Adam had grown up on a vineyard. At least, that’s the address his adoptive parents had given the clinic.
A search of county land records revealed that Ken and Donna Cartwright had owned the property for nearly forty years. For that reason, Jared suspected that Adam’s father was probably the caretaker or another employee who was provided with family lodging on the property.
After proceeding a mile down the road, a big Ponderosa-style sign told Jared he’d found the place. He turned in and followed a long, winding drive past rows upon rows of grapevines growing on the rolling hillsides.
He assumed Adam had grown up on the vineyard, although there was a good chance the young man no longer lived here. His parents could have retired or moved on. Or he might have gone off to college and settled into a career near his alma mater, as Jared had done. But surely someone at the vineyard would remember the Bartlites, even if the family had moved away.
Jared wasn’t sure how his firstborn would take the surprise appearance of his biological father, but they’d have to deal with that when the time came. The first step was locating the boy—or rather the man.
As he pulled up to the house, a large, wood-and-glass structure with an A-framed entry, Jared parked and climbed from the car. His pulse raced with anticipation as he approached the front door.
At seventeen, Jared hadn’t been ready to take on the responsibility of being a father, nor had he wanted to marry a teenage girl he barely knew. But now that he’d matured and had a family of his own, he felt as though he’d let the kid down, even if Adam had been raised in a happy home.
Jared would like to make amends—somehow. Not that he had any legal responsibility; but morally, he did.
He knocked on the door. When no one answered right away, he rang the bell.
When was the last time he’d felt so nervous? He couldn’t remember.
A petite older woman with strawberry-blond hair answered the door.
“Mrs. Cartwright?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I’m Jared Cambry. And I’m looking for Adam Bartlite.”
She furrowed her brow. “I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name.”
A dead end?
Sam Hastings, the private investigator, had photocopied the charred scraps of paper, all that remained of a file on Olivia Maddison. Had this address been part of another adoption case? He supposed it was possible.
“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
