recognize her now that Iâve seen the picture. But I never knew her name. And I certainly didnât have an affair with her.â
That was progress, of a sort. If she could manage not to sound as if she judged him, maybe heâd move toward being honest with her.
She tried to keep her tone neutral. âHow did you know her?â
âShe worked at the café that summer.â He frowned, as if remembering. âI eat a lot of meals there, so she waited on me. Chatted, the way waitresses do with regulars. But I didnât run into her anywhere else.â
His dark gaze met hers, challenging her to argue. âYour turn. How did you get to know her?â
âShe answered an ad Iâd put on the bulletin board at the corner market. She wanted to rent a room in my house.â
His eyebrows went up at that. âSorry, Counselor, but you donât look as if you need to take in boarders.â
âI didnât do it for the money.â She clipped off the words. Her instincts warned her not to give too much away to this man, but if she wanted his cooperation sheâd have to appear willing to answer his questions. âMy husband had died a few months earlier, and Iâd taken a leave from my job. Iâd been rattling around in a place too big for one person. The roomer was just going to be temporary, until I found a buyer for the house.â
âHow long ago was that?â It was a copâs question, snapped at her as if she were a suspect.
âA little over a year.â She tried not to let his manner rattle her. âI knew she was pregnant, of course, but I didnât know she had a heart condition. Iâm not sure even she knew at first. The doctors said she never should have gotten pregnant.â
âWhat about her family?â
âShe said she didnât have anyone.â Tina had seemed just as lonely as Anne had been. Maybe that was what had drawn them together. âWe became friends. And then when she had to be hospitalizedâwell, I guess I felt responsible for her. She didnât have anyone else. When Emilie was born, Tinaâs condition worsened. I took charge of the baby. Tina never came home from the hospital.â
His strong face was guarded. âIs that when she supposedly told you about me?â
She nodded. âShe talked about the time she spent in Bedford Creek, about the man she loved, the man who fathered Emilie.â
He was so perfectly still that he might have been a statue, except for the tiny muscle that pulsed at his temple. âAnd if I tell you it was a mistakeâthat she couldnât have meant meâ¦?â
âLook, Iâm not here to prosecute you.â Why couldnât he see that? âIâm not judging you. I just want your signature on the papers. Thatâs all.â
âYou didnât answer me.â He took a step closer, and she could feel the intensity under his iron exterior. âWhat if I tell you it was a mistake?â
It was all slipping away, getting out of her control. âHow could it be a mistake? Everything she said fits you, no one else.â
He seized on that. âFits me? I thought you said she named me.â
She took a deep breath, trying to stay in control of the situation. âWhile she was ill, she talked a lot aboutâ¦about the man she fell in love with. About the town. Then, when we knew she wasnât going to get better, we made plans for Emilieâs adoption.â She looked at him, willing him to understand. âIâve been taking care of Emilie practically since the day she was born. I love her. Tina knew that. She knew I needed the fatherâs permission, too, but she never said the name until the end.â
She shivered a little, recalling the scene. Tina,slipping in and out of consciousness, finally saying the name Mitch Donovan. âWhy would she lie?â
âI donât know.â His mouth clamped firmly on the