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With All Josie's Heart
Crystal Stovall
HOME IS WHERE THE HEART ISSoul-weary Josie Marshall returned home after seven years to recover and reflect. But what she found was Michael Rawlins on her doorstep, asking for her hand in marriage.A long time ago, Josie had pledged to marry Michael…then left him when life took her down a different path. Now he needed her help to gain custody of his cousin's little girl. But seeing Michael again stirred emotions Josie thought long dead.Josie didn't know if her time with Michael was meant to be, but she knew she had to give him everything in her heart, not only for her salvation…but his as well!
He needed Josie’s help. But he couldn’t let her get close.
She had left him once, and she’d do it again.
Michael shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what Sharla’s father is thinking. He says he’s gotten his act together, and now that Sharla is motherless she should live with him.”
“So, he’s really serious about suing for custody?” Josie asked. “What does your attorney say?”
“That my chances are fifty-fifty at best.”
“If I can help… You know I would.”
“I appreciate your offer. Actually there is something you could do.” Taking a deep breath, Michael said a quick prayer before putting his heart in Josie’s hand.
“You can marry me.”
CRYSTAL STOVALL
dreamed of writing inspirational romances from the moment she discovered Grace Livingston Hill’s novels as a teenager. These books changed her life in a profound way, starting her on a quest to blend faith and romance in her personal life, as well as launching her writing career. She’s a graduate of Oral Roberts University and a recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award.
Crystal lives in Tulsa with her husband, Jim, who is president of the Emmy Award-winning Narrative Television Network. Though she’s lived in Oklahoma for nearly twenty years, she’s still an Easterner at heart. Her frequent visits to her upstate New York hometown—especially a certain boulder on the edge of Cayuga Lake—provide her with the inspiration and perspective which she finds essential to her writing.
With All Josie’s Heart
Crystal Stovall
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Let love and faithfulness never leave you;
bind them around your neck, write them
on the tablet of your heart.
—Proverbs 3:3
In memory of my mother, Jozell Smith,
whose love lives on in my heart and
whose smile won’t be forgotten.
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 One
This was the last place she expected to be.
Josie Marshall took a deep breath, then knocked on Michael’s front door. Just past five o’clock, the late-afternoon sun cast a long shadow across the wide porch. Potted geraniums and begonias lined the wooden rail, emitting a sweet fragrance that might have calmed her nerves on another day.
For the last seven years, Josie had successfully avoided Michael Rawlins, and she’d had no intention of seeing her parents’ next door neighbor on this trip home either. Yet, here she was, holding the basket of hot food her mother had prepared, waiting for Michael to open the door.
All attempts to convince her mother Josie was too tired, that she needed a long shower and a good night’s sleep before she faced anyone, had fallen on unsympathetic ears. An exhausting international flight fraught with delays and cramped seating was no excuse in Sarah Marshall’s mind. Sarah, relying on the persistent gaze Josie clearly remembered from childhood, had asked her daughter to please take Michael the food. The poor man had just been released from the hospital, and Sarah would have delivered the meal herself except she’d promised to drive Gran to her four o’clock doctor’s appointment and she was already late. If Josie would do this one thing for her, her mother had sworn, she would be so grateful.
Realizing it was useless to argue, Josie had given in. However, she’d procrastinated another hour before making the short trek next door.
She rang Michael’s doorbell a second time and prayed there would be no answer. Quickly, she counted to ten. If Michael didn’t open the door by the time she reached twenty, she was leaving.
Eighteen, nineteen, twenty… Thank you, God, she whispered.
Taking a deep breath, she turned away from the door and hurried down the wooden steps. Halfway across the lawn she heard his voice. She would have known the deep, warm timbre anywhere.
“Josie? Josie Marshall?”
For a split second, Josie considered ignoring Michael, pretending she hadn’t heard him call her name. But why should she? And what was the fuss anyway?
The thought of seeing Michael had her acting like a silly teenager. What was the harm in spending a few minutes with an old boyfriend she hadn’t seen in years? She would hand him the food, make sure he was okay, chitchat for a few minutes and then leave. She would do as much for anyone else. In fact, as director of an international children’s charity, she did much more than this on a daily basis for countless strangers.
Josie took a deep breath. The truth was, not only did she need a hot bath and good night’s sleep before seeing Michael, she needed a haircut, a new dress and a ten-pound weight loss. But it was too late for any of those luxuries. Making certain her brightest smile was in place, she faced him.
Michael stood on the front porch, his tall, lean body holding the screen door open. He looked the same, and yet he had changed. The longer, rebellious hair style had been replaced with a short, layered cut that emphasized his friendly brown eyes and high cheekbones. Instead of the blue jeans and T-shirt she remembered him always wearing, he looked surprisingly comfortable in casual slacks, a cotton shirt and burgundy loafers.
“Hello, Michael,” she slowly answered. “If this is a bad time…” She hoped he would accept her offer to end this encounter before it started.
“Not at all. Come on in.” He waved her toward the house as if he’d been expecting her.
His insistence surprised her, as did his curious gaze. She was tempted to ask what he thought. Had the last seven years been as flattering to her as they had been to him?
Uneasy with entering Michael’s house, she remained in the yard. With her feet on solid ground, it would be easier to keep a safe distance between him and old memories.
“I’ve got your dinner.” In case he hadn’t noticed the picnic basket, she raised it a few inches. “In fact, there’s probably enough food in here to last a family of five an entire week.”
Michael shook his head. “It’s a crime, isn’t it? More food than I can possibly eat has been delivered this afternoon, while somewhere in the world there are families who’ll go hungry tonight. I imagine with your work, the unfairness must really get to you, doesn’t it?”
Josie merely nodded at Michael’s casual remark. He couldn’t know the half of how she felt on that particular matter, and she saw no reason for sharing those private thoughts with him now. Her feelings were strictly between her and God.
Too weary for a serious conversation, she deliberately answered with a lighthearted quip. “If you want to do battle with my mother, then go ahead. I dare you to send this picnic basket back.”
Michael smiled. “No way I’m messing with Sarah Marshall. At least not until I’m fully recovered.”
Only then did Josie notice the tired lines framing Michael’s eyes and the stiff carriage of his upper body. While there were no visible bandages or scars, her mother had said he was badly bruised and very sore.
“Where would you like me to put this?” Josie asked, suddenly aware of his physical discomfort. She rushed up the steps, and as she neared him, he tried to take the basket. But before he could, she glided past him and through the open door.
Though it’d been a long time since she’d been in the Rawlins’s home, it still possessed the same welcoming air she’d remembered from her teenage years when Michael’s parents had owned the house. The floral prints and lemony walls Mrs. Rawlins had loved had been replaced with subtle earth tones and plaid fabrics. Even the carpeting had been pulled up to expose beautiful hardwood floors. The Western art, tailored furniture and Persian rugs hinted at a man she no longer knew.
Making her way to the kitchen, she deposited the picnic basket on the trestle table and started unloading it.
“I can do that,” Michael insisted. He reached for the casserole dish, and for a second his hands covered hers.
Josie flinched, his touch the same combination of gentleness and strength she’d remembered. Before too many old memories slipped to the surface, she turned abruptly and broke the unsettling contact.
“I wouldn’t be Sarah Marshall’s daughter if I didn’t finish the job properly,” she announced, as if his being so close had no effect on her.
Michael jokingly raised his hands shoulder high with palms facing outward. “Hey, like I said before, I’m not messing with your mother.”
Josie flashed her too bright smile. “Good. Then sit down and let me do my work.” As she placed the casserole dish in the oven to warm, she described the meal. “For starters, there’s your favorite, cheese-stuffed meat loaf and roasted potatoes.”
When she hesitated, Michael didn’t notice. A long time ago meat loaf had been his favorite. Maybe it wasn’t anymore.
Oh, God, she turned a silent prayer upward. Please, help me get out of here before I say something I’ll regret.
“I’ll put the coleslaw in the fridge with the applesauce. And there’s a loaf of wheat bread and—ta-da—cherry pie for dessert.”
Michael shook his head. “When your mother does something, she does it right.”
“Yeah,” Josie said. Despite all her grumblings, she had a pretty special mom. Sarah Marshall would do just about anything for her only daughter.
Michael glanced nervously at the food then back to Josie. “I can’t eat all this myself. You will stay for dinner, won’t you?”
The request was simple enough, but the unreadable emotion in Michael’s eyes bothered her. Despite the years and distance between them, she knew him too well not to know when he was trying too hard. If he was as uncomfortable with her presence as she was in his, then why did he ask her to stay?
“That’s so nice of you to offer, but I’m exhausted and you must be, too. Maybe we could get together later in the week?” Josie said, aware that once she walked out the door tonight their paths would not cross for the rest of her six-week hiatus. She would make certain of that.
“Really, I insist,” Michael said. “You know how busy you are when you’re home. Your mother will be dragging you to family reunions and church dinners until you’ll need a vacation to recuperate from your hiatus.”
“Not this time,” Josie promised. “It’s going to be a quiet six weeks spent with my parents.” She’d already warned her mother she wanted peace and quiet. Though she hadn’t told her why it was so important.
“Please stay,” Michael said. “At least for a few more minutes.” The same unreadable look she’d noticed before flashed across his eyes. Could he really want her to stay? Against her better judgment, she gave in to her curiosity.
“For a little while.” She’d never been able to refuse Michael in the past, and even after all this time apart, she still couldn’t say no.
Josie suggested they go ahead and eat. While she filled two plates, Michael poured iced tea and set place mats on the dining room table.
“The kitchen’s fine,” Josie called out. She didn’t want him to go to too much trouble. She didn’t want to be treated like a date. She was an old friend, the girl next door, and she wanted to keep it like that.
“You’re right. The kitchen is more comfortable. I’m not sure why I even kept this old dining room set. I never use it.” Still, Michael continued to set the oak trestle table that had belonged to his grandparents. Stepping back, he inspected his handiwork, and with a look that suggested something was missing, he opened the hutch door.
“Nonsense, it’s beautiful,” Josie said. “Besides, someday, when you’re an old married man, you’ll sit around that big table with your children and grandchildren and think life couldn’t get any better.”
The second Josie met Michael’s gaze, she wished she could have taken back the words. Was she crazy bringing up the subject of marriage? The sooner this meal was over, the better.
“Always the optimist,” Michael said. “I’m glad that hasn’t changed.” Michael held out a chair for her, but before seating himself, he clumsily searched through the bottom hutch drawer.
Josie waited quietly, thinking there’d been a time when she would have responded to his comment with honesty. But today she was content to let him think her optimism had remained intact.
Just as she started to ask what he was looking for, he produced two tapered candles and wrought iron holders she recognized as having once belonged to his mother.
In patient silence, Josie watched Michael strike the match and light the ocean-blue candles. Even though the sun hadn’t set, the flames flickered in the early evening light. Instantly, she recalled how their love had burned out, but unlike a candle it wasn’t something that could ever be rekindled with the strike of a match.
Josie sighed with relief. She shouldn’t have avoided Michael for so many years. Because it wasn’t until she’d faced him tonight that she could really be certain of her heart. She no longer loved him. In this moment, all she felt for him was the lingering fondness anyone would feel for their first love.
“Shall we pray?” Michael asked.
Reaching across the table, Josie held his hand and closed her eyes.
“Dear Father,” Michael prayed. “Thank you for this food and that we could be together to enjoy it. Please, protect Sharla, who I already consider as my daughter, and let her feel how much her grandmother and I love her. And grant Josie the restful hiatus she seeks.” Then a little more loudly, he added, as if it were an afterthought, “May Your will be done during these next few weeks.”
“Amen,” Josie said. “I always like a man who knows how to say a short prayer.”
Michael grinned; and for a moment it was just like old times. Except for the silence that followed. Josie struggled to think of something to say, otherwise it would be a long meal.
“Mom told me about your accident the day before yesterday. She said Sharla wasn’t hurt.” And Sarah Marshall had told her a lot of other things through the years, as well. Thanks to her mother’s newsy e-mails and telephone calls, Josie knew the high points in Michael’s life. She knew who he had dated, when he’d bought the house from his retired parents and when Sharla had come to live with him.
“Thank God, Sharla’s fine,” Michael said with much relief. “She’s been staying at her grandmother’s this summer, and we were lounging in the front yard when she chased a neighborhood cat into the street.”
