Kitabı oxu: «Mother's Day Miracle and Blessed Baby: Mother's Day Miracle / Blessed Baby»

Praise for Lois Richer and her novels

“Mother’s Day Miracle by Lois Richer is quite possibly her finest book!…The only problem with this heartwarming story about blossoming love is that it ends too soon.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Blessed Baby, another keeper by Lois Richer, will bless you.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Lois Richer’s His Answered Prayer is another winner and will please readers who love traditional story lines with new twists and terrific characters.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

“Baby on the Way by Lois Richer is a delightful gem that sparkles with tender poignancy…. The interaction between the characters and the emotional appeal of this story make it a must-read for romance fans.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Mother’s Day Miracle
&
Blessed Baby
Lois Richer

LOIS RICHER

likes variety. From her time in human resources management to entrepreneurship, life has held plenty of surprises.

She says: “Having given up on fairy tales, I was happily involved in building a restaurant when a handsome prince walked into my life and upset all my career plans with a wedding ring. Motherhood quickly followed. I guess the seeds of my storytelling took root because of two small boys who kept demanding, ‘Then what, Mom?’”

The miracle of God’s love for His children, the blessing of true love, the joy of sharing Him with others—that is a story that can be told a thousand ways and yet still be brand-new. Lois Richer intends to go right on telling it.

Mother’s Day Miracle

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing shall be able to separate us from the love of God.

—Romans 8:38–39

To my friend and fellow writer Lyn Cote, who is

ever and always willing to help out, coerce, cajole,

push, encourage and generally mother or bully me,

as the situation requires, into getting the job done.

From one rebel to another, thanks, chum.

Chapter One

“Dear God, I wish You’d send me a husband—”

Clarissa Cartwright chewed on her lower lip as the words echoed around the empty library. The patrons were gone now, trickling away one by one, hurrying toward family and home. She could imagine them gathered around the dinner table, laughing as they shared the day’s events with their dear ones, making plans to sample the sweet-scented spring evening with that one special person who made your heart thump in anticipation.

Clarissa sat alone, her heart longing to be included, to be part of something. To be needed.

She tried to formulate the petition in her mind, to choose just the right words so God would understand how deeply the ache went. It wasn’t hard to say it out loud. She’d been turning the words around in her heart in a silent prayer for ages, even more frequently since her cousin’s Hawaiian wedding two weeks ago.

But here in the Waseka, Missouri, town library, alone among the books she’d cared for these past ten years, Clarissa felt strangely comfortable about voicing her request to the One who’d promised to answer.

“I didn’t want to be a burden, Lord, as I was growing up. But I’m an adult now, and I’d really like to be a wife.” She hesitated, then breathed out the rest of it. “I want to be a mother.”

It sounded like such a big request, so demanding. She hurried on to quantify it, make it easier for God to fulfil. “He doesn’t have to be rich. Or even handsome.”

That sounded desperate. And she wasn’t. Just lonely.

“But not just any husband,” she modified, staring at the stained and peeling plaster ceiling as she spoke. “A man I can love with all my heart. A man who doesn’t care that I’m not young and gorgeous with lots of money, or smart, and upwardly mobile. What I really want is a man who wants to settle down and have a family. I’m so tired of being alone.”

Was that everything?

Clarissa tried to get her mind off chubby babies with rosy cheeks and fisted hands. It wasn’t easy. Lately she dreamed of babies all the time. She thrust the bundles of joy out of her mind. But her replacement vision of glistening white tulle over satin and lace didn’t help matters in the least. Clarissa twisted her homemade flowered cotton skirt between her fingers, scrunching her eyes up as tightly as she dared.

“Could You please send a man who will love me?” she whispered, whooshing the words out on a wish and a prayer.

“Excuse me?”

Clarissa opened her eyes so fast she saw stars. A man stood at her counter. A big man. He had the kind of straight black glossy hair that hung over his collar as if he hadn’t had time to get it cut. His eyes burned a deep rich chocolate in a face full of angles and planes. His lashes were—

“Excuse me, miss?” He cleared his throat and frowned at her. “Can you help me?”

Could God answer this fast? Clarissa dismissed the question almost as quickly as it entered her brain. Of course He could. He was God!

She swallowed down her surprise and nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“Oh.” He looked as if he wasn’t sure she was telling the truth. But when a quick glance around assured him there was no one else lurking nearby he shrugged. “I’m looking for some books on birds. They’re for my ne—son.”

He had a son. He was married. Her hopes dashed to the worn marble floor. It was all a mistake. A silly, childish mistake. This man wasn’t for her.

“Miss?”

“Yes. Yes, I heard you. I’m just thinking.” She pretended she needed time to recall that section eight held most of her books on bird-watching. “What kind of birds?”

His eyebrows rose. “What kind? I don’t know.” His brow furrowed, then he shrugged defensively. “The kind that fly, I guess. Just birds, that’s all.”

Clarissa smiled, rose from her perch behind the big oak desk and clambered awkwardly down stairs that normally gave her no problem whatsoever. “I’ll show you,” she offered and led the way.

The nature section was only two rows over. Clarissa stopped in front of it, considered the contents, then pulled out several of the largest picture books.

“Depending on how old he is, he might like these. They have wonderful illustrations.” She opened it to show him the gorgeous colors of a parrot, and then flushed with embarrassment as the hardcover tumbled to the floor.

It was a good thing the kindergarten class wasn’t here to see this. Her cast-iron rule about respecting books would be open to criticism by those curious five-year-olds.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured when he handed it back.

“It’s okay. Actually, I should have been clearer. I’m looking for something that would show some birds native to the area. Pierce is doing a project for school.”

He tossed back his hair, raking through it with one hand. Clarissa caught the fresh clean scent of soap and smiled. She liked a man who didn’t pour overpowering cologne all over himself.

You have no business liking this one, her conscience reminded. He’s married. With a son.

“Feel free to look through any of these then. Maybe you’ll find something you like.”

She stepped back, indicating the shelf. When he bent to peer at the titles without answering her, Clarissa decided his actions spoke louder than words. He hadn’t even noticed her. And why would he? Nobody noticed Clarissa. She’d become a fixture around here.

Why, I doubt anyone even noticed I’ve been gone, she told herself sternly. It wasn’t as if she had a tan to show for her vacation in Hawaii. Her skin was too fair to do anything but burn an ugly beet red that peeled in the most unbecoming way, and she’d prevented that with liberal amounts of sunblock.

Turning with a sigh, she walked slowly back up to her desk and began tallying the column titled “Lent for the Day.”

“I’ll take these. If you don’t mind, that is. I don’t have a card.” He held out four of the biggest books hesitantly. “Is that too many?”

“Certainly not. And I can make a card up for you right now. Name please?” She smiled and pulled an application form over, her pen poised to record the necessary statistics.

“Wade Featherhawk. Box 692. Telephone…”

He listed the information rapidly. Clarissa had to write quickly to get it all down.

“Good.” She picked up the card and leaflet and handed them over. “The books are due in two weeks. The library hours are posted inside the leaflet, but you can always slip the books through the slot if it’s after hours. By the way, I’m Clarissa Cartwright.” She held out her hand.

Stark, utter silence greeted her announcement. The brown-black eyes that twinkled mere moments ago now frosted over. His hand, halfway up, dropped back down by his side.

“Oh.” He took the books from her carefully, making sure that their fingers had no contact. “I, uh, I should probably tell you right off that I’m not interested.”

“I beg your pardon?” Clarissa frowned, glancing at the clock. She was two minutes late closing. Hm, according to Hawaii time, that was…

“I’m not looking for a wife.” The blunt-edged words came from lips stretched in a thin line of animosity. “I can handle the kids myself. I don’t need somebody tagging around after me, nagging me to do this or that. I can manage my life just fine.”

Clarissa froze. Surely he hadn’t heard her praying? Her face heated at the worried look in his eye. She licked her lips and stuttered out a response.

“I—I d-don’t know what you mean. I have never—”

“Look, I probably shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just that Norman Paisley told me about you being single and all. Then Mrs. Nettles expounded on your assets as the perfect wife. After that a lady I’ve never met before told me how great you are at caring for people. In fact, that’s all I’ve heard for the past week.”

He didn’t sound exactly thrilled with what he learned either, Clarissa decided grimly.

She shook with the sheer humiliation of it. They were trying to marry her off again! And to the first available man who stepped into town. The heat of embarrassment clawed up her neck and flooded her face. Desperately she searched for composure while praying that he hadn’t heard her prayer.

“I’m so sorry!” She flushed again at his disparaging look and searched for the shortest possible explanation. “I was orphaned when I was young. My parents worked overseas, and I was too much of a burden. My Gran raised me. Along with half the town. They feel responsible, sort of a community of adopted parents. They’re kind of…well, rather like a big, nosy family.” Clarissa gulped, knowing she was babbling, but unable to stop.

“I’ve been away, you see. On vacation. I didn’t realize…”

She made herself stop at the less than spellbound look on his face. It was obvious he couldn’t care less. He shifted from one foot to the other in patent disinterest, politely waiting for her to stop speaking.

“Well, I just wanted to warn you that I’m not in the market.” His lips pinched tight as he glared at her. It was obvious that he hated having to spell it out.

Only when she peered into his eyes did Clarissa catch a hint of the suspicion in his eyes. Wariness. As if he were waiting. But for what? Clarissa mustered her composure, straightened her spine and smiled cooly.

“I’m sorry you felt you had to defend yourself, Mr. Featherhawk. I’ve lived here all of my life, and the people here tend to think of me as their responsibility. Rest assured, I have no intention of chasing you. In spite of what they told you, I don’t need a husband that badly.”

“Sorry. My mistake.” He frowned as if he didn’t quite believe her, but was prepared to accept it just the same. “No problem.”

The odd look he cast over her made her wonder if he hadn’t heard every word of her desperately uttered prayer, but Clarissa refused to speculate. It was done. She couldn’t change anything. Far better to keep her pride intact and pretend nothing untoward had happened here this afternoon. There would be time enough to cry over spilled milk later, at home, alone.

“The library will be closing in just a few minutes. Is there anything else I can help you with?” She kept her friendly smile in place through sheer perversity, merely nodding when he shook his head. “Fine. Have a good day.”

“You, too,” he mumbled before striding across the room and out the door.

As the heavy oak banged shut behind him, Clarissa heaved a sigh of relief mingled with regret. He was so handsome!

“Okay, God. I get the message. You’re in control. You’ll decide when and if I should get married, let alone be a mother.” She closed and locked the fine drawer, which never held more than three dollars anyway, placed her pen in the holder and pushed her chair neatly behind the big desk.

“It’s in Your hands,” she acquiesced with a sigh. “But I’m not getting any younger. I hope You keep in mind that I’m no spring chicken, and I would like to enjoy my kids while I’m still young enough to keep up with them. If I get kids, that is.”

Since there was no audible reply, or any other sign from above, Clarissa picked up the sweater she’d worn this morning, grabbed her handbag and her empty lunch sack and walked out of the musty building. It took only a second to lock the solid worn door.

Clarissa trod down the steps carefully, grateful for the fresh late-afternoon breeze that still blew. She needed a little air after her first day back at work.

A busy little town that drew on the agricultural industry surrounding it, Waseka hummed with early springtime activity. The place was so small that everybody knew everybody else, and their business. Which was part of Clarissa’s problem, but also part of the reason she loved it here.

It meant that they all knew how Harrison Harder had abandoned her the day before her wedding, to marry that city upstart who’d only been back in town for three weeks and claimed to be Clarissa’s best friend. Today the reminder of his defection only made her smile.

Harrison Harder! The same man who’d trailed after her since seventh grade, defended her from Tommy Cummings when she hadn’t needed his help, and vowed that he’d never love anyone else.

Clarissa had smiled her way through those awful days, too. The nights she spent weeping for a precious dream that had died. It was then that she’d realized that Harrison had only been the means to an end. Now she wasn’t sure she’d ever really loved him, not the way a wife needed to love her husband. He’d been her way of getting the family she craved, of avoiding having to move in with one of the great-aunts just for company.

Her minister had tried to counsel her, to tell her that sometimes God sent roadblocks so people could see they were going down the wrong path. He was staunch in his belief that God had something much better in store for her. Clarissa tried to accept that, but with every day that passed, all she felt was more empty, more alone, more of an outsider in a town where everyone had someone.

That solitary feeling magnified when Gran died three years ago and Clarissa was left with a big, old house, and a hole in her heart. Who would she love now? Would she never have the family she’d longed for ever since her parents had died?

But all that was years ago. Clarissa didn’t have any tears left for Harrison. Instead, she stubbornly clung to her dream. A family, a big, happy family where she showered all the devotion she wanted on people who would reciprocate with enough to fill her needy heart.

She ached for her own circle of love, especially now, after that wedding in Hawaii where honeymoon couples abounded. In fact, the surfeit of amorous couples found at those weddings was a perfectly good reason for avoiding the next one!

“Hi, Clarissa. Noticed you met our newest resident.” Millie Perkins giggled, her broad face wreathed in smiles. “Now there’s a fine specimen of a man. He’d make a good husband for you. And is he handsome!”

“You mean Wade Featherhawk? Yes, I met him.” Clarissa blushed, recalling that prayer. “I don’t think he’s interested in me, Millie.” Belatedly she remembered he was married.

“Nonsense! Of course he’s interested. Just doesn’t want to seem too eager is all. A man in his condition needs a good woman.” Millie thumped her purse as if that settled the matter.

In his condition? Clarissa’s radar went on high alert. She didn’t want to fix anyone else’s problems. She’d had enough of that with Billy Stuart and Lester Short, two men she’d once agreed to date. She still regretted those hastily made encounters.

“He said he was looking for a book for his son.” Clarissa half-whispered it, wondering how long it would take the older woman to spill the beans she was obviously so anxious to share.

The day had been long. Clarissa was tired and hungry and she wanted to go home. She wouldn’t tell a soul that what she really wanted was to spend some time thinking about that tall, dark man she’d met this afternoon. Instead, she prepared to hear the local’s lowdown on one Wade Featherhawk.

“You’ve been away so I’ll fill you in. Came to town the day after you left. Seems Jerry Crane is a friend of his, and Wade put a bid in on that country club Jerry’s building.” Millie stopped just long enough to gulp for air. “Jerry announced the winners last week, and first thing you know we have a new resident.” She nodded smugly, as if she’d done her share of arranging that.

“So he’s a carpenter. That’s nice.” Clarissa pushed away the thought of those big, rough hands.

“Apparently a good one, too. Or so Jerry says.” Millie huffed once more and continued. “He didn’t come alone. No, sir. He’s got a passel of kids. Not his, though. And no wife. Myrna Mahoney over at Sally’s Café told me that. The bunch of ’em were living at the motel for a while. Must have been terrible expensive. Heard they moved. She couldn’t find out where. He doesn’t talk much. The strong, silent type.”

Millie hitched up her purse, adjusted the snug skirt surrounding her burgeoning hips and shoved her hat farther down on her freshly permed hair. “I’ve gotta go, hon. Burt doesn’t like for me to be away too long when they’re seeding.”

“Yes, of course. Bye, Millie.” Clarissa, embarrassed to find herself so interested in a perfect stranger, waved politely and started toward home once more, quickly jaywalking across to the fire hall to avoid Betty Fields, whom she saw waiting on the next corner.

She opened the white picket gate that led to her yard and stepped inside, appreciating the lovely old house as she went.

“It needs a coat of paint and some work on the roof, but it’s still a great house,” she assured herself. “A perfect house for a family. With a little work.”

Dinner didn’t take long. She’d set out her pork chop to thaw that morning. As she waited for her potato to boil, she wished again for a microwave. Better yet, a family to cook for! Making food for one was so boring. Baking one potato in the oven meant heating up the whole house, and it seemed foolish to do that with electricity so high. As she pulled a bottle of blue cheese dressing out of the fridge, she caught sight of the chocolate Valentine she’d given herself.

“Should have thrown that out.” Instead, she closed the door on it, just as she’d shut down her hopes and dreams. There was no point wishing for something that was never going to happen.

Since it was still light outside after her meal and the silence inside the house was somehow depressing, Clarissa decided to finish working her flower bed. She’d always been one of the first to have pansies and petunias blooming. This year wouldn’t be any different.

It is a silly dream, she lectured herself, kneeling to insert the delicate bedding plants. Lots of people would say I’m too old to keep daydreaming about kids. Even if I had a husband who wanted them. Which I don’t.

She sighed at the hopelessness of it all and transplanted another flat of flowers.

“Can I see your birds?” A little boy with freckles on his nose and a spot of dirt on his cheek, peered through the pickets of her backyard fence. “They’re goldfinches, aren’t they?”

Clarissa thrust the dream of cherubic babies out of her mind and stared at the chubby little boy who stood impatiently waiting to enter her yard.

“No one ever uses that gate,” she murmured, frowning. “I keep it oiled, of course. But still, it’s very difficult to open.”

“I can climb over.” In a matter of seconds the little boy hiked himself over the fence. He stood before her, panting as he studied her birds. One bit of his jeans still clung to the top of the fence, but he ignored that. “How many do you got?”

“What? Oh, the birds. I’m not sure. Eight, I think. I don’t keep them caged, but they always come here for the seeds.”

“That’s ‘cause they like livin’ in the woods over there.” The child inclined his head to the wild growth of trees and shrubs that occupied the land next to hers. “Finches prefer to build their nests in low bushes or trees.”

“I expect so.” She studied him. He was a curious blend. A child, yes, but with intelligent eyes and an obvious thirst for knowledge. She remembered the man at the library. “Do you like birds?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, yes!” His face was a delight to watch, eyes shining, mouth stretched wide in a smile of pure bliss. “I collect pictures of them.” He flopped down on the grass beside her and opened the pad he carried. Inside he’d detailed a carefully organized listing of birds he’d seen, with the odd picture taped here and there. “What’s your name?”

“Clarissa Cartwright,” she told him smiling. “And yours?”

“Pete. Do you have any cookies?” His look beseeched her to say yes. “I sure am hungry.”

He couldn’t have known that was the path straight to her heart, Clarissa decided. He couldn’t possibly know how much she longed to share her special double fudge nut chip cookies with a child who would appreciate the thick chocolate chunks.

“As a matter of fact, I do have cookies. Would you like some?”

He nodded vehemently. “I’m starved! I didn’t eat nothin’ for supper.”

“Why ever not?” She frowned. Children needed good nourishing food. His parents should be more careful. She wondered who they were.

“Supper didn’t taste so good. Tildy made it an’ she burns a lot of stuff.” He glanced behind quickly, then lowered his voice. “But I’m not s’ posed to say nothin’ so’s I don’t hurt her feelings.”

“That’s very kind of you.” Clarissa got to her feet, happy to leave the planting if it meant sharing her cookies. “I’ll bring some milk out too, shall I?”

He trailed along behind her, up the stairs and in through the back door, with nary a hint of indecision.

“Do you live here all by yourself?” he asked, his face filled with curiosity as he looked around.

“Mm-hm. It was my grandmother’s house. She left it for me to live in when she died.” Clarissa set six cookies on a plate, poured two large glasses of milk, then checked to be sure Tabby the cat had some milk in her bowl. “My parents died when I was a little girl. My grandma looked after me.”

“I don’t gots no mother, neither.” Pete took the plate and obediently carried it out onto her veranda behind her. “She died. My dad, too. Me an’ my brother and my dopey sisters are the only ones left.” He took a huge bite of cookie. “I’m getting ‘dopted.”

“That’s nice.” Clarissa smiled to hide the shaft of pain she felt at the sad story. “I’m sure your new parents must love you very much.” She set the milk down and pulled out a chair.

“Enough to confine him to his room for a week if he doesn’t learn to stay in his own yard,” a husky voice informed her sardonically. “There’s something wrong with your back gate.”

Clarissa gasped at the familiar timbre of those low tones. She whirled around, her face draining of color as she met the dark forbidding gaze of the man who’d been in her library that very afternoon.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, noticing that he’d left the front gate open. She hurried to close it. “I don’t allow cats in my yard,” she told him soberly. “They bother the birds.”

“But you got a cat in your house. I seen it.” Pete’s shrill voice burst into the conversation.

“You ‘saw’ it. And Tabby doesn’t go outside.” Clarissa stood where she was, her hands buried in the voluminous pockets of her long skirt. “Are you Pete’s father?”

“His name is Pierce and you know very well that I’m his uncle. I’m sure the entire town has informed you of my existence by now. I have to tell you that I do not appreciate having to scour the neighborhood to find my nephew, Miss Cartwright.”

“Hey, I didn’t steal him!” Clarissa burst out, affronted by the implication in that low voice. “He came to look at the birds.” Another thought occurred and she whirled to face Pete, who was now enjoying his fifth cookie. “Is Pierce your real name?”

“Yeah.” Pierce looked shamefaced, his soft melting eyes begged forgiveness. “But I like people to call me Pete. It’s not so…weird.” He pocketed the last cookie, then stared up at the big man who stood towering over them both. “I’ll go home now, Uncle Wade. I’m sorry I disobeyed.”

Clarissa hadn’t thought it possible, but the stern craggy face softened, just a little.

“It’s all right this time, son. But please stay in the yard. That’s why I rented the place, so there would be room for all of you to run and jump and play without getting into trouble.” His uncle eyed the torn jeans with a rueful smile. “Another pair? How do you manage to do this, Pierce?”

“I dunno. It just happens.” Pierce shuffled down the steps, then raced around to the back of the house for his book. “See ya later,” he called to Clarissa, then vaulted over the fence with a huge leap.

“You’re his uncle?” Somehow the knowledge just now made its way to her brain. “But this afternoon you said you were looking for a book for your son. And Pete, I mean Pierce, said he was adopted.” She frowned, trying to fit it all together.

As the worst possible scenario flew into her mind, she gasped. She’d seen those milk-carton pictures for years, children who’d been stolen from one parent by another.

“You can forget whatever you’re thinking. I am their legal guardian.” His rumbly voice openly mocked her.

“They?” She pounced on the information, struggling to assimilate it all. “Who are they?”

His face twisted into a wry smile. “One of the meddlers around here really must have slipped up.”

When Clarissa only frowned in perplexity, he sighed, rolled his eyes, then thrust out one hand.

“I suppose we didn’t get off to a very good start. You already know my name. And yes, before you ask, I’m part Cree. On my mother’s side. She kept her name.” His dark fuming eyes dared her to make something of that. “My sister and her husband died and left their kids for me to look after. Tildy and Lacey are twins. They’re twelve. Jared is ten and Pierce is seven. We moved here for the work. I would have thought the gossips would have imparted at least that much.”

Clarissa took his hand and shook it, feeling the zap of his touch shiver all the way up her arm.

“I don’t listen to gossip,” she assured him in a daze.

Four children? This man was raising four children? Alone? “Welcome to Waseka.” She managed to get the words out despite the shock that held her jaw tense.

“In case you didn’t understand earlier, I think I should make one thing perfectly clear,” he muttered, yanking his hand away and shoving it into the pocket of his worn but very well fitted jeans. “I’m not looking for a wife. Despite what people think, men are as capable of parenting as women. Nobody’s going to go hungry or get abandoned or forgotten about. I promised my sister I’d care for them, and I’ll keep my word. I’ll do my duty. Me. By myself.” His lips tightened. “In spite of the locals’ opinion, I’ve been doing just fine for several months now. And I intend to keep it that way.”

She wondered why he sounded so torn about it. Then the impact of his words hit home.

“Now, just a minute here.” Clarissa felt the flush push up from her neck, right to the roots of her string-straight hair.

“No, you wait. I know what small towns are like. Nosy bunch of old fools! Everybody’s been hinting about you since the day I walked into this one-horse place. ‘Clarissa’s a wonderful cook. Clarissa’s so good with kids. Clarissa would make you the perfect wife. She just loves to care for people.’ Yak, yak, yak.” He snorted derisively, eyeing the plate that now held only a few crumbs. “I can see you’ve already been practicing your motherly wiles on my nephew.”

“Wiles? I wasn’t—”

“I’ve heard it all before, you know. Too many times. The sweet praise for a man who can care for four children. The innocent suggestion that I might need help. The generous offer to cook us a healthy meal. Out of friendship, of course! Matchmakers!” One corner of his unsmiling mouth tipped down.

“Forget about whatever you’re planning, Miss Cartwright. We’re not in the market. I don’t need the aggravation.” Wade Featherhawk turned and stomped down the walk, his face grim and forbidding.

Clarissa followed him down, her brain working furiously. “But, wait a minute. I didn’t even—”

He whirled around faster than she expected, bumping into her. One tanned hand grabbed her arm, waited until she was steady, then fell away as if it had been burned.

“No, you wait. Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough. I’m not interested in whatever you’re offering. My family is doing just fine. I don’t need your interference.” His snapping black eyes told her just how little she interested him. When Clarissa didn’t back off, he smiled darkly.

“I don’t go for blondes, and even if I did, I’d pick someone strong enough to handle four kids, not a woman who looks like she’d blow away in the first storm that came along.” His eyes glinted black as ebony. “You want to mother someone, Miss Cartwright? Find your own kids.”

Clarissa cringed away from him, but she refused to allow him to get away with saying such things to her. Whatever was behind his glowering countenance, it couldn’t cover this deplorable lack of good manners.

“Believe me, Mr. Featherhawk, I wouldn’t bother to give you the time of day! But I feel sorry for those children. If you’re this cranky all the time, they must really bask in your company. A veritable joy to live with!”

Clarissa had never been so furious in her life. She stomped up the stairs, picked up Pierce’s empty glass and plate, and stormed into the house, slamming the door behind her. As usual, the door immediately flopped open, and waved back and forth on its hinges with the annoying creak it always made when ill-treated.

A burst of laughter from outside made her flush even hotter. She slapped the dishes down and whirled back to the door to face his supercilious look.

“While you’re looking for someone to share your life with, I’d make sure he knows how to build. This mausoleum is going to fall down around your ears if you don’t do something soon, Miss Cartwright. Not that I’m volunteering.” He frowned, took a step backward and shook his head. “No way! I’m not into masochism. Good night.”

Clarissa seethed with indignation. Of all the arrogant, rude, obnoxious men, Wade Featherhawk had to take the cake. She closed the door firmly on his snide words and then wondered if he’d been referring only to the house.

The phone pealed a summons and Clarissa picked it up reluctantly. Please Lord, not another busybody.

“Hi, Prissy! How was Hawaii?” Her college buddy, Blair Delayney’s bright voice echoed from the far reaches of the Rocky Mountains. “Meet any gorgeous men?”

“Nope, not a one. I’m still part of the group. How about you and Briony?” She wouldn’t say a thing about the one who’d just left her front yard.

It was an old joke. In college, all three women had planned to be married and then lost their grooms one way or another before the ceremony. Down but not out, they’d banded together, calling themselves the Three Spinsters, vowing never to go looking for love again.

The only problem was, none of them could seem to accept in their hearts that love wouldn’t find them. Someday.

“Oh, we’re both still old maids. How was the wedding?” Blair always demanded details.

“It was lovely. On the beach, at sunset. That exclusive club was something else, though I felt out of place. I didn’t know anyone except Great-Aunt Martha and she’s deaf.” Clarissa described the elegant dresses of the guests as best she could.

“I told you to take along a friend. Hawaii’s a hard place to be alone.” Blair’s voice softened in commiseration.

“Tell me about it.” Clarissa rested her cheek against the coolness of the wall. “Everywhere I went there were couples. Old ones, young ones, but always couples. Even some with kids.”

“I’m sorry, Priss.” Blair and Bri were the only two who knew how much she wanted to be a mother.

The old nickname came from her college days when she was constantly chiding them about cleaning up the apartment. It was somehow comforting to Clarissa. “Don’t be. I managed all right once the aunt left and I got to look around on my own. There’s this museum, Blair. You wouldn’t believe the stuff!”

She launched into a description of the Bishop Museum that left little time for her to recount the lonely evenings spent walking along the silver-lined sand by herself, longing for someone to share all that beauty with. By the time Blair rang off, she was hooting with laughter. Which was exactly what Clarissa wanted. No one feeling sorry for her.

She rinsed off the dishes and stacked them in the cavernous dishwasher, empty except for her dinner plate and cutlery. She considered Wade’s stinging assessment as she worked. Her lips pinched tight in anger as she remembered Pierce’s yearning look at the pie she’d made for Mr. Harper.

“We’ll see who has the last laugh, Mr. Wade Featherhawk. We’ll just see. I wouldn’t offer to help you if you begged me on bended knee!”

The mental picture this brought to mind made her burst out laughing. Wade Featherhawk, on his knees, to her?

“In your dreams, woman.” She giggled out loud. She’d often dreamed of being proposed to, but it wasn’t going to happen this time either, prayer notwithstanding. “Just forget about him.”

If only it was that easy.

Chapter Two

Two weeks later Wade glanced around the old-fashioned church and grimaced as he caught sight of Clarissa Cartwright’s willowy figure two pews ahead. Her dainty blue-and-white-flowered dress accentuated her gorgeous blond hair and the narrowness of her waist, along with other assets he forbade himself to notice. She was tiny. As he studied her clear profile and smooth white skin, his body tensed, his hands clenched and his jaw tightened. Wade told himself it was anger.

Everywhere he went these days, she seemed to be there, waiting in the wings, a silent reminder that he wasn’t a very good father, that he didn’t know diddly about parenting. That duty and obligation were no substitute for the mother’s love that the kids needed.

She never said a word, of course, but he knew she was inaudibly pointing out the fact that he didn’t have a clue as to what he was doing when it came to raising kids, especially girls.

Just his luck that Tildy and Lacey had Clarissa for a Sunday school teacher, Jared drew her as his special pal in Boys’ Club, and Pierce couldn’t stop singing the praises of her dim, moldy old library. Some luck, Wade decided grimly.

No sooner was Wade’s back turned than Clarissa invited one or the other of them over to that mausoleum. For a snack, to plan an outing, to practice a new recipe. Blah, blah, blah.

Wade was fed up to the teeth hearing about Miss Clarissa Cartwright and her wonderful life! All it did was make him look incompetent and lacking. Which he was! But he didn’t need it rubbed in.

“Good to see you here.” A man whose name Wade couldn’t remember pumped his hand up and down, his face beaming. “Glad to have you in Waseka.”

“Uh, thanks.” Wade felt vaguely ashamed of his churlish behavior. Not everyone was all bad.

“You ever bowl? We’re one short on our team and I sure wouldn’t mind getting someone who can roll a few strikes. Call me up if you’re interested. Ed Mason’s the name.”

“Thanks. I don’t have a lot of free time, but I’ll think about it.” Wade watched the other man saunter away, then turned to gather his brood. Instead, he found himself virtually alone inside the building. Now what?

He sauntered down the aisle and out the door. They were there on the lawn, all four of them, clustered around her, laughing and giggling. Probably at some remark she’d made about him. Wade felt his jaw tighten in annoyance and struggled to suppress it. Why did she get under his skin like this?

“Really? A picnic? What would we have?” That was Jared, consumed with the condition of his perpetually empty stomach.

“Mm, fried chicken, maybe? With potato salad. And watermelon scones.” Clarissa brushed a hand over Tildy’s riot of inexpertly permed curls. “Maybe some chocolate layer cake for dessert. Or strawberry shortcake. How does that sound?”

“Like I died and went to heaven.” Jared groaned, patting his ribs. “When can we go?”

“You can’t.” Wade walked up behind them, frowning in reproof at Clarissa. “Miss Cartwright has other things to do. And we can manage meals perfectly well on our own.”

“But Clarissa was going to teach me how to make fried chicken for my home ec class,” Tildy protested. “And Lacey wants to get some help with that biology paper.”

“I’ll help her. And we can buy fried chicken in town. Or make it at home. Let’s go.” He herded them toward the sidewalk. “Tildy, you, Lacey and the boys go ahead and get lunch started. I just have to stop and talk to someone for a minute. I’ll be right there.”

“Yes, Uncle Wade.” Tildy didn’t even look at him, but he could tell from the pout on her pretty face that she wasn’t happy with his edict. Her heels hit the pavement with hard, knee-jarring thumps.

Wade winced at the girl’s anger while his own temper inched up another degree. It was all her fault! All this meddling from their nosy neighbor had made the kids rebellious. He turned back toward the church with vengeance fogging his brain.

“Miss Cartwright, I asked you to leave us alone. Why can’t you respect my wishes?”

She stared at him, her eyes big pools of innocence in her long thin face.

“I didn’t encourage them. Really! It was just that Pierce mentioned it was a lovely day for bird-watching. Then Jared suggested a picnic, and I joined in his game of pretend. I wasn’t hinting anything.”

Her face, open and oh, so innocent, peered back at him.

“Yeah, right.” He led her out of the way of the crowd and off to one side. Then he stood in front of her, daring her to try to wiggle out of this one. “I’m asking you for the last time to leave my kids alone. We don’t need your help. It was nice of you to do what you’ve done, and I do appreciate it, but we’re settled in now and we’re doing just fine by ourselves.”

She looked a little surprised and confused by his words. That blank, credulous look made him say something he shouldn’t have.

“Please, lady, just leave us alone. I know you want to help but you can’t. No one can. I’ve got to do this on my own, no matter how much I might want somebody there to share the load. We’ve got to learn how to be a family together. Alone.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you,” she whispered, her face ashen. The twinkle of happiness he’d glimpsed earlier disappeared. “I just thought I could help out. I didn’t think you’d find out about the jeans or the ironing.”

Wade felt his face freeze. He allowed his gaze to slip just a little lower, to the pressed cotton of his shirt. He should have known Lacey hadn’t done it!

“They’re so busy doing chores all day, they don’t have time to play. Everything is so serious for them. I was just trying to lend a hand.” Her earnest voice pleaded with him to understand, dropped almost to a whisper. “I know what it’s like to feel as if you have to earn your keep.”

Wade felt the pain in those softly spoken words and wondered what had caused it. Clarissa Cartwright hardly looked like a little Cinderella. In spite of that, he couldn’t stem the tide of chagrin that rose in a wave of gall. How dare she go to his house, check out his family and how he provided for them? How dare she snoop through his home on the pretext of mending their worn clothes? He knew they weren’t the best, but at least they were clean and paid for. Well, most of the time they were clean.

“Look, maybe we don’t live the kind of dream life you want. I know the kids have to pitch in. But it won’t hurt them. They’ll learn accountability. Raising them is up to me, not you.” He felt a tide of red rise in his cheeks as he noticed the tiny mending stitches on the knee of his jeans.

Even in the best of all possible worlds, his nieces couldn’t sew like that, and he should have known it, would have known it if he’d paid more attention to them.

“I love those kids as if they were my very own. They’re not going to get mixed up in drugs or booze or any of that stuff as long as I’m around.” He took a deep breath and continued. “But they’re not going to have a mother, either. Not even a pretend one. And they have to face that.” He took a deep breath and went on the attack.

“So I wish you’d stop trying to weasel your way into our lives just so you can prove to everyone how much better off you’d treat them. In two words, Miss Cartwright—butt out!”

Wade turned and found several pairs of eyes on him. He knew then that the congregation had heard every word he’d said. Before the noon siren screamed across the town, they’d spread it far and wide. A surge of remorse washed over him, but he thrust it away, his mind boiling with frustration.

Maybe now these people would stop shoving Clarissa Cartwright’s single status in his face!

Wade made himself spend time talking with Pastor Mike, chatting to Jerry about the walk-in cedar closet he wanted in his house. By the time he strode down the sidewalk, hands clenched inside his pockets, most of the folks had dispersed. And that included Clarissa. He’d known the exact moment she’d scurried away, head downcast, shoulders slumped.

He forced his mind away off her and took a detour on the way home in order to concentrate on the list of jobs he’d garnered around town. With a little luck, maybe he could make enough to put some money in the bank for that rainy day that kept happening when work ran out. He was going to need a little extra cash. Especially now, with the country club project delayed.

It wasn’t five minutes before he got caught up in studying the Victorian architecture of the row of houses on Primrose Lane. He kept walking, trying to remember the details he’d planted deep in his brain last year in order to gain acceptance to the college of architecture.

As he studied gables and turrets, Wade let his mind turn over the problem of life in Waseka. He’d tried to keep to himself, tried to avoid the inevitable matchmaking. He’d been through it enough times. And every time the kids got their hopes up, he had to dash them because the woman in question always wanted something he couldn’t give. She sure wasn’t looking to take on a ready-made family that belonged to someone else. At least, that’s what he told himself. The truth was, he didn’t want the responsibility of yet another person cluttering up his life.

Wade trudged down the street with the sun beating on his head, lost in his thoughts of providing a future for four needy children who were totally dependent on him. His shoulders bowed under all that being their parent demanded, the knowledge that he was no good at responsibility nagging in the back of his brain.

He flinched in surprise when small, sharp-nailed fingers closed around his arm, pinching tight in their effort to penetrate and thus slow him down. Wade flung the hand away, then whirled around to see who was attacking him.

She stood there, sea foam eyes turbulent with temper. Clarissa might have to look up to meet his gaze, but she certainly didn’t seem intimidated. She looked more like a wasp about to sting.

“How dare you embarrass me like that? I didn’t help them out because of you! I wouldn’t do anything for you. You’re too stubborn and far too arrogant to want to help, Mr. Featherhawk.” Her words were so sharp, they could have torn a strip off him.

He waited, mentally flinching at the fury in her face, but keeping his own countenance impassive.

“Did I mention self-absorbed?” She crossed both arms across her chest and glared. “Or conceited? I did it for them, you know. Because they deserve some decent food, some time to play, a clean house and a shoulder to cry on once in a while. They’ve had to grow up awfully fast since their parents’ deaths. Can’t you let them be children for even one afternoon without lording it over them and forcing them to wallow in the drudgery?”

Oh, brother! Over the past two weeks they must have poured out the whole ugly story. As if he wanted to deprive them of anything when they’d already lost both parents. Wade sighed, his whole body sagging with tiredness as she continued her diatribe. As he waited, she slapped her hands on her hips and laughed, a harsh discordant sound that didn’t match her delicate looks.

“You’re so worried about getting trapped—who would want to marry you anyway?” She sniffed, her snubbed nose tipped upward in haughty reproof. “It’s not as if you’re the least bit pleasant to be around. I feel sorry for those kids, living with a bear like you, Wade Featherhawk. You carry a chip big enough for the whole Cree nation.”

Clarissa gave him one last huff, then turned and stomped away, her heels tap-tapping on the sidewalk. Openmouthed, Wade watched her until she closed her white picket gate, climbed the steps to her rickety old house and firmly closed the door on him. He shook his head to clear it, wondering why he’d chosen this street anyway.

Then he turned the corner toward home, his shoulders hunching forward as he thought over what she’d said.

“Way to go, bud! You’ve already got so many friends in this place, you can really afford to slap down the one person who was willing to help out, no questions asked. Smart, very smart.”

He shut his mind on that mocking inner voice and kept walking toward the park. He needed to think….

Wade wasn’t sure how much time passed before he wandered out of the park and down the street. He scanned the sky, but that didn’t help. Heritage or not, he couldn’t tell time by the sun. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the plume of smoke coming from down the street. From his house! Wade broke into a sprint that carried him through the front door and into the kitchen in less than a minute.

“Tildy? Something’s burning.” He grabbed a pot mitt and lifted the smoke-belching pan from the stove, searching for a place to set it down.

Since the counter was covered with dirty dishes and the table still held the remains of breakfast, he carried the pot outside and across the backyard to dump its charred remains into the garbage barrel.

Clarissa Cartwright stood across the alley, in her own yard, fork poised over a barbeque. She raised one eyebrow quizzically.

“Problem?” she enquired softly, glancing down at the pot.

“Not at all,” he lied.

“Oh, good. Well, if the children want to accept my invitation, I have extra steaks in the fridge and lots of potatoes right here, ready to roast. There’s apple pie for dessert and I made fresh lemonade. They’re more than welcome.”

Meaning he wasn’t? Wade sighed. No question about it. He’d burned his bridges there. She’d probably cross the street to avoid him from now on. But that was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

She turned the item on her barbeque and Wade felt his mouth water, his tongue prickle, his stomach rumble. A T-bone steak! What he wouldn’t give for a nice juicy steak on the rare side with a fluffy baked potato heaping with sour cream. And a slice of apple pie.

He closed his eyes and gulped, swallowing the gall that rose in his throat as he humbly ate crow. You didn’t take someone up on an invitation like that after you’d embarrassed them in front of half the town.

“Th-thanks anyway. But we’ve got our dinner ready.” He wished he could chuck the pot into the garbage can, too. It would take forever to clean.

“Yes, I can see that.” She gave him one last questioning look, then turned her back and lifted a sizzling steak from the grill, watching as the juices dripped onto the coals. “A little too rare, I think.” She laid it back down.

Wade swallowed again, scraped what he could out of his pot and returned to his messy, smoke-filled home with legs like cement.

As he gathered the kids around the table to munch on tasteless, white buttered bread spread with gobs of oily peanut butter, he faced the condemning looks in their eyes.

“To think we could have been eating real food. Steak,” Jared grumbled, glaring at the sandwich. “And pie. I heard her from my window. Pie!”

“Know what my Sunday school lesson was about today, Uncle Wade?” Lacey’s pretty face darkened like a thundercloud about to dump its contents all over him.

“I can’t imagine.” He chewed slowly, almost gagging when he tried to swallow the sticky concoction.

“Pride,” Lacey informed him sagely. “Silly, stupid pride. It always comes before a fall.”

“Oh. That’s nice, dear.”

A resounding silence greeted his words. Then, one by one, the kids left the table, their sandwiches torn apart, but mostly uneaten.

Wade took a gulp of water, then folded his napkin over the rest of his sandwich. He couldn’t eat another bite either.

Grimly he wondered how much damage it would do to his image to admit defeat and take them all out to the fast-food place for supper. He’d almost decided to do it when he saw Pierce sneak across the backyard and vault over her fence.

Not two minutes later the boy was sprawled on the grass, happily munching on something, his freckled face the picture of bliss as he gazed lovingly at Wade’s nemesis.

As he worked on cleaning up the kitchen, Wade had lots of time to notice that it wasn’t long before Jared, followed by Tildy and Lacey, decided to go for a walk. And when Clarissa and Pierce disappeared from her backyard, he knew exactly where all three had gone.

“Bribing them,” he muttered, viciously scraping last night’s burnt hamburger out of the frying pan. “That’s all she’s doing.”

His stomach rumbled agreement, and he threw down the pot scrubber in defeat.

“Sally’s Café is open this afternoon. I believe I’ll stop by for coffee with the boys.”

Wade pulled open the door, his toe thudding against the box that sat leaning against the closet door. Why had he hung on to his drafting table anyway? It wasn’t as if he’d ever realize that ambition. It was better to get rid of all the evidence of his aspirations to become an architect. Supporting four kids took every dime he made and more moments than he had in a day. Finding time to study would be impossible.

Wade picked up the box, opened the closet and stuffed it against the back wall, standing the rolls of vellum filled with his carefully sketched ideas behind the winter coats. He had only himself to blame—his sister, Kendra, would be living somewhere with her children if he hadn’t insisted she give her husband another chance, try to make their marriage work. That’s what had killed her and ended his dream, his insistence on avoiding his duty to her.

Wouldn’t it have been better to let Kendra move out on Roy, come and live with him, instead of asking her to work things out? He’d laid it on heavy, reminded her how much the boys needed their dad. Not because he thought Roy was any role model, but because Wade didn’t want the responsibility, didn’t want to put his own plans on hold. That had always been his problem—trying to get out of what other people expected of him.

Well, it was far too late to change it all now. All he could do was fulfill her last wish and care for them the best he knew how.

Wade sighed, closed the front door and strolled down the street toward the local café. When a light breeze ruffled the apple blossoms overhead and fluttered their petals to the ground, Wade thought he heard sweet, joyful laughter from the librarian’s house across the back alley. He ignored it and kept walking. If he didn’t get something to eat soon, his stomach was going to devour his backbone. Too bad it wouldn’t be steak.

Three weeks later Clarissa picked up the basket holding a pot pie made from her grandmother’s famous recipe. In the other hand she snuggled a basket of homemade biscuits and the carrier that protected her triple chocolate fudge cake—the one that had won a blue ribbon at the state fair.

“I don’t care what he says,” she told herself firmly as she forced open the back gate. “I promised those kids a decent meal tonight, and I am going to deliver. He can rant and rave for another two weeks if he wants. It’s no skin off my nose.”

But she hated the acrimony. She knew how hard it was for him to manage everything. The kids had told her enough for Clarissa to get the picture. Wade Featherhawk had not had an easy life and by the sounds of it, he wasn’t scheduled for a reprieve anytime soon.

Apparently life on the reservation he’d grown up on, had not been a picnic. According to the kids, there was little work and lots of bad memories. Once he’d packed the kids up and left, he’d had to fight for every opportunity to prove he did quality work. Not that he deserved a second chance, her brain piped up. He’s too cranky. But she wouldn’t dream of slighting someone’s work ethic just because he was in a bad humor.

Clarissa had heard the talk in town, of course. Awful bigoted talk about his heritage. There had even been rumors. Not that she paid them any heed. She encouraged those who had hired him to speak openly about Wade’s good solid work ethic, and the able way he completed the jobs he contracted to do. She’d asked to keep one of the extremely good sketches he’d drawn for a renovation, and showed it to several ladies she knew wanted work done on their homes.

Gradually, people in Waseka were coming to accept the little family as a permanent fixture. Or they would do if they could only stop talking about how needy the children always looked. As a hint on her behalf, Clarissa felt it was blatantly overdone.

She’d done what she could, of course. But it wasn’t easy with Wade’s orders to stay away ringing in her ears. Last night Pierce’s grumble had torn a sympathetic hole in her heart, and she was determined to repair it one way or another.

Clarissa stepped out her back door and peered across the lane, checking to make sure he wasn’t around. It was too early for him, of course. And he couldn’t know that she always took Wednesday afternoons off, or that his kids’ sitter, Mrs. Anders, had to cancel out for this afternoon.

Feeling like a burglar, she crept across her backyard, managed to yank the gate open and carry her booty across the way without dropping a thing. Jared let her into his yard with a wide smile, his lanky height towering over her.

“Hey, something smells excellent, Clarissa.”

“Why, thank you!” She felt the heat rise in her cheeks. “I hope you enjoy it.” She watched him peering in the bushes. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to find my football. I have practice tonight, and I need it.”

“Oh.” Clarissa nodded at the basket. “If you’ll carry these inside, I’ll help you look.”

Ten minutes later, her shoes muddy from traipsing through the garden, Clarissa found the missing ball behind the shed.

“Wow, thanks, Clarissa!” As he took the ball, Jared glanced up and frowned, his eyes on the kitchen window. “Uh-oh. Tildy’s in the kitchen again.”

“That’s because I said I’d help her with her home ec project. Jared, do you think you could mow the grass? It’s awfully long.” Clarissa wasn’t sure grass this long could be mowed, but it was either try to cut it now or declare the yard a part of the rain forest.

“It’s bad, I know.” Jared’s thin cheeks went a faint pink. “I’m supposed to do it every week, but our mower is broken. Uncle Wade just hasn’t had time to fix it.”

“Go across the alley and get mine, then. Okay?” She waited for his nod, then went inside, confident that he knew what he was doing. After all, she’d been paying him to do her yard work for two weeks now.

Tildy stood in the kitchen, peering into the oven.

“What are you doing, honey?”

“It’s not getting brown,” the young girl told her. “Our home ec teacher said the crust should be golden brown.”

Clarissa smiled as she closed the oven door. “The crust will get brown, just give it time. It’s supposed to bake for at least an hour at a low temperature. Now, what’s the project for tonight?”

“Coleslaw. I got the cabbage, but I don’t know what else to do with it.”

She looked so forlorn Clarissa couldn’t help but smile.

“Okay, coleslaw it is. But we’ll need some room. Let’s do a little cleaning first.” Tildy frowned, but Clarissa wasn’t giving up. Opportunity didn’t knock that often. “If you load the cutlery into the sink, it can soak for a few minutes while we wipe down the counter. Put the glasses in, too.”

She showed the young girl how to organize everything efficiently so that a minimum amount of time was needed to clean.

“See, it doesn’t take that long,” she murmured, half an hour later, surveying the sparkling room with satisfaction. “Just don’t let it get so far next time. Remember the first rule?”

Tildy nodded. “Clean up as you go,” she repeated.

“Good. Now, where’s the cabbage?”

Clarissa managed to show Tildy how to mix the dressing and got her started on slicing the cabbage into tiny strips before Lacey burst into the room, her face a mass of frustration.

“I’ll never ace this dumb old biology,” she muttered. “I don’t even know where to get a frog.”

“By the creek. There are always lots of them in the spring.” Clarissa offered to help her catch one later that evening. “Hi, Pierce,” she greeted as the young boy looked in through the screen door. “What’s the matter?”

“There’s a bird out here that I can’t name. And I have to. It’s important for my collection.”

“Okay, well I’ve got a book—”

The doorbell cut across her response.

“Isn’t anyone going to answer that?”

“I can’t stop now. I’m just getting good at this.” Tildy chewed her bottom lip as she concentrated on the thin strips of cabbage.

“Fine, I’ll get it.” Clarissa walked through the living room and opened the door. She almost groaned aloud. “Rita,” she greeted, calmly enough. “Can I help you?”

“I doubt it. I’m here in response to the petition to adopt these children. I have to check out their home conditions.” Social worker Rita Rotheby surged inside with all the pomp and ceremony of a battleship bound for duty as she tried to sidestep Clarissa. “Excuse me.”

“Uh, Wade isn’t here right now, Rita. Maybe it would be better if you waited until he came home.” Clarissa could picture his face if he walked in right now and found her there.

“Nonsense! Part of the information gathering has to be done when he’s absent. To see how the children are managing.”

Okay, then. It was up to her, Clarissa decided. She’d have to make sure this inspection went well.

“The children are fine. Jared is cutting the lawn.”

“Unsupervised?” Rita scribbled something down.

“I’m here,” Clarissa reminded her and had the satisfaction of seeing the woman erase the words. “Tildy is making coleslaw for her home ec project. Lacey is doing her biology and Pierce is cataloging birds.” She trailed behind the other woman, but stopped short when Rita dragged a finger over the kitchen counter. Surely she hadn’t missed a spot?