C.J. Carmichael - Leaving Enchantment

“Of course.” She seemed insulted that Lydia might have entertained any doubt. “I’d be pleased to do it.”

“I don’t want you doing all the work. Just the organizing. All the staff will pitch in, including me.” This would force Kim to interact with her co-workers. Hopefully, over time, some of them would begin to appreciate the young woman’s more appealing characteristics—as Lydia did. “This project should be a team effort.”

“Oh, don’t worry about giving me too much to do. I love to be busy. And I’m a very efficient time manager.”

Yes. Maybe too efficient.

“I promise you, this will be the birth center’s most successful fund-raising event, ever,” Kim continued.

Mindful of her upcoming appointment, Lydia stood. “Let’s talk more about this later.” On her way out the door, Lydia glanced back at the accountant. Already her head was bent over her papers.

Lydia hoped she hadn’t made a terrible mistake. If Kim took on this project without allowing anyone to help, she’d just isolate herself further. Still, even if handing Kim responsibility for the fund-raiser had been a mistake, it wouldn’t be the worst one Lydia had ever made.

NOLAN STARED AT THE LAWYER, certain the woman had read incorrectly.

“Executor of the will, I can understand. But Mary and Steve wouldn’t have named me guardian of their daughter. That would be Steve’s mom, Irene Davidson.”

Only fifty-five, Irene was healthy and active. Judging from her home and the car she drove, she had plenty of money, too. Nolan knew she didn’t have to work.

Irene had what was needed to raise her granddaughter—time and financial resources. Two things that were lacking in Nolan’s life right now.

He’d stretched his credit to the max when he’d bought the Bulletin from Charley Graziano several years ago. Between that mortgage and the one for his condo, he had precious little spare cash.

And even less time. Running a newspaper was rewarding but very time-consuming. Then there were all his volunteer commitments.

Yeah, money and time were huge concerns. But the biggest problem of all was this: he and Sammy didn’t even know each other.

“When was that will drawn up?”

The lawyer stated a date about six months after Nolan and Mary’s mother’s funeral. Which made the whole setup even less logical.

He and Mary had said some pretty unforgivable things to each other the day they’d laid their mother to rest. Why would she have turned around, only months later, and done something like this?

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“There’s no mistake, Nolan. You are Sammy’s legal guardian. She’s still staying with the Saramagos. I suggest you pick her up and get her settled before the funeral.”

HALF AN HOUR LATER, Nolan was still in shock as he stopped his Explorer in front of the Saramagos’ pale pink adobe house. He thought back two days, to the night of Mary’s death and Steve’s accident. After leaving the hospital he’d driven straight to Irene’s. He’d woken her from a deep sleep, sat her on her floral-patterned living room sofa and told her about Mary, the baby, Steve.

She’d reacted with total silence.

He’d repeated the story, adding details this time, getting up to pace, then collapsing into a chair. He’d rubbed the stubble on his face, watching Irene’s face turn blanker and blanker.

“I’ll make coffee.” He’d been in the kitchen, searching for a filter cone, when she’d started to scream.

That had woken Sammy, asleep in the spare room. As he’d assumed, Mary and Steve had dropped her off on their way to The Birth Center.

The little girl had wandered into the kitchen wearing something soft and pink. “Has Mommy had my baby sister yet?” she asked him.

Irene wasn’t screaming anymore, but sobbing loudly. Nolan had been stunned by Sammy’s question.

Explaining to Sammy what had happened was even harder than telling Irene. The little girl didn’t seem to believe him at first. He’d returned to the living room to try to deal with Irene. Unable to calm her down, he’d phoned her doctor.

Teresa Saramago’s number had been listed by the phone as one of Irene’s emergency contacts, and he’d called her, too. Apparently she had a daughter the same age as Sammy and did some occasional baby-sitting. She agreed to take in the child while he drove Irene to the hospital.

Hard to believe that had happened just two nights ago. Nolan turned off the ignition and sat for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

There was a little girl inside that house for whom he was about to become solely responsible. Nolan wasn’t married, or engaged, he didn’t even have a steady girlfriend. Thirty might be a little old to be living a footloose kind of lifestyle, but it suited him and the demands of his profession.

He wanted to restart his vehicle and drive the hell out of there. Instead, he got out slowly, his reporter’s eye ticking off details as he approached the home. A tricycle tipped over near the front step. A red plastic pail tucked into the shrubbery under the front window. Kids lived here, all right. Including, for the moment, his niece.

If only he could leave her here. It was a cowardly thought, but expressed his feelings on the matter exactly.

Nolan stopped in front of the freshly stained wooden door of the well-maintained home. A good mother lived here. She had kids of her own. She’d probably make a perfect surrogate parent for Sammy.

If only he had Steve’s mother for support. But Irene had been checked into the hospital and prescribed sedatives. She was still there now. Her friend and neighbor, Mabel Judson, was planning to pick her up tomorrow and keep her at her house until after the funerals. “For as long as she needs,” Mabel had said when they’d talked on the phone this morning.

It seemed that as well as inheriting a kid, he was getting his sister’s mother-in-law, too. A package deal he could have happily lived without.

Nolan let his knuckles fall against the door. Right away it opened. Teresa Saramago was visibly pregnant, carrying a toddler in her arms. She seemed tired and relieved to see him.

Two little girls stood behind the woman in the hall. One of them had Steve’s big eyes, Mary’s curly hair.

“Thanks for looking after Sammy,” Nolan began.

“We were glad to help,” the mother of two, soon to be three, replied. “I wish we could keep her longer, but I’m due myself in a few weeks.”

He nodded. “I understand.” He wondered if the woman had any idea how panicked he felt right now. How totally unprepared he was for this much responsibility. He felt awkward, standing in the hall, with the mother and two little girls watching him expectantly. What was he supposed to do? Tentatively he held out his hand to his niece.

Sammy started to cry.

“Sammy, you have to go with your uncle now,” the woman prompted gently. “You can visit again, soon.”

Sammy kept crying and Nolan cringed. This was impossible. Sammy wanted to stay here. He wanted Sammy to stay here.

The woman frowned slightly. She set down her toddler, in order to give Sammy a hug, then shot him a look charged with expectation.

He scooped Sammy into his arms, and she stiffened, turning her face away from his. Adjusting his grip awkwardly, he gave another quick thanks to Teresa, then hustled back to his car. As he bent to put his niece in the front passenger seat, the woman shouted from her doorway.

“She’s too little to sit in the front—because of the airbags. Put her in the back.”

Hell. He should’ve known that. He’d read articles about airbag injuries to children under the age of twelve. So he settled Sammy in the center of the back seat, making sure to tighten the lap belt securely.