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Christmas, Cupids ad Kisses

By Carolyn R Scheidies

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Christmas,
Cupids and Kisses



A Christmas romance with heart, humor and
3 determined impish angels.











By Carolyn R. Scheidies


CR Publications
Carolyn R. Scheidies
415 E 15th
Kearney, NE 68847-6959
(308) 234-3849
crscheidies@hotmail.com
Subject Line: Christmas, Cupids and Kisses

I DEAL IN HOPE
http://IDealinHope.com

© 2019 by Carolyn R. Scheidies

First Print Version: Lulu
ISBN 978-0-359-70551-1

First Kindle Version


Cover designer: oliviaprodesign



CHAPTER ONE

Rev. William Sandburg leaned over his daughter's slight shoulder. “That's from Michael Delecourt,” he told her, adjusting his old fashion glasses on his thin nose. His eyes twinkled at Claire's frown.
“The man could at least write his name legibly,” she growled, trying to read the handwritten scrawl. “You'd think he was doctor from the way he writes, not an architect. Why not enter this into his computer and send it email?”
The thin, almost gaunt Reverend straightened. “Claire, not everyone does things your way.”
Turning, Claire saw the faint disapproval and hurt in her father's eyes. “Father,” she said, giving him a hug. “I didn't mean anything by that. You know I love working for you. Who else would have put up with a wounded daughter with big dreams and two rascally imps?”
He hugged her back. “I love having you here, and you know it. The place has been far too empty since your mother died three years ago. Besides, who else could decipher my handwritten sermon notes and letters? See, I needed you.” He tapped her laptop with its wide screen. “These things categorically refuse to work for me.”
Claire wasn't about to let that pass. “You haven't tried very hard, Father. That isn't like you at all.” She grinned. “Who was it who made me try out for the baseball team when I was scared to death?”
“That's right,” he drawled. “You were dying to try out. Besides, I knew you'd be the best second baseman, ah, person, they ever had.” His grin matched her own. “You showed those boys a thing or two.”
“And you can learn to use a computer just as you did your trusty typewriter.”
“Ah,” he said as his grin widened, “but then I wouldn't be able to prove how much I need you back home.”
Claire's large green eyes deepened to a shimmering emerald as she grimaced. “Face it Dad, I ran home after Don's accident. You didn't need to entice me with anything. All I wanted was a place of safety with someone I trusted, someone who cared.”
Reverend Sandburg squeezed her shoulder. “Sorry to remind you; not good business that. Nonetheless, I did need you. And,” he said as he flicked the papers in her hand, “I need these delivered to one Mr. Michael Delecourt by four o'clock this afternoon. His handwriting may not be legible, but he hasn't had much time to settle in yet and find himself a secretary. Think of what my handwriting looks like.”
Claire's green eyes softened. “And you want me to give this Delecourt the same consideration. I could just enter these in the computer and email the papers to him.”
Rev. Sandburg hesitated. “True. The more time he has to consider, the more he can get done of the plans before the meeting. But, I'd like him to be presented the hard copies.” He held up his thumb. “Hard copy. Pretty good, huh. I've learned a thing or two from you.”
Rev. Sandburg squeezed her shoulder. “I'd feel better if you got them ready and delivered them as we agreed.”
“Hmm.” Some sixth sense blared a warning. “Who is he anyway?”
Her father sounded more clipped than usual. “A new architect in town.”
“Ummm.” Her suspicions rose. “Isn't Grand Platte rather small for another architect? Or is he planning to retire here?”
“I'm sure he has his reasons for settling here.” Rev. Sandburg remained non-committal about his knowledge, but a decided twinkle in his eyes gave her pause.
Growing up in a minister's household, Claire learned not to pry for information, however much she wanted to. “I sure hope he hires a secretary, and soon. How does he expect to do business if no one can read his handwriting?”
Sandburg smiled. “Are you offering your services?”
“Don't even consider volunteering me, Father. I have quite enough to do working for you, taking care of the boys and running the Education Department at church.”
“Not to mention your writing. How's the novel coming?”
Red stained her cheeks. “Not well. But I did send off a mystery short to a magazine contest,” she told him. “First prize is an all-expense paid cruise for two.”
His lips twitched. “And who are you planning to take if you win?”
“I'll think about that when the time comes.” Grinning, she shook a finger at him. “Now don't go getting any ideas. If I think you're going to try and set me up with some tanned specimen on the cruise, I'll stay home and so will you.”
“Claire,” he sniffed as though offended before continuing, “how can you make such accusations?”
“Humph!” She turned her attention back to the letter and the computer. “Now. How do you want me to answer this Delecourt?”
All business, Rev. Sandburg eyed the letter. “Here's the time and date of the next church business meeting. Tell him to be there. The board wants to meet him and make final plans for the new addition.”
“You like this Michael Delecourt, don't you Dad?”
The smile hovering around his mouth beneath his neatly trimmed mustache should have warned her. “Yes, Claire, I do like him. He's a fine man, by my way of thinking. Widower, too.” He eyed his daughter. “In fact, I'd like you to invite him to supper.”
“Father,” Claire warned, “if this is one of your hair-brained schemes at match making, forget it. You know very well I am not interested in marriage. I will not chain myself in holy matrimony again. Once was quite enough.”
Lifting his hands, he said, “All right. All right. I still want you to invite Delecourt for supper. I'd like to get to know him a little better on an informal basis.”
“Hmm.” Despite her suspicions, Claire knew her father well enough to know he really did like to have people over. “I'll ask.”

“Good enough.” Her father nodded as he turned toward the connecting door to his office. “I'm going to work on my sermon for Sunday.” At the door, he watched her start the letter. The smile faded as he considered the tenseness of her shoulders, the stubborn chin that quivered just the slightest little bit. He whispered, “Lord, somehow, help me break through the barrier she's built around her heart.”
Pain zapped through his head, and for a moment, only a moment, everything blurred. Rubbing his forehead, he retreated to his office. Sooner or later, he really must visit Dr. Blain’s clinic.

As her father closed his door, Claire focused on the letter.
Dear Mr. Delecourt,

In answer to your letter, the church board wishes to meet with you Tuesday evening at 7 pm with specs in hand for the proposed new addition.
At that time, they will finalize plans for the addition as well as make a final decision on hiring the architect.
Thank you.

Rev. Sandburg

Claire left space for her father's signature.
Tucking the letter along with other relevant papers into a folder, she picked it up and headed through the connecting door to her father's comfortable home office. The two offices once formed a large formal parlor in the Victorian-era home. Divided, they made a perfect suite of offices, offering privacy for both her and her father.
Even now, his booming voice sounded through the door as he practiced his sermon. Though the church furnished a perfectly good office at the church building next door where he counseled his parishioners or met with the elders, she understood why he preferred to work at home.
“Matthew 11:28 says, 'Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.'“ boomed Rev. Sandburg, quoting from his much beloved King James version.
Lay down her burden? Not likely, thought Claire with a sigh. Not even God... She refused to go there.
“Father.” She knocked on the door and peeked in. “I need you to sign the letter before I deliver it.”
After he signed the letter, she picked it up, and placed it into the blue folder. “I'll be picking up the boys at school before delivering this.” She held up the folder. “If there is time, I'll let them off. If you're going to be here, that is.”
“I plan to be.” Glancing at the clock on the wall, the Reverend shook his head as he checked out her attire. “Ah, you are planning to change?”
Dusting off her comfortable black jeans under a stretched out faded blue sweatshirt, she stuck her nose in the air. “What?” She sniffed, strutting about the room. “Am I not presentable enough for the pastor's daughter?”
Her antics never failed to elicit a smile from her father. This time he merely sighed. “Claire.”
She stopped at his stern warning. “All right. All right. I shall dazzle this old architect with the efficiency and good taste of your secretary.”
“Oh, get on with you.” The corners of his lips turned up slightly as though he held back a grin. “Better get going then, so you have time to leave off the boys before your appointment. You don't want to leave those two imps of yours waiting.”
“You're right about that, Dad.” Claire rolled her eyes in mock horror. “Who knows what trouble they'll get into if I'm late picking them up.”
Picking up a business card, her father held it out. “Here. Take this; it's got Delecourt's office address.”
Running lightly up the stairs and down the hall of the comfortable four-bedroom home, she opened the door to her room. It had been her sanctuary since returning home after her devastating marriage and subsequent release. Release? Is that what she thought of the accident that took Don's life? Yes, release for her and the boys. Guilt nagged at her feelings of relief as she entered the room she partially redecorated when she returned home, adding a new bed, dresser and a few other ornaments. That was about it.
The muted yellow and spring green of the decor never failed to soothe her. It had been her room since childhood, those innocent days when she dreamed of a knight on a white charger gallantly claiming his fair maiden. The stories she spun in her head ended happily with the knight in shining armor lovingly enfolding the fair maiden in his arms.
A cynical smile touched her lips. Reality quickly dispelled that image. She frowned as another took its place. Shaking away the darker image, she laid down the documents in the folder on the solid oak night stand by the double bed with its stripped green and yellow quilt bedspread.
The closet doors silently slid open to her touch, and she reminded herself to thank her father for oiling them. Not that she couldn't have done it herself, she mused with a guilty start. How easy it had been to return to those days when her father took care of her, protected her. Back then she believed in God’s protection too. Well, she was a big girl now. She was more than ready to take care of herself, and her two boys. God sure hadn’t done such a good job.
The thought of Paul and Andrew waiting for her after school spurred her to hurriedly pull out a recent purchase, a teal one-piece dress in rich Fuji silk with two rows of gold buttons emphasizing the bodice. She'd found it on sale for an unbelievably low price at one of the more selective lady's shops in the mall.
Throwing off her jeans and top, both of which landed half on, half off the bed, she pulled on a camisole and half slip before buttoning on the dress. Sliding her hands down the cool smooth skirt, she relished the luxurious feeling it gave her.
Maybe that's why the dress appealed to her. It had been a long time since she felt desirable. Drifting up through the old fashion floor register, the sounds of keys clacking against the carriage of the ancient typewriter brought her attention back to the matter at hand.
She shook her head. She doubted her dad would ever give up his trusty typewriter for a computer. He had provided a scanner in her office, so she could scan in his typewritten pages when needed. She'd downloaded a scan app on her cell. She thought, One day, that typewriter should go to a museum. It certainly was old enough. She grimaced and picked up her hair brush.
Vigorously brushing her shoulder length auburn hair, she clipped back one side with a hair comb, and added a gold cross necklace along with a gold bracelet before checking herself in the mirror.
“Hmm.” Reaching for her make up, she added a touch of eye shadow and blush. Nodding her approval at the image in the mirror, she turned away, promptly focusing on her agenda.
Calling out “I'm leaving,” to her father, she left by the side door to the double car garage where her gray-blue chariot, a tired looking Cadillac, awaited her. She'd picked it up for next to nothing and, though it a took minor fortune to keep repaired, she felt secure within its massive body.
The starter ground when she turned the key. A moment later, the car growled into life. Backing out, Claire carefully avoided her father's newer silver van. Turning into the street, Claire glanced down on the seat beside her to make certain she hadn't forgotten the folder. With a contented sigh, she settled back as she drove across town to the elementary school.
The early November sun beamed down, flashing on the polished hood and into her eyes. Claire reached into her purse for a pair of sun glasses. She donned them with a shake of her head.
Outside the school, she surveyed the school yard for her sons. The small town boasted only two elementary schools, and the school yard was not large enough to keep her from seeing to the other side of the high, fenced in yard. A couple of tall trees edged the sides of the old red brick building.
She did not see either boy and her stomach churned. Her knuckles on the steering wheel tightened. “Dear God, where are those boys?”
Memories surfaced, but she shook them away. They were here; they had to be.
“Mom. Hey Mom,” a familiar voice cried. “Look at me!”
Rolling down her window, Claire stuck out her head and looked up. “Andy. Get down out of that tree right now! You know you aren't supposed to be up there.”
“Ah, Mom.”
“Now!” A small missile dropped from the branches and landed with a thud that all but stopped Claire's heart. Andrew, her six year old, got to his feet and grinned at her. His reddish hair curled around an assortment of twigs and brown leaves.
She had only time enough to grab up the folder before Andy hurdled toward the car and slid into the seat beside her. Absently, she dusted off his jeans and brushed leaves from his hair. The leaves crackled as they broke apart and sifted all over the car seat and over onto Claire's lap. She brushed the bits and pieces off onto the floor.
“Andy,” She frowned. “What are you doing out here and where's Paul?”
Andrew didn't meet her eyes, and she frowned. “Andy?”
“Mrs. Stiles let me go with Paul. It's been ok before.”
She merely sighed. “So where is your brother?”
When Andy squirmed, she grated, “Tell me right now.”
“Ah, Mom. He was commin' right back.”
Willing herself to a calmness she did not at all feel, Claire asked again. “I want a straight answer young man. Where is your brother?”
“He went to the mall with a couple of his friends.” His eyes widened with wonder. “There's a Python at the pet store. I wanted ta go too, but Paul wouldn't let me. Said I had ta wait for you.” Seeing the look on his mother's face, he defended, “It's only two blocks, Mom, and he did say he'd be right back.”
Concern for her son ripped through her. Andy rolled his eyes. “Mom, he'll be all right. Isn't no one gonna hurt him.”
“Going to hurt him, Andy,” she said through clenched teeth. “At least until I get a hold of him.”
Gunning the motor, Claire leaned forward as she headed the heavy vehicle up the road, across the busy highway to the mall that sprawled out over several acres of flat land and drew young people from the town like a magnet.
Angling into a parking space, Claire snapped the key from the ignition with a click. After throwing the key and sunglasses into her purse, she picked it up, slung the strap over her shoulder and got out of the car. “Come on, Andy. I'm not leaving you out here.”
“Ah, Mom. I don't want to go in. I'm tired.” Brown eyes stared at her with serious intensity. “First grade is awful hard.” He dragged one scuffed sneaker along the front of the dashboard with sound not unlike that of a nail on a blackboard.
“I'm not leaving you here alone. Now come on.”
“Can I see the snake?”
“May I,” Claire corrected out of habit.
“May I see the snake?”
“No.” She relented. “Unless we find your brother there.”
Seeing another boy walk by with a triple-decker ice cream, Andy put on his most pleading face. “Mom, how 'bout ice cream? I'll come in for ice cream. How 'bout it? Okay?” His face brightened with hope.
Silently counting to ten, Claire glanced at her watch. If she didn't hurry she'd be late for her appointment. “All right. Ice cream, but only one scoop.”
Andy wasn't about to argue. A grin of victory on his face, he slid out of the car and bounced beside his mother into the mall.
Heading straight for the pet shop, Claire waylaid her older son as he exited the “Pet Shoppe” with its large red signs and cacophony of barks and meows, scratching and chirping.
“Mom, I didn't expect to see you here.” Dark haired Paul gulped as he stared into her frowning face.
“I don't suppose.” Her withering glance took in his companions. “Do your parents know you're here?”
“Not exactly,” one answered.
The other replied with a touch of defiance. “My mother doesn't care. She doesn't get home until five.”
“We were doin' nothing wrong.” Paul's chin shot up. His hazel eyes challenged.
“Not if you discount leaving your brother alone at the school to come here, without permission, I might add.”
His friends shuffled back a few steps. “Ah, Paul We've got to be going. See ya.” With a sigh of relief so evident it made Claire swallow a chuckle, the other two boys hurried away.
Her gaze returned to her son who looked up at her with his endearing lopsided grin. Claire forced herself to remain firm. “Paul, you must not do this again.” Glancing at her watch again, she groaned. “Not only did you leave your brother and possibly endanger yourself, but you have made me late for an appointment.”
Paul's lip quivered, but he was too big to let the tear hovering at the corner of his eye fall. “I didn't mean nothin'.”
“Nothing. Maybe not, but next time, think first. All right?” Claire sighed. It was so difficult to discipline her boys after what they had been through. She was glad they had her father to provide a balance, but they needed a father. Where did that thought come from?
Father...husband. Her insides froze at the thought. No, her own father was enough. Not for anything was she going to let herself be vulnerable again to a man. Never!
“Let's get to the car, boys. I'm already late.”
“But Mom!” Andrew tugged on her arm. “Ice Cream. You promised ice cream.”
Paul's face brightened. “Ice Cream, great!”
“Whew!”Claire's heart sank as she stifled a groan. Why had she given in to Andy's demands? As her father taught her, a promise was a promise. She, at least, kept her promises. “Let's go get ice cream,” she said with a sigh.
Chattering and hurrying her along, the two boys all but bounced up and down in front of the counter. Down the long counter that curled around the corner business, large glass jars filled with jelly beans, caramel corn, along with an assortment other toppings and treats, tempted the customers.
They also made it difficult for the boys to choose a topping.
“I want this one...no that one. Maybe that one.”
“Choose now. We must leave,” Claire told them, gritting her teeth and praying Mr. Delecourt was not an impatient man.
Finally, both boys happily licked their cones while she paid the bill. Of course, with cones in their hands, the boys could not hurry as fast and the minutes clicked off like bombs in Claire's mind as she herded them toward the nearest exit.
Her mind on how she was going to calm down the prospective architect, Claire took scarce notice of the large man with laughing blue eyes who stepped from the department store with a youngster planted firmly on his shoulders.
“Papa. Papa. Ice cream!” the youngster screamed, leaning forward over his father's eyes. “Ice ceam!” he waved toward Claire's two boys.
The large man stumbled into Claire. In one of those flashes of time that stretches into an eternity, the youngster fell from his father's shoulders. Dropping his cone, Andy grabbed for his mother. Paul's cone smeared the front of the man's jacket as he tried to push the tottering man away from his mother, and the scared toddler plopped into Claire's arms like a ripe plum.
A moment later, the stranger caught his balance and straightened. Anger flashed in his eyes at the sticky ice cream dripping from his gray business jacket. It was soon forgotten in his concern for his squalling son. “Darrion, are you hurt?” He reached for his son, whose arms clutched Claire so tightly around the neck, she could hardly breathe. The toddler's frightened pit-patting heart beat against her own. Poor boy. He probably didn't know what happened.
Her green eyes darkened in empathy for Darrion. While her emerald eyes pleaded for assistance, she flinched at the man's touch. Her son Paul noted her reaction and launched himself at the man's legs. “Leave her alone!” he cried. “Don't hurt my mother!”
“Hurt. Hurt!” cried the little boy, who appeared all of two.
Several hesitated at the scene. A lady pointed them out to a uniformed security guard who headed their way. Just what we need, thought Claire and exchanged a look of “now what?” with the stranger.
An irritated frown on his face, the man managed to catch his balance as he reached down to Paul. “Son. Son! I'm just getting Darrion. He's choking your mother.” His large hands proved surprisingly gently as he firmly removed the nine-year-old's arms from his long legs.
For a moment, Claire wondered how those hands would feel on her face. Her cheeks blossomed, and she shied from the thought. Her father would probably say it was a good sign. She hoped the man assumed her heightened color resulted from his son's stranglehold on her neck.
“Darrion, Son, it's all right,” he soothed the frightened boy. “You're safe now, Sport. See I didn't fall, and this kind lady caught you.”
“I safe,” the little boy echoed with satisfaction. The guard nodded, and to the relief of both adults, ambled back down the wide hall.

While part of the man's brain assessed the rather nice attributes of the woman whose emerald eyes seared his soul, he continued to reassure the lad until the boy released his death grip on the woman. Darrion clung to him as he cuddled the boy in his arms.
The surprise in the woman's eyes at this gesture irritated him. A muscle twitched in his left cheek. The woman actually winced at his defensive glare. “What's wrong? I'm a father,” the man told her. “You'd do the same.”
Andy shook his head. “Uh. Uh. Daddy never hold us,” he declared.
This took him by surprise and he stuttered, “W...what?” His response brought a certain warmth to the woman’s eyes. “I...I'm sure your father lov...“
Claire cut him off. “Their father is dead.” Her green eyes looked like ice crystals, but deep inside, the man witnessed pain. His whole being responded to her pain.
“I...I'm sorry.” The woman almost smiled, almost. “I am sorry.”
“Torry,” echoed Darrion solemnly. His son’s mimicry lifted the corners his lips.
“I know you don’t understand,” the lovely woman commented. He guessed her to be in her late twenties. The rim of her watch glinted under the artificial lights.
“Oh, no,” she groaned glancing at her watch, “it's past four. I'm late for an appointment.”
“Sorry about all this. And...and about your husband.”
“Don't be, Mister,” Paul told him. “He wasn't very nice. Not when he drank anyway.”
Darrion shook a pudgy fist. “Not nice. Not nice man.”
A flush crawled up the woman’s neck into her cheeks. As though trying to stop her sons from revealing anything more personal, she forced a smile. “Enough boys. Besides, it’s over now. We must be on our way.”
“But Mom,” Andy wailed. “My ice cream cone. I didn't get to eat it.” His bottom lip hung out.
She sighed. “I know, Andy, but I'm already way too late for my appointment. Your grandpa will not be happy that I didn't deliver his papers on time.”
Ruefully, the large man swiped at the stain on his clothes. The ice cream left a trail down his jacket to the knees of his slacks and onto the once highly polished shoes. A giggle burst from her lips. Her cheeks flared red with embarrassment. “Look I'm sorry. I'll pay for the cleaning.”
The man shook his head. “No, this one was my fault--or his.” He swung his now laughing son back onto his shoulder. “I'm thankful there wasn't more damage.”
Absently, the woman nodded, as though his casual acceptance of the situation was another point in his favor. “Me too. If you're sure there's nothing I can do....”
“But there is,” the man drawled.
The woman tensed as her son Paul sucked in a quick breath and blurted, “You won't hurt your son, will you mister?”
Darrion scowled at his father. “Not hurt.”
“Of course not.” An irritated frown gave way to a pained sigh.
“Or Mom either. She didn't do nothing'.”
“No,” the large man hastened to assure the boy. “I'm not angry at anyone. And hurt is the last thing I want to inflict on your lovely mother.”
“Nice lady?” Darrion's wide grin brought a gentle light to the woman’s eyes.
Her own smile flashed as she tousled the boy's blond hair. She searched his eyes. Fear lurked deep in her gaze. She was afraid of him, and it left him feeling like someone punched him.
The man started; cleared his throat. “I'll buy everyone a cone.”
Paul's face brightened with hope. Andy, always more accepting of others, tugged at the man's arm. “Will you buy us ice cream? Any kind? Three whole scoops. I like you, Mister.”

“Andrew, stop it!” Claire commanded, wishing the floor would swallow her whole. Why, oh, why had Paul chosen today to defy her rule about waiting for her at the school?
“But Mom, he wants ta.”
Claire closed her ears against the boys' pleading. Around them the crowd hurried past on their way to another shop, the exit, home. “I don't know. Boys, what about my appointment?”
“Ah, please, can we? Can we PLEASE?” they chorused, sensing she weakened.
Clapping his hands, Darrion yelled with abandon, “Ice ceam. Ice ceam,”
“That's it, Darry,” Paul encouraged him.
Laughing, Andrew clapped his own hands. The man inclined his head, a wide grin on his lips. Shaking her head, Claire groaned. “I give up.”
The boys cheered. Hand in the air, Claire made herself heard. “Listen. Let me first call to get the number and see about that appointment.”
The boys nodded. Andy hung onto the man's arm. “Can I stay with Mister until you come back. Please.”
Paul nodded his agreement.
“'lease. 'lease,” Darrion begged.
“Hush, Sport,” his father said with a frown.
“I don't think so, boys.” She included Darrion whose downcast face twisted her heart. Stay strong. Stay strong, she commanded herself silently.
“I don't mind.” His blue eyes reflected the doubt in her heart. “But I know, I’m a stranger. Darrion and I will wait in front of the ice cream shop for you to return. How's that?”
Trailed by two impatient boys, a defeated Claire moved away and pulled out her cell phone. “Dad, Claire, here...No, I'm still at the mall. I'm sorry I didn't make the appointment, but...“
Her father's voice sounded loud over the receiver. “Don't worry, Claire. Delecourt called a while ago to cancel. Seems he was busy with something else this afternoon, doctor appointment or something.”
Claire pictured a check up for a heart problem. “Listen Dad, you don't think Mr. Delecourt is too old for the project, do you?”
His deep chuckle reassured her. At the same time, she felt her suspicions rising again. When Rev. Sandburg stopped laughing, he said, “Don't worry about that, Claire, or about those papers. I invited him to supper. He'll be here about seven.”
“Dad, how could you? I'll never have time to cook dinner now!”
She visualized his shrug. “No matter. Pick up some chicken on your way home. I'll put some potatoes in to bake, open a package of quick biscuits, and pull a cream pie out of the freezer.”
“Looks like you have it all thought out, Dad...or thawed out.” She heard his groan at her bad pun.
“Will you be finished shopping soon?”
“Shopping?” Claire intoned. “Who has been shopping? You won't believe what happened, Dad. I'll tell you about it when I get home. It would take too long right now. Someone's waiting for me.”
“Tall and handsome, I hope.” Her father chuckled. “God does provide.”
“Dad,” Claire warned. “I'll be home later.”
He was still chuckling when she disconnected. Still, his infectious humor seldom failed to restore her own sense of humor, and she returned her attention to the stranger with a smile on her face. She might as well enjoy the chance encounter. She'd probably never see the man again anyway. God's provision? She seriously doubted it!
Despite her prompting, Paul and Andrew took their time choosing the double fudge cones with nuts and gummy bears. At least she prevailed on the man to support her in offering only single decker cones. That left some chance the boys might eat supper.
Claire shuddered at the combination, wishing they preferred the small dish of vanilla ice cream the stranger helped his son to eat. No wonder he ordered vanilla, since as much ended up on the man's clothes as in Darrion's mouth. Ruefully, the man swiped at the stains. “You sure you don't want anything?”
“I'm sure,” Claire said firmly, gracefully smoothing her silky skirt over her hips. Her action drew his gaze, and she glanced at him and away.
“Darrion, we're spilling your ice cream.” A glop of whipped topping smashed against his suit jacket like a corsage.
“My ice ceam,” Darrion cried, adding his fist print squarely in the center of the blob of topping.
“What next?” the man sighed. “He used to be so easy to deal with; now he has a mind of his own.” Weary irritation edged his tone. “This suit will never look the same again. Guess I'll have to go home and change.”
“Only if you're planning on eating out,” Claire agreed. She sat on the bench beside him with Darrion between them. Her two boys perched behind them on the waist high brick wall that enclosed an assortment of artificial plants and ferns and small trees.
The afternoon crowd thinned, and the vaulted mall echoed silence at the lull between afternoon and evening crowds. Almost everyone was heading home. Claire relaxed in the semi-quiet. From behind, she listened to her two boys happily slurping their cones. “Thanks for the ice cream,” Paul said without prompting.
“Ya,” agreed Andrew with a decided slurp. “Thanks.” He patted Darrion.
“He likes his, too.”

“Least I could do.” He hesitated as he surveyed the lovely woman on the bench with him. “I don't know how to ask this, but I'm new in town.”
Tensing, the woman sucked in a breath. “I don't think so,” she said before he finished.
Did she think he was coming onto her? He frowned. “I shouldn't have asked, but I thought you might know of a trust-worthy baby-sitter I could call.”
“Baby-sitter. You want a baby-sitter?” Her cheeks flamed. “I thought....”
A grin teased his lips. “Well, no, actually. I wasn't about to make a pass. Maybe another time though.” Intentionally, he scanned her with a thoroughness that flamed her cheeks.
She cleared her throat. “A baby-sitter. Yes, I do know a baby-sitter. Sara Russell. Older woman. She loves kids, and I can vouch for her trustworthiness. My two adore her. She lives across the street from us.” She stopped. He read suspicion on her face. What did she know of him? She probably regretted giving out Sara's name.
“I have a dinner engagement tonight,” he explained. “Will she mind the short notice?”
The woman visibly relaxed. “Not if she isn't busy with some church activity. She's always sewing for those in need or for new arrivals, stuff like that.”
“Sounds like a paragon.”
She bristled. “Yes, she is.” Her chin jutted. Her eyes flashed emerald. “She puts actions to her faith.”
He sucked in a slow breath to steady himself from their onslaught. He must not let her get to him. Holding up a hand in surrender, he said, “I'll accept that. Do you have her number?”
The woman fumbled for her purse. “Yes, I have her number in my address book. But I'll need to know more about you.” Pulling out the rectangular red book, the Delecourt business card spilled onto the floor.
Reaching down, he and handed it back with a puzzled frown. “Where did you get this?”
“It was given to me,” She said with a shrug, “for that appointment I missed.”
“Looks like you made it after all,” he growled. “You knew who I was all along. I...I'm a sap.” He berated himself for being a fool to think the ice cream fiasco a coincidence. After her, he should have known better.
“What?” She leaned away from him, a spark of surprise and fear in her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“You don't know?” After searching her perplexed face, he chuckled. “Oops! I'm Michael Delecourt.”

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