Wilder Hearts. Karen Rose Smith

But when she sensed he was having what appeared to be a serious, personal conversation with someone, Simone decided that it might be best if she left the room and let him speak in private.

      “You’re wrong, Anna,” he said.

      Simone easily surmised he was talking to his adopted sister.

      Years ago, when Anna was an infant, she’d been left at the hospital by an unknown woman and adopted by Peter’s parents. According to what Simone had gathered over the years by comments made to her by both Ella and Peter, their father, the late James Wilder, spent years trying to prove the family’s love to Anna, which only created a strain between her and his other children.

      To make matters worse, Anna had taken a position with NHC, and her family loyalty was in question.

      Simone supposed, in some instances, adoptions might not work out the way everyone intended them to. And she’d have to keep that in mind.

      For the first time since learning she was pregnant, she realized that giving up the baby might not be the slam-dunk solution she’d been hoping for. That there were a lot of factors to consider.

      But she supposed parenting, in general, was a difficult job—and not one to be taken lightly.

      Peter glanced up, and when their gazes connected, Simone whispered, “Sorry.” She motioned that she would leave him in private, but he shook his head, indicating that she didn’t need to go.

      Unfortunately, she felt uncomfortable either way.

      “All right, I’ll let you go. But do me a favor. Just try to see the family’s side in this situation.” Peter’s lips tensed, then he slowly folded up his cell phone, ending the call without saying goodbye.

      “I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Simone said.

      “You didn’t. We were hanging up anyway. Anna had a meeting to attend, so she said she’d talk to me later.” Peter blew out a heavy sigh. “But I’m not so sure she’ll call back. I’m afraid my sister is so removed from my life that she doesn’t understand why I’m against the NHC takeover.”

      “I’m sorry to hear that.” Simone thought highly of all the Wilders, and she sensed that the rift between Anna and her siblings was becoming more and more serious.

      “If you had walked in a few minutes sooner, you would have heard a few heated words. I tried to explain how my dad felt about this hospital, how Ella, David and I feel, but Anna…Well, she just doesn’t get it. I’m afraid that conversation we just had might have made things worse.”

      “Do you want to talk about it?” Simone didn’t usually open up to her coworkers about her personal concerns and issues, but sometimes they found it easy to share with her. She suspected that was because she never took part in gossip or betrayed a confidence.

      “There’s really nothing to say.” Peter got to his feet. “We’ve got some upcoming family weddings on the horizon, including my own. But I’m not even sure if Anna plans to attend any of them.”

      “It’s tough when there’s a rift in a family.” Even when it was only a family of two, like Simone and her mother.

      “You’re right.” As Peter approached Simone and headed for the door, he said, “The solarium is all yours now.”

      “Thanks.”

      As he left the sunlit room, Simone no longer felt like reading. Instead, she strode toward one of the windows and peered into the garden, noting the colorful signs of spring and renewal, the shoots of new growth and colorful blooms.

      Peter’s trouble with Anna only reminded her of the relationship she had with her mother.

      It had been nearly a week, and her mom still hadn’t returned her last call. But what else was new?

      If the two of them had a normal relationship—she let the fantasy briefly play out in her mind—Simone would have called her mother to tell her about the baby. And if things had been different between them, she might have even looked forward to being a mother herself.

      And perhaps she wouldn’t be the least bit apprehensive about creating a family with Mike.

      That night when she got home from work, Simone picked up the telephone and dialed her mother’s number one last time. It wasn’t all that unusual to be playing telephone tag with the woman.

      But this time, Susan Garner answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

      “Hey, Mom. It’s me.”

      “Hi, Simone. You finally caught me at home. I’m afraid that I’ve been in and out a lot. I meant to return your call.”

      That was questionable.

      “How are you doing?” Simone asked, disregarding the excuse given. “Cynthia called last week and told me you’d discovered a lump in your breast. I…I’ve been worried. And I wondered if there was anything I could do. If there were any questions you had.”

      “It was a bit scary for a while, but they did a biopsy and it came back benign.”

      “Well, good. That’s great. And I imagine it’s a big relief for you.”

      “Yes, it was.” Susan blew out a sigh. “I’m really sorry Cynthia called you and bothered you with that. If it would have been…more serious…I would have called myself.”

      Would she have?

      Somehow, Simone didn’t think so. It was almost as if the two had never lived together, as if once Simone turned eighteen and could legally fly the coop, Susan’s maternal responsibilities—what few she’d actually assumed—had ended.

      “Well, I’m glad it all turned out okay,” Simone said.

      “Yes, everything is fine.”

      But it really wasn’t. Not this conversation, not their relationship.

      “I guess I’d better let you go, Mom. Be sure to tell Cynthia hello for me.”

      “I will. Good night, Simone.”

      The line disconnected.

      Simone supposed the news should have been comforting, but she wanted to scream in frustration.

      Why couldn’t her relationship with her mother have been…normal? Or even just moderately dysfunctional?

      In spite of the years Simone had spent building up a durable, Teflon hide and telling herself it really didn’t matter, the disappointment and pain she’d experienced as a child and had locked away as an adolescent began to flood her heart with regret, and tears welled in her eyes.

      Damn those pregnancy hormones.

      And damn the past.

      Woofer barked, then headed for the door, just moments before the bell sounded.

      Oh, great. Now what? Simone hated to bother answering, especially all weepy-eyed and splotchy-faced. But neither did she want to hole up inside the house and pretend she wasn’t home.

      So she answered, albeit reluctantly, and found Mike on her porch. She could have sworn he’d told her he had an O’Rourke-family birthday party to attend. He must have decided to stop by on his way.

      “Oh, honey,” he said, reaching for the knob of the screen door without waiting to be invited inside.

      She supposed he’d gotten used to making himself comfortable at her house. And she must have gotten used to having him around, too, because she grabbed Woofer’s collar and used her foot to keep Wags from dashing outside. Then she stepped out of the way to let Mike in.

      He gave each dog a detached greeting while focusing his attention on her. “What’s the matter?”

      Oh, God. She hated to spill her guts. But maybe, if she did, it would eventually make him realize why she wasn’t the motherly type. Why the whole idea of home and family