Stolen Miracles (2 page)

“Can’t she enroll in kindergarten?” He applied the left turn signal and blew around a corner. “She’ll be five next week.”

“No. She missed the age cut-off by two weeks.”

“And they don’t make exceptions, right?”

“No. Not even for big-shot attorneys like you. We’ve both tried.”

Cole tapped the brake as the traffic light turned yellow. “What’s Kimmy doing now?”

“Dressing Buttercup to star in her latest play.”

“That poor cat.” Cole shook his head and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. A warm breeze rustled his hair as it whispered through the open driver’s window, carrying the musky scent of fallen leaves. “Give her a kiss for me, and tell her I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“I will.”

“And sit down a bit. Put your feet up.”

“I’ll do that too if you promise to stop by the bakery to order Kimmy’s birthday cake after you leave the preschool.”

“Got it.” The light changed to green again. Cole hit the gas and crested a hill. He coasted through a second light before turning the corner. “Thanks, sis, for everything.”

“Make a good impression on that director, OK?” Patty urged. “And the sooner Kimmy can enroll and get started, the better. She needs someone to play with besides you, me, and the cat.”

“Soon she’ll have twin cousins, as well.”

“Yes, she will.” Cole heard the happiness in his sister’s voice, which spurred him on. “But, in the meantime. I’ll do my best. I’m almost to the school. Traffic is thinning, thank goodness.” The clock on the dash flashed five forty-three. “Talk to you later, sis.”

Cole disconnected and tapped the gas pedal, pushing the speed limit slightly as he shifted lanes. The sun sank low on the horizon, casting a shimmer of magenta through maple trees that lined the boulevard.

He was late for the appointment.

Cole offered a silent prayer for the director’s understanding. The school had to work out for Kimmy…and for him. Patty had been more than gracious to help care for Kimmy the past several months while Cole returned to work following Leah’s passing. But Patty was right. The arrangement was never meant to be permanent, and she
had
sacrificed quite a bit to be there for him. It was time for her to take care of herself and her babies now, and for Cole to find his own way. So, Cole had phoned the preschool director—Rebecca somebody-or-other—that morning, and she’d agreed to meet with him at five this afternoon.

There was no more putting off the inevitable.

Besides, Precious Miracles was the best of the best preschools in Mill’s Landing. Everyone said so, and even the Mill’s Landing Daily Journal had run a glowing feature story last month. Cole turned the corner, and the school came into view. The brick building, with its generous expanse of windows, beckoned. A powder blue sedan was parked near the rear of the lot. Cole heaved a sigh.

It was minutes before six, and maybe he’d blown the whole opportunity. How was he going to meet with the director and get Kimmy’s birthday cake ordered before the bakery closed at seven?

At the thought of Kimmy’s birthday, a wave of grief swept through Cole. The holiday was bittersweet, marking another first without his wife. She was only twenty-eight. Heart attacks weren’t supposed to happen to women who were young—to mothers with daughters who depended on them and husbands who adored them. Yet, it had. Leah was proof.

Eleven months and Cole still struggled to find his footing through the loss. The world had become bland and colorless…whispers of gray punctuated by flurries of black.

Yet the creeping phlox in an explosion of fuchsia blooming along the preschool entrance walkway told him there was color to enjoy—and plenty of it. He simply had to figure out how to move past the loss.

Like it or not, there was no turning back now.

2

The shrill buzz of the security intercom startled Rebecca. Tepid coffee sloshed along the rim of her mug, splattering the desk blotter. The alarm, meant to signal visitors over the roar of rambunctious children, grated through the vacant building.

The intercom screeched again, drawing Rebecca’s attention to a visual monitor atop a row of shelves at the side of her desk. A man stood at the double glass doors, his wavy black hair haloed by ebbing sunlight. He was dressed in a gray business suit, but the crimson tie at the collar of his dress shirt was tugged loose, giving him a rugged look. Something about his posture was vaguely familiar. Had they met before?

Her belly tumbled as she lifted her gaze to study the man’s face. A scar along his hairline framed intense gray eyes, and his nose looked like it might have been broken—more than once. That fact hardly detracted from his good looks and only seemed to enhance them. A shadow of stubble clung to his jawline while a breeze nudged dark hair at the collar of his dress shirt.

What was wrong with her? She hadn’t looked at a man like this, well, since she’d met Steve nearly a decade ago.

“Is anyone there?” He jabbed the buzzer once more, hummed impatiently while he waited a few more moments, and then backed away from the door.

His retreat launched Rebecca to attention. She lunged for the intercom button, toppling her cup of coffee. The muddy brew puddled along the blotter, staining notes she’d scribbled in the generous memo squares.

“Hello? I’m here.” Her voice sounded tinny through the intercom, and she was surprised by the slight tremor. “May I help you?”

The man paused. He turned back to glance up. Finding a camera mounted above the entrance doors, he offered a slight wave. “Rebecca?”

“Yes, I’m Rebecca Gillespie. With whom am I speaking?”

“Cole Seibert here. I spoke with you this morning about enrolling my daughter, Kimmy. You said to drop by for some forms and an interview, as well. We had an appointment—”

“Nearly an hour ago.” The name was so familiar…Cole. Where had she heard it before? Rebecca slipped Marilyn’s letter back into its file and tucked it in the drawer. She over-enunciated her words in an attempt to hide the unsteadiness in her voice. Her belly did a somersault, and her quickening pulse made it difficult to capture a decent breath. She pressed her palm to her forehead and absently wondered if she was coming down with a fever. “Is tardiness a habit?”

“Excuse me? No.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and offered a half-hearted grin. “I had an emergency at work—a last-minute client.”

“I see.” Again, Rebecca’s gaze was drawn to the dark hair and steel-gray eyes. She was convinced she knew him, but how? “And, do you often have last-minute clients that will cause you to be late fetching your daughter?”

“No. Kimmy comes first.”

“Except for today—for now.”

His gaze narrowed, and his voice was a low rumble. “I know you’re the director, and this is your interview—and I use that term loosely—but you’re out of line.”

“I’m just doing my job.” She drew a chocolate Kiss from the ceramic bowl on her desk, unwrapped it, and slipped it into her mouth, savoring the flavor as it calmed her nerves. His name…she knew his name. “Forgive me if my bluntness offends you.”

“I’m sure you feel it’s necessary.” Cole shrugged from his suit jacket and slung it over one shoulder. “But, perhaps I can come inside before you continue your interrogation.”

“That would be lovely.” Rebecca leaned closer to the monitor as she drew a breath to check her temper. Cole was tall, his shoulders broad enough to fill the doorway—or a hockey net. A vague memory clicked in Rebecca’s brain as his gaze beckoned. “Have we met before?”

“I don’t know.” He shifted feet and shielded his eyes from the sun as he pressed his face to the door glass. “I suppose you have a pretty good look at me through the surveillance camera, but I can’t see you.”

“Oh, right.” Rebecca studied the curve of his jaw and the breadth of his shoulders that strained against a starched white dress shirt. The image was fuzzy, yet she was convinced—

“Mrs. Gillespie—”

“Miss.”

“
Miss
Gillespie—Rebecca—are you going to let me in?”

“Yes, sorry.” Rebecca’s throat tightened, and she stuttered through the words. If he was who she thought he was…

She reached for the door buzzer and pressed firmly—longer than necessary. “I think I’d better.”

****

Cole tugged the tie from his neck and stuffed it into his pants pocket as he made his way down the tile hall. The walls were plastered with painted murals and colorful displays of student work. A model of the solar system hung from the ceiling. Styrofoam balls danced in the breeze he cast as he rushed by. The wealth of creative presentations only served to heighten the tension Cole felt. What if he’d blown it and Kimmy couldn’t enroll here? It would take days to find an alternative preschool.

Patty would
not
be happy about
that
.

Tension bit into Cole’s shoulders and exhaustion pounded through his temples as he double-timed it down the hall. The last thing he needed was to spar with a riled woman. He must have logged a record time for ticking off Rebecca.

The aroma of coffee drifted. Maybe she had a pot brewing and would spare him a cup.

After
she filleted and grilled him.

“Miss Gillespie—Rebecca?” Cole followed the coffee until he approached an open doorway. Perhaps a little humor would lighten things and get him back in her good graces. “Marco…”

“Polo,” she replied without missing a beat. “In here.”

The lilting voice drew him. He turned toward the sound, and the sight of her jolted his heart. Her abundance of hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, smooth at the top and spilling into a length of waves that kissed the small of her back. Her gaze, like polished emeralds, held his.

He’d seen the waterfall of burnished copper before, as well as the luminous green eyes. It had been years, but he still remembered.

“Becca.” He found his voice. “You used to skate at the arena at Mill’s Landing, right?” It was a statement more than a question.

“Cole…yes.”

Her gaze held his and, as her eyes widened with wonder and a hint of shock, he knew she remembered that carefree time, same as he did.

“And you played hockey.”

A smattering of freckles danced across the bridge of her nose as a wisp of hair escaped the tail.

“Goalie for the Hurricanes.”

“That’s right.” Cole’s mouth went dry. For a moment, all he could do was gape. Hurricane was right—a storm suddenly brewed in his gut, bringing with it a vision of Rebecca twirling gracefully to music in a wisp of a skating skirt and leggings, a smile of concentration plastered on her lips. After all these years, and all that he’d been through, how could he possibly…

“I remember you, too. But, you used to have a beard.” She cupped a hand to her chin to emphasize. “And your hair was a lot longer—shaggy over your eyes.”

“That’s right.” He ran a hand through the waves. “I’ve been scalped since then.”

“Hardly. You still have a generous amount.” She studied him as if he was a piece of abstract art. Could she read his mind? Did she have any idea how his world had just tumbled sideways? “You guarded the net like a papa bear policing his den. You were always the last one off the ice after hockey practice.”

“And you were always the first one on for your session.” He tossed his suit jacket over a chair back and leaned against the door jamb, crossing his arms as he waited for the room—and his heartbeat—to steady. “You practiced harder than anyone.”

“And you tried to trip me more than once with an arsenal of slap shots.”

“Because you always had something smart to say, kind of like when you had me waiting outside just now, talking into the surveillance camera.” Cole struggled to shake off the memory of Rebecca gliding over the ice, a song of strength and gracefulness. Something hot flickered inside him, like a spark plug firing in his chest. He gasped as heat pulsed up his spine and snaked along the nape of his neck.

“Me? You were the one who said figure skaters weren’t real athletes.”

“Has the definition changed?” Sweat dampened the small of his back. He tugged at his shirt collar, loosening the top button. Was the air conditioning on the fritz?

“Good one.” Rebecca’s eyes flashed. “See what I mean?”

“Whoa.” Cole raised a hand to put a stop to the verbal sparring. He drew a deep breath and wiped damp palms along the thighs of his pants. “I promised my sister I’d make a good impression.”

“Too late for that.”

“Can we start over, then?” He grabbed a sheet of copy paper from the printer beside her computer monitor and waved it as if it was a white flag. The slight breeze it created eased the burning at his temples. “I promise to behave.”

“I don’t think you’re capable.”

“Give me a chance to prove it.” Cole settled into a chair across from her. He pointed to the sputtering coffeemaker on a shelf behind her desk. “Can you spare a cup of that? It’s been a long day, and I can use a little pick-me-up.”

“First you’re late, then you insult me, and now you want to drink my coffee.” Rebecca reached for a foam cup and filled it with a splash of steaming brew.

Her necklace—a silver locket in the shape of two hearts—caught the light as she turned back to him. Cole wondered whose hearts the necklace signified. He checked her fingers for rings and found none. Good sign.

“I suppose I can share. Sugar?”

“No. Black is fine.” Cole took the cup she offered and drew a long sip. “Ah…perfect.”

“So, you have a daughter?”

“Kimmy.”

“I hope she figure skates.”

“Hockey all the way.” He smirked as he mimed a slap shot. “Do you know they make skates in a child’s size eleven?”

“I thought you were going to behave.”

“You’re making that difficult.”

“Let’s change the subject, then.” Rebecca handed him a file folder. “Welcome to preschool. Here’s some paperwork for you to fill out.”

“All of this?” Cole cringed as he flipped through the bulky packet.

“Yes, and I’ll need a set of fingerprints and a body scan.”