Page 92 of One Kind Goal

When the driver pulled up in front of a cute, yellow colonial, Morgan immediately recognized the red pickup truck parked in the driveway. That truck had been burned into her memory as it had driven away with a crying Nia in the back seat. A quick look around revealed no black SUV in the immediate area, which meant Morgan had beaten Sawyer to Carina’s.

Perfect.

“Shall I wait for you, Miss Rayhill?” the driver asked.

“No. I’m all set. Thank you.” She opened the car door and stepped out. As she walked toward the front door, the driver pulled out of the driveway and onto the street. After a few seconds, Morgan could no longer see his taillights.

No turning back now.

She climbed the front steps to a porch landing. Her gaze zeroed in on the doorbell, but she struggled with making herself ring it.

Until Nia wailed inside.

Her index finger went right to that bell and chimes sounded. Footsteps thudded on hardwood and the door opened. A man with blond hair and a beard stood in front of Morgan. He was shorter than Sawyer, but still solidly built. She expected him to tell her to take a hike, but instead his tensed expression relaxed.

“Oh, good,” he said. “Maybe you can get Nia to stop crying.” He clamped a hand on Morgan’s arm and tugged her into the house.

“Has she been crying since Vermont?” Morgan asked.

“All four plus hours,” he said. “I’m Alan, by the way.”

“Morgan.”

“Yeah, I know. Carina has said your name a few times today.”

“I’m guessing not combined with the words is great, right?”

“Correct.” Alan offered her a weak smile over his shoulder as the crying grew louder. “I completely understand Carina’s grief over all this, but I’m a father too. If my ex whisked my kid away from me and threatened full custody, I’d go insane.” He stopped walking and turned to face Morgan. “Where is Sawyer?”

“I imagine not that far from here. I cheated and flew to Rhode Island.”

“I see. Well, I can’t guarantee Carina will let you anywhere near Nia, but I’m willing to try.” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Me too.”

Nodding, Alan led her into a bright kitchen. Nia was on the hardwood floor, absolutely sobbing. Every few seconds, she let out a choking, hiccup sound, suggesting she had—as Alan had said—been crying for hours. Carina kneeled on the floor beside the child, attempting to rub Nia’s back. When contact was made, however, Nia reared away as if Carina’s hands were made of fire.

Morgan’s heart split into tiny pieces in her chest as she witnessed the scene before her. In the time she had known Nia, the girl had displayed such a sunny disposition. She spent more time smiling and laughing and dancing around than anyone Morgan had ever met. Being taken from Sawyer had crushed her.

“Nia.” Morgan kneeled beside the child, despite the volcanic glare Carina had given her when she’d noticed Morgan in the kitchen. “Look at me, Nia-bunny.”

At the sound of Sawyer’s nickname for her, Nia stopped writhing on the floor. She turned her head to look at Morgan.

In the next moment, Morgan was on her ass on the hardwood floor, her lap full of little girl.