A Place for Family Read online

  “I’m fine.” Going up to the framed window, she said, “I just noticed something is all.”

  “Really?” he asked as he joined her. “What?”

  “Look at this, back in the trees.” She pointed to the shape she’d just discovered. “What does it look like to you?”

  “I dunno. A shadow.”

  “A woman,” she corrected him with certainty. “It’s Mary.”

  Taking a step back, he tipped his head one way, then the other. “You think?”

  “His mother was there, watching him with the animals. Isn’t that sweet?”

  “Sure.”

  His noncommittal response told her he still didn’t see it, but she pressed. “Daniel Sawyer made this window, right?”

  “They installed it in 1860, when they finished the church.”

  “Do you have any notes or anything?” she asked excitedly. “I mean, he must have had a plan for creating this. Have you ever seen it?”

  “Far as I know, he just winged it.”

  “Nobody could possibly wing something this beautiful.”

  “He was a Sawyer,” John reminded her proudly. “We leave the hard stuff up to God, then take what He gives us and make the most of it.”

  “You’re saying God inspired Daniel to do this—” she waved at the window.

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Folding his arms, he tossed her a challenging grin. “Prove it.”

  Irritated by his smug expression, she shot back, “You prove yours.”

  Smiling, he looked at her as if she were a small child who needed short, uncomplicated words. “It’s all about faith, Amanda. You either believe, or you don’t.”

  “How can you be so sure about Him?”

  “It’s only fair,” John replied quietly. “He’s always been sure about me.”

  Leaving her no less bewildered than before, he turned and left her there in front of the window. When she checked again, the very feminine shadow was still there. If anything, she saw it more clearly than she had before. Was it a trick of the light, or did it mean something?

  “Okay,” she murmured. “I give up. What are you trying to tell me?”

  She’d been away from religion for so long, she felt slightly ridiculous talking to a window. The crazy thing was, she felt a warm touch on her shoulder, as if someone had just put an arm around her. She got the strangest feeling that, despite her current predicament, everything would turn out fine.

  Spooked by the odd encounter, she jerked herself back to her senses and hurried from the church.

  Chapter Eight

  It was finally the last day of school. Since she��d never been involved with children on a daily basis, Amanda had spent her first month in Harland struggling to keep up with the frantic end-of-school pace. Exams for Kyle, field trips for Emily, class parties and picnics, even a stint as Emily’s show-and-tell project had left Amanda feeling more than a little wrung out.

  The good news was that today marked the end of it all. In spite of everything she was going through with her pregnancy, Marianne had managed to plan a surprise celebration for the kids as a reward for doing so well in school. Of course, that meant Amanda was in on the whole thing, right down to picking up a special cake from Ruthy’s Place.

  When she pulled the van in alongside Harland’s favorite diner, she smiled. Like all the other vintage buildings in town, this one had a quaint Southern charm. The cheerful blue-and-white-striped awning shaded several sets of wrought-iron bistro tables and chairs. The picturesque scene was made even more welcoming by the window boxes spilling over with ivy and flowers covering the spectrum from delicate baby’s breath to bold-red geraniums.

  As if that weren’t enough, when she stepped onto the sidewalk, she was greeted by the unmistakable scent of fresh buttermilk biscuits and gravy. If that didn’t make your mouth water, she mused as she opened the screen door, you’d better check your pulse.

  The bells mounted over the door alerted everyone inside that she’d arrived, and most of the customers squinted at her with a total lack of recognition. Until the owner saw her, anyway.

  “Amanda Gardner!” Wiping her hands on her no-nonsense bibbed apron, Ruth Benton hurried from the kitchen to wrap her in a hug. “I saw you at the Memorial Day gathering, and I’ve been wondering when you’d get around to coming in for a visit.”

  The petite woman held her away, assessing Amanda quickly. While the smile held, Amanda couldn’t miss the disapproval in those cornflower-blue eyes. It reminded her of John’s reaction to her when she first showed up at the farm, and she did her best to move past it.

  “I’ve been so busy, I haven’t had a chance.” Settling on a stool, she propped her elbows on the old-fashioned lunch counter and rested her chin in her hands. “What’s new?”

  Ruthy laughed. “How long have you got?”

  On her way into town, Amanda had prepared herself for a tongue lashing, which she probably deserved for staying away all these years and avoiding her hometown like the plague. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to visit, but after her parents moved away, she hadn’t seen the point. It hadn’t occurred to her that other folks in town would miss her, too.

  Which made her think of John again. That had been happening more often than she was comfortable with, and she wished it would stop. Things were unsettling enough these days without constantly fending off thoughts of the devastatingly handsome farmer.

  Ruthy poured two glasses of ice water and added a lemon wedge to each. “Since you’re working out at the Sawyers’, you must have met my nephew, Seth.”

  “I did. He and Lisa seem really happy.”

  Harland’s number-one chef smiled fondly. “It’s about time, I say. That boy has so much going for him, and he just needed the right woman to see it.”

  Ruthy added a nudging look, and Amanda frowned. “What?”

  “There’s more guys around here like my Seth.” When Amanda didn’t respond, she pressed. “On that farm, even.”

  Now she got it, and Amanda laughed. “Like John Sawyer, you mean.”

  “You said it, not me.”

  “We’re friends, that’s all.”

  “That’s not what I saw on Memorial Day.” Leaning in, Ruthy said quietly, “That man could snare any woman within twenty miles.”

  “And probably has,” Amanda teased.

  “He’s the catch of the county, but none of his darlings stick around for long. Haven’t you wondered why?”

  “Because he’s a hopeless slob and has relationship ADD?” When her smart-aleck comment got her nowhere, she shook her head. Ruthy was a notorious matchmaker, and while Amanda appreciated the attempt, it was doomed to failure. “John and I have always been good friends. You know that.”

  “Things change.”

  “Not this,” Amanda insisted a little more forcefully. “John’s a great guy, but he doesn’t see me that way.”

  “I’ll give you that one.” Despite the concession, Ruthy’s eyes crinkled with a knowing smile. “But how do you see him, peaches?”

  “The same way.” It was the honest truth, but Amanda felt her face getting warm. She knew that made her look like she was lying, but she couldn’t help it. Her fair complexion had gotten her in trouble more than once.

  Thankfully, Ruthy let it go and straightened up from her conspiring pose. “I’m guessing you’re here for Marianne’s cake.”

  Amanda blew out a quiet sigh of relief. “Yes, thanks.”

  When Ruthy brought it out of the cooler, Amanda ooed. “That looks amazing. I can’t believe that pic of Kyle and Emily came out so well in frosting.”

  “Tell some people, would you?” Ruthy asked as she closed the lid of the box. “My daughter-in-l
aw is home with their new baby, so she’s trying to get this specialty baking business of hers going for some extra money. She thought with all the graduation parties and weddings coming up, it would be a good time to start, but it’s not going well.”

  A struggling local business could be the answer to the question that had been plaguing Amanda for the last month: what would she do when the Collins family no longer needed a nanny?

  “You know,” she began, trying to keep her voice even, “while I was in California, I worked in marketing. I was pretty good at it.”

  Ruthy narrowed her eyes with interest. “I’m listening.”

  “What’s your daughter-in-law’s name?”

  “Danielle.”

  “Does Danielle have a website?” Ruthy shook her head. “So people call her house phone when they want to order something?”

  “Right.”

  “What exactly is specialty baking?”

  “She makes custom cakes, pies, cookies, things like that,” Ruthy explained. “Pictures, theme designs, whatever folks want. She was an art teacher, so she’s very creative.”

  After a few more basic queries, Amanda decided that while Danielle Benton might be talented, she wasn’t all that organized. That was common, especially among people whose businesses were based on something artistic like specialty baking. Whatever that was.

  Which was the point, really. Danielle had to define what she did so she’d know who to market her products to. But she didn’t know how, because nice, humble folks like her had no clue how to promote themselves.

  “I’ve got an idea,” Amanda suggested as casually as she could with her heart racing a mile a minute. “Why don’t I sit down with her and see if there’s something I could do to help her out? Maybe I can work with her to design a website that will spread the word about—what’s the name of her company?”

  Ruthy had caught on to where Amanda was coming from, and she chuckled. “She doesn’t have one.”

  “Well, then, that’s the first step.” Taking a napkin out of the holder, she borrowed Ruthy’s pen to scribble down Danielle’s phone number. “I’ll call her later and set up a meeting so we can talk about what she needs.”

  “She can’t afford much,” Ruthy cautioned.

  “That’s okay. I don’t need much.”

  Just a chance, Amanda added silently as she picked up the cake and headed for the door. All she needed was one client, and then she’d be on her way.

  * * *

  “Did I miss supper?” John asked, knowing the answer before he finished the question.

  Amanda was at the table, tapping away on a laptop, and she smiled. “Yes, but I saved you some ham. It’s in the oven, on low.”

  “Man, you’re the best. Is that Ridge’s computer?”

  “Yes. It was in Marianne’s office, collecting dust. He traded it for a year’s supply of snickerdoodles.”

  “Clever.” On his way to the oven, he leaned in to kiss her cheek, but she shooed him off.

  “Go away. I’m trying to set up my new PR company.”

  “Go away?” He gasped, staggering back melodramatically. “You’re the first woman to ever say that to me.”

  “No doubt.”

  Chuckling, John let her be and poured a glass of sweet tea to go with the plate she’d left for him. Heaped with three thick slices of ham, mashed potatoes and buttermilk biscuits, all he had to do was pour some brown sugar glaze over the top and it was perfect.

  “What’s this about a new company?” he asked as he sat down across from her.

  Folding her arms in front of the computer, she gave him a big, excited grin. “I’m going to start a promotions firm, focused on helping small businesses do websites and advertising to reach more customers. I’ve been cruising around the internet, trying to come up with a good name.”

  John swallowed a mouthful of potatoes. “You did all this since I saw you at breakfast?”

  “Since I talked to Ruthy at the diner earlier.” Amanda filled him in their conversation, obviously thrilled with the idea. “It’s perfect for me. I’d be using everything I’ve learned about PR, but this time nobody can fire me because I’ll be the boss.”

  The enthusiasm shining in her eyes was contagious, and John wanted to keep it going. “So, PR stands for what?”

  “Public relations.”

  Sopping up melted butter with a biscuit, he suggested, “You could try using words that start with C-P-R. Y’know, like you’re bringing them back to life or something.”

  “CPR,” she repeated, circling her finger on the track pad with a pensive expression. After about ten seconds, she straightened up and started typing. When she was finished, she flashed him the biggest, brightest smile he’d seen since she’d come home. “Creative Promotional Resources. I just checked and I can get the domain cpr4u.com. It’s jazzy, and folks will remember it.”

  Munching away, he nodded. “Cool. I like it.”

  “Really? Or are you just saying that because I’m pathetic and you feel sorry for me?”

  “I don’t feel sorry for you,” John corrected her sternly. “Sure, you got shafted, but you’re making the best of a bad hand. I don’t pity folks like that. I admire them.”

  Eyes shining with joy, she looked at him as if he’d just told her she’d been crowned Miss America. “You admire me?”

  “All the time.”

  Maybe a little more than he should, he had to admit as she got back to her computer and he finished his meal. Amanda might come across like a delicate rose, but beneath that classy, polished exterior of hers was a backbone of tempered steel. He hadn’t recognized that when they were younger, but it was impossible to miss now.

  It was one of the qualities forcing him to view his old friend in a new light. And it made him wonder if all these years he’d just been biding his time, waiting for her to grow up and come home.

  Suddenly, the frantic tapping of keys stopped, and she sighed. “Rats.”

  “Don’t tell me someone bought that name in the last two minutes.”

  “No, that’s not it.”

  She didn’t seem eager to share the problem, and John debated whether to push her. He’d been doing better letting her come to him, so he tamped down his natural impatience and focused on draining his glass and refilling it from the pitcher. Finally, he was rewarded.

  “Bankruptcy is the worst,” she confided with a heavy sigh.

  “Is there some reason in particular you’re saying that now?”

  “I don’t have a credit card, so I can’t charge this purchase.”

  Her voice wavered, and he looked up to find her fighting back tears. It felt like someone had driven an icicle into his heart, and John searched for a way to stem her emotions so he could keep a handle on his own.

  Trying to look casual, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and took out the worn-out wallet his father had given him for his high school graduation. John even had the original hundred-dollar bill, creased but safely tucked away in one of the pockets. In the slot beneath it was his one and only credit card. Without another thought, he removed the rarely used plastic and slid it across the table.

  Amanda blinked at it a couple of times, as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. When she lifted her gaze to his, she brought to mind a little girl who’d just gotten a pony for her birthday. “Seriously?”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “Just don’t go charging a Rolls or anything. My limit’s not that high.”

  She looked down at the card, then at him again. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Her gratitude warmed him right through, and he grinned. “You’d better get to it before some other smarty pants takes your idea.”

  Leaning over, she gave him a quick hug, then kissed his cheek. Now that it was her idea, she did
n’t seem to mind it so much. “Thank you, John. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “There’s the setup fee and then monthly hosting,” she informed him hesitantly. “I’ll take it over as soon as I can, but it might be a while before I can get credit from anyone.”

  “No rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Rewarding him with another dazzling smile, she resumed her typing. In truth, he had no intention of letting her pay him back. She needed a hand, and he was glad to offer her one. But proud as she was, he knew she’d never accept charity, not even from him. He wanted to help, but he respected her independence even more.

  Somehow, he’d figure out a way for them both to get what they wanted.

  * * *

  The Fourth of July was unusually quiet at the Sawyer farm. Because the health of Marianne and the twins was priority one, they voted to forgo their traditional picnic and keep things low-key.

  They’d still taken the holiday off, so it had been a mellow day around the farm. Which meant Amanda had some rare time to herself. She was comfortably curled up on the front porch swing with a glass of lemonade and one of Marianne’s homemaker magazines, trying to figure out where June had gone. Somehow, an entire month had whizzed by in a blur of housework, carpools and getting her fledgling company off the ground.

  She’d spent her evenings designing a promotional plan and website for Danielle Benton, and profits for Dani’s Delectables had been steadily picking up. There wasn’t much money in it yet, but it was a start. Nowhere to go but up, Amanda told herself with a little grin.

  The Collinses were all sprawled out with Marianne, enjoying a marathon of games from Chutes and Ladders to Monopoly. Frequent laughter filtered out from the living room, and Amanda smiled as she thumbed her way through the glossy pages. With her future slightly more in focus, it was easier for her to slow down and savor quiet moments like this.

  Normally, she couldn’t care less about the latest twenty-minute recipes or how to remove oil stains from denim. But now both were part of her job, and she was determined to master everything she needed to make her part of the Sawyer farm run smoothly. They’d gone out on a limb hiring her, she reasoned as she dog-eared a recipe for Jell-O cake. They deserved the best she could give them.