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Inner Harbor
Lois Richer
Struggling to single-handedly raise her orphaned godson until a guardian was found, Annie Simmons was beginning to question God' s plans for her life. Russell Mitchard' s sudden appearance on her doorstep only added to her confusion. Especially when the stranger claimed that his grandfather' s will dictated that he marry Annie!As Russell saw it, Annie ought to accept his proposal. After all, without a husband, she wouldn' t stand a chance of gaining custody of the godson she obviously loved. But once she relented, Russell suddenly wasn' t sure about anything. Especially not being a family man. Could Annie' s strong faith help Russell dispel his doubts… and embrace the rich future God had planned for all of them?
“I wanted to talk with you about something else, Annie.”
“What could you possibly have to talk to me about? We’ve only just met.”
“I have another reason for staying in Safe Harbor.” Russ peered at her.
“Really?” She laughed nervously. There was something about those unusual eyes. “Well, according to the Chamber of Commerce there are a lot of reasons anyone would choose Safe Harbor.”
“It had nothing to do with the Chamber of Commerce. I’d already decided to set up shop here, just not quite yet. But then my grandfather upped the ante. More particularly, his will did.”
Something—a fizzle of awareness—shot through her. “Your grandfather’s will said you had to live in Safe Harbor?” she whispered.
“No.” He took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye. “My grandfather’s will said I have to marry you.”
Safe Harbor—
The town where everyone finds shelter
from the storm.
LOIS RICHER
lives in a small Canadian prairie town with her husband, who, she says, is a “wanna-be farmer.” She began writing in self-defense, as a way to escape. She says, “Come spring, tomato plants take over my flower beds, no matter how many I ‘accidentally’ pull up or ‘prune.’ By summer I’m fielding phone calls from neighbors who don’t need tomatoes this fall. Come September, no one visits us and anyone who gallantly offers to take a box invariably ends up with six. I have more recipes with tomatoes than with chocolate. Thank goodness for writing! Imaginary people with imaginary gardens are much easier to deal with!”
Lois is pleased to present her latest book for the Steeple Hill Love Inspired line. Please feel free to contact Lois at: Box 639, Nipawin, Saskatchewan, Canada S0E 1E0.
Inner Harbor
Lois Richer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
You are my refuge and my shield,
and Your promises are my only source of hope.
—Psalms 119:114
Dear Reader,
Hello again. I’m glad you joined me for Inner Harbor. I hope you enjoyed Annie and Russ’s struggle to know God’s plan in their lives. Aren’t we humans funny? We put such limits on ourselves, limits that God ignores. But isn’t that the way it should be? In Him, our options are vast. He is always there, always listening, always waiting for us to come back, snuggle into His lap and listen. Then, when we know His way, we’re ready, like newborn lambs, to wobble onto our own feet and take tiny steps toward the life He wants for us. As spring brings rebirth, I wish for you new hopes and dreams, fresh plans and the chance to plant much joy in this world. And, of course, may God send you an abundance of love.
Blessings,
Contents
Prologue
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
Prologue
The letter arrived by courier on Thanksgiving eve, a bulky missive with a legal firm listed as the sender.
A strange quiver of excitement rippled through Annie Simmons as she dropped the sandpaper block she’d been rubbing against a battered oak table and tore open the envelope with trembling fingers.
What now?
A legal-size white envelope with her name printed on it lay tucked inside, along with a letter. She sank down on the floor and scanned the typewritten words from the executor of Wharton Willoughby’s estate, informing her the envelope’s sealed contents had been discovered on his desk, addressed to her. She noticed that the stamp had never been canceled. Why hadn’t he mailed it?
Annie slit the envelope, slid out three pages covered in a thick black scrawl. She began to read.
Dear Annie
It’s been several weeks since I last visited you in Safe Harbor. I expect that you are well under way with your renovations now. Soon your bed-and-breakfast will be welcoming folks through its doors. Congratulations!
Annie, you’ve become the granddaughter I never had. We’ve shared so many things, allowed the other to pray over our worries. Perhaps that’s why I trust you won’t be offended by this letter from an old man who dares to make an outrageous request.
My grandson is very precious to me, and yet I’m afraid for him. R.J. has lost his way, lost touch with what really matters in this life. He’s grown afraid of responsibility. He needs someone—someone to help him face his past, his future and all the potential it holds. For some time, I’ve believed you are that person.
I’ve got a bad case of pneumonia, so I can’t talk to you in person, and the phone seems too impersonal for what I want to say, so I’ve chosen to write. Tomorrow I’ll mail this. Perhaps you’ll manage a visit to discuss it, and I can better articulate my hopes, but until then, here are my thoughts.
I can’t allow R.J. to continue on the path he’s traveling, Annie. So I’ve taken steps to direct him toward Safe Harbor. I’ve stipulated in my will that he cannot inherit the money I so desperately want him to use to expand his business—unless he marries you. It’s presumptuous of me, and I’m sure you’d scold me severely for my interference if you were here. Perhaps that’s why I’ve cowardly chosen to write this letter instead of facing you.
I know you very well, Annie. And I know my grandson. I know the burdens each of you carry. I’ve come to believe that you and R.J. belong together, that you could share those burdens and build something wonderful—together. That’s why I hope you’ll marry him.
Please, at least consider my request. Many times I’ve asked the Lord to watch over you both, many times I’ve pleaded for His direction. I believe this is His will. You’re both hiding, hurt by the past, afraid to move on. You can help each other, love each other, serve Him together. And I will have my dearest wish—at last you will truly be my own sweet granddaughter.
You are my hope for R.J., Annie. I trust you will prayerfully consider this request from a lonely old man who thanks you for the many happy hours you gave him.
Sincerely,
Wharton Willoughby
Annie lifted the courier’s envelope, hardly able to comprehend what she’d read. As she tilted it, a funeral announcement fell onto the floor. It was dated three weeks earlier, announcing the passing of a man who’d been the grandfather she’d never had. He’d died the day after he’d written her. He’d never had a chance to mail his precious letter.
Tears filled her eyes. Dear Mr. Willoughby. How she would miss him.
The letter, still clutched in her left hand, reminded her that while he might be gone, Wharton Willoughby, her friend and legal counsel, was still advising her.
Only this time she would not take his advice.
All those prayers she’d listened to had left Annie with a certain impression of Wharton’s grandson, and he was definitely not what she considered husband material. R.J. would have to find someone else to marry, because Annie Simmons had no intention of repeating her parents’ disastrous mistake. She would never marry.
Chapter One
“It’s only the first of March, Annie. The remains of that storm last month are still melting. Don’t start your worrying. Tourist season will arrive hot and heavy soon enough, and then you’ll be wishing for some time to yourself. Trust me, this place is going to be full.”
Her assistant’s words did little to ease the nag of worry dogging Annie Simmons, though she nodded to be polite. Felicity was right, of course. Patience and time were all she needed to make her business a success. But banks didn’t have patience. They expected her to repay that loan. That was fine. Annie wanted to pay them on time.
Failure had no part in her carefully crafted business plan for her brand-new Lighthouse Bed-and-Breakfast. But she’d had to borrow a little. Her mother’s legacy hadn’t quite covered all the renovations. Nor had Annie planned for the immediate expenses of a little boy who’d lost his parents at sea.
The search for a guardian had taken longer than anyone had imagined. At least now they knew the boy’s mother, Rhonda, had a cousin. The details were vague. Annie knew only that this man was in some far-off location. Now it was just a matter of locating him, telling him about Drew. Then the little boy would be gone from her life, free to begin again with relatives who would love and care for him. Who wouldn’t delight to have Drew in their home? Annie thrust away thoughts of him leaving. Family was important. She would let him go with a full heart, grateful she’d been able to help. She glanced at her watch.
No more wasting time, or she’d be late!
“I’ve got one stop on my way to the church. If I hurry, that is.” She tugged on her jacket, then grabbed her sheet music. “If someone phones, I’m on my way.”
“You’ll be late.” Felicity chuckled. “Somebody will stop you and want to chat—that’s Safe Harbor. I’ve never seen such a friendly place. But just you remember, those kids have had a day off school and they’ll be flying pretty high.” Her eyes danced with fun. “You could always race them around the block first, I suppose. But I’m not worried. You’ll whip everything into shape. You always do.” Her eyes glowed with admiration.
“Thanks for your faith. I just hope it’s justified. Without an organist, my little choral group isn’t exactly melodic.” Count on Felicity to cheer her on. She’d been a good friend since the day she arrived in Safe Harbor, looking for work. As Annie’s part-time assistant, she was perfect.
“I don’t envy you all those kids.” Felicity pretended to groan. “I can barely handle one.”
“You’re a great mother.” Annie knew how hard this young mom worked to be everything to her daughter.
“I try. You’d be a great one, too.” Trust Felicity to be loyal. “Look how you’ve managed with Drew.”
“I’m not sure I’ve done anything right with Drew. He’s so quiet.” Annie sighed. “It’s hard to know what he’s thinking when he stares back at you with those big brown eyes.”
“You need help with him.” Felicity tapped one blue-tinted fingernail against her bottom lip. “Maybe…something along the lines of a husband?”
Annie froze, thought about the letter, then dismissed her fears. Felicity couldn’t possibly know about it. Besides, it had been months since that letter had arrived, and R.J. still hadn’t shown. It was obvious he’d found a way to inherit without her. Good. That was the way she wanted it.
“Drew will be leaving as soon as his relative arrives. What would I do with a husband after that?”
“I can think of several things you could do,” Felicity said, deadpan.
“Romance isn’t in my picture.” Annie ignored her friend’s groan. A pang pricked her heart at the thought of never knowing the thrill of cuddling her own precious bundle of joy. Soon even Drew would be gone. And she’d be alone.
Again.
“I’ve got to get going.” Annie checked that her ponytail was neatly in place, then pulled on her gloves. “Drew’s with Billy Martin. Billy’s mom is bringing them to the church, so you don’t have to worry about him. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. Okay?”
“Yes, boss.” Felicity saluted. “And I’ll mind my own business from now on, too.”
Annie smiled, then left. Felicity meant well, but she wouldn’t understand. Sometimes even Annie didn’t understand her reluctance to fall in love. Surely not all men were like her father?
As predicted, her stop at the Realtor’s office took a few minutes more than she’d expected. Noting the time on the clock in Market Square, Annie strode quickly toward the church. Kids raced through the few remaining clumps of soggy spring snow, howling with laughter as they pelted each other with mushy snowballs. Annie deflected several missiles, then ducked inside the foyer to remove her coat.
They certainly were rambunctious. Directing them wasn’t easy without an accompanist. Seven and a half weeks until Easter—was that enough time to pull off a miracle? She’d just have to trust that God would send the right person at the right time.
Annie laid the music on her stand, ordering it in the correct sequence for quick reference. Then she arranged the chairs precisely. After filling her lungs with a deep breath of faith, Annie stuck her head out the door.
“Come on, people. It’s time to practi—” A cold, wet lump of snow cut off her words. Annie wiped away the few flakes that hadn’t already dripped off her chin and grinned. “You’re going to pay for that, you hooligans. Now, come on. Let’s get started.”
They trooped inside, silent, eyes downcast, suppressed giggles escaping whenever she turned her back. If they were just the tiniest bit worried she’d be mad, Annie was glad. Perhaps order would prevail for at least five minutes. Coats, boots and mittens dropped to the floor as they jostled each other with good-natured ribbing. It took forever until, one by one, the kids filed into the left side of the choir loft. Occasionally, a mischievous child peeked up, checking her face for some sign of disapproval. Annie kept her expression serene. Later she’d pelt them all with a barrage of snowballs, but right now she needed them to concentrate.
“Okay, guys.” She began by smiling at each one, searching for a confidence she didn’t feel. “You know the words. I think you know the melody, but just in case, I’m going to pound it out on the piano. Remember, you have to watch me to know when to come in.”
A little blond sprite in the front row turned to his neighbor. “Not that again! Everything gets mixed up when she does that. Annie on the piano doesn’t sound like Reverend Burns on the organ at all.” A rumble of agreement rolled through the choir.
Annie chuckled. Nothing like the honesty of a child to dent the ego.
“It sure doesn’t, Robbie. But right now, a piano is all we’ve got. Since Reverend Burns hurt himself, we’re out of an organist. We’ll just have to pray that God will send another one.” Annie cleared her throat and played the intro. It took three false starts before they finally found their note and the correct entry point. Then, for some reason, their attention strayed to the back of the church. Annie ignored it. Probably another child, coaxing them to leave. Three tries later, she gave up on the accompaniment.
“Come on, guys.” Should she call the whole thing off, before it was too late? No. This cantata was the focal point of their Easter service. She wouldn’t quit. Annie left the piano and moved to stand in front of them.
“Think about what Easter means. Your best friend was killed. Now he’s buried, and you don’t think you’re ever going to see him again. The world is dark, the sun’s just under the horizon, and you’re sad.” She hummed the first few bars, motioning them to sing. “Okay, now you’re in the garden where he’s buried and you see that the stone over his grave is moved.”
Three loud organ chords echoed through the church, resonant, triumphant and totally unexpected, grabbing the children’s attention like nothing else could. Annie blinked. She must have left the music up there. Had Pastor Burns finally found her an organist?
Annie forced herself not to look around. She refused to waste this opportunity. Instead she tapped her pen on the top of her music stand. Every eye centered on her.
“Now sing!” she ordered.
And sing they did. Glorious swells of jubilant notes from the tired old pipe organ begged their full participation. Whoever was tickling those ivories knew exactly how to get the most out of each and every pipe. Annie could hardly wait to see exactly who her benefactor was, and when she did, she intended to beg, plead and implore him or her to play for them each and every practice until the final concert Easter morning.
