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His Two Little Blessings
Mia Ross
Can he find love again—with two adorable helpers?A Liberty Creek romanceWhen the school board threatens to cut her art program, Emma Calhoun plans to fight for the job she loves. And with her student’s father, banker Rick Marshall, on board to help, she might just succeed. But even as the handsome widower and his sweet little girls burrow their way into her heart, will he allow himself to love once more?


Can he find love again—with two adorable helpers?
A Liberty Creek romance
When the school board threatens to cut her art program, Emma Calhoun plans to fight for the job she loves. And with her student’s father, banker Rick Marshall, on board to help, she might just succeed. But even as the handsome widower and his sweet little girls burrow their way into her heart, will he allow himself to love once more?
MIA ROSS loves great stories. She enjoys reading about fascinating people, long-ago times and exotic places. But only for a little while, because her reality is pretty sweet. Married to her college sweetheart, she’s the proud mom of two amazing kids, whose schedules keep her hopping. Busy as she is, she can’t imagine trading her life for anyone else’s—and she has a pretty good imagination. You can visit her online at miaross.com (http://www.miaross.com).
Also By Mia Ross (#uc1a6eb03-5c3f-56c9-9c98-6646baf39379)
Liberty Creek
Mending the Widow’s Heart
The Bachelor’s Baby
His Two Little Blessings
Oaks Crossing
Her Small-Town Cowboy
Rescued by the Farmer
Hometown Holiday Reunion
Falling for the Single Mom
Barrett’s Mill
Blue Ridge Reunion
Sugar Plum Season
Finding His Way Home
Loving the Country Boy
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
His Two Little Blessings
Mia Ross


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08437-6
HIS TWO LITTLE BLESSINGS
© 2018 Andrea Chermak
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
“I’d hate to be a third wheel.”
“Technically, you’d be the fourth wheel,” Rick corrected Emma, adding a mischievous grin. “And if you want to come, we’d love to have you. The girls, I mean,” he amended quickly.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you honestly that clueless, or are you just messing with me?”
He laughed out loud. “Okay, you got me. It’s nice to have another grown-up to talk to, and you’re great company.”
“Really? But I’m so quiet.”
“And funny and sweet. I have to say, I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Emma. You’re one of a kind.”
“Does that work on the other women you’ve known?”
Suddenly, the humor left his expression. “Only one.”
“Sarah?” When he nodded, she steadied her voice. “I’m honored. May I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“Do you think you’ll ever be able to think of her and smile?”
He took a moment to consider that and nodded. “Someday. People tell me the pain eases, but I didn’t believe that. Until recently, anyway.”
Dear Reader (#uc1a6eb03-5c3f-56c9-9c98-6646baf39379),
This is the final Liberty Creek book, and I couldn’t think of a better way to end the Calhoun family’s heartwarming story.
When Emma Calhoun appeared in the first book of the series, I liked her right away. Her quiet strength and resilience in the face of such a serious illness amazed everyone around her, and her unwavering faith was truly inspiring. Being creative and playful in a situation like hers isn’t easy, but those traits made her a great teacher and just the kind of person Rick needed in his life. For him—as for so many—regaining his emotional balance after the tragic loss of his wife felt almost impossible. Emma and his sweet, funny daughters showed him the way, and fortunately he was open-minded enough to follow them.
Maintaining a positive attitude during tough times in our lives can help us to accept what’s happened in the past and move ahead. While today might look bleak, tomorrow things will be better. No matter how slowly we seem to be going, moving forward is the important thing, because going backward simply isn’t an option. While I didn’t intend for this concept to be the theme of this series, it definitely became the unifying aspect of all three stories.
Our history makes us who we are, and the future is something for us to reach toward. The present is where we make our true impact, as we go through each day doing the best we can with the circumstances we find ourselves in. Liberty Creek—and the people who live there—embody this idea perfectly. I hope you’ve enjoyed this charming place, with its frozen-in-time appearance and its warm, friendly people. I know I did.
If you’d like to stop in and see what I’ve been up to, you’ll find me online at www.miaross.com (http://www.miaross.com), Facebook, Twitter and Goodreads. While you’re there, send me a message in your favorite format. I’d love to hear from you!
Mia Ross
For with God nothing shall be impossible.
—Luke 1:37
This one’s for you, Dad.
I miss you every day.
Acknowledgments (#uc1a6eb03-5c3f-56c9-9c98-6646baf39379)
To Melissa Endlich and the dedicated staff at Love Inspired. These very talented folks help me make my books everything they can be.
More thanks to the gang at Seekerville (www.seekerville.blogspot.com (http://seekerville.blogspot.ca)), a great place to hang out with readers—and writers.
I’ve been blessed with a wonderful network of supportive, encouraging family and friends. You inspire me every day!
Contents
Cover (#u13a3e35e-646a-5b79-9870-e22c1fdfc864)
Back Cover Text (#ufe17149e-3c90-50f5-af88-4da45600e09b)
About the Author (#u227901a5-35f6-5df3-9a62-5e751bbb4229)
Booklist (#ua2b8fc11-2829-572a-b751-d34c272d9ee6)
Title Page (#u038d2f81-c1a8-59b9-bdb3-210c175bc832)
Copyright (#u904cfe71-b541-5f27-99a6-98dc1eb07a52)
Introduction (#u11d4521a-d4e3-5ad8-92c2-16808291cb8c)
Dear Reader (#u2280ff52-9382-5b7e-8cdc-a991d03e8b57)
Bible Verse (#u0467682e-7ec4-501a-b675-1aa4fab8529a)
Dedication (#u02f4b7b1-1998-5db0-8097-07860c4f803a)
Acknowledgments (#u6d240544-85e3-5b90-9673-c02e6082acf4)
Chapter One (#u968436b9-b1e3-5406-87fb-0a0b250cfea7)
Chapter Two (#u134236fb-9349-512f-a198-4c7dea361253)
Chapter Three (#u08e735dc-7204-5329-bb99-80a074c1ca5b)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uc1a6eb03-5c3f-56c9-9c98-6646baf39379)
“Miss Calhoun! Miss Calhoun!”
At the sound of a child’s voice calling out her name, Emma looked into the crowd milling around the annual Liberty Creek Arts and Crafts Show. It was a gorgeous New Hampshire day in early May, and there were dozens of kids in the tree-shaded square who might have shouted to her. Being the elementary school’s only art teacher, she knew most of the young ones in town, so it could have been any one of them.
Then she caught sight of a little girl running toward her stand near the white gazebo, hand waving enthusiastically in the air, a riot of blond curls bouncing behind her. When she stopped in front of Emma’s jewelry stand, her cheeks were pink from the exercise, her china-blue eyes shining in excitement as she exhaled a breathless “Hello.”
“Hello to you, too, Caitlin,” Emma replied, stepping out to give the bright kindergartener a hug. “I’m so glad you found me.”
“There’s a lot of people here,” she agreed, glancing around before looking back at Emma. “But my daddy’s tall, so he saw you from way over there.”
She pointed to the edge of the park, and Emma followed the motion to see Rick Marshall, the bank’s new assistant manager, moving toward them, carrying a smaller version of Caitlin in his arms. They’d met a few times at school functions, but she’d never spent more than a few minutes chatting with him. Wearing khaki shorts and a dark blue polo shirt, he had the look of someone who spent his days in suits and ties and was happy to be dressed down for the weekend.
The sun picked up some highlights in his brown hair, not to mention the color of his eyes that echoed his daughters’. His wife was a very fortunate woman, Emma mused as he joined them. “Good afternoon, Mr. Marshall. How are you today?”
“Just fine,” he replied with an easy smile. “And I know I’ve told you at least twice to call me Rick.”
Emma made it a policy to address her students’ parents—especially the good-looking fathers—in a formal way that couldn’t possibly be misinterpreted as flirting. Being twenty-six and single was hard enough without creating the kind of wrong impression that could earn her a reprimand from the district superintendent or a complaint from a jealous wife.
So she ignored the chiding and focused on the adorable cherub he held. “You must be Aubrey. Caitlin has told me a lot about you during art class, but it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”
The child gave her a bashful half smile before burying her head in her father’s chest.
“She’s a little shy,” Caitlin explained, patting her sister’s back in a comforting way that said she did it often. “Being four is scary.”
“It certainly is,” Emma confirmed, directing her comments to the older girl to avoid frightening the younger one. “Even grown-ups get scared about new things sometimes. That’s why it’s good to have a family watching out for you.”
They chatted about school and the new friends Caitlin had made since starting there during the winter term. After a couple of minutes Aubrey swiveled her face toward the conversation, clearly interested in what they were saying. Emma was careful not to look directly at the reserved child, but from Rick’s pleased expression, she guessed that Aubrey was slowly warming up to her. Being on the timid side herself, Emma hated it when people tried to force her to participate in a discussion when she wasn’t ready. She could definitely relate to Aubrey’s cautious approach to the world around her.
“So,” Rick said when their small talk died down, “when I stopped by Liberty Creek Forge to pick up my new garden gate the other day, your brother Brian was telling me that you make jewelry and you’d be selling some of it here today. Do you mind if we take a look?”
“Not a bit,” she replied, stepping back to give them a clear path to her booth. “Also, I keep forgetting to thank you for helping Brian out with the financing for his business. He never would’ve gotten started if you hadn’t stepped in to smooth things over for him with the loan committee.”
“Everyone deserves a chance to succeed,” Rick said, shifting Aubrey to his other side so she could look down at the array of necklaces that Caitlin was admiring. “Brian’s a good guy, and Lindsay’s an expert at keeping her husband and the business on track, so I felt they were a good risk. From what I see here, there’s quite a bit of artistic talent in the Calhoun family.”
It was flattering to hear that, but Emma felt her cheeks heating with embarrassment. She’d never been comfortable being complimented for something that she considered to be a gift from God, a talent meant to be shared with others who could appreciate it. Strangers often mistook her reticence for standoffishness, so she forced herself to smile up at the tall banker. “That’s nice of you to say. Thank you.”
“Just stating a fact, but you’re welcome. We’re looking for a Mother’s Day gift for my mom. What do you think she’d like, girls?”
The two of them debated over several items before finally settling on a pretty beaded bracelet with a silver oval that read “Grandma.” While Emma boxed and wrapped it for them, she asked, “Do you see anything your mommy might like?”
In a heartbeat, the three Marshalls fell silent. Rick’s jaw tightened in obvious distress, and he pulled Aubrey a bit closer, resting a hand on Caitlin’s shoulder in a protective gesture that told Emma she’d inadvertently stumbled onto very sensitive ground. Feeling awful, she wished there was a way to un-ask her question.
Lifting large, sad eyes to hers, in a voice barely above a whisper, Caitlin said, “Mommy’s in heaven.”
Unbidden, Emma’s gaze fell on Rick’s left hand, which still bore a gold wedding band. With great determination, she raised her eyes to meet his and frowned. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
“We try to keep it to ourselves, for the girls’ sake,” he explained tersely. “Fewer questions to answer that way.”
Nodding, she tried desperately to come up with something else to say. Nothing comforting came to mind, so she simply said, “I understand.”
“Thank you.”
The casual ease that he’d displayed earlier had vanished, and in its place stood a man who was clearly still grieving, even while he raised his two beautiful daughters. Emma’s family was as close-knit as they came, and she couldn’t imagine how her life would be without her own mother. When trouble had come to her two years ago, the first person she’d confided in was Mom. They’d had a good cry, then got to work figuring out how to handle her sobering diagnosis.
Leukemia, the doctor had somberly informed her. Stage three.
Her family’s unwavering support, and a lot of prayer, had gotten Emma through the worst time of her life. The tests and seemingly endless rounds of chemo had gone on for months, and there had been times when she honestly thought she couldn’t possibly endure any more. She’d pushed away the despair, armed with a collection of cute hats and handmade jewelry that had spawned a new hobby that helped to keep her sane throughout her treatment.
In the end, she’d gotten through it using equal measures of grit and faith. Now, hopefully, she was on the other side of it and moving forward. The date of her follow-up test was circled on her calendar in bright pink. It was a cheerful, upbeat color, and she hoped her results would warrant it.
An optimist by nature, she’d learned the hard way that a positive attitude wasn’t always enough to make things work out in her favor. And while she recognized that it was important to be prepared for the worst, she didn’t know what that might be.
She’d never summoned the courage to ask.
* * *
Rick had no clue what to say next.
To cover his sudden silence, he set Aubrey down in the lush spring grass and pulled out his wallet. To Caitlin, he said, “Why don’t you two go across the aisle to Mrs. Calhoun’s stand and get us all some cookies and lemonade?”
“Okay, Daddy,” Caitlin agreed, nodding as if she understood that the conversation he was about to have wasn’t one for young ears. Taking Aubrey’s hand, she smiled and gave a light tug. “Come on. Let’s go get a snack.”
When he was satisfied that the girls were out of earshot, he squared his shoulders and faced the art teacher, who’d so innocently punched him in the gut. Her vivid blue eyes were filled with sympathy, made even more intense by the sunlight streaming down through the branches overhead. Her honey-brown hair shifted in the warm breeze, and she toyed with a short piece in a gesture that made it clear she was as uncomfortable as he was.
“About the ring...” The opening sounded awkward, and he felt more like a teenager approaching his crush to ask for a date than a twenty-eight-year-old man about to impose some logic on what must seem odd.
“There’s no need to explain yourself to me, Mr. Marshall,” she assured him in a formal tone very unlike the one she’d been using with him up until now. “What you wear or don’t wear is your own business. I’m just sorry that I misunderstood your situation. Being a single father is hard enough, but your circumstances are heartbreaking. I feel awful for upsetting you and the girls this way.”
Amazing, he thought with true admiration. Any other woman would have been curious about why he still wore his wedding ring when he was no longer married. Enough had done it recently that he’d come to expect the question. Despite the strain he was feeling, Emma’s respect for his wishes brushed some of his discomfort away.
“Sarah and I got married right after we finished college and had Caitlin a year later,” he explained quietly, hoping to avoid sharing his painful personal history with the people browsing at the next table. “When Aubrey was born four years ago, Sarah didn’t bounce back the way she did after Caitlin. For a few months she chalked the fatigue up to being a full-time mother of two.”
He heard the catch in his voice and paused to steady it. To his surprise, Emma laid a reassuring hand on his arm. “You don’t need to keep going if you’d rather not. I can fill in the blanks on my own.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “When Caitlin first started at school, my hair was still coming back in and I wore a lot of hats. She mentioned that her mother had done the same thing, so I assumed she’d been through something similar. I just didn’t realize that she passed away, and I’m truly sorry for all you and the girls have lost. They’re both wonderful, and Sarah must have been a remarkable woman to give them so much before she died.”
“She was,” he confirmed, relieved to feel his emotional balance returning. Emma’s soft voice, coupled with the compassionate words that she’d offered to him, eased the tension he’d been fighting, and he dredged up a smile for the kind woman. “Thank you for understanding.”
“Of course.”
The girls returned with their snack—most of it, anyway—and Rick turned his attention to a less morbid topic. “I’m seeing partial cookies and half-filled cups. Did you run into the Cookie Monster between here and there?”
“No, Daddy,” Aubrey replied, laughing at his reference to one of her favorite characters. “We were hungry.”
“But we saved one for you,” Caitlin added, pulling it from the pocket of her sundress to hand it to him. And then, reaching back in, she pulled another to offer her teacher. “And this is for you. Your grandma said it’s your favorite.”
“It’s a raccoon,” Aubrey chirped helpfully.
“Macaroon,” Rick corrected her with a chuckle. “And it looks delicious. Did you thank Mrs. Calhoun when you paid her?”
Caitlin’s eyes widened guiltily, and she took the money he’d given her from her other pocket. Giving it back to him, she confessed, “We were talking about what I’m doing at school, and I forgot. I’ll go back and give it to her.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Emma told her with a laugh. “Gran doesn’t charge anyone under the age of ten, even at the bakery. She loves kids, and she likes nothing better than spoiling them. My brothers and I are living proof of that.”
“How many brothers do you have?” Aubrey asked, apparently over her initial shyness.
Hunkering down to her level, Emma said, “I have two, Sam and Brian, both older than me. Sometimes being the youngest is fun, and sometimes they bug me.”
The childish phrasing puzzled Rick for a moment, until he saw his younger daughter nod in agreement. “Me, too.”
“I don’t bug you,” Caitlin corrected her with a frown.
“Yes, you do, but it’s okay. I still love you.”
“Aww...” The older girl beamed at her little shadow and pulled her close for a sideways hug. “That’s so sweet. I love you, too, Froggy.”
Rick laughed out loud, and Emma looked up at him. “Froggy?”
“When we were waiting for Aubrey to join us, we let Caitlin name the baby. There was a character in a kids’ movie at the time named Froggy, and she picked that. We thought it was cute, so we went along. After that, it became one of our inside family jokes.”
“I’m very familiar with those,” Emma commented, smiling as she stood.
“I’ve met your brothers, so I don’t doubt that for a second.”
While they finished off their snack, they chatted lightly about the weather and the upcoming spring concert and art show to be held at the school. While his daughters occupied themselves by rearranging Emma’s dwindling stock by color, Rick noticed a stack of flyers sitting on her table. Recognizing her sister-in-law Lindsay’s handiwork on the promotional material, he picked one up to see what it was about.
One-of-a-kind jewelry designed and handmade by Emma Calhoun. All proceeds to benefit the Liberty Creek After School Arts Program.
Amazed that she was giving up an entire Saturday and not keeping any of the money she made, he turned the sheet toward her. “I didn’t realize you were doing this for nothing.”
“Not for nothing,” she corrected him sweetly. “For a bunch of awesome kids who enjoy art as much as I do.”
“Is the program really in danger of being cut?”
“Always. It’s open to students of every age, and they bus kids who want to participate down from the middle and high schools. It’s a great alternative to them going home to an empty house, but every year the school budget gets tighter, and there’s only so much money to go around. Last year we barely squeaked by.”
“How many students use it?”
“That’s not the point,” she reminded him curtly, a flash of temper pinking her cheeks. “Children deserve to have a creative outlet, and some of the older ones need a place to hang out after school. This program does both.”
The scolding was delivered in the same soft voice she’d used before, but it seethed with a frustration that told him she’d delivered this speech many times before. Hoping to soothe her ruffled feelings, he smiled. “It sounds like a valuable thing to offer, and I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. I was just curious about the numbers, because sometimes using them to illustrate your point carries more weight with bureaucrats than pure sentiment does.”
“Well, that’s different,” she announced, shaking off the fit of temper with a breezy laugh. “I guess I’m so used to defending the arts, I get my back up too easily. Thirty-four kids come in on a regular basis, but around holidays like Christmas and Easter we get more because they like making gifts for people.”
No mention of Mother’s Day, he noticed, although he was fairly certain that was also on the list. He appreciated her avoiding the difficult subject, and while he didn’t normally interfere in people’s endeavors, her sensitivity made him more inclined to volunteer some advice. “If you’d like, we can sit down and review the finances for the program, see if there might be a way to generate the revenue you need to keep it on firmer footing. That way you and your Rembrandts-in-training wouldn’t be so dependent on the school board to keep the club afloat.”
She blinked up at him as if she didn’t quite follow his train of thought. “Finances for the program?”
“How much is earmarked in the budget for supplies, your salary, things like that,” he clarified as patiently as he could. Sarah had often accused him of assuming that everyone had his affinity for numbers and how certain strategies affected a company’s bottom line, he mused sadly. Apparently, his approach to problem-solving still had some room for improvement.
“Oh, there’s no salary involved,” Emma told him, laughing as if it was absurd for him to think there might be. “I go into the budget hearing every May and beg, praying they’ll find some money to help offset my expenses.”
Rick couldn’t believe what she was telling him. He’d never met anyone who so willingly sacrificed not only their free time but also a chunk of their own money to make sure kids had a fun place to go after school. From her answer, he realized that while the school contributed a share, it didn’t fund the program entirely. That left Emma picking up the rest on a teacher’s salary, which he suspected wasn’t all that much in a small town like Liberty Creek.
“Maybe parents could pay a small fee to help defray the costs.”
Emma firmly shook her head. “Folks around here have a tough enough time making ends meet as it is. I’m afraid if I ask for something like that, their kids won’t be able to come anymore. That would leave some of them going home to an empty house after school, and I can’t stand the thought of that.”
“This isn’t a big city,” he argued sensibly. “It’s not like they’ll get into trouble with a gang or something like that.”
“But it’s lonely,” she argued, compassion deepening the blue of her eyes in an emotion he could almost feel. “To my mind, that’s just as bad for them. I’d rather put in a few extra hours of my time and give them a bright, constructive place to go hang out with their friends than know they’re by themselves, plopped in front of the TV or some video game until their parents get home from work.”
That was the challenge so many modern families faced, Rick knew. As he’d worked his way up the ladder from floor teller to bank management, he’d always known that he was fortunate to be in a business that had allowed Sarah to be a full-time mother, and now enabled him to afford a dedicated nanny and housekeeper. If he had to cope with day care and car pools on top of his demanding job, he wasn’t sure how well it would go. But he was fairly certain that his girls wouldn’t be nearly as secure and happy as they were now.
This was his first opportunity to work as an assistant branch manager, and he wanted to shine in the position. Not so much for himself, but for his sweet girls. While Patriots Bank was a collection of modestly sized regional offices, his boss and mentor had made it clear that his intention was to groom Rick for something more. That meant a spot at one of his larger banks that offered an equally larger salary. Then Caitlin and Aubrey would have a permanent home to grow up in rather than the time-worn rental near the square that he’d been forced to take.
Rick acknowledged that there was no way for him to replace their mother, but he’d do everything in his power to make certain his daughters never wanted for anything he could possibly give them.
“I get that,” he relented, letting go of his usual pragmatism to see things from Emma’s vastly different point of view. “And I think it’s great that you’re willing to do it. I also think you deserve to be compensated for your time.”
“There are more important things in life than money,” she told him. Nodding toward his content daughters, she smiled up at him. “Being a father, you know that better than anyone.”
It wasn’t exactly a scolding, but her gentle reminder hit him harder than if she’d yelled at him for being a coldhearted, capitalistic jerk. He couldn’t recall the last time that he’d paused in his busy schedule long enough to consider what was most important in his life.
Without question, his family came first. But during the past two years, while struggling to cope with the demands of his career and raising two precocious daughters on his own, he’d become more concerned about making it from day-to-day with no major disasters. He adored his girls, and he’d do everything humanly possible to keep them safe and happy in a world that seemed to grow more complicated every year.
In Emma’s quiet conviction, he heard an echo of how he’d felt when he was a new father, overjoyed by the simple pleasures that had governed their time as a family. Coming home from the hospital, crawling, walking, first words—those memories were precious to him. All the more because Sarah had been part of them.
But, as Caitlin liked to remind him on a regular basis, they weren’t babies anymore. At six and four, they were far from being independent, but they didn’t need him for every little thing as they once did. His role in their lives was gradually changing and would continue to evolve until the day he died. His goal was to enjoy every moment of that time to the fullest, but sometimes he lost sight of what that meant.
It didn’t escape him that this lovely artist had been the one to set him straight, and he couldn’t come up with a better way to repay her than to help save the program she’d put so much effort into.
“You’re right,” he agreed, smiling to show her there were no hard feelings. “And I appreciate you pointing that out to me. In return, I’d like to support you at the upcoming board meeting. When is it?”
“This coming Wednesday night. But it’s really not necessary for you to come. I know how busy you must be.”
“Everyone is, but we all make time for the things that matter. If you can stop by the bank tomorrow around three, I’ll take a look at what you have and see if there’s anything I can do to help you make your case for keeping the program a little stronger.”
Emma gave him a long, assessing look, and he got the feeling she was sizing him up. Deciding if she could trust him, maybe. “That sounds good to me. Thank you.”
She added a bright smile, and he found himself returning the gesture with no thought at all. He was no stranger to feminine attention, which was why he kept his wedding band firmly in place. Liberty Creek was a small town, and the last thing he needed was women thinking he was available. As a single dad, he’d gone through that before, and it had always ended badly. While he’d enjoy having someone to spend his scant free time with, he wasn’t about to subject his young daughters—or himself—to the dating scene anytime soon.
So for now he’d keep his wedding ring on and avoid getting into a relationship that would probably end up going nowhere and making a lot of people miserable. It was just simpler that way.
Chapter Two (#uc1a6eb03-5c3f-56c9-9c98-6646baf39379)
“You really don’t have to do this,” Emma protested while the Marshalls helped her dismantle her display area. She’d sold most of her stock, and while she wasn’t sure of the final tally in her cash box, she could tell from the weight of it that between sales and donations, she’d done well. “The boys will be coming over to help me when they’re done working for the day.”
“We’re here now, so we can save them a trip. It’s really not a problem,” Rick assured her, setting out some white cushioned boxes for Caitlin and Aubrey to load her extra jewelry into. “Make sure you don’t tangle the chains on those necklaces, Cait. Knots are no fun.”
“My hair got all tangled last week,” she commented with a sour face. “It took Mrs. Fields a long time to get it out.”
“I like braids,” Aubrey informed Emma, holding one out to prove her point.
She was so adorable, Emma couldn’t help laughing. “So do I, especially ones as pretty as yours. Who does them up so nicely for you?”
“Daddy. He’s good at lots of things.”
“Like what?”
“Making waffles, doing Band-Aids, singing,” Aubrey replied, ticking off his admirable skills on her pudgy fingers. “Mostly, he’s good at being Daddy.”
From the corner of her eye, Emma saw him smile while he broke down the table that had held the handmade items she’d been selling. He didn’t say anything, but his expression told her that his daughter’s praise meant a lot to him. From their conversation earlier about him being a numbers guy, she’d gotten the impression that he was the pragmatic type who didn’t get overly sentimental about things.
Seeing this softer side of him made her wonder if she’d misjudged the young widower. Timid by nature, she certainly could relate to why some people chose to keep their feelings under wraps. Considering his profession, he’d probably learned that it was smart to bide his time and carefully assess new situations—and acquaintances—before jumping in with both feet.
Emma’s own experience with the uncertainties of life had taught her to embrace each day and squeeze every ounce of joy from it that was humanly possible. It was tiring sometimes, especially because her health still tended to ebb and flow without much warning. But during all those months of chemo and her challenging recovery, she’d promised herself one thing.
When God finally decided to call her home, she’d go with a peaceful heart, secure in the knowledge that she’d used all the talents He’d given her and had accomplished everything she could have done during her time on earth.
After closing the back door of her hatchback, she turned to her assistants and gave them a smile. “Thanks so much for all your help today. What have you got planned for the rest of this weekend?”
Alternating, the girls rattled off their lists of what they hoped to achieve, including cleaning their room, finishing the puzzle they’d been working on and learning how to make snickerdoodles.
“Why snickerdoodles?” she asked.
“They’re Daddy’s favorite,” Caitlin informed her in a tone that implied the reason should have been obvious to Emma. She nearly laughed, but didn’t want to insult the bright girl by giving the impression that she wasn’t taking the subject seriously.
Instead, she sighed. “That all sounds like a lot of fun. I’ll be doing dishes and laundry, which isn’t nearly as interesting.”
“But very important,” Rick said, giving his darling girls a father-knows-best kind of look. “Work first, right, ladies?”
“Yes, then cookies,” Aubrey agreed, braids bobbing with enthusiasm for the treat that awaited them at the end of the job.
This time Emma couldn’t hold back her laughter, and after a moment he joined her. He’d struck her as a very serious man, and now that she was more familiar with what he had to manage on a daily basis, she completely understood his reserved demeanor. Still, she couldn’t help noticing that his eyes twinkled when he smiled at either of his daughters. It told her that there was a lighter side to his personality, and she hoped that he might feel more comfortable showing it to people as he got to know them better.
Not to her, of course. She was Caitlin’s teacher, which meant considering anything serious with Rick Marshall would be foolish, at best. Beyond that, between her job and ongoing recovery, she had more than enough to handle as it was. Some days she woke up so drained, she could barely drag herself out of bed to face the day ahead of her. The Marshalls had already been through that heart-wrenching territory with Sarah, and she’d never dream of encouraging any sort of relationship that might lead to their family being forced to retrace those agonizing steps.
It was one thing to be optimistic about her condition for her own sake. It was quite another to pull someone else into the uncertainty she faced every day. While she’d love to have a family of her own one day, she’d come to terms with the fact that, at least for a while, she was better off staying single. It was lonely sometimes, but in her heart, she knew it was for the best.
“Before we do any of that,” he said as he fished his car keys from the pocket of his shorts, “we’ll go over to Miss Calhoun’s and help put all of her supplies away.”
“That’s really not necessary,” she objected. “You’ve spent most of the afternoon here, and I’d hate to keep you from your fun any longer.”
He didn’t respond to that as he beeped open the doors of a gray sedan so the girls could climb into their spots in the backseat. Glancing at them, he then turned to Emma. “I know you’re not supposed to say this kind of thing to a lady, but you look totally wiped out. I can’t just take off and leave you here to manage all this stuff by yourself.”
It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d be able to read her physical signs so well, and then she reminded herself that he was all too familiar with the kind of exhaustion that occasionally still came out of nowhere to stop her in her tracks. So, since he clearly had no intention of letting the subject drop, she relented with a smile. “That’s very sweet of you. Thanks.”
“Not a problem.”
His quick smile seemed genuine enough, but she noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. So much sadness, she lamented as she got into her car and started the engine. Sarah Marshall must have been a remarkable woman for him to still love her so much even though she was gone. That kind of loyalty was rare these days, which Emma knew from personal experience. Her last boyfriend had bolted soon after her cancer diagnosis, and while she didn’t blame him, his lack of fortitude had been a tremendous disappointment to her. That Rick had remained strong for his family said a lot about the kind of man he was beneath the expertly pressed shorts and deck shoes.
When they arrived at her house, she pulled into the driveway far enough to allow Rick to park behind her. She got out and looked back to find that there was a ruckus going on in his backseat. She peeked in to find the girls bouncing in place, pointing at the old maple tree that shaded the front yard. She walked back to meet her guests, and he chuckled as Caitlin and Aubrey bolted from the car and made a beeline for the tree. “I think they like your swing.”
“So do I,” she replied, strolling over to join them. The seat was wide enough for them to sit side by side, and she gave them a light push to get them started. “My brothers and I grew up here, and my dad hung a swing from this tree when we were kids. There have been a few more since then, and the last time it needed to be replaced I almost didn’t bother. Sam insisted on hanging a new one for me, to keep the tradition going. Seeing how much your girls like it, I’m glad he did.”
“You’ve always lived here?” Caitlin asked, clearly amazed by the concept.
“Yes. I went away for college, and when I was done, the elementary school’s art teacher was ready to retire. She encouraged me to pursue art when I was young, so it just seemed right to come back here and pick up where she’d left off.”
“That’s so awesome,” the girl approved, glancing at the house and then staring up into the wide branches overhead with a huge grin. “I would’ve done that, too.”
Emma was happy with her decision, but she had to admit that sometimes she wondered what she’d missed by so quickly returning to her tiny hometown. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll have lots of adventures when you’re older. There’s a big, exciting world out there for you to explore.”
“I guess. But it’d be nice to have a house like this to come back to.”
“Did someone paint your windows?” Aubrey asked.
Emma laughed. “Sort of. They’re called stained glass, and it takes a real artist to do them right. My cousin Jordan makes them, and he did them for me as a housewarming gift when I bought the house from my parents a few years ago.”
“Was your house cold?” the adorable cherub asked, forehead puckering in obvious confusion.
At first Emma didn’t understand the question. Then she replayed their exchange in her head and smiled. “A housewarming is when you invite people to see your new home and they bring you presents of things you might need. Like towels or a welcome mat, things like that.”
“And your cousin brought you windows that he made special for you?” When Emma nodded, Aubrey’s eyes widened in appreciation. “That was really nice of him.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Is he your favorite cousin?” Emma nodded again, and the girl said, “My favorite cousin is Gigi. She lives in Vi-ginia. We used to live in Charleston by Grammy and Grampa, but then Daddy got a new job and we moved here.”
Emma glanced over at Rick, who was leaning against the tree, listening to their conversation. When she caught his eye, he gave her a what-can-you-do sort of look, but he didn’t step in to cut off his suddenly chatty daughter. So many people did that to young children, and Emma was pleased to discover that he wasn’t one of them. Kids were openly curious about everything around them, and she’d always hated it when adults tried to maneuver them into behaving more properly.
Quite honestly, she believed that if grown-ups could find a way to be as open-minded as kids were, life would be a lot more fun for everyone.
“And I’m very glad he did,” she told them as she went up the front porch steps of the vintage Craftsman house. “We can always use someone like your dad around here. In Liberty Creek,” she added quickly, to avoid any potential misunderstanding. The Marshall girls were sweet and engaging, but she was well aware that children often repeated things they’d heard without realizing how they might be received when heard out of context. She didn’t want Rick—or anyone else—getting the idea that she personally liked having him around. Considering the Liberty Creek gossip mill, that was the last thing either of them needed.
Pushing open the beautiful original door that Sam had recently refinished for her, she stepped into the living room and motioned them inside. “Come on in.”
The girls pushed past their father and stopped so abruptly, he nearly ran them over. When he’d regained his balance, he looked around with the same awed expression they were wearing.
“Wow,” he murmured, clearly trying to take everything in at once. “This is not at all what I was expecting.”
“I don’t have much use for a living room,” she explained. “What I needed was a studio.”
“And I’d say you have one. This is incredible. Don’t touch anything, girls.”
“Oh, they’re fine,” Emma assured him. “Everything’s dry, and there’s nothing breakable in here. You caught me on a good day—I just cleaned.”
Eyes sparkling in appreciation, Caitlin slowly made her way between easels, pausing to stare at the panoramic landscape that was almost finished. It was so large, it spanned two easels all by itself. Looking up at Emma, she asked, “Is this the town?”
“You have a good eye,” Emma praised her student with a smile. Taking down an aging tintype that was tacked to the upper edge of the canvas, she handed it to Caitlin. “It’s Liberty Creek, but this is how it looked a long time ago. Back when people drove horses and wagons instead of cars, and my grandmother’s bakery was a general store that sold things like fabric, candy, hammers and saddles.”
Rick sauntered over and looked above their heads at the scene. “This is what Liberty Creek Forge looked like back in its heyday?”
“More or less. This piece is a surprise for Brian and Lindsay, so please don’t mention it to either of them. I thought it might look nice hanging in the lobby at the forge.”
“Nice?” he echoed with a chuckle. “I’d say it’ll be the centerpiece. The detail is incredible, right down to the dog sitting on the front landing. It looks just like their Riley, Aussie markings and all. It doesn’t seem like I’m looking at a portrait of something two-dimensional. You have a knack for making it feel like I actually went back in time and am standing right there.”
Emma had been sketching, painting and sculpting her entire life. It was something she’d always done, because she couldn’t not do it. People often admired her work, but to most she was the school’s art teacher. Or Sam and Brian’s little sister, or Ellie’s youngest grandchild. It was one of the drawbacks of never having left home, she supposed. People saw her as the starry-eyed pixie she’d always been, not the capable woman she’d become.
She wasn’t one to cater to her ego, but Rick’s assessment of her talent made her stand up a little straighter, proud to share her work with him.
There were several large frames standing on edge against one wall, and he slowly flipped through them, asking questions about her inspiration for each. One in particular appeared to interest him, and he pulled it free to set it out on its own. To her utter astonishment, he looked over at her and asked, “Is this for sale?”
“For sale?” she squeaked, totally flabbergasted by the idea of it. “You mean, you want to buy it from me?”
“If you’re willing to part with it, then yes. My office at the bank is about the blandest place you’ve ever seen, and I’ve been hunting for artwork to bring in some color. This autumn forest scene would be perfect.”
“It would?” Realizing she sounded like a complete moron, Emma scraped up some dignity and tried to sound more professional. “I’m pleased that you like it so much.”
“How much is it?”
She’d never sold anything this large before. Mostly, the oversize canvases were gifts for family and friends. Or they wound up hanging on her own walls until she ran out of space and carefully wrapped them in brown paper before consigning them to the attic. Completely out of her depth, she fell back on a tactic that she’d learned from her late grandfather when he used to sell his handmade metal items at the area’s many summertime crafts shows. “That depends. How much do you think it’s worth?”
Rick tilted his head in a chiding gesture. “You’re not exactly a hardheaded businesswoman, are you?”
“Not many dreamers are,” she informed him, smarting a bit from the dig.
Judging by the sudden shift in his features, he’d picked up on her annoyance. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you. As far as I’m concerned, your approach is a refreshing change from the money-first people I deal with every day.”
“Oh. Well, then, apology accepted.”
When she named a price that seemed reasonable to her, he shook his head. “You’re selling yourself way too short. A one-of-a-kind piece this size, of this quality, is worth twice that much at any art gallery in New England.”
Emma’s jaw fell open in astonishment. “Seriously? I had no idea.”
“I can see that,” he commented, adding a smile that made her feel slightly less naive. Setting the frame carefully against the wall, he pulled out his wallet and fingered through the contents before handing her several bills. “Will this be enough to hold it until I can come back with the rest and pick it up?”
It was more money than she’d ever made in an afternoon, and she tried not to stammer. “Of course. Would you like to have it framed?”
“You do that, too?”
“Well, Sam makes them custom for me. He’s the carpenter in the family.”
“That’s right—I’ve seen his craftsmanship over at the forge. When I was admiring the repaired vintage woodwork he recently installed there, Brian told me that there’s nothing Sam can’t build or fix.”
Her oldest brother had been through a lot since leaving the army, and Rick’s admiration of his skills made her smile. “Very true. If you get in touch with him and tell him what style of frame you’d like, I’m sure he’d be happy to take care of it for you.”
“Sounds good.” Flashing her a quick smile, he said, “Girls, let’s help Miss Calhoun unload her car and then head home. We’ve still got things to get done today.”
In a matter of minutes, all of her crafts show supplies were stowed in the enclosed side porch she’d converted into her storage space, and she was waving goodbye to the Marshalls. When she was alone, she strolled into the living room and stared thoughtfully at the large painting she’d somehow managed to sell without even trying. A teacher’s salary didn’t go very far when you were maintaining your own house and still paying off a car and college loans, so the extra cash would be a welcome addition to her modest bank account.
This month it would be easier to pay her bills, and she might even be able to put a little bit away for a future rainy day. They always seemed to pop up at the worst times, like when the aging chimney had started leaking into the living room and needed repair in the middle of a frigid, snowy January.
Glancing up, she smiled. “I’m not sure why You did that, but thank You.”
* * *
Emma was late.
Rick checked his watch again, confirming that it was now ten after three and he was still waiting for her. When she’d expressed concern about interrupting his afternoon, he’d assumed that meant she valued his time. It had made it easier for him to be more generous than he might have been otherwise.
But now he was regretting the uncharacteristic lapse in his clockwork-style routine. Business school had taught him the importance of efficiently using every minute of the day to benefit whichever company he was working for. Having spent the past six years climbing the ladder through the banking industry, he knew that at least part of his success was due to his unyielding discipline.
But there was something about Emma Calhoun that made him want to step outside his regimen and be more spontaneous. That unnamed quality had nudged him to cast aside his family’s usual Saturday routine and follow her to the quirky home filled with a creative light that he still remembered vividly. While his daughters enjoyed their tumbling array of collectibles and stuffed animals, in his own room he preferred clean, simple lines and as little clutter as possible. He attributed the difference to their younger view of the world around them, but maybe there was more to it than that.
Quarter after, he noticed while he checked into his email to avoid feeling as if he was wasting his afternoon. It wasn’t like the lovely art teacher had asked him to bend the rules for her, he reminded himself wryly. He’d done it willingly, and all on his own. Lesson learned.
“Rick, I’m so sorry,” the lady in question apologized as she lunged through the door into his office, loaded down with an armful of manila folders. “There was an art emergency at school, and I totally forgot to call you to let you know I was running late.”
That was a new one, he thought as he shook off his irritation and stood to motion her to one of the client chairs opposite his desk. “What’s an art emergency?”
“One of my middle schoolers was making a model of Independence Hall and accidentally glued his fingers together. I know, I know,” she added, holding up one hand in a quieting gesture. “It’s crazy, and I didn’t believe him at first, either. But when I realized he was serious, I knew I couldn’t send him home like that. Once I stopped laughing, it took me a good ten minutes to get him unstuck and cleaned up.”
Her charming account chased away the last of his annoyance, and he chuckled. “Boys, huh?”
“And how. If you knew half the scrapes my brothers got into when we were growing up, you’d never believe they survived.”
“Meaning you were the perfect child?” The question sounded perilously close to teasing, which was completely inappropriate given the professional setting they were in, and he gave himself a mental shake. In his defense, it was hard to remain detached from someone as bubbly as Emma Calhoun.
“The most perfect one,” she informed him, mischief twinkling in those crystal-blue eyes. “Just ask my dad.”
Rick had encountered Steve Calhoun a couple of times and had no doubt that the burly mechanic had been wrapped around Emma’s little finger since the time she was old enough to smile at him. Warm and open, she’d quickly broken through Rick’s usual reserve, and he was an expert at keeping his distance. Being the father of two charmers himself, he could only imagine how completely Steve doted on his only daughter.
Eager to move the conversation onto safer footing, he glanced down at the folders she’d dumped onto his formerly empty leather blotter. “So, what have you got here?”
“Ideas for projects, sketches, wish lists from the kids, things like that. You said to bring everything related to the after-school program.”
“When I said everything, I meant all your receipts and invoices,” he explained patiently. He thought he’d been perfectly clear about what he needed, but apparently they had a difference of opinion on what was important.
“Oh, I have those, too.”
Opening one of the unmarked folders, she finger-walked through the pages inside, plucking out a receipt here and there. After about a minute of that he honestly thought he was about to lose his mind. “They’re all mixed in, then?”
“Well, yes,” she replied as if she had no idea that there was a better way to organize her materials. “I keep them connected to the project idea they belong with. That way I know how many kids wanted to do each one, and how much I spent on supplies to get them done.”
Rick grudgingly admitted that her system did make sense. In a convoluted, totally random kind of way. Her free-spirited demeanor reminded him of his daughters, and it occurred to him that the best strategy for getting through this task was to recognize that their minds worked in different ways. Once he accepted that, he could figure out how to meld their vastly dissimilar talents into a cohesive approach.
He could take a shot at it, anyway. Fortunately for him, he liked taking on a new challenge once in a while. It helped to keep his problem-solving chops in shape.
“Tell you what,” he suggested, tapping the stack of folders. “Why don’t we go through these together, sorting and categorizing your records into something that we can present to the board on Wednesday?”
Her forehead puckered in confusion. “I thought we were going to do that now.”
“I didn’t realize how big a job it was,” he confided, feeling more than a little foolish about admitting that to her. “I have a meeting at four, but tomorrow afternoon is clear and we won’t be rushed to get it done.”
For some reason she hesitated. After a moment she said, “That’s very nice, but tomorrow afternoon is supposed to be beautiful. I hate to intrude on time you could be spending with Caitlin and Aubrey.”
Quite honestly, it had never occurred to him that with his schedule clear after one o’clock tomorrow, he could leave the bank and hang out with his girls either in their spacious backyard or at the town playground. His father had instilled in him the importance of always striving for more, working harder than his peers to ensure that his achievements shone the brightest. In any business, having happy customers translated to success, which brought you more income and security for the future. But now that this soft-spoken teacher had pointed out another way for him to use his free afternoon, Rick saw no reason not to take advantage of it.
“I’ll do that,” he agreed with a smile, “and then you can come by my house around five tomorrow after the arts program is over. We’ll be back from the park by then, and I know the girls would love to see you.”
“What a fabulous idea!” Emma approved, eyes sparkling with a childlike enthusiasm that even a pragmatic data hound like him could appreciate. “Maybe they’d like to help me pick out which projects I should include in the slides. I usually do that to show the board some real-life examples of our results and the benefit the kids get from working on their projects.”
She’d called herself a dreamer the other day, and he was pleasantly surprised to discover that she had a practical streak under all that perky sweetness. “That’s a nice touch, for sure. With the fate of the arts program on the line, this presentation is important to you and a lot of other people here in town. If we both put our minds to it, we’ll have a better chance of getting your proposal approved.”
She studied him for a few moments before asking, “What about you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You made it sound like the program’s not important to you. If that’s the case, I don’t understand why you’d go to all this trouble to save it.”
“I’m a numbers guy,” he explained, leaning back in his chair to put a little more distance between them. “But intellectually, I understand the value of creative things.”
“You liked that landscape painting well enough to pay me a lot of money for it,” she pointed out, clearly baffled by his response. “Or were you just being nice to Caitlin’s new teacher?”
In spite of his resolve to treat her professionally, he smiled as he shook his head. “No, I really do like it. As you can see, this office needs something.”
“It needs a lot of somethings,” she corrected him with a cheeky grin. “All these empty beige walls... This must be what the inside of oatmeal looks like.”
Her comment made him laugh out loud, and through his open door he saw a couple of the other managers stop and stare at him. Their amazed expressions told him they didn’t know he had a sense of humor, and in fairness, he hadn’t given them much reason to think otherwise. As far as his coworkers knew, he was a serious, nose-to-the-grindstone kind of person who worked hard and always got the job done flawlessly and ahead of schedule.
Now that he thought about it, he seldom laughed unless he was with his girls. Why that had suddenly changed was beyond him, but he couldn’t deny that his lovely guest had something to do with it. Although the easing of his usual composure felt good to him, he recognized that the effect would by necessity be short-lived.
Once he was finished with the task he’d volunteered for, he and Emma would return to the uncomplicated relationship they’d had since he’d moved to Liberty Creek. She was his daughter’s teacher, and he was her brother’s banker. Simple, straightforward and pleasant.
The realization should have been comforting to him. But as he helped her scoop up the documents she’d brought with her, there was a sinking feeling in his chest. It only got worse as he walked her to the bank’s main entrance door and said goodbye.
Back in his office, he sensed that something had changed. It took him a minute, but then he registered the fact that the perfume she wore had lingered behind her, lacing the air with the scent of a summertime garden. The idea of sharing a picnic in the town’s charming gazebo with her flashed into his head.
At this point in his life, a romantic connection was the furthest thing from his mind, he thought as he resolutely got back to work.
Allowing himself to fall into a relationship with another woman battling cancer was simply out of the question. After two years of unimaginable heartache, he and his daughters had finally begun to recover from losing Sarah. He had no intention of setting them on that path again.
Resilient as they were, he wasn’t sure they’d make it through a second time.
Chapter Three (#uc1a6eb03-5c3f-56c9-9c98-6646baf39379)
“Miss Calhoun is here!” Caitlin sang, sailing down the colonial home’s handcrafted wooden staircase and out the front door before Rick had a chance to respond.
Clearly amused, Mrs. Fields turned and gave him an indulgent smile. “She really loves her new teacher, doesn’t she?”
“Cait’s my little Rembrandt,” he said fondly, reaching out to where Aubrey sat at the kitchen table to flip the complex single French braid he’d finally mastered with a little help from an internet discussion board for dads who needed advice on such things. “Aubrey’s going to be a scientist. Right, honey?”
Munching her apple, she tilted her head with a serious expression. “Or a zookeeper. Or maybe a really good cook, like Mrs. Fields.”
The grandmotherly woman laughed and hugged her from behind. “Whatever you decide, I’m sure you’ll be the best. I’m just glad to know that girls these days have so many choices of what they want to do for a career. In my day, there weren’t nearly as many options.”
Fascinated, Aubrey spun partway around in her chair. “What did you want to be?”
“Oh, it wasn’t very realistic,” the woman responded, waving her hand as if her old dream was something that should be pushed aside and forgotten.
Ordinarily, Rick took people at their word and didn’t pry beneath the surface of what they said to him. For some reason this time he went the other way. “Maybe not, but it sounds like it meant something to you when you were younger. What was it?”
After a moment she shook her head with a wistful look. “I wanted to be a music teacher. I love children, and helping them learn new things makes me happy.”
That explained why she was so wonderful with his girls, Rick thought in admiration. He’d never asked the agency for details on prospective nannies beyond the usual references and salary requirements. It occurred to him that as he’d gotten to know more about her over the past few months, he’d begun to view the cheerful middle-aged woman as more than an employee.
She felt like part of the family. How had that happened? he wondered. Before he had a chance to ponder it, Caitlin joined them in the kitchen, pulling a laughing Emma behind her.
“Miss Calhoun said we can call her Emma when we’re away from school. Isn’t that awesome, Daddy?”
“Very awesome,” he agreed, chuckling as he stood to relieve their visitor of the load she was carrying. Glancing inside the large plastic bin labeled “Art Program,” he looked at her in confusion. “There’s a lot more in here than what you brought to the bank yesterday.”
“More of the kids’ artwork,” she explained before dropping into the chair next to Aubrey. Peering at the preschooler’s book of animals, she pointed to one of the pictures. “I’ve never seen one of these before. What is it?”
Always ready to jump in, Caitlin quickly said, “It’s a—”
Rick cut her off with a shake of his head, and she abruptly fell silent to let her younger sister answer. Aubrey was a little slower to warm up to adults, and he looked for any opportunity to encourage her to interact with people outside her very limited circle.
To his surprise she quietly confided, “I don’t know.”
“Me, neither,” Emma said easily, sliding a little closer. “Why don’t we go through the letters in its name together and see if we can figure out what they spell?”
“Okay.” Aubrey’s small index finger moved from one letter to the next as she recited the letters. If she got stuck, she glanced at Emma, who filled in the alphabetical blank. When they were done, they sounded out the name together, and she sat back with a triumphant grin. “Coatimundi. It’s really cute.”
“Well, how about that?” Emma said, giving her a quick hug. “Thanks to you, now I know what they look like, and that they live in Mexico.”
“And how to spell it,” Caitlin added, patting her sister’s head. “Great job, Froggy.”
She sat down on the other side of Emma, and the three of them leafed through the book, stopping here and there for a closer look at whatever snagged their attention. Seeing Emma with his daughters did something strange to Rick’s heart. He’d grown so accustomed to them being a three-person family that he didn’t often consider what they might be missing out on. He adored them—would lay down his life for theirs without a single thought if it came to that. Their past nannies had been wonderful, and Mrs. Fields brought a steady, compassionate demeanor into their household that he really appreciated.
But he couldn’t deny that his girls needed something more than he could give them, even though he could afford the best caretakers in the area. Even when Sarah’s own health was failing, she’d remained an unwavering presence in their young lives, calm and comforting until the end. That was a mother’s love, he realized. And no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t give them that.
But Emma had an undeniable way with them, and it wasn’t the first time he’d noticed it. Maybe it was because she worked with kids all day and obviously enjoyed being around them. Or maybe she’d formed a bond with Caitlin because of her illness, and Aubrey followed along because she adored her big sister and frequently copied her behavior.
Or maybe that was simply the kind of person Emma was. In his experience, kind, caring strangers were so rare that he could quickly count them on one hand. Having met Emma Calhoun, he had to allow for the possibility that he’d stumbled across another one. If that was the case, he was beginning to get the feeling that they’d all be better off for knowing her.
“Mr. Marshall,” Mrs. Fields interrupted his thoughts in her usual brisk way. “There’s a lasagna in the oven, and it will be ready in about fifteen minutes. If you’re set for tonight, I’ll head home and let you enjoy your evening.”
“I knew I smelled something delicious when I walked in earlier,” he commented.
“Well, it’s Tuesday, and that’s lasagna night. Girls, go wash up so you’re ready when your dinner is.”
Caitlin and Aubrey scrambled for the powder room, and Rick walked their nanny out the way he did every day. After wishing her a good night, he slid the dead bolt and returned to his guest.
When he came back into the kitchen, Emma gave him a curious look, and he chuckled. “Okay, you got me. The girls like lasagna and I’m a creature of habit.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” she pointed out gently. “This is your house, and you can have whatever you want for dinner.”
He knew that, but something had prompted him to clarify their routine for her. It was none of her business, as she’d told him, but he didn’t want her thinking that he was some kind of rigid financial type with no imagination. Why her opinion mattered to him, he couldn’t say, but it did.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner,” she went on, heading for the back door. “When you’re finished, just give me a call and I’ll come back.”
“Would you like to join us?” he blurted without thinking. That was unusual for him, a guy who normally considered every angle of a situation before deciding how to respond. But this sweet, soft-spoken artist had gotten to him on a level he didn’t quite understand, and he was definitely off his game.
“Are you sure? I mean, this is family time for you.”
“Oh, please stay, Emma!” Caitlin begged, tugging one of her hands while Aubrey latched onto the other. “Daddy told us about your project, and I want to help.”
“Me, too,” Aubrey chimed in. “But I’m not allowed to use the big scissors. They’re too sharp.”
“Then we’ll find you some smaller ones,” Emma assured her, leaning down to pull them into an adorable group hug. “It’s a big job, and your daddy and I can use all the hands we can get.”
“That’s settled, then,” Rick announced just as the oven timer rang. Stepping back, he motioned them into the dining room, where the table was neatly set for three. “Ladies, if you’ll make yourselves comfortable, I’ll bring in our dinner.”
“And an extra plate for Emma,” Caitlin reminded him in a tone that was far too grown up for his taste. He had a feeling that before he could blink, his six-year-old would be sixteen and he’d be meeting her potential boyfriends at the door, casually holding his nine-iron in a not-so-subtle warning.
“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed, swallowing a laugh as he got to work.
The three of them normally occupied half of the round cherry dining table so they could more easily talk and pass the dishes. To accommodate their visitor, they sat more evenly spaced, chatting about their days as if the four of them ate together every night. To anyone out on the sidewalk passing by the large bay window, they’d look like any other family sharing a meal at the end of the day. It struck him again that while he’d taken over Sarah’s care of the girls, he couldn’t ever take her place.
Not that he hadn’t tried, he mused with a frown. It just wasn’t possible.
“Daddy?”
Aubrey’s voice dragged him back to their dinner, and he looked over at her. “Yes?”
“You look sad.”
“I’m fine, baby,” he assured her, forcing a smile. “How’s your lasagna?”
“Yummy. Mrs. Fields let me help her put the noodles in the pan. They were all slippery, and she let me eat some of the broken ones. It was fun.”
“Aw, I wish I could’ve done that,” Caitlin complained.
“You were at school, working on your painting with me,” Emma reminded her. “You had your fun, and Aubrey had hers. That makes a nice day for everyone.”
“Yeah, I guess. I just wish I could’ve done both.”
“I know, but we can’t be in two places at once,” Emma said with an understanding smile. “Some other time, Aubrey can be the artist and you can be the cook.”
Caitlin absorbed that and nodded. “Okay. That sounds good.”
The young teacher’s quick defusing of a potentially difficult situation was impressive, to say the least. “Emma, do you work for the UN in your spare time?”
Tilting her head, she gave him a quizzical look. “I’m sorry?”
“That was very diplomatic of you. I had no idea you were such a good mediator.”
“Oh, that’s nothing.” She laughed, waving away the compliment. “Try negotiating a truce between two kindergarteners who both want to use the same purple crayon. That’s a challenge.” Beaming from one of his daughters to the other, she added, “You two are wonderful by comparison.”
Rick thought so. But to hear that kind of comment from someone who’d witnessed them at less than their best behavior was comforting. He often worried that his hectic schedule prompted him to be too lenient with them as a way to make up for the hours that he was away from home. It was nice to know that Emma didn’t see it that way.
After dinner they each took responsibility for a part of the cleaning-up process. There was a lot of laughter and teasing, especially when Aubrey’s hair ribbon somehow found its way into the dishwasher. Once the kitchen was back to its usual state, Emma brought her bin in from the kitchen and set in on the dining room table. Rick fetched his laptop, and after a bit of wrangling around the girls, they all got to work.
“How about this one?” Caitlin asked Emma, showing her a picture a first-grader had sketched of her new kitten.
“Hmm...” Emma responded, tilting it toward Aubrey. “What do you think?”
Clearly pleased to be included in such a grown-up endeavor, his youngest studied it closely before declaring, “It’s nice. I like cats.”
“I like dogs,” Caitlin said.
“I like both,” Emma told them, spreading the artwork out so they could see it better. “Let’s see if we can find a puppy picture in here somewhere, to balance it out. That way people who prefer one or the other will be happy.”
Rick tapped away on his computer, glancing up now and then to see how things were going in the art department. He’d done so many presentations, he could probably compose them in his sleep by now. This one was about as simple as it got, so he was able to look busy while he kept an eye on the ladies’ progress.
Usually, the girls clamped on to him the moment he got home and didn’t let go until bedtime. Tonight they seemed perfectly content with Emma’s attention, and it was interesting to watch them interact with her in such a warm, easygoing way. She was calm by nature, and she treated them more like short adults who deserved respect than like children to be coddled. He liked that.
More than that, he realized suddenly, he liked her. Emma’s kindness and generosity had swept effortlessly through his little family, bringing them a friend at a time when they desperately needed one.
She’d been so good to them, and now he knew that helping her save the art program that was so dear to her was the ideal way to thank her. So he put his head down and got to work.
* * *
Emma had never been so nervous in her life.
Not even her first day of student teaching had caused her this much stress, and she was at a loss to explain why. Waiting on the front landing of the high school for Rick, she reminded herself that she’d handled evenings like this before all by herself and they’d gone perfectly fine. She’d started attending the board meetings a couple of years ago when she’d first pitched her idea of transforming her impromptu art club into a bona fide after-school program, free of charge for any student who wanted to come. Some of the high schoolers who came in functioned as her assistants, helping the younger ones when they needed attention and she was occupied elsewhere. She suspected that the mentor role benefited the older students as much as the younger ones, and it was rewarding for her to know that she’d had a hand in helping these talented young people grow.
As promised, Rick’s sedan pulled into the parking lot fifteen minutes before seven, and some of her anxiety receded. Because of his coaching and encouragement, she was confident that the concise, logical presentation they’d prepared was top-notch. It was her delivery she wasn’t so sure of, but she swallowed her fear and plastered a smile on her face as she went to meet him.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she blurted, cringing at the desperate note in her voice. She sounded like a teenager dreading a speech she had to make for English class rather than a competent adult. “I’m sorry—I guess I’m more on edge than I realized.”
“Totally understandable,” he assured her with a smile that looked as if he’d practiced it in a mirror. “This program is important to you, and it’s natural to be a little anxious about tonight. That’s why we put so much effort into refining the bullet points you’re going to present to the board. Remember?”
“Yes, but you left the slides of the kids’ projects mixed in, right? I think those are just as important as proving the monetary value of them having access to an extra art class.”
“Of course I did,” he said, patting his laptop case as if to prove to her that he hadn’t forgotten anything. “This is your show, Emma. I’m just your support staff.”
“I’m not used to having staff,” she confided. “I kind of like it.”
She also liked that he’d finally started calling her by her first name. Maybe just a little too much, she mused, concerned about their brief alliance becoming more than she was prepared to fend off. Now that she knew he was single, it definitely put a different spin on things.
Silently chiding herself for worrying about nothing, she pushed the bizarre reaction to him aside and led him into the school.
As they took their seats in the classroom where the meeting was taking place, he said, “I’ve enjoyed helping out. Tomorrow I have to go back to my oatmeal office and catch up on paperwork.”
Her smile told him that she recognized her own description of his work space from the afternoon they’d first started working on this project.
“I like my paperwork better,” she said, tapping the watercolor sketch of her class that adorned the front of her very organized new binder.
He gave her a long look, then leaned closer. “Don’t repeat this to anyone at the bank, but so do I.”
“Don’t worry,” she replied with a grin. “I won’t tell a soul.”
“No one would believe it, anyway.”
There was a dejected quality to his normally mellow voice, and she frowned. “Why not?”
“I’m a numbers guy, remember?”
“You don’t have to be just a numbers guy,” she pointed out. “You could do something creative as a hobby.”
Chuckling, he shook his head. “What’s a hobby?”
“Something you do for fun.” When she realized he’d simply been making a point about how hectic his life was, she felt silly for answering him that way. “What do you do for fun?”
“The girls are my fun. Without them—” He shrugged as if he honestly didn’t know what he’d do without Caitlin and Aubrey to break up his work routine.
“So you wouldn’t go to a crafts show on your own?”
“No.”
His voice had taken on a sudden strained quality, and she wondered what she’d done to bring on such a terse response. He seemed to appreciate her artwork, so it wasn’t that he had no interest in that sort of thing. Then it hit her, and she realized that Sarah must have been the creative influence on their daughters.
Emma tried desperately to come up with something to say, but nothing seemed appropriate for someone she barely knew. And especially not surrounded by people who might overhear their conversation. So she decided the best option was to change the subject. “Could you tell me again how to run the slide show?”
“Sure.” Opening the sleek laptop he’d brought with him, he took a cable from his bag and clicked to start the program. “Plug this into the console up front and it will connect the computer to the projector. Hit the enter key when you want to move ahead, and it will keep pace with you. That way you control the speed of it so you have time to answer any questions that come up while you’re talking.”
The mere idea of fielding unexpected inquiries made her queasy. “Do you really think they’re going to ask me anything?”
“I have no idea, but I’ve learned that it’s always better to be prepared in case they do.”
“Okay.” Taking a deep breath, she cast a worried glance around at the room that was much fuller now than it had been when she arrived. She recognized most of the attendees, which gave her a little boost of confidence. “I know almost everyone here. That should help.”
“That’s the spirit. You handle dozens of kids every day, which I think is much harder than giving a ten-minute talk. I’m sure you’ll do fine.”
Everyone has their talents, Emma mused, flattered that he seemed to value hers so highly. Many people assumed that working with kids was like playtime, and it was nice to know he respected how challenging her job could be.
Fortunately for her, she was the first agenda item after the usual greeting and the vote to accept the minutes from last month’s session. So she gathered her courage, picked up Rick’s laptop and went to the front of the room.
Glancing out into the audience, she found his steady gaze, and he gave her a subtle nod of encouragement. That small gesture helped her immensely, and she faced the school board with a smile.
“Good evening, and thank you for letting me come in to speak to you.” Shifting her view from them to the assembly, she went on, “Since you can read the agenda on the whiteboard, you all know why I’m here. Unless there are questions, I’ll get started.”
No one asked her anything, but a couple of the board members traded quizzical looks. Instinct told her something was up, but it wasn’t her place to address them, so she put aside her misgivings and cued up the slides that Rick had helped her create. One covered the reasonable cost of the program compared with other after-school activities in the surrounding area. Another detailed the loose curriculum that governed the sessions, to show that it provided the kids with more than pure entertainment.
Finally, she reached the slides that Rick had put into a repetitive loop, showing off the projects they’d decided best showcased the tangible results of the artistic program. This section included sound she’d recorded at various shows she’d organized throughout the past year. They allowed the people there to hear comments from students and their parents about how much they loved the program and would miss it if the school decided not to renew it.
Following her mother’s advice, Emma paused on the final slide—a sixth-grader’s Impressionist-style rendition of Liberty Creek’s iconic covered bridge. It wasn’t Monet, but the boy’s talent was obvious, and she hoped that it would convince the board to continue funding for the program that was so dear to her heart. “So, does anyone have questions for me?”
She fielded the usual ones about whether costs would rise and was pleased to have Rick’s numbers to back up her assurance that they would remain the same. Some wondered how she planned to change the offerings for the coming year, and everyone seemed more than satisfied with her responses.
Except for the board, she noticed.
There were more of those awkward looks, and a woman she’d known her entire life actually stared down at her folded hands while Emma was speaking. She had no idea what might be bothering them, but she returned to where Rick was sitting and picked up her messenger bag to go.
“Let’s stick around,” he murmured.
“Why?”
“Just a feeling,” he replied cryptically. “Something’s going on, and my hunch is we’d be smart to hang around and find out what it is.”

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