Girl in the Spotlight Read online

  The daughter they never knew

  When Miles Jenkins sees the graceful young figure skater on TV, he can’t believe how much she resembles Lark McGee, the girl he dated briefly in college. Could this aspiring star be the child Lark gave up for adoption eighteen years ago? He has to find out.

  Locating Lark ignites conflicting emotions in Miles—including regrets for what might have been and romantic feelings that take the two single parents by surprise. As they prepare to meet their daughter, this deeper connection between the two just might be the chance at love they never got.

  Miles smiled softly. “Does it seem too weird? Like something that we thought couldn’t happen between us? Maybe even shouldn’t happen?”

  Lark raised her hands in a gesture of confusion. “I don’t know. Maybe a little too magical. I’m happy when I’m with you.”

  “Wonder why we so easily went our separate ways years ago?”

  She jerked her head back in surprise.

  “We were kids, Lark,” he explained. “I’m not that guy anymore. And yes, my feelings for you have come as a shock. That’s why I want more evenings like this.”

  She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye. “You’re right. When we met so many weeks ago, I never imagined we’d become close again. And about Perrie Lynn—”

  “No matter what ultimately happens between us,” he said, “from now on, we’re united when it comes to our daughter.”

  Dear Reader,

  Welcome to Two Moon Bay, Wisconsin, and thanks for choosing Girl in the Spotlight. I’m thrilled that it’s my debut book for the Harlequin Heartwarming series.

  Several years ago, I told a friend about an adoption story that had been nagging—haunting—me for years. Hardly surprised, my friend teased me with the question “Isn’t adoption an important theme in your family’s history?” Yes, that’s true, and as a theme it goes back a couple of generations on both sides of my family. The first article I ever sold was about the joys of becoming a mother in two ways, first through pregnancy and then through adoption. As the years passed and my children grew up, I was privileged to cross paths with several women who wanted nothing more than to one day be reunited with the child who, for complex reasons, they’d placed for adoption.

  I hope you enjoy the path Lark and Miles take to learn the identity of their child, and in the process also discover what drives this young girl’s life. As someone who yearns for happy endings, it was deeply satisfying to listen to Lark and Miles “tell me” how they rediscovered each other.

  Two Moon Bay is a fictional place, but bears close resemblance to many small towns not far from my current home, Green Bay, Wisconsin. I grew up in Chicago, so I completely understand the lure of Lake Michigan and I enjoy characters that fall under its spell.

  To happy endings,

  Virginia McCullough

  Girl in the Spotlight

  Virginia McCullough

  After a childhood spent on Chicago’s sandy beaches, Virginia McCullough moved to a rocky island in Maine, where she began writing magazine articles. She soon turned to coauthoring and ghostwriting nonfiction books, and eventually began listening to the fictional characters whispering in her ear. Today, when not writing stories, Virginia likes to wander the world.

  To contact the author, please visit www.virginiamccullough.com, or find her on Twitter, @vemccullough, and Facebook, www.Facebook.com/virginia.mccullough.7.

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  This book is for all whose lives have been touched by the heartaches and joys inherent in the adoption experience.

  Contents

  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

  EXCERPT FROM THE RUNAWAY BRIDE BY PATRICIA JOHNS

  CHAPTER ONE

  WITH HIS PHONE next to him on the couch and out of his little girl’s sight, Miles Jenkins scrolled through the three new texts. The first was from the meeting planner organizing a management conference in Denver, where Miles was booked to present a seminar in late January. That fell into the category of important, but not urgent. Exactly like the second and third, both sent by a speakers bureau he regularly worked with. Nothing he needed to interrupt his Sunday afternoon to handle.

  Brooke tugged on his sleeve. “Daddy, did you see that girl fall down? She won’t get a medal now.”

  “Sure, honey, I saw it.” Sort of. Out of the corner of his eye he’d caught a glimpse of the skater on the TV screen. “So, one spill on the ice means she won’t get a medal?”

  Brooke answered with a solemn nod. “Well, that’s not always true, but this time it knocked her right out of the competition.”

  Miles smiled to himself. From the moment they’d begun watching, his eight-year-old had taken on the role of a professional commentator. Without skipping a beat Brooke predicted who among this group of young women would emerge as medal winners and who’d likely go home empty-handed.

  “You know so much about the sport you could be one of those experts on TV.”

  Brooke responded with an exaggerated roll of her brown eyes. When had she learned to do that?

  “I mean it,” he said, feigning a defensive tone. “You’ve taught me more about skating in the last couple of hours than I’ve learned in my entire life, all thirty-nine years of it.” Or ever cared to know, but that was beside the point.

  Andi had mentioned their daughter’s interest in skating had quickly moved from casual to intense, leaving Brooke completely enamored with these real-life princesses performing impossible feats in their glittery costumes. Andi encouraged the interest, too. These self-disciplined girls trained every day and worked hard to compete, she pointed out. They weren’t like the out-of-control young celebrities who ended up as headlines on too many glossy magazine covers for all the wrong reasons.

  His former wife had also advised against making plans to see a movie with Brooke on Sunday afternoon. “It’s the Grand Circuit final,” she’d said. “The last event of this year’s figure-skating competitive season. Brooke’s been looking forward to it all week. It’s a big deal, a step on the way to determining who gets on the International Figure Skating Championship team.” She’d paused and then laughed. “Listen to me. You’d think I know what I’m talking about. But I don’t need to explain the ins and outs. Our skating enthusiast will fill you in. Every last detail.”

  Andi was right. Brooke had talked about almost nothing else but her favorite figure skaters from the moment he’d picked her up on Saturday morning. It seemed that Mamie, his little girl’s babysitter, had created a fan.

  “You could take skating lessons yourself,” he said. “Would you like that?”

  Brooke shook her head. “I already told Mom I want to keep playing so
ccer. And basketball is fun, too.”

  “Okay, honey. You let us know if you change your mind.”

  Photographs on the wall on either side of the TV showed Brooke in her soccer uniform, her auburn hair in two pigtails. He agreed with Andi, who reminded him—often—about research showing that little girls who were involved in sports developed healthy self-esteem. They were less likely to fall in with a bad crowd and do all the risky things that left parents so terrified they could barely breathe.

  “I will.” Brooke scooped up a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. Before putting it in her mouth, she added, “But don’t forget about the horse, Daddy. I’ve already picked out her name.”

  “Magic,” he said, nodding. “I remember.”

  “Won’t be long now.”

  “I know, less than four years.”

  “Three years and five months...to be exact.”

  He suppressed a laugh, not wanting her to think he’d ever make light of her longing for a horse. Not long ago, Andi had brought up the horse once again, as if warning him to be prepared. Andi also believed girls who loved horses would be less likely to spend time with boys who’d divert them from their goals. When she’d put it like that, was she subtly reminding him that he’d been a boy—or rather, a young man—who’d once been responsible for interrupting a girl’s goals?

  As much as he agreed with his ex-wife on almost all their joint parenting issues, Miles thought she was overly concerned about Brooke being a child of divorce. Andi regularly mentioned the emotional risks of divorce and the frightening specter of teenage girls wandering aimlessly through adolescence.

  Brooke bounced on the cushion next to him. “Only one more skater to go before Perrie Lynn, Daddy.”

  “Perrie who? One of your favorites?” He squeezed Brooke’s hand to show he was only teasing. Whatever Andi feared might happen in the future, their little girl was 100 percent safe and happy in this moment.

  “Her whole name is Perrie Lynn Olson.”

  He knew that, of course. Brooke had started his education about skating by extolling Perrie Lynn. Still, although he enjoyed these exchanges with his little girl, sometimes he found himself listening with only one ear and much of what she said didn’t settle into his memory bank. “And what makes her a special skater?”

  Brooke gestured toward the TV with both hands for emphasis. “She’s sort of new. She got to go to the Grand Circuit final because she won two big competitions. Mamie said she surprised everyone in the skating world.”

  Miles grinned at the lingo she’d picked up from Mamie and the commentators. The next skater was a young Canadian woman named Misty, who made a quick trip around the rink in her blue sequined costume. Even her short blond hair sparkled.

  No wonder little girls thought these athletes were spinning, jumping princesses. For the next four minutes, the commentators, Katie and Allen, former champions themselves, counted triple jumps and what looked like impossible spins, explaining each move. Allen groaned over two jumps that went awry and caused Misty to, as he put it, lose the landing. Down she went. Misty recovered, though, and flashed a big smile for the audience when she thrust one arm high in the air for her dramatic finish. The smile disappeared almost immediately, replaced with a glum expression as she skated off the ice and into the open arms of her coach.

  Miles picked up the remote and muted the sound when the commercials started.

  “She was okay,” Brooke said, “but not as good as Perrie Lynn’s going to be.”

  Miles hoped Perrie Lynn didn’t take a spill and break the spell Brooke had created around the young skater.

  The ads over, he got the sound back on in time to listen to Katie and the other commentators discuss Misty’s scores, which they all agreed left plenty of room for Perrie Lynn to jump ahead.

  “Pay attention, Daddy. Here she comes.” Brooke clapped her hands in anticipation.

  The dark-haired girl skated onto the ice to rising applause and encouraging cheers. She took her time taking a turn around the periphery of the rink.

  “Every detail is attended to,” Katie pointed out, “and wow, doesn’t she look elegant in her deep red costume?”

  “Such a big moment for her,” Charlie, the network announcer, added. “It was unexpected, but so welcome.”

  Katie, Allen and Charlie kept up their patter about the recent changes in Perrie Lynn’s life, and why she and her mother had moved from Minnesota to Michigan to train with a new coach.

  Brooke lifted her shoulders in a happy shrug. “Look at how pretty she looks, Daddy. Her dress sparkles all over.”

  “It sure does.” Even from the long camera angle, Miles could see the girl was lovely, with olive skin and black hair, much like his own, features he’d inherited from his Italian mother and grandmother.

  Miles was impressed as the skater slowed down and glided on one skate to the center of the ice, then stopped abruptly. In one flowing move, she positioned her legs and arms, and finally lifted her chin to signal her readiness to begin. The girl knows how to work a crowd.

  Bemused, Miles saw in the young skater the qualities of some of his best colleagues in the professional speaking business. They captured the audience before uttering the first word. Perrie Lynn would start her routine with the entire arena and TV audience already focused on her.

  Miles glanced at Brooke, who was sitting cross-legged but had leaned forward, as she rested her arms on her knees, her gaze fixed on the screen. When Perrie Lynn began skating backward and picked up speed, Katie described the move and built anticipation for the first jump. The confident young skater’s lift off the ice appeared effortless.

  “Wow,” Allen said, “she opened with a perfect triple flip.”

  “She got so high in the air, Daddy.”

  “She sure did,” he said, patting Brooke’s hand.

  Another jump followed, and then another and another.

  “A triple-triple combination, Daddy,” Brooke said sagely. “Those are hard.”

  “I bet they are.”

  More jumps and spins, and a long, graceful glide across the ice followed. To Miles’s unschooled eyes it was like watching ballet dancing.

  “She has the whole package, all right, athleticism and artistry,” Katie remarked. “And now she’s finishing with her final set of spins. Fantastic!”

  Brooke clapped her hands over her head. “Yay! I think she won a medal, Daddy. She was that good.”

  Miles hoped Brooke wouldn’t be disappointed, although he’d heard one of the announcers predict at least a bronze and possibly a silver medal for the girl, who was so new on the international skating scene. In the grand scheme of expectations, a medal for Perrie Lynn would mean an upset and a huge surprise. Others had come to the competition with far more experience.

  Perrie Lynn completed what looked like a spectacular spin and came to a sudden stop, then dramatically bent backward, and swept her arms to the side before slowly lowering them and clasping her hands behind her. She held the pose, looking like a statue. Extending her moment, and exploiting the mood, Miles thought. He stared at the screen as the camera zoomed in for a close-up shot of her face.

  A brilliant, triumphant smile. His stomach rolled over. A familiar prominent widow’s peak. A heart-shaped face.

  “See, Daddy,” Brooke said, bouncing on the couch, “people are clapping and clapping because her skating makes everyone feel happy.”

  Brooke was right. Perrie Lynn skated off the ice to thunderous applause and was immediately enveloped in her coach’s arms. Suddenly, the image disappeared, replaced by a commercial for potato chips. His mouth dry, Miles ran his tongue over his lips and cleared his throat. “So, what happens now, honey?” he asked, his voice barely a croak.

  “She has to wait for the scores.” Brooke waved her crossed fingers high in the a
ir. “But she was the next-to-the-last skater. Goody, goody, goody. I bet she gets a medal!”

  “And I bet you’re right.” He curled his fingers into a tight fist, then used his knuckle to wipe away beads of sweat above his upper lip. His reaction was ridiculous. Olive skin, a widow’s peak. Countless young women would fit that description.

  Miles exhaled, forcing himself to focus on Brooke’s happy chatter about Perrie Lynn and medals. The commercials over, the commentators picked up their conversation about the surprising turn in the competition.

  “So much excitement for such a young woman,” Charlie observed, “and on her birthday, no less. She turns eighteen today.”

  Adrenaline shot through him, putting every cell on alert. Today. The minute he’d opened his eyes that morning, he’d remembered this day. The December date sat more or less dormant in his mind the rest of the year, but memories came alive on what was usually a cold, often snowy day. He’d been glad this was his weekend with Brooke, relieved to have something to serve as the distraction he always needed when this day rolled around.

  The camera focused on Perrie Lynn’s parents seated in the audience. More energy zipped through his body and sent his heart thumping hard. Who were those fair-haired people? They didn’t look much like Perrie Lynn.

  He swallowed hard as he struggled to focus on Allen’s comments about the significance of Perrie Lynn’s coaching change. “She also chose a new choreographer,” Allen said. “These shifts can make a big difference, but they meant Perrie Lynn and her mother had to leave her dad in Minnesota so she could train with her new coach in Michigan.”

  “But the decision appears to have paid off,” Charlie added.

  “Mamie said the coach is really famous,” Brooke said.

  Miles nodded. “So it seems.”

  “She’s adopted,” Brooke said. “Mamie told me.”

  “Who’s adopted, honey?” His voice cracked. “Perrie Lynn?”

  Brooke nodded. “Mamie said her parents got her when she was really tiny. Maybe only a couple of days old.”