Donna Clayton - Her Dream Come True

Without looking up, Hillary said, “You’ll have to find out where she is. Check the nearest state-run institution. Find out if the state is paying her keep. I fully expect that’s what you’ll discover, since your father never could hold down a job for more than a month at a time.”

Your father. Chills clawed their way up Hannah’s spine, one vertebra at a time.

Hillary rarely used the term your father to describe her ex-husband to her daughter. On the highly infrequent occasions they talked about the man, they used his full name. In fact, that’s exactly how her mother had delivered the news when Hannah had arrived. “Bobby Ray Cavanaugh has died,” she’d said.

How had the news of her father’s death made her feel? Hannah couldn’t say, as she hadn’t allowed herself to react. Instead she’d slid the reality of the information far to the back of her mind, put herself on autopilot, so to speak. It was unwise to show emotion in front of her mother. Hillary didn’t like it. And Hannah knew her mother wasn’t above using a person’s thoughts and feelings against them at a later date. So Hannah had pushed her emotions aside as she concentrated on putting out the fires the unexpected news had set ablaze, focused on what had to be done. She’d deal with her feelings later.

“Once the estate is settled,” Hillary continued, “you can set up some sort of spending account for the girl.”

The girl. The girl. Hannah tamped down the resentment that rose in her throat as acidic as raw bile. But again she didn’t react.

Her mother couldn’t help her cold indifference, Hannah silently argued in Hillary’s defense. Complete detachment had always been her way of dealing with the situation. However, Bobby Ray’s death meant that indifference and detachment were no longer going to work.

Thoughts of Tammy seeped into Hannah’s brain until they filled up every nook and cranny. And for the first time in a very long time, Hannah felt a spark of...something come to life in her. Excitement? Joy? She couldn’t say. But what Hannah did know was that she had to get out of her mother’s office before she began spouting more detailed orders where Tammy was concerned.

“I’ll go to Little Haven,” Hannah suddenly blurted, taking a backward step toward the door leading out of the room. “I’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry.”

“well...”

Not waiting for Hillary to finish, Hannah turned away.

“...if you get into trouble, call me.”

Hillary’s words caused Hannah’s jaw to tense, her eyes to roll heavenward, and she was relieved that her unwitting reaction would go unobserved. Her mother’s concern always came with the precursor if you get into trouble. What Hannah heard in her mother’s words was, Don’t bother me unless it’s absolutely necessary.

However, Hannah actually felt grateful for her mother’s standoffish parental technique. It was that very same aloof child-rearing method that had forced Hannah to become the independent, self-sufficient woman she was.

“And, Hannah, I don’t want you—”

“I said I’ll take care of everything,” Hannah called over her shoulder, and knowing full well what her mother had been about to say, she let the door whisper shut between them with a firm click.

As Hannah headed down the hall toward the bank of elevators, she felt the spark of excitement flicker and grow into a full-fledged flame. Tammy. She was going to Little Haven to find out about Tammy. And if it was at all possible, Hannah planned to stop in for a nice, long visit.

Hillary would be mortified when she found out. Hannah was certain her mother had been about to order her not to see Tammy. However, she knew her recent assessment of the situation was correct—turning a blind eye was no longer the answer. Now that Tammy no longer had Bobby Ray, she would need someone.

Come hell or high water, Hannah intended to reacquaint herself with Tammy. And if possible, she was going to become the someone on whom her sister could depend.

Chapter One

Her car jostled and bumped as Hannah drove along the rutted dirt lane that led to her childhood home. Lush vegetation blocked the sunlight and cooled the dusty summer air. The jittering in the pit of her stomach wasn’t strong enough to be described as a full-fledged case of butterflies; however, anxiety tweaked at her enough to let her know it could easily get to that point.

She couldn’t put a name to the myriad emotions she was feeling. The memories she had of this wooded place, of the big, rambling house sitting at the end of the lane were fuzzy, like out-of-focus snapshots.

When she thought of Bobby Ray—her father, she silently reminded herself—shadowy images flashed before her mind’s eye. A tall, gentle figure. A wide and loving smile. A laugh that was as warm and lazy as a sunny Sunday afternoon. Well ... she thought she recalled a rich and warm laugh, but for the life of her she couldn’t seem to summon the sound of it at the moment. And she couldn’t recall what he looked like, either.

The love she had felt for him as a child had been overwhelming, absolutely heart-wrenching in intensity. However, she knew the memory of the love she’d felt for Bobby Ray ... for her father ... was twisted and knotted up in the pain and anguish she’d felt when she’d been whisked away from Little Haven, whisked away from her beloved daddy.

Stop it, Hannah! a sensible voice inside her head demanded. Just shut the door on all that. If you don’t, you’ll get swallowed up in self-pity, lost in the painful past, and you don’t have time for that. There are too many things that need to be taken care of.

“Think about the house.” She whispered the words aloud, as her wheels bounced over yet another rut in the dirt lane.

Shoving aside the confusing chaos of emotions conjured by memories of her father, she envisioned the house and smiled. Her childhood home was remembered as a huge dollhouse complete with a wraparound porch and fancy gingerbread trim. Over the years she hadn’t allowed herself to think about it often, but when she had, her heart never failed to swell with joyful warmth. Memories of being home with Daddy in the rambling house were her refuge during the lonely times of growing up without him, the times when nothing seemed to dull the ache of missing her father. The house in her head was glowing and beautiful and just waiting to envelope her in—

Just then she drove into a clearing, and the house came into view.

Hannah gasped, her eyes widening in shock as she brought the car to a halt.

Blinking several times, she just stared. The glowing, beautiful house in her memory was in reality a shabby, dilapidated building, its paint peeling, the shrubbery overgrown to the point that the first-floor, windows were obscured from view. One corner of the wraparound porch drooped noticeably. The Victorian house looked tired, just plain worn-out.

She sagged against the back of the seat. It looked as if her father hadn’t lifted a fingers over the years to keep the house in good repair. How could he allow his home to fall into such a state? Hannah sighed, knowing she’d probably never discover the answer to that question.

Tufts of tall grass snagged the heels of her shoes as she exited the car. She shut the door and was immediately greeted by the fattest cat she’d ever seen.

“Hello, there,” she crooned as it brushed its orange fur against her calf. But when she bent to pet it, the cat raced off toward the thick trees. Hannah straightened and lifted her gaze to the house.

All at once, she became aware of just how odd the scene looked. A big Victorian house sitting in the middle of the woods. One would think a better choice would have been a log cabin or a sensible A-frame. However—