“What are you doing up at this hour?”

Bethany looked around to find Chandler standing in the doorway, his boots in his hand. Her heart racing, she gasped. “You frightened me.”

“Sorry.” He walked across the floor in his stocking feet. “You didn’t answer my question. Why aren’t you asleep?”

She shrugged. “Just feeling kind of weird, I guess.”

Frowning, he lifted a hand to her forehead. “Maybe you’re coming down with something.”

“I’m fine.” She reached up to remove his hand from her brow. The baby suddenly moved. Bethany instinctively placed Chandler’s hand on her abdomen. “I’m not the only one who can’t sleep.”

He stared at her belly as it rippled, little hillocks appearing here and there, only to smooth out again as the baby moved. Finally the baby subsided into stillness, and Chandler looked up at her with awe in his cinnamon eyes.

“Amazing,” Chandler whispered.

Their gazes held for several moments before he abruptly snatched his hand away.

If only, she thought, if only this was a true marriage.

ARLENE JAMES

says, “Camp meetings, mission work and church attendance permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He has blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”

The author of more than seventy novels, Arlene James now resides outside Dallas, Texas, with her beloved husband. Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade. She loves to hear from readers, and can be reached via her Web site at www.arlenejames.com.

Baby Makes a Match
Arlene James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Then Jesus lifted up His eyes, and seeing a great multitude coming toward Him, He said to Philip, “Where shall we buy bread, that these may eat?” But this He said to test him, for He Himself knew what He would do.

—John 6:5–6

For Lisa Onvani,

friend, artist, beautiful soul.

Thank you,

DAR

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“Six hundred dollars?” Bethany gaped at the mechanic. The man was unknown to her, just the first possible help that she had found along the road to Dallas after steam had started pouring out from under the hood of her pathetic little heap. “You’ve got to be kidding. The car wasn’t worth six hundred bucks when I started out in it!”

The hulking fellow wiped grease from his hands with a grimy red cloth. “Can’t argue with that,” he agreed, eyeing the offending vehicle.

“Look, I’m not even going as far as Dallas,” she pleaded, clutching the thin cotton skirt of her empire-style, ankle-length, blue-and-white-flowered sundress, inadvertently pulling the fabric taut across her distended belly. Her slenderness made her look further along in her pregnancy than she actually was, but she didn’t think about that now. “Isn’t there something you can do to get me to Buffalo Creek?”

He scratched his bald head. “Tell you what, I’ll give you three hundred cash for it as is. Maybe I can part it out, get my money back that way.”

“Three hundred?” Bethany repeated in dismay.

Making three hundred dollars beat shelling out six hundred that she did not even have, but how was she to make it to Buffalo Creek if she sold her car? The baby moved, producing an odd fluttering sensation inside her abdomen, as if to say she might as well get on with it. She wasn’t going anywhere in a broken-down car that she couldn’t fix, anyway, so she really had no choice here. That didn’t solve the problem, though. She shook her head, trying to see another way.

The tubby, middle-aged man spread his hands, displaying sweat stains on his coveralls. Bethany didn’t know how he managed to work in this old garage in the stifling July heat.

“Sorry. Best I can do,” he said. “You can always get a bus ticket at the diner next door.”

Well, that was better than nothing, she supposed. Sighing, she shook back her dark hair and smoothed her hands over her mounded belly, feeling a cramp building.

The cramps had started a couple weeks ago, at only five months into her pregnancy. She had attributed them to stress. Lately, her life had consisted of reeling blow after reeling blow. This was just one more.

Trying to look on the bright side, she reminded herself that three hundred bucks would more than double her pathetic bankroll. Besides, it was really her only option. She could take the money and buy a bus ticket or sit beside the road until she grew roots here, just a couple hours from her brother.

“Thank you very much,” she said quietly, accepting the offer. “I appreciate your help.”

“I’ll get your cash.”

While the mechanic went for the money, Bethany opened the trunk on her old car, lifting out the smaller of her two suitcases. Thankfully, she’d had sense enough to pack up her important papers, including the title to the car, which she’d bought used way back in high school.

Eight years later, she was afoot again, but she didn’t suppose she could complain about that. The car had been far more dependable and serviceable than anything or anyone else in her life. She was sorry to see it go, sorry enough to feel tears gathering.

So, what else was new? She’d cried so much lately that it would have been easier to count the minutes she hadn’t wept.

The mechanic returned with a receipt and a stack of bills. Bethany signed over the title before going back to the car for the remainder of her belongings. He helped her wrestle the larger suitcase out of the trunk. Stacking the smaller piece of luggage atop the larger one, she pulled up the handle, unlocked the wheels and rolled the lot out into the sweltering Texas sunshine.

Squinting, she slung her handbag over one shoulder, gathered up her hair in her free hand and trudged toward the diner. Not ten months ago, she’d chopped off her dark, sleek locks at her chin, but since she’d gotten pregnant, it now brushed her shoulders again. Thankfully, with the sun hanging low in a white-hot sky, the distance was short. She silently prayed that the wait would be also.

Lord, please, I don’t want to be stranded here in this dot on the map for hours on end. Can’t You help me out? I mean, after everything else that’s happened, can’t I get a break here? I just want to get to my brother safely. And soon.

Absently, she noticed a somewhat battered, dirty white, double-cab pickup truck, towing a large horse trailer behind, on the feeder road that ran along Highway 45. The rig slowed and turned into the eatery’s parking lot. The driver obviously knew what he was doing. Plodding along, Bethany watched as he expertly maneuvered the rig into the shade of the only tree within sight, drawing up mere inches from the portable sign at the edge of the lot.

A tall, slim-hipped, light-haired cowboy with broad shoulders got out and fitted a pale, high-crowned hat onto his head before moving down the side of the trailer. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but it was none of her concern. She had enough concerns of her own.

Somehow, she had to get to her brother. She didn’t have anywhere to go except back to Buffalo Creek and Garrett. Her brother was the only family she had and the only person on the face of the earth who would undoubtedly help her.

The cramp suddenly seized her, radiating from her navel outward, not really painful but worrisome. She gasped, then walked on, wishing that she had called Garrett to let him know that she was coming. She hadn’t thought of it in her rush to get away, and she was probably the last person in the civilized world who didn’t own a cell phone. There was a phone at the convenience store where she’d worked nights and a phone in the modest little house in Humble where she had lived for the past seven years. She had reasoned that she could navigate the few blocks between them without an expensive cell phone.

Bethany staggered into the relative cool of the diner, clutching her belly through the cheap sundress with one hand. Every booth in the small, narrow building was occupied and only three of seats at the counter were vacant. She maneuvered her bags to an out-of-the-way spot near the cash register and hitched up onto the stool next to them at the near end of the counter.

A waitress, with improbably red hair coiled into a frothy bun atop her head, placed a glass of iced water in front of Bethany, who seized it gratefully and drank it straight down. Smiling wryly, the waitress refilled the glass. Slender and hard-looking, her wrinkles had wrinkles.

“What can I get you, hon?”

It occurred to Bethany that she hadn’t eaten all day. That couldn’t be good for the baby. Her cramp easing, Bethany heard the door open behind her as she glanced at the menu on the wall. “What’s the bean burger?”

“A joke. And a bad one. Ain’t nobody ordered one of them things since I been here, and I been here since the doors opened. You one of them vegetarians, are you?”

“Uh, no.”

“Regular burger, then?”

“Sure. No fries.”

The waitress, whose name tag identified her as Shug, yelled over her shoulder, “One favorite, minus the spuds!” She immediately turned a smile upward, looking past Bethany. “Well, hello, sugar. Make yourself at home.”

“Thanks,” said a man’s deep voice.

Boots clumped on the floor, then the cowboy from the parking lot slid onto a stool to Bethany’s right, placing his hat, brim up, on the vacant seat between them. The waitress plunked down another glass of water and leaned on the counter. “You look like a hungry man. What’ll you have?”

He waved a big, long-fingered hand. Bethany noticed from the corner of her eye that his hair was blond with a touch of tawny red to it. She looked away as he turned his head toward her.

“I’ll have the favorite, with the fries,” he said in that deep, slightly amused voice. “To go. And the biggest iced tea you can manage.”

“A favorite with the works!” Shug shouted, reaching for a forty-four-ounce disposable cup.

Bethany shook her head, remembering fondly the days when she could have downed the same without thinking about it. She’d spend all day trotting to the bathroom if she tried that now. The waitress delivered the iced tea, flirting mildly all the while, before turning back to Bethany.

“Anything to drink ’cept water for you, hon?”

“The water’s fine. I was told that I could get a bus ticket here, though.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Shug stuck her pencil into the wild bun atop her head and reached under the counter, coming up with a big, hardbound book. “Where you headed, hon?”

“Buffalo Creek.”

Beside her, the tall cowboy shifted, as if his interest had been stirred.

Shug consulted some sort of schedule and shook her head. “The nine-twenty-two goes right past there, but it don’t stop ’til Dallas. Gets in there around midnight.”

Dallas. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bethany murmured, dropping her forehead into her upturned palm. That was at least forty miles too far, and how was she to get back to Buffalo Creek? Garrett had written that he’d bought a used motorcycle for transportation. Even if they could somehow manage her luggage, she wasn’t stupid enough to climb onto the back of that in her condition. Besides, he had no idea that she was coming—or even that she was pregnant.

“You wouldn’t know how much a taxi might cost from Dallas to Buffalo Creek, would you?” she asked Shug.

“Honey,” the other woman said drily, “this right here is as close as I’ve ever been to either place. Or anywhere else for that matter.”

“I see.” Gulping, Bethany swept a hand over her bulging stomach.

“Well, you think on it,” Shug said, stowing the book again. “You got nearly five hours before that bus gets here.”

Bethany suppressed a sigh and offered up a wan smile. God, as usual, did not seem to be listening to her. Someone else clearly was, though.

“Did I hear someone mention Buffalo Creek?” the cowboy interjected, swiveling on his stool.

Shug immediately drifted his way, saying, “Little mama here is trying to get there. You know it?”

“Yep,” he said. “Headed that direction myself.”

Bethany finally turned to look at him. She didn’t generally find light-haired men attractive, but this was a shockingly handsome man with smiling, cinnamon-brown eyes and dimples that cut grooves into his lean cheeks and a made a cleft in his strong, square chin. His neatly sculpted lips curled up at the corners, a lock of tawny hair falling rakishly across a high brow.

His gaze dropped to her protruding belly, then slid to the luggage stacked beside her. He turned away the next moment, but then he seemed to make a decision.

“I can give you a ride, if you like.”

“There you go!” Shug crowed, throwing a hand at Bethany even as she addressed the cowboy. “I knew you was a gentleman.”

The cowboy winked at her, and she laughed. The woman must live to flirt. “What do you think, hon?” she asked Bethany. “This your lucky day or what?”

“Oh. Uh…” Bethany stalled, waiting for the alarms to go off in her brain. Everyone knew that accepting rides from strangers was a dangerous proposition. Even if she was hopelessly stranded. She shook her head. “Th-that’s very kind, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“No imposition,” he said, “and I don’t blame you for being wary. I just thought…” He shrugged, propped his elbows on the counter and turned his head to look at her. “You seem to be traveling alone.”

Bethany lifted her chin. “I am.”

“The Dallas bus station is right downtown,” he went on, nodding. “I wouldn’t want anyone I know stepping down there alone at midnight with no idea how to get where she needs to go next.”

Bethany gulped. “I see.”

A bell dinged. Shug whirled away and back again, sliding a plate onto the counter in front of Bethany.

“Want I should write down his tag number and take a picture of him with my cell phone?” she asked. “Just in case he ain’t the gentleman he sizes up to be.” She grinned at the cowboy, adding, “Just ’cause you’re good-looking don’t mean a girl hadn’t ought to protect herself. In fact, it probably means she should!”

He chuckled. “Hey, I’m harmless, just trying to do a good turn.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “You can take a photo of my driver’s license if that makes everyone feel better.”

“That’d come in handy in case I feel the need to call the law,” Shug said bluntly, pulling her phone out of her apron pocket.

He slapped his license onto the counter, and Shug took a photo of it.

“How about your phone number, too? In case I feel the need to call you.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe I need a ride to Buffalo Creek.”

He laughed, and that bell dinged again. A white sack appeared in the kitchen window, and the cowboy got to his feet, reaching for his license as Shug carried the sack to the cash register.

“Better make up your mind,” he said to Bethany, “because I can’t leave those horses sitting out there in the heat any longer.” He looked down at her then, saying, “I’m harmless, I promise, but it’s up to you.”

Suddenly, she remembered what she’d been doing when she’d first caught sight of his rig. She’d been praying for a safe way to get to her brother, with a minimum of delay and hassle. Maybe, she thought, God had actually listened this time.

“I ought to call first and let someone know I’m coming.”

“Go ahead.”

Making her decision, she got to her feet. “Ma’am, Shug, could I use your phone?”

“Why, sure, hon.” The waitress handed it over, reaching for Bethany’s untouched plate with the other hand. “I’ll just wrap this up for you.”

The cowboy put out his hand. “Name’s Chandler.”

“Bethany,” she said, placing her hand in his. “Bethany Ca—” She stumbled over the surname. “Willows. Bethany Willows.” She still couldn’t help thinking of herself as Bethany Carter. That, however, was behind her now, and all that really mattered was getting to Garrett and finding a way to make a life for herself and her child.

Stepping away, she called for the first time the cell-phone number that Garrett had sent in his letter. She had not dared call before, with all that had been going on in her life and his, and she dared not bring it up now, for both their sakes.

After only a few seconds, he answered. Relieved to hear the sound of her beloved brother’s voice, she mentioned tentatively that she was coming to see him. He sounded elated and assured her that it would be no problem. She almost told him about the cowboy, but in the end, she decided against it.

Why worry him when he could do nothing about it, having only a motorcycle as transportation and a workday to get through? She wouldn’t impose on him too much or jeopardize the life he’d managed to put together for himself. Besides, she felt no threat from this Mr. Chandler. Maybe it was because he was so handsome, but if he’d meant her ill, why would he have let Shug take a photo of his license? Garrett, however, wasn’t likely to see it that way. Prison, she had heard, made a man suspicious.

Getting off the phone as quickly as she could, she passed it back to its owner, smiled her thanks and squared her shoulders before facing the stranger who had offered her a ride. “I’m ready.”

“Let’s get on the road. Next stop Buffalo Creek.”

“Uh, no,” she muttered, patting her belly, “I think we’ll be stopping before then.”

He just laughed and pointed her out the door.

Biting off a huge chunk of burger, Chandler chewed a few times and swallowed without ever taking his eyes off the road. He’d already made short work of the fries, preferring to eat them while they were hot.

“I guess Shug was right,” his passenger commented. “You were a hungry man.”

“Not really.”

He glanced in Bethany’s direction and again felt the jolt of her beauty. God had blessed this Bethany Willows with sleek brown-black hair, pale pink skin as smooth as porcelain and a startlingly piquant face. Broad at the brow and cheek but with an adorably pointed chin, it put him in mind of a drawing of a fairy princess in a children’s book. Her delicate nose and brows offset huge, tilted eyes of cornflower blue, rimmed with dark lashes, and wide, plump lips of a rich, dusky rose.

She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs beneath the full skirt of her flower-print sundress. The straps of the elasticized bodice tied at the shoulders, emphasizing the delicate line of her collarbone. She seemed petite but was, in fact, taller than average. He judged her to stand at least seven inches over five feet, which still left her a good eight inches shorter than his own six-foot-three-inch height. The pregnancy bump merely called attention to her long, slender limbs and lithe dancer’s body.

“So you stopped to eat but you weren’t hungry?” Those big blue eyes looked a question at him, her fairy face tilting to one side.

He tried hard to marshal his thoughts. Aiming his gaze straight ahead, he formulated an explanation. “When you rodeo for a living, you learn to eat on the move and whenever it’s convenient. I saw a good place to park the trailer, it was getting on to the dinner hour, so I pulled over.”

A big part of what he did for a living was just getting him, his horses and his gear from one place to the next. It was a logistical nightmare sometimes, and took careful planning. He and his partner, Pat Kreger, sat down every few weeks and worked out a schedule, deciding which contests made the most sense. They’d managed to improve their standings year by year and had hoped that this year they might make the national finals in team roping, which was why Chandler was alarmed and somewhat irritated by Kreger’s failure to show up in Georgia this past weekend.

The Fourth of July holiday offered up some of the richest rodeos of the summer, and Kreger should have been there, but he hadn’t showed, and his phone went straight to voice mail every time Chandler called. No one Chandler had spoken to had any idea where Kreger might be, and that was decidedly odd, for Pat was a particularly sociable fellow. Chandler supposed that his partner could be ill and holed up in the little house they shared on the small ranch that they co-owned, but it was more likely that he’d merely given in to some wild impulse and hared off in a different direction. It had happened before, though not often.

If his sister Kaylie, a nurse, had been in town instead of gallivanting around Europe on her honeymoon, Chandler would have asked her to go out to the ranch and check. As it was, he could only hope and pray that Kreger was well and could offer up some clever excuse.

“So you’re a rodeo cowboy, are you?” Bethany Willows asked, pulling his thoughts back to the moment.

“That’s right.”

“What events?”

“Tie-down roping, steer wrestling, team roping.”

“No bull riding or bronc busting?”

Chandler grimaced mentally. Those were the glamorous events. Bull riders and bronc busters were tough, skillful hombres, but the most successful ones were compact men with low centers of gravity. Chandler’s size and skill set partly dictated the events in which he competed, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He loved working with a rope. Still, he wanted to impress this woman, silly as that seemed.

“Nope, and no barrel racing, either,” he answered flippantly.

She laughed at that, barrel racing usually being a female event, and he cut her a glance that became a stare when he caught sight of that beaming smile. It knocked the breath right out of him and left his chest hurting. He stared until she lifted her burger in both hands and nipped off a small bite with her even, white teeth. Freshly jolted, he jerked his gaze back to the highway and gobbled down the last of his own meal. Wadding up the wrapper, he dropped the paper into the bag standing open on the console between the seats, doing his best to forget what he’d seen. Or rather, what he had not seen.

He had not seen a wedding ring on her long, tapered, slender finger.

Chapter Two

“So where can I drop you?” the cowboy asked, carefully checking both of his sideview mirrors as he clicked on the rig’s right signal.

They had driven in silence for the better part of the trip, though he had stopped when she’d asked him to, without complaint. The silence had been protracted during this last leg of the journey, however, so much so that Bethany had closed her eyes and pretended to sleep for part of the time. Now, she waited to reply until the truck and trailer had exited the highway.

She gave him the address. He gaped at her, his reddish-brown eyes popping wide.

“That’s Chatam House!”

“Yes, do you know it?”

He studied her as if trying to decide whether she was serious. “How do you know it?”

“Oh, I grew up around here,” she answered airily, not about to tell him the whole of that story.

He gave her an odd look. “That makes two of us. Actually, I still live here, and I almost always have, except for when I was away at college. I have a little ranch out west of town now.”

“I left Buffalo Creek as soon as I graduated high school,” she said. She had literally walked out of the graduation ceremony, gotten into Jay Carter’s car and driven straight to the airport, where they’d hopped on a plane to Vegas. Two days later, he’d carried her over the threshold of the house in Humble and left her there while he raced off on business.

“That’s probably part of it,” the cowboy mused. “What year was that?”

She told him, and he nodded. “I graduated from college that same year. That would make you about twenty-four. Right?”

“Exactly twenty-four.”

“I’m twenty-nine. Guess we just moved in different circles back then. My sister Kaylie’s about your age, though.”

Bethany shook her head, trying to remember any Chandlers she might have known. “I don’t recall her.” That wasn’t surprising. She hadn’t had many friends. Her stepfather hadn’t liked anyone coming around the house to witness his abusive behavior.

“I guess Buffalo Creek’s not as small as it feels sometimes,” Chandler murmured.

“What is it, about thirty thousand people now?”

“Something like that,” he said, nodding. He made a careful left turn and eased over a pair of railroad tracks.

Those old tracks, leftover from the days when Buffalo Creek had been a major transportation center for the cotton growers in the area, crisscrossed the town. The cotton was long gone now, but the trains still rattled through town several times a day. Oddly enough, Bethany had missed them when she’d first moved to Humble. The trains were all she had missed, though. Garrett had already been sent to prison, and their mother had been a different person by then. After their mother’s death, Bethany would never have considered coming back if Garrett had not returned here. She still didn’t understand why he had, really. Maybe the parole board had dictated where he had to go.

As the city rolled past, one graceful street after another, excitement built in Bethany. Her hands skimmed over her belly. Her pregnancy was going to be a shock to Garrett. She probably should have told him, but they’d been out of touch when she’d first realized that she was pregnant. He’d just gotten out of prison, and she’d had no idea where he was headed or how to reach him. Then her world had begun to dissolve, and she’d judged it wiser, all things considered, not to tell her brother about it.

She’d never dreamed how it would all turn out. How could she?

Obviously, Chandler mused, he needed a refresher course in the basics of introductions. Somehow, he hadn’t managed to get his last name out there at the diner, and Bethany had apparently assumed that his given name was his surname. Or had she? He tried to remember if she had glanced at his driver’s license as it had lain there on the counter, but he just didn’t know.

Thinking of that bare ring finger on her left hand, Chandler took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at her pretty face, and a shiver of something crawled right up his spine to the top of his head.

What, he had to ask himself, were the odds that he’d just accidentally run into a pregnant stranger on the side of the road who was headed not only for his hometown of Buffalo Creek, Texas, but right to his family home? The aunties, no doubt, had something to do with this.

His aunts, maiden triplets in their seventies, might be a tad on the eccentric side, but they were good women. Even more than his retired minister father, they epitomized Christianity for Chandler. They lived to serve a greater cause, dedicating their time, talent, money and even their home, the antebellum mansion known as Chatam House, to the needs of others. They weren’t perfect, of course.

Hypatia, the undisputed head of the household, could be a bit prim. She wore her dignity, along with her pearls, like a protective cloak. Magnolia, or Mags, on the other hand, couldn’t have been any more down-to-earth if she was covered in it, which she often was, being a master gardener much more concerned with the appearance of her roses than herself. It wasn’t unusual, in fact, to find Aunt Mags in a dress and rubber boots decorated with mud. Odelia, bless her, was sweetness personified, sweetness with a heavy dose of silliness. He, along with his cousins, secretly but fondly referred to her as Auntie Od and chuckled about the weird clothing and oversize jewelry that she wore. She especially had a thing for earrings and lace hankies, so much so that the rest of the family routinely speculated about how many of each she might actually possess.

Chandler smiled. No, not perfect but very dear, and as generous and loving as it was possible for three human beings to be. Why, last winter they’d opened their home to his cousin Reeves and Reeves’s little girl, Gillian, and just recently, they’d taken in an injured professional hockey player, who just happened to be Chandler’s new brother-in-law. Yes, whatever had brought pretty, pregnant Bethany Willows here to Chatam House, the aunties almost surely had a hand in it. He supposed he’d find out what that was soon, as they had just passed the brick column at the eastern edge of the fifteen-acre estate.

He slowed the rig, braking carefully so as not to stress the quartet of horses riding in the trailer. Those animals, each one trained to a specific task, were essential to his livelihood and constituted a significant financial investment, besides being as dear to him as any pet. As the rig slowed, Bethany sat up very straight, her hands clasping her belly, her gaze trained out the window at the shoulder-high yew hedge that flanked the wrought-iron fence.

They came to the gate, which stood open, as usual, its elaborate scrolls and bars culminating in a large, brass-plated C, and there, on a slight rise, stood the grand old house. Two stories of whitewashed, hand-hewn stone blocks, it featured half a dozen Doric columns across the veranda and a substantial porte cochere on the west end. The black trim around the windows and doors echoed the color of the black slate roof, just as the redbrick walkways and steps, flanked by a colorful profusion of flowers, reflected that of the tall chimneys. Dead center of the veranda stood a bright yellow door framed by narrow, leaded-glass windows on the sides and an elaborate fan-shaped one on top.

Chandler eased the rig between the brick gate columns and aimed it up the deeply graveled drive that swept over the easy, green-blanketed hill and circled back onto itself, branching off at the top to pass beneath the porte cochere and on past the carriage house, erected at right angles behind the mansion. The staff, Chester and Hilda Worth and Hilda’s sister Carol Petty, lived in rooms above the carriage house bays, as did Magnolia’s mysterious new gardener, Garrett somebody.

Garrett, a tall, dark-haired man in jeans and a snugly fitted T-shirt, strode across the lawn at that very moment, apparently heading toward the enormous old magnolia tree on the west lawn. Bethany swiftly released her safety belt with one hand and slapped the button to roll down the window with the other.

“Garrett! Garrett!”

Her hands fumbled for the door handle and the lock. Alarmed, Chandler braked to a stop. She grabbed her handbag and literally baled out, sobbing and laughing.

“Garrett!”

The muscular, dark-haired man lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the sun as he looked in her direction, then he took off running toward her. Just before he got there, she turned to hold out a hand, yelling to Chandler, “Wait! Just wait!”

Garrett Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was threw his arms around Bethany, lifting her off her feet. The pair embraced tightly for several moments, so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t have eyes for anyone or anything else, their dark heads bent close. Chandler put the truck in Park, set the brake and got out. Still the two clung together.

Not quite able to look away from what he knew to be a very emotionally charged moment, Chandler pulled Bethany’s luggage from the backseat of the truck and set it on the brick walkway before ambling toward the house. He’d reached the steps up to the porch before Garrett the gardener set Bethany back on her feet, his hands going to her distended belly. Chandler saw Bethany duck her head and had the distinct impression that Garrett hadn’t known about the child. He did not look displeased, however, just the opposite. In fact, he and Bethany seemed to care deeply for each other.

Shaking his head wryly, Chandler stepped up into the shadows of the deep veranda. Looked like the aunties’ new gardener had a family in the making. Chandler was more than a little envious. One day he would like to have a beautiful wife like her and a couple kids. But first, he had to get his financial house in order.

If he and Kreger continued to finish in the money for the rest of the year, Chandler could finally pay off his share of the ranch and think about building his own house on the place. That would leave Pat in full possession of his childhood home and allow both of them to start new phases in their lives. Right now, though, that gardener out there was in a better position to support a wife and child than Chandler was.

Not bothering to knock or ring the bell, he did what most of the family would do; he opened the door and walked in, knowing well that the house was rarely locked until the last person retired for the night. He’d been in that marble-floored foyer a thousand times, but still he measured with his eyes the sweep of the magnificent staircase that curved up to the second floor and lifted his gaze past the sparkling chandelier to the ceiling, where some unknown artist had painted blue sky, gauzy clouds and wafting white feathers. He’d never understand how that person had managed to give the impression of sunshine and magnificence. It left the viewer with the feeling that God looked down from Heaven upon the Chatam household. Chandler had always found that a particularly comforting thought, almost as comforting as the aunties themselves, whom he was suddenly anxious to see.

“Hello!” he called. “Where is everyone?”

A frothy white head appeared around the edge of the library door on his right. It was topped by a big, floppy bow of pale pink and anchored by big, butterfly-shaped earrings colored in variegated shades of pink, purple, yellow and blue. A bright pink smile broke across a rounded, drooping face with the Chatam cleft chin. Amber eyes twinkling, Odelia stepped into the foyer in a swirl of multicolored gossamer layers.

“Chandler, dear! There you are!”

The ubiquitous lace hanky appeared, beckoning him to follow. Smiling broadly, he strolled into what was one of his very favorite rooms in the big old house, but he didn’t get far, his way blocked by a head-high stack of cardboard boxes.

Hypatia came from behind the stack to kiss his cheek, her silver hair twisted into a smooth figure eight at the nape of her slender neck, pearls in place. She wore a crisp, collarless, linen suit of khaki tan with elbow-length sleeves and a pleated skirt.

“We’ve been expecting you,” she said in indulgent tones.

“Expecting me?” He remembered suddenly that Bethany had called ahead. No, that couldn’t be right. Bethany hadn’t known who he was, so she wouldn’t have told Garrett to expect him, Chandler Chatam, to be with her, and even if she had, it wasn’t as if he and the gardener had ever officially met. He’d only glimpsed the man from a distance and heard him mentioned. Chandler shifted his weight, one booted foot placed forward, his hands at his belt. “What do you mean, you were expecting me?”

“Well, when that nice Mr. Kreger dropped off your things for you,” Odelia trilled, “he said you’d be along.” She waved her hanky at the stack of boxes.

Shock rolled over Chandler in waves. “Kreger, P-Pat Kreger, brought this stuff over here?”

“Just a little while ago,” Hypatia confirmed.

Chandler thumped himself in the chest, asking stupidly, “For me?”

“Of course, dear,” Hypatia said. “We hung your clothing in the cloakroom until you decide which suite you want.”

Chandler turned around and walked out into the foyer again. He stalked past the staircase and partway down what was referred to as the “east” hall to the first door on the left. Chandler opened the door and stepped inside the cluttered space. There, along one wall, hung a dozen pairs of neatly pressed jeans and almost twice that many shirts, all his.

Shock morphed into a confused, unwieldy amalgamation of emotions, the only one he could identify being anger. Whirling, he stepped back into the hall. And nearly bowled over Mags. She shoved her thick, iron-gray braid off her shoulder and folded her arms, making the short sleeves of her dark plaid, shirtwaist dress cut into her surprisingly pronounced biceps. She looked up at him, a frown on her wrinkled, work-hewn face, her cleft chin thrust forward mulishly.

“What’s going on, Chandler?” she demanded.

“I don’t…I…”

Her expression softened, and she clamped a spotted, surprisingly strong hand onto his forearm. “You can tell us, dear,” she said. “Obviously, since you had Kreger bring your things here, you know we’ll help in any way we can, though hopefully it won’t mean choosing sides between you and your father.”

His father. Chandler pushed away any consideration of that situation and focused on the part that had to do with his supposed partner.

“I’m sorry, Aunt Mags, but I have to find Kreger.” He looked past her toward the foyer, determination hardening his jaw. “Right now.”

He sidestepped around her and strode to the front door, which he went through without a word of farewell. Whatever Kreger was up to, Chandler told himself, the explanation had better be a good one. He saw nothing of Bethany and the gardener, but at the moment his thoughts were centered on his own problems. Bethany Willows and Garrett could take care of themselves.

The rumble of the engine preceded the sound of tires on gravel by less than two seconds. Bethany rose from her seat on the brick steps at the side of the house beneath the carport, or porte cochere, as Garrett called it, and hurried toward the front drive. She arrived just in time to see Chandler’s rig completing the loop as it headed for the street. She glanced to the side and saw that her luggage waited for her on the front walk. The truck turned right onto the street and accelerated. Unaccountably deflated, Bethany sighed.

“Guess he got tired of waiting.” She turned back and retraced her steps, dragging her toes in the gravel.

“Is that a problem?” Garrett asked. “You said he’s not your husband.”

“I said I don’t have a husband,” Bethany corrected softly.

“Actually,” Garrett pointed out, his gaze skimming over her distended belly, “I think you said that you’ve never had a husband.”

Bethany stepped up next to him, turned and sat on the rough edge of the brick. “That’s right.” She repositioned her handbag on the step, keeping her gaze averted.

“So when you wrote me to say you’d eloped to Las Vegas…” Garrett prodded.

“Wasn’t true,” she admitted tersely, propping her elbows on her knees and resting her chin in the cradle of her upturned palms. She’d only thought it true at the time, but Garrett didn’t need to know that. No one did.

“And this Jay Carter?”

“Never existed.” True again, as far as it went.

“Then why,” Garrett demanded, spreading his hands, “did you let me believe all this time that he did?”

Bethany bowed her head, debating with herself. If she told Garrett the truth, he’d want to go after Jay, just the way he’d gone after their stepfather for hurting their mom; yet, she couldn’t quite bring herself to outright lie to him. Closing her eyes, she whispered another part of the truth, “I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

When she turned her head, she found his piercing blue gaze trained on her from beneath his dark brows. He shoved both hands through his dark, spiky hair. Like her, he had a bit of a pointed chin, but his strong, square jaw was perpetually shadowed with the soot of a heavy beard that he’d struggled to keep cleanly shaved since the age of fourteen. At six-one, he wasn’t as tall as the cowboy, she mused, but Garrett was a bit more bulky. He’d muscled up in prison, but he’d always been stronger than average and of a protective nature.

“If I hadn’t been in prison, you wouldn’t have had to lie to me,” he muttered.

Bethany groaned, feeling lower than dirt. “You’ve got to be kidding! My situation is not your fault. How could you even think it?”

Garrett came up off the steps. Whirling to face her, he thumped himself in the chest. “I was the one in prison! I should have been here for you—and Mom.”

Bethany stood and went to him, placing her hands on the hard bulges of his biceps. “You went to prison because you tried to help Mom.”

Their father had died in a ditch collapse when Garrett was seven years old and Bethany four. Ten years later their mom, Shirley, had remarried. Doyle turned out to be a controlling, abusive brute who regularly beat their mother. Three years into the marriage, he had beat Shirley so severely that she’d been hospitalized for nearly a week. The day that Doyle had gotten out of jail on bail, Garrett had gone after him, giving the brute a taste of his own medicine. The result had been Garrett’s own arrest. Unable to make his bail for himself, Garrett had languished in jail for several months. During that time, Doyle convinced Shirley to forgive him and drop all charges. In frustration, Garrett had pleaded guilty to a reduced charge and gone to prison, telling Bethany that they were all better off that way, for Doyle would surely beat Shirley again and it would be safer if Garrett couldn’t get his hands on the man. He was too right. Not two years later, Doyle had beat their mother to death.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I wasn’t here for you,” Garrett insisted.

“You couldn’t help Mom or me,” Bethany insisted, “and I’m glad you were out of it.” She had escaped herself as soon as she could. Pushing away thoughts of the past, she looked to her brother. “I’m so glad to be with you again.”

He hugged her. “Ditto.” After a moment, he went on nonchalantly, “So, is the cowboy the baby’s father?”

Stunned, Bethany pulled back. Denial leaped to the tip of her tongue, but for some reason she clamped her lips against it. Maybe because she wished the cowboy was the father. At least he was kind to her and true to his word. Better him than a scheming liar and cheat. Besides, it was best to say nothing at all about the baby’s father.

“Tell and I’ll take that kid you want so much. Don’t think I can’t.”

Shivering, she said, “It doesn’t matter who the father is. This is my baby, mine alone.”

“Why’d you break up with him?”

She looked down at her toes. “He doesn’t want to be a father.”

Garrett shifted his weight, his feet scuffing in the gravel. “That why you came here, Bethy?” he asked, using her childhood nickname.

She turned back to him, her eyes filling with tears. “I came because I wanted to see you, and because I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I don’t have enough money to get my own place or any way to pay the rent just now. I hoped you’d be able to help us out until the baby comes.”

Nodding, he asked, “When is that?”

“Middle of October.”

“So about three and a half months.”

“Yes.”

“I think we can work out something.” He slipped an arm about her shoulders and walked her across the redbrick stoop and through a bright yellow door into a long, dark hallway.

“The misses will probably be in the front parlor waiting for dinner,” he told her. They walked on to the end of the hall past a TV room on one side and a kitchen on the other, according to the aromas emanating from that room. “Food’s great here,” Garrett told her with a smile. “This is the west hall,” Garrett informed her as they turned right. “There’s a real ballroom off the east hall, along with a music room, library and study. Dining room’s on this side.” He waved a hand.

They came to the end of a broad, sweeping staircase in what was obviously the front foyer of the house. They stopped, and Garrett turned his gaze upward, pointing toward the ceiling. Bethany gasped at the mural overhead and took in the sparkling crystal chandelier. Garrett ushered her through the wide door of a large room crammed with antiques and flowers.

An older woman rose from an armchair placed at a right angle to them. Short and sturdy, she wore a dark shirtwaist dress with penny loafers. Her gray hair hung across one shoulder in a thick braid, the tip brushing a pair of reading glasses in her breast pocket. Her oval face, while wrinkled and sagging a bit, showed a lean strength. She regarded Bethany with bright amber eyes, tilting her cleft chin to one side.

“Hello,” she said, curiosity ringing in her voice.

“Bethany,” Garrett said, “I’d like to introduce you to Miss Magnolia Faye Chatam. Miss Magnolia, this is my sister.”

“Oh, my dear!” Magnolia exclaimed. “What a surprise!” She hurried forward, reaching out for Bethany’s hand and clasping it firmly. “You are as pretty as your brother is handsome.”

Bethany smiled. “Thank you. He says you’ve been very kind to him.”

Magnolia waved that away. “He’s been a great help to me.”

“Ma’am, I already owe y’all more than I can ever repay,” Garrett said solemnly, “but I hope you don’t mind if I ask a favor of you. My sister needs a place to stay. I’d like her to stay with me for a while, if you and the other misses don’t mind.”

Magnolia seemed slightly taken aback. “In that tiny attic room?”

“We can manage,” Garrett insisted. He clasped a hand onto Bethany’s shoulder. “She doesn’t have anywhere else to go, ma’am.”

Two new heads popped up then, and two more pairs of amber eyes turned Bethany’s way. Another woman rose from another wing chair. She turned fully to face them, her manner almost regal. Despite her leaner, paler face, she looked very like Magnolia, her silver hair coiled in a heavy, figure-eight chignon at the nape of her neck. Her collarless tan suit called attention to the strand of pearls at her throat, and she held in one hand a pair of gold-rimmed half-glasses.

The third sister wore a flutter of rainbow organza. Plumper than the other two, she wore her stark white hair in short, fluffy curls with a big, floppy, soft pink bow tied atop her head and a pair of large, brightly colored organza butterflies affixed to her earlobes. It was all Bethany could do not to laugh with delight.

Tearing her gaze away from the butterfly lady, Bethany looked to Magnolia.

“My sisters,” she said. “Miss Odelia Mae Chatam and Miss Hypatia Kay Chatam.” Bethany nodded at each in turn.

“Sisters,” Magnolia said, “I have the privilege of introducing Garrett’s sister, Bethany…” Her voice trailed off.

The moment of truth had arrived, the moment when they would know what a fool she had been. Would they look down on her? Would they judge? She gulped and lifted her chin.

“Bethany Sue. Bethany Sue Willows.”

Not a Mrs. Nor a miss. Just Bethany Sue Willows. And more pain and shame than she knew how to bear.

Chapter Three

The sisters traded looks.

“Ms. Willows,” Hypatia said, inclining her head. “Welcome to Chatam House.”

Bethany nearly collapsed with relief. “Thank you, but won’t you please call me Bethany?”

Hypatia Chatam smiled serenely. “Thank you. Given names are always easier with three Miss Chatams about.” She beckoned them closer with a wave of one hand, saying, “Join us, please.”

Magnolia crossed over and took a seat next to Odelia on an elaborately carved settee upholstered in a lush floral damask. Hypatia returned to the gold-striped wingback and nodded Bethany toward its twin. Garrett stood beside her, his arm stretched across the chair back.

“When is the baby due?” Odelia warbled eagerly, butterflies dancing.

“Eighteenth of October,” Bethany answered cautiously.

“So,” Magnolia said to her sisters, “the master suite, do you think?”

“What?” Garrett exclaimed. “No, no, that’s not necessary.”

They blithely ignored him.

“Hmm, yes, I think that would be best,” Hypatia mused.

Odelia clapped her hands again. “Room for the two of you and the baby!”

Without warning, Bethany burst into tears. “I’m sorry! Garrett said you were kind, but I never dreamed…I never expected…”

“Now, now,” Hypatia said calmly.

“It has become clear to us,” Magnolia put in, “that the good Lord has ordained Chatam House as a place of sanctuary for those in need. We are only following His dictates, dear.”

“And babies are such fun!” Odelia chirruped.

Bethany laughed, blinking away her tears. “I don’t know how to thank you. I promise I won’t abuse your hospitality. I intend to look for a job right away.”

“Is that wise in your condition?” Odelia worried aloud.

“I was working until I came here,” Bethany told her staunchly. “I can certainly continue.”

“That might not be so easy,” Garrett warned. “It’s one thing to continue working at a job after you become pregnant. It’s another to get someone to hire you when you’re almost six months along.”

“Well, it’s a matter for prayer,” Hypatia said in a tone that clearly indicated the subject was closed for the moment. “Bethany, I’m sure you’d like to freshen up before dinner. Garrett, will you show her the retiring room, then ask Carol to set two extra places at the dining table.”

Garrett nodded. “I’ll get your bags in, too, sis.”

“Chester will help you both settle into your new space later,” Hypatia decreed.

“Father would be so tickled, don’t you think?” Odelia said as Bethany rose and hurried from the room at Garrett’s side.

“The master suite was old Mr. Chatam’s room,” Garrett whispered to Bethany. “He died at the age of ninety-two in nineteen-ninety-nine, and they still speak as if it was yesterday.”

“I don’t care if they set a place for him at the dinner table!” Bethany whispered back. “They’re not that eccentric, and they’re sharp as razors, believe me.”

“Oh, Garrett,” Bethany cried, laying her head on his shoulder, “I’m so glad I came!”

Maybe, she told herself, the Willows family was finally going to come right.

“Well, my dears,” Hypatia said, keeping her voice low, “it looks as though we’re going to have a full house.”

Magnolia nodded, oddly satisfied. She’d known Garrett as a child. After his father had died, Garrett had come around occasionally asking to mow the yard. She’d let him mow for an hour or so, paid him and sent him on his way. After his mother had remarried, he’d started showing up with bruises, but he would never answer Magnolia’s questions about how he’d obtained them. She’d heard rumors, but once she’d asked outright if his stepfather had hit him, Garrett had stopped visiting. Later, when she’d learned that Mrs. Benjamin had been hospitalized and Garrett had assaulted his stepfather, she’d expected the boy to get off with a reprimand. Instead, he’d gone to prison. She had always considered that a grave miscarriage of justice, so when he had approached her in the yard just over two months ago, Magnolia had hired him on the spot. Garrett had quickly become a household favorite. Now, his pregnant sister, Bethany, had come to them. Magnolia definitely felt the hand of God at work.

“Even with Chandler here,” she said, “I don’t see what else we could have done.”

“Oh, of course Bethany has to stay!” Odelia gushed. She bit her lip. “But I know I heard Kaylie say that Garrett’s sister was married.”

Hypatia nodded. “Yes. I recall the same thing.”

“Perhaps they’ve divorced,” Magnolia suggested.

“Perhaps,” Hypatia murmured. “I confess to some curiosity, but all will undoubtedly become clear in time.”

“What God wishes us to know, He will reveal,” Magnolia added with a nod.

“I’m more concerned about Chandler, frankly,” Hypatia went on.

Magnolia, too, was concerned about their nephew. They had hoped at first that his moving in here had signaled a compromise of sorts with his father, who disapproved of both Chandler’s occupation and his partner, Kreger, but something else was obviously afoot, and Chandler hadn’t seemed to know what that was.

“We’ve prayed a long time for him to make certain things right in his life,” Magnolia pointed out. “Maybe the good Lord is forcing his hand a bit.”

“True,” Hypatia agreed.

“Or,” Odelia exclaimed, hunching her shoulders with excitement, “we could have another romance brewing! Wouldn’t that be lovely? Chandler and Bethany and a baby! What fun that would be!”

Magnolia rolled her eyes at her sister. “That’s a stretch.”

“Why? Don’t you think she’ll like Chandler?”

“That’s not the point.”

“I’m sure he’ll like her, and they’ll be living in the same house, after all. Once they get to know each other, anything could happen.”

“Now, now,” Hypatia cautioned sternly, holding up a hand. “We’re getting just a bit carried away here, don’t you think?”

Odelia turned a vexed gaze on her. “You’re the one who always says that God has a reason for everything.”

“Those reasons don’t have to be romantic, though,” Magnolia interjected.

Odelia blinked. “But they could be.”

Hypatia sighed. “Let us leave this subject, please. We don’t want to be assigning motives to God now, do we?”

“I suppose not,” Odelia mumbled. Then she brightened. “But it will still be fun to have a baby in the house. Maybe we can babysit!”

Nodding, Magnolia shared a look with Hypatia, whose lips firmed against obvious laughter. Bowing her head to hide her own smile, Magnolia rolled her eyes again. Oh, to be as joyful as her dear, frothy-headed sister! On the other hand, Mags was supremely satisfied with her own life. The lives of her and her sisters had been, from the shared day of their birth, a life of privilege, which just meant, as Mama and Daddy had always said, that they were obliged by God to do as much good as they possibly could for others.

Lately, God seemed to be bringing those opportunities to do good right to their doorstep. The outcome thus far had been quite rewarding, resulting in two weddings.

While a romance seemed unlikely in this case, whatever God had in mind, Magnolia was sure that it would be, at the least, very interesting.

Sighing wearily, Chandler turned the rig between the gate-posts and aimed it up the rise toward Chatam House. He’d spent the last thirty-six hours fruitlessly trying to catch up with his old buddy and erstwhile partner, Patrick Kreger.

His very first course of action had been to drive straight out to the ranch, where he’d found a family by the name of Cantu in residence. Mr. Cantu had proudly claimed to have purchased the ranch only days earlier. A broken-down old piebald had snuffled around the corral next to the barn, the corral where Chandler had intended to off-load his own horses. Instead, after examining the loan closing papers that Cantu had graciously provided and recognizing Kreger’s signature, Chandler had turned around and hit the road again, managing to keep his temper in check until he was away.

After he’d calmed down, he’d made two phone calls. The first was to his cousin Asher, an attorney, who agreed to see him Monday morning. The second call went to an old friend, Dovey Crawlick, who ran a shoestring animal rescue operation a mile or so southeast of town. She had kindly given Chandler space for his horses at a more-than-reasonable rent and told him that she’d heard Kreger was staying in the Maypearl area.

After following rumors across the state, Chandler eventually wound up calling on Kreger’s elderly great-uncle, from whom Pat had recently requested a large loan and been refused.

“Don’t hold with gambling,” the old man had said mo rosely, “but he said they’d break his legs if he didn’t come up with the cash.”

Chandler had to conclude that Kreger had sold the ranch to cover his gambling debts. That was when Chandler had given up the chase. He’d known, of course, that Kreger was apt to wager a bit here and there, but it hadn’t seemed to be a serious problem. Until now.

In a foul mood, Chandler made his way back to Chatam House in the wee hours of the morning. He couldn’t help thinking about Bethany. Had the aunties allowed her to move into the carriage house with Garrett? He rather doubted that, unless of course the two were married. If they weren’t, they probably soon would be. Then he’d have to see her, them, on a daily basis. With everything that had gone wrong in his life lately, that seemed like adding insult to injury.

Not wanting to rouse the household, he decided to sleep in his truck. It would not be the first time that he’d sacked out in the backseat. He needed to hide his trailer, though. Dovey hadn’t had room for it at her place, but the aunties would not appreciate having a dirty horse hauler parked within sight of the street. Moving mechanically, he backed the trailer through the porte cochere, past the carriage house and around the corner of the building out of sight.

After rolling down all the windows to take advantage of the slight breeze, he crawled into the back cab. He set aside his hat, tugged off his belt and boots and curled up on the seat, his head pillowed on his folded forearms. But peace proved elusive as his mind played restlessly over all he’d learned.

That Pat had sold the ranch out from under Chandler hurt, but the reason hurt just as much. He’d trusted Pat Kreger. He had defended Pat staunchly against his father for years. In the end, however, Hub had been proved right about Kreger, and eventually Chandler would have to deal with that. Just then, though, he was trying to wrap his mind around the fifty-thousand-plus dollars that he’d apparently poured down a bottomless hole.

The thought made him physically ill, his disappointment so deep that it was a constant ache. His whole future had just disappeared! Why hadn’t he known that Pat was out of control? Why had he made so many excuses for his old buddy?

Feeling brainless and foolish, Chandler did the only thing he knew to do. He prayed.

Lord, I need Your help here, he began. I’ve been stubborn and stupid and, boy, am I paying for it. I’ll be paying for some time to come, too. But I deserve it. So I guess first of all I need to ask for Your forgiveness. I really want to do better from now on, to let You guide me. Meanwhile, I’m in a fix. I can’t live off my old aunts. I need some real cash. To get that, I need a new partner, but how do I find a new partner when I’m not even sure I can trust my own judgment anymore? Please give me some real direction here, Lord.

Chandler went on, pouring out his troubles and concerns, facing his deepest fears and failures and beseeching his Lord for aid. He thought of Bethany again. By all appearances, things had turned out well for her, at least. He felt a prick of envy, but whether for her or Garrett, he didn’t know. A little of both, maybe. He drifted into a place of comfort before he could figure it out, and rest found him at last. He slept deeply and completely, his mind a blank, despite the heat and cramped quarters.

Suddenly, bright daylight blinded him. He thought that he must be dreaming, for hands seemed to grapple about his shoulders. Fists closed in the fabric of his shirt, and he instinctively stiffened. The next instant he was being pulled bodily through the open window of the truck cab.

Panicked, he brought his feet up onto the seat and pushed, angling his shoulders through the window, until he could get his hands on the roof of the truck and haul out the rest of the way. He barely got a foot on the ground when a fist slammed into his shoulder. It would have hit his jaw if he hadn’t been in the process of bringing down his second foot.

“Hey!”

He let the blow turn him, his hands coming up defensively, and glimpsed a dark head before a second fist flew his way. Ducking left, he felt knuckles clip his ear. Tucking his chin, Chandler threw a hard right, glancing a blow off his opponent’s ribs. After an answering pop high on the left side of his chest, he started slugging madly. A savvy fighter, the other guy stepped in close, wrapped his arms around Chandler’s shoulders and threw him onto the ground. Chandler made sure that they both went down, twisting to land on his side rather than his back.

“Can’t leave her alone, can you?” a voice growled in his ear as the two wrestled.

“What?” Chandler squawked.

“You’re not going to bounce in and out of her life!”

“Who?”

“Don’t want the kid, but you want her, don’t you?”

“What’re you tal—”

Something hit Chandler on the side of the face and shoulder, something prickly and stiff.

“Ow!”

“Ouch!” yelped the other guy.

Chandler rolled away, becoming aware of a great din, something more than his own grunts and groans and the scrabble of gravel. One sound stood out among the others, the sound of his aunt’s voice.

“Stop that! Stop it right now!”

Realizing that the blows had ceased, Chandler looked up. Magnolia glared down at him, a broom in her hands.

“Aunt Mags?”

“What on earth do you think you’re doing, Chandler Chatam?”

“Defending myself!” Chandler exclaimed.

At the same time, his opponent barked, “Chatam?”

She switched her gaze in that direction. “And you, Garrett Willows! Why are you fighting with my nephew?”

Garrett rocketed to his feet. “He’s your nephew?”

Chandler sat up, trying to catch his breath. Garrett the gardener had attacked him? He glared up at the dark-haired man towering uncertainly over him. Willows. Garrett Willows. Wasn’t that what Magnolia had said? Was he Bethany’s husband, then? The idea seriously rankled.

Chandler shoved up to his feet and pointed a finger. “He attacked me!”

“Chandler?”

Hearing Bethany’s voice, Chandler whirled. She stood beneath the porte cochere with Hypatia and Odelia, her cornflower blue eyes wide.

“Why are you fighting with my brother?”

Brother. He glanced at Garrett Willows. His aunts’ gardener was Bethany’s brother?

She looked as stunned as Chandler felt—and stunning. In dark brown leggings and a long pink top with tiny puffed sleeves, her dark hair a silken fall to her shoulders, she looked wholesome and healthy and radiant. And pregnant, he reminded himself. And the sister of Garrett Willows, not the wife.

Chandler folded his arms and glared at his opponent. It wouldn’t do to smile at such a moment. It wouldn’t do at all.

Only a few moments earlier, in company with Hypatia and Odelia, Bethany had been on her way to the sunroom for breakfast. Then a grim-lipped Magnolia had emerged from the kitchen with a broom in hand, exclaiming that she had seen “them” fighting when she’d gone out to water the pot plants on the stoop. She’d stomped off toward the side door; Hypatia and Odelia had promptly followed, leaving a curious Bethany to bring up the rear. Bursting from the house, she’d seen two men rolling around on the ground and hitting each other. Magnolia had surged forward and smacked them both with her broom. When they’d fallen apart, Bethany had been shocked to see that one of them was her brother! And the other…Chandler! Chandler Chatam?

She shook her head. “I—I don’t understand.”

Her brother cast her a hooded glance and started to beat the dust from his jeans and bright blue T-shirt.

“Well, that makes two of us,” Chandler said, glaring at Garrett. “What possessed you to come after me like that?”

Garrett ducked his head, muttering sullenly, “I saw you hiding in your truck around the corner of the building, and—”

“I wasn’t hiding!” Chandler interrupted. “I was sleeping. I got back late and didn’t want to wake anyone. I parked back there because I knew my aunts wouldn’t want the horse trailer sitting where it could be seen from the street.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that?” Garrett snapped. To Bethany’s shock, Garrett turned on her, demanding, “How on earth did you get involved with a Chatam, anyway?”

Before Bethany could answer, Hypatia stepped up and asked, “Do you two know each other?”

“No!” Bethany exclaimed.

At the same time, Chandler said, “Yes.”

Odelia giggled and clapped a lace hanky between her hands, looking from one of her sisters to the other. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Bethany had no idea what she was talking about, but it was difficult to take her seriously when she wore vivid yellow-and-white awning stripes, culminating with earrings fashioned to resemble stylized suns. They were almost as large as the visible ball in the sky overhead.

Hypatia made an exasperated sound and looked from Bethany to Chandler. “It can’t be both.”

“He told me his name was Chandler,” Bethany blurted defensively.

“And it is,” he drawled. “Hubner Chandler Chatam the third.”

“You never said Chatam!” Bethany insisted.

“Oh, my word,” Magnolia muttered.

Chandler sighed. “Look, it’s just one of those crazy coincidences. I picked her up alongside the road about halfway between here and Houston.”

“You were hitchhiking?” Garrett roared at her.

“No! I was trying to buy a bus ticket in a diner.”

“But he said he picked you up alongside the road.”

“The diner was alongside the road,” Chandler stated pointedly.

“I don’t care how you met him!” Garrett bawled. “What matters is that he’s the father of your baby!”

There were audible gasps. Bethany gulped. Oh, how had this all gotten so muddled?

Chandler glared at her. “Did you tell him that I was the father?”

“No! I just didn’t say that you aren’t the father.”

He parked his hands at his waist. “Come again?”

She opened her mouth to explain, heat burning her cheeks, when a pain seized her, so unexpected that she doubled over. “Ow!”

Both men rushed forward. Four strong arms surrounded her.

“Sis!”

“Bethany!”

“Ohhh,” she moaned. “I-It’s just a c-cramp.”

“Bring her inside,” Hypatia instructed smartly.

Chandler stepped back so Garrett could sweep her up in his arms, but the cramp was already waning.

“It’s all right,” she gasped. “Really. I—I can walk.”

Everyone ignored her, moving en masse toward the house. Chandler leaped ahead and held open the bright yellow door as the sisters swept through. On their heels, Garrett carried Bethany inside, striding swiftly down the shadowy back hall to the family room.

“Honestly,” she protested. “You don’t have to carry me.”

“It’s either him or me,” Chandler growled.

Bethany glanced over Garrett’s shoulder at him. Despite needing a shave and looking somewhat haggard, the man was handsome enough to make a girl’s heart go pitter-patter. And a Chatam! Her mind whirling, she quickly looked away.

Garrett carried her to a plush love seat, which matched the oversize sofa in the center of the room, where he at last set her on her feet. Stalling for time, Bethany tugged at the hem of her tunic and adjusted the tiny, puffed sleeves before smoothing her hands across the thighs of her brown knit leggings before sitting down. The Chatam sisters primly seated themselves on the full-length sofa. The men stood opposite each other, arms folded.

“Now, then,” Hypatia said calmly, “I think we all need to know just who the father of this child is.”

Bethany bowed her head. Could the situation be any more mortifying? It wasn’t just embarrassing, though; it was dangerous, and she had to think of her child first.

She gulped and mumbled, “I can’t tell you.”

“But it’s not Chandler?” Hypatia pressed.

Bethany shook her head, gaze averted.

“Satisfied?” Chandler asked, glaring at Garrett.

“How was I to know?” Garrett demanded. “She shows up, pregnant and unmarried, with you.” Bethany flinched, hearing it stated so baldly. “All she’ll say is that the father doesn’t want the kid,” he barreled on, “and you take off without even bothering to meet me!”

“I had important business! And why would I bother meeting you? I didn’t know you were her brother. All I knew was that you’re the gardener here, and I don’t report to the gardener!”

“Stop it!” Bethany cried, shocking even herself. “Just stop snarling at each other. Neither of you has any reason.”

“No reason?” Chandler demanded. “He hit me!”

“You hit me back,” Garrett grumbled, rubbing his ribs.

Bethany sighed. Her eyes filled, and she bit her lip, but then she managed to say softly, “I don’t want to talk about who the father of this baby is anymore.”

Garrett shifted. “But—”

“You heard her,” Chandler snapped. Bethany glanced up, straight into his warm brown gaze. “It’s her business,” he muttered, glancing away.

“Of course.” Hypatia said, as if that settled the matter.

“You’re right,” Magnolia agreed at the same time. Garrett looked like he might explode for a moment, but then he gave his head a sharp nod.

“Well, that’s that, then,” Odelia announced with some satisfaction. “And now we’re all friends.”

Bethany choked back a startled laugh. Then a weight seemed to descend on her shoulders. These were good people, every one of them. Her brother had offered her support when she needed it most. The Chatam triplets had taken her into their home without a moment’s hesitation. Chandler had offered her a ride when she was nothing more than a desperate stranger stranded beside the road. Good people, indeed, and good people deserved the truth.

But she couldn’t give it to them. Not now. Not ever.

She gulped and closed her eyes, remembering the look on Jay’s face when he’d learned that she was pregnant. He didn’t want this child, but he would take it from her if she ever told anyone what he’d done. With her family history and his resources, that would be too difficult.

Silence reigned for a long moment, then Garrett turned to face Chandler and squared his shoulders. They were both beginning to show a few scrapes and bruises but nothing that wouldn’t be gone by morning.

“I apologize,” he said. “I have a history of overreacting where the women in my family are concerned.”

Chandler shrugged, his gaze skimming over Bethany. “No real harm done, I guess.”

Garrett nodded curtly and moved to stand at her side, saying, “You have to admit that it’s a lulu of a coincidence, my sister stumbling into your path.”

“No kidding,” Bethany murmured. Even Chandler lifted his eyebrows and nodded in agreement. Not so the triplets.

Hypatia shared an amused look with her sisters and calmly said, “Oh, my dears, do you not realize that for God’s children, there are no coincidences? Only plans.”

Chapter Four

Straightening, Chandler felt an eerie feeling skitter up his spine.

No coincidences for God’s children.

Chandler knew that God had plans for the lives of believers, but he’d never before thought of it in quite that way. He suddenly remembered his father speaking from the pulpit.

“God allows nothing into our lives without a reason.”

As a teenager, Chandler hadn’t paid much attention, already at odds with his dad over his friendship with Kreger. Both he and Kreger had been horse-mad and dreaming of careers in rodeo. Pat’s grandfather had encouraged their interest, but Hub believed that sports were frivolous, mere hobbies, certainly not occupations fit for Chandler men. Only lately, since Chandler’s sister, Kaylie, had married a pro hockey goalie, had Hub rethought his prejudice somewhat.

Now, suddenly, Chandler heard his father’s long-ago words with a different ear and applied that new interpretation to his meeting Bethany.

If Kreger had flown in to compete as they’d planned, he’d have been riding with Chandler back to Buffalo Creek. They wouldn’t have left for home early that morning because Pat never hauled himself out of bed before he had to, which meant they’d have stopped for dinner long before they’d have reached that little diner. The only reasonable conclusion was that Chandler would have missed Bethany completely if things had gone as he had planned. No telling where she’d have wound up then.

A fresh chill ran up his spine, and he found himself wholly identifying with Garrett’s impulses. If Bethany was his sister… But she was not his sister. She was, instead, a very attractive, single woman. A single expectant mother, he reminded himself.

No, Chandler didn’t blame Garrett for wanting to pound someone.

His ears perked up when Magnolia asked Bethany if she still intended to look for a job. Putting aside his thoughts, he listened to Bethany reply, “As quickly as possible.”

“Sis, do you really think anyone is going to hire a woman as pregnant as you are?” Garrett asked, looking down at her.

Bethany sighed but otherwise did not answer.

“It is a problem,” Hypatia agreed gently.

“I can’t just live off your generosity and my brother’s until the baby comes,” Bethany pointed out.

Chandler surprised himself by speaking the instant the thought entered his mind.

“Dad might be willing to hire her.”

Five pairs of eyes turned to him. Well, it only seemed logical. In fact, he was surprised that his aunts hadn’t thought of it themselves. He cleared his throat and said, “Dad is about to open the new Single Parents Ministry to the public, isn’t he?”

Hypatia brightened. “That’s right. He’s been talking about hiring a receptionist.”

“That would be perfect,” Bethany said, sitting forward. “What do they do there?”

“Offer parenting classes, support groups, Bible studies,” Hypatia said. “They’ve also put together a panel of advisers, attorneys, mental health professionals, charities, anyone who can help lighten the load of a single parent.”

“It sounds wonderful!” Bethany gushed.

“It’s part-time, so the pay wouldn’t be much,” Magnolia warned.

“Still, it’s something,” Bethany pointed out.

“And of course you’ll stay here until after the baby comes and you’re on your feet again,” Odelia put in.

For the second time that morning, Chandler watched Bethany’s eyes fill with tears. She reached a hand up to her brother, who pressed her fingers with his, smiling.

“Looks like God brought both of us to the right place,” she noted in a shaky voice.

“You’d think I’d learn to let Him handle things, wouldn’t you?” Garrett said with a guilty glance in Chandler’s direction.

Bethany chuckled and wiped tears from her cheeks. “That’s something I guess we both have to work on.”

Watching those slender fingertips swipe at the moisture on her ivory cheeks, Chandler felt a lump rise in his own throat and shifted uncomfortably. He realized suddenly that it was past time for him to be about his own business, even if he was tired due to lack of sleep. That, he told himself stoutly, was what was behind this sudden emotionalism, surely.

“How soon do you think I can speak to your father about the job?” Bethany asked him.

Chandler opened his mouth, but Hypatia spoke first.

“Chandler, dear,” she said, “might you take Bethany to meet your father Monday?”

“Me?”

“That will give us time to speak to Hubner about it beforehand,” Hypatia said to Bethany.

“Grease the skids, in other words,” Garrett said wryly.

Magnolia laughed and quipped, “I’ll get out the oil can.”

Meanwhile, Hypatia answered Chandler. “Of course you, dear. You’re the perfect person to do it.”

Chandler flung a hand at Garrett. “Why not him?”

“On the back of my motorcyle?” Garrett retorted, shaking his head. “Not in her condition.”

“And Chester is busy,” Odelia informed him helpfully, “especially Monday. It’s Hilda’s shopping day, you know.”

The aunties themselves did not drive. Chandler thought of his appointment with his cousin, the attorney, on Monday and a hundred and one other things he needed to get done as quickly as possible, but he knew that he had to do this. Talking to his dad about a job had been his idea in the first place, and Bethany was not getting on the back of that motorcycle if he could prevent it.

“Yeah, okay, fine,” he said with less grace than he might have. “Now if that’s settled, I’m going to move most of my stuff into the attic.”

“You’re moving in here?” Garrett asked, his brows drawing together.

Chandler rose. “Yeah. You have a problem with that?”

“No, of course not. Just surprised.”

“That makes two of us,” Chandler muttered. He purposefully did not look at Bethany, but turned to dispense kisses to the papery cool cheeks of his aunties, thanking them for their hospitality.

“Don’t worry,” Hypatia said, beaming a smile, “It’s a very big house.”

“The east suite should suit,” Magnolia began, but Chandler waved that away.

“Naw, I’ll just take one of the big bedrooms.”

“In that case,” Odelia chirped, “perhaps the room behind the attic stairs? It has a window and is convenient to the attic.”

Chandler shrugged. “Fine with me.”

“Perfect!” Odelia exclaimed, clapping her hands. “That’s right next to the master suite where Bethany and Garrett are staying.”

Chandler raised his eyebrows. Evidently, the aunties were going all out in their support of the Willows siblings. Well, it was no skin off his nose, especially when they were willing to house him, too. But not for long, God willing, not for long. In fact, with single, pretty Bethany in residence, the sooner he got his business in order and moved out of Chatam House, the better.

It was all he could do to keep from looking at her one more time before he stepped out into the corridor and strode toward the library.

“I’ll give you a hand.”

Chandler glanced over his shoulder at Bethany’s brother.

“That’s not necessary.”

“No, I insist.”

O-o-o-kay, Chandler thought, wondering if Garrett was about to warn him away from his sister. Not that Garrett had anything to worry about. The very last thing Chandler needed in his life right now was a woman, especially a pregnant woman.

“Your breakfast will be waiting in the kitchen when you’re done,” Hypatia called.

Chandler brightened, thinking of Hilda’s excellent cooking. “A ray of light in an otherwise dim world,” he retorted drolly.

“If that means Hilda’s cooking is the best, I couldn’t agree more,” Garrett said, lengthening his stride to bring himself even with Chandler.

Chandler shook his head. “First you try to beat me down and then you jump over into the amen corner.”

“For the record,” Garrett retorted, keeping pace with Chandler, “I did beat you down.”

“In your dreams, brother.”

“I’m not your brother.”

Chandler snorted. “You could be. Neither of them can throw a decent punch, either.”

“Now you’ve gone from dreaming to sheer insanity,” Garrett said drily, and for some reason they were both suddenly grinning. “You handle yourself pretty well, too, though.”

“Thanks,” Chandler drawled.

“So where’d you learn to fight like that, anyway?”

“I rodeo for a living,” Chandler replied. “There’s always some drunk cowboy wanting to take you down a peg.” The truth was that he hadn’t been in a real fight in ages, but early on the occasional fracas into which Kreger had dragged him had almost seemed, well, fun. “How about you?”

Garrett paused just outside the library door and met Chandler’s gaze. “Prison,” he answered grimly.

Chandler rocked back. “Yeah? How come?”

Garrett sighed. “Like I said, I’ve been known to be a little overprotective of the women in my family.”

“Do my aunts know about this?”

“Absolutely. I just thought you should know, too.”

Chandler folded his arms. “Suppose you clue me in, then.”

“Okay, but let’s do it while we’re working. Breakfast is calling me.”

Chandler could find no argument against that, and later, having heard the full story, he could find no quarrel with Garrett’s presence in the household, either. In fact, in his opinion, though he didn’t know Bethany’s story, the Willows siblings appeared to have gotten a pretty raw deal in life so far.

“God allows nothing into our lives without a reason,” whispered his father’s voice then, and right behind it came Hypatia’s. “Do you not realize that for God’s children, there are no coincidences? Only plans.”

Chandler supposed that one’s actions and decisions played into what God allowed and planned for a believer. Everyone had free will, after all. Still, a loving, omniscient God could be trusted to have reasons and plans, which meant that whatever was going on with him now, God had allowed for His own purposes. Chandler believed that those purposes would ultimately work for his benefit, for God did not curse his own children; He blessed them. Chandler knew that his life had been greatly blessed, especially compared to the lives of Garrett and Bethany Willows.

As he sat down with Garrett at the battered table in the warm, spacious kitchen to eat Hilda’s fluffy scrambled eggs and crisp bacon, his situation suddenly looked a lot better than it had only last night, and Chandler determined to move forward prayerfully. With that in mind, he took the time to give silent thanks.

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