Marion Lennox - Adopt-a-Dad

“Ha!” Michael shook his head. “He’ll have to be deported.”

“What?” Delia cried.

“If you really loved him, you’d notice,” Michael said solemnly. “I watched Jen drink chocolate milk every day for six months. I loved her then and I love her now.” He smiled and took both her hands. “I love the way that curl just twists a little bit across her forehead and bounces. And the fact that she sleeps with her hand curled under her cheek like a child. And she sneezes three times every morning.”

“And he eats his cereal straight from the box when he thinks I’m not watching,” Jenny said with loving severity.

“I do not!”

“You do, too. I caught you,” she said triumphantly. “Just because Socks cleaned up the dropped evidence, you figured I’d never know.”

“And yet you love me!” There was real wonder in his voice.

The laughter died.

“And yet I love you,” she whispered. “Of course I do. Oh, Michael, my love, how could I not?”

“Harrumph,” said Delia, and her partner cleared his throat.

They didn’t notice.

“I love you, too,” Michael murmured into her hair. He’d pulled her close to him, against his heart, right where he intended to hold her for all time. “Jenny, my love, I love you now and I love you forever and forever and forever.”

“I think we might go.” Delia managed to interrupt, and there was a glimmer of a tear in her authoritarian eyes. “I think we have enough to satisfy our needs.”

“If you’ll excuse us,” her partner muttered apologetically.

But there was no need for any excuse. They left, and Michael and Jenny and Gary and Socks didn’t even notice their departure.

T HE M AITLAND NEWSLETTERlay open on the hospice coverlet. Stunned, LeeAnn Larrimore let it fall as she turned to gaze out the window at the city of Austin.

Somewhere out there were her children. Her loved ones. Garrett and Lana and Michael and Shelby.

Would they ever come to see her? Did they want to make contact?

She couldn’t presume. She’d never interfere in their lives, she told herself bleakly. She’d forfeited that right all those years ago. But on the page she’d been reading was a small black and white photograph that made her heart turn over.

The picture was of a man and a woman. The woman was holding a child, newly born. She was looking serene, her face radiating happiness. And the man… The pride and the love in the man’s eyes were there for all to see. Michael Lord, head of security at Maitland Maternity, and his wife, Jenny, proudly announce the birth of their son, Gary Richard Lord.

Gary!

Did they know? What weird stroke of fate had made them choose Gary as their son’s name?

“Gary,” LeeAnn whispered, and the echo of a long-lost love filtered into the room, bringing with it the first vestige of comfort she’d had for a very long time. “My Gary.”

It mustn’t be coincidence. They must know-and in spite of everything, they’d forgiven her.

“Please.”

She lay back on her pillows and felt the first faint stirrings of strength. Maybe she could live a little longer. Maybe she could wait.

Because her children were coming.

Please…

Marion Lennoxwas born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on-mostly because the cows weren’t interested in her stories! Marion has written almost fifty novels for Harlequin, some published under the name Trisha David.

In her nonwriting life, Marion cares (haphazardly) for her husband, teenagers, dogs, cats, chickens and anyone else who lines up at her dinner table. She fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). She also travels, which she finds seriously addictive.

As a teenager Marion was told she’d never get anywhere reading romance. Now romance is the basis of her stories and her stories allow her to travel-so if ever there was an advertisement for following your dream, she’d be it!