âIâm your son.â
She blinked. The young man stood still, as if frozen, while his words replayed themselves in her mind. Heâd just said he was her son. He couldnât be.
Sara clutched the door with both hands and leaned against it, her gaze never wavering from the young man standing just outside.
Who was this boy claiming to be the child sheâd given away so long ago? This child sheâd worried for, grieved over and daydreamed about ever since. This young man named Ryan.
âShould I go?â he asked.
âNo!â
âYouâre shocked. How could you not be?â His voice was filled with strength, compassion and a tremble of fear.
Years of training drove her to respond. She held out her hand.
âNice to meet you, Ryan.â
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Taraâs first book, Yesterdayâs Secrets, published in October 1993, was a finalist for the Romance Writers of Americaâs prestigious RITA® Award. Her subsequent work has earned her finalist status for the National Readersâ Choice Award, plus another two RITA® Award nominations. A prolific writer, she has more than forty novels as well as three novellas published. To reach Tara, write to her at PO Box 133584, Mesa, Arizona 85216, USA or through her website, www.tarataylorquinn.com.
Dear Reader,
Most of us will never face Saraâs challenges, but almost all of us have to make the same choices she does. The choice to play it safe, to exist â or to take the big risks, to reach for everything, to live fully. We have to be willing to not only face our fears, but to walk right into them if required, so we can get through them to whatever awaits us on the other side.
Iâm often asked where I get the ideas for my stories. Sometimes I have specific answers. I have no idea where this story came from. It doesnât quite fit the usual boundaries or genres. But it wouldnât go away. I spoke to my editor about this story. She didnât seem shocked or even hesitant as she told me she thought it would work and asked me to write it. I didnât question her acceptance any more than I questioned myself about the original creation.
And then, halfway through the book, I questioned everything â mostly myself. What had I done? How was I going to get a romance out of this? How was I going to get anywhere?
I was scared. Iâd taken a risk and felt I was about to fail. I considered calling my editor and telling her weâd made a terrible mistake. And then Sara spoke to me. Was I going to work my way through the fears and let her find her happily ever after? I cared about her. And for her, I sat down every day and I wrote.
I didnât take Sara to her happily ever after. She took me. I hope youâll join us on this journey.
Tara Taylor Quinn
For my father, Walter Wright Gumser.
Because he always did his best. I love you, Daddy!
CHAPTER ONE
May 24
1:00âLunch
2:00âInterview (Itâs the retired cop. Credentials in folder.)
2:20âMeeting with Rodney Pace. (Presentation schedule included in red folder on desk.)
6:30âDinner with partners from Mr. Calhounâs firm. Hanrahanâs.
Note: Proof Sheriff Lindsayâs book. Sign checks and contracts before leaving. (In blue folder.)
Further note: Donât forget to eat.
SARA CALHOUN SMILED as she read the final line Donna had jotted on the daily agenda, which sat atop a newly readied pile of folders on her desk at the National Organization for Internet Safety and Education early Thursday morning. The redeye sheâd taken from a PTA conference in Anaheim had just landed at Port Columbus International Airport half an hour before. She couldnât remember the last time sheâd eaten.
If sheâd gone straight home to shower without stopping at the office first to review the dayâs materials, she could have had breakfast with Brent.
Glancing at the plain gold watch on her wristâa college graduation present from her parentsâSara sat, pulled the pile of folders onto her lap and started to read.
THE DOORBELL RANG just as she was finishing her makeup. Stroking a couple of coats of mascara onto her lashes, Sara quickly dropped the tube in the sectioned container on her dressing table and raced to the stairs. Maybe it was just a salesperson, but she couldnât stand to not answer.
She never let the phone ring, either.
It was five to nine. Sheâd spent so long at the office already that she was now late for work. But the sun was shining, May flowers were in bloom and an entire lovely summer stretched ahead.
Sara slowed at the bottom of the stairs, taking a deep breath to compose herself as she smoothed a hand down her slim brown skirt and brushed the pockets of her jacket. Dignity and class were her mantras. Always.
Brent expected this from her.
âCan I helpââ The ready smile froze on her lips. A cop was standing on her doorstep.
Something had happened to her dad. Or Brent.
The young manâs mouth moved, but at this moment Sara couldnât concentrate sufficiently to make out his words. âWhat?â she asked, willing herself to hear what he was saying. âWhat happened?â