Judy Duarte - Triplets Found - The Virgin's Makeover / Take a Chance on Me / And Then There Were Three

Why didn’t the guy go after women his own age?

Not that Sullivan had staked any kind of claim on Lissa. Nor did he intend to. But there were plenty of guys in their thirties who would appreciate her, who were better suited.

Sullivan decided Anthony Martinelli was too old, too charming, too…too wrong for Lissa.

Much later, after the last guest had said goodbye at the door and Ken and Donna had disappeared upstairs, Lissa joined Sullivan near the fireplace. “So? What do you think?”

He thought that Gramps was making a play for her, but he knew that wasn’t what she meant. “Everything went exceptionally well. Word will spread about Virgin Mist. And when we have the official unveiling later this month, Valencia Vineyards should become a force to be reckoned with in the wine industry.”

A slow smile lit up her face, warming the emerald flecks in her eyes to a brilliant gleam. “Anthony said the same thing.”

So, Sullivan had been right. The old guy had charmed her.

Normally, Sullivan didn’t involve himself in his clients’ personal affairs, but he couldn’t help commenting this time. “Martinelli was making the moves on you all evening. And you’re young enough to be his daughter.”

She bristled.

Okay, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. But it was too late to backpedal now.

“Anthony was the epitome of grace and charm this evening,” she said. “But on the other hand, that buxom reporter kept thrusting her chest at you and making a scene.”

“I admit, Gretchen was pretty brazen. But I didn’t take her up on her offer.”

“She offered you sex?”

“Not with words.” Sullivan crossed his arms, unsure of how or why they’d gotten into this conversation. But for some reason, he couldn’t back off, couldn’t keep that old baggage from surfacing. “But, in case you didn’t notice, ol’ Dapper Dad had the same idea. He just had more class and style.”

Lissa blew out a heavy sigh. “You’re crazy.”

Maybe he was. But like a bulldog with his jaws locked on a meaty bone, Sullivan couldn’t seem to let it go, let it drop. “Are you interested in him?”

Her brow furrowed, as though his question offended her. But she seemed to recover. “I might be interested. Anthony is a nice man.”

“And he’s old enough to be your father.”

“So what?” She crossed her arms. A spark of anger brought a fire to her eyes. “Lots of women like older men.”

“That’s because they’re either after money or a father figure.”

“I’m not after anything.”

Sullivan realized he should have kept his opinions to himself and wished he’d never brought up the subject. “I’m sorry. This really is none of my business. And the conversation is way out of line.”

“You’re right.”

“Forgive me?” Sullivan asked, tossing her a playful grin meant to appease her.

She paused for a moment, as though giving it some thought. “Apology accepted,” she said. “It’s been a long and stressful night. Maybe we should start fresh in the morning.”

“Good idea.” Sullivan placed a hand on her shoulder, felt the tension ease. “I won’t say anything else about your choice of men.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you in the office at nine,” Sullivan said, before turning and heading out the door.

Lissa watched him go. The words they’d spoken still hung in the air.

Lots of women like older guys.

They’re either after money or a father figure.

Money had never been important to her. Not so important that she’d be attracted to a man’s financial portfolio. So there went the first of Sullivan’s theories.

And she had a wonderful father, a man who’d been good to her, even if he wasn’t her real father. And that took care of Sullivan’s other older man/younger woman theory.

Besides having a lot in common, she found Anthony attractive and his attention flattering.

Yet another explanation rose to the forefront.

Anthony was the first man who’d taken an interest in her, and that had to count for something.

No, the “father thing” had nothing to do with it.

Jared slowed his black Lexus at the fork in the road then followed the route he’d mapped to Valencia Vineyards. The damaged files from the Children’s Connection had raised a lot of questions, and he hoped this two-hour trek from Portland would provide some answers.

From the bits and pieces of charred paper the private investigator had painstakingly studied and put together, Jared learned that Olivia had given birth to a boy named Adam Bartlite. And apparently, Adam had grown up on a vineyard. At least, that’s the address his adoptive parents had given the clinic.

A search of county land records revealed that Ken and Donna Cartwright had owned the property for nearly forty years. For that reason, Jared suspected that Adam’s father was probably the caretaker or another employee who was provided with family lodging on the property.

After proceeding a mile down the road, a big Ponderosa-style sign told Jared he’d found the place. He turned in and followed a long, winding drive past rows upon rows of grapevines growing on the rolling hillsides.

He assumed Adam had grown up on the vineyard, although there was a good chance the young man no longer lived here. His parents could have retired or moved on. Or he might have gone off to college and settled into a career near his alma mater, as Jared had done. But surely someone at the vineyard would remember the Bartlites, even if the family had moved away.

Jared wasn’t sure how his firstborn would take the surprise appearance of his biological father, but they’d have to deal with that when the time came. The first step was locating the boy—or rather the man.

As he pulled up to the house, a large, wood-and-glass structure with an A-framed entry, Jared parked and climbed from the car. His pulse raced with anticipation as he approached the front door.

At seventeen, Jared hadn’t been ready to take on the responsibility of being a father, nor had he wanted to marry a teenage girl he barely knew. But now that he’d matured and had a family of his own, he felt as though he’d let the kid down, even if Adam had been raised in a happy home.

Jared would like to make amends—somehow. Not that he had any legal responsibility; but morally, he did.

He knocked on the door. When no one answered right away, he rang the bell.

When was the last time he’d felt so nervous? He couldn’t remember.

A petite older woman with strawberry-blond hair answered the door.

“Mrs. Cartwright?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I’m Jared Cambry. And I’m looking for Adam Bartlite.”

She furrowed her brow. “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name.”

A dead end?

Sam Hastings, the private investigator, had photocopied the charred scraps of paper, all that remained of a file on Olivia Maddison. Had this address been part of another adoption case? He supposed it was possible.

“There was a fire at the Children’s Connection clinic that destroyed many of their records, so my information is sketchy at best. But this is the address that was in the file.” Jared tugged at the knot in his tie.

The woman straightened and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We adopted our daughter from the Children’s Connection. But we don’t know anyone by the name of Bartlite.”

Maybe Adam and his parents had only lived here a short while and she’d forgotten.

“My son would be twenty-seven years old,” Jared said, trying to jar the woman’s memory, hoping he hadn’t hit an insurmountable wall.

“Our Lissa is twenty-seven.”