Unbreak My Heart (42 page)

He wasn't sure what he was going to say once he got there. He usually played it by ear, and so far, it hadn't been too difficult to find out what he wanted to know. The hard part has been making himself keep searching.

It started snowing on a I-75 in the mountains in Tennessee and kept it up the whole way to the tiny town of Baxter, Ohio, on the banks of the Ohio River just west of Cincinnati.

There were 8,436 people living here, according to the sign on the edge of town, which also bragged about being the home of an artist named Richard Landon, who made, of all things, snow globes.

Rye shook his head over that. A town would have to be pretty hard up for things to brag about to mention a man who made kids' toys.

But it was pretty here, like something out of a wintry postcard. The streets of downtown were wide, the sidewalks broad, many of the old brick storefronts preserved intact, everything neat and polished. There was an honest-to-goodness town square, an old Courthouse behind it, a block of streets surrounding it with a park-like setting in the middle.

He turned into a neighborhood of Victorians, late 1800s, three stories, high-pitched roofs, stained-glass windows, wide porches. As someone who worked in construction, he couldn't help but admire the workmanship that had gone into restoring them.

He drove slower and slower, the closer he got. If he wasn't careful some would call the law on him, and that was the last thing he needed.

Finally, he saw it. No. 12. Maybe the prettiest house on the street. A soft gray with touches of blue on the trim and in the exquisitely beautiful stained glass in the windows and the panels of the front door.

There was money here. He frowned even more.

A pretty sign also in stained-glass hung from the mailbox and said,
McRae Construction, Props. Sam and Rachel McRae
.

Yeah, this was it.

He parked on the opposite side of the street, cut the engine and the lights, and sat there, snow falling softly all around him, the neighborhood just starting to stir.

What now? Knock on the door?

It was too early for that.

But soon, lights started coming on inside the house, one by one, upstairs first and then down. A car came by, driving slowly, and the morning paper was hurled onto the front lawn. The front door of the house opened. A dark-haired man in worn jeans and a faded gray sweatshirt came outside and retrieved the paper. What was he? Early forties? Late thirties? That would be about right.

Not five minutes later, a taxi stopped in front of the house. Doors to the taxi and the house were thrown open. The man came back out. He must have been watching and waiting himself.

A woman climbed out of the taxi and ran to him, throwing her arms around him. He picked her up and spun her around the circle before lowering her to her feet and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. They were both laughing.

It looked like she'd been gone wild.

The men picked up her bag to go inside, but she stood there for a minute staring up at the house like she'd been absolutely aching to see it.

Someone was home.

Rye wondered if he ever would be again.

* * *

He drove around town, had breakfast, killed some time thinking about his options.

This Sam McRae was in construction, probably a small contractor if his business was based out of the house. Rye could ask about a job. It would probably get him in the door, give him a chance to talk to the man. That's all it had taken before. A little conversation, a few subtle questions, and he'd known he was in the wrong place.

But as he drove back to the house, he saw the man come outside again, another suitcase in hand. The man hugged the woman for a long time, then got into a big SUV and left.

One thing about getting the urge to do this at Christmas—people tended to go away. This is the third time he'd gone looking for a man named Sam McRae, and he was surprised he hadn't found people leaving before this. He sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel thinking about Christmas at some little motel in this little town, waiting for the man to come back. It wasn't a very pretty picture, but then Christmas hadn't been for years.

Why couldn't everyone just work through a holiday? He always found himself at loose ends, with time off for nothing to do. Then he'd pull out his list, think about trying to cross one more name off it.

What the hell? Tis the season.

It had become one of searching for him.

Looking toward the house once again, he saw the woman was still standing on the porch, her arms wrapped around herself to ward off the chill, and she was staring at him. There was really no reason to put this off any longer. First steps were always the hardest. He'd take one right now.

He climbed out of the truck and slowly made his way up the walk. As he got closer, he realized she was younger than he thought. Early twenties, he guessed, pretty in a quiet, clean-cut, good-girl kind of way, with dark green eyes and soft brown hair. It hung to the top of her shoulders, curling up at the ends. He liked the smoothness of her skin, the clean lines of her face. She seemed too young to be the man's wife, too old to be his daughter.

"Hi," she said as he stopped at the bottom of the three steps leading up to the porch. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so. That was Sam McRae, wasn't it?"

"Yes. You just missed him."

"Is he going to be back anytime soon?"

"Not for a week or so, I'm afraid. Something came up at the last minute. My Aunt Ann, who lives near Cleveland, is having a baby. Hopefully not for another three months, but the baby's trying to come early. Rachel and the kids took the train up last night to help out with Ann's other children. Sam left this morning to join them."

"Oh," he said. "And you must be..."

"Emma," she said helpfully.

He frowned. Emma? Was that supposed to mean something to him? Because it didn't. Truth was, he knew next to nothing about Sam McRae of Baxter, Ohio.

"Sam's my father," she said finally.

"Oh." It was impolite to ask, to even imply.... But curiosity got the better of him he wondered how he might word the question?

She rescued him but adding, "Let's say, he's my father in every way that counts."

He grinned. "Used to that reaction, huh?"

She nodded. "The women looked disapproving. The men grin and wink."

"Sorry," he said. "It's none of my business. I shouldn't have said anything."

"It's not a problem. Really. I introduced Sam and Rachel as my parents, and people know right away it's not a relationship based in biology. It's not something we've ever tried to hide."

And then he couldn't quite help himself one more time. "You don't mind? Being adopted, I mean?"

"No."

She gave him an open, honest look that said it would never occur to her to mind in the least. Good for her. Good for Sam McRae for making her feel that way.

"So, was Sam expecting you? He gave me a list of appointments to cancel, but I haven't worked my way through them all yet."

"Not an appointment. Not really." He took a chance on lots of things having gotten lost in the shuffle of a last-minute departure, and said, "We talked about me doing some work for him. I thought I'd take a chance and stop by."

"Well, we don't have to talk about this outside in the cold." She sized him up and must've decided he looked trustworthy. "Why don't you come inside and we'll have some coffee."

He was torn between taking advantage of the situation and giving her a lecture about how to keep herself safe. But he really wanted inside this house. He wanted to know if this Sam McRae was the one he'd been looking for all these years, wondered if his name would even mean anything to the man after all these years, and, of course, wondered once again why he even kept looking in the first place.

He stepped inside the house, prepared to be disappointed once again.

Edge of Heaven

The McRae's Series

Book Two

by

Teresa Hill

~

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Twelve Days

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Page forward and continue your journey

with an excerpt from

Bed of Lies

The McRae's Series

Book Three

Excerpt from

Bed of Lies

The McRae's Series

Book 3

by

Teresa Hill

USA Today Bestselling Author

She was standing in the foyer of the most elegant restaurant in town, Steve's arm resting lightly at her back, her future in-laws by her side, her new life firmly in place, when she saw him.

Customers were heading in and out of the front doors, clustering at the hostess stand, heading off to their tables, everyone going every which way at once, while she stood frozen in place.