Susan Mallery: Only Mine

They sat back at the table.

“I wish I could fix this,” Denise admitted. “I wish I’d done more when you first had these problems as a teenager. I feel so guilty.”

“Don’t,” Dakota told her. “It’s just one of those things.”

Denise drew in a breath. Dakota could see the determination returning to her mother’s eyes.

“Regardless,” Denise said firmly, “you’re healthy and strong and you’ll get through this. As you said, there are things that can be done. When you get married, you and your husband can decide what you want to do.” She paused. “This is why you’re adopting. You want to be sure you have children.”

“Yes. When I found all this out, I felt broken inside.”

“You’re not broken.”

“I know that in my head, but in my heart I’m not so sure. What if I never get married?”

“You will.”

“Mom, I’m twenty-eight years old. I’ve never been in love. Isn’t that weird?”

“You’ve been busy. You had your doctorate before you were twenty-five. That took tremendous effort.”

“I know, but …” She’d always wanted a man in her life. She just couldn’t seem to find him. At this point, she wasn’t even searching for Mr. Right. A reasonably decent guy who didn’t run screaming into the night at the sight of her would be pretty darned fabulous.

“I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m perfectly capable of being a single mom. It’s not like I’ll be alone—not in this town, or with my family.”

“No, you wouldn’t be alone, but having children will make it difficult to find the right man.”

“If I meet someone who can’t accept all of me, including an adopted child, then he’s not the guy for me.”

Denise smiled. “I raised such wonderful children.”

Dakota laughed. “Because it’s all about you.”

“Sometimes.” She leaned forward. “All right, adoption it is. Have you started looking? Can I help?”

Emotions swelled inside of Dakota—the most powerful was gratitude. No matter what, she could always depend on her mom.

“I couldn’t go through it without you. Adopting as a single parent isn’t easy. I researched international adoptions and applied with an agency that works exclusively in Kazakhstan.”

“I don’t even know where that is.”

“Kazakhstan is the ninth largest country in the world and the largest country that is completely landlocked.” Dakota shrugged. “I did research.”

“I can tell.”

“Russia is to the north, China to the southeast. The agency was very open and encouraging about the adoption. I filled out the paperwork and prepared to wait.”

Her mother’s mouth dropped open. “You’re getting a child.”

Dakota winced. “No. In late January, after I’d finished the paperwork and had the home and background checks, they called and said they had a little boy for me. But the next day they called back and said there’s been a mistake. He was going to another family. A couple.”

She drew in a breath to keep from crying. At some point the body should just run out of tears, but she had enough personal experience to know that didn’t happen.

“I’m not clear if it was an honest mistake or if they prefer couples and that’s why I didn’t get him. I’m still on the waiting list and the director of the agency swears it’s going to happen.”

Her mother leaned back in her chair. “I can’t believe you’ve been through all this on your own.”

“I couldn’t talk about it,” Dakota said quickly. “Not with anyone. At first I felt too frail to discuss it at all. Then I was afraid I’d jinx the adoption. It wasn’t you, Mom.”

“How could it be?” Denise asked. “I’m practically perfect. But still.”

For the second time, Dakota laughed. It felt good to find humor in life again. She’d had a few months where nothing had been happy or right.

Dakota touched her arm. “I’m dealing. Most days it’s okay. Sometimes it’s hard to get out of bed. Maybe if I’d been in a relationship, I wouldn’t have felt so unlovable.”

“You’re not unlovable. You’re beautiful and smart and fun to be with. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

“That’s what I tell myself. Apparently the entire gender is blind and stupid.”

“They are. You’ll find someone.”

“I’m not so sure. I can’t blame my lack of love life on the man shortage here. Not entirely. I didn’t date when I was away at college, either.” She shrugged. “I haven’t told anyone, Mom. I’ll talk to Nevada and Montana in a few days. If you wouldn’t mind, I thought you could tell my brothers after that.” Denise would explain what had happened in simple terms, and it would be a whole lot less embarrassing than coming from her.

Her mother nodded. Once her sisters knew, they would want to rally, but there wasn’t anything to do. Her body was different. Most of the time she was okay with that.

“You’re still on the list to get a baby from Kazakhstan?” her mother asked.

“Yes. Eventually I should get a call. I’m staying positive.”

“That’s important. I know you don’t love working on the reality show, but it’s a nice distraction.”

“It’s beyond crazy. What were they thinking? Mayor Marsha is terrified something bad is going to happen. You know how she loves the town.”

“We all do,” Denise said absently. She frowned slightly. “Just because you haven’t fallen in love yet doesn’t mean you’re not going to. Loving someone and being loved is a gift. Relax and it will happen.”

Dakota hoped she was right. She leaned toward her mother. “You got really lucky with dad. Maybe it’s a genetic thing, like being a good singer.”

Her mother grinned. “Meaning I should start dating again? Oh, please. I’m too old.”

“Hardly.”

“It’s an interesting idea, but not for today.” She rose and walked toward the refrigerator. “Now, what can I fix you to eat? A BLT? I think I have some frozen quiche, too.”

Dakota thought about pointing out that this wasn’t a problem that could be fixed by food. Not that her mother would listen. Denise was nothing, if not traditional.

“A BLT would be nice,” she said, knowing it wasn’t the sandwich that would make her feel better, but the love that went into it.

DAKOTA WAS MEETING her sisters at Jo’s Bar. She arrived a little early—mostly because her house had gotten too quiet, with only her thoughts to keep her company.

She crossed to the bar, prepared to order a lemondrop martini, only to realize that Finn Andersson was standing in the center of the room, looking more than a little confused.

Poor guy, she thought as she walked toward him. Jo’s Bar wasn’t the usual kind of hangout where a man went at the end of a difficult day.

Until very recently, most of the businesses in Fool’s Gold were owned by and catered to women. Including everyone’s favorite bar.

Jo was a pretty woman in her thirties. She’d moved to town a few years ago, bought the bar and converted it into the kind of place where women felt comfortable. The lighting was flattering, the bar stools had backs and hooks for hanging purses, and the big-screen TVs were tuned to Project Runway and pretty much anything on HGTV. Music always played. Tonight it was ‘80s rock.

The men had their place—it was a small room in back with a pool table. But without preparation, Jo’s Bar could be shocking to the average male.

“It’s okay,” Dakota said, coming up behind Finn and leading him to the bar. “You’ll get used to it.”

He shook his head as if trying to clear his vision. “Are those walls pink?”

“Mauve,” she told him. “A very flattering color.”

“It’s a bar.” He looked around. “I thought it was a bar.”