Second Chances: A Romance Writers of America Collection (Stark World 2.50)

"Bea, while I finish up dinner, Cairn will get you settled."

I had almost forgotten the man next to me.

"Take your bags for you?" He held out a hand.

"Oh, yes," I said, passing them to him.

"Bea DuBois, is it?"

"Yes. Bea is short for Beatrice, but that's pretty old fashioned, so everyone calls me Bea."

Everyone did call me Bea. The pain in my chest sparked again like a match, and I rubbed the space above my heart.

"You okay?" The unfamiliar concern unsettled me.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

I certainly hoped I would be.

"So you are doing research on your family tree?" asked Max Brightwell. He'd come in late from work and went straight to his wife, whom he kissed on her eyes and lips, before sitting down to dinner. He had the same dark hair as the other Brightwell children, but his eyes sparkled with a hue of chocolate brown.

"Yes. There's only so much research I can do from the States, so I decided to make a trip here. Mrs. Brightwell--Eleanor--was incredibly kind to offer guidance and a place to stay. Thank you again."

"It's nothing." She smiled at me.

"And what exactly are you researching?" asked Cairn. He sat next to me, and I'd felt his gaze, intent and interested, all evening.

"Anyone who might be related to me," I said, not looking in his direction. It sounded so dire coming out of my mouth that I wondered if he thought I was desperate. I glanced at him, but his expression was calm and open, so I continued.

"My parents and husband died two years ago in an accident. I've been searching, but I don't have any other living relatives I can find in the States. I know my paternal great-great-grandfather emigrated from Edinburgh to the US in 1903. At least, that's what my father used to tell me. His parents died when he was young, and my mother was a foster child. They were both only children, so ..." I fiddled with my napkin. "I don't know anything other than that."

The room had grown quiet. Max cleared his throat. "Cairn is a solicitor. He could help you with some public records, I bet."

"You're a lawyer?" I asked.

"Aye, I'm one of those."

"What kind of law do you practice?"

"Estates, wills, confirmations. I think in the States they call it probate."

"So civil matters."

Cairn raised an eyebrow. He was quite good at that. "My father is a lawyer," I explained. "Was. My father was a lawyer."

Cairn let the silence linger for only a moment. "Show me your family tree, and I'll help you figure out where to start."

After we cleared the dishes, I gave Cairn the single sheet of paper that held my entire family history. I'd traced it so many times that the lines had started to blur. Cairn slipped on a pair of wire glasses and studied it under the dining room light while I studied him. This broad man dwarfed my five-foot-three frame, even in boots, and despite a slightly crooked nose, he had a striking profile. He never pushed back the wave of dark hair from his forehead. Instead, he shifted his weight over the table and rested his chin in one hand. Still barefoot and in loose jeans, he was a mix of cool college boy and serious lawyer. Why wasn't this man married?

Cairn traced the lines of my diagram with long, lean fingers but lingered at the entries for my father, mother, and husband: deceased 2015. The bulb above his head seemed to grow brighter and made me feel naked in front of him. He removed his glasses, and fear he would discover my vulnerability washed over me.

"What are you going to do if you find a relative?" he asked in a low voice.

The question surprised me. I shook my head. "I don't know." The words felt heavier than I expected. What was I going to do? Hope for a connection? What if that person could care less I existed? What if that person didn't exist at all?

An old exhaustion overcame me. "I'm so tired," I said without thinking. "I think I need to sleep." I moved toward the stairs, but Cairn caught me. His hand wrapped entirely around my small forearm, and I flinched at the warmth that traveled up my arm.

"I have a meeting tomorrow, but I can help you after. Around four? I know where to start. Can you meet me at the General Register House?"