Family Wanted

Titus was so thrown by her statement that he forgot about being uncomfortable talking privately to a woman for the first time in three years. Isabella wasn’t used to a man wanting to hear her opinion? Why not? What man had made her feel her views weren’t worthy, and why hadn’t Titus considered what might be going on in her world? He hadn’t even thought about what had happened in her past to bring her here, to Claremont. She was such an intriguing, striking woman. Why would she have moved to a place this tiny? Was she trying to get away from the guy who didn’t appreciate her?

“Who made you think your opinions didn’t matter?”

She pushed a wet auburn lock of hair behind her ear and shifted in her seat. “I thought you wanted to ask me a question.”

“I just did.” Titus wasn’t backing down now. The thought of someone treating Isabella with anything less than the respect she deserved bothered him—a lot.

She pulled her towel tighter around her petite frame in an act that, whether she realized it or not, showed that she wanted protection. Titus could identify that now. He wondered how many clues that Isabella had been hurt he’d missed over the past two weeks.

“Did he hit you?” Titus asked.

Her grip on the towel tightened, eyes widened. “Oh, no. Never.”

He believed her, and he was glad she hadn’t been physically harmed, but he also knew that some guy hadn’t treated her all that great, either. “So who was it?” Titus had been nervous about talking with Isabella, but now that the conversation was focused on her and on how someone could have done anything to hurt her, he wasn’t nervous. On the contrary, he was engaged. And ready to make some man pay.

“My husband.”

For the second time in two weeks, Titus felt sucker punched. Isabella was married? Well, of course she was. A woman as beautiful as Isabella, as kind and caring, would naturally have a husband. His attention moved to the bare ring finger on her left hand.

She followed where he stared and said, “My ex-husband, I should say. Our divorce was final six months ago. He tried for ten years to make me into what he wanted, and I let him—” she lifted slender shoulders “—but then he decided that wasn’t enough.” Her green eyes studied him as she added, “But it’s okay. I’m happy now, getting a chance to start over. He started over, too.”

“He’s a fool.”

Her soft laugh broke the tension. She straightened in her chair, gathered her hair and draped it over her right shoulder. “Thank you for that, but you’d probably like him if you met him. Most people do. He’s a fairly popular guy, especially in his social circles.”

Titus hardly heard her statement. His focus had fallen on her hands, maneuvering the long auburn waves that now curled past her shoulder. He wondered if her hair was as soft, as silky, as it appeared. Even now, still damp from her time in the pool, the red-brown ringlets caused him to wonder how they would feel in his hands, against his cheek or brushing against his lips.

And he again reminded himself that he had no business thinking about her that way, and that he didn’t want to think of any woman that way—for a long, long time.

Her cheeks, he now noticed, had started to redden, and Titus realized with sudden clarity that he’d been caught staring and that he had no idea what she’d said. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t listening.”

She laughed again, and once more, he was drawn to the lyrical sound. “It doesn’t matter. But you wanted to ask me something? About Savannah?”

Titus instinctively glanced toward the barn and saw his daughter leaning over the fence rail to timidly touch Brownie’s nose. He got a grip on his infatuation with Isabella and refocused on the reason he’d asked her to talk. “I’m having a difficult time deciding what I can do to help her. I can’t tell you how many articles and blogs I’ve read about telling her that her mom was dead, but none of them seemed right. So I kept putting it off until she finally asked me why I was so sad.” He frowned. “I botched that one.”

She leaned forward, reached a hand across the table and placed it on top of his. “Titus, I thought it was perfect that you waited. And her question gave you the opportunity not only to answer her, but to also see how Nan’s death affected you.”

For some reason, it felt odd hearing Isabella say Nan’s name, but the touch of her hand comforted him to his very soul. He looked at her petite fingers and at the contrast of her creamy skin to his tan. Pale pink polish covered each nail and reminded him of another thing he’d forgotten.

“Savannah asked me to buy her fingernail polish,” he said. “Probably three weeks ago.”

“I have plenty of polish. I’ll bring some tomorrow, and I’ll paint her nails in the morning when I fix her hair.”

“That’d be great,” he said, still captured by the feel of her skin against his. Her thoughtfulness was never ending, as was her compassion for Savannah. And he believed she truly understood what Savannah was going through now, maybe even more than Titus. So he decided to ask her about what was bothering him most.

“The guy from the hospital who called last week to tell me about Nan...” he started. “He said that he found my name and number in some things she’d left behind, and that he would be boxing those up and mailing them to me soon. Of course, he thought I was her brother because apparently she’d given the hospital the impression that she was single.” He didn’t want to spend any time analyzing that with Isabella. “But maybe there are some keepsakes in there that she’d want her daughter—our daughter—to have.”

“Are you wondering whether you should give them to Savannah now or wait until she’s older?”

Titus shook his head. “No. I’m wondering if I want to even see what she left behind. I started to tell him not to bother mailing it.”

“Because...” she prompted.

“She left us, Isabella. Walked out, leaving nothing but a note. I hate it that she got sick, that she died without us even knowing that she was in the hospital. But for some reason, she didn’t want us to know. She didn’t want to see me again, even when she knew that she was dying.” He blew out a steady stream of air, closed his eyes and then opened them. “Don’t you think that going through those things will only pour salt in the wound? And I can’t imagine it doing anything but hurting Savannah.”

Isabella gently squeezed his hand. “Maybe there were things she wanted to tell you,” she offered. “Or things she wanted to tell Savannah.”

“She had three years to tell us anything she wanted.” He shook his head. “I’ll be honest. I don’t want to go through her possessions. I’m done with the pain, done with the hurt. And I’m tired of seeing Savannah hurting because of Nan.” He glanced at her hand, still resting on top of his. “So I wanted to ask someone who could look at this objectively, in particular a female, since I’m guessing you’d know more of what I should do for Savannah. Should I open that box when it comes?”

Isabella’s throat pulsed as she swallowed. “I don’t think I’m the one to answer that.”

“But I’m asking you, and I want your answer.”

“My answer is—” she let the word hang as she apparently considered the right thing to say “—that I think you should pray about it.”

Definitely not the answer he wanted. Titus pulled his hand from hers and stood. “That’s the thing. I’m done with that, too.”

Chapter Five (#ulink_893aa8c5-6e54-5dfc-b4ec-0f291c190c45)

I didn’t know how to tell you the truth...

Titus had just left his house and started toward Willow’s Haven when his cell began to ring. He knew who was on the other end before looking at the screen on the truck’s dashboard. Only one person called at 7:30 a.m.

Sure enough, Mom flashed back at him from the display.

He didn’t have more than fifteen minutes before he would lose his signal when he reached Brodie and Savvy’s property, but he didn’t expect the conversation to take that long either. What could she say that she hadn’t said before?

Glancing toward the backseat, he saw that Savannah was paying more attention to her doll than the ringing phone, but even so, he’d choose his words carefully, and he faded the sound to the front then turned the volume on the stereo system down to a minimum before answering. His parents had undoubtedly received the message he left for them last night, and now his mom wanted to try to make things better, the way moms do. Even though Titus would be thirty-one in a couple of months, she still wanted to fix things the way she had when he’d been Savannah’s age.

Problem was, there was no way to make this better. Even so, he prepared to listen to her try and clicked the answer button on the steering wheel. “Hello.”

“Oh, Titus,” she said, her voice filled with sympathy. “Your dad and I got your message this morning. We didn’t think to check the machine last night when we got home from church.”