03_A Family To Call Her Own

by Irene Hannon

  Rebecca looked at his rigid back, knew that whatever this letter contained had brought him great anguish, and wanted to reach over and comfort him. But she held back, not sure that he would welcome her sympathy, and forced herself to read the words on the sheet instead.

  As her eyes scanned the page, and the horror of the situation unfolded, she felt her stomach clench, and by the time she reached the end, she wanted to cry. She didn’t know Josef or Katrina or Isabel. But in the brief, eloquent note Josef had written she could feel the love and devotion, pain and loss, desperation and fear that now consumed his life. Her heart went out to this grieving man and his cherished child, and she felt suddenly guilty and small for spending so much time agonizing over a personal trauma that paled into insignificance compared to what this family had endured.

  “Oh, Zach,” she murmured at last, her voice choked. “I’m so sorry. Poor Josef! And Isabel…no wonder he’s concerned. The conditions sound so awful! And terribly dangerous!”

  “Yeah,” Zach replied, a muscle clenching in his jaw.

  “What are you going to do?”

  He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m going to take Isabel, of course. How can I not? Josef has always prided himself on taking care of his family himself, so I know he would never ask me to do this unless the situation was desperate.” He sighed and threw the pebble into the stream in frustration. “But I don’t have any experience with children. Especially girls. Then there’s the teaching job. I was going to approach the school about it, but I really can’t take it if I have Isabel here. I’d like to bring her to St. Genevieve, though, because I think it would be good for her to spend time in a place like this after the environment she’s been in. But I can’t afford to keep an apartment here and in St. Louis unless I take the teaching job, and it’s not worth closing my apartment in the city for just a few weeks.”

  The words came out in a long, almost stream-of-consciousness data dump that clearly reflected his turmoil. He paused for a moment and expelled a long breath before finishing. “That’s why I came out here today, to try and work things out in my mind.”

  Rebecca bit her lip and stared down at the letter, an idea slowly forming in her mind. “Zach.”

  He turned to her, realizing suddenly that for once she hadn’t pinned her hair up. Instead, it tumbled freely to her shoulders, held back loosely by only a barrette, the russet strands glinting in the sun just as he’d imagined them. It was a measure of his distress that it had taken him this long to notice the soft waves cascading down her back, he thought wearily.

  She looked up at him, her face thoughtful, oblivious to the direction of his wayward thoughts. “Zach, I could help you with Isabel,” she said impulsively.

  That jolted him back to reality, and he stared at her, taken aback. “But…but why would you want to get involved in this?”

  “Because these people need help.”

  “You don’t even know them.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I can’t turn my back on someone in need.”

  Zach studied her face, knew she was absolutely sincere in her offer. For her, it was simple. She saw a need, and she offered to help. Period. That was why she’d stopped for him that night on the deserted highway, why she’d pitched in with the sandbagging.

  What a remarkable woman, he thought in awe, his admiration for her increasing tenfold. She was completely selfless, more giving and generous than anyone he’d ever met. He knew, if he accepted her offer, that she would throw herself into the care of Isabel, heart and soul. But she had enough to do with the restaurant, he reminded himself. She often seemed to be running on pure adrenaline as it was, and this would be just one more burden on her already-taxed energy and time.

  “I appreciate the offer, Rebecca. More than I can say. But you’re too busy already.”

  “But you said yourself that you have limited experience with children. I don’t have much more, I’ll admit. But together I think we could pull this off. I can watch Isabel at the restaurant while you teach—if you get the job. And I’m off on Monday, so it’s really only four days a week that I’d have her. And just during school hours. I don’t mind, really. I love children, Zach. I always wanted…” She cut herself off sharply, glancing down at the stream as a flush tinted her cheeks. “Anyway, I’d be glad to help.”

  He looked at her speculatively. It didn’t take a genius to fill in the blanks. She’d always wanted children of her own. And she was the type of woman who should have a houseful of children, he realized. With her warm, compassionate nature, she would make a wonderful mother. Yet she’d never married. And after last night, he was beginning to understand why. Which reminded him…

  “You realize this will put us in close contact, don’t you?” he pointed out slowly, loath to bring up the subject but feeling compelled to make sure she understood the implications. “I got the impression last night that was the last thing you wanted.”

  He was right. Last night, being together was the last thing she wanted. But circumstances had changed. A little girl needed their help, and as far as she was concerned, that took precedence over her own wants. She’d just have to deal with their proximity. But maybe Zach didn’t want to deal with it, she thought suddenly, glancing down with a frown. “I wasn’t being very rational last night,” she admitted slowly, her voice subdued. “I’m willing to give it a try, though, if you are. But I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, not after what happened.”

  A large hand entered her field of vision, gently covering her own. “Rebecca, I told you before. I care about you. What happened last night didn’t change that.”

  She risked a glance at him then, and the warmth and caring in his deep brown eyes made her breath catch in her throat. “It isn’t that I don’t like you, you know,” she told him shyly, a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

  He smiled and gave her hand a gentle, encouraging squeeze. “I’m glad to hear you say that. I’ll admit I was beginning to wonder.”

  “What happened was…I can’t— It had nothing to do with you personally,” she said disjointedly. “It’s…it’s a long story.”

  “Maybe someday you’ll share it with me.”

  She looked at him steadily, knowing that she had to be honest. “I can’t make any promises.”

  He returned her look just as steadily. “I’m not asking you to. How about if we just take it a day at a time? Besides, I have a feeling that one little seven-year-old girl is going to require most of our attention and energy in the next few weeks.” He tilted his head and looked at her quizzically. “Are you absolutely sure you want to get involved?”

  She glanced down at the letter and pictures she still held. “I think I already am. Besides, I have a feeling the Lord wants us to work together to help this family.”

  Zach wasn’t so sure that divine intervention was involved. Then again, maybe it was, he reflected, considering that after last night he figured it would take a miracle to bring Rebecca back into his life. It seemed that such a miracle had just been wrought. He just wished it hadn’t come at the expense of his friend.

  “How on earth did you manage to arrange everything so quickly?” Rebecca asked in amazement as Zach turned the van onto the highway, heading south.

  He grinned. “Chalk it up to my charm and persuasive powers.”

  Rebecca looked at him speculatively, half believing his explanation. In the past three days he’d interviewed for, and been offered, the job at the high school; arranged to take all eight weeks of his accumulated vacation, plus an additional four-week personal leave; found an apartment in St. Genevieve and signed a short-term lease; and cut through the red tape to get Isabel’s paperwork in order. He’d also arranged with a foreign-correspondent colleague who was returning from Eastern Europe to courier Isabel as far as New York and put her on a plane to St. Louis. She would arrive Sunday.

  “So what’s left to do?” she asked.

  “Move some of my stuff from St. Louis. That’s on the agenda for tomor
row. And pick up your old bedroom furniture today. The loan of which I greatly appreciate, in case I haven’t already thanked you.”

  “You have,” she assured him. “And it’s my pleasure. It’s just sitting there gathering dust at the house. Dad never even goes into my room anymore, and Brad and Sam use his old bedroom when they visit. By the way, how did you talk Mark into letting you borrow his new van to haul everything?”

  He grinned again. “I told you. Charm.” When she shook her head and laughed, he sent her a crushed look. “I think I’m insulted,” he declared, feigning indignance. “Are you implying that I lack charm?”

  On the contrary, she thought, eyeing his strong profile as he turned his attention back to the road. The man had plenty of charm. In fact, it oozed out of every pore in his body.

  “No-o-o,” she replied with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “I guess not.”

  “Well, don’t be so enthusiastic in your denial,” he retorted wryly, then turned to her with a grin. “Speaking of charm, you must have used some yourself to get Rose and Frances to agree to handle the lunch crowd this afternoon.”

  “They offered,” she told him. “Since we didn’t leave till noon, most of the prep work was done. It’s mostly just a matter of serving and cleanup, and they said they didn’t mind.” Actually, they’d said a whole lot more, Rebecca thought, a flush rising to her cheeks. At least half a dozen times this morning they’d reminded her to give “that nice young man,” as they referred to Zach, some encouragement, waving her off and telling her to have a good time when she left. Even though she’d explained the businesslike purpose of their trip—twice—she knew the sisters remained unconvinced, certain that Zach’s purpose was romance.

  Actually, since the night of their dinner, romance seemed to be the last thing on Zach’s mind, she reflected. He was attentive and considerate, but she noticed that he not only kept their conversations impersonal and lighthearted, he kept his distance as well. Which was fine with her. She felt safer this way. And she’d actually begun to enjoy their congenial, teasing banter. If the gleam of romantic interest in his eyes had dimmed, she was grateful. Wasn’t she?

  “So what did your dad say about this?”

  Her glance returned to Zach, and she forced her attention back to the conversation. “He thought it was a very nice thing for you to do,” she replied. He’d also asked far too many questions about Zach, which Rebecca had sidestepped as much as possible, telling her father only that Zach was an acquaintance she was helping strictly out of Christian charity. She wasn’t sure her father bought that explanation, but at least he’d eventually stopped quizzing her. Either he’d lost interest, she’d convinced him, or he was biding his time. Knowing her father, however, she had a sinking feeling it was the latter. He’d always had a propensity for prying into the lives of his children, though always with the best intentions. Maybe she had better warn Zach to expect the third degree.

  “Um, Zach, one thing about my father. He’s a great guy and all, but…well, he tends to ask a lot of questions, and I haven’t brought many men to the house through the years, even for an innocent reason like this, so he’s apt to jump to a few wrong conclusions and…probe…a little. I just don’t want you to be surprised.”

  “You mean he’s going to ask me about my intentions?” Zach teased her.

  “Well, I don’t think he’ll be quite that direct,” she replied, color stealing onto her cheeks.

  “So what do you want me to tell him?” Zach asked easily.

  She looked at him in surprise. “The truth, of course,” she replied. “That we’re friends, and I’m just helping you out in an emergency. I’ve already told him that myself, but he gets these ideas into his head and…” Her voice trailed off and she shrugged helplessly.

  “Hmm,” was Zach’s only reply.

  Rebecca squirmed uncomfortably, suddenly suspecting that her explanation for Zach’s intentions was way too simplistic. But it was the only one she wanted to deal with at the moment.

  Fortunately he didn’t pursue the subject, and by the time they pulled into the driveway of the two-story frame house with the lattice-trimmed front porch, she was feeling more relaxed again.

  “On a day like this Dad’s probably in the garden, getting everything ready for spring,” she informed Zach, opening her door and sliding to the ground as soon as the van stopped.

  “I’ll let him know we’re here.”

  “Okay.” Zach got out more leisurely, watching as Rebecca disappeared around the side of the house, her snug jeans hugging her narrow waist, slim hips and long, shapely legs. Her hair was in its customary French twist today, but for a moment he allowed himself to imagine how it would look cascading down her back. Then he jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans with a frown. Now was not the best time to be having those kinds of thoughts, he told himself sternly.

  He followed Rebecca slowly, reminding himself of the resolution he’d made to bide his time. Now that she had agreed to help with Isabel, he had weeks ahead to woo her, to slowly build her comfort level. He just needed to be patient. Except patience had never been his strong suit, he admitted wryly. But he knew time and patience were the essential ingredients in a successful campaign to win this woman’s confidence, and he was determined to give her both. Even it if killed him. Which it very well might, he thought ruefully, as he rounded the corner of the house and another surge of desire swept over him at the sight of her slender, appealing figure.

  She was talking animatedly to a spare, wiry man with fine gray hair and a slightly angular nose, who was leaning on a shovel. As Zach made his way toward them, the man glanced his way, said something quietly to Rebecca, then laid down the shovel.

  Rebecca turned as Zach joined them. “Dad, this is Zach Wright. Zach, my father.”

  The older man, who was several inches shorter than Zach, wiped his hand on his slacks, then held it out. Zach took it in a firm grip as their eyes connected, and Rebecca’s father gave him a shrewd, assessing look, which Zach returned steadily. When the older man smiled at last, Zach had an odd feeling that he’d just passed some sort of test.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Matthews,” Zach said.

  “Call me Henry. Makes me feel younger. And I’m pleased to meet you, too,” he replied cordially.

  “We don’t want to keep you from your garden, Dad. We’ll just go up and sort things out.”

  “Garden will always be here,” he replied with a dismissive wave. “But I don’t get that many visitors. Besides, I’d like to get to know your young man a little while you’re here.”

  Rebecca’s face turned beet red, but Zach just grinned, proprietarily draping an arm around her shoulders as he spoke. “I’d like to get to know you better, too, Henry.”

  Rebecca shot him a startled look at the unexpected gesture, shrugging off his arm as she spoke. “This isn’t a social visit, Dad. We just want to pick up the furniture.”

  “That won’t take long. Zach and I will have it loaded in no time. I thought you’d at least have time for a glass of lemonade and some German apple spice cake. I picked one up at the bakery this morning.”

  “That does sound good,” Zach injected hopefully before Rebecca could refuse, as he suspected she was inclined to do.

  She planted her hands on her hips and stared from one man to the other. “Why do I have a feeling there’s a conspiracy here?”’

  “Oh, come on, Rebecca. We can spare half an hour to visit. We’ll get back in plenty of time. What do you say?” Zach cajoled. He sensed an ally in Henry, and he intended to use that to his advantage with Rebecca.

  With a sigh of capitulation, she gave in. Arguing the point would only make her father even more inquisitive. “Okay. Fine.”

  “Good, good,” Henry approved heartily. “You two go on up and decide what you want to take. I’ll just wash my hands and follow you in.”

  Rebecca strode silently toward the house and up the stairs, turning to face Zach with an accusatory frown when t
hey entered her childhood bedroom. “Why did you do that?” she demanded, keeping her voice low and a watchful eye out for her father.

  “Do what?” Zach asked innocently.

  “Put your arm around my shoulders.”

  He shrugged, giving her a bewildered look. “It just seemed like a…friendly…thing to do. After all, we are friends, aren’t we? That’s what you told your father.”

  She eyed him suspiciously, suspecting an ulterior motive. But he looked sincere. “That’s not the way my dad will interpret it. I told you, he jumps to conclusions.”

  “Stop worrying, Rebecca,” Zach chided her gently. “Your father seems like a reasonable man. I’m sure his perceptive powers are right on target.”

  That’s what she was afraid of, she thought in dismay, as she turned to fold up the bedspread. She wasn’t exactly sure of Zach’s feelings at this point. But she was very sure of her own. She liked this man. A lot. Despite the disastrous end to their date, she was still attracted to him. And she had a feeling her father knew it, whether Zach did or not.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind, Rebecca? I hate to ask, but I’m all thumbs with a needle and thread.”

  “No problem, Dad.” Rebecca reached for the suit coat and inspected the spot where the lining had come loose. “This will only take a few minutes.”

  “Thanks, honey. Listen, Zach, while Rebecca takes care of that, why don’t I give you a tour of my garden?”

  “I’d like that,” Zach replied, depositing his lemonade glass on the wicker table and rising to his feet.

  Rebecca glanced up from her seat on the porch swing and gave her father a suspicious look. “There’s not much to see yet, Dad.”

  “The perennials are all coming up,” he replied promptly. “And Zach strikes me as a man with imagination. I bet he’ll be able to picture what I describe.”

  She watched them walk down the porch steps, conversing companionably, and frowned. She fervently hoped her father was talking about flowers.