Muttering irritably under his breath, the driver climbed out of the bus, opened the luggage compartment and extracted her travel-worn case.
Five minutes later, choking on the bus’s exhaust, Amy stood in the parking lot, wondering what madness had possessed her. She was homeless, without a job and nearly six months pregnant. She didn’t know a soul in this town, yet she felt compelled to start her new life here. Away from her mother. Away from Alex. Away from all the unhappiness that had driven her out of Dallas.
Austin had been her original destination. Her mother’s cousin lived there—not that Beverly Ramsey was expecting her. But she was the only other family Amy had. Moving to Austin had seemed preferable to staying in Dallas, and despite the pregnancy, she’d felt confident she could find employment fairly quickly, if not in an accounting office, then perhaps as a temp. Anything would do for now, as long as she managed to meet her expenses until she located something more permanent. Naturally she’d hoped that Beverly would invite her to stay until she found an apartment. Two weeks, she’d promised herself. No longer. Just until she was back on her feet. Yet the thought of calling her mother’s cousin mortified Amy. Her mother had sponged off Beverly’s kindheartedness for years. It went against everything in Amy to ask for help. She’d rather make it on her own.
If only she knew what to do.
Promise, Texas. Holding her suitcase with both hands, she glanced down Main Street again. If ever she’d needed a promise, it was now. A promise and a miracle—or two.
The baby kicked and Amy automatically flattened her hand against her stomach. “I know, Sarah, I know,” she whispered to her unborn child. She hadn’t had an ultrasound but chose to think of her baby as a girl and had named her Sarah. “It’s not the smartest move we’ve made, is it? I don’t know a soul in this town, but it looks like the kind of place where we could be happy.”
Her stomach growled and she tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. A small poster advertising $1.99 breakfast special showed in the bowling-alley window. Apparently there was a café inside.
The small restaurant was busy; almost all the seats were taken, but Amy was fortunate to find an empty booth. A waitress handed her a menu when she brought her a glass of water and glanced at her suitcase.
“You miss the bus, honey?” she asked. “You need a place to wait?”
“Actually I just got off,” Amy said, touched by the other woman’s concern. “I’ll take the breakfast special.”
“It’s the best buy in town,” the woman, whose name tag identified her as Denise, said as she wrote the order down on her pad.
Seeing that the waitress was the friendly sort, Amy asked, “Do you happen to know of someone who needs a competent bookkeeper?”
Denise gnawed thoughtfully on her lip. “I can’t say I do, but I’m sure there’s a job for you in Promise if you’re planning to settle here.”
The news cheered Amy as much as the welcome she felt. Already she was beginning to believe she’d made the right decision. Promise, Texas, would be her new address—the town where she’d raise her baby. Where she’d make a life for them both. “I can do just about anything,” Amy added, not bothering to disguise her eagerness, “and I’m not picky, either.”
“Then I’m sure all you need to do is ask around.”
A rancher sitting at a table across from Amy caught Denise’s eye and lifted his empty coffee mug. “Be right with you, Cody,” she said, then looked back at Amy. “Tex will have your meal out in a jiffy.”
“Thanks for your help,” Amy said, grateful for Denise’s encouragement and kindness. As she waited, she found herself fighting the urge to close her eyes. She staved off a yawn as her meal arrived.
The eggs, toast and hash browns tasted better than anything she’d ever eaten. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was and had to force herself to eat slowly. When she’d finished the meal, Amy left her money on the table and included a larger than usual tip in appreciation for Denise’s welcoming helpfulness.
As she stood up to leave, the rancher Denise had called Cody sent her a curious glance. He smiled in her direction until he noticed the slight rounding of her abdomen, then his eyes widened and he abruptly turned the other way. Amy shook her head in amusement.
Taking Denise’s advice, she walked down Main Street and looked for Help Wanted signs posted in store windows. She saw none, and it occurred to her that it might not be a good idea to apply for a position, suitcase in hand. Her first priority was finding a place to live. Besides, her feet hurt and the suitcase was getting heavier by the minute.
That was when Amy saw the church. It could have appeared on a postcard. Small and charming, it was built of red brick and had wide, welcoming steps that led up to arched double doors. They were open, and although she felt silly thinking this, the church seemed to be inviting her in.
Amy soon found herself walking toward it. Lugging her suitcase up the stairs, she entered the vacant church and looked around. The interior was dark on one side, while rainbow-hued sunlight spilled in through stained-glass windows on the other.
Silently she stepped inside, slipped into a back pew and sat down. It felt good to be off her feet and she gave an audible sigh, followed by a wide yawn. She’d rest a few minutes, she decided. Just a few minutes…
The male voice that reached her came out of nowhere. Amy bolted upright. Her eyes flew open and she realized she’d fallen asleep in the pew.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, instantly feeling guilt. It took her a moment to discern anything in the dim interior. When her eyes had adjusted, she saw a tall rugged-looking man standing in the church aisle, staring down at her. He resembled a rancher, not unlike the one she’d seen in the café, except that he wore a suit and a string tie.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, his voice gentle.
“No.” She shook her head. “None.” Flustered, she stood clumsily and grabbed for her suitcase.
“My sermons might be boring, but people generally wake up before Thursday afternoon.” His smile unnerved her.
“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I closed my eyes and the next thing I knew, you were here.” She glanced at her watch; she’d drifted off for at least twenty minutes, although it felt more like twenty seconds.
“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” the man told her kindly. “Are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?”
“How about a miracle or two?” She hadn’t meant to sound so flippant.
“Hey,” he said, dazzling her with a wide Texas grin, “it just so happens miracles are my specialty.” He held his arms open as if to say all she needed to do was ask and he’d direct her request to a higher power.
Amy looked more closely at this man, wondering if he was real.
“Wade McMillen,” he said, offering her his hand. “Reverend Wade McMillen.”
“Amy Thornton.” She shook hands with him and withdrew hers quickly.
“Now, what kind of miracle do you need?” he asked as if rescuing damsels in distress was all part of a day’s work.
“Since you asked,” Amy said, slowly releasing her breath. “How about a place to live, a job and a father for my baby?”
“Hmm.” Reverend McMillen’s gaze fell to her stomach. “That might take some doing.”
So he hadn’t noticed the pregnancy before, but he did now. “Some miracles are harder than others, I guess.” Amy shrugged, figuring it was unlikely he’d be able to help her. But she got into this predicament on her own, and she’d get out of it the same way.
“But none are impossible,” Wade reminded her. “Come with me.”
“Where are we going?”
“The church office. I’ll need to ask you a few questions, but as I said, miracles are my specialty.”
DOVIE BOYD HENNESSEY STEPPED back from the display she’d been working on and studied it with a discerning eye. The pine desk was a heavy old-fashioned one. She’d placed a book next to the lamp, with an overturned pair
of old wire-rimmed spectacles on top. A cable-knit sweater was casually draped over the back of the chair, suggesting that someone was about to return. The knickknacks, a quill pen and ink bottle along with a couple of framed pictures, gave it a well-used comfortable feeling.
The effect was all she’d hoped for. Her shop had enjoyed a rush of business in the past few months, and the antiques were moving almost as fast as she could get them in the door. Just last week she’d sold a solid cherry four-poster bed that had been in inventory for the better part of eighteen months. Dovie was thrilled. Not just because of the sale, but with the bed gone, an entire corner of the shop would be freed up, allowing her to create a brand-new scene.
Designing these homey nooks was what she loved best. If she’d been thirty-five years younger, she’d go back to school and study to be an interior decorator. Her skills were instinctive, and she loved assembling furniture and various bits and pieces to create the illusion of cozy inviting rooms. But with Frank talking about retiring and the two of them traveling, she probably wouldn’t be as involved in the running of her store as she’d been in years past.
As if the thought had conjured up the man, the bells above her door chimed and Sheriff Frank Hennessey walked into the shop.
“Frank!” She brightened at the sight of him. They’d been married nine months now—and he could still fluster her! He was a striking man for sixty, handsome and easy on the eyes.
“Travis Grant come for that cherry bed yet?”
“Not yet,” Dovie told him, wondering at the question.
Frank smiled—and it was a saucy sexy smile she knew all too well. “Frank, don’t be ridiculous.”
“We’re married, aren’t we?”
“It’s the middle of the afternoon—good heavens, someone could walk in that door any minute.” She edged protectively to the other side of the desk.
“You could always lock the door.”
“Frank! Be sensible.”
He walked toward the desk.
Giggling like a schoolgirl, Dovie moved beyond his reach. “What about the display windows?”
“Draw the shades.”
He had an answer for everything.
“Frank, people of our age don’t do this sort of thing!”
“Speak for yourself, woman,” he said, racing around the desk.
Dovie let out a squeal and fled with her husband in hot pursuit. He’d just about caught up with her when the bells above the door chimed. Frank and Dovie both froze in their tracks.
Louise Powell, the town gossip, stood just inside the doorway staring as if she’d caught them buck naked on the bed. Her head fell back, her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew round as golf balls.
“Well, I never,” she began.
“Maybe you should,” Frank suggested. “I bet Paul would appreciate a little hanky-panky now and then.”
Dovie elbowed her husband in the ribs and heard him swallow a groan. “Is there something I can help you find?” Dovie asked with as much poise as she could muster. A loose curl fell across her forehead and she blew it away, then tucked it back in place.
“I…I came to browse,” Louise muttered. “It’s Tammy Lee’s birthday next week and…”
Dovie couldn’t imagine there being anything in this store that Tammy Lee Kollenborn would find to her liking. The inventory included classy pieces of jewelry, subtly elegant clothing and delicate figurines. Nothing she sold had sequins—which was more Tammy Lee’s style—but Dovie would never have said so.
“I think it might be best if I came back another time,” Louise said, mouth pursed in disapproval. She marched out of the store.
Dovie turned to glare at her husband. “You can bet that five minutes from now everyone in town is going to know my husband’s a sex fiend.”
Frank grinned as though nothing would please him more.
“Have you no shame?” she asked but had a difficult time holding in a smile.
Her husband took one look at her and burst out laughing.
Dovie soon joined him.
He locked his arms around her and hugged her close. In all her life Dovie had never been loved like this. For twenty-six years she’d been married to Marvin Boyd; while she’d loved him she hadn’t experienced this kind of happiness.
“I don’t think you need to worry that Louise will return,” Frank assured her. “She isn’t going to find something for Tammy Lee here—because, my beautiful wife, you don’t sell Texas trash.”
“Frank, be kind.” Dovie’s own opinions made her no less guilty, but she was unwilling to confess as much.
“Hey, I’m just being honest.”
Dovie went to the small kitchen off the Victorian Tea Room and reached for two mugs. “Do you have time for coffee?”
Frank nodded. “Actually, I have a reason for stopping by.”
“You mean other than seducing me in the middle of the day?”
His grin was full of roguish humor. “Wade McMillen phoned a little while ago.”
The pastor was a favorite of Dovie’s, and Frank’s, too. It’d been Wade who’d suggested a solution to their dilemma. As a lifelong bachelor, Frank had feared he was too set in his ways for marriage, but Dovie had found it impossible to continue their relationship without the emotional security and commitment of wedding vows.
Wade had come up with the idea of their getting married but maintaining separate households.
In the months since their wedding Frank had been gradually spending more and more of his evenings with her. In recent weeks the nights he slept at his own house had become few and far between. He’d lived exclusively with her for most of a month now and showed no signs of leaving, although the option was available to him. Once or twice a week, he’d stop off for his mail or an item of clothing, and he’d check on the house, but that was about it.
“Wade’s helping an unwed mother who needs a place to live and I think we can help out.”
“Us?” Dovie asked. Frank was by nature generous, although few people realized it.
“I had an idea,” he said with a thoughtful look, watching her, “but I wanted to talk it over with you first.”
“Of course.”
Frank carried their coffee to one of the tables, and she followed with a small plate of freshly baked peanut-butter cookies. She noticed her husband’s hesitation.
“Frank?”
“I did a background check on this woman. She’s clean. I was able to talk to her landlord and her former employer. From everything they said, she’s responsible, hardworking and decent. Her employer said her ex-boyfriend was a jerk. Apparently he hounded her day and night, insisting she get an abortion. From the sound of it, he made life so uncomfortable she quit her job and told everyone she was moving in with family.”
“Where’s her family, then?”
Frank’s gaze held Dovie’s. “From what I could find out, she doesn’t have anyone to speak of her. Her mother’s a flake, her father’s dead and apparently that’s just about all there is.”
“The poor thing.”
“I was thinking…” Frank hesitated. “My house has been sitting empty the last month, and…well, it probably wouldn’t hurt to have someone house-sit. I don’t need the rent money, and it’d be a help to me, too.”
It took Dovie a moment to understand what he was telling her. “You want to move in permanently with me?”
“For all intents and purposes, I’m living with you now,” he said. “There’s fewer and fewer of my things at the house. Some old clothes and my furniture. But I won’t do it, Dovie, if you object, although I’d like to help Wade and this woman if I could.”
“Object?” She all but threw herself into his arms. “Frank, I’m positively delighted!”
“You are?”
She couldn’t have hidden her happiness for anything. “I love having you live with me.”
“I’d like to keep my house.”
“Of course.”
“But if it’s going to sit empt
y ninety percent of the time, it makes sense to have someone living there.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more.” This was better than she’d hoped, better than she’d dreamed.
“Naturally, it’s only on a trial basis.”
“You could move back to your own place anytime, Frank, you know that.”
“I wanted to talk to you about it first, but it does seem that letting this young lady stay at the house would help her and me. It’s a win-win situation.”
“It does seem like that, doesn’t it?” He sounded as though he’d thought this through but wanted her either to concur or talk him out of it. “Are you sure you’re comfortable having a stranger live in your home?”
“Why not? Anything of value has long since gone to your place.”
“Our place,” she corrected softly. “My home is your home. You’re my husband.” She said the word with pride and a heart full of love. For eleven years they’d dated and during that time he’d come to her back door. Twice a week, regular as taxes. As her husband, there was no need for him to worry about avoiding gossip, no need to conceal his love. No reason for her to pretend, either.
“And you’re my wife.” He clasped her hand and squeezed gently.
“Do you want to call Wade now?”
“I think I will.” He scooped up a couple of peanut-butter cookies and headed toward her office in the back of the store.
Dovie took a cookie and relaxed in her chair. She had yet to meet this young woman of Wade’s, but she liked her already. This unwed mother had helped Frank make a decision he might otherwise have delayed for months—if not years.
WADE HAD BEEN JOKING WHEN HE’D told Amy Thornton he was a miracle worker. But it was clear from the moment he saw her that she was in serious distress. Her face was drawn and her large dark eyes were ringed with shadows. When he found her in the church, she’d looked embarrassed and apologetic. Before he could stop her, she’d grabbed her suitcase and clung to it like a lifeline.
Wade persuaded her to come into the office, where he introduced her to his secretary, Martha Kerns. While the women talked, he made several discreet phone calls from his study. He heard Martha suggest a cup of herbal tea, and a few minutes later her footsteps as she left the room. Interrupting his phone calls, Wade peeked out the door to see how Amy was doing. To his surprise, she was sound asleep, leaning to one side, head resting against her shoulder, eyes closed.