ENCORE PERFORMANCE (THE MATCHMAKER TRILOGY) (25 page)

But it was her voice that Hope heard in her vivid
dreams. It was clear.
Hope adjusted behind the wheel, checked her mirrors,
and put the car back into drive. She wasn’t going to worry
about her sanity. She was fine. Everyone had dreams that
meant a lot. She, however, had them often.
Katie Burkhalter had been in her dreams since she’d
been a small girl. She understood that. That was
remembering someone you loved. As she’d gotten older,
Katie was only a memory. There were no more dreams.
When she turned twenty the dreams had returned.
She and Katie walked in meadows, painted pictures of
flowers, and even played the piano together. That thought
alone had her laugh. She’d taken piano lessons from the
time she was eight. Her brother-in-law had had the patience
of a saint as he tried to teach her, but she was no good. The
daughter of a world-renowned cellist and the sister of one
of the most sought-after music teachers in the area, Hope
Kendal couldn’t keep rhythm or play to save her soul.
She’d started on the piano and moved on to other
instruments. It was no use. She was not a musician.
She was an artist.
Hope didn’t hear the world, she saw it in vivid color
and texture. What her mother, sister, and brother-in-law
could convey in music, she could convey on canvas.
Luck had been on her side. The small store next to her
sister’s music school had become available when she’d
turned twenty-one. Already established as a mural artist,
she opened a small gift shop where she could also sell her
paintings and work on them as well. Business wasn’t
booming, but it kept her busy, happy, and close to her
family.
Now, with her hand still tingling and her
grandmother’s voice ringing in her ears, she felt the need to
paint. She drove back to her studio.
She would keep the store closed for the rest of the day.
After all, it was her birthday. She deserved a day off, but
she would paint. She would paint him.

Music filtered through the walls as Hope set up her
canvas and selected a pencil to sketch the face of the
stranger she’d met. Thomas had a student just beyond the
wall that separated Hope’s studio area from the music
school. She recognized the muffled song. How many times
had he tried to get her to play it? How many times had he
not given up? How many times had she tried it? She was
seventeen before they all decided her talents lay in another
form. Painting was her avenue of expression.

Of course, her perseverance in playing the piano had
stemmed from her being enamored with her brother-in-law.
She’d been eight when he’d walked into her life. Now he
was the father of her two nieces and two nephews and still
the light of her life. She knew how blessed she was to have
two very stable and wonderful men in her life.

She began to block in the shading and planes of the
face etched in her mind. The broad forehead accentuated by
the short dark hair, the well-groomed brows that shadowed
the deep-set, dark eyes, and the mouth . . . That mouth that
housed a perfect set of white teeth behind perfect lips,
which she was sure were soft, yet strong.

Hope lifted the pencil and looked down at the shadows
on the white canvas. He stared up at her. She lifted her
fingers to the canvas and felt the same shock travel through
her fingers as she’d felt when he’d touched her.

Dear God, what was it about the man? Trevor Jacobs,
she reminded herself, with his smile and his deep voice that
still rang in her ears.

He’d happened upon her in a cemetery of all places.
You didn’t meet the man of your dreams in a cemetery.
She put down the pencil. The music from the school
next door had stopped and she noticed that the light outside
had dimmed. She’d been drawing the face of Trevor Jacobs
for hours. She glanced down at her watch and decided she
had just enough time to go home, shower, and change
before she headed to her sister’s house for dinner.
A smile slid across her lips. It was her birthday. Her
twenty-third birthday to be exact, and she still loved
blowing out candles and ripping into presents. Now it was
even more fun. Her sister’s children begged to help blow
the candles, and little Becky, who had just turned six, was
very fond of ripping paper off of gifts. It couldn’t get any
better than that.

Trevor watched the lights in the small apartment turn
on as Hope walked from the door to the back, where he
knew her bedroom must be. He hadn’t actually gone
through her apartment, but he’d studied her long enough.
However, now that he’d spoken to her face-to-face he
wasn’t comfortable watching her. Before it had been to
ensure that Hope Kendal was in fact the daughter of Mandy
Marlow and his client, but now he sat in his car out in the
street just because he wanted to be near her.

He tossed his head against the back of his seat. He’d
never stopped from identifying himself when the time was
right. His job had been to find a missing person. He’d done
that. He’d found her buried in a cemetery in Kansas City,
Missouri.

Once he’d found Mandy Marlow his job was to prove
that she did indeed have a child that, by calculation, would
be twenty-three years old. If in fact he found that there was
a child, he was to contact his client and inform him of the
findings. He’d done that. What a phone call that had been.

He’d told Donald Buchanan that he had found Mandy
Marlow. The silence on the other end had been disturbing.
“How is she?” Donald had asked.
Trevor had frozen. Damn! The man hadn’t known she
was dead.
“Sir, she died twenty three years ago,” he said
cautiously and heard a sharp intake of breath on the other
end of the line. There was more silence. “Sir, are you
okay?”
“Yes. Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I guess I
hoped that . . . well, it’s not important.”
“You were correct though. She did have a child that
matches the age you gave me. In fact, she turned twentythree today.”
The silence on the other end of the line was different.
He didn’t hear deep breaths as he’d heard when he’d told
him Mandy was dead. He was sure that if he could see
Donald Buchanan, the man would be smiling.
“I knew it,” he said simply. “You said she?”
“Yes, sir. A daughter.” He was reluctant to give him
her name. He still had half his fee to collect from the man,
and he’d already finished what he’d been asked to do.
Simply find Mandy Marlow and see if she had a child.
He’d done that.
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my job,” he ensured him.
“I would like to meet with her, but my wife . . . she
can’t know about her.”
“That will be up to you, sir. I can give her your contact
information.”
“No. She wouldn’t know about me, would she?”
“Well she knew about Mandy, sir. She was at her
grave today.”
“Yes, but if Mandy died when she was so young, then
she’s been raised by another family, perhaps a family that
has protected her from me all this time.”
Trevor was sure of that.
Donald sighed into the phone.
“Can you spend more time there getting to know about
them? I would like to know who they are and what they are
like before I approach her.”
“I’m not sure that’s . . .”
“Please, Mr. Jacobs.” He let out another sigh. “I’ve
spent the past twenty-three years wishing I had found
Mandy. I should never have let her disappear as I did. She
was like that. She’d just disappear from your life. But I
never forgot her.” He was silent for a moment. “Mr. Jacobs,
imagine being my age and just now finding you had a child.
Wouldn’t you want the best for that child?”
“Of course, sir.”
“And wouldn’t you want to ensure that child was
comfortable in her life before you added any possible
joy”—he paused—“or misery to her life?”
Trevor closed his eyes and battled with himself. He
could walk away. Investigating people’s private lives was
something of a hobby, a chance to earn extra money, and
just a little dangerous sometimes too. It was living out a
childhood fantasy. Going back to New York and
investigating insurance frauds and claims paid the bills. His
apartment was nice enough and so was his office. Things
were comfortable.
But what if a woman did to him what Mandy Marlow
had done to Donald Buchannan? What if he’d fathered a
child and wasn’t even given the knowledge that he was a
father? What if his daughter had been given to her ex-lover
to raise?
A sharp disgust began to brew in Trevor when he
thought about the injustice that Mandy Marlow had done to
Donald Buchannan. What if Hope wasn’t happy in her life
and Mandy had thrust her into a family that took her, but
didn’t love her?
Wouldn’t it be his job to find out and offer Hope an
alternative? What if she didn’t like the Kendals at all? What
if she’d always wished to be someone else? He could offer
her something no one else could—the truth.
He’d have to accept Donald’s offer, and of course, the
fees that went along with that, and get to know Hope
Kendal a little better before he could decide which path he
should take in helping her.

“It shouldn’t be a problem to get to know her better.”
“Thank you for all that you’re doing.” Donald took a
deep breath. “Mr. Jacobs, if I may ask, what is the first
name of my daughter?”
Trevor contemplated what he was asking and realized
that Donald hadn’t asked for too much information. He too
was keeping to the contract of what he’d asked Trevor to
do. “Her name is Hope.”
“Hope.” Donald sighed. “Thank you.”
The line went dead.
Trevor watched as the lights began to turn off in the
apartment in the reverse order from how she’d turned them
on. He also realized he’d stayed parked outside her
apartment longer than he’d meant to. Donald Buchanan had
asked him to find out about her family, he reminded
himself. He ensured himself that was what he was doing.
He’d follow her and see where she went. Maybe she’d lead
him to her family.
He was just doing his job.
Then he saw her on her front stoop. She wore a short
white dress. Her hair fell down her back in lazy curls. She
locked the door to her apartment and hurried toward her
car.
The thudding of his heart was a surprise. The sweating
of his palms and the drying of his mouth combined into a
clash of discomfort. He watched her now without the
interest of a private investigator, but that of a protector. But
whom was he protecting her from? He’d just moved into a
very strange roll of stalker, though the feelings inside of
him were much different.
He needed to meet her again, and this time, get to
know her—and stop following her like a voyeur. He drove
away in the opposite direction, disgusted with himself for
having sat on her street. He needed to justify himself again
with a long hot shower and an ice-cold beer before he
decided how he was going to approach Hope Kendal.

Hope climbed into her car as quickly as she could and
locked the door. The tingling in her hand had returned
when she’d locked the door to her apartment. She looked
around. She could feel him.

She blew out a ragged breath as she started the car and
turned onto the street. He was just in her mind, that was all.
By tomorrow, she would have forgotten all about him.

She pulled up in front of the house where her greatgrandmother and mother had grown up. Now her sister and
her family lived in the house that almost a century earlier
had been a boardinghouse.

Hope’s nieces ran through the yard as she climbed out
of her car.
“Auntie Hope!” Becky jumped into her arms. “You’re
going to let me help you open the book Mommy bought
you, aren’t you?”
“Becky!” Julie’s eyes were wide as she stared in
disbelief at her little sister. At eight she’d learned the fine
art of keeping a secret. “Mom is going to kill you for telling
her.”
“I’m sure you’re mother won’t kill her. But I won’t tell
her I know.” Hope set Becky on the ground.
“Tell me you know what?”
Hope looked up to see her sister standing in the
doorway with her arms crossed over her chest.
“That Becky told Auntie Hope what her present was,”
Julie told her mother, her voice filled with disgust.
Hope watched as a smile slid across her sister’s lips
and a laugh then escaped her throat.
Julie stomped her feet up the front steps to the house.
“Why are you laughing? Isn’t she in trouble?”
Hope cocked an eyebrow at her sister. “I’m not getting
a book, am I?”
Carissa stepped back so Hope and Becky could enter
the house. “I knew someone would spill the beans. I guess
you’ll all be surprised, won’t you?”
“Mom, that’s not fair!” Becky protested.
“Well, I guess I knew you couldn’t keep a secret,”
Carissa said as she patted her daughter on the bottom and
sent her off laughing. “Mom, Dad, and Thomas are in the
kitchen.” She laced her arm with Hope’s.
“You’ll be glad to know I was working too hard to
remember to buy treats.”
“Glad to hear it. But you were working on your
birthday?”
“Painting.”
“Ah, you got inspired today?”
Hope stopped.
“I met a man today,” she said and noticed that
Carissa’s eyes widened. “Right after you left, he walked by
searching for his aunt’s grave.”
“Was he cute?”
Hope laughed. “Oh my God! He was amazing.”
“You were painting him?”
“His face won’t leave my mind. He shook my hand
and there was such a shock that passed through us, I can
still feel it.” She clasped her hands together.
“And if I know you, you think that was a sign?”
Carissa was studying her and Hope smiled at her sister.
“It was nice, that’s all.” She took her sister’s arm again
and they headed to the kitchen.
The aromas of Thomas’s signature spaghetti sauce
filled the house and had Hope’s stomach growling. It was
only then she realized she hadn’t eaten anything since her
bagel that morning before heading to the cemetery. Her
mind had been too occupied to think of food.
Her father was the first to cross to her.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” He kissed her on the
cheek a smiled down at her.
David Kendal, father of the year, every year, in her
book. She knew she’d only be happy when she found a man
like her father.
He’d been a pilot until up until the beginning of the
year when he’d retired. Hope wasn’t sure when he’d had
time to work. He and her mother had been going nonstop
since they’d cleaned up the retirement party.
They had traveled Europe and spent a month in
Australia. They spent time in Italy with her former boss
Pablo DiAngleo and his partner, Pierre, before returning
home and planting the biggest garden in the city and taken
on the role of babysitter for Carissa children. Happiness
was truly theirs.
He wore his sixty-three years handsomely. His hair
was pure silver, but as he always said, “It let go of the color
but at least it didn’t let go.”
Well-deserved lines peeked from the corners of his
eyes. There had been a lot of world seen through them.
“Thank you, Daddy.” She fell into his shoulder as he
wrapped an arm around her.
“Stop hogging her.” Sophia Kendal wiped her hands
on a towel and crossed the kitchen to hug her. “Happy
birthday, darling.”
Her mother kissed her on the cheek and beamed at her.
Hope couldn’t imagine that a child born into a family could
be more loved than she was. Luck had been on her side
when her birth mother had given her to them. They hadn’t
chosen her, but they had taken her, and loved her.
“There’s my girl!” Thomas put down his spoon and
turned from the stove to envelop Hope in another hug. “I
got your favorite almost finished. Why don’t you get the
kids to wash up and sit down?”
“I can do that much.” Hope smiled at her brother-inlaw. Carissa was a lucky woman. Sophia had set her sister
and Thomas up to fall in love, just as her grandma Katie
had done for Sophia and David years ago. Matchmaking. It
seemed to be a family trait that lead to happiness. Hope
could only assume they hadn’t found the right man yet, or
she’d have fallen willing victim to their skills as well.
As they gathered around the table Hope sat, as she
often did, in awe of the commotion that ensued. Over the
years, as each member of the family was added, she’d come
accustomed to the changes at the table. Certain people sat
in certain chairs. Some would eat their peas. Others would
tuck them under other items on their plate to hide them.
Her sister never actually sat down, and her meal wasn’t
touched until her four beautiful children bounded from the
table to find something better to do.
Thomas could carry on a conversation with every
person at the table simultaneously. Her mother had taken
on her great-grandmother’s art of gossip. Never did Sophia
say a harsh word though. She enjoyed sharing the
happenings of those she knew.
Her father, as usual, was more reserved. He kept his
words, she always mused, until he was ready to use them,
and then he’d use them all.
Dinnertime at Carissa’s was noisy, and messy, and
always the one thing Hope looked forward to being a part
of.
Thomas left the table and returned a moment later with
a bottle of champagne. “I have something special for
tonight. In honor of the birthday girl.”
Hope smiled wide. “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”
“Can I have some?” Becky asked.
“You can have a little taste,” Thomas promised,
though Hope knew he wouldn’t have his own. He didn’t
drink. She’d never seen him drink. She’d been told that he
drank plenty once. It had been enough to nearly kill him.
Thomas opened the bottle and sniffed it.
“I don’t think you’ll like it, Becky.”
“Oh, it’s an adult thing,” she said with her face already
scrunched up. Hope’s heart went out to her. She’d been that
girl not so long ago. With Carissa being seventeen years
older than she was, she’d shared the table with adults her
entire life and wanted to always be just like them.
Hope wrapped her arm around her niece’s shoulders.
“Well, if you’d rather not have the bubbly stuff, then I
think you should have a bigger piece of cake.”
“Really, Auntie Hope? I can have a bigger piece of
cake?”
“That is, if there
is
cake.” She looked around at the
others at the table.
Sophia crossed her arms over her chest and shot her
chin up. “Have I ever missed baking you a birthday cake?”
“Not once.” Hope reached across the table and placed
her hand on her mother’s.
Sophia Kendal, what an amazing woman. What
woman took on the responsibility of another person’s child
and loved her like Sophia had loved her?
Hope sat back and sipped her champagne, listening to
the chaos, and thinking. She’d battled with the thought for
years. Had Mandy had a change of heart and given her to
David because she actually loved her? Or was she hoping
to punish him by dumping a baby on him and then dying?
They’d all told her what he was willing to sacrifice to keep
her, and she wasn’t even his blood. He could have lost
Sophia altogether, but he wanted to give Hope a home and
he wanted her with her sister. Not a day had gone by in her
life that she hadn’t thanked God that David had decided to
keep her and that Sophia had fallen in love with her.
Sophia carried the cake from the kitchen and set it in
front of Hope. Precisely placed on the cake were twentythree candles.
Becky snuggled in next to her aunt. “I counted them
and put them on the cake.”
“I think you put too many.”
“Nope. Mama said to put two whole boxes on and then
take one off.”
“Well now, that is one smart mama.” Hope touched her
head to her niece’s as she watched Thomas light the
candles on her cake.
This family, her real family, was all the family she
would ever need.