The Millionaire's Intriguing Offer

Secrets Unraveling

"Mrs. O'Sullivan . . . I -"

Bailey's words were cut off as the kind woman she remembered from her childhood moved across the room to embrace her. Just seeing her face had conjured up images of fresh-baked cookies, still warm from the oven. Glasses of chilled milk. And always a kind word.

And the same sturdy figure, round face, and auburn silver-streaked hair Bailey remembered, although now it was more silver than auburn, actually.

"My word, child, you're all grown up." Mrs. O'Sullivan took a step back, still holding onto Bailey's shoulders, and looked her over.

"How do you get here, Crystal Marie?"

"It's Bailey now. I . . . changed my name when I was adopted."

"Bailey." Mrs. O'Sullivan nodded. "For your grandfather." She shook her head. "Joseph Bailey was a good man."

She gave Bailey's shoulders a little squeeze. "You just call me Bridget now."

Bailey could only nod, as dozens of thoughts flew through her head. She felt like she couldn't get her bearings.

"I'm glad you found a home, Bailey. I hope it was a good one."

"It was. It is."

"But how are you here?"

"I came with Jack."

Bridget gave a sharp intake of breath. "He finally found you."

"Found me?" What was Mrs. O' — Bridget talking about? "What do you mean?"

"That boy even hired a private detective, but it was no use. And what happened was so . . . Well, I really shouldn't say. The important thing is, he found you again."

"No, that's -" How was she going to explain this?

"Come here. Sit down a minute and talk to me."

Bailey looked around, but everyone was apparently still out on the terrace lingering over dessert and coffee. It couldn't hurt to spend a few moments here in the kitchen. And she had to figure out how to explain to Bridget what had happened, how to make sure she wouldn't tell Jack. Bailey never should have kept the secret this long. And now it was very likely going to blow up in her face.

She sank into a chair and Bridget sat down across from her, watching her expectantly.

"You look pale, dear," Bridget said, her face concerned. "Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?"

Bailey shook her head no, then stared down at the table.

"Bridget, Jack didn't find me." She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "He doesn't know who I am."

The older woman's face was a picture of confusion.

"What do you mean, he doesn't know who you are?"

"I was in Miami visiting a friend of mine from college, and we went to this charity thing, and there he was. I knew him right away." Which hadn't been that difficult, with his photo and bio on a giant easel in the lobby, Bailey admitted to herself. But still, she'd have known him anywhere.

She looked up at Bridget's face. "He didn't recognize me."

"Well, child, it has been a long time."

"You recognized me," she said in a small voice.

"Because you were standing right there in my kitchen where I'd seen you pretty much every day when you were living with your grandfather. If I'd run into you somewhere else, like Miami, I'm not sure I'd have made the connection other than to think there was something familiar about you." Bridget reached out, patted Bailey's hand.