Deanna Talcott - Marrying For A Mom

How had Jill done it? She’d managed to get Amanda to school on time, and he never remembered her scrambling to find a matching pair of shoes or digging through the couch cushions for lunch money.

This was the worst it had been. The worst.

He couldn’t ask his mom to fill in again. This was their busiest time of year at the marina, and his dad was already making noises about clearing cars off the lot to make room for the new ones that would be coming out.

Talk about being between the devil and the deep blue. His folks had already made it clear that he should give it up, that Amanda was too much responsibility for him right now. On top of everything else, he couldn’t bear to hear their “I told you so’s.” He supposed they were thinking of his best interests, but then, when it came to family, they’d always thought with their heads and not their hearts.

Jill’s family had never been pleased they had taken in a foster child. They thought she should have her own children—and pointedly emphasized Amanda was “not really theirs.” After Jill passed away, he’d heard from them only once.

What the hell was he going to do?

Deep inside, there were moments he could actually feel his heart ache. The empty feeling he had been carrying around for so long had become fatiguing, making his arms hurt and his head muzzy. He knew one thing: he yearned to laugh again. But if he lost his bid to keep Amanda….

“Dammit. Forget that. I’m not thinking like that. I’m not giving it up.” Dragging a hand over his face, Logan flopped forward, letting the chair slip into the upright position. Wedging both elbows on the desk, he absently fingered the cards in his Rolodex.

He’d already called everyone he knew, asking about babysitters. His secretary had given him the name of that place in Nashville that provided nannies, but warned this was the poorest possible time to pursue it; it could take weeks.

There was always Aunt June, the old maid schoolteacher on his dad’s side of the family. But Amanda said she smelled like camphor and breath mints, and Logan knew her mind was wandering a little. The last time they visited she’d put the roses in the freezer and displayed a frozen leg of lamb on the table, right between the gold filigree candelabras, as the centerpiece.

He tapped the cards in the Rolodex, as if he, like Houdini, could invoke an answer. Suddenly things became crystal clear to him.

Tomorrow morning he’d make arrangements for the cleaning service to come twice a week. He’d start taking everything to the cleaners. Then he’d call the school and get Amanda back in the after-school program. Until then, he’d just have to cut back his hours, that’s all. No big deal, he’d done it before.

But he had to get things in order, because he was running out of time. The caseworker from the adoption agency would probably drop in sometime next week. She liked to pop in unannounced, and catch him when everything was in shambles.

Well, this would be a victory for her side.

What a deal. What a raw deal.

If he could just come up with that teddy bear. He’d come to regard the silly thing as a kind of insurance, like an omen, or a talisman that beat back the nasties. But Whitney wasn’t optimistic, not about finding it as quickly as he’d hoped.

Whitney. Whitney Thompson Bloom. The name rolled through his mind, inexplicably soothing all the distress and disorder.

He’d been thinking a lot about her lately, and it bothered him because he didn’t know why. Probably because he was just so damn obsessed with getting that bear.

She’d changed…yet, it was like the person she’d always been on the inside was coming out. He’d known her as well as anyone in high school, but she’d never let people get too close.

If you looked at Whitney when she didn’t know you were watching, she carried the most vulnerable quality in her eyes. Like she’d been hurt. Deeply hurt. Like she was aching to trust, but she was scared at the same time, too.

He was beginning to understand that feeling.

Three days ago, in her shop, it occurred to him he could lose himself in her eyes. Without glasses, her irises were ginger-dark, and speckled with flecks of delft and daffodil. Striking, gorgeous eyes. But now, he severely reminded himself, with the juggling act he was doing, he couldn’t afford to even think about them, let alone be distracted by them.

Whitney flipped through the last manufacturer’s catalog, pausing to compare one of their featured bears to the open book on her counter. Then she checked it against the picture Logan had taken from his wallet and left with her. It wasn’t the same. Not even close.

She ran a fingernail along the dog-eared corners of the photo, wondering how many times Logan’s fingers had traced these same edges. She couldn’t get him out of her head. His wholesome, tanned appearance nagged at her—like he made khakis and a sport shirt a dress uniform. Eyes so blue, so insightful and clear, that it made her wonder if a few drops of the Atlantic tinted his gaze. The quizzical lift of his mouth that made him look so kissable.

This was awful. It was terrible.

Thinking so much about Logan made her edgy. It made her wish she was someone she wasn’t. It made her reconsider the past, and think about the differences that had kept them apart, and made him unattainable. His money, and her lack of it. His country club membership, and her job bagging groceries and pushing carts at the supermarket. His Camaro and her school bus pass.

How many times had she thought about what he’d said about the prom? Ten? Twenty? She’d stretched the truth on that one. She hadn’t gone to the prom because her mom promised to send money for the ticket but decided, on a whim, to fly to Bangkok instead. There was great airfare to Bangkok, her mom had written later—a once in a lifetime opportunity. Just like the prom. And Logan had come looking for a dance—just one—and she wasn’t even there.

She was thirty-two years old, for heaven’s sake. Why was she dwelling on this stuff? Pushing the aggravating memories from her head, Whitney severely reminded herself that she had a life outside the incidents that happened years ago. She was happy and content with all she’d achieved. She knew full well that once she found the bear, her connection to Logan would be severed. He’d go on with his life; she’d go on with hers.

Her only purpose, she told herself firmly, was to find that bear—and that was proving to be difficult. She’d browsed the Internet until four, and still hadn’t come up with any leads. The crazy thing was, the bear wasn’t even anything out of the ordinary.

Yet, to Amanda, she knew it was priceless and unique. If the child needed something to carry her into the next phase of her life, Whitney could guarantee a teddy bear would do it.

After all, Whitney knew firsthand about losing things. When her mom took off for the last time, the landlord cleaned out their apartment and put everything in the trash. Nothing had been salvaged, and her childhood had been snuffed out in a Dumpster. Whitney had had nightmares for months afterward, knowing her beloved stuffed animals, her dolls, her drawings and books, had been thrown away. Gram had understood her pain, and gone without her arthritis medicine for a whole month so she could buy Whitney a special teddy bear to cuddle and love. That was one of the reasons she’d started this store, kind of like a living memorial to her gram.

Reaching for the phone, Whitney punched in the number, suddenly and inexplicably annoyed with this elusive teddy bear. She’d find this thing, one way or another.

“Monroe Realty,” the receptionist intoned.

“Logan Monroe, please.”

The receptionist hesitated before issuing her automatic response. “Mr. Monroe is in a meeting right now, may I take a message?”