Father Most Wanted. Marie Ferrarella

into. Maybe packets of vitamins for harried parents would be a better sale item. Something to help them keep up with their energetic offspring.

      A smile curved Brooke’s mouth as her thoughts drifted to the past. She could remember her father commenting on that more than once. That he needed megavitamins just to keep up with her and Heather.

      But that, she thought, was because Jonathan Carmichael had tried to do it all, be both mother and father to Brooke and her sister while he worked full-time at writing and illustrating children’s books. Her smile widened. He’d done a fair job of it, too. Not so much as a day ever went by when she and Heather didn’t feel loved. Most of the time, her father made juggling a million things look easy, but there were times, she knew, that it got to him. He tried not to show it, but she knew nonetheless. She was the older one and intuitive.

      Now that she thought about it, the man she’d almost succeeded in dousing with coffee had that exact same harried look in his eyes.

      She hoped he’d found his wife by now.

      Sufficiently fortified with caffeine, Brooke threw the empty container into the wastebasket behind her cash register, then squared her shoulders. That new shipment of books in the back wasn’t going to unpack itself.

      Making her way to the rear of the store and the storage room that also doubled as her office, Brooke stopped and sucked in her breath. She could have sworn she was alone, but there on the floor, making herself right at home, was one of the girls that man had had in tow just minutes ago. She’d obviously gotten away from him.

      That was going to have to be fixed.

      “Hi there,” Brooke said.

      Large blue eyes, fringed with long black lashes, looked up at her before they returned to the books that populated the bottom shelf. “Hi.”

      Brooke squatted down to the little girl’s level. Her young unchaperoned customer seemed to be scrutinizing the different titles on the book spines. Could she read them, Brooke wondered, or was she just pretending? Her own father had taught her and Heather to read at such an early age Brooke felt as if she’d been born reading. Maybe the girl’s parents had done the same for her and her twin.

      In either case, Brooke knew that the last thing a child welcomed was a condescending adult. She knew she never had. She spoke to her the way she would to any adult. “May I help you find something?”

      There was no shyness about the child. Instead, she seemed filled with purpose, a mission, and poise beyond her years. She nodded smartly before answering. “Yes, do you have any books about mommies?”

      “I might. What kind of book did you have in mind?”

      The girl hesitated, as if trying to find the right way to phrase what she was about to say. “One about finding one.”

      Wasn’t that cute? She was trying to help her father find her mother by turning to a book for guidance. Whoever said reading was dead? Brooke nodded as if giving the choice serious consideration. “So, you’re looking for your mommy?”

      The blue eyes took on a sparkle as the little girl looked up at her. “Yes. We all are.”

      All. That would be her father and her sister, Brooke guessed. Ordinarily she would have led the girl to several books dealing with mothers. There was one about a lost bear cub Brooke particularly liked.

      But the way she saw it, she had a far more pressing service to perform. “Well, right now, I think your daddy is going out of his mind trying to find both of you.”

      The girl frowned thoughtfully, as if she didn’t quite follow that. “You know my daddy?”

      “I don’t exactly know him,” Brooke confessed, trying to be strictly honest. Kids, she knew, respected and expected honesty. “But I do know what he looks like.” Brooke leaned her head in closer to the little girl, lowering her voice as if to share a secret with her. “Worried.”

      There was a light in the blue eyes, as if a connection had just been made. The little girl nodded with enthusiasm. “Yes, he does. He looks like that all the time now.” She turned her face up and frowned sadly. “Do you have any books to help?”

      “No, but I think that taking you to him might help. A lot.” The poor man was already looking for his wife. Having to look for this little girl, as well, wasn’t exactly going to put him in a better frame of mind. Brooke stood up and took the little girl’s hand gently, drawing her to her feet. “What do you say we go look for him?”

      It wasn’t unusual to have children wander into her shop. After all, she’d gone to great lengths to make it pleasing to the young eye. There were carefully painted murals depicting cartoon characters and fairy-tale folks either sitting, standing or comfortably sprawled out, their hands tucked around a good book. Blessed with her father’s gift for illustration, it had taken Brooke weeks to do, and she had purposely made it into an inviting peaceful version of Wonderland—if Wonderland had been a place where books were offered, instead of mind-confounding puzzles.

      But usually any child who wandered in was soon followed by a parent or two. A parent who was happy to have a few minutes respite from the taxing job of parenting.

      Brooke glanced toward the entrance. Mr. Drop-Dead Gorgeous with the worried frown was nowhere in sight. Not a good sign. She hoped he hadn’t gone off to the opposite end of the mall.

      The little girl appeared undecided about whether or not to follow Brooke. Two large front teeth flanked by far smaller baby ones nibbled on her lower lip as she thought it over.

      “Okay,” she finally agreed. “Daddy says we shouldn’t talk to strangers, but I guess you’re okay.”

      Flattered, Brooke paused to make things clear. “Thank you, honey, but your daddy is right, you know. You shouldn’t talk to strangers.”

      Walking out of the store, she drew the girl to her side and paused to press a button on the inside wall. A decorative gate, fashioned to look like the twining ivy that had grown around Sleeping Beauty’s castle while she took her extended nap, descended slowly into place. Brooke flipped a latch, locking it. Finding the little girl’s missing father could just possibly take longer than dashing out for a cup of espresso, and she couldn’t afford to have any more customers come wandering in. The way she saw it, she’d used up her luck with this one. The next pint-size customer might innocently or not so innocently make off with several books.

      The little girl was still mulling over the warning she had just received. Confused, she looked up at Brooke. “Then I shouldn’t talk to you?”

      Brooke looked around, trying to spot the man and his solitary daughter. She glanced at the girl’s face next to her. “I see we have a conundrum.”

      The girl’s eyes widened. “We do? What’s a con—a ca—?”

      “Conundrum,” Brooke repeated, grinning. “That means a tricky puzzle—like the one we’re in right now. You shouldn’t talk to strangers, which ordinarily would mean me, but you have to talk to someone because if you don’t, your daddy might not be able to find you. And I’m sure that would make him very sad.”

      “He’s already very sad. Daddy’s been sad for a long time now,” the girl confided, then paused, thinking. Her eyes brightened as she looked up at Brooke. “If you tell me your name, then you won’t be a stranger anymore.”

      There was a sweet innocence in the little girl’s thinking that touched Brooke. In this fast-paced world with its predators, things weren’t nearly that simple anymore. But right now, an explanation would only confuse things further, and time was probably of the essence.

      “My name’s Brooke,” she told her.

      The little girl cocked her head. “Like where water runs?”

      Brooke laughed. “I guess that’s one way to describe it. Okay, now that you know who I am, let’s go see if we can find your dad.”

      The smile went beyond cooperative