Love Me Tonight. Gwynne Forster

glad to be able to change the subject. “What would you like?”

      “I can’t sit here and watch you eat it, so I’ll have the same.” Suddenly, she reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. “If you can be patient, we’ll get there.” The waiter took their orders, and refreshed their water, smiled at Heather, then left the table.

      “Do you mean that?” he asked her once the waiter had gone.

      “I didn’t plan to say it, but it’s the truth.” She smiled. “I’ll always tell you the truth, Judson, even if it makes me look bad, and I hope I can count on the same from you.”

      He enveloped her hand with his own. “Of course you can. If you never believe anything else, believe that.”

      The waiter brought their dessert, and they savored it without speaking. Later, while they sat sipping espresso, she looked at him and said, “I have to thank Scott for introducing me to you. He’s anxious to find out whether we get along and whether we will see each other.”

      He imagined that the facial expression he thought was a grin was more feral than friendly. “Don’t tell him a thing,” he said. “Let him worry.”

      “How could you? He means well.”

      “Sure he does. Jails are full of well-meaning people. It isn’t often that I’m one up on Scott, so please humor me.”

      He held her hand while they walked to his car, and it felt good.

      Ten minutes later, he parked in front of her building, walked around and helped her in getting out of the car and accompanied her to her apartment. She gave him her door key without his asking. He opened the door.

      “May I come in for a few minutes?”

      She didn’t answer, but walked in and flicked on the light.

      He didn’t want to sit down and talk. They had talked during dinner. He wanted her in his arms. When he remained near the door, she turned, walked back to him and smiled.

      “What’s the matter? Do you want a hug or a kiss? Which is it?”

      He’d never met a woman so lacking in guile. “Both,” he said and opened his arms. She went to him with arms raised and lips slightly parted. And the feel of her warm and womanly body as she held him to her almost made him dizzy. He bent his head, brushed her lips with his own and she pulled his tongue into her mouth. He couldn’t stifle the groan that erupted from deep inside of him, and with the rush of blood to his groin preparing him for a massive erection, he tried to step back from her. But she seemed oblivious to his movement. He lifted her and set her away from him. She stared at him, wide-eyed.

      “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, “but I don’t want to push you too far, too fast.”

      She frowned, and then she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. “I’ve never met a man like you. I am going to thank Scott for introducing us.”

      “Are the two of you close friends?”

      Her eyes twinkled. “We haven’t drunk each other’s blood, but we’ve pledged to be brother and sister.”

      “How is it that you were never attracted to each other?”

      “My dad asked me the same question. Scott and I would kill each other. Actually, we nearly did when we first began working together. We backed off because we had to cooperate, and after a short while we realized that we’re both too similar. So we began supporting each other, and it’s been great for both of us. What time will you leave for Hagerstown tomorrow? If you need to contact a newspaper, try the Herald-Mail first.”

      “Thanks. I will.’

      “Don’t get your hopes up too high, Judson, and don’t be disappointed if you come back empty-handed. This is just the first try. Remember you have my support.”

      “And that means everything to me. I know it’s going to be a long, hard trek, but I’m prepared for it.”

      Chapter 3

      Judson parked beside the Washington County Free Library at a quarter of eleven, went inside and asked the reference librarian for the microfilm room.

      “If you can’t find what you’re looking for,” she said, “maybe I can help you.”

      “Thank you. Where’s the reading room?”

      She told him and added, “I’ll be glad to help if you think I can.”

      He thanked her again and went to the microfilm room. He found the newspaper with the birth announcement that listed the family name Motens. He went to the library’s computer and began copying the names, addresses and telephone numbers for the name Moten. By the time he finished, his stomach was growling. He didn’t feel inclined to seek out the helpful librarian. He pocketed his notes and left.

      Sitting in the far corner of a restaurant eating a hamburger, French fries and coleslaw, he read over the names he’d recorded. None of the names were listed in his parents’ papers, and he couldn’t interview or even hope to locate all of them. He finished his lunch, and decided to put a classified ad in the newspaper. He found the office of the Herald-Mail, placed the order and headed back to Baltimore.

      When he got home shortly before six o’clock that evening, he found his answering machine blinking. “I’ll deal with that later,” he said to himself. He had to work out a plan in case no one answered his ad. Adoption papers were sealed, but there was always a way.

      Suddenly, he bolted upright. The adoption papers were not among those he had found in his mother’s closet. She had stashed them somewhere else, but where? Did she have a secret hiding place? Calm down, man. As Heather said, “you’ve just started.”

      He went to the refrigerator for a can of beer and took it outside on his terrace. Where could he search next if no one answered his ad? He had a sudden inspiration. The churches! Most churches kept baptismal records. He let out a deep sigh of relief, rested his feet on the edge of the ceramic flowerpot beside him and closed his eyes as a sense of peace washed over him.

      He answered his cell phone. “Philips. What may I do for you?”

      “This is Curtis. Is that laboratory’s attorney allowed to get in touch with me directly?”

      “What? That’s a no-no. Did you happen to record it?”

      “You bet I did. He wanted to know what I was prepared to settle for. I told him I’d let him know, because I wanted him to continue talking. I’ll make a copy of the tape and send it to you tomorrow by messenger.”

      So they wanted to be sneaky. That only strengthened his hand. He wondered how dirty they’d get.

      Two days later while Judson sat on the grass in the sculpture garden of the National Gallery, soaking up the sunshine and eating his lunch, his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the name on the ID screen, so he used his formal response.

      “This is Judson Philips. How may I help you?”

      “Mr. Philips, my name is Cissy Henry, and I’m from Hagerstown. I think I may have some information for you.”

      He nearly choked on his food. “Are you referring to my ad in the Herald-Mail?”

      “Yes, sir. My daughter-in-law told me you were asking if anybody knew Beverly Moten. Well, I used to know her, but she left here well nigh thirty years ago. Her father was my brother.”

      He’d forgotten his lunch and was standing. “Do you mind if I come to see you and talk with you?”

      “No. I don’t mind a bit. Nobody’s interested in what we old people have to say. Where are you, and when do you want us to talk?”

      “I live in Baltimore, and I can be at your place tomorrow morning at about eleven. What’s your address?”

      She gave