He closed the window and walked to the desk. He retrieved one of the envelopes and shook its contents on to the bed.
A photograph of his father landed face up and Mac picked it up. His dad smiled at the camera, one arm slung comfortably around Mac’s mum’s shoulders and his other hand resting lightly on Mac’s older sister’s waist. His fourteen-year-old self stood tall beside her, his chest puffed out and his first guitar proudly held in front of him.
Happy times. Good times.
His smile faltered as loss snagged his chest.
Times that would never be repeated now his father was dead. The futile hope his mother and father might one day reunite crushed. According to the dates in his father’s notes, he hadn’t yet started his search for his birth mother when this picture was taken. And it had taken many years after before he’d finally found her.
Exhaling, Mac dropped the letter, damning the cardiac arrest that had taken his father just three months before. Walking back to the desk, he picked up a red, hard-backed notebook and opened it. He scanned his father’s notes. Through these writings, Mac had realized how his father’s search for his biological mother had consumed him. His notes were intense and methodical...pretty much like the man himself.
Yet, his father had chosen to keep his findings a secret and had never contacted the woman who had given him up.
Mac swiped his hand over his face. A sure sign of his father’s habitual insecurity. Yet another example of how Marian’s abandonment must have impacted her son’s life—unbeknownst to her, of course.
But now Mac was here in Templeton, and he would find Marian Ball. Find her and make sure she learned what kind of a man her son had been.
He could start his pursuit of the old lady tonight. The last two days he’d either been holed up in his room trying to pin down a strategy or he’d wandered aimlessly around town looking at the various townhouses, wondering if Marian lived behind one of their doors, his indecision about speaking with her hounding him. But now, as frustration and impatience overtook him, his hesitation vanished. Mac gathered up the papers and stuffed them in the desk drawer along with his father’s notebook.
Snatching up the keys he’d been given upon arrival, Mac left the room, and headed downstairs Once he’d locked the back door behind him, he glanced at the upstairs windows. No doubt his departure at this time of night would cause talk. No curtains twitched and no shadows were cast behind glass.
Satisfied he hadn’t been seen, Mac walked through the garden to a small gate that took him on to a back street. He breathed deep. The cold night air was invigorating and washed away the uncertainty of whether being in the Cove was a betrayal to his father. His mother had confessed to him after the funeral that she’d dissuaded his father from looking for Marian years before, fearing what a second rejection could do to her then husband.
That reason had been weak, almost cowardly, in Mac’s opinion. Even if the circumstances that led to his father’s adoption turned out to be upsetting, his father should’ve had the guts to hear them.
As well as the notebook, his father had left behind a diary in which he had recorded his feelings and thoughts throughout his investigations. Mac’s mother’s pleas had not fallen on deaf ears. Not only had his father heard them, his inner demons had echoed them.
Mac scowled.
Well, his father’s heart had decided to call it a day...suddenly and brutally, leaving his family flailing. Since the death of his girlfriend and their baby, Mac had had trouble dealing with grief. So he’d done the only thing he could.
He gotten busy finishing what his father started.
Mac stalked through the side street until he emerged onto the main thoroughfare, which ran alongside the beach. Crossing the road, he walked across the wooden-planked promenade and gripped the railing. The guilt for abandoning his family in their hour of need pressed down on him, and he battled the sting in his eyes as he looked toward the blackness of the ocean, its waves crashing.
Conflicting determination and doubt warred inside him, and Mac turned his back to the beach to stare across the street. He hadn’t walked this far along the seafront since he arrived.
He stilled, every hair on his body rising.
Marian’s Bonniest Bakery.
The bakery’s awning was pulled back, and its latticed, cottage-styled windows were unfettered by curtains or blinds. It looked homey, inviting...motherly.
He narrowed his eyes as adrenaline caused his heart rate to speed up.
He slowly straightened from the railing and walked forward as though pulled by an invisible rope. He barely glanced in either direction as he crossed the street.
Once he reached the other side, he flitted his study from the bakery’s name to its window. Over and over, he repeated the sequence, his mind scrambling. What were the chances his father’s birth mother owned this place?
He stepped closer to the window and curved his hands around his eyes as he tried to see inside. In the shadowed darkness, he saw pine tables and chairs, a few booths along the window and a counter in back. The place was a decent size, and a profound sense of welcome permeated its light-colored walls dotted with sketches of cupcakes and loaves of bread.
Jolting away, Mac turned and marched along the pavement, his fists clenched as trepidation unfurled inside him. In his mind, he’d purposely decided Marian Ball was someone who put herself first. A woman who had left her baby behind to seek an untethered life without husband or child to hamper her. That had been the easier scenario to carry until he learned the truth.
Templeton Cove might be small, but certain sections were high-end and expensive. So he’d envisioned her living out a wealthy retirement by the sea, heedless of her long-abandoned child trying to track her down.
As unfair as that might be, considering a woman’s limited choices almost fifty years ago, it helped Mac to bury his anger. He wanted to find Marian Ball and lay his father to rest. He hadn’t come here to find a grandmother he might like.
The bakery didn’t fit with any of his imaginings, and that scared him.
What if she was welcoming and warm? What if she’d had other kids and his father was mistaken?
He gritted his teeth, focusing on the pain of all he’d lost. The woman needed to know how her decisions had affected her son and, in turn, his children.
Yet, the enormity of what might happen next continued to badger him. He needed to think some more. Tomorrow he would come back here, order some breakfast, check out the locals and, of course, check out Marian and her bonniest bakery.
KATE PUSHED OPEN the door of the View and entered the chic art gallery.
Across the room, Izzy, her best friend and the gallery’s manager, stood in front of a painted landscape, her arms crossed and her head tilted in contemplation.
“Iz?”
“Mmm?”
Kate prodded her friend’s arm. “Hey.”
Izzy turned, her eyes glazed in obvious thought. “What do you think of this piece? I’m trying to decide if I like it or not.” She turned back to the painting. “Jay acquired it on one of his business trips. He loves it, but I’m not sure.”
Kate glanced at the painting and shrugged. “Sea, sand, sky. What’s not to like? Now...” She gripped Izzy’s arm and pulled her to one of the cushioned seats in the center of the gallery’s open floor plan. “We, me and you, have to figure out what we’re going to do about Mac Orman.”
Izzy frowned. “Who?”
“Mac. The guy I texted you about last night.”
Izzy