The Daddy's Promise. Shirley Jump

mother’s stories made the town sound like the perfect place to settle down when she had a child of her own. Mercy, Indiana, was the closest thing Anita knew of to the town her mother had described. After so many years of feeling disconnected, Anita hoped Mercy would provide the answer she was seeking.

      The mail truck pulled up in front of her house and slid a pile of letters into the battered aluminum box. Anita crossed into the family room, reached for the front door handle, realized it was still missing in action, and opted for the window.

      From the thickness of the stack in the box, Anita figured her mail from L.A. had finally managed to catch up with her. She flipped through the envelopes as she climbed back through the window and into the house.

      She tossed the bills to one side of the kitchen table, along with a bunch of junk mail. At the bottom of the pile was a thin envelope she almost missed. Anita tore into it.

      The letter from her editor at the magazine started out friendly enough, then disintegrated into bad news. “Budget cuts…We regret to inform you…Wonderful writing…no further need for your services…Wish you luck elsewhere.”

      The job she’d counted on was gone. Eliminated with a single sheet of paper and a thirty-seven cent stamp.

      Attached to the letter was a check, for only forty percent of what she’d expected. The kill fee, which editors offered when they couldn’t use work they’d contracted to buy, wasn’t nearly enough.

      When she’d landed that job, she’d thought it had been wonderful luck. Here was her chance to build a work-from-home career that would let her be with the baby and still earn a living. She’d figured between the booties business and the savings from living in Mercy instead of L.A., she’d come out ahead.

      But now it looked as if she’d fallen behind.

      Outside, thunder rumbled. A minute later, the skies let loose. Rain pounded down, slapping against the pavement with determination. In the right-hand corner of the kitchen, a steady drip-drip-drip began. Anita grabbed a three-quart pot and put it under the leak.

      The water started dripping a symphony throughout the house. By the time she was done, she’d used five pots, two mixing bowls and all six of her glasses to catch the interior rainstorm.

      Add one roofer to the list.

      The mouse skittered across the floor, nose twitching, tail flicking. He glanced up at the kitchen table, then scurried around the chairs. He paused, curved his head up to look at her and sniffed twice.

      “You’re pitiful when you beg.” Anita laid a crust of bread, topped with some of the horrendous marmalade, on the floor. The mouse tiptoed up to it, took one sniff and dived headfirst into his little mouse hole in the kitchen wall.

      She laughed. “I don’t blame you. Give me a few days and we’ll be dining on steak. Well, at least chicken. I’ll come up with something.”

      Things, after all, could be worse. She had a canned ham. Crackers. And marmalade she could use as putty. Not exactly the best choices from the four food groups, but she wouldn’t starve.

      Anita grabbed her laptop and headed for her Honda. She’d get to the library, hook up to the Internet and scour the Web until she landed another freelance job. Then tonight she’d work like a little elf, crocheting until her fingers fell off.

      She had credentials, clips, experience. She’d be fine.

      There. A plan. Already she felt better. The rain sputtered against the Honda. Anita turned the key in the ignition.

      Click, click, click. Then, nothing.

      “Come on, baby.” She pressed on the gas pedal, turned the key again and prayed.

      This time, the car didn’t even bother to click. Nothing but silence.

      She climbed out of the vehicle, shut the door and popped the hood. Everything looked normal. The same jumble of wires and metal that had been there for the past six years.

      No job. No car. No money. Even Anita had to admit she was facing a problem she didn’t have a ready solution for.

      She didn’t know anyone yet in town, except for Miss Marchand, whom she doubted would be very mechanical. Maybe she could catch a ride downtown in the little red wagon.

      There’s always Luke, her mind reminded her. Nope, she wasn’t going to call on him for help. Relying on Luke would be opening doors best left shut.

      Or…there was his father, the part-time handyman. Maybe his skills included giving CPR to dead Hondas. She slung her laptop over her shoulder, grabbed an umbrella out of the hall closet, left a note for the electrician to go in through the back door—if he wanted to steal some unpacked boxes, more power to him—and then set out for Cherry Street in her sandals and sundress.

      Mercy was a small town and within fifteen minutes, Anita had found it. The third house down was a white ranch with a hand-painted sign in the shape of a happy yellow daisy announcing, “The Doles Welcome You.”

      She walked up the brick path, hesitating before she rang the bell. She told herself she didn’t care if Luke was the one on the other side of the door.

      And yet, if that was true, the voice in the back of her mind asked, then why had she moved within three blocks of the only man she’d ever really trusted? Why did she care so much about the way his shoulders seemed to sag, the dark circles beneath his eyes and the way he looked at his daughter as if he was missing a piece of his soul?

      Luke Dole didn’t fit into her plans for the future. Heck, he’d barely fit through her window.

      He was the exact kind of man she didn’t need—a workaholic who spent more time at the office than living his life. And Anita wasn’t the kind of woman who relied on other people. Life had taught her that people left her, just when she needed them most. She was just fine on her own, thank you very much.

      Nope, she wasn’t about to let Luke Dole in through the front door—of the house or of her heart. Not again.