Whatever It Takes: A Highland Springs Romance (Whatever Series Book 4) Read online

  Whatever It Takes

  By

  Leigh Fleming

  Envisage Press, LLC

  Table of Contents

  Whatever It Takes

  Copyright

  Also by Leigh Fleming

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you for Reading!

  About the Author

  Published by Envisage Press, LLC

  Copyright © 2019 Envisage Press, LLC

  Cover by www.spikyshooz.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9977351-7-8

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of a brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected].

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Also by Leigh Fleming

  Precious Words

  Whatever You Call Me

  Whatever You Say

  Whatever We Are

  Stay Hidden

  For Pat…my own personal Mad Man.

  ONE

  Darla leaned into the magnified makeup mirror and dabbed on another coat of mascara. An errant gray hair coiled out of the center part in her dark-brown hair, reminding her she wasn’t getting any younger. “Just great,” she mumbled, plucking the unwelcome strand and flinging it into the nearby trash can. She glanced at the time on her phone and flipped off the bathroom light. She was going to be late. As she slipped on her shoes, her cell phone buzzed. She tapped the screen, not recognizing the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this Darla Heartwood?”

  “Yes it is. How can I help you?”

  The deep, male voice cleared his throat, hesitating a beat. “Did you give birth to a baby girl on January…”

  Hands shaking, her cell phone crashed to the bathroom floor. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart raced. It had been eighteen years. The records had been sealed. She’d been assured her identity would never be exposed. No one would know. Never in a million years had she thought she’d receive that call. How was it possible?

  As she bent over to pick up the phone, her heart crashed against her rib cage, feeling much older than the thirty-three years she was about to celebrate with friends. The number had a 216 area code. After a quick Google search, she discovered the call came from Cleveland—only a short distance from Canton where, frightened and ashamed, she had given birth to a seven- pound, five-ounce baby girl. Only fifteen years old with a baby she couldn’t keep.

  Maybe the call was from her cousin Patsy. She’d been complaining about her cell phone the other day. Maybe she had turned it in on a new model, and her husband thought it would be a funny joke. Pasty answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, girl, having a good birthday so far?”

  “Patsy, I…just…” Darla pressed the back of her hand to her sweaty forehead and drew in a breath.

  “Darla, what’s wrong?”

  “Someone just called me. Please say it was Tony playing a sick joke.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Tony’s right here watching the news.”

  “Oh, God.” She slammed the lid on the toilet seat and sat with her head between her knees, a nauseous wave crashing over her. “I just had a call from some guy asking if I gave birth to a baby girl in January. I hung up before he could say January 23, 2000.”

  “No way.”

  “I promise you I just had that call.” She threw her head back between her shoulders, momentarily blinded by the recessed lights. “How did he find me? The records were sealed. No one was supposed to ever find out.”

  “You don’t suppose it was Fletcher?”

  “Absolutely not. He would want it buried deeper than me.”

  “Maybe it was someone from the agency, updating files or something.”

  “After eighteen years?”

  Startled, she slapped her hand against her heart when her phone rang again. She peered at the screen, afraid it was the same number calling, but blew out a tight breath when she saw it was her sister, Cassie.

  “I’ve got to go. Cassie’s calling.”

  “Don’t worry, Dar. I’m sure it was nothing.”

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

  “You’re right. Call me as soon as you know something.”

  “Okay, bye.” She tapped off the call, and before she could say “hello,” Cassie shouted in her ear.

  “Hey, birthday girl! Where are you? We’ve got a table, drinks, cake, but no guest of honor.”

  “Oh, yeah, I…um…” The phone shook in her hand as she fought to mask the quiver in her voice. “I had a call…um…one of my clients. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “You better, or we’re starting this party without you.”

  “I’m walking out the door now.”

  Without saying good-bye, Darla ended the call and took a quick glance in the bathroom mirror. She had to get ready. Robotically, she ran the brush through her dark, shoulder-length hair, and with each stroke, she wondered about her child. What was she like? She clenched her muscles, sucking in her stomach. Did she look like her? Did she have her personality or her build? She turned sideways, catching a glimpse of her profile as she smoothed her blouse over her bottom. Heaven help her if she got her hips and thighs—a trait she’d spent a lifetime fighting—or her big boobs. Facing the mirror head-on, she adjusted her bra to cover her bulging cleavage. She had a Marilyn Monroe figure on steroids and had been on a diet since she was thirteen. She wouldn’t wish this body on anyone. It was what got her in trouble in the first place.

  On the drive over to the Brass Rail, the local bar where she was meeting her two sisters, Cassie and Andrea, and her two friends, Kate and Liza, she gave herself a pep talk to get in the party mood.

  “It’s your birthday. Time to celebrate and have fun.”

  At the stoplight, she flipped down her visor and practiced a perky smile in the mirror.

  “You girls are too much.” She flashed another smile. “You shouldn’t have gone to all this trouble.” The smile looked real, but it was far from the panic churning inside. She wanted to go back home, curl up on the sofa, and drown her anxiety in a bag of Oreos. The car behind her let out a long-drawn-out honk when the light turned green.

  “Oh, hold your horses, will you?” Darla charged through the intersection and flipped on her blinker to turn into the bar. The impatient driver sped around her right side. “What’s the rush?” she sho
uted through the windshield.

  A parking space had been saved for her where a cluster of balloons were tied to the concrete barrier with a sign that read “Parking Only for Darla Heartwood, Citizen of the Year.”

  After shifting into park, she dropped her forehead against the steering wheel with a moan. “Oh no.” Highland Springs’ city council had just announced her award and planned to honor her at the Raspberry Festival in a couple of weeks. What would they say if they learned she wasn’t the shining example they thought she was, but rather, a woman with a sordid past and a secret baby to boot? They’d pull the award quickly, that was for sure. She took a deep breath, checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, and climbed out of the car. Dread and worry weighed heavily on her shoulders as she pulled open the door.

  “There she is!” Andrea called out. Darla stood inside the door, letting her vision adjust to the dark room, laughing at her crazy sister who stood on a chair, swinging her arms as she conducted the whole bar in singing “Happy Birthday.” Darla took a bow to the rousing applause and joined her friends at the table piled with gifts, keeping her bright smile in place.

  “Happy birthday.” Andrea gave Darla a hug. “Don’t forget, you’ll always be older than me.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “Hey, girl.” Liza was next to drag her into a warm embrace. “Check out the silver fox sitting at the bar,” she whispered in Darla’s ear. Liza had been on a mission to find a man for Darla for years, crediting herself with matchmaking Kate with her brother, Brody. They were now happily married with a baby boy, and she wanted the same for Darla.

  Sure, it would be great to find that perfect guy, but after all these years of unsuccessful relationships, she had resigned herself to the possibility that she may be single the rest of her life. There weren’t very many men willing to take on her baggage. That was okay. She had her dream house, a busy career, and her cat, Mr. Fluffybottom, to keep her company.

  She stole a glance at the bar where a handsome, gray-haired man was watching the birthday greetings.

  “I’m not interested in a silver fox.” She tapped a kiss on Liza’s cheek. “I’m hanging with my girls tonight.”

  “I’m next.” Kate elbowed her way between the two of them and gave Darla a hug. “Happy birthday. I’ve got everything ready for Monday’s closing.”

  “Great. I’ll let the Fosters know.” Since Kate had set up her law practice, she handled all of Darla’s closings. Darla had sold her fifth house this month, confident she’d maintain her standing as Highland Springs’ top-producing realtor, while the team she’d built was setting records of its own. She had more than enough on her plate than to worry about a distinguished stranger sitting at the bar.

  “Hey, no business talk tonight.” Cassie looped her arm through Darla’s and dragged her to the head of the table where a big, Mylar balloon was tied to the chair. It was shiny silver with the words “Birthday Hottie” emblazoned in pink. Heat flushed her cheeks as she was shoved into the chair, and a shot glass filled with a neon-pink liquid was set in front of her. “Bubblegum vodka. Drink up.”

  There was no point in arguing with Cassie, so she lifted the tiny glass and threw back the sickening, sweet liquor. Not much of a drinker, she immediately felt warmth crawl from her belly to her face. She had an open house, a listing appointment, and two showings tomorrow. She’d have to take it easy tonight.

  “So what’ll it be, big sis? Cosmos? Margaritas?” Andrea was on her feet and heading to the bar.

  “I better not overdo it. Maybe just a glass of white wine.”

  “Oh, hell no. You only turn thirtyish once. We’re celebrating.” Liza squeezed Darla’s shoulders and followed Andrea to the bar.

  Darla leaned toward Kate, sitting to her right. “Don’t let me drink too much.”

  “Deal. We’ll watch out for each other.”

  Two hours later, Liza, Cassie, Kate, Andrea, and Darla commandeered the karaoke machine and gave a near-perfect performance of “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls, even doing choreographed moves while the rest of the bar crowd cheered them on. Darla grabbed the mic and hit a high note even she didn’t think possible. Maybe she should join the church choir. She should do this more often. When was the last time she’d let her hair down and cut loose? Had she ever cut loose? After the shocking phone call of earlier this evening, she deserved to have some mind-numbing fun.

  The song came to an end, and all five bowed on cue. They shuffled off the stage—everyone but Darla. “Who wants to hear another one?” She waved her arms in the air, encouraging the crowd to bring them back, but Liza grabbed hold of Darla’s wrist and tugged until she stumbled off the stage.

  “That’s enough for now, Beyonce.”

  “I’m not Beyonce. I’m Posh Spice.”

  “Yeah, and I’m David Beckham. Come on, girl, you need to sit down.”

  Darla teetered behind Liza to the table where five freshly poured margaritas awaited them. “Ooh, I wonder who sent these over?” Darla took a sip and glanced toward the bar, where she caught the silver fox eyeing her. He had watched her throughout the entire performance. Though he looked quite a bit older than Darla, there was no denying he was handsome. If he wouldn’t come introduce himself, she would. It wasn’t every day that a tall, yummy man landed up in Highland Springs.

  While the foursome hovered around Kate, ogling pictures of her baby, J.B., Darla struck out for the bar, determined to meet Mr. Hotness, watching her from his barstool.

  She glanced down at her red, silk blouse and black jeans, listing to the right, and reached for her eyeglass frames, finding only her nose. She giggled, forgetting she had ditched her glasses for contacts. She looked good tonight. Twenty pounds lighter and wearing the cutest pair of glittery, black shoes, she was way too overdressed for this bar, but who cared? It was her birthday. The margaritas had given her just enough liquid courage to make the first move.

  She thrust out her hand and smiled at the handsome stranger whose intense, silver-blue gaze set her lower regions aquiver. Stumbling forward, tripping on her three-inch heels, she landed in his arms with a whomp, unable to control an embarrassing snort. The room spun on his axis but stopped long enough for her to bring his striking features into focus.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you look like that guy on Mad Men?”

  “No.”

  “You know, the hot one with the silver hair?” She slapped her hand against his chest. “You even have the same blue eyes. Are you sure you’re not related to him? What’s his name?”

  “You think I’m hot?”

  “Hey, Andrea,” she shouted across the bar. “What’s the name of the super-sexy guy on Mad Men?”

  “John Hamm.”

  “No, the other one. His boss, Roger.”

  “Not sure.”

  Darla spun back around and wobbled to the left. Something kept her from falling over, but she wasn’t sure what it was. “Anyway, Roger Whoosa-Whatsy. That’s who you look like.”

  “Whoosa-Whatsy?”

  “I don’t know his name, but you’re the spitting image of him.”

  She swiped her hair out of her eyes and glanced down to find the silver fox’s hands on her hips. Sucking in a breath, her gaze crawled from his strong, manly hands to his thighs, between which she stood, across his flat stomach, until she came to his sharp jaw and distinguished nose. She blew out an audible sigh. My God, he was handsome.

  “I’m Darla.” She reached into her back pocket and presented him with a business card. “If you’re ever in the market, you’ve got my number.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” His eyes roved over the little, white card. “Darla Heartwood, the realtor with heart.”

  “That’s me. Now I’d love to stay and chat, but I think I’m going to be sick.”

  She traced her fingers down the slight stubble of his right cheek and turned toward the bathroom, hurrying as quickly as her magical shoes could take her. It really wouldn’t do for the region’s top-pr
oducing realtor and citizen of the year to barf all over the barroom floor—on her birthday, no less. That wasn’t the kind of publicity she was looking for.

  The next morning, pain stabbed through Darla’s head like the sign she’d just spiked in the front yard of the three-bedroom, two-and-a-half bath brick colonial she was showing. Of all mornings to host an open house. What had she been thinking? Obviously, she’d thought there would be no risk of getting embarrassingly drunk on her birthday. Most of the time, she steered clear of alcohol, but after receiving the life-altering phone call, the margaritas did a great job of numbing the memories. How did people party like that every weekend? She’d followed Liza’s sure-fire hangover regimen—three ibuprofens and a bottle of Gatorade—but the battalion of soldiers marched on inside her skull.

  She eased herself onto the staircase and held her head in her hands, hoping potential buyers would hold off for a few more minutes. Her cell phone interrupted her brief moment of peace with a nerve-rattling ring.

  “This is Darla.” The simple task of speaking brought her hand to her head.

  “Hey, what do you want to do about this stone? My guy needs an answer.”

  Her brother, Jamie, blasted through the phone. Did he have to talk this loud so early in the morning?

  “Dar, are you there?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Well? If you want me to stay on schedule, I’ve got to get the stone ordered.”