For Her Son's Love

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

“Not so temporary, I’m afraid.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Should be fine.

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

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

Rachel and bed rest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

An incredibly good-looking poster boy….

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

Too late.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She flounced away.

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

She didn’t believe in happily ever after.

Not anymore.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just me and Mom.

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

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

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

And he’d started a new legacy.

Chapter Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Hal Stevens could.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Looks like I’m right on time, then.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mmm. That you’re going crazy?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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