Triplets Found: The Virgin's Makeover / Take a Chance on Me / And Then There Were Three

“There was a fire at the Children’s Connection clinic that destroyed many of their records, so my information is sketchy at best. But this is the address that was in the file.” Jared tugged at the knot in his tie.

The woman straightened and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “We adopted our daughter from the Children’s Connection. But we don’t know anyone by the name of Bartlite.”

Maybe Adam and his parents had only lived here a short while and she’d forgotten.

“My son would be twenty-seven years old,” Jared said, trying to jar the woman’s memory, hoping he hadn’t hit an insurmountable wall.

“Our Lissa is twenty-seven.”

A coincidence? Or merely a mix-up of the scanty records they’d pieced together?

Grasping for a straw, Jared asked, “Do you know anything about her birth parents?”

“Not much. Just a few details. But that’s because an old high-school friend of mine worked at Portland General for a while. I was curious, so she gave me a bit of information.”

“What did you learn?”

“Lissa’s mother was only seventeen. She’d intended to keep her baby, but was involved in a car accident that left her in a coma. The doctors delivered Lissa prematurely, and the poor mother died shortly after the birth.”

Hope jumpstarted Jared’s pulse. “Was the mother’s name Olivia Maddison?”

Mrs. Cartwright sobered, furrowed a delicate brow and held on to the doorjamb. “Lissa’s mother’s name was Olivia. But that’s all I know. What’s all this about?”

“I think I may be Lissa’s biological father.” The revelation made him feel grossly inadequate. Why hadn’t he come looking for his child sooner? Come before a crisis made him look as if he would have stayed anonymous forever.

“But you were looking for Adam Bartlite,” she said, as though trying to negate his tie to her daughter.

“I’m not sure where or how Adam Bartlite fits into the picture. Maybe he was a child whose records had been mixed with Lissa’s when the clinic staff tried to salvage what they could.”

It really didn’t matter. Not anymore. He’d found what he was looking for—his child. A daughter.

Mrs. Cartwright pursed her lips and looked at him as if he were the angel of death. “What do you want from us?”

“Nothing,” he lied, not ready to reveal his purpose. “I just want to meet her, maybe get to know her.”

The woman who’d nurtured his child studied him critically. Assessing his character, he supposed. And maybe trying to spot a telltale resemblance. When she caught his gaze, her mouth parted. “Your eyes are the same shade as hers.”

“Was she born on January the thirteenth at Portland General Hospital?”

The woman nodded, but didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

Jared tried to keep the excitement—and hope—from his voice. “Is she here?”

“She’s down at the vineyard office.”

Apprehension slammed into him. And so did shame. He should have looked for her sooner.

What if she wasn’t happy to see him? What if she thought he was using her? In a sense, he was. Questions bombarded him. But the biggest one rang loud and clear. What if Lissa didn’t care about the life or death situation facing her biological father’s family?

“How do you think she’ll feel about me showing up unannounced?” he asked, hoping the child he’d given up wouldn’t harbor any ill feelings.

“I’m not sure.”

“Maybe she’ll resent me for not being a part of her life,” Jared said, revealing his fears. “Resent me for giving her up.”

“Lissa is a lovely young woman. And there’s not a day goes by that I don’t thank the Good Lord for giving her to us. I’d been unable to get pregnant for years, and I’d wanted a baby desperately.” Tears welled in her eyes, and she tried to blink them back.

“I don’t want to interfere in her life or take her away from you. I’d just like to get to know her.”

Mrs. Cartwright nodded. “I can’t blame you for that. It might have been more difficult for me had you come looking for her while she was still a child.”

Jared tried to put himself in Mrs. Cartwright’s shoes. If someone showed up on his doorstep wanting to lay claim to one of his kids, he’d be concerned, too. “Thank you for loving her, for being her mother.”

“It’s been a joy and an honor, Mr. Cambry.” Then she grabbed a sweater from a coat rack in the hall. “Come along with me. I’ll introduce you. The rest is up to Lissa.”

She had that right.

How would Lissa react when she met him? And more important, what would she say when he asked her to be tested as a bone-marrow donor?

He would find out soon enough.

Lissa bent over the desk where Sullivan had displayed a marketing plan he’d developed. She might have put away any romantic ideas involving the handsome consultant, but she couldn’t overlook his musky, mountain-meadow scent, couldn’t ignore the brush of his arm against hers, the heat that raced through her blood. Nor could she keep her eyes off him.

He’d dressed casually today in jeans and a white dress shirt. Rolled sleeves revealed muscular forearms and an expensive gold watch.

“So, what do you think?” he asked.

Okay. Mind back on business. “As I’ve already mentioned, I think your idea of opening the vineyard and winery for tours is a good one. I’ll discuss it with my father when he gets back from San Diego.”

Sullivan nodded, as a light rap sounded at the office door. Before Lissa could answer, her mother turned the knob and let herself in. A tall, dark-haired stranger followed her.

“Honey,” her mom began. “I know you’re busy, but there’s someone I think you should meet.”

Lissa straightened and approached her mother and the middle-aged man. His eyes seemed to study her with more curiosity than was the norm. Who was he?

“I’m Jared Cambry.” The man extended a hand in greeting, his green eyes scanning her face, her expression.

His name didn’t sound familiar, but Lissa shook his hand. “Lissa Cartwright.”

“You look like your mother,” he said.

Lissa glanced at Donna and wrinkled her brow. Eileen was the one who favored their mother. Was the guy blind?

“He means Olivia,” Donna said, her voice soft. And a little wobbly.

Olivia was her birth mother’s name. Did this guy know her real mother? Her real parents? A multitude of questions tumbled forth. But, for the life of her, the words wouldn’t form.

“I have reason to believe I’m your father,” the man said.