Three Wishes
Amazon | Barnes and Noble | Books a Million
~ EXCERPT ~
Everything changed the day little Taylor Whitfield got locked out of her house.
Maya had driven home slowly, wipers flashing frantically in the pounding rain. As she pulled into the driveway of her Grant Park home, she noticed a dark form huddled on the porch of her neighbor's house. She parked and shut off the car, then managed the awkward maneuver of exiting the car, opening the umbrella and grabbing her briefcase.
The little girl sat in the swing on her neighbor's porch. She looked to be no more than seven or eight. What was the family's name? They'd moved in about six months ago, she recalled, the little girl and her father. Maya had never seen a woman at the house, except for an older woman who left when the father came home.
Why in the world was the child sitting on the porch? She looked soaked to the bone; April rains were chilly, even here in Atlanta. Maya told herself it wasn't her problem as she unlocked her door and dumped her wet belongings on the parquet floor of her foyer. She shouldn't get involved. She had enough problems of her own...
With a sigh, she reopened her large umbrella and dashed across the short distance to her neighbor's house. The child was soaked to the bone, her dark hair plastered to her skull, her blue eyes large as she watched Maya approach.
"Hi," Maya said, stepping onto the porch. "Are you locked out?"
The girl looked at her but didn't answer.
"I'm Maya Hughes," she tried again, keeping her voice soft. "What's your name?"
"My daddy told me not to talk to strangers," the child said, her voice barely coherent through her chattering teeth.
"Your daddy's right," Maya said, wondering where in the world he was and why he'd left his daughter on the porch. "But we're neighbors and we met before, do you remember?" The little girl nodded. "So that hardly makes us strangers."
She seemed to think about that for a moment. "I'm T-Taylor," she finally said. "I'm locked out. Nana Henderson should be here, but she's not."
Maya came to a decision. "Then you're coming home with me. We'll get you dried off and you can wait for your father."
Taylor shook her head. "I should talk to Daddy."
"Good idea," Maya agreed, reaching into her pocket for her cell phone. "What's your father's phone number?"
Taylor gave her the number, adding, "My daddy's a doctor. That's the answering service."
Maya bit off the "You've got to be kidding me" she was about to say. God, the man's daughter has to call an answering service just to talk to him? What kind of father is he? The service answered on the second ring. "Hello, I need to speak to Dr. Whitfield."
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Dr. Whitfield is in surgery for the next two hours. Would you care to leave a message?"
She fought her temper down, fearful of frightening the little girl. "This is Maya Hughes, Dr. Whitfield's next-door neighbor. Please inform him that his daughter was locked out of their house, and I am taking her next door. He can pick her up there." She rattled off her cell and home phone numbers, then disconnected.
"Your father's going to call us soon," she informed Taylor. "In the meantime, we'll go over to my house and I'll introduce you to Hamlet and Horatio." She held out her hand.
"Who're Hamlet and Hor-Horror Show?" Taylor asked, slipping her hand into Maya's.
She held the umbrella over them both, making her way carefully across the flanking driveways. The little girl's hand was small and trusting in hers. "Hamlet is my dog, and Horatio is a cat that thinks he's a dog."
Taylor laughed. "Cats don't think they're dogs."
"This one does. The lady I got them from told me that Horatio just showed up in the litter of pups, about two weeks after the puppies were born. He was newborn himself. The mama dog let him stay and nursed him too. Since then, he's thought of himself as a puppy."
Maya opened the door and immediately heard the scratching sound of claws gaining purchase on the hardwood floor. "Stay behind me, Taylor," she warned. "My boys can get a little excited."
The little girl dutifully stepped behind her as Maya's "boys" scrambled into view, vying for attention. "This is Hamlet," Maya said, pointing to the beagle that thought he was a greyhound. She turned to an overweight calico that bounced around her ankles with the same exuberance the beagle possessed. "And this is Horatio. Don't say the C-A-T word to him, or he'll get offended."
Taylor giggled. "They look like little fat hot dogs. Can I pet them?"
"Of course you can," Maya said, shutting and locking the door. "Why don't you give me your coat? Then I'll find something dry for you to change into."
" 'Kay." Taylor slipped out of her soaking wet jacket. Her jeans were also drenched from the knees down. Apparently being soaked was the least of her concerns because she simply flopped on the floor and into a barking, meowing, giggling bundle of child, cat, and dog.
Maya dropped her briefcase on the couch, then took the soaked outerwear to the laundry room. She'd toss it into the dryer with the jeans after she got something for Taylor to wear. As she climbed the stairs to the guest room her nieces used, she tried to keep her anger in check. Where in the world was Taylor's housekeeper? Since Maya often worked out of her home, she knew the Whitfield's housekeeper arrived around noon and stayed until Taylor's father came home. If something had happened to her, why didn't Taylor have a key? And why didn't her father have an emergency number? Maya didn't care that he was in surgery--if she had a child, there was no way--
Her hands froze on the wardrobe handles as the old regret surfaced. She didn't have a child. Seven years of trying to get pregnant and one year of blame and anger equaled eight painful years of marriage that ended in an acrimonious divorce. No, she didn't have a child of her own, but if she finally decided to adopt, there was no way she'd ever let her child come home alone, soaked and locked out of the house.
She retrieved a change of clothing for Taylor and retreated downstairs. The sound of delighted laughter stopped her in her tracks. Her heart leapt in her chest. How often had she dreamed about her child's laughter filling the emptiness of her home, her heart? Too long.
She entered the living room to see Ham and Harry vying for who could get the most licks on Taylor's face. "Taylor, here's some dry clothes for you to change into. There's a bathroom just down the hall you can use."
Taylor got to her feet. "You have a little girl too?"
"Ah--no, I don't."
"Why not?"
Maya suppressed a groan. How could she have forgotten how inquisitive seven-year-olds could be? "Maybe I will one day, but right now I've got my hands full with Ham and Harry, and I have a couple of nieces your age, and a nephew to keep me busy."
"Do you think I can play with them sometime?" Taylor asked, lifting her pale face to Maya. She had creamy skin like a doll's, and wide blue eyes framed by thick dark lashes. Definitely destined to be a heartbreaker one day. "If they like me, that is. Do you think they'll like me?"
The wistfulness in the child's voice was obvious. Despite herself, Maya reached out and stroked the girl's damp locks. "We'll have to ask your father first, but Leila and Tamera like to make new friends. They'll be over this weekend, so we'll see, all right?"
Taylor beamed at her. " 'Kay."
Maya felt ridiculously pleased at having made Taylor smile. "Why don't you get out of those wet clothes and dry off while I fix you a snack?"
"Do you have peanut butter?"
Maya smiled. "Of course."
***
Nick Whitfield pushed open the door leading from the scrub room, emotionally and physically exhausted. Mrs. Bowerman's surgery had taken three excruciating hours, but it had been successful. He gave her relatives the good news and continued on his way to the break room to snag a cup of coffee before heading home. With any luck, he'd beat Taylor home and be there to help her with her homework.
He glanced up at the clock, surprised to find that it was already after five. Why hadn't Taylor called as soon as she got home? Squelching the momentary worry, he made his way over to the nurses' station, deliberately ignoring the friendly smile from the pretty brunette behind the counter. "Hi, Ms. Reeves. Let me see the phone for a minute, will you?"
"Of course, doctor," the nurse said, giving him a larger smile as she handed the receiver over. "Is there anything else I can get for you?"
"No, this is it, thanks." He punched in his home number. It was possible that time had slipped away from Taylor, but his daughter knew that checking in when she got home was a rule he never wanted broken, for any reason.
The answering machine picked up. He disconnected with a frown. Perhaps Mrs. Henderson had needed to run an errand and took Taylor with her. Even so, the housekeeper knew to call in. Ignoring the niggling feeling of trepidation on the back of his neck, he placed a second call, to his answering service.
"Oh, Dr. Whitfield, we've been trying to reach you!"
"You have? My pager didn't go off." He unclipped it from his belt. "Oh, looks like the batteries went out."
"You have two messages, sir. One from a Robert Henderson, saying that his mother had an accident and had to be rushed to the hospital."
Oh God. "When was this?" he demanded, gripping the receiver tight. "Where's my daughter?"
"The message came in about 2:30 this afternoon, sir," the voice on the other end of the line said. "I don't know any other details. But I do have another message for you."
"What is it?"
"Your daughter is with your next-door neighbor, Maya Hughes."
Maya Hughes? He struggled to recall the faces of the neighbors flanking him, people he hadn't bothered getting to know since he'd bought the house six months ago, an oversight he definitely planned to remedy. An older white couple in their 50s...Jacobson was their name. On the other side....
His stressed memory called up an image of a black woman with a complexion somewhere between cream and honey-tan, with shoulder-length ebony hair. She'd brought them a damned good casserole when they first moved in-something he hadn't thought people did anymore, but was glad she had. Maybe she wasn't a child molester, but how was he to know? He'd never considered his neighbors when planning for emergencies with Taylor.
"Did Mrs. Hughes leave her number?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. Hell, he didn't even know if she was married, if she had kids, or bred pitbulls in her backyard. His little girl could be in serious trouble, all because he didn't plan, he didn't think things through. He wouldn't lose her like he lost her mother. He couldn't.
The attendant gave him two numbers. He thanked her, then disconnected. His fingers trembled as he dialed the home number, and he forced himself to calm down. Child molesters wouldn't leave home and cell phone numbers, would they? Everything would be fine. So his daughter had been in a stranger's house for the last two and a half hours without his knowledge. Nothing had happened, nothing was wrong--
"Hello?" The voice that answered the phone was warm, feminine.
"Where's my daughter?"
Silence. Then, "You must be Dr. Whitfield." The voice had changed from honey to ice in two seconds. "Let me get Taylor for you."
There was a scuffling noise, then the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. "Hi, Daddy."
"Taylor." Nick closed his eyes in silent thanks. She sounded okay. "Are you all right? You're not hurt or anything?"
"I'm fine, Daddy. I got real wet in the rain and I don't know where Nana Henderson is. But Maya said I could stay here and wait for you. She said we weren't strangers because we're neighbors and we met before."
"Oh she did, did she?" Nick gripped the receiver tighter. His trusting little girl. He'd brought her here to have a normal life, to be safe. Fear snaked in his gut. She could have been hurt--
"We had lots of fun. We had peanut butter sandwiches and I played with Hammy and Horror-Show. Then Maya helped me with my homework. She's real nice, Daddy."
The fear receded some. No one with evil intent would help a child with homework, would they?
"Who are Hammy and Horror Show?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"Hammy is a dog and Harry is a big fat cat," his daughter explained. He heard something like a meow-bark in the background. "I'm sorry, Harry thinks he's a dog, but really he's a c-a-t," his daughter said in a whisper. "He actually barks like a dog too."
Good grief, his daughter was alone with a strange woman and her psychotic pets. "Let me speak to…Maya again, cupcake. I'll be home as soon as I find out what happened to Mrs. Henderson."
"Yes?" The cool voice came back on the line.
"Maya. Mrs. Hughes. Thank you for looking after my daughter for me."
"Well, I couldn't leave her on the porch, soaked to the bone," she said. "Locked out of her own home."
Her barbs struck the sensitive part of him rubbed raw by fear. "I just found out through my service that Mrs. Henderson had some sort of accident. My pager ran out of power."
"Then I suggest you invest in some batteries, doctor." There was actually a hint of humor beneath the coolness. "Do you know what happened to Mrs. Henderson?"
"No. I'm going to check with admissions here, then call a couple of other hospitals if I come up empty. Can I impose on you for another hour?"
"Taylor isn't an imposition," she answered, her voice flowing like honey again, soothing his frazzled nerves. "My dog and cat enjoy the company, and so do I."
She lived alone? He'd never paid attention before, but he'd just assumed that a beautiful young woman in a neighborhood like theirs was there to raise a family. "I really appreciate you looking out for Taylor for me. S-she's all I have."
"I understand," she said, her voice soft. "Would you like to speak to her again?"
"Thank you." He waited until he heard his daughter's voice again. "Cupcake, I'm going to find out where Nana Henderson is. I want you to be a good girl and I'll be there as soon as I can, okay?"
"Okay, Daddy, I love you, bye!"
Nick stared at the receiver. It was the first time his daughter had ever rushed him off the phone. Because of Maya Hughes.
Who was this woman?