Falling For The Single Dad. Lisa Carter

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       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      “Excuse me? Excuse...meeee...?”

      Startled, Caroline Duer gazed to the left, then right, before coming to rest on the heart-shaped face of a little girl tugging on her sleeve. “Were you talking to me?”

      The child’s shoulder-length tangle of red hair bobbed as she nodded. “Would you help me find a book?”

      Her enormous blue eyes inspected Caroline for a second. And as if an afterthought, she added, “Please.”

      Caroline’s eyes skittered around the Kiptohanock Library. “Um...”

      Moments before, a librarian had been reading to a cluster of children on the big green rug. Obviously, one of her charges had wandered.

      “I don’t see her right now, but...”

      Where was a librarian when you needed one?

      “Uh...” Caroline wasn’t good with children. Sea creatures, yes. Little girls, no.

      This was what happened when you put off what needed to be done. You got roped into over-your-head situations.

      “I’m not—”

      “But I said the special word.” The little girl cocked her head and waited.

      Special word? What in the name of fried flounder was a special word? A secret children’s language to which Caroline wasn’t privy? “I’m sorry, dear...”

      The little girl scowled.

      “Dear” must not be a special word. Where was the librarian? Caroline cut her eyes over to the child.

      The little redhead planted her fist on her hip. And jutted it. “I need you.”

      Just Caroline’s luck. A tyke with attitude.

      The little girl needed her? A clear case of mistaken identity, but it had been a long time since anyone needed her. In fact, the last time she’d been needed, she’d failed everyone so completely.

      She was perhaps the worst person on earth anyone needed to need. Caroline swallowed. Where was the librarian? Better yet, where was this child’s mother?

      Even Caroline understood children required a lot of time. More time than she as a thirty-five-year-old marine veterinarian was willing to pencil into her schedule. If you couldn’t spare the time, don’t have ’em. She drummed her restless fingers on the wooden surface of the librarian’s desk.

      “I want books like that.” The little girl pointed at the illustrated Eastern Shore bird-watcher’s field guide in Caroline’s hand. “Books about turtles and dolphins, too.”

      Caroline glanced from the book to the little girl. “This is a book my sister, Amelia, illustrated. Illustrated means—”

      “She drew the pictures.” The little girl fluttered her hand as if shooing sand fleas. “I know all about that.”

      Caroline’s lips twitched. Okay, the redhead was a smart little girl.

      “Are you going to check it out?”

      “I don’t live around here.” Caroline’s gaze darted out the window overlooking the Kiptohanock square. “Not anymore. I don’t have a library card.”

      The little girl dug a plastic card out of the pocket of her jeans. “I do.” She held up the card. “I’ve had my own library card since I learned to read when I was four. My daddy says I’m a reading machine.”

      Caroline stifled a laugh. The same could’ve been said of her as a child, too. She passed the book into the little girl’s custody.

      The redhead grinned at Caroline. “Thanks.”

      Caroline shifted to move past her. “You’re welcome.”

      “Aren’t you going to help me find the book on turtles?”

      Caroline studied the expectant little face. “You’re not going to leave me alone till I do, are you?”

      The little girl smiled. Tiny lines feathered the corners of her eyes. An indication she was a happy child? Caroline hoped so.

      “All right. Come on, then.” Racking her brain for what she remembered of the Dewey Decimal System, Caroline headed into the stacks. The little girl followed close on her heels.

      Ten minutes later, Caroline’s arms bulged with picture books and the surprisingly adult volume on aquatic life the child herself selected. Caroline marched toward the checkout station. Still, no sign of the librarian.

      She bit back an inward sigh. “You’ll have to wait—”

      The little girl lugged Caroline toward a pint-size monitor. “Self-checkout. I do it every week after story time. I’ll show you.”

      Caroline plopped the books onto the counter. The child scanned her card under a red-eyed laser beam. A beep sounded every time she ran the bar code on the back cover underneath the beam. A final printout scrolled out of the printer, and the child tore it free with a flourish. “This way you don’t have to wait in line.”

      What line? The library appeared deserted. Not so different from Caroline’s childhood. She had whiled away many pleasant hours here in the library while Lindi dated, Amelia went fishing and Honey played house. Caroline figured old Mrs. Beal had probably long since retired.

      “Good.” Caroline slung the strap of her purse over her shoulder. “Happy read—”

      “Wait.” The child caught her arm and halted Caroline’s bid for freedom. “Maybe we could read one of the books before you leave.”

      Caroline pursed her lips. “Don’t you have somewhere you have to be?”

      The child shook her head.

      A sense of panic mounted. Caroline wasn’t good with children. “Won’t your mother be looking for you?”

      “My mother’s dead.”

      “Oh...” Caroline’s heart thudded. “So is mine,” she whispered.

      The child entwined her arm through the crook in Caroline’s elbow. “Just for a minute.” Her face scrunched. “Please...”

      Caroline bit her lip. “The special word?”

      The child nodded.

      Caroline caved. “Okay...”

      The child let out a whoop and then slapped a hand over her mouth. She giggled. Caroline giggled, too.

      Finger against her lips, the little girl pulled her toward the sitting area near the entrance. And somehow Caroline found the both of them ensconced in a comfy leather armchair.

      “My name’s Izzie.” The little girl extended her hand, adult-like. “For Isabelle.”

      Caroline shook her hand. “I’m Caroline.”

      The little girl curled into her side while Caroline read the short depictions and flipped the pages of a picture book about turtles.

      Halfway through, Caroline glanced up to find twin pools of blue fixed on a tendril of Caroline’s hair. Which had come loose from the practical chignon she’d wound on the nape of her neck for her early-morning aquarium meeting across the bay.

      With a tentative touch, Izzie fingered the strand of Caroline’s hair, a thoughtful expression on her small face. “I wish my hair was as pretty as yours.”

      At the child’s