Книга - For Her Son’s Love

For Her Son's Love
Kathryn Springer


To: Rachel From: Andrew Re: I've met the most fascinating single mom… Everyone thinks I'm this high-living playboy…. I wish I could reveal my real mission in life: rescuing missing children. Though right now, helping Miranda Jones is my top priority. She came to Chestnut Grove with her little boy, but a brewing scandal is threatening their little family.So, cousin and mother-to-be, as I'm running the charitable Noble Foundation in your temporary absence, I'll also be digging up secrets of the past. And while I'm at it, I hope Miranda will say yes to a future together!









Miranda took the first deep breath her lungs would allow during the last hour.


The exact amount of time Andrew Noble had been in the restaurant.

An ember of disgust flared inside her. People struggled to make ends meet while men like Andrew Noble spent money they hadn’t even worked for. A poster boy for the idle rich.

An incredibly good-looking poster boy…

Miranda tried to shake the thought away before it took hold and formed an image of perfectly chiseled features, tousled black hair and eyes a warm palette of soft greens and browns.

Too late.

A Tiny Blessings Tale: Loving families and needy children continue to come together to fulfill God’s greatest plans!

FOR HER SON’S LOVE

Kathryn Springer (LI #404)

MISSIONARY DADDY

Linda Goodnight (LI #408)

A MOMMY IN MIND

Arlene James (LI #412)

LITTLE MISS MATCHMAKER

Dana Corbit (LI #416)

GIVING THANKS FOR BABY

Terri Reed (LI #420)

A HOLIDAY TO REMEMBER

Jillian Hart (LI #424)




KATHRYN SPRINGER


is a lifelong resident of Wisconsin. Growing up in a newspaper family, she spent long hours as a child plunking out stories on her mother’s typewriter. She wrote her first “book” at the age of ten and hasn’t stopped writing since then! Kathryn began writing inspirational romance because it allows her to combine her faith in God with her love of a happy ending.




For Her Son’s Love


Kathryn Springer







“See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”

—Isaiah 49:16


To Char—Just because




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

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion




Chapter One


The last time Andrew Noble visited Chestnut Grove had been eight months ago, when he’d shown up to surprise his cousin, Rachel, on her birthday. This time, it was to fire her.

He hoped the bouquet of peach roses tucked in the crook of his arm would soften the blow.

Andrew bypassed the spacious reception area of the Noble Foundation and veered toward the stairs that led to the suite of offices on the top floor of the building. Rachel didn’t know he was in town and Andrew didn’t want anyone to warn her. For what he had to do, keeping the element of surprise might be in his favor. He hoped she’d be so happy to see him—and the bouquet of her favorite flowers—that she’d cheerfully hand over the Foundation’s checkbook.

Right.

Even though they had practically grown up together and were more like siblings than first cousins, the Noble Foundation was Rachel’s baby. Her parents, Beatrice and Charles, may have founded the organization, which raised money for worthwhile charities, but Rachel’s energy, drive and creativity had pushed its reputation and influence beyond the boundaries of Virginia. At the moment, her commitment wasn’t in question; her energy level was.

It was the reason his mother, at the urging of his aunt Beatrice, had tracked him down at a friend’s beach house in Malibu the day before.

Andrew wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or insulted that his name had been the one pulled out of the family hat.

Rachel was expecting a baby at the end of the summer and according to Eli Cavanaugh, Rachel’s husband, she’d been feeling unusually fatigued over the past few weeks. Eli had finally gotten her to admit she’d experienced some bouts of dizziness, too. Even though pediatrics, not obstetrics, was Eli’s specialty, he’d shared his concern with Beatrice, who’d shared it with Andrew’s mother. They’d decided someone needed to step in and temporarily ease the reins of the Foundation out of Rachel’s capable hands.

That someone was him. Apparently, the old adage “desperate times call for desperate measures” held some truth.

Andrew exhaled in relief when he saw there was no one at the desk that guarded the entrance to Rachel’s corner office. The staff had a tendency to protect Rachel as if she were the Hope diamond.

He pushed open the door, expecting to see his prototype-for-the-Type-A-personality cousin hard at work. What he saw instead made his blood run cold— Rachel sound asleep in the leather chair, her bare feet propped up on the desk. At nine o’clock in the morning.

He coughed lightly.

Rachel’s body jerked and she bolted upright, wide awake.

“Andrew!”

With a cry of delight, Rachel pushed herself out of the chair and waddled into his arms. “What are you doing here? The baby isn’t due for another few months. Or are you planning to pull another one of your famous disappearing acts on us again?”

Andrew planted a kiss on her cheek, not missing the purple shadows under her eyes and the lines of fatigue bracketing her mouth. Guilt kicked in as he realized his aunt hadn’t exaggerated Rachel’s condition. He didn’t know anything about pregnant women, but even to his inexperienced eyes she looked completely worn out.

He decided honesty was the best policy.

“I’m here to take over the Noble Foundation. By force, if necessary, but I’m hoping these roses will do the trick.”

Rachel accepted the bouquet, her expression wry. “You heard.”

Andrew sauntered over to the leather chair and sat down. “Word on the street is that you haven’t been feeling well.”

“I should have known. Our mothers are ganging up on me and they sent you to do their dirty work.” Rachel crossed her arms over her bulging abdomen. “It’s just normal pregnancy stuff. I am carrying the equivalent of an airline-approved carry-on around my middle.”

Andrew just looked at her until she gave an irritated little huff. “You can lower that arrogant eyebrow of yours. I admit it. Dr. Bingham is a little concerned about the swelling in my hands and feet. Overly concerned, if you ask me. He and Eli are friends, so…” Her eyes narrowed. “Did Eli call you?”

“I plead the Fifth.” Andrew grinned. “I received an order from the top to take control of things here while you go home, put your feet up and watch the cooking channel.”

Rachel scowled.

“Or knit baby booties.”

The flash of longing in her eyes surprised him. “I don’t knit.”

“You don’t cook, either, but that hasn’t stopped you from trying to master it. For the past two years.”

“Did I ever tell you that you’re my favorite cousin? Because if I did, I take it back. And all the other nice things I might have said to inflate your already enormous ego—”

The intercom interrupted her. Rachel reached for the phone but Andrew beat her to it. “What’s your secretary’s name?”

“Zoe.” Rachel tried to pluck the phone out of his hand.

“Andrew Noble.” He winced as a high-pitched squeak pinched his eardrum. Probably because he’d managed to sneak in when she’d abandoned her post. “What can I do for you, Zoe?”

Rachel attempted another hostile takeover so Andrew swiveled the chair around. “Tell Mr. Chrone I’ll be the one meeting with him tomorrow morning about the estate. That’s right. Me.” Andrew hung up the phone and faced his cousin again. “Why are you still here?”

“What did they bribe you with to come to Chestnut Grove?” Rachel demanded. “Virginia is a long way from Rhode Island. Whatever it was, I’ll double it if you leave quietly.”

“No one bribed me.” Andrew shrugged. “I’m the only one in the family who leads the kind of wastrel existence that allows me to take over a huge charitable organization without advanced notice. Not that I’m not qualified to spend other people’s money. I’ve been doing that with Great-Grandpa’s trust fund for years.”

The flicker of sadness in Rachel’s eyes scraped against Andrew’s conscience. She might not listen to the gossip but she read the papers. There was no getting around the fact that, over the years, his reputation as an irresponsible playboy had stained the fabric of the Noble family. Still, they’d remained stubbornly loyal to him. Especially Rachel.

Sending up a prayer for forgiveness, he used that loyalty to his advantage. “Unless you don’t trust me?”

She rolled her eyes. “Please. Your smile will probably raise more money in a day than I could in a month. It’s just that…there’s no reason for all this fuss. I’m fine.”

Andrew might have believed her if she hadn’t ended the sentence by yawning.

“You don’t have to prove anything, Rachel. Let me take care of the Foundation while you take care of yourself and the baby. If Bingham gives you the green light to keep working, I’ll abdicate the throne.” He patted the leather armrests on the chair. “I promise.”

Because he expected round two, the sudden relief in her eyes stunned him.

“Fine. You win. You can even move into my loft if you need a place to stay. And come for dinner—”

Andrew had tasted Rachel’s cooking, and she was more gifted in the boardroom than she was the kitchen. “The Starlight Diner is just down the street.”

He laughed when Rachel glowered at him.

“If you need anything—”

“I’ll ask Zoe.”

“Mr. Chrone—”

“Collects baseball cards and raises African Violets,” Andrew finished.

“All right.” She didn’t move.

Andrew arched a brow. “Now what do you need?”

She grinned and wiggled her bare toes in the carpet. “My shoes. They’re under the desk.”



“Billionaire bachelor alert.” Miranda Jones looked up as Darcy, the young waitress who shared the breakfast and lunch shift with her at the Starlight Diner, swept into the kitchen and gave her a teasing grin. “And he’s sitting in your section. Again.”

Andrew Noble.

Miranda’s concentration dissolved. If a list of the world’s most eligible bachelors existed, Andrew’s name probably appeared at the top of it. The Noble family was the equivalent of American royalty and Andrew, the prince. The media loved him, even if all they could report were the details of his latest adventure in some exotic locale or the name of the woman who happened to be at his side for one of the Noble Foundation’s many fund-raising events.

He’d come into the diner earlier in the week and Miranda guessed he was visiting his cousin, Rachel Cavanaugh. Why he’d chosen the Starlight instead of one of Richmond’s swanky, award-winning restaurants, she had no idea. And now he was back. Three days later.

“You can wait on him,” she murmured. “I have to deliver this order to the boys at table five before they waste away.”

Darcy’s gum snapped in surprise, but then she grinned. “I’m not going to turn down that tip. Or the chance to stare into those dreamy eyes.” She sighed dramatically and put one hand over her heart.

“What about Greg?” Miranda felt compelled to bring up the name of the young deliveryman Darcy had been mooning over for the last two weeks.

“Greg? Greg who?” Darcy winked and straightened the collar of her pink polo shirt—the standard uniform of the diner waitstaff. She sashayed out of the kitchen, humming “Someday My Prince Will Come” under her breath.

Miranda exhaled in relief. Maybe she had just given up a generous tip but something about Andrew Noble flustered her.

You mean, other than the obvious, a voice in her head mocked. That he’s incredibly easy on the eyes and wealthy enough to live a life of leisure?

Something a working girl like her couldn’t begin to fathom. She’d never had a problem dealing with a customer before but, when Andrew had walked into the diner, her heart had responded with an unsettling kick. Darcy would welcome his attention. Miranda wished he’d find another restaurant.

“M.J. Snap out of it! Order up!” Isaac Tubman’s exasperated shout echoed around the kitchen. And probably the entire dining room. But no one would blink an eye. The regulars were used to the gruff old cook and his occasional tirades.

“Sorry.” Miranda scooped up the tray of hamburgers and took a step toward the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the dining area.

“Don’t forget the garnish!” Isaac thundered, stopping her in her tracks.

“You’ve been watching Emeril again, haven’t you?” Miranda smiled but dutifully dropped a sprig of wilted parsley onto each plate.

Miranda heard Isaac chuckle as he turned back to the grill. She’d worked at the diner for four years, both as a waitress and a bookkeeper, and she’d learned right away that Isaac’s bark was worse than his bite. When her son, Daniel, had developed bronchitis shortly after Sandra Lange had hired her, it was Isaac who’d shown up at their apartment one evening with a container of homemade chicken noodle soup and his wooden checkerboard to entertain the little boy, giving her a much needed break.

In spite of Miranda’s reluctance to accept help from anyone, the simple gesture had endeared her to the old cook. As a single parent, Miranda had gotten used to doing everything on her own, But Daniel, her thoughtful, wise-beyond-his-years son, had taken to Isaac immediately.

Two years later, Isaac still kept the checkerboard behind the soda fountain for the times Miranda had to bring Daniel to work with her.

Balancing the tray in her hands, Miranda pushed through the doors, no longer feeling as if she were passing through a time warp when she stepped out of the modern kitchen into the 1950s-style dining area. “Rock Around the Clock” blared out of the juke box, not quite drowning out the cheer from the teenage boys who saw her approaching with their burgers.

The commotion snagged Andrew Noble’s attention. He glanced up and their eyes met.

The pictures of him that frequently graced the society page of the Richmond Gazette didn’t do him justice. Black ink might have accurately captured the color of his hair, but it didn’t give a hint that his eyes were a warm, sunlight-in-the-woods shade of hazel. The lazy half smile he directed at the cameras—the one that gave him an air of mystery and drove the gossip columnists crazy—was even more potent in real life.

She could attest to that because at the moment it was directed right at her.

Miranda quickly averted her eyes and broke the connection.

She refused to act like a starstruck groupie. Men like Andrew Noble wielded too much power. And she knew from bitter experience that men could use their position and power to hurt other people. Hal had taught her that lesson and she wasn’t going to let history repeat itself. Not when the wounds he’d inflicted had yet to heal.

At table five, eager hands reached for the tray. They reminded Miranda of Daniel and she smiled. “Patience, boys. The burgers aren’t going to walk off the plates.”

She divvied up the order and went to the soda fountain to refill their drinks. The boys came in every Friday for lunch and Miranda knew them by name. She also knew the grand sum of her tip would be the handful of change they pooled in the center of the table before they left. They meant well, although a dollar tip wasn’t going to have a significant impact on her meager savings account. Over the past few months, Daniel had sprouted like Jack’s beanstalk, outgrowing all his clothes from the previous summer. Which meant a trip to the mall in Richmond was needed.

Miranda tried to suppress the wave of discouragement that threatened to crash over her. She’d find a way. Sandra was always willing to let her pick up another shift if she needed it.

“Andrew!” As if conjured up by Miranda’s thoughts, Sandra’s lilting voice swept through the diner. She made a habit of chatting with each and every customer who came into the Starlight.

Sandra gave Miranda’s arm an affectionate pat as she breezed past and paused to talk to Andrew. “It’s nice to see you again. I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

“I’m afraid Chestnut Grove is stuck with me for a while.” Andrew’s New England accent was clipped but pleasant, and Miranda resisted the urge to look at him again, to see if the smile she heard in his voice was reflected in his eyes. “Rachel’s been feeling a little tired lately so I’m going to keep an eye on things at the Foundation.”

Which meant he wasn’t just passing through town. Miranda felt a strange mixture of relief and dread bubble up inside of her. It was the relief that disturbed her.

“Rachel and the baby are all right, aren’t they?” The concern in Sandra’s voice stilled Miranda’s hands as she waited to hear Andrew’s response. Rachel and her friends had been coming to the Starlight for brunch every Sunday after church for as long as she’d worked at the diner.

“She has an appointment with her doctor this morning, which will give us a better indication about what’s going on.”

“Please tell Rachel I’ll add her and Eli and the baby to my prayer list,” Sandra said.

“She’ll appreciate that, Ms. Lange.”

“Sandra,” she said, correcting him. “This is the Starlight Diner, my dear, not the Ritz.”

“I’ll remember that, Sandra.”

The warmth in his voice somehow made him seem more approachable. Miranda could almost imagine he was just another one of the diner’s regulars.

In Armani.

“Sandra! Order up!” Isaac’s voice boomed above the music and the steady hum of conversation.

“Someone should remind that man I’m the one who owns the place.” Sandra laughed and maneuvered her way back through the maze of tables, greeting people by name on her way to the kitchen.

Miranda double-checked the bill before she presented it to the boys and then turned to slip away.

Andrew Noble was looking right at her. Again.

Miranda couldn’t blame the jolt that coursed through her on Isaac’s high-octane coffee. She’d only had one cup since her shift had started.

“I’d like a refill when you have a minute—” his eyes drifted to her name tag “—Miranda.”

She nodded but it didn’t feel like a normal nod. It felt like she’d suddenly turned into one of those bobble-headed dolls. “I’ll tell Darcy.”

Where was Darcy?

Feeling slightly panicked, Miranda scanned the diner but there was no sign of the girl anywhere.

“I think she’s busy with a cleanup on aisle six,” Andrew said helpfully.

Miranda lowered her gaze and sure enough, Darcy was crouched next to a portable high chair, mopping up a waterfall of fruit punch cascading over the side of the tray.

So much for avoiding Andrew Noble.




Chapter Two


Miranda.

Andrew watched her stop and chat briefly with an elderly gentleman who sat alone at a table. She was smiling again but it wasn’t the distant, polite one she’d bestowed upon him. No. This one was natural. It momentarily transformed her entire face, softening the curve of her lips and bringing a faint blush of color to her cheeks.

He’d noticed her the first time he’d come into the diner a few days ago. And he wasn’t sure why. With her hair secured in a severe twist at the nape of her neck and not a speck of makeup on her face, she obviously wasn’t the kind of woman who tried to court attention.

In fact, it seemed as if she’d gone out of her way to avoid him.

And she was doing it again.

Which—he hated to admit—chipped at his pride a little. He wasn’t used to women running in the opposite direction when they saw him.

For crying out loud. Get over yourself, Noble.

“Excuse me.” She returned with the coffeepot and Andrew pushed his cup closer. He tried to make eye contact but she didn’t cooperate, intent on searching for something in the pocket of her apron rather than looking at him.

“Cream or sugar?” She finally glanced up, long enough for him to glimpse captivating flecks of gold in her autumn-brown eyes.

“Cream. Thank you.” It was all he could come up with. Andrew wanted to bang his head against the table. He’d had dinner with heads of state and vacationed with celebrities, but a slender waitress with soulful eyes had suddenly reduced his vocabulary to that of a three-year-old. A very shy three-year-old.

“M.J.!” Isaac poked his head out of the pass-through between the kitchen and dining room. “Where are you? The cheese on this burger is aging. I’m going to have to raise the price if it sits up here any longer.”

Andrew saw Miranda bite her lip to hold back a laugh and took advantage of the moment to draw her out. “What does the J stand for?”

Wariness instantly replaced the laughter that backlit her eyes. “Jones.”

Andrew got the impression that only the Starlight’s reputation as a friendly diner prevented her from ignoring his question.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—else but she beat him to it. “If you need something, just get Darcy’s attention.”

On cue, the young woman who’d been sidetracked by the toddler’s spill dashed over to his table. Her eyes sparkled and her smile bordered on flirtatious. If her bleach-blond hair hadn’t been pulled back in a ponytail, Andrew was sure she would have given it one of those teasing, off-the-shoulder flips.

“Are you interested in dessert today, Mr. Noble?”

Andrew buried a sigh. That was what he was used to.

“Not today. The boss only gives me an hour for lunch.”

She giggled. “Me, too!” Her tone clearly implied that now they had something in common. Andrew looked for Miranda but she’d disappeared into the kitchen.

Fortunately, Sandra came to his rescue.

“Darcy!” She motioned the waitress over to the counter.

The waitress’s shoulders drooped but she gave Andrew an irrepressible smile. “If you need a warm-up—on your coffee, just holler.”

In spite of his overzealous waitress, Andrew lingered at the diner until the lunch crowd cleared out. Maybe it was because there wasn’t a single thing on the menu preceded by the words light or fat-free. Or because Isaac and Sandra treated him the way they did everyone else who came through the door—with down-home charm and a complete lack of pretense.

Or maybe it’s because you’re hoping to get another glimpse of Miranda Jones.

What was it about her that piqued his interest? She was pretty in an understated way, but something else about her intrigued him.

Because she didn’t write her phone number on your bill?

That brought back an unwelcome memory. A few years ago, one of the newspapers had taken his picture while he’d toured a coast guard cutter. A photographer had caught him off guard, capturing the bored expression on his face. It was a direct contrast to the adoring gaze of the officer’s daughter who’d latched on to his arm like a barnacle on the hull of the ship at the beginning of the tour. The tongue-in-cheek caption accompanying the photo had humorously noted that Andrew seemed to be more interested in the search than the rescue.

Andrew had developed a thick skin over the years when it came to the outrageous claims the gossip columns printed, but that one still bothered him. Especially because he wondered if there wasn’t some truth to it.

He did lose interest. Quickly.

Which made him a little afraid that he was that guy. The guy who couldn’t commit. Or maybe it was because he’d never met a woman who was more interested in his life than his lifestyle.

The cell phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket. He would have ignored it if Rachel’s name wasn’t the one displayed on the tiny screen. They’d grown up together and, because they were only a few years apart in age, they seemed more like siblings than cousins. Which meant he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to tease her when he answered the phone.

“This is Andrew Noble, temporary administrator of the Noble Foundation.”

“Not so temporary, I’m afraid.”

Andrew’s smile faded at the discouragement in Rachel’s voice. “What did Dr. Bingham say?”

“I… Here. Can you talk to Eli for a minute?” Rachel’s voice cracked.

“Sure.” Andrew sent up a quick, silent prayer that whatever Rachel and Eli were facing, God would give them the strength they needed to endure it.

“Andrew?” Eli’s voice shook a little, too. “Dr. Bingham diagnosed Rachel with preeclampsia. And he put her on bed rest until the baby comes.”

“Pre what?” Andrew tried to process the word and drew a blank.

“Preeclampsia. He said it’s not uncommon for a first pregnancy and because we caught it early, she and the baby should be fine.”

Should be fine.

“So what can Bingham do to cure it?” He siphoned out the concern he felt and deliberately kept his tone brisk; if there was a diagnosis, there had to be a cure. This was the twenty-first century….

“There is no cure.” Eli’s next words shot his theory all to pieces. “The only thing that takes care of it is delivering the baby, but it’s too soon. That’s why Dr. Bingham is putting Rachel on bed rest.”

Rachel and bed rest.

“I know.” Eli sighed, as if he’d read Andrew’s mind. “We’re on our way home now but Rachel wants to talk to you again.”

“Andrew?” Rachel didn’t sound at all like the take-charge woman he knew and loved. “I know you were coerced into running the Foundation but you had no idea it was going to be for more than a few days. I’m officially letting you off the hook. Mom and Dad can hire someone—”

“Don’t worry about it. The only thing I have planned for the next few months is a trip to St. Bart’s…and a race in Monaco. No one will miss me.”

The clink of silverware distracted him. Andrew had been so focused on the conversation he hadn’t realized someone was clearing the booth right behind him. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see Miranda Jones walking away.

“If you’re sure…” Rachel’s voice faded and Andrew knew the reality of the situation was sinking in.

“All I want you to do is let Eli tuck you into bed with the remote control and your knitting needles. I’ll be over this evening with a gallon of mint chocolate-chip ice cream.”

“Andrew…thanks. I know St. Bart’s is a lot more fun than sitting behind a desk.”

“I’m praying for you,” Andrew murmured. “God wasn’t surprised by this—trust Him. He’s going to get you through it.”

He snapped the phone shut and stared out the window, knowing he had to take his own advice.

Okay, Lord, what’s up? Because if You wanted to work on building patience in Rachel, couldn’t You have picked something a little easier? Like a really long red light at the intersection?

He did a quick calculation. The baby wasn’t due until the end of summer. This derailed his schedule in unforeseen ways. He did have plans to go to St. Bart’s and he was sponsoring a new driver—but there were other commitments he couldn’t share with Rachel. Or anyone else.

The feet on the Elvis Presley clock on the wall began to dance, reminding him breaktime was officially over. He had to go back to the Foundation to tell the employees the good news—that the guy who had a reputation as a spendthrift playboy was about to take over the distribution of millions of dollars to worthwhile charities.

Judging from the cautious looks he’d been getting all week, everyone expected him to mess up. And it wasn’t as if he could put their minds at ease. Not without totally destroying the image he’d spent years cultivating.

Andrew passed the table a pack of teenage boys had taken over earlier and noticed the pile of change—mostly dimes and nickels—next to the ketchup bottle. That was all those kids could scrape together? They probably spent more renting a video game.

He looked around to make sure no one was watching and discreetly tucked a ten-dollar bill between the ketchup and mustard bottles, hoping it would put a smile on Miranda Jones’s face.

“Bye, Andrew. You have a good afternoon now.” Sandra popped up from behind the counter as he moved toward the door. “And come back soon.”

When Miranda peeked out of the kitchen and saw the empty booth by the window, she took the first deep breath her lungs would allow during the last hour. The exact amount of time Andrew Noble had been in the diner.

St. Bart’s. Monaco. And he’d dropped the names so matter-of-factly. As if he were going to the grocery store and then on his way home, he planned to swing by the Laundromat.

An ember of disgust flared inside her. People struggled to make ends meet while men like Andrew Noble went from one source of entertainment to another, spending money they hadn’t even worked for. A poster boy for the idle rich.

An incredibly good-looking poster boy….

Miranda tried to shake the thought away before it took hold and formed an image of perfectly chiseled features, tousled black hair and eyes a warm palette of soft greens and browns.

Too late.

Okay, he was good-looking. She could admit it. So was a mile-high slice of Sandra’s French silk pie. Solid proof that not everything that looked good was good for you.

And there was no point even thinking about Andrew Noble. The diner might be conveniently located down the street from the Noble Foundation but he wouldn’t be back. In the world he inhabited, filet mignon was the staple, not chicken-fried steak with a side of mashed potatoes.

Darcy came alongside her, waving a crisp ten-dollar bill. “This is for you. I already cleared tables four and five. And here I thought Mr. Gorgeous and Available would be the big tipper of the day.”

Miranda frowned. Table four had been Mr. Walrich, whose standing order of a piece of banana-cream pie and a cup of coffee garnered her a shiny fifty-cent piece as a tip. That left the boys at table five….

“Maybe it’s back pay for all the times they didn’t leave you a tip,” Darcy joked.

“If that were true, I’d be able to send Daniel to Harvard,” Miranda said, tucking the bill into her apron pocket. “But who am I to complain?”

“I sure wouldn’t be complaining if Andrew Noble had written his phone number on the five-dollar bill he left me,” Darcy said, a blissful expression on her face.

Miranda choked back a laugh, earning a pout from Darcy.

“What? It happened in the novel I just finished. I thought it was very romantic.”

“Men like Andrew Noble don’t work that way.”

Darcy crossed her arms. “How do men like Andrew Noble work, oh, Wise One?”

“Maybe he has his butler call your maid. Or maybe if you dropped one of your Birkenstocks on the sidewalk out front—”

“You think?” Darcy’s eyes went wide until she realized Miranda was teasing her. “Just because you don’t believe in happily ever after doesn’t mean you have to ruin it for the rest of us, Miranda Jones!”

She flounced away.

Miranda knew Darcy’s offended tone was exaggerated but the words still stung.

She didn’t believe in happily ever after.

Not anymore.



Andrew was lost in thought, alternately praying for Rachel, Eli and their unborn child, and wondering just how he was going to run the Foundation and keep his other…commitments.

He rounded the corner where he’d parked the car and stumbled over something. Since the startled gasp came from somewhere near his kneecap, he knew it was a small something. Or rather, someone.

“Sorry!” A boy about seven or eight years old sat on the concrete next to a bicycle. Or, more accurately, had been taken prisoner by it. The brown towel knotted around his shoulders had snagged in the chain.

Andrew hid a smile and crouched down to help. He remembered using his mother’s towels to create a similar costume when he was young. “Got into some trouble here, hmm?”

A face, almost completely swallowed up by a pair of lime-green swim goggles, peered up at him. “Yeah.”

Andrew’s gaze skimmed over him, assessing the damage, but, in spite of the two skinned knees, the boy sounded more disgruntled than hurt.

A teenage girl, weighted down by a colorful beach bag slung over her shoulder, sprinted up to them and knelt beside Andrew.

“Are you okay, Daniel? I don’t know why you insisted on tying the towel on like that. You weren’t wearing those stupid goggles, were you? Where are your glasses? Your mom’s going to kill me—”

Color rushed into the boy’s dirt-smudged cheeks.

“There doesn’t seem to be too much damage,” Andrew interrupted, stepping in to save the boy further embarrassment. He lowered his voice. “One of the hazards of the job, right?”

Daniel slanted a quick look at him but Andrew kept his expression serious, which earned a hesitant nod.

The girl sighed dramatically as she watched Andrew work the corner of the towel out of the bicycle chain. “Look at that grease smear on your mom’s towel. That’s never going to come out. I’m going to the diner to get us some ice cream. And some Band-Aids. I’ll be right back. Don’t you dare move, Daniel.”

She stalked away and Andrew caught a glimpse of shame lingering in the brown eyes behind the goggles.

“Don’t be discouraged, Daniel,” he said quietly. “Not everyone gets it.”

At Daniel’s age, he’d been partial to using the roof of the garden shed as a launch pad for flying lessons. No sense giving the kid any ideas, though.

Daniel gifted him with a smile, revealing a gap where one of his front teeth should have been.

“Let’s make sure you’re good to go.” Andrew checked the chain one more time.

“Here comes Hallie. All she wants to do is talk on the phone. I think she’s one of the bad guys,” the boy confided in a whisper.

Andrew’s lips twitched. “Don’t be too hard on her—she’s just a civilian. Your mom and dad wouldn’t hire one of them to take care of you during the day.”

“It’s just me and Mom,” Daniel said matter-of-factly as he hopped back on his bike, pushing his feet against the concrete to propel himself forward. Probably to intercept the sitter, who marched toward them. “I gotta go.”

It’s just me and Mom.

Andrew could relate to that, too. Even though his parents had stayed together while Andrew was growing up, his father had never really been there. Not when it mattered. Pursuing the Noble legacy—making money—had crowded out everything else in Theodore Noble’s life.

When Andrew was thirteen, his father had worked his way into a fatal heart attack, leaving behind business associates instead of friends…and a family who grieved his passing, not only because they were going to miss him but because they’d never really known him in the first place.

When Andrew had turned eighteen, the terms of his father’s will had opened the valve to his trust fund.

And he’d started a new legacy.




Chapter Three


“Are you sure you’re all right? Hallie said you took a pretty good spill.” Miranda’s fingers ran over her son’s bony shoulders, down his arms and then altered their course to tickle his ribs.

“Mom!” Daniel giggled and squirmed away, almost falling from his perch on one of the stools at the counter.

“I’m sure it’s nothing a sundae won’t cure. Isn’t that right, Danny Boy?” With a flourish, Isaac presented an old-fashioned soda glass filled with vanilla ice cream. A cloud of whipped cream and a maraschino cherry topped it off.

“Can I have it, Mom?” Daniel’s eyes sparkled and Miranda nodded. She knew better than to protest. Both Isaac and Sandra loved to spoil Daniel and she let them, even if it was close to dinnertime.

“Daniel, you keep Isaac company for a few minutes. I’ve got one more table to take care of and then we can go to the park.”

“Okay.” Daniel dug in with his spoon, using it to tunnel toward the rich pocket of hot fudge visible at the bottom of the glass.

Miranda fisted her hands in the pockets of her apron to stop them from shaking and went into the kitchen. Sandra stood at the island, deftly cutting up the colorful assortment of vegetables that went into her famous chicken pot pie. She smiled when she saw Miranda.

“Did Dr. Tubman administer the correct dose of hot fudge?”

Miranda felt tears sting the backs of her eyes and blinked them away before Sandra noticed.

“Isaac knows that ice cream cures just about everything that ails a seven-year-old boy.”

Sandra paused to study her. Miranda held her breath and met the older woman’s gaze straight on. Not that a show of confidence would fool Sandra. She had inner radar that immediately picked up any signs of distress and right now Miranda could tell it had moved to red alert.

“Are you sure everything’s all right?” Sandra asked softly. “You look a little upset.”

Miranda hesitated. She never wanted to burden her employer with her problems. Even if a picture of Sandra Lange appeared in the dictionary next to the word nurturer.

Over the past four years, Sandra had continually reached out to her in friendship while Miranda did her best to keep their relationship strictly that of employer and employee. It wasn’t easy. There’d been times Miranda had wanted to fall into Sandra’s plump arms and howl like a baby, knowing the older woman understood what it was like to have to live with the consequences of your mistakes. What it felt like to have God pull the rug out from under you.

As a young woman, Sandra had fallen in love with the wrong man, too. He’d deceived her and taken their infant daughter away. Even though Ross Van Zandt, the private investigator Sandra had hired, had discovered Kelly Young was her child, she’d been cheated out of thirty-four years with her. But somehow Sandra refused to dwell on those lost years—she only counted every minute she had with Kelly now as precious.

During that same time, Miranda had watched Sandra fight breast cancer and come out victorious. The effects of chemo had ravaged Sandra’s body but never her faith. In fact, the battle with cancer had somehow seemed to strengthen her relationship with God. That was what Miranda couldn’t understand. Her own experience with God hadn’t been like that at all.

She’d accepted Christ as a teenager at a youth event in her hometown and over the next few years, her faith had slowly taken root. Until Lorraine and Tom had been killed in a car accident. Losing her older sister and brother-in-law one New Year’s Eve to a drunk driver had tipped her world upside down. So had becoming a single parent. And she hadn’t known what to hold on to.

According to her pastor, she was supposed to cling to God, but He wasn’t flesh and blood. God couldn’t comfort Daniel when he cried for his parents. Or walk him around the room when he was sick with the flu. God couldn’t sit down and have a cup of coffee with her and ask her about her day.

But Hal Stevens could.

She’d turned to Hal for strength. For love. To ease the loneliness that crept into her days. She’d had no idea he would begin to turn the qualities she’d been drawn to into weapons.

Which was why, when it came right down to it, she couldn’t confide in Sandra. It was pointless. No one could rescue her. No one could change her past. God wouldn’t waste His time on someone who’d messed up the way she had.

“Miranda?” Sandra’s voice gently drew her back to reality, nudging her away from the shadowy path her memories always took her down.

“Just a little glitch.” Miranda realized she needed to put Sandra’s mind at ease so she deliberately kept her voice light. “When Hallie dropped Daniel off, she reminded me that she has gymnastics camp next week. I don’t remember her mentioning it before but she insists she did. Either way, I’ll have to find someone else to watch him.”

Miranda didn’t bring up the fact that she had no idea who she could get to take care of Daniel on such short notice. Or that she was a little frustrated with Daniel’s babysitter. When she’d interviewed her, the young teen had seemed enthusiastic about earning some spending money. Miranda had assumed Hallie’s enthusiasm would extend to what she was doing to earn the money, which was take care of a quiet, good-natured little boy for four to five hours during the day. But judging from innocent comments Daniel had made lately, it sounded as if Hallie had a lot of friends. And an unlimited number of cell-phone minutes.

If Miranda couldn’t be with Daniel all the time, she needed to have confidence in the person who was. And she wasn’t sure, anymore, that it was Hallie.

Sandra wiped her hands on a towel and closed her eyes, humming one of the praise songs she enjoyed listening to while they worked. Miranda knew Sandra wasn’t ignoring her—she was praying.

The stab of envy she felt surprised her. She wanted that kind of peace. The kind of peace that made a person smile even if everything around her was falling apart.

Sandra’s eyes popped open and the look on her face made Miranda wonder if God really had said something to her. “I have an idea.”

“What is it?” Miranda asked cautiously, not sure if she should trust the sparkle in Sandra’s eyes.

“Sonshine Camp is next week.” She said the words confidently, as if Miranda was supposed to know what she was talking about.

She let her confusion show. “I’ve never heard of that.”

“At church. It’s from eight to noon. Daniel could come to work with you for an hour and then go over to the church. When it’s finished, he can come back and have lunch here at the diner. Your shift ends at one, so it’ll work out perfectly.”

Miranda should have known Sandra’s solution would have something to do with Chestnut Grove Community Church. An active member of the congregation, Sandra counted Reverend Fraser and his wife, Naomi, as close friends. She frequently referred to the people who attended Chestnut Grove Community as “the family God gave her.”

“We don’t belong to your church.” Miranda voiced the first excuse she could come up with.

“It isn’t just for our members—it’s for the entire community. Haven’t you seen the flyers up everywhere? Pastor Caleb’s youth group is organizing it this year. Anne has been working on craft projects and some of the men are volunteering to help with games. I think they’re even going to play baseball.”

Miranda wavered. Daniel loved baseball. He didn’t play on a youth league but he collected cards and had memorized a mind-boggling number of batting averages and player statistics.

“How much does it cost?” She hadn’t budgeted for camp and an entire week would probably be more than she could afford. Especially when Daniel needed new clothes.

Sandra chuckled. “Not a thing, honey. It’s free.”

“Free?” Miranda couldn’t help the skepticism that leaked into the word.

“The church sponsors this as an outreach to the community. Pastor Caleb and Anne have a heart for this town…and for kids.”

Miranda couldn’t argue with that. It seemed as if whenever she saw Caleb and Anne Williams, they were surrounded by children, ranging in age from their six-month-old daughter, Christina Rose, to the teenagers who made up the church’s youth group. Right after they’d gotten married, they’d adopted Dylan, one of the boys in Caleb’s youth group who’d been in foster care. It wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine the couple volunteering their time and energy to a weeklong children’s camp.

“I don’t know.” Miranda still wasn’t sure she should let Daniel participate. Over the past few years she’d deliberately kept their lives private. It was easier to keep her distance than to let people get close enough to ask questions she couldn’t answer.

“You can’t say no. This has God’s signature on it,” Sandra said, her unshakable faith evident in her cheerful tone.

“I can’t leave work to drive him there and it’s too far to walk.” Her final, feeble excuse.

Sandra winked. “You leave that to me. We’ll get Daniel there if I have to drive him myself.”



Judging from the number of cars parked in Eli and Rachel’s driveway, Andrew figured the word about Rachel’s condition had gotten out.

He hauled a large white bag stuffed with gift-wrapped packages out of the passenger side of his Ferrari. It contained the ice cream he’d promised and a few things he hoped would make Rachel smile. A CD player with two sets of headphones—one for her and one for baby—and a collection of instrumental lullabies to go along with it. A pair of knitting needles. Gold, of course. He’d stuck them in a ball of funky blue yarn that had reminded him of a poodle. One that had come unraveled. Then, so she couldn’t accuse him of favoring the masculine gender, he’d bought one in raspberry-pink, too.

He knocked at the door and it opened quickly to reveal a pert little face. Ben and Leah Cavanaugh’s daughter, Olivia. Ben and Rachel’s husband, Eli, were brothers so that made the Cavanaughs family as far as Andrew was concerned.

“Is there room for one more?” he whispered.

Olivia recognized him immediately and giggled, opening the door. “We brought lasagna for Aunt Rachel.”

“Looks like I’m right on time, then.”

“Come on.” Without an ounce of shyness, Olivia grabbed his hand and towed him into the foyer. “They’re in the living room.”

The conversation stalled when Andrew appeared in the doorway. Rachel was stretched out on the leather sofa and Eli sat at her feet. Or more likely, Andrew thought, he was sitting on them so she couldn’t get up. Ben stood in front of the fireplace, his infant son, Joseph, cradled in his arms. He must have come over straight from work because he still wore the denim shirt with the logo for Cavanaugh Carpentry embroidered on the pocket. Judging from the sounds coming from the kitchen, Andrew guessed Ben’s wife, Leah, was the one putting dinner together.

Rachel spied the bag. “Is there ice cream in there?”

“Enough to last a day or two. How are you doing?” He wandered close enough to see the fine lines etched at the corners of her eyes.

Rachel pursed her lips. “I’ve been lying on this sofa for six hours, twelve minutes and…” She glanced at her diamond wristwatch. “Fourteen seconds. What does that tell you?”

“Mmm. That you’re going crazy?”

“And bringing Eli along for the ride.” Rachel cast an apologetic glance at her husband.

“I told you I’d follow you anywhere.” He grinned.

The look that passed between them momentarily blocked out everyone else in the room. Andrew felt a jab of envy. He could pick up the phone and have a dinner date within the hour. He could spend an evening laughing with a woman and making casual conversation, but it never progressed beyond that. He was thirty-four years old and he’d never dated a woman he wanted to share his heart—and his life—with. He was beginning to think she didn’t exist.

“Dinner is served.” Leah Cavanaugh swept into the room like a tawny-haired sunbeam, holding a beautifully carved tray crowded with delicate china and garnished with a single red rose.

Andrew watched her set it down on the coffee table next to Rachel and his thoughts drifted back to Miranda. For the second or third…or hundredth…time that day.

He had enough secrets of his own to be able to recognize them in someone else’s eyes. It made him curious. What was her story? Why was she cautious around men?

Maybe she isn’t cautious around men. Maybe she’s just cautious around you….

He didn’t have time to dwell on that thought because Leah took command of the room. Rachel had insisted everyone eat with her instead of in the formal dining room so, in no time, Leah had everyone sitting down, enjoying the meal she’d prepared.

The doorbell rang and Olivia, the unofficial greeter, danced away to answer it. She returned, arm-in-arm, with Jonah Fraser, one of Ben’s employees. The little girl carefully matched her steps to Jonah’s, who still walked with a slight limp due to an injury during a tour of duty in Iraq.

“Jonah?” Ben strode forward and met him halfway. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry to bother you here, Ben, but—” Jonah looked uncomfortable with the attention his unexpected visit was receiving. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“Did you run into problems at the Harcourt mansion today?” Ben asked, a frown of concern creasing in forehead.

“You could say that.” Jonah exhaled slowly. It was the only sound in the room because everyone had stopped eating.

“You two can use the library,” Rachel offered, her worried gaze moving between the two men.

Leah took Ben’s hand, giving him a reassuring smile. He took a step toward Jonah and then paused.

“Jonah, if this has something to do with you, we’ll go into the library. If it has something to do with me, you might as well just spill it or I’ll get stuck repeating it again. And again. And again.”

His attempt at humor fell flat. Everyone could see the tension in Jonah’s broad shoulders. He gave Ben a curt nod. “All right. I ripped out a wall at the mansion while I was working in Samantha Harcourt’s suite of rooms this afternoon and I found a folder filled with…documents.”

Ben’s jaw tightened. “What kind of documents?”

“From Tiny Blessings. There’s a stack of them at least an inch thick. And…I saw your name.”

Ben flinched as if the words had physically struck him. “Documents? From Tiny Blessings? Are you telling me you may have found copies of my adoption records?”

“I’m not sure.” Jonah’s fists clenched at his sides, the only visible sign of his frustration. “I think they might be your original adoption records, Ben.”

Leah sucked in a breath and Ben looked dazed.

“I wanted to tell you first because I know what this could mean. There are a lot of records there. Who knows which ones are legit and which ones are fakes? Either way, they’re going to blow another hole in Ross and Kelly’s life—and the Harcourts’. Not to mention other families who adopted through the agency and assumed everything was on the up and up. Or—” Jonah hesitated “—people who paid Harcourt to cover their tracks.”

Andrew saw the truth of his words begin to sink in on everyone’s faces. He’d been living in Rhode Island when the first batch of falsified adoption records had been discovered a few years back. Rachel had confided in him at the time, not only because the Noble Foundation supported Tiny Blessings but because Kelly Young Van Zandt, the director, was one of Rachel’s friends.

“Do you… Did you…notice anything else on the papers? The ones that had my name on them?” Ben asked.

Jonah understood the significance of the question and he nodded. “Your mother… Her name was there.”

Leah closed her eyes and Ben instinctively drew her and Olivia into the shelter of his arms.

“It’s Millicent. Millicent Cunningham.”

“Cunningham.” Ben repeated the name, trying to keep his emotions under control.

“What do you want me to do?” Jonah asked simply.

Ben was silent. It was Leah who stepped into the gap.

“First we’re going to pray,” she said. “And then we’re going to call Ross.”




Chapter Four


“Pleeease, Miranda. You’re the only person I know who doesn’t have plans on a Friday night.” Darcy clasped her hands together and probably would have dropped to her knees if she hadn’t been wearing her favorite pair of white jeans.

She’d trapped Miranda in the small break room off the kitchen when she’d stopped at the diner to pick up her paycheck.

Miranda wasn’t sure what amused her more—the truth in the desperate plea or that Darcy could draw out a simple, one-syllable word like please for ten excruciating seconds.

“Just for the record, I do have a date. With a very handsome young man. We’re going to play Chutes and Ladders, drink root beer and eat popcorn.”

“Sounds boring… Oh, you’re talking about Daniel.” Darcy looked relieved. “I only need you to cover the last hour of my shift so Greg and I can catch the nine o’clock movie. One hour. That’s it. I promise. This could be the night when he falls madly in love with me. My entire future rests in your hands.” She nibbled on the tips of her artificial nails and waited while Miranda decided her fate.

“I thought you were waiting for Andrew Noble to fall madly in love with you.” Miranda couldn’t resist teasing her a little.

“You were right. Andrew might be Mr. Gorgeous and Available to three or four women on this planet, but he’s Mr. Gorgeous and Out of My League to Darcy Gibson. Greg drives a brand new Saturn and doesn’t live with his mother. I’d say that makes him a pretty good catch, wouldn’t you?” She snapped her gum to underscore the point.

“I’ll work for you.” It was the safest thing Miranda could say at the moment.

Darcy squealed and hugged her. “Thanks, Miranda. I owe you. If you ever have a real date and need someone to keep an eye on Dan the Little Man, let me know. He’s into science, right? I remember some cool experiments from chem class.”

Miranda made a mental note never to ask Darcy to babysit. Ever. Not that she’d be going out on a date anytime soon. The one serious relationship she’d had in her life, with Hal Stevens, had shaken her to the core. She no longer trusted her own judgment when it came to men.

She had met Hal at the bank where she’d worked as a loans officer and immediately she’d been drawn to him. Good-looking and successful, Hal was a junior partner in a local law firm. His confident, take-charge personality seemed to be just what she’d needed at that time in her life. Reeling from the loss of her beloved older sister and trying to figure out how to parent an active toddler, Miranda had been overwhelmed. Hal’d swept into her life like the proverbial knight on a white horse.

Within months, however, the “take-charge” man who’d lovingly encouraged her to lean on him slowly took over her life. He’d openly criticized her friends until they eventually stopped calling. He’d accused her of flirting with the male customers who came into the bank. He’d dropped in during business hours to check up on her. Somewhere along the way, his attentive courtship had morphed into a jealous obsession. Gradually his tirades weren’t only limited to the men Miranda had come into contact with at the bank—they’d started to cast a dark shadow on her relationship with Daniel. Hal had begun to complain about the amount of attention she gave to her son.

Miranda had found herself living in a nightmare. And it got worse. One evening, she’d told Hal she couldn’t go to a concert with him because Daniel had a fever. Hal had screamed that Daniel wasn’t even her biological son so it wasn’t fair he had to compete with the boy. And then he’d pushed her against the wall. It was the first time his attacks had crossed the line from verbal to physical. Daniel had witnessed the scuffle and had burst into tears. It had given Miranda the courage to do what she had to do. She’d broken up with him.

But Hal hadn’t been willing to let her go. He wouldn’t stop calling her. He’d shown up at the bank where she’d worked. But one evening, when he’d let himself into her apartment with a key she didn’t know he’d had, and Miranda knew she had to make a decision.

Less than a week later, she’d taken Daniel and fled from her home in Georgia in the middle of the night. She’d had one suitcase and a vague destination in mind— Chestnut Grove, just outside of Richmond, Virginia. It was as good a place as any for a fresh start and it would take them far away from Hal. Miranda didn’t have any roots there but Daniel did. He’d been a newborn when Lorraine and Tom had adopted him from Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency.

Her relationship with Hal had cost her more than her job and her security. It had devastated her ability to trust. And knowing that Hal might still be looking for her—even after four years—kept her constantly on edge.

Not exactly the kind of baggage a woman could carry into a new relationship.

“I know that look.” Darcy put her hands on Miranda’s shoulders and shook her lightly. “Daniel’s dad messed with your head and now you think all men are scum. And they are. The trick is to figure out which ones are always going to be scum and which ones have the potential to be descummed.”

“I’ll remember that.” Miranda’s reluctant laughter over this latest Darcy-ism chased away the specter of the past.

Encouraged, Darcy warmed to the subject. “You could put a little more effort into your appearance. No offense, but even older women should make the most of what they have. You could put some highlights in your hair and use a little eyeshadow. I found this great color called Astro blue—”

Which, if Miranda remembered correctly, had enough metallic sparkle in it to get her a part as an extra in a sci-fi movie.

“I’ll see you tonight at eight, Darcy…” Miranda suddenly noticed one of the buttons on her summer-weight sweater had come loose and was hanging from the placket like a broken spring.

Darcy zeroed in on it. She blew a bubble and let it pop. Just for effect. “My opinion? Don’t replace the button, replace the cardigan.”

Or I could use it as a muzzle.

“I’ll think about it.” Miranda escaped to the kitchen before Darcy offered to lend her one of her sweaters.

She found Daniel standing next to Isaac, carefully refilling the salt shakers. A swatch of silky brown hair, which needed a trim, flopped over one eye.

“Ready to go, Daniel?”

“You two off to the park today?” Isaac boomed above the hiss of the grill.

“Yup.” Daniel nodded vigorously and his glasses slipped down to the end of his nose.

“Hit a couple home runs for me, Danny Boy.”

“Daniel doesn’t play baseball,” Miranda reminded him. “We’re going to look for bugs to add to his collection.”

“Well, you can keep those things out of my kitchen,” Isaac muttered. “Imagine looking for bugs. On purpose.”

“Will you tell Sandra I’ll be back in tonight to close up?” Miranda called over her shoulder. “I’m covering for Darcy.”

“Sure thing.” Isaac used one hand to flip a pancake and the other to ladle gravy over a plate of biscuits. “Order up!”

“We could play baseball. If you want to,” Daniel said as Miranda ushered him out the back door into the alley where he’d parked his bicycle.

“Bug collecting is fine with me.” Miranda ruffled his hair. “I know you don’t like to play.”

“Okay.” The toe of Daniel’s shoe scuffed at the dirt.

Miranda slanted a look at him. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah.” He hopped on his bicycle and Miranda stared at it in disbelief. She’d bought it on clearance two summers ago and it suddenly looked way too small for him.

Daniel was growing up too fast.

He needs a dad.

The thought came out of nowhere and blindsided her. She sucked in a ragged breath. Hadn’t she just been reliving how horrible their lives had been when she’d let Hal in? Her loneliness and vulnerability had made her a target for his manipulative personality. By trying to fill a void, she’d only ended up creating a larger one.

If she could be tricked so easily by one man, what would stop her from being tricked again?

It wasn’t worth the risk.



Andrew had a nine o’clock dinner reservation. And a sudden craving for apple pie. This would send François, the head chef at his favorite restaurant, into a culinary tantrum if he even said the words out loud. He’d end up with some puff-pastry thing the size of quarter with a slice of apple inside it that didn’t even look like an apple. Because it wouldn’t be an apple. It would be something more acceptable—like a pomegranate.

Only one place served honest-to-goodness-homemade-with-a-flaky-crust-and-oozing-with-real-apples apple pie. And it happened to be less than ten minutes away from the apartment. He’d still be on time for his dinner reservation—he just wouldn’t have to order dessert.

“Andrew!” Sandra greeted him warmly when he walked into the diner. She sat at the counter next to Isaac, a cup of coffee cradled in her hands. “Are you here for a late supper or something sweet?”

He resisted the urge to scan the dining room to see if Miranda was there. Not that he expected to see her. She’d worked the breakfast and lunch shift both times he’d eaten at the diner.

But a guy can hope….

It was worse than he’d thought. When had he become such a glutton for punishment? He had a knack for reading people and Miranda’s cool reserve stated loud and clear that she wanted to be left alone.

He glanced at the empty stools lining the counter. Tonight, he didn’t want to be the high-maintenance playboy. Not with Sandra and Isaac. “It looks like you’re closing soon.”

“Not for an hour. The grill’s still hot,” Isaac rumbled.

Andrew wondered what Chef François would say about the Starlight Diner’s gruff old cook. Tufts of white hair formed an uneven strip around the circumference of Isaac’s head and matched the eyebrows sprouting on both sides of a caricature of a nose. The stained, tarplike apron he wore didn’t quite cover the belly spilling over the top of his baggy pants. Pants held up by bright red suspenders.

He decided the two men would be trading recipes and good-natured insults within five minutes.

“Don’t mind us, we’re not usually this lazy,” Sandra said, patting the stool next to her as an invitation for Andrew to sit down. “The local news just ran a segment on our favorite hometown celebrity, Douglas Matthews. They’re saying his talk show has a shot at going national. That would certainly put Chestnut Grove on the map.”

“It’s already on the map,” Isaac muttered, but Andrew noticed his eyes were glued to the television and there was a hint of pride in his voice.

“Douglas is homegrown. I’m sure if his show is picked up by one of the big networks, we’ll be the first ones to know,” Sandra said. “Now, don’t be shy, Andrew. What can I get you?”

He decided honesty was the best policy. “Actually, I was hoping for a piece of your apple pie.”

“I think we have some in the kitchen—”

“I’ll get it.”

Andrew heard Miranda’s voice behind him and realized she must have been there all along. She wore her pink waitress uniform with her hair still scraped away from her face in a sedate twist, but now a pair of tortoise-shell glasses perched on her nose. On anyone else they might have looked severe, but on Miranda, they created a worthy frame for the velvet brown eyes. She looked beautiful. And fascinating.

“Thank you—”

Before he could finish the sentence, the doors between the kitchen and the dining room swished shut.

All right, then.

Even Isaac looked a little confused by her abrupt departure. With an apologetic glance at Andrew, he lumbered to his feet and followed her into the kitchen.

“Miranda was a finance major so she handles the books for the diner,” Sandra told him. “She’s covering for Darcy tonight but it’s been slow the last half hour so she’s juggling numbers instead.”

A finance major? Interesting.

“So the diner is part-time?” He deliberately kept his voice casual, not wanting to admit, even to himself, how curious he was about Miranda Jones’s personal life.

“No.” Sandra shook her head. “She used to work at a bank but she told me she prefers to waitress. That’s a blessing for me—she’s one of my best employees.”

Something about that bit of information struck Andrew as odd. Not the part about Miranda being a good employee but that she preferred to be a waitress. A bank definitely offered more in the way of advancement. Not to mention a higher wage. Before he could question Sandra further, Miranda returned with a slab of apple pie that sentenced him to an extra set of stomach crunches in the gym tomorrow.

Instead of looking directly at him, her gaze found a focal point over his shoulder.

“Would you like ice cream?”

“Sure.” Make it two sets.

She stood close enough for him to smell her perfume. It was a light floral fragrance, delicate and tantalizing. A totally unexpected bolt of attraction skidded through him.

Whoa.

He did what came naturally when confronted by a problem. He immediately turned to God to help him sort through it.

What is this, Lord? I don’t know anything about Miranda Jones. And she sure doesn’t act like she wants to get to know me….

“I’ll be right back.” She managed a polite smile and slipped behind the counter where a small freezer was located.

See what I mean?

Sandra leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Kelly told me about the documents Jonah found at the mansion yesterday. Ross started to sort through them today but it’s going to be a huge undertaking. He said the dates on some of them go back ten years.”

The ice-cream scoop in Miranda’s hand suddenly clattered to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, kneeling down to retrieve it.

Andrew frowned as he watched her. The color had drained from her cheeks, leaving her eyes huge in her heart-shaped face and dark with an emotion he couldn’t decipher. Embarrassment? That wouldn’t make sense. No. It had almost looked like fear.

Sandra’s hand covered his, pulling his attention back to their conversation. Tears gathered in her eyes before she could blink them away.

“Kelly has worked so hard to restore Tiny Blessings’ reputation after the damage Barnaby Harcourt caused,” she said softly. “I can’t believe she has to go through this again. Not to mention all the families who could be affected by these new documents Jonah found. I trust that God knows what He’s doing, but I can’t help but wonder why so many people have to suffer the consequences of one man’s greed.”

It didn’t surprise Andrew that Kelly Young Van Zandt had confided in Sandra. Kelly’s husband, Ross, was the private investigator Sandra had hired to find the child she’d given up years ago, so he was also the one who’d discovered that Kelly Young was Sandra’s biological daughter. The relationship between the two women had had a rocky start but now they were extremely close. Another testimony to God’s goodness.

“According to Eli and Rachel, Ben tried to find his birth mother but eventually he’d hit a dead end,” Andrew said. “If Ross has enough information to find her now, maybe Ben’s questions will be answered and something good will come out of this mess.”

“What man meant for evil, God meant for good,” Sandra quoted. Her eyes sparkled, but not from tears this time. “You’re right. Come to think of it, I’m living, breathing proof of that promise.”

So am I.

Andrew didn’t say the words out loud but the truth in them flooded him with a familiar sense of peace. The peace that had carried him through the most traumatic experience of his life.

“That’s what I’m going to pray for,” Sandra declared, striking her hand on the counter for emphasis. “That God is going to somehow shine His light into the darkness Barnaby Harcourt created.”

Andrew silently added some new names to his prayer list. Ross and Kelly. Ben. Especially Ben. Everyone had witnessed how shaken up he’d been by Jonah’s discovery. He was closer than ever to unraveling the mystery surrounding his birth and it would take a lot of strength to follow a path with no guarantee where it would end.

Miranda had unobtrusively deposited the pie and ice cream in front of him while he and Sandra had talked, but instead of going back to the booth in the corner to work on the books, she lingered behind the counter, straightening items on the shelves.

Even focused on Sandra, Andrew was acutely aware of her presence. Some of her color had returned but she still seemed fragile. What had upset her? The surge of protectiveness he felt startled him as much as that first jolt of mind-numbing attraction had.

Sandra must have caught something in his expression because she glanced over her shoulder and saw Miranda. A faint smile scooped out the dimple in her cheek.

“Oh, sugar, I should have been paying attention. It’s after nine. Let me and Isaac clean up. You have to get home.”

Andrew winced. Nine o’clock. He’d totally forgotten his dinner reservation. Forgiveness wasn’t exactly high on the temperamental chef’s list of qualities, either. Oh, well. Five minutes of drama spewed out in French was worth the unexpected bonus of seeing Miranda again.

Miranda looked torn. “I can stay a few more minutes. I’m sure Daniel won’t mind.”

Daniel?

His gaze automatically slid to Miranda’s left hand. No ring circled her finger. Not that that meant anything these days.

Disappointment crashed over him. Maybe this was the answer to his prayer. God was telling him that Miranda Jones wasn’t available. Because whomever Daniel was, he was obviously significant. There was love in her eyes when she said the name.




Chapter Five


The man had come back.

Somewhere above his head, the tread of heavy footsteps paced the floor, muffling the drone of a television. Darkness crowded him. The kind of darkness that closed in like a thick fog, swallowing every bit of light. Trying to swallow him. He could feel the man’s rage pulse through the house, seeping into the damp cracks in the walls that surrounded him.

Nowhere to hide. Any moment, the door would be flung open, allowing a rush of light in. Allowing the man to see him huddled in the corner.

No escape. No escape…

Andrew jackknifed in bed, sweat beading out of every pore. As his gaze bounced around the room, the stifling darkness gradually gave way to familiar shapes. The chair in the corner. The outline of the wardrobe where he’d hung up his suit the day before.

He sank back against the pillows, weary and wrung out. As if he’d fought a battle instead of simply falling asleep. He closed his eyes and took deep, even breaths until his heart stopped slamming against his chest and settled into a normal pattern. The nightmare hadn’t plagued him for more than three months. Why now?

Finish the story, Andrew. That wasn’t the end of it.

Andrew managed a smile as the words swept through him, removing the last traces of the nightmare.

You know what happened, Lord.

Silence. He chuckled. It was just like God to nudge him back into the memory so he wouldn’t be trapped in the black hole of his past. So he would remember he’d come out on the other side of that traumatic experience, his faith forged by the reality that God was. That He loved him.

Obediently, Andrew played through the rest of the silent tape. When fear had become as real as the darkness and had tried to suck the breath from his lungs, he’d put his hands together and had opened them like a book. He’d imagined turning the pages, telling himself the stories from the children’s Bible his grandmother had given him the week before. On his fifth birthday.

Has your God been able to rescue you?

Just like Daniel in the lion’s den, he’d been able to say yes.

There you go, Lord. The end of the story.

But in many ways, the beginning.

His eyes snapped open when his cell phone rang. A special ring tone that immediately caught his attention. The haze of sleep evaporated as he flipped it open.

“Hello?” His voice broke the silence, as clear and sharp as if it were the middle of the day.

“Terrance McCauslin. Miami,” a voice rasped the cryptic words in his ear.

“I’m listening.” Andrew sprang out of bed and padded to his laptop. He typed in his password.

GUARDIAN.



“Miranda, honey, thank goodness you’re back. You’d think the entire town smelled Isaac’s homemade sausage and decided to come out for breakfast this morning. Table six needs menus and table five needs a warm-up on his coffee.” Sandra fanned herself with an oven mitt and chuckled. “It’s Monday. Definitely.”

Sandra was the only person Miranda knew who could have half a dozen things go wrong the minute the diner opened and still be able to waltz serenely around the kitchen.

The deliveryman who dropped off the dairy order every morning hadn’t shown up, so Sandra had sent Miranda to the grocery store to purchase enough whipping cream to hold them over until he arrived.

She set the package down and slipped off her sweater. The one Darcy had suggested she retire. Instead, she’d fixed the button.

“Look, Mom! Isaac is letting me flip the pancakes all by myself!” Daniel called to her from his station by the grill, wrapped up like a mummy in an apron three sizes too big for him.

Miranda forced a smile. Too bad Sandra’s serenity couldn’t be bottled and sold like the whipping cream she’d bought. The conversation she’d overheard between Sandra and Andrew had kept her awake the past two nights.

Two years ago, she’d almost taken Daniel and left Chestnut Grove in the wake of the scandal at Tiny Blessings. Even though she trusted Daniel’s adoption had been perfectly legal, so had many other people who’d found out just the opposite. Barnaby Harcourt’s blackmail schemes were all the customers had talked about for months. Fortunately, when Sandra had hired her, Sandra, like everyone else, had assumed Daniel was Miranda’s son. With their brown hair and eyes, they even looked alike.

She took comfort in the fact no one knew Daniel had originally been adopted through Tiny Blessings. And even though Kelly’s husband, Ross, had begun the painstaking process of sorting through falsified birth certificates and adoption records, Miranda had decided the best thing was to stay in Chestnut Grove to keep an eye on his findings.

She’d finally started to let her guard down and now this. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—lose Daniel.

“I know someone who’s going to have a job here in a few years,” Sandra said, pausing to drop a kiss on the top of Daniel’s head.

If we’re still here.

Some people, Miranda knew—like Darcy—had their lives planned out for the next fifty years. Miranda had learned to accept she couldn’t be that kind of person. Experience had taught her that she couldn’t trust tomorrow. It shifted like a sandbar, leaving her scrambling for something solid.

“Look at this one,” Daniel said. “It’s not very round but Isaac says that’s okay.”

“You’re doing great, Daniel.” Miranda couldn’t help responding to the excitement in her son’s voice. She knew that flipping pancakes wasn’t the only reason Daniel had popped out of bed with a smile on his face that morning.

It was the first day of Sonshine Camp and Daniel had been thrilled when she’d told him he could spend an hour with her at the diner before leaving for the church.

True to her word, Sandra had found a ride for Daniel. Leah Cavanaugh’s daughter, Olivia, planned to attend the day camp, too. Leah had assured Miranda when she’d called the night before that it was no trouble to pick up Daniel on her way.

“It’s almost time for you to go, Daniel,” she reminded him. “You should watch out the window for Mrs. Cavanaugh.”

“I think he should stay here and help me this morning,” Isaac said. “He’ll be a short-order cook in no time.”

“Can I take it out?” Daniel asked eagerly.

“Sure can. You made them,” Isaac said before Miranda could protest. “Let me slide these eggs on the plate—gotta be careful so the yolks don’t break. Now grab the tray with both hands. Steady. There you go.”

Miranda followed Daniel through the doors, catching them before they swung back and knocked him over.

In the twenty minutes she’d been gone, the diner had filled to capacity.

Oh, no. Miranda’s heart smacked against her rib cage. Andrew Noble sat in the booth by the window. In her section. Again. He was on his way to becoming a permanent fixture at the diner. Or, at least, one of their “regulars.”

She stifled a groan, still uncertain about the strange mixture of feelings the sight of him stirred in her.

He was scanning the morning edition of the Gazette, oblivious to covert glances from female customers.

“Hey, Miranda! Can I get a couple of those blueberry muffins to go?” A woman in running clothes waved her napkin to get Miranda’s attention. Unfortunately, she got Daniel’s attention, too. He turned slightly and the tray wobbled. Instead of pausing to adjust to the shift in weight, he kept moving forward, which sent the heavy stoneware plate on a downward course toward the end of the tray.

Miranda, only a few steps behind him, saw exactly what was about to happen but was powerless to stop it. The plate bumped against the edge of the tray and the food kept going. Three buttermilk pancakes and two eggs over easy went airborne. And landed on Andrew Noble’s shoes.

“Mom!” Daniel whispered the word and the terrified look on his face brought her quickly to his side. She wrapped her arm around his trembling shoulders and gave him a comforting squeeze.

“It’s okay, Daniel,” she murmured. “It was an accident.”

Which was the truth, although she wasn’t sure if a man like Andrew Noble would see it from that perspective. Especially when the accident involved egg yolks and Italian leather.

When she gathered her courage to look at Andrew, he was staring at them with an inscrutable look on his face. Then, he grinned.

“Ah…Daniel? I’ve decided to change my order. I’d like my eggs scrambled, please.”

Then he gave Daniel a cheerful wink.



Pure, unadulterated relief coursed through Andrew. He’d just flown in from Florida an hour ago, where he’d spent a grueling twenty-four hours stuffed in the back of an unair-conditioned van while he’d tried to pinpoint the destination of an unpredictable ex-con and a frightened six-year-old.

That particular story had had a happy ending but he hadn’t stayed to witness it. He never did. There were people who tied up the loose ends for him and smiled for the six o’clock news team. It was enough for him just to know.

At the moment, adrenaline and a Thermos of the pilot’s coffee he’d had earlier—so thick with coffee grounds he’d been tempted to ask for a fork—were the only things keeping him awake.

His plan had been to shower, change his clothes and report for duty at the Foundation. Instead, he’d sat in his car outside the Starlight Diner for fifteen minutes, debating whether or not he should go inside. He was pathetic. Torn between wanting to see Miranda and having to face the fact she might be in a committed relationship with a guy named Daniel.





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