Caribbean Paradise, Miracle Family
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Julie Danvers
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11
CHAPTER ONE
“COME ON, MAISIE! Kick! You can do it!”
Willow Thompson clung to her three-year-old daughter’s chubby little hands as Maisie did her best to keep herself afloat in the shallow water. The beach behind their home on the island of St. Victoria was an ideal place to learn to swim, as the water curved into a sandy cove that provided refuge from the strong waves of the Caribbean Sea.
Willow could have chosen to live at the accommodations provided by her workplace. She was a nurse at the Island Clinic, a private clinic in the Caribbean that specialized in providing top-notch medical care to some of the wealthiest and most well-known patients on earth. The clinic prided itself on its ability to provide patients with luxury almost as much as its ability to provide quality health care, and the clinic’s extravagance extended to its staff quarters.
But as much as Willow enjoyed elegance, she enjoyed balance between her work and personal life even more. The small cottage she’d rented on the beach offered privacy for herself and her daughter, and gave Willow the separation from work that she needed. As much as she loved her job as a nurse, part of the reason she’d taken the job was so that she could put work behind her at the end of each day and focus on spending time with her daughter. And living apart from the clinic gave Willow the chance to fully immerse herself—and Maisie—into island life. Willow wanted her daughter to take advantage of all that growing up in the Caribbean had to offer. Which, at the moment, included swimming lessons.
Most island children learned to swim almost before they could walk, but Willow and Maisie had only moved to St. Victoria in the past year. As Maisie paddled in the gentle waves, Willow thought, for what felt like the hundredth time, of how right she’d been to move from their dreary North London flat to the sun-drenched Caribbean islands. In London, swimming lessons would have been impossible on Willow’s budget. In fact, just about everything in London was a strain on her budget. Between her modest income as a critical care nurse, and the small amount of money her grandmother had left in trust for Maisie before she passed, there was never much left over after accounting for rent and childcare.
Willow had lived her whole life in Islington, raised by her grandmother. Though they didn’t have much, she’d never once felt poor, because Gran had always made her feel loved. But becoming a single mother had opened Willow’s eyes to just how wide the divide was between the haves and have-nots. She constantly had to deny Maisie all the little “extras” that her preschool classmates were able to enjoy. Worse, after working all day, Willow only had time to spend a few exhausted hours with Maisie each night. She’d ached to have a child for so long, but felt as though Maisie’s childhood was passing her by. The final straw came when she’d picked Maisie up from day care and learned that her daughter had spoken her first word. Willow was devastated that she hadn’t been there to hear it. That very night, she decided that she and Maisie needed a change. She hadn’t been certain, at first, of what that change would be, but she knew that it needed to be as different from North London as possible.
St. Victoria certainly fit the bill. The vast turquoise waters and boundless blue sky of the island were a stark contrast to London’s relentless clouds and smoke. Their little house on the beach was small, but cozy. Like many homes in the Caribbean, it was raised on stilts to protect against flooding and hurricanes. The back door opened directly onto the beach, which was a toddler’s delight. There was plenty of sand for Maisie to play in, a network of tide pools to explore and miles of clear, gentle water, perfect for swimming.
Of course, one would have to learn how to swim first. Maisie furrowed her brow in concentration as she kicked her legs in the water.
Living on the beach as they did, Willow had known that she’d need to teach Maisie to swim as quickly as possible. But they’d hit a snag almost as soon as they’d started: Maisie was unwilling to submerge her head under the waves. She could kick her legs, but she refused to put her face into the water. As Maisie began to huff and puff, Willow stood her daughter up in the waist-high water.
“Look, darling. You must put your face into the water if you are to learn to swim.”
“Don’t want to.” Maisie’s lower lip began to pout, an expression Willow knew all too well.
“Mummy can do it. See?” Willow quickly dunked her own head under the water and then broke the surface. “It’s not hard. It feels lovely.”
Maisie’s lower lip began to tremble, and Willow knew that tears were likely to come next. Maisie was usually a very agreeable child, rarely protesting against Willow unless she felt anxious or in need of reassurance. So far, tantrums were a rare event in their little two-person household by the sea. But Willow knew that once the tears started coming, there would be no closing the floodgates again until Maisie had had a good cry. What had started as a pleasant day could turn to tears and storm clouds if Willow pushed Maisie before she was ready.
Perhaps they’d had enough of the sea for one day. Willow wanted swimming to remain a fun experience for Maisie, so the girl would feel confident in the water. Pushing Maisie any further today might spoil it.
“All right, then. Maybe that’s enough swimming for this morning. Run up to the house and get your sand toys. Show me what kind of castle you can build on the beach.”
Maisie’s face broke into a smile, and she sprinted ahead of Willow onto the beach.
As always, it brought Willow joy to see Maisie happy. But she also felt a pang of uncertainty that was becoming all too familiar as Maisie grew. Had she done the right thing, giving in so easily when Maisie didn’t want to put her head under the water? She never wanted Maisie to feel pushed to do anything she was afraid of. But on the other hand, children needed to be challenged. If she always gave in at the first sign of Maisie’s lip trembling, wouldn’t that create its own set of problems later on? Willow wanted her daughter to be resilient. If she was too soft on Maisie, her daughter might begin to think she could avoid anything unpleasant simply by crying.
Oh, who am I kidding, she thought. Maisie’s already got me wrapped around her little finger, and she probably knows it.
Willow wondered if her fate, as a single mother, would involve forever questioning whether she was pushing Maisie too hard, or not enough. Although she had never regretted her decision to raise Maisie on her own, one of the hardest parts about single parenting had been learning to trust her instincts. Her grandmother had passed away shortly after Maisie was born, and Willow had no other family she could ask for advice. At times like this, when she found herself questioning whether she’d given in too easily, she longed for someone who could offer support. Someone she could trust, and who she could rely on to watch over both her and Maisie.
It was a nice dream, but Willow was a practical person. Any dreams of a partner for herself, or a father for Maisie, were unlikely to ever become more than dreams.
She’d always wanted to have children. As a nurse, she’d had so many chances to see firsthand the joy that new babies brought to their parents. Moreover, she’d seen the support that families brought to one another when going through hard times. But Willow had always felt like an outsider as she watched families comfort one another through hardships. At home, it was only herself and Gran. But when Gran had passed away, there had been no one to comfort Willow.
Growing up with Gran had felt special, because it was just the two of them, but it had also felt lonely at times. Willow had always wondered what it would be like to grow up in a large family, with siblings and cousins to share joys and sorrows. Since she couldn’t change her own childhood, she decided that she would do the next best thing by having plenty of children of her own. For many years, she’d dreamed of starting a family, and she’d always thought that Jamie, her childhood sweetheart, was dreaming along with her.
Jamie had always agreed that he, too, wanted to get married and have a big family—but he wanted to wait for the right time to start. For eight years, Willow waited with him. She waited as Jamie went through career changes, as he started and dropped out of educational programs and as she watched many of her friends get married and start families of their own. Finally, after her best friend’s wedding, she decided she’d waited long enough. She confronted Jamie and asked exactly when they were going to get married.
“What’s the rush?” he’d asked. “We’ve got all the time in the world for that sort of thing.”
But Willow knew that wasn’t true. As a nurse, she knew that a mother’s age had an impact on an infant’s health, and newer research was showing that the age of the father had an impact, as well. Even though she’d seen plenty of women give birth to healthy babies well into their forties, she wanted to avoid any increased risk. If she and Jamie were going to have children, she wanted to start soon.
That was when Jamie had dropped his bombshell. He didn’t want children. Any children. He’d never really been interested in starting a family at all. And when she’d asked him why he’d never shared this rather important information with her, his easy explanation left her breathless.
“You’ve been talking about having children for years,” he’d said. “How was I supposed to tell you that I realized that I didn’t want kids? I thought you’d break up with me if you knew the truth. It just seemed easier not to say anything until it was too late. You can’t blame me for keeping quiet. I was just trying to keep us together.”
His explanation made things so much worse. Jamie hadn’t just changed his mind about wanting children. He’d never wanted children, and for years he’d told her otherwise because it was what he’d thought she wanted to hear. She felt as though her dream of having a large family was slipping though her fingers, but worst of all, she felt manipulated and betrayed.
After the breakup, she’d despaired of ever having a child. She’d never dated much before Jamie. He’d been her first serious relationship. And now, after eight years with one person, she felt clumsy and awkward on the dating scene. It didn’t help that her trust in men—and in herself—felt irreparably shattered. She was certain she would never be able to trust anyone enough to be in a relationship again.
But even though she was done with relationships, she wasn’t done with her dream of having a family. She couldn’t be. Her heart ached to even think of it.
And so she’d decided to take a different path. If there was one thing Gran had taught Willow, it was to not let obstacles stop her. There were many ways to have a family, and Willow wasn’t going to let one broken dream get in the way of another.
Gran had wholeheartedly approved of Willow’s decision to have a child via donor insemination. Willow was unfazed by the idea of using an anonymous sperm donor, because she knew how carefully clinics screened donors for potential issues in their health history. The more she thought about it, the more confident she became that she could be a single mother.
There had been one small, unexpected snag in her plan. Shortly after the insemination process, an extremely apologetic director from the fertility clinic had called her to let her know that there had been a mistake. Instead of using a sample from a carefully vetted donor, the clinic had accidentally used sperm from a man who’d had cancer and had frozen his sperm due to the effects that chemotherapy could have on fertility.
At first, Willow had been alarmed at the news. She was shocked that the clinic could make such a mistake, and she was concerned that the donor hadn’t been vetted for hereditary health issues. But the clinic informed her that the donor had been diagnosed with melanoma, a nonhereditary form of cancer. Willow’s child would not be affected. Still, not only did Willow need to know what had happened, but they would have to inform the donor, as well.
Willow felt uneasy at the idea of the donor having any kind of involvement. But she knew that if their situations were reversed—if she had a child, somewhere out there, who was biologically hers—she’d want to know about it. There was nothing she could do to change the mistake the clinic had made, and the donor, whoever he was, probably felt just as shocked as she did. There was no use in casting blame, and ultimately, the only thing that mattered to her was that she had a healthy baby. She decided to give permission for the clinic to share her contact information with the donor, in case he wanted to discuss their extremely unusual circumstances, and in case he wanted the chance to get to know his child.
But the donor had never shown the slightest interest in meeting her. Not then, and not several months later, when she’d given her permission for him to be informed of Maisie’s birth. As far as Willow was concerned, the donor had no interest in being part of their lives. Which was fine with her. It was how she’d planned it all along.
Aside from that one small mix-up, Willow’s pregnancy had gone remarkably smoothly. She and Gran had both been completely besotted with Maisie from the moment she was born, and Gran had even put all of her savings into a trust fund for Maisie before she passed away. Willow had known that with Gran’s good example to go on, she’d be able to provide her child with a loving home.
And as she watched Maisie traipse down the back steps with her bucket of sand toys, she couldn’t imagine having done motherhood any other way. She wouldn’t trade anything for the chance to meet the tiny person growing day by day before her very eyes. Maisie brought more joy to Willow’s life than Willow could have ever imagined.
Willow thought that she and Maisie were getting on rather well in the world. Moving to the Caribbean had changed their lives for the better in every way. It might be far from all that was familiar in London, but London was fraught with memories of Jamie that Willow was happy to leave behind.
Willow’s search for a change had led her to the Island Clinic on St. Victoria. At first, she’d been skeptical about the idea of working at a medical center that catered to celebrities. She’d become a nurse to practice medical care, not to tend to the whims of the A-list crowd. But she was drawn in by the clinic’s commitment to helping its community, even providing care free of charge to island residents. And the motto fit with her own values—We are always here to help. Of course, it didn’t hurt that the salary was more than twice what she was making in London.
As soon as she and Maisie had settled into their beach house, Willow knew she’d made the right decision. Their days were full of light and laughter, and Maisie was learning more about the world around her growing up on a Caribbean island than she possibly could have by spending her days in a North London day care.
She might not have the large family she’d always dreamed of, but she had Maisie, and that was enough. And on an island like St. Victoria, it was almost impossible not to know everyone. In many ways, her neighbors were like a family unit. Mrs. Jean, her nosy but well-meaning next-door neighbor, was always happy to watch Maisie along with her own grandchildren, and the island provided a sense of community Willow had never known anywhere else. At work, Willow’s colleagues never failed to let her know that she was indispensable. She felt so close to her work friends that they seemed like a kind of family, too.
As for love... There were many different kinds of love, Willow thought. She certainly felt loved by the small circle of people in her life. But when it came to romantic love...well, she’d tried that, and it hadn’t worked out very well. Willow still felt a pang in her chest whenever she remembered Jamie’s words: I thought you’d break up with me if you knew the truth.
How could she ever tell if someone was just saying what they thought she wanted to hear, the way Jamie had? There was no way to know for sure. The only guaranteed way to protect herself was to decide that she was done with relationships, once and for all.
Willow had accepted that romance wasn’t going to be part of her life. But not everyone on the island seemed as willing to accept that Willow had sworn off relationships.
Case in point: her neighbor, Mrs. Jean, was gathering rosemary from her small porch-side herb garden. Mrs. Jean seemed to feel it was her mission in life to see Willow settled in a relationship, and had a habit of willfully ignoring Willow’s hints that this wasn’t going to happen.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Jean called as Willow approached. “I noticed that you and Maisie slept in a little.”
Willow smiled. Maisie was a notoriously early riser. “Sleeping in” meant up by eight a.m. for the two of them. “Maisie was up a little later than usual last night, so we both needed some extra rest this morning.”
Mrs. Jean’s eyes twinkled. “Oh. I thought maybe you had a hot date and were sleeping in afterward.”
“If your definition of ‘hot date’ is playing four games of Candyland in a row and then trying to wrestle an overtired three-year-old into the bathtub, then I’m guilty as charged.”
Mrs. Jean snorted. “You spend all your time working and looking after Maisie. You need to take a little time for yourself once in a while.”
“Ooh, is this an offer to babysit?”
“You know that Maisie’s welcome over anytime. Why don’t I watch her this Friday night and give you a break?”
“That would be great. I could really use a chance to catch up on some paperwork at the clinic.”
Mrs. Jean gave her a pained expression. “I’m not offering to watch Maisie so you can do some paperwork. I want you to go out and have some fun. Go down to Williamtown and meet some young men. That’s what I would be doing if I were your age.”
Willow had her doubts about that. Mrs. Jean had eight children of her own, and numerous grandchildren. Even if she didn’t know about the heartbreak Willow had faced, she should at least be able to understand that Willow didn’t have time for dating between her full-time job and taking care of Maisie.
“Mrs. Jean, even if I had time in my life to date, you know as well as I do that there aren’t too many single people to choose from on St. Victoria. I can’t imagine how I’d meet someone new on an island this small.”
At this, Mrs. Jean’s eyes gleamed, and Willow realized too late that rather than ending the conversation, she’d given Mrs. Jean an opening.
“What about one of those nice doctors you work with?”
“Absolutely not. I could never date one of my colleagues. My job is important to me, and relationships make everything too complicated.”
“Then what about one of those celebrities who are always coming to your clinic? Didn’t that big Hollywood action star just have his gallbladder removed? You must have at least tried to get his number.”
Willow couldn’t help laughing. “If I don’t want to complicate my job by dating a colleague, then I definitely don’t want to complicate things by dating a patient. It’d certainly cost me my job.”
“Who needs a job if you can snag yourself a movie star or an oil sheikh?”
“Mrs. Jean!”
The older woman rolled her eyes. “All right, I get it. You have principles, or some such nonsense. No dating patients. We’ll just have to think of someone else for you.”
“Sorry, Mrs. Jean, but even if I did plan to date again, I’m afraid it would be a hopeless case. Everyone on the island is either already taken or someone I work with. Or they’re a neighbor or a friend.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. What about that tall drink of water coming up the beach?”
Willow turned in surprise. Newcomers hardly ever came by the secluded stretch of beach she lived on. Yet less than twenty feet away, a tall man with light brown hair was picking his way over the sand. His crisp white shirt and tie were decidedly out of place in the Caribbean sunshine, and she could tell from his pale skin that he was unaccustomed to the sun. He was barefoot, with the ends of his trousers rolled up around his shins, and he carried his shoes and suit coat in one hand, and a briefcase in the other.
As the man approached, Willow noticed that his features were not altogether unattractive. His brown hair grazed his forehead in a way that made Willow want to sweep it from his eyes, which were a pleasing hazel. His frame was thin, but his gait suggested that he was used to carrying himself with the stance of a more muscular man. Willow found herself wondering if he were recovering from a long illness. Or perhaps he was simply unused to walking on hot sand—his pale skin suggested he didn’t spend much time on the beach.
When he looked up at Willow, he smiled in greeting, and it was his smile that sent a jolt through Willow that she wasn’t expecting. There was something about his mouth that caught her attention, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was. Perhaps it was the shape of his jaw—or maybe the way his chin curved—that made him seem extremely...kissable.
“Not bad, not bad,” muttered Mrs. Jean.
The sound of Mrs. Jean’s voice brought Willow back to reality, and she chided herself for having absurd thoughts about a complete stranger. As the man bent to speak to Maisie, her maternal instinct kicked in.
“Maisie,” she called. “You know better than to talk to strangers.”
She tried to make her voice sound stern, but she was terrible at being stern with Maisie. And strangers were such a rarity on this part of the island that her voice came out with more curiosity than sternness.
Now that she was at close range, Willow could see that the man looked more out of place than ever. Despite his pallor, she couldn’t help noticing again that his hazel eyes were a striking complement to his sandy brown hair.
She wondered if he was a lost tourist, looking for directions to Williamtown. But in his stiff white shirt, he looked more like a solicitor than a tourist.
“Sorry to intrude,” he said as she approached. “I was just complimenting this little one on such a fine sandcastle.”
Willow recognized the clipped cadence of a North London accent, and things began to fall into place. Her first guess—that the man might be a solicitor—might be correct, after all. The trust that Gran had left for Maisie wasn’t large, but it had been enough to ensure that Maisie would have a little bit of money to rely on if anything should ever happen to Willow. Back in London, a solicitor from the firm would check on Maisie once a year to ensure her well-being. Gran had felt that this was only practical, given that Willow and Maisie were alone in the world. She’d wanted to be sure that Maisie would always be supported, no matter what. After moving to the Caribbean, Willow had assumed the firm would simply do these check-ins through video conference calls, rather than sending someone all the way out to the islands. But then, Gran had been a formidable woman. She’d probably threatened to haunt the firm from beyond the grave if they didn’t do their due diligence where Maisie was concerned—and no one who’d ever met Gran would deny that she was capable of it.
“You must be from Camden,” Willow said, naming the North London borough where her grandmother’s firm was based.
He seemed surprised, but replied, “I am indeed from Camden. Theo Moore. I’m looking for Willow Thompson.”
“Well, here we are. I’m Willow, and this is my daughter, Maisie.”
For just a moment, Willow could have sworn the man was at a loss for words. She wondered if he was somewhat new at his job. Or perhaps he was simply tired from a long journey. But then he swallowed hard and seemed to recover. “Maisie,” he said quietly. “You chose a beautiful name for her.”
Willow couldn’t help smiling. She loved saying Maisie’s name. “We both think it suits very well, don’t we, Maisie?” she said as the little girl gave a firm nod.
Theo paused for a moment, as though trying to recover himself. Willow realized that he must be exhausted.
“Did you come straight from the airport?” she asked.
“I did indeed. I’m terribly sorry to intrude in this way. I should have found some way to notify you that I was coming, but I only knew that you lived somewhere on St. Victoria. It did take a bit of detective work to track you down.”
“I’m surprised to hear that. I thought I’d updated my new address with the firm when we moved.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “The...firm, I suppose...had your old London address. I learned from your former neighbors that you’d moved.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Willow could see Mrs. Jean approaching. “Why don’t you come inside for some lemonade?” she said quickly. “Camden’s a long way away, and I’m sure you’re tired from your journey.”
Again, he looked surprised, but said, “I’d love that. There’s much for us to discuss, and it’s probably best that we go over it all inside.”
Willow couldn’t imagine what there would be to discuss, as Maisie’s yearly check-in visits were usually quite brief. She supposed that since this Theo Moore had traveled all the way from London, the visit would be longer than usual in order to justify the expense.
To her surprise, Maisie slipped her hand into Theo’s as they walked toward the house. Theo didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he appeared to be quite charmed.
Willow felt her heart do a flip-flop in her chest. Settle down, she told herself. She’d known the man for all of forty seconds, and yet here she was, ogling him like a teenager at a school dance. She forced herself to tear her eyes away from him and turn toward the house, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her staring at him.
As they passed Mrs. Jean, she gave Willow a pointed look that Willow interpreted as Don’t screw this up. Willow shot back a look that she hoped Mrs. Jean interpreted as Quit making such a big deal out of everything. The older woman snorted and sashayed back to her house.
Willow, Theo and Maisie stepped through the back door of Willow’s beach house and into the kitchen, and Willow pulled a pitcher of lemonade from the refrigerator.
“I can help pour,” Maisie said.
“The pitcher’s too heavy, love. But you can take three big glasses from the cupboard.” She glanced at Theo. “Maisie’s at the age where she loves to help.”
“I can see that,” he replied as Maisie strained to reach the plastic glasses from a high cupboard. “I like to help, too. May I lift you up, Maisie?” He glanced toward Willow, who nodded her permission.
Maisie nodded, too, and Theo lifted her just high enough so that the little girl could take three glasses from the cupboard and set them on the kitchen counter.
“She must like you,” said Willow. “Normally she’s very big on doing things all by herself.”
“I’m told I make a great first impression,” he said, and Willow felt her knees weaken a bit as he smiled again.
She pulled a chair from the kitchen table to steady herself. “Why don’t we sit down? I’m sure you’d welcome the rest after coming such a long way.”
“Thank you.” He sat beside her at the table and sipped his lemonade. “This is very kind of you. I haven’t had anything to drink since the flight.”
“It’s no trouble at all. We Londoners have to look out for one another.”
He waved at the beach outside the kitchen window. “This is a far cry from London.”
“Yes, that was the idea.”
“It’s an interesting choice, to raise a child so far away from home.”
She stiffened. It seemed an awfully forward thing for a solicitor to say. Strikingly attractive or not, this man had no right to judge her decision of where to raise Maisie, even if he was involved in managing Gran’s trust. Willow was the sole person responsible for Maisie’s care, and although she often wished she had more help, one of the benefits of being a single mum was that Willow didn’t have to put up with anyone’s judgment of her parenting. “St. Victoria is our home now,” she replied. “It may be unconventional, but I believe the experiences Maisie has here are far more educational than anything she could get out of an overpriced day care in the city.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” he said. “I simply meant that you do seem to be so far from family, here in the Caribbean.”
“Family?” she said, looking at him quizzically. “What are you talking about? I thought the firm that managed Gran’s trust knew perfectly well that Maisie and I haven’t any other family.”
Now it was his turn to look confused. “Trust?” he said. “What trust?”
“Gran’s trust... Vera Brown’s trust, that she had set up for Maisie before she died. Isn’t that what you’re here to discuss? Aren’t you a solicitor from the firm? A moment ago, when I mentioned the firm, you said they had my old London address.”
“I’m afraid I wasn’t entirely sure what you meant by ‘the firm.’ I thought you might be referring to the fertility clinic. The one you went to...to have Maisie.”
Willow’s stomach went cold.
“I’ve been searching for you for months,” he said. “The clinic gave me your last known address, but it’s been a few years, and it seems you moved a few times. I eventually learned that you lived on St. Victoria, and once I arrived, some helpful locals pointed me to the right beach. They said if I just started walking, I’d run into you eventually.”
She already knew the answer, but she forced the question out, anyway, in a dry whisper. “Why have you been searching for me for months?”
“Because I needed to meet my daughter.”
She shook her head. “You can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.”
“Yes. I’m Maisie’s father.”
