Inner Harbor

“I wanted to talk with you about something else, Annie.”

“What could you possibly have to talk to me about? We’ve only just met.”

“I have another reason for staying in Safe Harbor.” Russ peered at her.

“Really?” She laughed nervously. There was something about those unusual eyes. “Well, according to the Chamber of Commerce there are a lot of reasons anyone would choose Safe Harbor.”

“It had nothing to do with the Chamber of Commerce. I’d already decided to set up shop here, just not quite yet. But then my grandfather upped the ante. More particularly, his will did.”

Something—a fizzle of awareness—shot through her. “Your grandfather’s will said you had to live in Safe Harbor?” she whispered.

“No.” He took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. “My grandfather’s will said I have to marry you.”

Safe Harbor—

The town where everyone finds shelter

from the storm.

LOIS RICHER

lives in a small Canadian prairie town with her husband, who, she says, is a “wanna-be farmer.” She began writing in self-defense, as a way to escape. She says, “Come spring, tomato plants take over my flower beds, no matter how many I ‘accidentally’ pull up or ‘prune.’ By summer I’m fielding phone calls from neighbors who don’t need tomatoes this fall. Come September, no one visits us and anyone who gallantly offers to take a box invariably ends up with six. I have more recipes with tomatoes than with chocolate. Thank goodness for writing! Imaginary people with imaginary gardens are much easier to deal with!”

Lois is pleased to present her latest book for the Steeple Hill Love Inspired line. Please feel free to contact Lois at: Box 639, Nipawin, Saskatchewan, Canada S0E 1E0.

Inner Harbor

Lois Richer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

You are my refuge and my shield,

and Your promises are my only source of hope.

—Psalms 119:114

Dear Reader,

Hello again. I’m glad you joined me for Inner Harbor. I hope you enjoyed Annie and Russ’s struggle to know God’s plan in their lives. Aren’t we humans funny? We put such limits on ourselves, limits that God ignores. But isn’t that the way it should be? In Him, our options are vast. He is always there, always listening, always waiting for us to come back, snuggle into His lap and listen. Then, when we know His way, we’re ready, like newborn lambs, to wobble onto our own feet and take tiny steps toward the life He wants for us. As spring brings rebirth, I wish for you new hopes and dreams, fresh plans and the chance to plant much joy in this world. And, of course, may God send you an abundance of love.

Blessings,

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Prologue

The letter arrived by courier on Thanksgiving eve, a bulky missive with a legal firm listed as the sender.

A strange quiver of excitement rippled through Annie Simmons as she dropped the sandpaper block she’d been rubbing against a battered oak table and tore open the envelope with trembling fingers.

What now?

A legal-size white envelope with her name printed on it lay tucked inside, along with a letter. She sank down on the floor and scanned the typewritten words from the executor of Wharton Willoughby’s estate, informing her the envelope’s sealed contents had been discovered on his desk, addressed to her. She noticed that the stamp had never been canceled. Why hadn’t he mailed it?

Annie slit the envelope, slid out three pages covered in a thick black scrawl. She began to read.

Dear Annie

It’s been several weeks since I last visited you in Safe Harbor. I expect that you are well under way with your renovations now. Soon your bed-and-breakfast will be welcoming folks through its doors. Congratulations!

Annie, you’ve become the granddaughter I never had. We’ve shared so many things, allowed the other to pray over our worries. Perhaps that’s why I trust you won’t be offended by this letter from an old man who dares to make an outrageous request.

My grandson is very precious to me, and yet I’m afraid for him. R.J. has lost his way, lost touch with what really matters in this life. He’s grown afraid of responsibility. He needs someone—someone to help him face his past, his future and all the potential it holds. For some time, I’ve believed you are that person.

I’ve got a bad case of pneumonia, so I can’t talk to you in person, and the phone seems too impersonal for what I want to say, so I’ve chosen to write. Tomorrow I’ll mail this. Perhaps you’ll manage a visit to discuss it, and I can better articulate my hopes, but until then, here are my thoughts.

I can’t allow R.J. to continue on the path he’s traveling, Annie. So I’ve taken steps to direct him toward Safe Harbor. I’ve stipulated in my will that he cannot inherit the money I so desperately want him to use to expand his business—unless he marries you. It’s presumptuous of me, and I’m sure you’d scold me severely for my interference if you were here. Perhaps that’s why I’ve cowardly chosen to write this letter instead of facing you.

I know you very well, Annie. And I know my grandson. I know the burdens each of you carry. I’ve come to believe that you and R.J. belong together, that you could share those burdens and build something wonderful—together. That’s why I hope you’ll marry him.

Please, at least consider my request. Many times I’ve asked the Lord to watch over you both, many times I’ve pleaded for His direction. I believe this is His will. You’re both hiding, hurt by the past, afraid to move on. You can help each other, love each other, serve Him together. And I will have my dearest wish—at last you will truly be my own sweet granddaughter.

You are my hope for R.J., Annie. I trust you will prayerfully consider this request from a lonely old man who thanks you for the many happy hours you gave him.

Sincerely,

Wharton Willoughby

Annie lifted the courier’s envelope, hardly able to comprehend what she’d read. As she tilted it, a funeral announcement fell onto the floor. It was dated three weeks earlier, announcing the passing of a man who’d been the grandfather she’d never had. He’d died the day after he’d written her. He’d never had a chance to mail his precious letter.

Tears filled her eyes. Dear Mr. Willoughby. How she would miss him.

The letter, still clutched in her left hand, reminded her that while he might be gone, Wharton Willoughby, her friend and legal counsel, was still advising her.

Only this time she would not take his advice.

All those prayers she’d listened to had left Annie with a certain impression of Wharton’s grandson, and he was definitely not what she considered husband material. R.J. would have to find someone else to marry, because Annie Simmons had no intention of repeating her parents’ disastrous mistake. She would never marry.

Chapter One

“It’s only the first of March, Annie. The remains of that storm last month are still melting. Don’t start your worrying. Tourist season will arrive hot and heavy soon enough, and then you’ll be wishing for some time to yourself. Trust me, this place is going to be full.”

Her assistant’s words did little to ease the nag of worry dogging Annie Simmons, though she nodded to be polite. Felicity was right, of course. Patience and time were all she needed to make her business a success. But banks didn’t have patience. They expected her to repay that loan. That was fine. Annie wanted to pay them on time.

Failure had no part in her carefully crafted business plan for her brand-new Lighthouse Bed-and-Breakfast. But she’d had to borrow a little. Her mother’s legacy hadn’t quite covered all the renovations. Nor had Annie planned for the immediate expenses of a little boy who’d lost his parents at sea.

The search for a guardian had taken longer than anyone had imagined. At least now they knew the boy’s mother, Rhonda, had a cousin. The details were vague. Annie knew only that this man was in some far-off location. Now it was just a matter of locating him, telling him about Drew. Then the little boy would be gone from her life, free to begin again with relatives who would love and care for him. Who wouldn’t delight to have Drew in their home? Annie thrust away thoughts of him leaving. Family was important. She would let him go with a full heart, grateful she’d been able to help. She glanced at her watch.

No more wasting time, or she’d be late!

“I’ve got one stop on my way to the church. If I hurry, that is.” She tugged on her jacket, then grabbed her sheet music. “If someone phones, I’m on my way.”

“You’ll be late.” Felicity chuckled. “Somebody will stop you and want to chat—that’s Safe Harbor. I’ve never seen such a friendly place. But just you remember, those kids have had a day off school and they’ll be flying pretty high.” Her eyes danced with fun. “You could always race them around the block first, I suppose. But I’m not worried. You’ll whip everything into shape. You always do.” Her eyes glowed with admiration.

“Thanks for your faith. I just hope it’s justified. Without an organist, my little choral group isn’t exactly melodic.” Count on Felicity to cheer her on. She’d been a good friend since the day she arrived in Safe Harbor, looking for work. As Annie’s part-time assistant, she was perfect.

“I don’t envy you all those kids.” Felicity pretended to groan. “I can barely handle one.”

“You’re a great mother.” Annie knew how hard this young mom worked to be everything to her daughter.

“I try. You’d be a great one, too.” Trust Felicity to be loyal. “Look how you’ve managed with Drew.”

“I’m not sure I’ve done anything right with Drew. He’s so quiet.” Annie sighed. “It’s hard to know what he’s thinking when he stares back at you with those big brown eyes.”

“You need help with him.” Felicity tapped one blue-tinted fingernail against her bottom lip. “Maybe…something along the lines of a husband?”

Annie froze, thought about the letter, then dismissed her fears. Felicity couldn’t possibly know about it. Besides, it had been months since that letter had arrived, and R.J. still hadn’t shown. It was obvious he’d found a way to inherit without her. Good. That was the way she wanted it.

“Drew will be leaving as soon as his relative arrives. What would I do with a husband after that?”

“I can think of several things you could do,” Felicity said, deadpan.

“Romance isn’t in my picture.” Annie ignored her friend’s groan. A pang pricked her heart at the thought of never knowing the thrill of cuddling her own precious bundle of joy. Soon even Drew would be gone. And she’d be alone.

Again.

“I’ve got to get going.” Annie checked that her ponytail was neatly in place, then pulled on her gloves. “Drew’s with Billy Martin. Billy’s mom is bringing them to the church, so you don’t have to worry about him. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Okay?”

“Yes, boss.” Felicity saluted. “And I’ll mind my own business from now on, too.”

Annie smiled, then left. Felicity meant well, but she wouldn’t understand. Sometimes even Annie didn’t understand her reluctance to fall in love. Surely not all men were like her father?

As predicted, her stop at the Realtor’s office took a few minutes more than she’d expected. Noting the time on the clock in Market Square, Annie strode quickly toward the church. Kids raced through the few remaining clumps of soggy spring snow, howling with laughter as they pelted each other with mushy snowballs. Annie deflected several missiles, then ducked inside the foyer to remove her coat.

They certainly were rambunctious. Directing them wasn’t easy without an accompanist. Seven and a half weeks until Easter—was that enough time to pull off a miracle? She’d just have to trust that God would send the right person at the right time.

Annie laid the music on her stand, ordering it in the correct sequence for quick reference. Then she arranged the chairs precisely. After filling her lungs with a deep breath of faith, Annie stuck her head out the door.

“Come on, people. It’s time to practi—” A cold, wet lump of snow cut off her words. Annie wiped away the few flakes that hadn’t already dripped off her chin and grinned. “You’re going to pay for that, you hooligans. Now, come on. Let’s get started.”

They trooped inside, silent, eyes downcast, suppressed giggles escaping whenever she turned her back. If they were just the tiniest bit worried she’d be mad, Annie was glad. Perhaps order would prevail for at least five minutes. Coats, boots and mittens dropped to the floor as they jostled each other with good-natured ribbing. It took forever until, one by one, the kids filed into the left side of the choir loft. Occasionally, a mischievous child peeked up, checking her face for some sign of disapproval. Annie kept her expression serene. Later she’d pelt them all with a barrage of snowballs, but right now she needed them to concentrate.

“Okay, guys.” She began by smiling at each one, searching for a confidence she didn’t feel. “You know the words. I think you know the melody, but just in case, I’m going to pound it out on the piano. Remember, you have to watch me to know when to come in.”

A little blond sprite in the front row turned to his neighbor. “Not that again! Everything gets mixed up when she does that. Annie on the piano doesn’t sound like Reverend Burns on the organ at all.” A rumble of agreement rolled through the choir.

Annie chuckled. Nothing like the honesty of a child to dent the ego.

“It sure doesn’t, Robbie. But right now, a piano is all we’ve got. Since Reverend Burns hurt himself, we’re out of an organist. We’ll just have to pray that God will send another one.” Annie cleared her throat and played the intro. It took three false starts before they finally found their note and the correct entry point. Then, for some reason, their attention strayed to the back of the church. Annie ignored it. Probably another child, coaxing them to leave. Three tries later, she gave up on the accompaniment.

“Come on, guys.” Should she call the whole thing off, before it was too late? No. This cantata was the focal point of their Easter service. She wouldn’t quit. Annie left the piano and moved to stand in front of them.

“Think about what Easter means. Your best friend was killed. Now he’s buried, and you don’t think you’re ever going to see him again. The world is dark, the sun’s just under the horizon, and you’re sad.” She hummed the first few bars, motioning them to sing. “Okay, now you’re in the garden where he’s buried and you see that the stone over his grave is moved.”

Three loud organ chords echoed through the church, resonant, triumphant and totally unexpected, grabbing the children’s attention like nothing else could. Annie blinked. She must have left the music up there. Had Pastor Burns finally found her an organist?

Annie forced herself not to look around. She refused to waste this opportunity. Instead she tapped her pen on the top of her music stand. Every eye centered on her.

“Now sing!” she ordered.

And sing they did. Glorious swells of jubilant notes from the tired old pipe organ begged their full participation. Whoever was tickling those ivories knew exactly how to get the most out of each and every pipe. Annie could hardly wait to see exactly who her benefactor was, and when she did, she intended to beg, plead and implore him or her to play for them each and every practice until the final concert Easter morning.

For now, she continued to lead her kids through the cantata, page after page. Soloists chimed in exactly right, harmonies came together almost without pause, until the last glorious notes of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus” died away.

“Hey, Annie. We did pretty good, didn’t we?” Her godchild grinned from ear to ear.

“You did a fantastic job, Drew. All of you. Thank you.” She included everyone in her smile, delighted by the effort they’d made.

Unable to control her curiosity, Annie turned toward the organ. A man sat there, a gorgeous man with glossy black hair that stood to attention in perfectly sculpted spikes. He had a to-die-for face—all angles and planes—and a smile that would kick any woman’s heartbeat into overdrive. But it was his eyes that held Annie’s attention. Silver gray swirls of glitter danced with sheer exuberance.

“What a group! Sorry for bursting into your practice like that, but that music was just too tempting.” He stood, climbed down from his perch and stretched out a hand. “Russ Mitchard.”

“Bless you, Russ Mitchard,” Annie breathed, eyes riveted on that smile.

Annie let his big warm hand engulf hers. Then her eyes got snagged on marks covering the back of his hand. Those scars were the only flaw in his otherwise perfect image, so she could hardly be blamed for studying them a second time.

“I beg your pardon?” His eyes stretched wide, curious.

Annie flushed. What a time to lose her cool!

“Just—uh, thanks for playing for us. It’s the best recital we’ve ever had. You were a real blessing.”

“Well, I’ve been called a lot of things, but never a blessing. I think I like it.” He grinned, his eyebrows twitching as he glanced at their joined hands. “A lot.” He winked.

“Oh. Sorry,” she murmured as she tugged her hand away. “Annie Simmons.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Annie Simmons. Very nice.”

Something strangely serious underlay his words. It was almost as if he’d been expecting to meet her. What nonsense. Annie shrugged it off as the kids swarmed around him, grilling him about his playing.

Russ answered the best he could with so many voices demanding his attention. His smile remained easy, his attitude relaxed as he tapped out a few songs they knew on the baby grand piano. Minutes later their singing was interrupted when several moms popped their heads inside, stared at Russ and Annie for a few awkward moments, then called their children away.

“Annie, I’m going with Billy. Okay?” Drew hopped from one foot to the other, barely able to wait for her permission.

“Yes, all right. Billy’s mom said she’ll bring you back before dinner.” She watched Drew race out the door. As far as Annie could tell, he wasn’t suffering any ill effects from her mothering so maybe she was doing something right.

With one last look at Russ, the rest of the children filed out until Annie was left alone with him.

“Your son?” Silver-gray eyes perused her curiously.

“Godchild. His parents died in a boating accident last fall. No relatives have come forward to claim him yet, so he stays with me, for now. We both like it.” Why was she telling him this?

“Oh.”

“I want to thank you for your help,” she blurted, wondering how to phrase her next request. “You made all the difference today.”

“Regular organist conk out?” He shrugged into a black leather jacket that fit over his turtleneck like a second skin.

“Something like that. Pastor Burns hurt himself shortly after I agreed to handle the Easter concert. He’s having surgery, so he’ll be out for a while. Unfortunately, his interim replacements don’t play the pipe organ. Nor does anyone else around here.”

“Tough break.” He closed the piano, his hand gentle against the polished wood. “This thing has a gorgeous tone, but as someone I knew once said, nothing can replace the full-blooded intonations of a pipe organ. I’d forgotten that.”

Annie followed him down the aisle, almost jogging to keep up with his long stride. Her curiosity got the better of her.

“Are you visiting Safe Harbor, Mr. Mitchard?”

“It’s Russ.” He stopped, glanced at her. “Sort of.” He tilted his head one way. “Maybe.” A decided negative shake. “No, not really.”

“Nothing like a straight answer.” Annie peeked at him in confusion. “Could you explain that, please?”

“I guess I’d better. Let’s see—where to begin?” He laughed, a burst of pure pleasure that echoed around the sanctuary. He never looked away from her the entire time he considered his answer. His expressive eyes fluctuated from pewter to steel, then glowed like polished silver.

“I used to come to Safe Harbor every summer with my parents when I was a kid. Mom and Dad had a cottage just outside of town.”

“I see.” She didn’t, really, but she pressed on, anxious to know how long he’d be around. Suddenly the nippy spring afternoon seemed warmer. “So you’re back to take a look, relive the memories of your youth?”

If she hadn’t been staring at his gorgeous face, she would have missed the flare of pain that snatched the joy from his eyes. A minute later the look was gone, roguish grin firmly in place.

“No, I’m not interested in the past. I’m interested in the future. I’m going into business here. Perhaps you’ve noticed my shop—The Quest?”

Annie blinked. This hunk owned The Quest?

The gossips were going to be put out. They’d insisted some tacky tourist outfit was setting up shop in their quaint little town and had all but voted to boycott the place. Nobody in their right mind would boycott this charming man, whatever he was selling.

Nobody but her, that is. He might be good-looking, and he was certainly attractive, but she had no intention of getting involved. Not that way. She just needed an organist.

“Well, have you? Noticed my shop?” he prodded.

Annie snapped back to reality, caught the sparkle of pride glinting at her from those silver-gray eyes. She knew that feeling, felt the same way whenever she caught a glimpse of her bed-and-breakfast.

“I noticed.” Who could help it with all the cargo being unloaded daily?

“I’ve been forwarding a lot of my stuff. I hope it’s here.”

She nodded. “Actually, right after the sign went up, the crates began arriving. I think you’ll find everything is there.”

His chest seemed to expand. “My sculptures,” he told her.

Sculptures? Annie frowned. Stone carvings, she decided. That’s why his hands were marked. As usual, her mind slipped into its creative mode and began fashioning a background story. The chisel must have slipped and—

“I’m a silversmith. My specialty is lamps. I had a lot of equipment sent here, too.”

“Oh.” There wasn’t anything else she could say. The reality was so far beyond anything anyone in the entire town had imagined, her included. “Drew’s parents used to rent that space for their bookstore. The Book Den.”

“Ah.” He seemed surprised. “I agreed to keep the books, to sell what I could. I wondered why the owner insisted they went with the place.” He held her coat while she slipped her arms inside, then turned her and did up the buttons as he spoke.

“There’s a lot of work in progress here, isn’t there? Some places look spanking new, others look old and tired. I guess that’s the charm of a tourist town. Past, present and future all bound together. I’m hoping Safe Harbor will live up to its potential this summer. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

“Me, too.” Annie just hoped the potential would arrive sooner rather than later.

“It looks a lot better than when I was a kid, though.” He pulled on soft leather gloves, easing each finger in as he spoke, apparently unaware that she’d spoken. “All I remember are a few older buildings, streets so bumpy they could trip you, and the dock. That dock was like a second home.”