Her Dream Come True. Donna Clayton

      Prologue

      “What do you mean I have to go to Little. Haven alone?”

      Hannah Cavanaugh stared at her mother, who sat behind the massive teak desk seemingly too preoccupied with a dozen different tasks to give the topic at hand the attention it deserved. But Hannah was used to that.

      “Well, I can’t possibly go,” Hillary Cavanaugh said, not bothering to look up from her very own handmade A List of the most prominent of New York City’s social set. “You know how busy I am. If I miss an opening night or a television interview or even a silly photo shoot, that’s grounds for terminating a publicity agent in a client’s mind. I have to be on hand to smooth out the rough spots. You know that.”

      To anyone else the sigh the woman expelled would have held the perfect amount of suffering to garner the listener’s sympathy; however, Hannah didn’t miss the hollow, well-practiced quality in the expression.

      “There simply isn’t a slow season in this business.”

      How many times had Hannah heard that statement? How often had that excuse been used over the years to allow her mother to miss all the important events of Hannah’s life?

      Stop, Hannah told herself. Mother works hard. She cares about the people she works for. She cares about you. And she’s done her best for you. Then another whispery thought nudged Hannah. She was the parent who wanted you.

      After a long, deliberate pause, during which Hannah succeeded in stifling the sigh that threatened to erupt from her own throat, she said, “But, Mother, your husband has died. Don’t you think you ought to go to pay your condolences?”

      “My ex-husband,” Hillary firmly reminded Hannah. “And neither of us has seen the man for twenty-five years. Besides, it’s been nearly a month since he passed away. I’m sure the funeral is long over. Unless of course those backwoods people in that little hick town hold some sort of mourning ritual that lasts for weeks.” As an aside she murmured, “Which wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

      The holier-than-thou tone of her mother’s voice rubbed Hannah the wrong way. It made Hillary sound as if she were looking down her nose at others, judging them to be something less than they were.

      “But, Mother,” Hannah began, “wouldn’t it be best if you were to—”

      Her mother’s silent, narrowed gaze burned straight through Hannah’s opinion like a red-hot laser beam.

      “I am not leaving the city. I have clients who need my attention.” Hillary’s sudden, cool smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It won’t take you long to get your father’s affairs in order. Before you know it, you’ll be back at the hospital fighting tooth and nail for that ward nurse promotion you’ve been working toward.”

      One corner of Hannah’s mouth twitched. She had to hand it to her mother. Usually when the subject of Hannah’s career came up, the derision in Hillary’s voice was much more pronounced. But not today. Hannah suspected it was because her mother was asking her for a favor. Not that there was much actual asking, mind you, but with her mother, there never was.

      Coming to the conclusion that the trip south was an inescapable part of her immediate future, Hannah said, “Well, I’ll have to take care of things quickly. That promotion is important to me. I can’t be away for more than a week. Two, tops.”

      “It certainly shouldn’t take you that long to arrange to sell the contents of the house,” Hillary said. “Contact an auction house. There have to be estate sales even in that no-man’s-land down there. And then list the house with a real estate agent. You don’t need to stay until a buyer is found.”

      Hannah grew suddenly pensive. The question on the tip of her tongue had to be asked. However, she was not eager to bring up the forbidden subject.

      She’d raised the taboo issue with her mother exactly twice in her life. The first time she’d been very young, about ten, if Hannah remembered correctly, and her mother had merely brushed aside her inquiry, acting as if she’d been deaf as a doornail. The second time, Hannah and her mother had ended up having a terrible verbal row that resulted in the longest bout of silence in the history of mother-daughter relationships. Hannah wasn’t wild about the thought of repeating the experience.

      She steeled herself, knowing in her heart the question simply had to be asked.

      “What about Tammy?”

      Hillary’s facial flinch was nearly imperceptible. And during the long pause, Hannah was sure her mother was garnering every ounce of control she possessed.

      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