“Yes, we’re working on our genealogy,” Mitch interrupted. “I appreciate your help. After we find my sister’s records, I’d hate to be searching all over the building for Grandma Tucker’s birth certificate.”
The graying librarian laughed. “That’s why we’re here. Let me know if you need anything else,” she added, before moving away.
“Why did you cut me off?” Laura demanded in a quiet voice.
“Because telling people you’re searching for your birth parents closes more doors than it opens. It’s safer to stick to the story that you’re researching family roots.”
Slightly deflated, Laura studied his face. “You mean people won’t want to help if they know the truth?”
“This isn’t a black-and-white issue, Laura. A lot of people believe that digging up the truth only opens buried pain and problems. They feel the birth parents have a right to their privacy.” He held up one hand, anticipating her protest. “Some are even sympathetic to the reasons for a search like yours, yet at the same time are hesitant to cross certain lines. And most of them have heard stories similar to yours that have turned out to be ruses, so they’re cynical. While some legislators advocate opening all the records, some are equally insistent they remain sealed.”
“But the librarian—”
“May or may not be influenced by the debate. Why send up an unnecessary flag, though? In investigative work, it’s always best to be low-key.”
“No shoot-outs unless absolutely necessary?” she questioned dryly.
“Right, Watson.”
She smiled. “As in your trusted assistant?”
He pointed in the direction of an oversize cabinet. “There’s March 1970. When you’re finished, we’ll talk.”
Laura felt her smile draining away. “You want me to dig through the entire cabinet?”
“You said you wanted to help.”
“I do, but—”
“Then start digging.”
MANY HOURS LATER, Mitch glanced at the interior of Laura’s home. It was a modest, middle-income home. And much like her it didn’t reveal a lot. It could be anyone’s home, in Anywhere, America. It was light and airy, but with no individuality. It was so lacking in the personal bits and pieces that revealed the owner’s personality that the living room could be one in a model house.
He had expected her to be tired of his company after a day spent digging through records and tracing old addresses. But she had insisted on bringing him to meet Alex.
An older woman appeared in the doorway. “Hello, Mr. Tucker. I’m Leona Plummer. I care for the baby.”
He rose, extending his hand. “Ma’am.”
She accepted his handshake, a faint light of approval entering her stern expression. “Mrs. Kelly would like you to come to the nursery to meet young Alex.”
He followed, wondering at the austere woman. She seemed an unlikely choice for a baby-sitter. But then, nothing about Laura Kelly had met his expectations.
Entering the nursery, Mitch was struck by the burst of colors. Beautifully hand-painted murals covered the walls. A herd of cuddly stuffed animals populated the room, along with colorful blocks and an impressive collection of children’s books. Unlike the bland living room, the nursery screamed with character.
Laura turned with the baby in her arms. Mitch had steeled himself for a sick child, expecting to see the ravages of disease.
He hadn’t expected bright blue eyes, ones that matched his mother’s. Or chubby arms and legs that waved in obvious delight.
Alex squealed just then. “’Lo!”
“That means hello,” Laura explained, smoothing the soft hair from the baby’s face, dropping a kiss on his forehead.
Surprised yet mesmerized by the transformation in Laura, Mitch stepped farther into the room.
“Hello, little guy,” Mitch greeted him awkwardly. Then he directed his attention to Laura. “He’s looking good.”
She studied Mitch, then responded matter-offactly. “You can’t see his illness yet.” Again Laura smoothed back the baby’s hair. “In time you will—if he doesn’t get the bone marrow transplant, but for now he looks like any other healthy baby.”
“Hey, that’s good, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so. But sometimes it’s hard to convince people how desperate the situation is. They see a healthy toddler and think I’m ringing premature alarms.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” Mitch replied quietly.
Laura met his eyes. “That’s not why I brought you here. I just thought it might make the search more personal. More important.”
“It was already important.” Mitch took the baby’s hand, smiling when Alex curled plump fingers around his. “But I don’t mind meeting the client behind the client.”
Laura finally smiled again, then glanced down at her son. “You haven’t been a client before, have you, punkin?”
Alex squealed in answer when Laura nuzzled his cheek.
“This room is great,” Mitch commented, still struck by the artwork. Characters from fables and ancient nursery tales coexisted with fantasy characters surely drawn from a very fertile imagination.
“Thanks, I had fun doing it.”
Mitch pulled his gaze from the brilliant walls. “You painted this?”
“I wanted it to be special for him.”
“It’s that and more.” Struck again by the variance between the nondescript living room and this dazzling nursery, Mitch whistled. “You must enjoy decorating.”
“I used to.”
“But this—”
Her laugh was a self-deprecatory sound. “This is the only room in the house I’ve decorated.”
That explained it.
“When Kevin and I divorced, I left our house and everything in it.”
“That’s a rather unusual move, isn’t it?”
“For the woman you mean?” Laura concluded accurately. “It’s true. Usually men are the ones most willing to leave everything behind, to step away from any reminders of their past. But I didn’t want anything from what we’d shared.” Her grip tightened on Alex. “Except this one, of course.”
Mitch grinned. “It’s clear you got the best part of the deal.”
Surprise and something else he couldn’t quite decipher entered her softening eyes. “Absolutely.”
Alex squirmed just then, craning his head in Mitch’s direction. It almost looked like the kid was reaching toward him.
“Seems he wants you,” Laura said in surprise.
“I don’t—”
But before he could protest, Laura was handing him the toddler. Warmth, the fresh aroma of talc and softness assailed him. Awkwardly, Mitch held the baby, not certain what to do with him. His experience with children was a total zero. He turned Alex toward him, positioning him so that he could hand the child back to his mother. Just then Alex smiled. Not one of those vacant, meaningless smiles. Their eyes connected, Alex’s toothy grin one of delight.
And something warm crawled through Mitch’s insides. Something that scared the life out of him.
CHAPTER FOUR