“You might’ve told me to my face. I’m one of the survivors you saved. You felt obligated to me because I helped you with the information concerning Rebecca,” she accused.
“It’s not true. Don’t put words into my mouth, spitfire. Give me another ten minutes, and you’ll understand part of the reason why I didn’t come see you.”
She gazed out at the lights as they passed by a gas station and pulled up to the curb of a white house with a wide porch. A wheelchair ramp set off to the side.
“Who lives here?” she asked slowly.
“When you told me the story about James Stanton, I did a little research. Last week, I discovered you only knew part of the truth,” he said, taking her hand. “The day James took you from your home, your parents survived. Unfortunately, your mom passed away five years ago, still searching for you. Anna still held onto hope you’d find your way home.”
“Who lives here?” she asked again, turning to stare at the house.
“Your dad survived. He’s bound to a wheelchair, but he’s waiting inside for you,” he said softly.
“Don’t do this to me, Jameson,” she whispered. “Please don’t lie to me.”
Jameson walked around the truck and pulled her out. She fought him to the door, still believing he played some cruel joke.
The door opened, and Nancy greeted them. “Hello, Jameson. Thomas is waiting in the living room. Welcome home, Caroline,” she said warmly.
Her grip on his hand tightened as he led her down the hall and turned to the left. She halted in the doorway.
“Honeybee?” Thomas cried.
“Dad? Is it really you?” she cried, launching herself toward Thomas. She dropped to the ground as they clung to each other, crying. Nancy stood beside Jameson, wiping her own tears. Jameson swallowed the lump in his throat, knowing he had given her a gift she never expected. When he took her home, Caroline would finally discover the truth. And she’d hate him, like everyone else who discovered he was James Stanton’s son.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Caroline gripped her father’s hand, barely believing she wasn’t dreaming. Watching him yawn, she patted his hand.
“Dad, you need to sleep. I’ll come visit tomorrow,” she promised.
“I’m afraid if I close my eyes, you’ll only be a dream,” he confessed. “You’re even more beautiful than I remembered. You resemble your mother and have my eyes.”
“Maybe we can go to Mom’s grave and let her know I’m home. It might let her rest easier,” she said, rising from her seat.
“She’d love it,” he said, yawning again.
Caroline leaned over him and kissed his forehead like he did when she was a child. “I’ll return tomorrow. Jameson will bring me, won’t you?” She turned to ask him.
“If I’m not available, I’ll ask one of the team members to bring you,” he assured her.
Caroline rose and took Nancy’s hands. “Thank you for caring for him. I appreciate your kindness.”
“It’s lovely to meet you. He usually sleeps until nine. It takes me about two hours to get him up and dressed. Why don’t you join us for lunch?”
“I’ll bring dessert,” she offered. “We have a lot to catch up on.”
Jameson led her to the truck and lifted her inside the cab. Her arms looped around his neck, and she kissed him.
“Thank you, Jameson. I don’t understand why you kept it a secret from me. You act as if I might get mad at you for finding him. It’s the best gift ever,” she exclaimed.
“I’m glad it made you happy,” he said quietly. “So you have a nickname.”
Caroline smiled. “Yeah, my dad said my hair resembled spun honey. All my closest family calls me by my nickname.”
“I like it, it suits you,” Jameson said. “Do you mind if I steal it?”
“Do you want to use it as your call sign?” she asked teasingly.
