Adam followed Clare down the steps.
Her head was bent as she navigated the narrow stairs, exposing the delicate nape of her neck. It made her seem vulnerable. And fragile. And awakened a protective instinct in him. He’d experienced a similar feeling about his late wife. But it had been long absent from his life. Nor did it make any sense now.
For so many years, the only woman in his life had been his daughter, Nicole. Worrying about her had consumed his thoughts and energies. He’d rarely given any other female more than a passing glance.
Now Clare would be living in his backyard. As she’d noted, it was a business arrangement, nothing more. And he would do well to remember that. Even if he was inclined to consider her in a more personal light, it would be a mistake. It was a mistake he’d made once before, and he didn’t intend to repeat it. It wouldn’t be fair to any woman.
Because he just wasn’t husband material….
IRENE HANNON
is an award-winning author who has been a writer for as long as she can remember. She “officially” launched her career at the age of ten, when she was one of the winners in a “complete-the-story” contest conducted by a national children’s magazine. More recently, Irene won the coveted RITA® Award for her 2002 Love Inspired book Never Say Goodbye. Irene, who spent many years in an executive corporate communications position with a Fortune 500 company, now devotes herself full-time to her writing career. In her “spare” time, she enjoys performing in community musical theater productions, singing in the church choir, gardening, cooking and spending time with family and friends. She and her husband, Tom—whom she describes as “my own romantic hero”—make their home in Missouri.
Gift from the Heart
Irene Hannon
For You have tested us, O God! You have tried us as silver is tried by fire; You have brought us into a snare; You laid a heavy burden on our back. You let men ride over our heads; we went through fire and water, but You have led us out to refreshment.
—Psalms 66:10–12
To my wonderful husband, Tom, who supported my decision to leave the corporate world and follow my dream. Thank you—always—for your gifts of love and encouragement.
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
Epilogue
Letter to Reader
Prologue
Clare Randall drew a shaky breath and reached up with trembling fingers to tuck a stray strand of honey-gold hair back into her elegant chignon. With a sigh, she transferred her gaze from the brilliant St. Louis late-October sky outside the window to the interior of the legal offices of Mitchell and Montgomery. Normally, the hushed, elegant setting would have calmed her. As it was, the tranquil ambiance created by the dove-gray carpeting, rich mahogany wainscoting and subdued lighting did little to settle her turbulent emotions.
Still, she couldn’t help noticing that Seth Mitchell, Aunt Jo’s attorney, had good taste. Or at least his decorator did. The Lladro figurine displayed on a lighted shelf was exquisite, the Waterford bowl beside it stunning. Yet the beautiful items left her feeling only sad and melancholy, for they reminded her of another time, another life, when her world had been filled with such expensive objects. A life that now seemed only a distant memory as she struggled just to eke out a living.
Suddenly the door to the inner office opened, and three heads swiveled in unison toward the attorney.
Please, Lord, let this be the answer to my prayers! Clare pleaded in fervent silence as her fingers tightened convulsively on the tissue in her lap.
But the distinguished, gray-haired man who paused on the threshold didn’t appear to be in any hurry to disclose the contents of Jo Warren’s last will and testament as he gave each of her great-nieces a slow, discerning appraisal.
Clare wondered how they fared as she, too, turned to contemplate her sisters. A.J., the youngest, was tall and lean, with long, naturally curly strawberry-blond hair too unruly to be tamed even by strategically placed combs. Her calf-length skirt and long tunic top, cinched at the waist with an unusual metal belt, were somewhat eclectic, but the attire suited her free-spirited personality. She seemed curious and interested as she gazed back at Seth Mitchell.
Clare looked toward Morgan. Her middle sister wore her dark copper-colored hair in a sleek, shoulder-length style, and her chic business attire screamed big city and success. She was looking at the attorney with a bored, impatient, let’s-get-on-with-this-because-I-have-better-things-to-do look.
And how did Seth Mitchell view her? Clare wondered, as she turned back to him. Did he see the deep, lingering sadness in the depths of her eyes? Or did he only notice her designer suit and Gucci purse—remnants of a life that had vanished one fateful day two years ago.
She had no time to ponder those questions, because suddenly her great-aunt’s attorney moved toward them. “Good morning, ladies. I’m Seth Mitchell. I recognize you from Jo’s description—A.J., Morgan, Clare,” he said, correctly identifying the sisters as he extended his hand to each in turn. “Please accept my condolences on the loss of your aunt. She was a great lady.”
They murmured polite responses, and he motioned toward his office. “If you’re ready, we can proceed with the reading of the will.”
Clare paused to reach for her purse, glancing at her sisters as they passed by. Morgan was looking at her watch, clearly anxious to get to the airport in plenty of time for her flight back to Boston and the high-stakes advertising world she inhabited. A.J. had slowed her step to take another look at the flame-red maples outside the window.
Clare shook her head and an affectionate smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. No two sisters could be more different. A.J. always took time to smell the flowers; Morgan didn’t even notice them. And their personalities had clashed in other ways, too. As the oldest, Clare had spent much of her youth acting as mediator between the two of them. Yet the three sisters shared an enduring bond, one that had only been strengthened as they’d clung together through A.J.’s tragedy.
And her own.
As Clare followed her sisters into the attorney’s office, her spirits nosedived. The past two years had tested her faith—and her finances—to the breaking point. Her work as a substitute teacher barely kept her solvent, and loneliness—especially during the endless, dark nights when sleep was elusive—was her constant companion. With A.J. living in Chicago, Morgan in Boston and Clare in Kansas City, their contact was largely confined to periodic telephone chats. Which was better than nothing. But not enough. For the past couple of days, as they’d come together to mourn and pay tribute to their great-aunt, Clare had felt a sense of comfort, of love, of warmth that had long been absent from her life. She would miss them when they all returned to their own lives.
Tears pricked her eyelids again, and she blinked them back fiercely, fighting to maintain control. Crying didn’t help anything. It was just a selfish exercise in self-indulgence. Especially when she had no one to blame for her situation except herself. Focus on the present, she told herself resolutely as she took a steadying breath. Just concentrate on what Aunt Jo’s attorney