Stand-In Father (Intimate Moments) Read Online Free PDF Page B

then cut his visit short. But if she and her son were there...
    What? What would he say, do? Nothing, Alex decided. It wouldn’t be wise to reveal who he was, how he knew of her. If she was aware of the list, she’d toss him out on his rear. Even if she didn’t, any explanation would sound lame. Best to play it by ear.
    Quickly, Alex packed his briefcase, tossed in the newspaper article and snapped it closed. He’d pop into Dad’s office and let him know he was off on a scouting trip, drop by his condo to throw a few things in a bag and be on his way.
    If nothing else, it was a great day for a drive.
     
    Skimming along the coastal highway, Alex kept his mind firmly on the gorgeous scenery, the rocky cliffs, the black rocks slippery with dark green moss, the Pacific endlessly smashing onto the shore. He passed sunny beaches with white sand and cliffside homes with breathtaking views, the scent of the ocean teasing his nostrils. He had the top down on his blue Porsche, his hair blowing about in a stiff breeze and the sun warming his face.
    Life was good.
    It wasn’t until he had to veer east onto the inland road, following the sign toward Twin Oaks, that he allowed himself to focus on his undoubtedly misguided mission. And he still couldn’t figure out just why he wanted to meet Neal Delaney’s family.
    Ostensibly, it likely was to make sure they were all right at least financially so he could appease his nagging conscience. What if they weren’t? Would he then drop anonymous check donations into the widow’s bank account monthly? Would that help him sleep better?
    At a curve in the road, Alex spotted a roadside billboard advertising Delaney’s Bed & Breakfast two miles ahead. He followed the directions, his powerful car climbing the winding, hilly road with ease. Minutes later, he pulled into a circular driveway where a discreet sign read Welcome To Delaney’s Bed & Breakfast.
    Someone had a green thumb. A colorful bed of California poppies bloomed within the driveway circle. Pink bougainvillea trailed up the stucco fencing from the side yard to the back. On the far right was a patch that seemed to be an herb garden beneath three tall royal palms that looked as if they’d stood there since the beginning of time.
    Alex parked in the paved area next to a four-wheel drive. The only other car was an older tan Mustang off to the side. Either the house wasn’t fully up or nearly everyone was away somewhere. Getting out, he took a moment to stretch and look around.
    The main building was three stories high with a center entrance and two wide wings, topped by a slanted black roof. The pale gray wood could have used a touching up, he thought, along with the shutters and trim painted a Wedg-wood blue. It didn’t yet look shabby, but it might soon. Thick and healthy green vines trailed along each side, winding along the third-floor windows. Wisps of smoke curled upward from a redbrick chimney, maybe from a fireplace. Twin Oaks was at a much higher elevation than San Diego, though he didn’t really think it was chilly enough for a fire.
    A country-style mailbox painted poppy red was near the entrance. A small two-wheel boy’s bike leaned against its post. Did it belong to Neal Delaney’s son? Alex wondered.
    All things considered, Delaney’s Bed & Breakfast wasn’t bad, he thought as he walked toward the arched front door. He’d been right; there was a cozy, countrified feel to it.
    Alex stepped into the spacious foyer and onto a red Mexican tile floor. A chest-high walnut check-in desk flanked by twin rubber tree plants was against the far wall facing the door. A stately grandfather clock stood off to one side. The scent of warm apples and cinnamon had him remembering that he’d skipped lunch.
    Through the archway off to his right was a comfortable room furnished in pastels, Southwestern-style. Two women were watching Oprah on a large-screen television while an older couple played chess at a table by the window. At