Dear Reader,
Within these pages you will find three remarkable tales of hope. The stories, written by some of Harlequin’s most popular authors, are fiction, but the women who inspired them are real. They are women who have dedicated their lives to helping others, and all are recipients of a Harlequin More Than Words award.
The Harlequin More Than Words program, established in 2004, awards women for their extraordinary commitment to their communities and makes a $10,000 donation to each woman’s chosen charity. In addition, some of Harlequin’s most celebrated authors donate their time and creativity to writing fictional novellas inspired by the lives and work of our award recipients. The collected stories are published, with proceeds reinvested in the Harlequin More Than Words program.
Along with Diana Palmer, Kasey Michaels and Catherine Mann, I invite you to meet the Harlequin More Than Words award recipients highlighted in these pages. We hope their stories will inspire you to participate in charitable activities in your community, or perhaps even with the charities you read about here. In fact, just by purchasing this book, you are making a difference in the lives of many.
To learn more about the Harlequin More Than Words program or to nominate a woman you know for this very special award, please visit www.HarlequinMoreThanWords.com.
Sincerely,
Donna Hayes
Publisher and CEO
Harlequin Enterprises Ltd.
DIANA PALMER
KASEY MICHAELS
CATHERINE MANN
More Than Words: Stories of Hope
CONTENTS
STORIES INSPIRED BY REAL-LIFE HEROINES
THE GREATEST GIFT
by Diana Palmer
Inspired by Sue Cobley
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
HERE COME THE HEROES
by Kasey Michaels
Inspired by Deb Fruend
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
TOUCHED BY LOVE
by Catherine Mann
Inspired by Debra Bonde
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
SUE COBLEY
CHEFS TO THE RESCUE
Most people, if they think about it at all, just shake their heads at the food wasted in restaurants and grocery stores. Thirteen years ago, Sue Cobley decided to do something about it. That would be remarkable enough in itself, but Sue was no well-heeled suburbanite or high-placed executive with a mission statement and plenty of backing. In 1996, just divorced from an abusive husband, evicted from their rented property and living in a borrowed car with her five children, Sue embarked on a course of action that would literally move mountains of food—and change her community of Boise, Idaho.
To anyone else, just keeping body and soul—and the family—together would be challenge enough. But despite her own daily struggle for survival, Sue made what would turn out to be a life-changing decision: to be a link between surplus food and the many people who needed it. She didn’t have to know the statistic—over 35 million Americans, 12.6 million of them children, living with hunger or on the edge of it, according to U.S. Department of Agriculture estimates, and a staggering 96 billion pounds of food wasted each year in the United States—to be aware that there were people going hungry in her own community. She began calling local grocery stores and restaurants for donations of surplus food to distribute to shelters and needy families. The response was encouraging. “Restaurants hate to throw away food they’ve prepared,” Sue says. “They were happy to be able to help.” From this humble yet bold beginning, Chefs to the Rescue was born, though it didn’t yet have a name.
It started as a family project, one that Sue now sees as key in shaping her family’s future. “I didn’t want our experience to hurt my kids for the rest of their lives,” she says. When the idea for redistributing food came to her, “it was like it was meant to be—helping other people empowered the kids. They have come out of the experience with a positive outlook, and I hope that when they have to go through hard times, they’ll be able to draw on that.”
Maintaining a routine was important in keeping the family together through these hard times. The two eldest children, then twelve and thirteen, were in school during the day; the other three, the youngest a baby, accompanied Sue when she cleaned houses, her only means of support. The older children helped with the younger ones, babysitting, reading to them and assisting with homework, and all of them did chores. “They’re awesome kids,” Sue says.
Most nights the family stayed in motels when they could afford it, and Sue did her best to make it seem like camping out, an adventure. Cole and Chase, then three and five, loved being able to use the swimming pool, but for Sue, frightened and at times on the edge of despair, keeping up a cheerful facade required all her resourcefulness. Sometimes after she was sure the children were asleep, she would cry, and she remembers all too clearly sitting in a park one day and coming to the realization that she might have to turn them over to welfare. “But we had a family meeting about it,” she says, “and they voted to stay together.” During the two years it took to save enough money to rent a house, they continued to deliver food donations to soup kitchens, homeless centers and shelters. “I’m so glad we were busy,” Sue says. “It took our minds off our situation.”
What motivates such generosity of spirit? Sue’s own particular inspiration was her grandmother, the first female officer in the Boise prison—dubbed “Feeder” by Sue’s brother because of her habit of generously sharing food, even though she had little money. She also taught female prisoners how to sew. It was only later, however, that Sue became fully aware of her grandmother’s influence. Though she’d studied social work in college, Sue knew nothing about homelessness and says she probably shared most people’s attitude of indifference. Her personal experience taught her what it meant to be homeless, hungry and abused, and during her time with Chefs to the Rescue and a statewide food bank, she says, “Every day I learned something from somebody else. I met people who were priceless.”
For more information about your local or statewide food bank, visit www.feedingamerica.org or write to Feeding America, 35 East Wacker Drive, Suite 2000, Chicago, IL 60601.
DIANA PALMER
THE GREATEST GIFT
DIANA PALMER
A New York Times bestselling author of more than 100 novels, Diana Palmer is renowned as one of North America’s top 10 romance writers. When she published her first novel in 1979, fans immediately fell in love with her sensual, charming romances. A diehard romantic who married her husband five days after they met, Diana says that she wrote her first book at age 13—and has been hooked ever since.
Palmer lives in northeast Georgia with her husband, James Kyle, and a menagerie of animals that includes four dogs, four cats, assorted exotic lizards and an emu named George.
CHAPTER ONE
The car lights passing by the side road kept Mary Crandall awake. She glanced into the backseat where her son, Bob, and her daughter, Ann, were finally asleep. Sandwiched between them, the toddler, John, was sound asleep in his little car seat. Mary pushed back a strand of dark hair and glanced worriedly out the window. She’d never in her life slept in a car. But she and her children had just been evicted fr
om their rental home, by a worried young policewoman with a legal eviction notice. She hadn’t wanted to enforce the order but had no choice since Mary hadn’t paid the rent in full. The rent had gone up and Mary could no longer afford the monthly payments.
It was Mary who’d comforted her, assuring her that she and the children would manage somehow. The order hadn’t mentioned the automobile, although Mary was sure that it would be taken, too. The thing was, it hadn’t been taken today. By tomorrow, perhaps, the shock would wear off and she could function again. She was resourceful, and not afraid of hard work. She’d manage.
The fear of the unknown was the worst. But she knew that she and the children would be all right. They had to be! If only she didn’t have to take the risk of having them in a parked car with her in the middle of the night. Like any big city, Phoenix was dangerous at night.
She didn’t dare go to sleep. The car doors didn’t even lock….
Just as she was worrying about that, car lights suddenly flashed in the rearview mirror. Blue lights. She groaned. It was a police car. Now they were in for it. What did they do to a woman for sleeping in a car with her kids? Was it against the law?
Mary had a sad picture of herself in mind as the police car stopped. She hadn’t combed her dark, thick hair all day. There were circles under her big, light blue eyes. Her slender figure was all too thin and her jeans and cotton shirt were hopelessly wrinkled. She wasn’t going to make a good impression.
She rolled the window down as a uniformed officer walked up to the driver’s window with a pad in one hand, and the other hand on the butt of his service revolver. Mary swallowed. Hard.
The officer leaned down. He was clean-shaven, neat in appearance. “May I see your license and registration, please?” he asked politely.
With a pained sigh, she produced them from her tattered purse and handed them to him. “I guess you’re going to arrest us,” she said miserably as she turned on the inside lights.
He directed his gaze to the backseat, where Bob, Ann and John were still asleep, then looked back at Mary. He glanced at her license and registration and passed them back to her. “You can’t sleep in a car,” he said.
She smiled sadly. “Then it’s on the ground, I’m afraid. We were just evicted from our home.” Without knowing why, she added, “The divorce was final today and he left us high and dry. To add insult to injury, he wants the car for himself, but he can’t find it tonight.”
His face didn’t betray anything, but she sensed anger in him. “I won’t ask why the children have to be punished along with you,” he replied. “I’ve been at this job for twenty years. There isn’t much I haven’t seen.”
“I imagine so. Well, do we go in handcuffs…?”
“Don’t be absurd. There’s a shelter near here, a very well-run one. I know the lady who manages it. She’ll give you a place to sleep and help you find the right resources to solve your situation.”
Tears sprung to her light eyes. She couldn’t believe he was willing to help them!
“Now, don’t cry,” he ground out. “If you cry, I’ll cry, and just imagine how it will look to my superiors if it gets around? They’ll call me a sissy!”
That amused her. She laughed, lighting up her thin face.
“That’s better,” he said, liking the way she looked when she smiled. “Okay. You follow me, and we’ll get you situated.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Hey, I’m not that old,” he murmured dryly. “Come on. Drive safely. I’ll go slow.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I mean it. I was scared to death to stay here, but I had no place I could go except to a friend, and she lives just two doors down from my ex-husband….”
“No need even to explain. Let’s go.”
He led her through downtown Phoenix to an old warehouse that had been converted into a homeless shelter.
She parked the car in the large parking lot and picked up the baby carrier, motioning to Bob and Ann to get out, too.
“Dad will probably have the police looking for the car by now,” Bob said sadly.
“It doesn’t matter,” Mary said. “We’ll manage, honey.”
The police officer was out of his own car, having given his location on the radio. He joined them at the entrance to the shelter, grimacing.
“I just got a call about the car…” he began.
“I told you Dad would be looking for it,” Bob said on a sigh.
“It’s all right,” Mary told him. She forced a smile. “I can borrow one from one of the ladies I work for. She’s offered before.”
“She must have a big heart,” the policeman mused.
She smiled. “She has that. I keep house for several rich ladies. She’s very kind.”
The policeman held the door open for them as they filed reluctantly into the entrance. As she passed, she noticed that his name tag read Matt Clark. Odd, she thought, they had the same initials, and then she chided herself for thinking such a stupid thing when she was at the end of her rope.
Many people were sitting around talking. Some were sleeping on cots, even on the floor, in the huge space. There were old tables and chairs that didn’t match. There was a long table with a coffee urn and bags of paper plates and cups, where meals were apparently served. It was meant for a largely transient clientele. But the place felt welcoming, just the same. The big clock on the wall read 10:00 p.m. It wasn’t nearly as late as she’d thought.
“Is Bev around?” the policeman asked a woman nearby.
“Yes. She’s working in the office. I’ll get her,” she added, smiling warmly at Mary.
“She’s nice people,” the policeman said with a smile. “It’s going to be all right.”
A couple of minutes later, a tall, dignified woman in her forties came out of the office. She recognized the police officer and grinned. “Hi, Matt! What brings you here at this hour?”
“I brought you some more clients,” he said easily. “They don’t have anyplace to go tonight. Got room?”
“Always,” the woman said, turning to smile at Mary and her kids. She was tall and her dark hair was sprinkled with gray. She was wearing jeans and a red sweater, and she looked honest and kind. “I’m Bev Tanner,” she said, holding out her hand to shake Mary’s. “I manage the homeless shelter.”
“I’m Mary Crandall,” she replied, noting the compassionate police officer’s intent scrutiny. “These are my children. Bob’s the oldest, he’s in junior high, Ann is in her last year of grammar school, and John’s just eighteen months.”
“I’m very happy to have you here,” Bev said. “And you’re welcome to stay as long as you need to.”
Mary’s lips pressed together hard as she struggled not to cry. The events of the day were beginning to catch up with her.
“What you need is a good night’s sleep,” Bev said at once. “Come with me and I’ll get you settled.”
Mary turned to Officer Clark. “Thanks a million,” she managed to say, trying to smile.
He shrugged. “All in a night’s work.” He hesitated. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
She did smile, then. “Maybe you will.”
Phoenix was an enormous city. It wasn’t likely. But they continued smiling at each other as he waved to Bev and went out the door.
An hour later, Mary and the children were comfortably situated with borrowed blankets. She realized belatedly that she hadn’t thought to take one single piece of clothing or even her spare cosmetics from the house. There had hardly been time to absorb the shock and surprise of being evicted.
Mary looked around, dazed. The homeless shelter was just a little frightening. She’d never been inside one before. Like many people, she’d passed them in her travels around Phoenix, but never paid them much attention. The people who frequented them had been only shadows to her, illusions she remembered from occasional stories on television around the holiday season. Helping the homeless was always a good story, during that season when people tri
ed to behave better. Contributions were asked and acknowledged from sympathetic contributors. Then, like the tinsel and holly and wreaths, the homeless were put aside until the next holiday season.
But Mary was unable to put it aside. She had just sustained a shock as her divorce became final. She and her three children were suddenly without a home, without clothes, furniture, anything except a small amount of money tucked away in Mary’s tattered purse.
She was sure that when they woke up in the morning, the car would be gone, too. The policeman, Matt Clark, had already mentioned that there was a lookout for the car. She hoped she wouldn’t be accused of stealing it. She’d made all the payments, but it was in her ex-husband’s name, like all their assets and everything else. That hadn’t been wise. However, she’d never expected to find herself in such a situation.
She’d told Bev that they were only going to be here for one night. She had a little money in her purse, enough to pay rent at a cheap motel for a week. Somehow she’d manage after that. She just wasn’t sure how. She hardly slept. Early the next morning, she went to the serving table to pour herself a cup of coffee. The manager, Bev, was doing the same.
“It’s okay,” the manager told her gently. “There are a lot of nice people who ended up here. We’ve got a mother and child who came just two days before you did,” she indicated a dark young woman with a nursing baby and a terrified look. “Her name’s Meg. Her husband ran off with her best friend and took all their money. And that sweet old man over there—” she nodded toward a ragged old fellow “—had his house sold out from under him by a nephew he trusted. The boy cashed in everything and took off. Mr. Harlowe was left all on his own with nothing but the clothes on his back.”
“No matter how bad off people are, there’s always someone worse, isn’t there?” Mary asked quietly.
More Than Words: Stories of Hope Page 1
