Книга - His Ideal Match

His Ideal Match
Arlene James


TAMING THE WANDER’S HEARTCarissa Hopper’s always been strong and self-sufficient. So when the single mom of three finds herself in need, accepting help from the rugged and adventurous Phillip Chatam isn’t easy. She knows he’s the kind of man she should stay far away from. Still, when his aunts offer her lodging at Chatam House, where Phillip also resides, Carissa can’t refuse. Always on the move, Phillip has no interest in settling down. But as he gets to know Carissa’s adorable children—and falls for their mother—he realizes that his biggest adventure will be convincing Carissa to let him be a part of her future.Chatam House: Where three matchmaking aunts bring faith and love to life.







Taming The Wanderer’s Heart

Carissa Hopper’s always been strong and self-sufficient. So when the single mom of three finds herself in need, accepting help from the rugged and adventurous Phillip Chatam isn’t easy. She knows he’s the kind of man she should stay far away from. Still, when his aunts offer her lodging at Chatam House, where Phillip also resides, Carissa can’t refuse. Always on the move, Phillip has no interest in settling down. But as he gets to know Carissa’s adorable children—and falls for their mother—he realizes that his biggest adventure will be convincing Carissa to let him be a part of her future.

Chatam House: Where three matchmaking aunts bring faith and love to life.


“Thanks for your help.”

“No problem. They were so tired.”

“They had a wonderful day, and so did I.”

“I’m glad.”

Phillip smiled down at her, and Carissa stepped closer. She couldn’t help herself. A warm feeling washed over her, and she felt certain that he would kiss her. His copper gaze skimmed her face. Her breath caught in anticipation. But then he turned the doorknob.

“If, um, you should change your mind about attending church with the aunties and me on Sunday…”

Disappointment dealt her a crushing blow, but she managed to keep her composure. “I’ve already told Uncle Chester and Aunt Hilda we’ll be going with them.”

“All right, then.”

“About Saturday night, though…”

“Oh, with my parents here and everything… I’ll try, though. Well, good night.”

“Good night.”

He slipped out, closing the door behind him. Carissa tried very hard not to cry. She kept telling herself it was for the best. He wasn’t the man for her. No good could come from putting herself in Phillip Chatam’s way. But she didn’t have to be happy about it, did she?


ARLENE JAMES

says, “Camp meetings, mission work and church attendance permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity He has blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”

After thirty-three years in Texas, Arlene James now resides in Bella Vista, Arkansas, with her beloved husband. Even after seventy-five novels, her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade. She loves to hear from readers, and can be reached via her website, www.arlenejames.com (http://www.arlenejames.com).


His Ideal Match

Arlene James




www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up.

—Ecclesiastes 4:9–10


For Joseph, who has given this mom plenty of

gray hair but much, much delight.

Pride is a sin to which my sons continually tempt me.


Contents

Chapter One (#ue9298422-4120-5667-9e64-dec714e16acd)

Chapter Two (#u13772a56-fa18-5581-9088-7e529b3fe406)

Chapter Three (#u2199e28d-a640-58bb-90a7-0ccc6b800eee)

Chapter Four (#u0bd29a4c-e42a-5dbe-a65b-31828dc9593d)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)

Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One

The wrought iron gate stood ajar, so Phillip Chatam slipped into the leafy courtyard of the Downtown Bible Church of Buffalo Creek, Texas. Here, landscape lighting held back the gathering gloom of this first Thursday evening of June. Behind him rose the sanctuary in all its stylized Spanish glory. Ahead of him, a walkway wound through the trees and flower beds. It was a peaceful place, but had he not promised his aunts—the renowned seventy-five-year-old triplets of Chatam House—that he would attend tonight’s grief support meeting, he would not be here.

When his aunts had politely but firmly insisted that he attend this meeting, he could have told them that they were mistaken in their assumption that grief and fear had driven him away from his occupation of the past several years and into this state of ennui, where he had languished for the past five weeks. Of course, he grieved the deaths of his friends and coworkers in a fall from the mountain in Washington State where he had worked for some time. He had functioned in a daze for at least six weeks after the accident.

The company he’d worked for had brought in professional counselors, and Phillip, like the other guides and outfitters, had attended his obligatory three sessions. Like the others, he had experienced moments of fear and discomfort on his next climb, and truth be told, he had secretly welcomed such emotions. Guiding tourists on mountain climbs had become old hat. Fear had at least added an element of excitement to the process. The apprehension had rapidly dissipated, however, and he had known then that it was time to move on. But to what?

For eight months he had gone through the motions. The whole time, he’d been looking for the next challenge, the next adventure. In the past, something had always cropped up. This time, though, he hadn’t been able to wait on it. This time, he’d started to worry that his lack of enthusiasm for the work was going to get someone else hurt. He’d walked away in the middle of the season, just packed up his stuff and left Seattle for Texas. He’d spent the past five weeks at Chatam House, the antebellum mansion where his aunties had lived their entire lives and the lodestone of the large, far-flung Chatam family.

During that time, his parents had harassed him almost daily about finding a “real” job, and his aunts had worried that he was ignoring his grief. The least he could do, given that the aunties had opened their home to him, was assuage their concern by schlepping downtown to a meeting of the DBC Grief Support Group.

He followed the signs along a hallway and down a flight of stairs to the meeting room in the basement. Soft instrumental music and muted light greeted him as he passed through the open doorway. A pair of older women smiled at him from the counter laden with cookies, coffee and water. His gaze swept the softly lit room, taking in the other occupants. Most were older than him. A boy and girl in their late teens or early twenties appeared to be siblings. Hub, Phillip’s elderly uncle and a retired minister, swooped in with arms spread wide in welcome.

“Phillip! So good to see you.” Reaching up to slide an arm across Phillip’s shoulders, Hub turned to address the milling group. “My nephew Phillip Chatam is joining us tonight. He’s come home to Texas from Seattle.”

Most people nodded and offered taut smiles, but the two women at the refreshment table beamed as they carried over napkin-wrapped cookies and a disposable cup of coffee strong enough to anchor a grappling hook. Phillip accepted both with self-conscious nods before dropping down onto the nearest folding chair. About a dozen of them had been arranged in a horseshoe shape. The other attendees quietly took up seats, leaving several empty, including the one on the end to Phillip’s left.

“Let us begin with silent prayer,” said Hub.

Everyone hushed. Several moments ticked by while Phillip tried to think of a prayer, finally coming up with, God, be with the families of those who died.

It was the same prayer he’d prayed on the day of the accident. He didn’t figure it would do much good. It seemed to Phillip that God was too busy to pay attention to him, but it couldn’t hurt to send up a prayer now and again.

Someone slipped into the empty chair on Phillip’s left, derailing his train of thought and sharpening his senses. Before he could stop himself, he turned his head, just enough so that he could see a portion of a feminine form from the corner of his eye.

A pair of worn but clean white canvas sneakers came into view, followed by the frayed hems of slender faded jeans. A pair of delicate, feminine hands rested in casual but prayerful repose atop one jeaned knee, but that was as much as Phillip could see.

Several long minutes later, Hub said, “Amen.”

“We have another newcomer,” Hub announced, engaging the latest arrival with a welcoming nod. He reached out a gnarled hand for a gentle shake. “I’m Pastor Hub.” He went around the room, naming everyone in order. “This is Phillip, Mr. Edgar, the Lallys, Margaret, Sandra, Miss Clara and Bernice.”

Turning to the woman at his side, Phillip smiled and tried not to stare. She was beautiful, in a wide-eyed, elegant way that belied the casual twist of her golden-brown hair and slightly shabby clothing. Without a speck of cosmetics, she took his breath away.

Phillip suddenly wished he had shaved. His brown hair was so dark it was almost black, and the hair on his face gave him a constant five-o’clock shadow, always appearing between shaves. In fact, within three weeks’ time, he could have a beard heavy enough to obliterate the cleft chin that marked every adult Chatam and the dimples that his mother so adored.

He unconsciously fingered the deep cleft in his chin now as he took in the generous smattering of freckles across his new neighbor’s tiny nose and high cheekbones. Wide, naturally rosy lips revealed neat, white teeth without quite smiling, and tawny hair wisped about an oval face with a delicately pointed chin. She had unusual eyes of a deep velvet blue, thickly fringed in dark gold lashes. She looked young, early to mid-twenties, but wore a maturity that made her seem older. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

She introduced herself to the group in a husky, whispery voice. “I’m Carissa Hopper.”

Phillip shifted in his chair. Feeling like a teen boy with an unexpected crush, he concentrated on his hands. Rough and hard, they were no longer the slender-fingered hands that his mother had once declared those of a pianist or surgeon. He concentrated on a tiny jagged scar on the side of one knuckle where a crampon had sliced his glove as the climber above him had struggled to find his footing.

Shaking himself, he sat up straighter and listened as Hub instructed everyone to tell why they were there. When Phillip’s turn came, he cleared his throat and muttered, “Two of my friends and a client were in a rock-climbing accident over eight months ago. They fell when a cliff face suddenly gave way.”

The woman beside him displayed no such hesitancy to speak, declaring forthrightly, “My husband was killed almost four years ago when a truck he was working beneath fell on him. I’m here now, frankly, just to please certain family members.” She went on to explain, “Times are tough right now. They’re worried about me.”

Phillip spoke out of the corner of his mouth. “Same deal with me. Here to please family.”

If Carissa Hopper thought that this gave them more in common than the others present, she gave no sign of it.

Hub began to speak about how tough times could affect grief by exaggerating or covering over it. Those who were regulars to the group offered up personal stories illustrating the point in one way or another. Phillip barely heard them. He was too busy planning how to get to know Carissa Hopper better.

Hub closed the meeting with a few well-chosen words on overcoming grief. “Don’t wait for others to minister to you. Do something for someone else,” he said.

That made sense to Phillip, but it didn’t apply to him. He wasn’t sad, just uncertain what to do next. Surely he’d come up with something before his money ran out. A decent accountant, he knew how to make his bucks last, which was why he was currently enjoying the haven of Chatam House. And attending grief support meetings to appease his aunties.

As the session broke up, he rose to follow the lovely Carissa from the room, rehearsing conversational icebreakers in his head.

Before he could catch up to her, however, his uncle laid claim to him. “Phillip, can you help with these chairs?”

Glancing at the folding chairs being loaded onto a long, rolling rack, Phillip frowned inwardly. “In a minute, Uncle Hub. Be right back.”

He dashed from the room, only to find the hall empty. Racing up the stairs, he tore through the building, sure he would catch her before she reached the courtyard, but she must have gone another way, for when he pushed through the door, he found himself alone on the softly lit path.

Disappointed, he heaved a sigh. Well, maybe next week.

Lord, he thought, if You’re listening, if it matters, I’d like to see that woman again. Please.

In fact, he’d attend more grief support meetings on the chance that he’d see her again.

* * *

“But I don’t want to stay here,” nine-year-old Nathan grumbled, glaring at his mother through his wire-rimmed glasses. They were too small for his face, reminding Carissa that he needed to have his eyes reexamined. All the more reason for this visit. She just had to have some uninterrupted work time. Otherwise, she was going to lose her job.

Selling technical service over the phone from home wasn’t the perfect job. For one thing, it didn’t pay particularly well. For another, when home was a two-bedroom apartment shared by two adults and three children, chaos was the norm, and that made it difficult for her to meet her monthly quota. On the other hand, working from home meant that she didn’t have to pay for child care. Still, no quota, no job—which was why she had finally accepted her aunt’s offer to babysit. She just hoped that her mother didn’t get wind of it. The last thing she needed was for Alexandra to show up, offering her limited, strings-attached services.

Carissa looked at the stately building. Chatam House, where her uncle Chester and aunt Hilda lived and worked, was a mansion. Old and elegant, it was fronted by a deep, cool porch supported by majestic white columns, with redbrick walkways and steps. Well, she had no time to moon over tall windows, many rooms and dark, loamy beds bursting with flowers.

“I have to work today, Nathan, and Grandpa’s doctor says he needs some peace and quiet so he can rest. You’ll have fun with Uncle Chester and Aunt Hilda today.”

Holding each of the younger children, Tucker and Grace, by the hand, Carissa led the way around the house. She’d been told to park in front to keep from blocking the carport, or porte cochere, as Chester called it. They stepped off the walkway and into gravel, trudging along beside the mansion and past a bronze Subaru Outback to the side door. While she knocked on the bright yellow door with the old-fashioned fan-shaped window above it, the kids crowded onto the porch behind her, bumping against big terra-cotta pots spilling over with flowers.

“Hang on!” called a muffled voice after a moment. “I’m coming.”

Carissa backed up as far as she could and folded her arms to hide the empty hole in her simple white blouse where the button was missing. The door opened, and a tall man stepped up to the threshold. Make that a very tall man.

A smile in place, she spoke as she tilted her head back. “Hello. I’m—”

“Carissa Hopper,” he supplied, grinning.

At the same time, she exclaimed, “Phillip?”

They both followed with “What are you doing here?”

He chuckled. “I live here.” While she blinked at that, he thrust his hand forward. “It’s Phillip Chatam, by the way.”

She shook hands with him, remembering only at the last instant to leave one arm folded across her middle. “I—I didn’t realize.”

He held her hand in his big, hard one. “You came in late to the meeting last night. I guess Hub didn’t say my last name when he introduced us.” Pulling free, she grasped her elbows, hiding the empty hole in her blouse and separating herself from Phillip’s warmth. “What can I do for you?” he asked, rocking back on his heels.

“My aunt offered to watch my kids today.”

“Your aunt?”

“Hilda Worth. Chester Worth is my father’s brother.”

Phillip Chatam’s eyebrows jumped halfway up his forehead. “Chester and Hilda are your family? So, they’re the ones who sent you to the—”

“Yes,” she interrupted. She didn’t want the kids to know where she’d been. Grief was a word they’d heard too often in their young lives.

“I see. Knowing them, I’m sure they’ve cleared this with my aunts.”

“Yes, um, assuming your aunts are the Chatam sisters.”

“Yup. And Pastor Hub is my uncle.”

“Well, that explains a lot.”

He flashed a stunning smile. “I’m sure it does.” Dropping his gaze, he asked, “And who do we have here?”

Stepping back, she pushed the children forward. “This is Nathan,” she said, dragging him in front of her. “He’s nine.” He shrugged and wiggled out of her grasp. She then placed both hands atop his brother’s slender shoulders. “Tucker. He’s seven. And last but not least...” Reaching down with one hand, she cupped her daughter’s cheek as the girl’s head pressed against her leg. “This is Grace, who’s four.”

Phillip gave the children a smile and lifted his gaze to Carissa once more. Typical, she thought sourly. No man had any interest in another man’s children, as she had learned the hard way.

“Well, come in. Hilda’s in the kitchen.”

Cautiously, Carissa followed him, sweeping the children along in front of her so that they formed a buffer between her and this too-attractive Chatam. She’d long ago decided to keep her distance from such men. Several times since her husband Tom’s death, she’d let herself be drawn to men with the same rough masculine appeal as her late husband, only to find herself unceremoniously dumped as soon as they realized that she wasn’t going to settle for anything short of marriage. She’d finally learned her lesson when the last guy had informed her that a man might marry a woman with one kid or even two, but never three. That very day, she had resigned herself to the realities of widowhood and resolved to keep temptation at a safe distance.

If she hadn’t been running late, she would never have taken the chair next to Phillip. Only as the brief introductions had been made had she realized her mistake. Those copper eyes, set deeply into a lean, bronzed face heavily shadowed with a dark beard and carved with dimples and a cleft chin, had taken her breath away. Hair the color of coffee and a nose that showed signs of having been broken at some point added the very type of ruggedness that appealed to her. Combined with his long-limbed height—at least three or four inches over six feet—and broad shoulders, he was definitely one of the best-looking men she’d ever met. She’d decided right then to forget all about grief support, no matter what her family said—only to find herself face-to-face with the man this morning.

He led them down the hallway to a swinging door, which he pushed wide, calling out, “Hilda, you have company.”

A clatter of metal heralded her aunt’s appearance in the doorway. Swathed in a damp apron over a voluminous dress made of some small, gray-brown print almost the exact color as her thin, straight, ear-length hair, Hilda exuded the aromas of a bakery.

She reached over the children to envelop Carissa in her hefty arms. Stooping, she did the same with the children, all three at once. “I’ve set up the sunroom for the kids. But first, how was the meeting last night?”

Phillip Chatam shifted beside Carissa. She felt his interest, and that made this discussion all the more difficult. Managing a tiny smile, she recalled the words that she had prepared earlier in anticipation of this moment.

“You’re right, Aunt Hilda. Pastor Hub is a very wise man. I especially liked what he had to say about helping others.”

“As a way of getting our minds off our own sorrows,” Phillip supplied.

Hilda’s narrow gaze sharpened. “You were there, too, Phillip?”

“Yes. The aunties thought I would benefit.”

“Seems we were both there at the urging of family,” Carissa said drily.

“I know it’s going to help,” Hilda exclaimed, throwing out her arms. Hooking one mighty appendage about each of their necks, she gave both a squeeze. Carissa winced as her head knocked against Phillip’s.

The wretch chuckled. “Hilda, you’re priceless.”

The good-natured cook chortled then let them go.

Carissa looked away—and caught her eldest son’s disapproving frown. She couldn’t think of anything that Nathan did approve of these days, but she couldn’t really blame him. Since they’d lost the house, they’d had to move into her poor father’s tiny two-bedroom apartment. There was no space for a growing boy to take a deep breath, let alone play. Her father’s illness didn’t help, either, though he never complained about the noise or chaos. Nathan, more than the other children, understood what his grandfather’s illness meant. It was no wonder he wasn’t happy.

She thought of her aunt’s and uncle’s urgings to get the children into church again and wondered if that would help. They’d gradually fallen away after Tom’s death. She had struggled to get an infant and two rambunctious little boys dressed in their Sunday best and out the door week after week on her own, but what was her excuse now that the children were nine, seven and four?

A clock chimed somewhere, bringing Carissa out of her thoughts.

“I need to get to work. Let me help you settle the children.”

“This way. This way,” Hilda urged, waddling off down the hall. She began detailing the preparations she’d made: coloring books and crayons, games, puzzles, toys. She even had a box of dress-up clothes gleaned from “Miss Odelia’s big closet upstairs.” Little Grace beamed with delight.

Carissa marched the children into the room, hugged each one and thanked Phillip Chatam for his assistance. Ready to focus on what lay before her, she began to mentally plan her workday as she started back down the long hallway. She just needed one good day without distractions to ensure her job for another month. She knew her stuff; she could sell enough tech support to see her family through the immediate crisis. One good day on the telephone without three children bouncing off the walls of a too-small apartment—that was all she asked.

Thanking God for an aunt and uncle willing to help out, she tried not to worry. Hilda could manage three small children, and it was a very large house. Surely they would be all right for one day. With a man like Phillip Chatam around, she dared not risk more, and the same went for grief support meetings.

She didn’t need those meetings anyway. Tom had been gone for four years now; emotionally, she’d come to terms with his loss long ago. Aunt Hilda and Uncle Chester were trying to help her prepare for what was to come, of course, but Carissa didn’t believe in borrowing trouble. After all, didn’t the Bible say not to worry about tomorrow? Each day, according to Matthew, had enough trouble of its own. She could certainly vouch for that. It seemed to her that it was time for things to go right for a change, if only for one day.

Just one day...


Chapter Two

Tiny Grace Hopper possessed a miniature version of her mother’s face, framed by board-straight, light red hair cut raggedly just below her ears. That and her mother’s rich blue eyes made for an adorable combination. Phillip couldn’t help being entranced, just as he couldn’t help being dismayed that Carissa Hopper was the mother of three kids.

Children had never figured into Phillip’s life. He didn’t have anything against them, he just didn’t feel any particular need to have them. Plus he knew less than zilch about them, even though his mother was a well-respected pediatrician. Still, he knew cute when he saw it, and Grace Hopper was cute with a capital C. He laughed when, upon spying a small basket, Grace hopped up and down, clapped her dainty hands and squealed, “Muffins!”

Her brother, the one without the glasses, ran across the room and tore into the ginger muffins with all the finesse of a starving hooligan. Before Hilda could stop him, the older boy did.

“Stop it, Tucker! That’s rude.”

“Ginger muffins. Mmm...” Tucker argued, his mouth full of the same.

Phillip watched as Hilda quickly parceled out the muffins then shook his head as she trundled toward him.

“You,” he teased, “are a woman of mystery. I know you have a son and daughter and grandchildren, but no one ever said anything about nieces.”

The fiftysomething cook waved a hand. “Silly man. Chester’s brother Marshall has two girls. Carissa is the oldest.” Hilda sobered then, quietly confiding, “No one has a clue where the youngest, Lyla, is. Crying shame. Marshall isn’t well. Lung cancer,” she whispered.

“Sorry to hear that,” Phillip murmured.

“I’m going to tell!”

The pounding of small feet accompanied the threat. First one small head then another dashed past Phillip and out the door.

“Tucker! Nathan!” Hilda scolded. “You come back here.”

Phillip stepped out of the way, but before Hilda could squeeze past him, the boys shot through the central corridor and into the back hall. Huffing, Hilda sent Phillip an aggrieved look that he read too well. Wryly, he went after the boys. They had caught Carissa Hopper before she’d even made it out of the house and were arguing loudly about a stolen muffin.

Phillip broke into a jog as Carissa ordered, “Lower your voices. Now.”

“He stole my muffin!”

“You weren’t going to eat it!”

Arriving on the scene, Phillip quickly intervened. “There’s plenty for everyone. No need to argue.”

The older boy whipped around, snarling, “It ain’t none of your business.”

His mother gasped. “Nathan Alexander Hopper,” she rebuked firmly. “You apologize this instant.”

Sullenly, the boy dropped his head, but after a moment he muttered, “Sorry.”

“I expect you to look after your brother and sister, not misbehave,” Carissa went on. “You know I depend on you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And, Tucker, you mind your manners,” she instructed the younger boy.

“Yes, Mama.”

“Go now, both of you.”

After some grumbling, the two boys reluctantly started back down the hallway toward the sunroom. Carissa gave Phillip an exasperated look, as if he were somehow to blame, and spun sharply on one heel.

“Now, wait a minute,” he began, piqued.

“I’m sorry,” she snapped as he fell into step beside her. “It’s just that I have to work.”

“And that,” he said, as they reached the door, “makes me the bad guy?”

“No,” she answered drily, drawing out the single syllable even as she reached for the doorknob.

“Great,” Phillip said, putting up an arm to block her way. “Then maybe you’ll tell me what sort of work do you do.”

“Telemarketing,” she answered succinctly, folding her arms but refusing to look at him.

Phillip waited. She glanced up and huffed.

“My husband was a software engineer. He taught me everything he knew. He believed that good computer skills would ensure anyone a job. Unfortunately, in a lousy economy, without the diploma to back up those skills, no one will give me the time of day, even if I can write code better than anyone, which is why I sell tech support over the telephone rather than perform it.”

“So you’re good with computers, then,” Phillip said.

She tossed her head, fixing him with a narrow stare. “If by ‘good’ you mean I can tear down a computer to its most basic elements, fix any problem, put it back together again and write the software that operates it, then yes, I’m good with computers.” She parked her hands at her hips. “Now, what about you?”

“Oh,” he answered cheerfully, “I can turn on a computer, click a mouse, even type, if you’re not in a hurry.”

One corner of her mouth curled in a reluctant smile. “I mean, what do you do for a living?”

“Ah. Nothing, at the moment. I used to climb mountains, but I am, as they say, between jobs.”

“And I am trying not to be,” she said pointedly.

He dropped his arm, opened the door and stepped out of the way. She swept out onto the redbrick stoop and went quickly down the steps. He had closed the door behind her before it occurred to him that he hadn’t seen her vehicle parked beneath the porte cochere.

Suspecting that Hilda had told her not to park there for fear of blocking his car, he hurried through the house to the front door, stepping out onto the deep front porch in time to see Carissa Hopper climb into a battered little minivan with a missing rear hubcap and rusty passenger door handle. She drove away without so much as a wave of farewell. He wandered back into the foyer and leaned against the curled banister at the foot of the marble staircase, thinking about what she’d told him. The sound of a distant crash had him breaking into a run as a plaintive cry rose from the vicinity of the sunroom. It would only be the first of many.

Over the next two hours, Nathan and Tucker would manage to knock over a table, two chairs and a potted plant the size of a grown man. After the first altercation, Phillip decided to pitch in with the kids. Otherwise, he feared that no one would get lunch. Hilda’s husband, Chester, his aunts’ houseman, had driven Aunt Hypatia—or Auntie H—into town. Kent, Aunt Odelia’s husband, had gone down to his pharmacy to help out his young partner, while Odelia—Auntie Od to her adoring nieces and nephews—was taking a “spa day” in their suite, and Aunt Magnolia—affectionately known as Mags—was puttering around in the flower beds, as usual. If Hilda was going to get into the kitchen, Phillip had no choice but to watch over the scamps.

The boys kept him so busy that he didn’t realize Grace was missing until they did.

What could he do then but take them to look for her?

* * *

Humming to herself, Odelia Chatam Monroe swanned through the lovely mauve-and-cream sitting room of the suite that she shared with Kent, her husband of almost a year, and on into the purple bedroom, where the silk bed hangings, drapes and spread provided an appropriately romantic theme. They’d waited fifty years to marry, and they meant to enjoy every moment left to them. Pausing beside the antique Queen Anne dresser, she twitched a few gladiolus blossoms in a tall crystal vase into perfect position, before continuing into the enormous fuchsia-and-yellow bathroom to remove the cold cream from her face. After tossing aside the cucumber slices that she’d placed over her eyes, she next applied a judicious layer of makeup on her face. Finally, she removed the curlers from her thick, white hair and combed it out.

True, she was no girl, but Kent thought her beautiful. How she adored him. She took a moment to thank God for blessing her with such a husband in the twilight of her long, happy life before venturing into her closet, her favorite room in the whole house.

She noticed that she’d accidentally left the light on, but the crystal chandelier gave her such pleasure that she didn’t dwell on it. Of the many material gifts that Kent had given her—this gorgeous suite, the ostentatious ring on her finger, the pool in the backyard, to name a few—the closet was her favorite, for he’d had the walls painted in color-coded stripes so that her eclectic wardrobe could be stored in a somewhat orderly fashion. She did so love clothes. Giggling, she wondered what she ought to wear for lunch. Wouldn’t a gladiolus theme be fun?

An answering giggle surprised her. Odelia considered the possibility of an echo, but common sense—oh, yes, she did have some, no matter what others might say—told her that could not be so. For one thing, the racks were stuffed with clothing. For another, the room simply wasn’t large enough. That meant she must not be alone.

Looking around, she said brightly, “Hello?”

To her surprise, a little head wreathed in the aqua chiffon of one of her favorite skirts popped out from a row of dresses. “Hello.”

For a long moment, Odelia could do nothing but stare. The little one clomped into view, wearing a pale green knit short set, as well as a pair of Odelia’s pumps over her own canvas shoes and anklets. At second glance, she also wore other bits and pieces of Odelia’s wardrobe, including a gold belt worn sash-style over one shoulder and a feathered boa.

“You got snappers on your ears,” the little one said.

“Snappers?”

“Turdles. Snappers turdles.”

Odelia touched her earlobes, feeling her earrings. They had seemed appropriate after her gardening-mad sister had complained at breakfast that a box turtle had been snacking on her rhododendrons. “You mean, snapping turtles, I think.” She had forgotten about them.

“Yep. You got ’em on your ears.”

“So I do, and you have on my things.” Odelia recognized a scarf and a pair of old gloves that she’d given Hilda earlier. Puzzle pieces tumbled into place. “Ah. You’re Hilda’s great-niece.”

The girl nodded. “We’re playing dress-up.”

Odelia smiled, recognizing a kindred spirit. “What’s your name, child?”

“Grace.”

“Grace is not a full name,” Odelia admonished gently. “For instance, I am Odelia Mae Chatam Monroe.” Frowning, she pressed a finger against the cleft in her chin. “Or should that be Mrs. Kent Monroe? Mrs. Odelia Monroe?” Hypatia would know. Odelia waved a hand. “You may call me Miss Odelia. Now then, your name? Your full name, if you please.”

“Grace Amanda Hopper,” the imp said, wobbling in the shoes.

“So, you like to play dress-up, do you, Grace Amanda?”

“Best of anything.”

Odelia grinned and clapped her hands. “So do I!”

Just then, a frantic male voice cried out, “Grace! Grace, where are you?”

“In here,” Odelia trilled.

Phillip arrived, breathless, one boy in hand and another trailing behind with a scowl on his bespectacled face.

“Thank You, God!” Phillip gasped, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. Slumping against the doorjamb, he huffed out a breath and sucked in another before fixing Grace with a baleful glare. “Young lady, you scared the life out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” Grace said contritely, going to take his free hand in hers.

Odelia watched all six foot four inches of her nephew melt like so much marshmallow over a campfire. Interesting.

“Just don’t take off like that again,” he scolded before looking to Odelia. “I’m sorry. She got away from us.”

“You are so in for it,” chortled the freckle-faced, gap-toothed boy being physically restrained by Phillip.

“No, she is not,” Odelia decreed, smiling down at her little guest, “but perhaps next time, she will seek permission before she goes exploring.”

“Yes, ma’am,” coached the older boy with glasses. Reaching around Phillip, he poked the girl.

“Yes, ma’am,” little Grace echoed dutifully.

“Very well,” Odelia said, waving them all out. “We’ll make formal introductions at luncheon.”

As Phillip towed the children away, he said, “I’m not sure what Hilda has planned for lunch.”

“Whatever it is,” Odelia told him brightly, following their ragtag little group into the sitting room, “I’m sure it will be lovely.”

After a season of weddings, they had experienced a tranquil period at Chatam House. First had come the marriage of Phillip’s older brother, Asher, and Kent’s granddaughter Ellie, whose newborn daughter the family had recently welcomed. Chatam House’s gardener, Garrett Willows, and his Jessa had married almost immediately afterward, with Odelia and Kent’s wedding following just one month later. Shortly after that, Phillip’s oldest sister, Petra, had married Garrett’s friend Dale Bowen.

Two other nephews, Reeves and Chandler, and a niece, Kaylie, had met their spouses here at Chatam House. It had been months since the house had hosted company, however. Then Phillip had arrived, for no apparent reason, and here he remained, much to the disgust of his parents and the concern of his aunts. The boy just did not seem to want to work. Oh, he wasn’t lazy; he just had no direction. He seemed to be waiting for some sort of inspiration to strike—or for some grand adventure to present itself.

Hypatia was of the opinion that they had been more than patient with him. Certainly she and her sisters had been praying for him. Watching him now, Odelia couldn’t help wondering what God had in store for Phillip. One thing she knew without doubt was that God always had a plan for His children.

She suspected that Phillip was about to find that out.

* * *

When Carissa Hopper did not return as expected that evening, Phillip was ready to climb the walls. He had scaled mountains less challenging than dealing with three kids! While little Grace beguiled everyone into getting her way, Tucker treated the mansion like his personal playground, haring off without warning. Nathan, meanwhile, remained solemn, suspicious and openly hostile, especially toward Phillip. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it bothered Phillip. People usually liked him. Then again, he didn’t have much experience with children. In fact, if anyone had told him that he’d have to work so hard to keep three youngsters from tearing the house down, he’d have scoffed. How Carissa Hopper had somehow managed to shelter, feed, clothe and survive this trio all alone for years was a mystery to him.

Hilda and Chester insisted that it wasn’t like Carissa to lose track of time or forget to call, but their phone calls to her went unanswered. Someone—Hypatia probably—alerted Phillip’s baby sister, Dallas. She showed up with her short, curly, carrot-red hair held back by a wide headband. She looked a little thin to him but oddly serene. A second-grade teacher, Dallas waded right in, taking control of the children and leaving Phillip free to enjoy his dinner. When Chester came into the dining room immediately after the meal, everyone knew that something was wrong. Dressed as always in a white shirt, black tie, black slacks and black lace-up shoes, Chester looked worried, a hand smoothing over his nearly bald head.

“Carissa has been at the emergency room with her father. Now they’re back home. I’m going to take some food over to them and try to convince Carissa to let the children stay here for the night.”

He and Hilda lived with Hilda’s sister, Carol, the aunties’ maid, in the converted carriage house behind the mansion. Grace, Chester explained, could bunk with Carol for the night, leaving the small attic room, once occupied by the gardener, for the boys to share.

“Phillip can drive you over to your brother’s,” Odelia suggested to Chester. “I think you’re too worried to go alone.”

“Be glad to,” Phillip said, rising from the table.

Chester didn’t argue and merely nodded his head, an indication of just how worried he was.

They left a few minutes later and drove across town to an older apartment complex that had seen better days. Chester led the way to a ground-floor apartment that opened onto a depressingly bare inner courtyard. It never occurred to Phillip that he might have waited in the car until Carissa opened the door. The dismay on her face when she saw Phillip standing behind Chester left no doubt as to her thoughts on his presence there.

“Come inside,” she said unenthusiastically.

The tiny vestibule opened on one side into a narrow living room and on the other into a dining room, with space large enough for only a small table and two chairs. Both rooms were strewn with toys and packed with boxes and wobbly furniture. The place seemed barely large enough for two people in Phillip’s estimation, let alone five.

“How is Marshall?” Chester asked, handing over the bag filled with containers of Hilda’s food.

“They wanted to keep him in the hospital,” Carissa said, “but he wouldn’t have it.”

“All I needed was a breathing treatment,” grated a raspy voice. Phillip saw a wheelchair roll into view from the dining area.

“Dad, you should be in bed.”

Marshall braced his skeletal elbows on the arms of his old manual wheelchair and shook his head, wheezing with effort. “And you should be in a nice three-bedroom brick house in Dallas, but here we both are in this two-bedroom dump. Introduce me to this young man.”

Carissa sighed and beckoned Phillip forward. “This is Phillip Chatam. Phillip, my father, Marshall Worth.”

Phillip reached out a large, strong hand. “A pleasure to meet you, sir.”

Marshall’s thin, veined hand trembled. “You must be a nephew of those sisters, the triplets, that my brother works for.”

“Yes, sir, I am. One of many.”

Marshall waved a hand at his daughter, saying, “Sugar, put that food in the kitchen. Chester, take a load off.” He pointed to a dining chair. Niece and uncle traded looks and did as instructed.

“Phillip, I’m dying,” Marshall Worth said bluntly, “and this cancer’s taken everything I ever had. I’ll have nothing but rags and sticks to leave my daughter and grandchildren.”

“Daddy,” Carissa said, zipping back into the room, “that’s not important.”

“Chester and Hilda will do everything they can,” Marshall went on, as if she hadn’t even spoken, “and Carissa’s a hard worker, but she barely makes enough to feed them all.”

“Daddy, don’t worry,” Carissa pleaded.

“I can’t die without knowing you’ll have help,” he told her tiredly.

“Daddy!”

“Don’t concern yourself, sir,” Phillip interjected, leaning down to place a hand on the man’s rail-thin shoulder. “She won’t be alone or without help. You have my word as a Chatam.”

Tears filled Marshall Worth’s rheumy eyes, and he nodded with relief.

“Chatams are good people, so if you say it, I believe it,” he rasped.

“Believe it, sir. Your daughter and grandchildren will be fine.” He smiled. “I’m told that Carissa has strong computer skills, after all.”

“That she does,” Marshall agreed with a chuckle. “Not much business sense, though.”

“Dad!”

“But she’s a good mother and a fine daughter,” he added, “and she’s not hard on the eyes, either.”

“You slight her, sir,” Phillip said, just to rankle her. “She’s a rare beauty.”

Her back stiffened, then she relaxed again and swept through the narrow kitchen to the other bedroom. There couldn’t be another in the apartment, which meant that she probably shared it with all three of her children. Phillip realized just how blessed he was to have Chatam House as a haven in his time of trouble.

“I’m tired, brother,” Marshall said, sounding it. “Help me to bed.”

Chester rose and took his brother’s chair by the handles, saying, “Afterward, we’ll have a word of prayer together. Then I want you to eat.”

“I’d like that,” Marshall told him, seeming to shrink before Phillip’s eyes. “Prayer and Hilda’s good food. Nothing I’d like better. Goodbye, young man.” Not good-night but goodbye.

“Goodbye, sir.”

Phillip stood awkwardly for a moment before Carissa came back through the kitchen. “Walk me to my car?”

She didn’t want to. He knew it by the way she hesitated, but she couldn’t find a graceful way to decline. “All right.”

As they strolled along the inner courtyard, Phillip couldn’t help noting the buckling concrete of the sidewalk, the overgrown shrubbery, the disintegrating fence around the trash Dumpster and the flaking paint on the metal stairs at the corner of the building. There he paused and turned to face her, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“My aunts want to keep the children at Chatam House tonight. They can stay in the carriage house with Chester, Hilda and Carol. When your father is better tomorrow, you can pick them up and bring them home.”

Carissa took a deep breath. “Well,” she said, “that might work, except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“My father’s not going to be better,” she said softly.

Phillip couldn’t resist the urge to slide an arm across her shoulders. “I’m sorry,” he said.

She slowly slipped out from beneath his embrace, saying, “I’d better go pack a bag for the kids.”

He was surprised that she’d given in so easily and wondered if she had done so just because she was anxious to get away from him. The thought pinched in a way he hadn’t expected, but he reminded himself that her father was gravely ill. And that he had given his word to a dying man.

He would keep his word. Whether Carissa Hopper liked it or not.

But obviously, Carissa Hopper was not the woman for him. Or rather, he was not the man for her.

She needed a solid, serious, responsible man, the kind his parents had always wanted him to be. But that wasn’t him, had never been Phillip Chatam. And never would be.


Chapter Three

Marshall Worth lapsed into a coma during the night and was transported to the hospital the next day. The children remained at Chatam House, but with Chester staying close by them, waiting for news. Phillip tried to make good on his promise to Mr. Worth and consulted his older brother, Asher, an attorney, on Carissa’s behalf. Asher promised to look into the possibility of government assistance for her and her children, then he invited Phillip—and his résumé—to lunch.

Phillip dutifully went along, though he knew what was coming. Sure enough, his brother had asked a friend with a local accounting firm if he had any openings. It made sense, after all. Phillip was good with numbers. He was good with bookkeeping. He was even good with money. It was the whole idea of being an accountant, someone else’s bean counter, in a nine-to-five job that made Phillip’s skin crawl. Before Asher could suggest that Phillip apply for a position, Phillip changed the subject to an article that he’d read while he’d sat in Asher’s office, waiting for Asher to finish a phone call.

The article had mentioned a new smartphone app that allowed its purchasers to “test drive” possible employment fields. According to the article, a new field of reality apps allowed people to follow a day in the life of a number of professions, be it a baker, a truck driver, a plumber or a diesel mechanic. The purchase price seemed steep to Phillip, but he supposed it was worth it if it prevented a person from spending the time and money to educate him or herself for a career he or she ultimately didn’t like.

Asher listened then unceremoniously informed him that Carissa made just enough money to make her ineligible for government assistance because she did not pay rent. If she could come up with the funds to get into an apartment of her own, then she could qualify for government assistance.

Phillip headed home to discuss the situation with Hilda and Chester, only to find the entire household in the front parlor with Carissa and her kids, all of whom openly wept. Tucker stood at his mother’s side, literally howling.

“What’s happened?” Phillip asked, already knowing.

Little Grace hopped down off her mother’s lap and ran toward him. Phillip instinctively reached down to take her up into his arms. She buried her damp face in the crook of his neck and sobbed. Tucker draped himself around his mother’s neck and continued bawling, while Nathan stood stoically, tears rolling unimpeded from beneath the lenses of his glasses.

Hypatia turned a sad face to him from her usual armchair, a teacup in her hand. As always, she could have stood in for the Queen of England, her silver hair styled into a sleek roll against the back of her head, her ubiquitous pearls worn with a tailored silk suit. “Marshall Worth has slipped from this world into Paradise,” she announced softly.

“Perfectly healed,” Kent added in a gentle voice, his arm about Odelia on the settee.

“A brand-new body,” Odelia whispered, encased in a cloud of blue chiffon.

“Without pain,” Magnolia offered, patting Nathan’s shoulder. She had come in without removing the yellow galoshes that she always wore when working in the gardens.

“That’s what we have to remember now,” Chester said in a tear-clogged voice, putting away a handkerchief.

“That’s our consolation,” Hilda agreed. She mopped her face with her apron, sniffed and all but wailed, “I should start dinner!” before trundling from the room. Carol followed.

Chester shook his head then said, “She isn’t thinking clearly,” and he went after her.

A collective sigh filled the air. A moment later, Nathan jerked away and ran from the room. Carissa calmly set Tucker onto his feet and, after a moment of uncertainty, looked to Phillip. He desperately wanted to open his arms and pull them both in, but he knew what she needed from him, so he lifted his hand to Tucker alone. The boy stumbled into his side and wrapped his arms around Phillip’s waist. Phillip awkwardly patted the boy’s back, and Carissa quietly went after her oldest son.

When he turned again to his aunts, they were staring as if he’d grown a second pair of arms. All but Odelia, who clasped her beringed hands beneath her double chin and, for some reason, smiled at him as if he’d hung the moon.

* * *

Carissa and the children stayed the night at Chatam House, not in the building out back where Chester and Hilda lived with Hilda’s sister, Carol, but in the main house, in a three-bedroom, three-bath suite upstairs that was bigger and far finer than her father’s old apartment. The Chatam sisters had suggested it, and Carissa had let herself be talked into it. Partly because she was too tired to argue, but mostly because she didn’t think the children ought to go back to the apartment so soon after their grandfather’s death. It seemed best to get through the next few days first.

Plucking at the black T-shirt that she’d tucked into the waist of her denim skirt, she sighed and asked, “Do you think this is all right to wear to the funeral home?”

“I think it’s fine,” Phillip told her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She had twisted it into a bun low on her neck, but no matter what she did, wisps escaped. Someday she would have money for a decent haircut.

“Maybe I should tie a scarf around my hair.”

“No.” He curled a finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up. “You look lovely just as you are.”

Despite the luxury of having had a room and a bed entirely to herself, she was too tired to scold herself for enjoying the compliment. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about the kids,” he told her. “I’ll sit right here in the suite with them until they wake. Then I’ll send them down to Hilda for breakfast.”

“I’ve laid out their clothes.”

“Don’t worry.”

“They can dress themselves.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Uncle Chester says it won’t take long.” She bit her lip to stop its trembling.

Phillip leaned forward until his forehead touched hers. “Don’t. Worry.”

But how could she not? Funerals cost money, which she didn’t have. Despite her best efforts, tears suddenly streamed down her face. Phillip said nothing, just gathered her loosely against him until she regained control. It would be so easy to lean on him. He had promised her father, after all, that she wouldn’t be alone after his death, but she knew better than to hold him to that promise. Phillip had been pledging the support of the Chatams, not him personally. She pushed him away, grabbed her handbag and rushed out of the suite as fast as she could.

Chester, the Chatam sisters and Kent waited for her in the foyer downstairs. What a trio the sisters were, Hypatia all elegance in her silk and pearls, her silver hair expertly styled, Odelia flamboyant in eye-popping prints and oversize jewelry, her shockingly white hair curling with abandon, and Magnolia looking like a bag lady in her moth-eaten shirtwaists, her steel-gray braid hanging over her shoulder. Surprised to find them dressed to go out, their handbags dangling from their elbows, Carissa automatically protested.

“Ladies, Uncle Chester and I can take care of this.”

Hypatia shook her elegant silver head. “Your uncle has been an enormous part of our lives for many years. We would never abandon him in his hour of need.”

“Oh, of course.”

They did far more than “not abandon” Chester, however. They made suggestions that helped trim costs without sacrificing the dignity of the service, including offering Chatam House to hold the reception at afterward. It shamed Carissa to have to ask the funeral director if he could provide a payment plan, but she had no choice.

“Oh, no, honey,” Chester said, slipping an arm about her shoulders. “Hilda and I will take care of this.”

“But, Uncle Chester—”

“It’s been decided, Carissa. I know he was your father, but he was my brother, and he worried so about you and the children. You have enough to take care of as it is.”

Carissa closed her eyes and said a silent prayer of thanks before hugging her uncle’s neck. She didn’t miss the small, satisfied smiles that the Chatam sisters traded or the wink that Kent gave Chester. She knew very well where Chester was getting the money to pay for this, but for once she was going to look the other way and be grateful.

* * *

The funeral service took place on Monday morning at Chester and Hilda’s small church. Marshall wasn’t a member, but he had often attended worship there. Dallas, Phillip’s youngest sister, stepped in to watch the children at Chatam House. Carissa hoped to the very end that her sister, Lyla, would somehow get wind of the situation and arrive in time for the funeral, but that didn’t happen. Thankfully, their mother didn’t turn up, either. Though Alexandra had divorced their father many years ago, he had never remarried, and Alexandra was shameless enough to make a grand entrance decked out in widow’s weeds and claim the spotlight. Carissa wouldn’t even put it past her to bring along her current husband, a much younger man, to show off.

After the service, the Chatams hosted a reception at the mansion, catered by a local catering company to spare Hilda the trouble. Dallas brought the children in, clean and dressed. When the children became restless, Dallas took them out again, and they went off without a peep of protest.

The past few days, Carissa had let herself just drift along, going with the flow, but the moment was coming when she must again take a stand and assert her independence. Otherwise, she would wind up letting the Chatams do everything for her. She couldn’t help wondering where she would find the energy to do what she must. Glancing around the large but crowded dining room, where the food had been laid out, she set aside her plate, rose to her feet and quietly slipped out of the house to the front porch. An old-fashioned bench swing hung from the east end of the porch. She kicked off her navy pumps and sat down in the middle of the swing, tucking her bare feet onto the seat beneath her.

Hanging baskets of ivy bracketed the swing, and green lawns sloped away to the street beyond. Her father would have enjoyed this place, but she didn’t think he’d ever done more than drive by here. She’d seen a rose arbor on the east lawn and a towering magnolia tree on the west, as well as other trees clustered about the property. Despite the almost suffocating heat, she felt peace curl about her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back, setting the swing in motion.

Goodbye, Daddy. I’ll miss you so much.

She hardly noticed when she slipped into prayer, but eventually, she put her feet on the floor, leaned forward and thanked God sincerely for ending her father’s pain.

I don’t know why it had to be like this. I don’t understand why these things happen, but he was the best daddy he knew how to be, and I thank You for that. I wish I could have him back, but I’m not selfish enough to deny him Heaven. I know he’s happy and well and at peace, so just help me and everyone who loves him be happy for him and at peace with our new reality.

She sat up straight, opening her eyes to find Phillip Chatam standing in front of her. He couldn’t have looked any better, dressed in a dark olive-green suit, white shirt and tie, his dark hair gleaming, copper eyes glowing. His shoulders looked broad enough to carry the world, his hands strong enough to hold it at bay. She was tempted to throw herself into his arms and cry like a baby.

“You okay?”

She managed to nod.

“Mind if I sit?”

She did. But he was a Chatam, and she owed the Chatams. Grasping the chain holding up the swing, she slid over to give him room. He lowered himself onto the wood slats beside her and copied her previous pose, leaning forward with his forearms braced against his thighs.

“I trust that you already know this, but I’ve been asked to make certain that the message is delivered. My aunts want you and the children to stay on here at Chatam House indefinitely.”

She was so tempted. She told herself that they could stay just one more night, but she knew that if they stayed one more night she would find an excuse to stay another and another and... She dared not start down that path. The crisis had passed. The time had come to get on with her life. She’d been here before, and she knew what she had to do. She had to get up and stand on her own two feet. Right now. So that was what she did. She put her bare feet on the gray painted wood of the porch floor and stood, turning to face him.

“I appreciate everything that the Chatams have done for us, more than I can tell you, but it’s time that my children and I went home.”

“Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay?”

“The Chatams have already done more than enough. We’re going back to the apartment.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if—”

“The sooner the better,” she interrupted firmly.

Phillip bowed his head and sighed. “I’ll bring the car around. We’ll leave anytime you’re ready.”

Turning away, she snatched up her shoes and headed for the door, but once she got there, she paused and looked back. He sat just as he had, his brow furrowed, copper eyes watching her. If only he were not living here at Chatam House, she could stay without the fear that she’d do something stupid, like flirt with him or hope he’d fall for her.

Oh, it wasn’t his fault. Why, he hung around here living off his elderly aunts and still she couldn’t help liking him. Her aunt and uncle tried to make light of it, but even they wondered why he didn’t go out and find a job. Even if Phillip should fall head over heels for her, what good would that do her? She needed a true partner, someone who could at least pull his own weight, but that didn’t seem to matter to her heart. No more than it had with Tom, her charming rascal of a husband who had sailed through life from crisis to crisis without a care. Then she’d been left alone with three kids, a floundering business and a mortgage she couldn’t pay. Well, she’d learned that lesson. The hard way. And Phillip Chatam was never going to offer to help her. She could still hear her old boyfriend explaining why they had to break up.

“It’s not like any man is actually going to marry you, not with three kids in tow. One, okay. Two, maybe. But three? No way.”

Shrugging those memories aside, she ran inside to change clothes, pack her bags and get on with this life that God had dealt her.

Unfortunately, getting away proved more difficult than she had hoped. When she came back downstairs in her jeans, she found the Chatam sisters at the door, shaking hands with departing guests. Good manners dictated that she join them, of course, which left no chance of slipping away without explanations to everyone, including her uncle and aunt, who argued that tonight of all nights she should stay.

Carissa stuck to her guns, however, and finally got the children, along with their luggage and Grace’s safety seat, loaded into the Chatam’s town car, Phillip behind the wheel. They waved goodbye as the car pulled away from the mansion, Grace blowing kisses and calling out to Dallas, “’Bye, bffn!”

Carissa exchanged a puzzled look with Phillip over that, but he merely shrugged, obviously having no more clue about what bffn meant than she did.

Despite the short drive, the closer they got to the apartment, the more subdued the children became. Carissa steeled herself and put on a brave face.

“It will be good to be home, have our own place again, huh?”

“Grandpa won’t be there,” Tucker pointed out softly as Phillip parked the car.

“I know,” Carissa told him consolingly, “but tomorrow we’ll start clearing out things, and you and Nathan can have your own room. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

“I guess.”

She looked at Phillip and found his jaw clenched tight. “Okay,” she said brightly, hoping that he wouldn’t point out how much more luxurious Chatam House was than the apartment. “Everyone lend a hand. Pop the trunk, please, Phillip.”

He exited the car and did as she asked. Carissa tried to make a game of it, herding the children to the back of the sedan and assigning totes. They’d accumulated a surprising amount of stuff in their short time at Chatam House. They trudged along the walk, with Carissa in the lead and Phillip bringing up the rear of their little ragtag caravan.

When they reached the apartment door, she found a folded note taped over the keyhole. Quickly removing the small slip of paper, Carissa tucked it into a pocket before Phillip could see it, intending to read the note in private. Whatever it said, she would deal with the matter on her own. Perhaps the short letter contained nothing more than words of condolence. She didn’t think so, however, especially when she slid her key into the lock and found that it wouldn’t turn.

Carissa tried the key again, but the lock refused to budge. Phillip pushed forward.

“What’s wrong?”

“The key doesn’t work.”

“You sure it’s the right one?” he asked, taking it from her and trying it himself.

“Absolutely,” she mumbled, slipping the note from her pocket. While he tried to unlock the door yet again, she read the words on the paper, her heart pounding. “Um, I have to speak to the manager.”

Phillip’s head snapped around. “What?”

She made an attempt at a smile. “Would you wait here with the kids? I won’t be long.”

Pivoting on one heel, she hurried down the sidewalk and around the corner to the on-site manager’s apartment. The thin, sixtysomething woman with long, graying hair and thick eyeglasses wore a series of interchangeable knit pantsuits as a kind of work uniform.

She smiled at Carissa and said bluntly, “You must have realized by now that we changed the locks.”

“But why?”

“You can’t stay, I’m afraid. You’re not on the lease.”

“Guests are allowed for six weeks at a time,” Carissa pointed out. “We have at least a couple weeks left.”

“Not once the legal tenant vacates the property. Legally, we could have put your belongings out yesterday, but given the circumstances, we want to be as compassionate as possible.”

Panicked, Carissa tried to think through her options. “Listen, I can continue to pay the rent, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The manager shook her head. “This is a subsidized apartment intended for disabled tenants, and I have a lengthy waiting list of approved applicants. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you and your children stay.”

The breath left Carissa’s lungs in a rush. She couldn’t believe it. The very thing she’d feared most had just come to pass.

Homeless.

She and her children were now truly homeless.

Carissa felt a presence at her back and knew without looking that it was Phillip. She could only wonder how long he had been standing behind her. Biting her lip, she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from lashing out at him. She turned and coolly said, “You were supposed to stay with the children.”

“Nathan is perfectly capable of watching the other two for a few minutes,” he replied before asking the apartment manager, “Could you let us into the apartment long enough to pack up some personal things tonight? If so, I’ll return tomorrow to take care of everything else.”

“What are you doing?” Carissa whispered under her breath.

“Just what has to be done,” he answered, proving that he’d overheard everything.

“I’ll get the key,” the manager said, disappearing inside her apartment.

“You can’t just take over,” Carissa declared, trying to keep her voice low when she really wanted to yell at him.

“I’m not trying to take over. I’m just trying to help,” he told her, his copper eyes so soft with compassion that she had to look away. She felt his big hands hovering near her upper arms, but thankfully, he didn’t touch her. If he had, she would’ve crumbled into pieces. “We’ll figure this out, okay? One thing is certain, though. You can’t stay here.”

She gulped, feeling perilously close to hysterics as the truth sank in. She and her children were actually homeless.

“Dear God,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Help me!”


Chapter Four

“It’s all right,” Phillip said, slipping an arm about her. “Everything’s going to be all right. You’ll see. It’s going to be a surprise for the kids, though.”

The kids. Carissa gasped, looking up. “What are we going to tell them?”

“We’ll just say that we talked it over and decided that Chatam House is the best place for everyone after all.”

Carissa frowned. We, he’d said.

“They’ll want their own things,” Phillip went on, “toys, books... Nathan said something about a pillow the other day.”

“He’s had it since he was a baby,” Carissa murmured, her mind awhirl with all that had to be done. “It’s hardly even a pillow now, more like a pillowcase with some feathers in it.”

“Whatever. He wants it, so he should have it with him. Don’t you think?”

Carissa nodded, hardly aware of what she was doing. The utilities had to be cut off, the mail forwarded, bills paid.... What were they going to do with the furniture? The door opened behind her, and the manager briskly stepped out.

“Sorry. Phone always rings when you’re busiest.”

“No problem,” Phillip told her. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

“Oh, I’m happy to help,” she said, setting off. “Wish I could do more, but it’s out of my hands, you understand.”

Glumly, Carissa fell in behind her. Phillip kept pace, his hand hovering in the small of Carissa’s back as if he feared she would turn tail and bolt. The kids were plucking leaves out of the shrubbery and pelting one another when they got back to her father’s apartment. The manager unlocked the door but didn’t enter.

“I can just wait, if you won’t be too long, or you can stop by when you’re done, and I’ll come back and lock up then.”

Phillip looked to Carissa. “Give us thirty minutes.”

“I’ll just visit the tenant in 307, then. She always welcomes an unexpected chat. You can pop over and knock on the door when you’re done.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as the manager left, Carissa took the children into the living room and sat down with them, explaining that they wouldn’t be staying after all.

Little Grace looked around her before commenting solemnly, “I don’t want to stay, not without Grandpa.”

Nathan glared at Phillip and declared, “I’m not going back with him!”

“We’re going in our car,” Carissa said huskily, too exhausted to argue with him, “back to Uncle Chester and Aunt Hilda.”

Tucker rose and wandered about the room, touching this lamp and that photo. “Grandpa would want us to go,” he said sadly. Phillip went over to him and patted him on the shoulder.

“Your grandfather wanted you to have a safe, comfortable home, Tucker. That’s all he cared about.”

“I wish he could go with us,” Tucker whispered in a choked voice.

“I know,” Phillip replied gently, “but his house is in Heaven now.”

Tucker glanced around. “It’s probably nicer than here.”

“Much nicer.”

“It’s probably even better than Chatam House, isn’t it?” Tucker said, looking up at Phillip.

Nodding, Phillip told him, “The Bible says that where your grandpa lives now, even the streets are paved with gold.”

“Oh, that’s just a story,” Nathan scoffed.

“I don’t think so,” Phillip refuted blandly. “It’s written in the Bible.”

“Where?”

“I’m not sure,” Phillip admitted, “but we can look it up.”

Nathan rolled his eyes to demonstrate his skepticism.

Carissa cleared her throat and said, “Let’s figure out what we want to take with us tonight. Okay?”

“Toys?” Phillip suggested, pointing toward a box labeled in marker with that very word. Tucker brightened noticeably. “And don’t forget your pillow,” Phillip said to Nathan, who shoved his nose in the air then stomped off in the direction of the bedroom.

Carissa looked around her, trying to think. “I guess I need to pack the dressers.”

“Are there any empty suitcases?” Phillip asked.

“Dad probably had a few.” She got up and took a deep breath, bracing herself.

“Want me to look around for them?” he offered kindly.

Perhaps it was cowardly of her, but she wasn’t quite up to looking through her father’s things. “Yes, thank you. Through there.”

He went off toward her father’s bedroom, leaving her to go to the room that she’d shared with the children these past weeks. They had managed to squeeze a full bed, which she and Grace had been sharing, and bunk beds into the small space, along with a pair of dressers. They barely had room to walk, and the arrangement made Carissa feel like a horrible failure, but she’d happily go on enduring it to have her dad back. But no. He walked on streets of gold now, as Phillip had said. She wouldn’t bring him back just because she missed him, especially given how he’d suffered at the end.

Phillip arrived with several suitcases and began helping her fill them. He concentrated on the kids’ things while she took care of her own. She heard Nathan snap, “Don’t touch that!” and looked over to find him yanking a framed photo of him and his dad from Phillip’s grasp.

“Maybe you could help with the boxes,” she suggested to Phillip, her tone apologetic.

He gave her a quick smile, nodded and left the room. Nathan ducked his head, busily cramming clothes into an open bag. She decided to let the rudeness pass. They were all under a lot of stress at the moment.

When the dressers had been emptied, she got trash bags from the kitchen and filled them with shoes and the contents of the bathroom. Then she returned to the living room to find that the children had stacked up numerous boxes that they wanted to take. Phillip was nowhere to be seen. She nixed several and was arguing with Tucker over another when Phillip wandered out of her father’s room, her dad’s open Bible in his big hands. He seemed to be reading even as he walked over to the threadbare sofa and lowered himself onto the edge of it.

“I found this on Marshall’s bedside table,” Phillip said. Flipping a red ribbon, he added, “This passage was marked.” With that, Phillip began to read. “‘The wall was made of jasper, and the city of pure gold, as pure as glass. The foundations of the city walls were decorated with every kind of precious stone. The twelve gates were twelve pearls. The great street of the city was of gold, as pure as transparent glass.’” As he read, the children had gathered around him, and he underlined the last part with his fingertip so they wouldn’t miss it.

“And that’s where Grandpa is?” Tucker asked, looping an arm around Phillip’s neck.

“I think so,” Phillip said. “The Bible says all believers will spend eternity in Heaven. I tell you what—when you all get settled, we’ll ask my aunts. They’ll know, and they’ll be glad to tell us.”

Nathan said nothing, just frowned in thought. Phillip replaced the red ribbon and closed the Bible then passed it to Nathan, saying, “Why don’t you hold on to this for your mom?”

Nathan seemed surprised, but he folded the Bible tightly against his chest. Phillip calmly rose and rubbed his hands together.

“Okay. Let’s get this show on the road.”

They packed up both vehicles in a matter of minutes. At the last moment Tucker remembered something he wanted to take with him to Chatam House, so they walked back to the apartment. Inside the tiny coat closet was his grandfather’s old cap, one Tucker had worn several times while playing. Tucker smoothed the interior band before flipping the cap onto his head and nudging the bill slightly to the side. When he looked up, tears stood in his big blue eyes. He turned in a circle, looking around the place, and Carissa knew he was saying a final goodbye. Her heart stopped.

Suddenly, Tucker threw himself at Phillip, latching on to Phillip’s leg. She knew just how Tucker felt. He wanted an anchor, something—someone—solid and strong to hold on to in a world that suddenly felt rudderless and bleak. Grace let out a little hiccup of a sob and lifted her arms. Without a word, Phillip picked her up and cradled her against his side. While Carissa just stood there trembling inside and yearning for some of that strength, Phillip comforted her children. Worse, she looked at Nathan and saw the same hunger in his face before he turned and stomped off. Shaken to realize that her nine-year-old had more fortitude than she did just then, Carissa brusquely ordered the other children to head to the van with their brother while she went to fetch the manager. As the woman locked up the place, Phillip renewed his promise to return the next day to empty out the apartment.

“But where am I going to put everything?” Carissa demanded as they hurried to the car.

“There are attics at Chatam House.”

She shook her head. She wasn’t moving in lock, stock and barrel. If she did, she might never convince herself to leave again, and the Chatam sisters were just dear enough to let her and the children stay on indefinitely.

“Well, I have a storage unit,” he told her. “It’s barely half-full. You can start with that, and I expect they have empty spaces for rent at the same place. We’ll work something out.”

She decided that she would spend the remainder of the afternoon making some calls about new apartments, and if she couldn’t find something affordable, well, better that she should take advantage of him than his aunts.

“See you at Chatam House,” he said, moving toward the town car.

Nathan put his back to the van and folded his arms. Clearly, he didn’t want to go back to Chatam House—or anywhere else that left him in close proximity to Phillip. Carissa couldn’t blame him. Phillip Chatam was dangerous, not just to her heart but to those of her children. What other choice did they have, though, except to return to Chatam House?

She could take her children to a motel, but even the cheapest one would drain her meager funds and delay when they could move into a suitable home of their own again. No, as badly as she wanted to avoid Phillip, she had no real choice but to accept the hospitality of the Chatams. Still...she didn’t have to be right under his nose, did she?

Carissa thought about that as she drove her children back to Chatam House, and by the time they arrived, she had her argument well planned. The Chatam sisters and Kent were sitting in the formal parlor. Carissa sent the children to the sunroom then asked her aunt and uncle to come in. As soon as they arrived, Phillip explained the situation. Then Carissa spoke.

“We hate to impose on you any further, and the truth is, we’ll be much more comfortable with Uncle Chester and Aunt Hilda in the carriage house.”

Odelia blinked at that. She’d traded black onyx earrings and pleated, paper-white linen trimmed in wide black edging for purple amethysts and yard upon yard of floral chiffon. Magnolia, on the other hand, wore the same dark print cotton dress that she’d worn to the funeral; she’d traded her pumps for penny loafers, however. Only Hypatia had not changed a stitch. Still wearing gray silk, matching pumps and pearls, her silver hair twisted into a sleek chignon, she looked as neat and fresh as she had at breakfast that morning.

“Well,” Odelia said consideringly, “I suppose we could have Carol move into the house here to make room for you.”

Carissa frowned. She hadn’t meant to put anyone out of place.

“Of course, you’d still have to share a room with Grace,” Hypatia said.

“And that’s with Grace sleeping on the floor,” Hilda put in. “There’s no room for more than a half bed in either room upstairs in the carriage house.”

“Oh, we have bunk beds for the boys,” Carissa said quickly.

“They’re attic rooms, sugar,” Chester pointed out. “The ceiling slopes too much. Bunk beds won’t fit. Full beds won’t fit, for that matter.”

Feeling as if she’d swallowed a lead weight, Carissa bowed her head in defeat.

“The master suite is much more suitable,” Odelia said brightly. “And Phillip will help you settle in. Won’t you, dear?”

“I’ll start unloading the car,” he replied, before leaving the room.

Chester and Kent got up to follow. Magnolia leaned over to pat Carissa’s hand.

“The master suite is best for all concerned,” she said. “It’s large and airy. You’re welcome to set up your bunk beds, if you like.”

Carissa nodded, hoping that wouldn’t be necessary, and choked out, “Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“It’s just practical, dear.”

A sound from the hallway gave Carissa an excuse to escape. “I’d best check on the kids.” Popping up, she hurried away, determined not to cry.

This whole day, which she had started by burying her father, had just been one disappointment after another. It was as if God was determined to force her into close proximity with Phillip Chatam, no matter what she wanted. She couldn’t make any sense of it. She couldn’t even try.

Tomorrow, she decided. Tomorrow she would take another look at her options and figure out what to do next.

* * *

As Hilda went to the kitchen for the tea tray, Odelia settled back against the cushions of the elegant antique settee and lifted her eyebrows at her sisters.

“Still think I’m making mountains out of molehills?” she asked once she could be sure they wouldn’t be overheard.

Magnolia sniffed but conceded, “We have seen God move like this before.”

“I’m just not certain that Phillip is cut out for a ready-made family,” Hypatia said doubtfully.

“You saw the way he reacted with Grace and Tucker in the midst of their grief,” Odelia argued.

“And they with him,” Hypatia admitted, “but that doesn’t mean there’s a romance developing between Carissa and Phillip. Besides, I’m not convinced that he and Carissa could support those children.”

“Mmm, and the oldest boy is none too keen on him,” Magnolia pointed out.

“Nathan is none too keen on anyone or anything,” Odelia said dismissively, “but he’ll get over that. As for Phillip, he’s an intelligent man. He’ll come up with something.”

“He needs to come up with a firm understanding of God’s involvement in his life,” Hypatia stated flatly. “And I’m sorry, Odelia, but from what I can tell, Carissa doesn’t seem to like our Phillip very much.”

Sighing, Odelia had to admit that it was true, though how any woman could resist Phillip’s charm and masculinity, she didn’t know.

“Besides, you’re forgetting something else,” Magnolia pointed out. She waited until she had the rapt attention of both of her sisters before bluntly saying, “Our brother.”

Hypatia winced. “I hate to speak ill of a loved one, but Murdock can be a bit of a, um...”

“Snob,” Odelia supplied unhappily.

Murdock and his wife, Maryanne, both dedicated doctors, had initially disapproved of their oldest son Asher’s wife, Ellie, and they had actively fought the marriage of their oldest daughter, Petra, to Dale Bowen because he worked as a carpenter. They even seemed to disapprove of Phillip himself because he hadn’t chosen a “premium” profession, such as law or medicine. Murdock had even once said that he’d happily settle for banking or education for his younger son, but Phillip had chosen bookkeeping instead then hadn’t even gotten a job in the field.

Odelia could only imagine what Murdock and Maryanne’s opinion would be of a penniless widow with three children as a daughter-in-law. She hated to think that they might even be petty enough to hold it against Carissa that her aunt and uncle had been longtime employees at Chatam House. She had once heard Maryanne refer to Chester and Hilda as servants. The very term made Odelia shudder.

On the other hand, no one could say that Murdock and Maryanne weren’t dedicated parents. They had eventually accepted both Ellie and Dale, and the birth of their first grandchild, Asher and Ellie’s daughter, seemed to have softened them considerably. They had both recently retired in order to spend more time with family, and the sisters had noticed a renewed interest in spiritual matters.

“What is needed here is prayer,” Odelia decided.

“Indeed it is,” Hypatia agreed, “for all concerned.”

“Prayer,” Magnolia pointed out, “is the one thing we might do that can only help and never hurt.”

Odelia bowed her head. God’s will was always the best answer, but she couldn’t help wanting things to work out for Phillip and Carissa together. Perhaps she was just an old romantic, but it seemed like the perfect solution. Carissa needed a husband, and those children needed a father. And Phillip...so far as she could tell, Phillip just needed to grow up. Besides, next to the love of the Lord, the love between husband and wife was the most sacred and wonderful of bonds. That was a normal thing to wish for one’s nephew, wasn’t it?

* * *

“This is all too much,” Carissa said for perhaps the fourth or fifth time. “This suite is larger than Dad’s whole apartment, and moving in here is like taking over someone’s house.”

Phillip mentally kicked himself for mentioning that the master suite had once belonged to his grandparents and had always been considered the heart of the house.

“But this space was made for children,” he pointed out, setting the last of the suitcases in the center of the sitting-room floor. “Hub Senior and Gussie were very happily married and, unlike many of their generation and wealth, they were hands-on parents. Having triplet daughters prompted them to create this suite in order to keep their infants and their nurse close by.”

He went on to explain that as the other three children came along, those arrangements proved wise and useful. Even as the children got older and moved into other areas of the house, Hub and Gussie maintained the large three-bedroom suite in order to keep ailing or frightened youngsters near, especially at night.

“This is the best space for a family. Why shouldn’t you use it?”

The rest of the house had undergone various renovations over the decades, the latest being Odelia and Kent’s private suite.

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “Staying here for a few days is one thing, moving in is another.”

Tired of arguing with her, he said, “So which of the aunties are you going to annoy, then, Hypatia or Odelia?”

Carissa looked at him with something akin to horror on her lovely face. The smattering of freckles across the bridge of her pert nose extended just far enough across her high cheekbones to be scarcely visible in profile, but when she turned to fully face him, as she did now, it formed a delicate mask, a gossamer veil above which her deep blue eyes frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if you decide on the small suite, you’ll be next door to Hypatia’s bedroom, and if you take the east suite, you’ll be next to Odelia and Kent’s. Of course, here, you’re only next to...”





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/arlene-james/his-ideal-match/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.