Brought Together by Baby

by Carolyne Aarsen

  “I think you don’t dare open your heart again because you don’t believe God uses everything for our good. Pain is all part of the chance we take when we open our hearts,”

  Pilar said, touching her friend on the shoulder.

  “Well, right now I don’t have time for heart stuff. I haven’t met anyone who is my type,” Rachel responded.

  “Not even Eli Cavanaugh?”

  Rachel tried to ignore the little rush she felt at the mention of his name.

  “I think he’s very attractive, very appealing. And by the flush I can see creeping up your neck, I think you are thinking the same thing,” Pilar teased.

  FOR THE TWINS’ SAKE—

  Jillian Hart (LI#308)

  BROUGHT TOGETHER BY BABY—

  Carolyne Aarsen (LI#312)

  ON THE DOORSTEP—

  Dana Corbit (LI#316)

  THE CINDERELLA PLAN—

  Margaret Daley (LI#320)

  HER CHRISTMAS WISH—

  Kathryn Springer (LI#324)

  PAST SECRETS, PRESENT LOVE—

  Lois Richer (LI#328)

  Books by Carolyne Aarsen

  Love Inspired

  Homecoming #24

  Ever Faithful #33

  A Bride at Last #51

  The Cowboy’s Bride #67

  *A Family-Style Christmas #86

  *A Mother at Heart #94

  *A Family at Last #121

  A Hero for Kelsey #133

  Twin Blessings #149

  Toward Home #215

  Love Is Patient #248

  A Heart’s Refuge #268

  Brought Together by Baby #312

  CAROLYNE AARSEN

  and her husband, Richard, live on a small ranch in northern Alberta, where they have raised four children and numerous foster children, and are still raising cattle. Carolyne crafts her stories in her office with a large west-facing window through which she can watch the changing seasons while struggling to make her words obey.

  Brought Together By Baby

  CAROLYNE AARSEN

  This book is dedicated to caregivers of handicapped people young and old. May God bless you and give you strength for your task. May you find peace in His love and His purpose. I’d also like to thank Mindy Starns Clark for her valuable and selfless help on nonprofits and charities.

  My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.

  —II Corinthians 12:9

  Eli—Hebrew name meaning “ascended.” This Old Testament figure was a high priest of Israel and instructed the young Samuel.

  Rachel—Hebrew name meaning “ewe.” In the Bible’s Old Testament, Rachel was the favorite wife of Jacob and the mother of Joseph and Benjamin.

  Grace—A Latin and English name meaning “lovely or graceful, a virtue.”

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Letter to Reader

  Chapter One

  “I’ll speak to LaReese Binet about where she’d like her donation to go myself, Reuben.” Rachel Noble tucked her papers into her briefcase, one eye on the clock hanging on the wood-paneled wall of her office. “I don’t have time to talk now. I’m due for dinner at my parents’ place in twenty minutes.” She frowned as her assistant launched into a litany of complaints, then cut him off. “Just let me know if she calls again.” She hung up, picked up her cell phone and dropped it into her briefcase along with the small gift she had bought for little Gracie, a penance for not visiting her newly adopted sister more often. The offices and hallways of the Noble Foundation were quiet as Rachel hurried down to the parking garage.

  Her mother’s weekly invitation to the Noble plantation had included the warning to dress casually. Her mother was always nagging her to cut loose and relax. Rachel glanced at her dove-gray tailored suit and peach silk blouse. Her mother would have to take her as she was. She didn’t have time to go home and change.

  When Rachel returned to Richmond after a five-year absence, her parents had begged her to move back onto the plantation with them. But Rachel had been on her own too long. Instead she had opted for a modern condo west of Main Street. Though she was seldom home, it suited her.

  She stopped behind an SUV at a four-way stop, trying not to tap her manicured nails on her steering wheel as the driver in front of her let car after car go by. It looked like she would have time to speak with Reuben after all.

  Rachel stiffened, as a motorcycle pulled up beside her. Its obscene roar drowned out the gentle Brahms symphony coming from her car’s CD player.

  The driver stopped. He straddled the motorcycle, easily holding it up as he waited. He wore a denim jacket, blue jeans and cowboy boots.

  Rachel clenched the steering wheel. She hated motorcycles. If Keith had been driving his truck that night—

  She pushed the futile thoughts about her late fiancé aside. That was in the past. Over.

  In spite of that, she couldn’t seem to avoid giving the man on the motorcycle a quick glance.

  He pushed his helmet back and, as she caught his eye, a slow smile crept over his mouth, making the corners of his eyes crinkle. Wisps of blond hair curled out from the front of his helmet, framing a lean face.

  She looked ahead, angry with her flicker of reaction to his lazy good looks.

  As she made the turn leading to her parents’ home, the biker roared past her, leaving her frustrated and with unwelcome memories.

  She ejected the CD, found a radio station that played classic rock and turned up the volume. As she drove, she focused on the work that she had to do tomorrow. The jobs that needed her attention. She had to leave the past in the past.

  By the time she turned onto her parents’ tree-shaded drive, she felt back in control again. The evening was going to be just fine.

  She steered her car through a narrow opening between two rows of clipped shrubs that surrounded the main house, pulling up in front of a converted four-car garage.

  And her heart flipped over.

  The motorcycle that had zipped past her now stood parked on the inlaid brick drive in front of the garage, a helmet hanging from the handlebars.

  Great.

  She took a long slow breath, just as her yoga instructor had taught her. Focused on the now, the present.

  She picked up Gracie’s gift and walked with careful, deliberate steps up the brick paved drive to the front door. Maybe the motorcycle belonged to a deliveryman. Or one of the maid’s boyfriends.

  Her parents’ visitor was most likely coming later.

  As she stepped inside the door, Aleeda, the housekeeper, swept down the square rigged flying staircase toward her carrying an armful of linens.

  “Well, well. You’re back again,” she said, smiling at Rachel. “Your mother is in the kitchen, concocting…” She shrugged. “Something.”

  “Thanks for the warning, Aleeda. Do you have any idea what she plans to feed me?”

  “They’ve got company.” Aleeda gave her a mysterious smile. “So I think she’ll be doing something more traditional for you and their guest.” Aleeda gave her a quick nod, and then strode off to the back of the house before Rachel could ask her who it was that had arrived on that dreadful motorcycle.

  Rachel caught her reflection in the mirror h
anging in the front hall and took a moment to smooth a wayward strand of chestnut-brown hair back from her forehead. All neat and tidy, she thought. The dark lashes fringing her hazel eyes didn’t need mascara. Her cheeks were, well, pale. But so be it.

  She whisked one hand down her skirt as she walked along the narrow hallway toward the kitchen, brushing away the few wrinkles she had gotten from driving.

  Her mother stood at the huge counter that served as an island in the modernized kitchen, her knife flashing as she chopped vegetables. She wore a bright orange, loose, woven shirt over a wildly patterned silk T-shirt in hues of turquoise, orange, red and gold that accented her short chestnut-brown hair, worn in a spiky style. The kitchen table, tucked away in a plant-laden nook, was set with her mother’s earthenware dishes. Definitely casual.

  “Ah. There you are.” Beatrice put down her knife and swept around the island, arms spread out, her shirt and matching skirt flowing out behind her. She enveloped her daughter in a warm hug, holding her close. “I’m so glad you came. And right on time.” She drew away, cupping Rachel’s face in her narrow hands, her hazel eyes traveling over her. “You’re looking a little pale, my dear. Have you been taking your kelp supplements?”

  Rachel lifted her hand in a vague gesture. “I’ve been busy…” She laid the present for Gracie on the counter.

  “Honey, honey, honey.” Beatrice shook her head in admonition. “You have to take care of yourself. Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit. God needs healthy servants to do His work on earth.”

  Rachel merely smiled. She wasn’t going to get into a discussion with her mother over what God needed or didn’t need. For the past eight years she had put God out of her life. Or tried to. Now and again glimpses of Him would come through, but she generally managed to ignore them. She preferred her independence, and God required too much and gave too little.

  Beatrice slipped her arm around Rachel’s shoulders and drew her toward the counter. “Your father and I have a lovely surprise for you. Gracie’s pediatrician said he would come and visit us.”

  “He’s here now?”

  Beatrice nodded, giving her daughter a sly grin. “I thought you might want to meet him.”

  A moment of awareness dawned. “Is he the fool on the motorcycle?”

  Beatrice frowned and tapped her fingers on her daughter’s shoulders. “Rachel Augusta Charlene Noble, you shouldn’t use words like that. Especially about someone as wonderful as Eli.”

  Rachel had hoped that adopting not-yet-two-year-old Gracie would satisfy her mother’s deep-rooted desire for grandchildren. Well, this was one romance she was going to nip in the bud. “I’m sorry, Mom, but as far as I’m concerned, anyone who drives a motorcycle isn’t firing on all cylinders. Especially if he’s a pediatrician.” Rachel picked a baby carrot from the bowl sitting on the counter and took a bite. “Where’s Dad?”

  “He and the estimable Dr. Eli are out in the garden with Gracie. I do believe they’re coming back now.”

  Rachel wandered over to the window overlooking the grounds, popping the last of the carrot in her mouth. A tall, narrow-hipped man sauntered alongside her father, the tips of his fingers pushed into the front pockets of his blue jeans, his softly worn shirt flowing over broad shoulders. He reached over and feathered a curl of Gracie’s hair back from her face, smiling softly at her. Gracie laughed up at him and snuggled closer to her father.

  Rachel couldn’t mesh the picture with the one she had created of Gracie’s Dr. Eli. Until her mother’s pronouncement, she had always pictured the man her parents spoke so highly of as an older, portly gentleman, not this…cowboy.

  Who drove a motorcycle.

  A chill drifted over Rachel and she spun away from the window.

  “And what are you making for dinner?” she asked, looking for a distraction.

  When Rachel was younger, her mother had hardly darkened the doorway of the kitchen except to give Francine, their cook for the past fifteen years, directions on when to serve which course. But in the past few years, Beatrice had started exploring various culinary options and had settled on macrobiotic cooking. The result was that Francine turned up her nose at what Beatrice wanted to make and had quit and been re-hired a number of times. The two of them had settled on part-time work, which suited Francine just fine and gave Beatrice the space she needed to create her concoctions.

  Beatrice looked up from the salad she was working with her hands. “Polenta with corn, herbed black soybeans, carrots and broccoli with ume dill dressing and a pressed Chinese cabbage salad.”

  Rachel thought of the fast-food outlets she had passed on her way over here and her stomach growled.

  “Francine made sure there was herbed chicken for you, Gracie and Eli, and she made your favorite chocolate cake for dessert.” Her mother gave her a quick smile. “I know how much you love your empty calories. That’s why you’re so pale, you know.”

  “I’m fine, Mother.” Rachel ate another carrot as if to show Beatrice that she knew how to make healthy choices.

  “Is that my little girl?” Charles called out affectionately.

  Rachel looked back over her shoulder just as her father burst into the room. He strode to her side, and gave her a quick one-armed hug, balancing his youngest daughter on the other arm.

  “Hello, Dad,” she said, leaning against him. “Good to see you.”

  She glanced at Gracie, who grinned at her, her curly brown hair framing a heart-shaped face. She wore blue jean overalls today with a soft pink T-shirt. Fairly normal considering her mother’s personal taste in clothing.

  “Hey, there,” Rachel said with a quick smile, stroking her sister’s shoulder. Gracie held her arms out to Rachel, overbalanced, and tried to compensate, her movements jerky. Rachel restored her back to her father’s arms but took a step away from them.

  Gracie was adorable, cute and loving. But every time Rachel was around her, she felt inadequate and, quite frankly, a little nervous.

  It hadn’t helped that the first time Rachel saw the girl that had captured her parents’ hearts the child had been attached to a respirator, monitor, IV and other machines. Gracie had cerebral palsy and had been recovering from a bad seizure. Her parents had just applied to adopt her. So they had asked Rachel to come with them to meet her.

  Rachel had thought she’d overcome her hatred of hospitals, but five minutes of standing by Gracie’s bedside was all she could take. The hiss of the respirator and the pervasive scent of disinfectant broke over her in a wave of angry memories and nausea.

  She gave her parents her blessing and left as soon as she could.

  Since then, every time she saw the girl, she saw helplessness and sickness and hospitals. And she felt uncomfortable.

  “Here, little one, I brought you a present.” Rachel offered the toddler the wrapped box as a peace offering.

  “What do you say, honey?” Charles prompted.

  “Hank you.” Gracie said with a proud grin at her father.

  Charles tried to catch Rachel’s gaze, but she looked away. She knew her father didn’t always understand her reaction to her adorable little sister. Rachel didn’t always, either. But there it was.

  Charles looked behind him at the man she knew had been watching them. “Rachel, I’d like you to meet Dr. Eli. He is Gracie’s pediatrician. Eli, this is our daughter, Rachel.”

  “I believe we’ve already met,” Eli said, the same lazy smile crooking his mouth as he held out his hand to her.

  She gave him a polite smile. She could do that much. It wasn’t his fault that her parents were itching to be in-laws. “The motorcycle man.”

  “That’s me.” His hand was warm, his fingers long, and at his touch she felt a flicker of awareness that had been dormant for a long time now.

  She didn’t like it.

  “I’m surprised that you ride one,” she said, unable to stop the defensive note from creeping into her voice. “You being a doctor and all.”

  “And all what?” Hi
s grin mocked her comment.

  It was an overreaction, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “And all the responsibility you carry,” she added.

  “What if something happened to you?”

  “It’s cheap transportation. And I’m careful.”

  “Famous last words,” she said with a chill in her voice.

  His sea-green eyes held her gaze, his head angled to one side as if trying to figure her out. Well, he could try all he wanted. The only time their paths might cross again would be at a Noble Foundation fund-raiser for the hospital. He didn’t need to know more about her than her name.

  “We can eat,” Beatrice announced, taking Gracie from her husband’s arms. “Why don’t we unwrap your present when we have dessert,” she said to Gracie, setting the gift aside. “Rachel, you get your usual spot. Eli, you can sit across from her.”

  Beatrice shepherded them all toward the cozy eating nook whose floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the kitchen garden. Rachel sat in “her” chair, noticing the place setting.

  When the Nobles first moved to Chestnut Grove from their old home, Rachel and her mother had gone touring the local market. Rachel stopped at a booth that displayed brightly colored earthenware dishes, each place setting unique. Her mother insisted that Rachel choose one for each of them and a couple for her aunt, uncle and cousin. The dishes only came out on family occasions, never when they had company.

  Rachel gave her mother a quick glance now, recognizing the not-so-light hint her mother was giving her. At any other time she might have been amused, but Eli and his irresponsible motorcycle had unnerved her.

  Beatrice suddenly busied herself buckling Gracie into her specially made high chair, making sure she was comfortable.