Chapter 16
Hazel
“So then he left.” Sniffling, I stroke a hand down Squash’s sleek back. “He broke his promise and chose the criminal life over me and our daughters.”
Squash squints her eyes and lets out a sweet little blurt.
“Exactly,” I mutter. Not that Luke is the first man to make that same choice. “Maybe there’s something about me that makes men choose lives of crime over being part of my life.”
I’m being dramatic, but my cat mulls it over. Lifting her butt, she invites me to scratch the spot near her tail. I’m happy to do it, though if I’m being honest, happy doesn’t describe how I’m feeling.
Crushed.
Heartbroken.
Disappointed.
Like somebody ripped out my heart and rubbed it on the ragged stone surface of my Cardoso Brazilian slate fireplace.
Stroking a hand down my cat’s back, I swipe at the fresh flow of tears. “When will it stop hurting so much?”
She doesn’t have an answer. Just a sweet series of blurts and a head butt to my knee.
“At least I’ve got you, Squash. You’ll help me be the best mom I can be, right?”
With another soft blurt, she agrees that she will.
“You’re sweet.” My phone starts to ring, and I sigh. “Probably Luke. He’s called a million times already.”
I try to roll over and look at my phone, but my belly impedes my movement. By the time I complete the herculean task of reaching the far side of my bed, the phone has stopped ringing.
“Guess he gave up already.” Ignoring the sinking sensation in my gut, I squint at the screen to see who just called. “What the hell does my cousin want?”
Squash doesn’t answer, but the phone rings again. This time I catch it in time.
“Hi, Noah.” I try to sound normal, but I probably fail. “What’s up?”
“Good news,” he says without preamble.
“Great. I could use some.”
“What’s wrong?” he demands.
“Nothing.” Like my cousin needs to hear about my problems. “What’s the good news?”
“I rattled some old connections and found a guy who’s established eight different foster centers in Eastern Europe. He’s hoping to build a ninth one this year.”
“Really?” That is good news. “I assume he’s seeking a financial partner?”
“You assume correctly.”
I scramble around for a notebook. “What can you tell me about him?”
“The guy comes well recommended. He’s done this enough times that he can get a center up and running within six months of breaking ground. And he’s an expert at assembling the right team to run it. Locals—not wannabe saviors who make aid contingent on converting to a particular religion.”
“That sounds perfect.” I find a pen in the drawer of my nightstand and start taking notes. “Does he have a spot in mind for his next center?”
“Romania. He’s also got ties to the Pacific Northwest.”
“Where in Romania?”
“Brosteni.”
“You’re joking.” I pause with my pen poised over the page. “That’s Cherry Blossom Lake’s sister city. It’s where my mother was born.”
“Huh.” He doesn’t sound surprised. “The guy’s willing to hop on a video call this afternoon. Seemed excited that Spencer Holdings has money to invest in children’s charity work overseas.”
“I’d love to connect.” I jot down the info he gives me, including the man’s name—Easton Wherclift—and all his contact details.
“Ever heard of him?” Noah asks.
“Maybe.” To be honest, all these do-gooder types blend together sometimes. “Thank you for this, Noah. I needed some happy news.”
“No problem.” He disconnects before I can say anything else.
Setting my phone on the nightstand, I turn to my cat. “That was either really weird or really serendipitous.”
Squash gives a soft little blurt.
“I’m going with serendipity, too.” Heaving myself off the bed, I pad to the bathroom and shower. Then I hop online and spend the next couple hours researching Easton Wherclift.
He’s done some impressive work and not just building foster care centers. He founded a food bank in West Africa and started a co-op in Guatemala to teach villagers sustainable farming practices. Most of his work has been in Eastern Europe, with a heavy focus on orphaned children.
In other words, he’s exactly the sort of guy I’ve been looking for. The perfect person to potentially lead Spencer Holdings’ next big charitable endeavor.
When the time of our call rolls around, I set up my laptop in my home office. I’ve got a list of prepared questions and a spreadsheet of numbers and data. Connecting to the video app, I sit up straight in my chair.
Easton Wherclift answers, and it takes him a moment to appear on screen. He’s got thick salt and pepper hair and sparkling blue eyes.
“Hello?” He adjusts the mic on the collar of his shirt. The azure linen matches his eyes so perfectly it can’t be an accident. “Can you hear me?”
“Mr. Wherclift.” I wave to the camera, and my image must flicker to life on his screen since he waves back.
“Hello there. Greetings!” He’s got a smile made for TV and cheekbones to die for. “Call me Easton, please.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Easton. I’m Hazel Spencer of Spencer Holdings.”
“I’m glad we could make this work on short notice.” He adjusts his camera, which must be equipped with a ring light, since he’s bathed in a perfect golden glow. “Can you see me okay? I want to make sure I’m set up properly if you’re recording.”
“I’m not recording.” Should I be?
“No problem.” He beams, and I notice the coppery flecks in his eyes. “If we need to reenact our first meeting for a film crew later, we can make that happen.”
“Oh—okay.” I wasn’t aware that’s a thing. “I’ve been reading up on your background. You’ve done some impressive work around child welfare. Your nomination for the D.B. Gomez Humanitarian Award two years ago was—”
“I’m sorry, should we wait for the rest of the Spencer Holdings board?”
“Uh, no. It’s just me.” I rest a hand on my belly as one of the twins socks me in the ribs. “Thought we could get to know each other a bit.”
“Right, right.” He sounds oddly impatient but covers it fast with a chuckle. “Looks like you’re expecting. Aren’t children a blessing?”
“Absolutely.” My blessing chooses that moment to deliver a kick to my bladder. “I’m having twins, actually. Due in—”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Spencer—could we hurry this along? I have to catch a flight to Warsaw for a ribbon cutting there. I don’t mind rescheduling this for when the decisionmakers can join us.”
What the hell?
Fighting irritation, I do my best to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Mr. Wherclift,” I begin, remembering belatedly that he asked me to call him Easton.
“I can assure you I am the decisionmaker. Spencer Holdings was founded by my father, but I’m in charge now.
I have full power to lead all projects related to our charitable endeavors.
We do have other donors involved, but I’m authorized to make decisions for this project. ”
“Of course.” He flashes a smile that looks like he practiced in front of a mirror. “Great, well, as you undoubtedly read on my website, I’m able to break ground within two weeks of the first deposit.”
“That’s wonderful to hear.” I have to admit, I’m impressed by the level of detail on his website. “And you handle all staff recruiting and training?”
“That’s correct.” He clears his throat. “Do you have a PR campaign lined up already, or you want me to put you in touch with my people?”
His people? “Um—”
“I’ve been hoping to gain traction with an American audience.
I’m known well in Europe, but haven’t made much of a mark on the U.S.
” He seems distracted as he taps on his phone, absently sipping from a brown bottle.
“There’s a gap in my schedule two weeks from Friday.
I could fly out for a quick press kickoff.
I’ll send you my frequent flyer details—business class, please.
Looks like Portland’s your closest major airport? ”
“It is.” What’s happening here? “Mr. Wherclift—”
“Oh, hey! This seems like a sign.”
“What is?”
“You’re just four hours away from where they film Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge. You won’t believe this, but I have ties to that area.”
Now we’ve got time for chit-chat? “Yes, I saw on your website that you founded a food bank in Central Oregon.”
He looks excited now, and I don’t think it’s because of the food bank.
“Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge is huge. Let me make some calls.” He sips from the bottle with a fancy-looking label that announces the contents as organic sarsaparilla.
“I’ll bet we could get the show to sign on for some great cross promotion.
If we get their PR team on this, we could film a few spots on Wednesday, maybe splice in some sad orphan B-roll—my people can handle that part, don’t worry. ”
“I wasn’t,” I mutter, but I don’t think he hears me.
“Right, so we get that wrapped up by Friday, I can drive over to Ponderosa Resort for some R&R. I’ll send you my booking info.”
“Mr. Wherclift.” This conversation can’t be real. “I’m sorry if you have the wrong idea about what we’re doing here. My primary goal is helping disadvantaged children. I’m interested in the tie between the sister cities, but beyond that, I haven’t made any decisions about funding a partnership.”
“Right, right.” He pastes on a serious expression, fixing those sparkling blue eyes on the camera. “It’s all about the children, when it comes right down to it. Children are our future. The backbone of—”
“Do you have kids, Mr. Wherclift?”
“Well.” Something shifts in his expression. Those copper-flecked eyes turn wary. “I don’t know why that’s relevant.”
Something clicks in my brain. Maybe it’s the eyes. The familiar rasp in his voice. His ties to the same part of Oregon as somebody else I know.
“I’ll be in touch, Mr. Wherclift.” The uneasy lurch in my gut has nothing to do with pregnancy. “Thank you for your time.”
“But—”
I don’t give him a chance to protest. I’m already tapping the disconnect button and grabbing my phone off the charger.
“Noah,” I snap the second my cousin picks up. “Is Easton Wherclift who I think he is?”