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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
MILLS & BOON
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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—”
