah shoved aside the cyclone of chaotic emotions that swirled around her.
“Who’s been staying with Tammy since Bobby Ray died?” Her voice sounded tiny and unsure, even to her own ears, and she hated the weakness she heard in it.
“No one.”
His answer shocked the life back into her. “How can that be? My sister is...special. She’s—” Hannah paused and then forced herself to be more explicit. “She’s retarded.”
Disapproval turned his eyes slate-gray. “I think the politically correct term in these enlightened times is mentally challenged.”
Hannah’s face flamed hot. “Well, whatever the term, Tammy shouldn’t be staying here on her own. She can’t possibly be capable of taking care of herself.”
“Tammy’s got plenty of friends,” he said. “People around here watch out for her.” He cocked his head to one side. “I think you should give yourself some time to get to know your sister before you start making decisions that will impact the rest of her life.”
Hannah’s spine straightened. When she wanted advice from Mr. Adam Roth, she’d ask for it.
“Time,” she said, stiffly, “isn’t something I have a whole lot of. I have to get back to New York as soon as possible. I’m up for promotion. I’m a nurse, and I could very well become the youngest ward nurse in the hospital.” An odd awkwardness crept over her for having revealed so much about herself—about her hopes and dreams—to this stranger. But he needed to know. Tipping up her chin, she boldly continued. “This might not sound like a big deal to you. But it is to me. A very big deal. I’m only telling you this to make you understand why time is of the essence. I have a lot to do and very little ti—”
“Well, you sure had plenty of time just a moment ago to eye me up like I was a prime hunk of rump roast and you were chef of the day.”
She gasped, her eyes widening. “I did no such
“Ms. Cavanaugh, if you don’t mind my asking,” he cut in again, “where’s Tammy’s mother? Shouldn’t she be the one making the decisions about the estate? She’s the person to whom we wrote the letters.”
A deep frown bit into her brow. She’d been momentarily mortified by his flippant “rump roast” remark. but what he was insinuating melted away all the embarrassment and confused her to no end. “Letters? As in, more than one?”
“Three to be exact,” he told her. “One every eight to ten days since Bobby Ray died. Hank Tillis and I thought—”
“Tillis.” Hannah whispered the name, mulling over the familiar sound of it in her mind. “You mean the lawyer, Henry Tillis?”
“That’s the one. He goes by Hank to his friends.”
“My mother showed me a letter from him dated this past Monday.”
“That must have been letter number three.” Again, disapproval turned his gaze stormy.
Her mother had received three letters before she’d acted? Hannah couldn’t believe it. But then again, maybe she could.
“You see,” she began, “my mother is a very busy woman. She’s a publicity agent. In New York City. Her clients need her. They depend on her. And they keep her busy. Her work makes it very hard for her to leave town....”
In that instant, Hannah was whisked back into her childhood where she relived a hundred awkward moments when she was forced to explain her mother’s absence to teachers, choir directors, Brownie troop leaders, even to the parents of her friends who never seemed to miss a performance night or a fashion show or the innumerable other events a child is involved in.
You are thirty years old, Hannah, she firmly told herself. Stop feeling obliged to make excuses. Heaven knows you don’t owe Adam Roth any.
“Look,” she said, keeping her tone measured yet firm, “I’m here to see to things. Tammy has me now. And I have a well-thought-out plan. Thank you for your concern, but my sister won’t be needing it any longer.” Her amiable smile bordered on superficial and she knew it. “That is, of course, if you’ve finished the repairs on the roof.”
He tossed her a withering look. “The leak is fixed.”
“Good.” She brightened even further, dismissing him by saying, “Now, you feel free to send me a bill for your work. But you’ll need to get it right to me, I don’t expect to be in Little Haven for long.”
His face was hawkishly handsome, she