Wanted: Wife And Mother

Veterinarian Eric Wilson is confounded by the classified ad his three young daughters have placed. The handsome widower is not in the market for a bride! But when the story of his little matchmakers hits the papers, would-be brides start swamping his waiting room. Despite them all, Eric finds himself drawn to the temp worker at the classifieds office: adorable free spirit Amy Spencer. Amy’s been running for a while, and it’s time she planted roots. Together, can Amy and Eric realize that trusting in God’s plan is the sweetest surrender of all?

“Thank goodness you’re here, Doc,” his receptionist said. “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.

“We didn’t have a clue what to do with all the calls for appointments.”

“Appointments?” Eric walked in to find the tiny office filled with pets and their owners, the great majority of whom were women.

“All right,” he said to the tech when she shut the door behind them. “What’s going on?”

“My guess is they’re all here to see you.”

“Me?” Eric shook his head.

“You haven’t read the paper yet?”

“Why does everyone care whether I’ve read the paper yet?” he thundered.

The tech gestured to the folded copy of the Gazette on the corner of his desk. “See for yourself.” She paused. “You might want to sit down.”

He did and then carefully opened the paper to read the headline. “Daddy’s Little Matchmakers.”

KATHLEEN Y’BARBO

RITA® and Carol Award nominee Kathleen Y’Barbo is the bestselling author of more than forty novels, novellas and young adult books. In all, more than one million copies of her books are currently in print in the U.S. and abroad.

Kathleen is a member of Romance Writers of America and American Christian Fiction Writers.

A tenth-generation Texan, Kathleen Y’Barbo has a daughter and three grown sons. She recently added her own hero in combat boots—who came with five sons and two daughters of his own—and is proud to be an Air Force wife even if it did mean giving up her Texas driver’s license.

Daddy’s Little Matchmakers

Kathleen Y’Barbo

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Love Inspired!

2012 is a very special year for us. It marks the fifteenth anniversary of Love Inspired. Hard to believe that fifteen years ago, we first began publishing our warm and wonderful inspirational romances.

Back in 1997, we offered readers three books a month. Since then we’ve expanded quite a bit! In addition to the heartwarming contemporary romances of Love Inspired, we have the exciting romantic suspenses of Love Inspired Suspense, and the adventurous historical romances of Love Inspired Historical. Whatever your reading preference, we’ve got fourteen books a month for you to choose from now!

Throughout the year we’ll be celebrating in several different ways. Look for books by bestselling authors who’ve been writing for us since the beginning, stories by brand-new authors you won’t want to miss, special miniseries in all three lines, reissues of top authors and much, much more.

This is our way of thanking you for reading Love Inspired books. We know our uplifting stories of hope, faith and love touch your hearts as much as they touch ours.

Join us in celebrating fifteen amazing years of inspirational romance!

Blessings,

Melissa Endlich and Tina James

Senior Editors of Love Inspired Books

Dear Reader,

When I started planning the tale of Amy and Eric, I had no idea I would be writing the book during one of the coldest winters on record. Imagine writing about warm sunshine and sandy beaches in Texas when the snowy Oklahoma landscape is all you can see out the window. And yet, I grew to love the fictional town of Vine Beach and the people who populate the little city on the Texas shore, even as I shivered and tried to keep warm.

You see, I grew up not too far from a beach very much like Vine Beach. As I grew older, summers were spent collecting shells and playing in the surf, a love I never quite outgrew. There’s just something wonderful about sitting on the sand with the waves rolling in and looking out over the wide expanse of God’s watery creation that soothes a beach-lover’s soul and makes the world feel very small.

I hope that you’ll feel the same way as you read about Amy’s search for something permanent and Eric’s quest to understand how different can be equally good. And as you read about the love of family, about God’s timing and how He is never late nor is He early, I hope that you will hold on to His promises and know He cares about your every need.

Prayers are as plentiful as the grains of sand on the ocean, and yet God hears every one. My prayer as you read this book is that you, too, will know what it is to feel the love of the Lord and to know His are the only arms worth falling into.

I look forward to hearing from my readers, and hope that you will drop me a line at Love Inspired Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, or through my website at www.kathleenybarbo.com.

Wishing you all the best!

Kathleen Y’Barbo

To my “other daughters”:

The fabulous Lindley LeBlanc, RN, whose sentence was endlessly brilliant!

And the amazing Erica Puckett, love you darlin!

Gig’em, girls!

* * *

Fathers, do not exasperate your children;

instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.

—Ephesians 6:4

Contents

Dear Reader

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Questions for Discussions

Chapter One

The call came in a full fifteen minutes before Amy Spencer’s lunch break ended. As a temp, she had no obligation to go beyond the requirements of the job she would have only until Friday. And yet, how could she ignore the phone when it was the first time the thing had rung all morning?

Reluctantly she set aside the remains of her sandwich and the novel she’d likely finish before the end of the day. “Vine Beach Gazette, Classifieds Department,” she said as she reached for her water bottle and took a sip.

“I would like to place an ad to sell my sailboat.”

Much as the distinctly male voice stated his desire firmly, there seemed to be the slightest bit of hesitancy there. This gave Amy pause to check the caller ID.

Eric Wilson. The new veterinarian who’d bought the clinic across the street from the Gazette. Handsome, single and the father of three little girls who sat beside him in church every Sunday.

“So,” he continued, “how would I go about placing an ad?”

Scrolling to the correct place on her computer screen, Amy read him the particulars. “You can either go online and do it yourself or I can take down the details and place it for you. Or you could come in and place the ad and pay for it then.” She waited a moment. Nothing but silence and the occasional bark of a dog on the other end of the phone. “Dr. Wilson?” she finally asked.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I was just trying to decide.”

“Whether to sell, or whether to place the ad yourself?”

“Actually, I—” An eruption of high-pitched squeals interrupted his statement. “Girls, please. I’m on the phone,” he said before returning to her. “Thank you for the information. You’ve been a great help but I’m afraid I’m going to have to—”

And then the line went dead.

Amy hung up the phone thinking of what sort of chaos three daughters might bring into the life of one single man. Having grown up the only child of older parents, she had nothing to compare.

Rising to step away from her desk, Amy tossed her sandwich into the trash and grabbed her book. With the sun shining, the sea breeze blowing and the heat of summer not yet unbearable, she decided to spend the remaining ten minutes of her lunch break reading in the shade on her favorite park bench.

Beneath the canopy of green leaves, she scooted to the far end of the bench and settled into a comfortable position. From her vantage point, she could see the blue-green waters of the Gulf of Mexico and the whitecaps rolling up on Vine Beach a quarter of a mile to the south. She could also witness comings and goings in both directions on Vine Beach’s primary north–south thoroughfare, aptly named Main Street.

With little to recommend Vine Beach beyond the smattering of beachfront rentals and the tiny harbor, the main traffic on the street consisted of locals. No one seemed to mind, though members of the local Chamber of Commerce met on occasion to debate ways to bring in more traffic. As yet, nothing had come of these meetings so the city remained a sleepy coastal town.

Across the way, Amy spied the elderly beautician unlocking the garishly pink doors of Ima’s Beauty Shop and waved. Ima returned the gesture before slipping inside. Next door a painter was putting the final touches on the new sign on the Wilson Animal Clinic’s front window. She thought of Eric Wilson’s call and wondered which of the several dozen boats at the harbor was his.

Another check of her watch and Amy set aside her novel to lean back against the bench to look up through the canopy of oak leaves at the brilliant blue sky above. Returning to Vine Beach as an adult had been much different than she’d expected. Every summer for as long as she could remember, Amy had spent as much time as she could with her grandparents in their cottage by the beach.

Roses flourished on the arbor and the garden always provided enough to make porch salad, but her favorite memories were of sitting with her grandmother on the swing beneath the arbor. Her sandy toes barely brushing the ground, she could while away the hours watching the waves and the occasional sailboat heading for shore. At night she slept with the window open to the ocean breeze and dreamed salt-tinged dreams about happily-ever-afters beneath the upstairs rafters.

Never had she expected to live there, albeit temporarily, as an adult. But when her grandmother’s hip surgery required she have a caregiver, Amy stepped up to the challenge. After all, Mom and Dad had only kept her employed at their shop in Houston out of love. All three of them knew there wasn’t near enough work for three florists.

And thus when the call came regarding the surgery, Amy gladly spent the spring caring for her grandmother, tending the garden, the roses and her precious nana in equal parts until all were blooming. Nana’s choice to move into Sandy Shores, the new assisted-living community out on Harbor Drive, had surprised Amy. Until, that is, she visited and saw her grandmother had landed solidly in her element. Always the social butterfly, Nana loved being in the middle of everything, something she couldn’t manage at home.

Amy took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Nana no longer needed her and, as of tomorrow, neither did the Gazette. Was it time to move on? And if so, where would she go?

Across Main Street, the painter completed his work on the clinic door then stepped back to admire the finished product. “Eric Wilson, DVM,” she whispered as she read the words beneath the sign.

Amy’s thoughts again shifted to Dr. Wilson. Everything she knew about the man came from her grandmother, Nana Spencer, whose knowledge of all things related to Vine Beach was arguably more extensive than any data uncovered by the reporters at the Gazette. And according to Nana, the veterinarian, a widower of undetermined length, had moved to Vine Beach to take over Doc Simmons’s practice upon the older man’s retirement and to see that his girls were near his late wife’s family.

A car door slammed, drawing her attention to the parking lot beside the animal clinic. There she saw the object of her thoughts walking toward what was likely the back door of the clinic. He looked busy—possibly distracted by whatever boisterous behavior had caused him to end their call so quickly—as he ran his hand through thick dark hair. He lifted his head, and their gazes met awkwardly across the distance. At least she thought he saw her. For a second Amy wondered if she should acknowledge him. The vet waved, solving the problem of how to respond, so she did the same.

Checking her watch, Amy gathered up her novel and rose. Four more hours of work, and her temporary job at the paper would end. Then she’d be forced to decide whether to allow the temp agency to place her elsewhere or perhaps to pack her things and move on.

Surely there was work for a trained florist somewhere. Trained florist. More like a girl who’d picked so many flowers as a child that her mother finally taught her how to make something pretty of her mess. Amy giggled at the thought.

“You have a nice laugh.”

She jumped, dropping the novel as she whirled around to see Eric Wilson crossing Main Street. Scrambling for the book, she tugged at the edge of her blouse and tried not to allow her embarrassment to show.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

His worried expression made her smile in spite of her flustered state. “No, it’s fine. Really.” She lifted her hand to smooth back her hair and promptly dropped the book again.

The vet leaned to reach for the novel and so did Amy. Before either could accomplish the task, their heads bumped. Wincing, Amy felt the heat rise in her neck. As she took a step backward, Eric retrieved the book.

“I’m sorry,” he said again as he thrust the book toward her. “Seems I’ve now got two reasons to apologize.”

“No, really.” Amy took the book and held it tight against her chest. “I’m fine.” She glanced down at the smudge of brown decorating her blouse and saw the source: a nasty smear of dirt in a matching color on the novel’s back cover. She quickly flipped the book around and adjusted its location to cover the spot then slowly lifted her eyes to meet his stare.

An awkward moment passed and then he reached to offer her his hand. “Eric Wilson,” he said. “I’m new to Vine Beach.” He gestured to the clinic behind him. “Bought the practice from Doc Simmons a few months ago.” A pause. “And you’re Amy. The classifieds girl.”

Amy shook his hand as she pondered the statement. The vet must have noticed her expression of confusion for he hastened to add, “I called back and someone told me Amy the classifieds girl was at lunch. Sitting in the park. Reading a book. And so, since I was on the cell and could plainly see that there was a woman sitting in the park next to the newspaper office reading a book, I…” He released her hand and took a step backward then looked away. “Anyway,” he finally said, “I wanted to apologize for hanging up the call so abruptly. Things just got a little noisy and then the dog got loose and, well, I really hadn’t intended for them to overhear, anyway.”

“Happens all the time,” Amy hastened to say as she tried not to study his handsome features or notice the slight hint of what might be tiredness in his eyes. His lovely eyes, she amended.

“Especially lately,” he said softly. “What I mean is, the girls are getting settled into their new home and new school, which means things have been a little…”

“Noisy?” she supplied.

“Yes,” Dr. Wilson said on a long exhale of breath. “They’re good girls, and I’m very glad I’ve got my mother here to help. But managing three girls while trying to get a vet practice off the ground has been an adventure.”

“Your daughters are adorable.” At his look of surprise, she shrugged. “I’ve seen you…that is, them, at church and, well, they’re adorable.”

“Oh, yes, right.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Thankfully they all look like their mother. They miss her, I’m afraid.”

Dr. Wilson’s eyes widened, and Amy knew he’d given her more insight than he’d intended. She hurried to cover the awkward moment with the first thing she could think of. “It’s hard to move with children, I would imagine.”

“Yes,” he said, seeming grateful for the gentle veer away from what was probably a sore subject. “Though the unpacking was much easier than the packing. It’s amazing the amount of things girls collect. Ribbons, bows, dolls and don’t get me started on the amount of clothes they have. And the shoes? Why does anyone need more than a dozen pairs of shoes?”

His chuckle was low and swift, and Amy quickly joined in. “Hey, now. We women need our accessories, and a girl can’t have her shoes be mismatched with her outfit. It just isn’t done.”

“Oh, believe me, I know. I suppose they inherited the shoe gene from their mother. She was forever explaining why she needed yet another pair.”

The town clock struck the half hour, and Amy jerked her attention in that direction. Time to return to her desk. “It’s my turn to apologize, Dr. Wilson. You see, my lunch hour’s over and…” She tilted her head toward the newspaper office. “I should get back to work.”

He followed her gaze then, as an expression of recognition dawned, and nodded. “Please, call me Eric.”

“Eric,” she echoed. “If you’ll call me Amy.” Shifting her book to the other hand, Amy reached out to shake his. His grip was firm, his smile slow in appearing. “It’s been nice meeting you.”

The vet seemed unsure of what to say. “Nice, yes,” he echoed. “And I’ll call again soon, Amy.” His eyes widened as he must have realized his word choice left his intentions in question. “To sell the boat,” he added. “Probably Monday. I should have a decent photo to use by then.”

“Monday. Right.” She almost told him that on Monday someone else would be taking his call. Before she could manage it, the vet had turned to sprint back across Main Street. As she watched him go, Amy wondered what it must be like to live in a noisy house. To have to end a call because children were laughing.

Amy sighed. Somewhere out there the Lord had a place for her. And perhaps there would be a family, as well. Whatever, wherever, she knew she would find that perfect fit. Until then, nothing in her life could be anything less than temporary.

Once again, Eric Wilson turned to wave, and this time she returned the gesture without hesitation. Silently she added a prayer that he, too, would find whatever it was he needed.

Eric Wilson slipped in the back door of the clinic and reached for the lone file awaiting his attention in his in-box then went into his office and closed the door. Unlike his in-box, his mailbox was stuffed full of envelopes, all bills needing to be paid. Eric sighed and settled behind the desk he’d inherited with the building.

Since arriving in Vine Beach and acquiring Dr. Simmons’s dwindling practice, he’d found it painfully obvious why the old vet had chosen to retire. There simply weren’t enough clients to keep a full-time veterinarian in business.

Of course, he’d known the size of the practice and had ample time to change his mind once he saw the sorry state of the ledger sheet, but coming to Vine Beach meant giving up some things. Financial solvency and his prize sailboat would just have to be sacrificed in the short term so his girls would be settled and happy in the long term.

It was a fair trade, though he would miss that sailboat dearly.

Perhaps he should call now and get it over with. He could always upload a photo of the craft tonight from his laptop. Surely he had a decent one saved somewhere. Besides, it would not be any easier to put the boat up for sale on Monday. Likely he would find too many good reasons to keep it instead.

Eric reached for the phone then decided the classifieds girl was probably not back at her desk. Amy, that was her name. And she was pretty. Eyes as blue as the sky and blond hair that fell in heavy curls over her shoulders. This much he’d allowed himself to notice. Anything more just felt wrong. As if he was somehow being unfaithful to his wife’s memory.

And yet his friends all told him to get on with his life. Just this morning his mother had gently reminded him it had been more than three years since Christy’s long battle with cancer had been lost. And then there were the seemingly nonstop questions from the girls regarding his single state and when they might expect him to fall in love again.

The trouble with all the good advice was that none of it felt as if it applied to him. As for the girls and their questions, what did they know of love? It wasn’t as if he could just shut off his feelings at will. In truth, Eric wasn’t completely sure how he felt about any of it.

Worse, the more days that passed the fewer memories he could recollect about life before cancer changed everything. Not everything, he corrected. The girls were still the same. Slightly more subdued when he tried to talk to them about Christy, but all in all just as lovely and lively as they had been before.

Their resiliency humbled him, as did their repeated promises to him that God would bring him another wife. Not a girlfriend, they always insisted, for he told them he would never date, but a wife. A wife to make him happy again.

A tear threatened and he blinked it away. That his girls were concerned with his happiness spoke volumes, though he couldn’t yet agree with their idea of a solution. Perhaps his mother and the others were right. Maybe he just needed to get over it and move on.

But how? It sounded so easy in theory, but in reality, Eric knew he was well and truly stuck. Hadn’t his old friend Riley said the same thing just yesterday on the phone? Pride hadn’t allowed Eric to answer, or maybe it was the fact that once again Riley was trying to convince him to join the widowers’ small group that met on Saturday mornings.

He didn’t need a small group to remind him he was a widower. And he surely didn’t need to hang around a basketball court with a bunch of other guys talking about death and dying.

Eric ran his hand through his hair and leaned back to close his eyes. A moment later, he opened them again, his gaze landing on the stack of bills. Yet another problem he had not solved.

What he could do, however, was see to the lone client who was waiting for him in exam room one. With a sigh, he forced his mind to focus on the details of the file on his desk then went to see to the ailing terrier. At least a broken bone was something he could fix, unlike the troubles that seemed to pile on like stones on a very tall and completely impassable wall.

Chapter Two

Amy returned to her desk with the veterinarian on her mind. Absently, she swiped at the faint brown stain on her blouse, now slightly damp after a scrubbing in the ladies’ room sink, as she looked out the window across Main Street to the clinic. Settling into her chair, she spied the message light blinking and reached for the phone.

“How much is an ad?” the cutest little voice asked. A pause and then came whispering that Amy couldn’t quite decipher. “There’s no one there, Grammy.” Finally the girl gave a phone number. Twice.

Smiling, Amy wrote down the number then placed the return call. An older woman answered with a firm, “Hello?”

“Yes,” Amy said, “I received a call about placing an ad.” She paused. “But I believe it was from a child so…”

“Oh, yes,” the woman said. “Of course. Just a moment and I’ll put Hailey on.”

“All right,” Amy said as she wondered what was going on.

“Hello” came the voice from the answering machine message. “I, that is, we would like to place an ad. How much will that cost?”

“It depends.” Amy clicked over to the proper screen on her computer. “What sort of ad would you like to place?”

A moment of silence followed, and then the shared whispers of several other voices came across the line. Apparently this would be a group effort.

“Hello?” Amy said. “Is anyone there?”

“Yes, ma’am” came the shaky response.

“All right, then.” Amy placed her fingers on the keyboard. “First I need your full name and address so I can set up the account.” When the girl complied, Amy said, “All right, then, Hailey Wilson, go ahead and tell me what you’d like the ad to say.”

“We would like to place an ad for our daddy, Dr. Wilson.” Someone with a similar girlish voice shouted a correction. “No, I mean for someone,” the child amended.

Another voice, also quite young, added, “For someone for our daddy.”

Dr. Wilson. Amy grinned. Eric Wilson’s girls were setting him up? Interesting. She checked the caller ID. The number came up as belonging to Susan Wilson, likely the woman who answered the phone.

A squeal from the other end of the line drew Amy’s attention back to the situation at hand. “Before I can process your request, you’ll need to put your daddy on,” Amy said.

“Well, I can’t exactly do that.” A pause, this time without any background noise beyond a barking dog. “My daddy is unable to come to the phone. He just went back to work. But he’s the best daddy in the world,” she added. “He braids our hair and bakes cookies with us. He’s gonna teach me to sail someday when I’m bigger.”

Something in the sincerity in their voices softened Amy’s heart. While there wasn’t a chance she could possibly place such an ad, she’d begun to think the idea of it was the sweetest thing she’d heard all day. “I see. He sounds like a wonderful daddy. Now why don’t you put your babysitter on the phone and she can have your wonderful daddy call back when he gets home?”

“We don’t have a babysitter. Just our Grammy.”

Amy let out a long breath. This must be Susan. “Then might I speak to your grammy?”

“No, don’t do that!” was quickly followed by a crash that sounded like breaking glass. Then came a dog’s excited yip.

A scream, and then the line went dead.

Amy held on to the receiver for a moment then slowly returned it to its cradle. What had just happened?

She reached to return her computer screen to the home page and tried to shrug off the sense that something just wasn’t right. What if the elderly woman who answered the phone was in distress? Amy thought of her grandmother’s fall and how blessed she was to have neighbors who checked on her.

What if Susan Wilson had fallen and now lay helpless with only Eric’s little girls to assist? Would they know what to do? The thought sent her into action. Quickly she hit redial and listened as the phone rang repeatedly then went to an automated voice mail.

Amy jotted down the address the girl had given her and snagged her purse. If anyone in Vine Beach needed to place a classified, they’d just have to wait. Besides, what could the managing editor do, fire her? She had only a few more hours of work left, anyway.

“I’ll be right back,” Amy said as she passed Bev Calloway’s open door.

The city reporter looked up from her computer, her glasses dangling precariously on the end of her nose. “Emergency?”

“I hope not.” Amy hitched her purse up higher on her shoulder. “I got a call I’d like to check out. Older lady and some kids. Heard a crash that sounded like glass breaking and now I can’t get anyone to answer.”

She thought about mentioning the identity of the woman, maybe telling Bev to call the vet clinic, then decided against it. If she was wrong, she’d look like a fool. Better to check things out first and apologize later if need be.

Bev’s dark brows rose. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“I don’t think so. Not yet, anyway. The address is just around the corner.” Her fingers found the keys. “Might want to say a little prayer, though. I’m hoping it’s nothing, but you never know.”

“Will do,” Bev called as Amy hurried out the building to her car.

A few minutes later, she made the turn and soon found herself in front of a tidy redbrick home trimmed in white and marked by a front door of glossy dark green. An empty driveway ended at a matching garage with a basketball goal hung just over the center of the double-size door.

Pulling to the curb across the street, Amy shifted the car into Park. The black mailbox at the curb had the name Wilson emblazoned in slightly mismatched alphabet stickers, the only sign of imperfection in what was an otherwise perfect abode.

Amy spied a black-and-white Springer Spaniel bounding down the driveway toward her followed in quick succession by a stair-stepped trio of fair-haired girls—the same ones she remembered from church. Eric Wilson’s daughters.

The tallest of the three carried a leash as if she might use it to lasso the spaniel while the other two, lagging behind their sister by a few paces, seemed to have assumed a supporting role in the drama. All were headed toward the street.

“Stop right there!” Amy called as she turned off the engine and fumbled for the door handle. “Do not follow that dog into the street!”

Throwing open the door, Amy jumped out and looked both ways across the empty street. Then she hurried to head off the oncoming parade of fair-haired children by snagging the dog’s collar and guiding him back onto the lawn.

“Hand me the leash, please,” she said to the eldest of the trio.

The child complied while her sisters waited at the edge of the driveway. Only after she had the animal safely corralled did Amy consider that the pup might not have taken kindly to her intervention.

After giving the dog a pat on the head, Amy glanced over at the girls who stood very still on the edge of the driveway. The little one, a vision of cuteness in some sort of princess garb complete with tiara, fidgeted with her ponytail while the middle child, Amy now noticed, held pen and paper and wore yet another outfit—this time shorts and a top—covered in flowers.

The side door opened and a familiar-looking woman with spiky silver-colored hair peered out. Apparently Susan Wilson was fine.

“Girls, where are you?” she called

“Over here, Grammy,” the little princess called. “With the lady who caught Skipper.”

“The lady who…” She met Amy’s stare. “Oh, my goodness. What is that dog doing out in the front yard?”

Amy smiled at the trim figure in white capri pants, sandals and a pale blue button-down shirt heading their way. “He was running toward the street with the girls close behind.” She offered the dog’s leash to the older woman. “I’m Amy,” she said. “Amy Spencer. I work at the Gazette.”

The grandmother gave Dr. Wilson’s girls a look of relief before she turned her attention to Amy. “Pleased to meet you, Amy Spencer. I’m Susan Wilson and these are my granddaughters. This one’s Ella. She’ll be ten soon. Then comes eight-year-old Hailey.”

“Hello, Ella and Hailey,” Amy said when the eldest girl reached to shake her hand. Hailey offered a smile but made no move forward.

“And last but certainly not least,” the vet’s mother said, “this is Brooke. She just turned five and will start big-girl school in the fall.” The little one rolled her eyes and tugged on her shorts. Apparently big-girl school was a sore subject for the youngest Wilson girl. “Say hello, Brooke,” Mrs. Wilson urged.

The little one met Amy’s gaze and grinned, showing a missing front tooth. “Hello,” she said before ducking behind her grandmother. Amy returned the greeting when the girl peered out from under the older lady’s arm.

“And of course, you’ve met Skipper.” Susan Wilson’s brown eyes twinkled. “I’d say the Lord had you in just the right spot this afternoon. Thank you for saving Skipper and the girls from what might have been a whole lot of trouble.”

“You’re welcome,” Amy said quickly. “I’m glad I could help.”

Behind her, the girls wore stricken looks. Obviously their grandmother had no idea a whole lot of trouble had already occurred.

Mrs. Wilson shook her head. “Tell me, Amy, how did you come to be standing in our driveway? I thought the girls had just phoned you to—” A car sped past and the dog made to follow. “Oh, no, you don’t.” When the car had safely disappeared around the corner, Mrs. Wilson turned the leash over to the eldest of the girls. “Ella, go on and take Skipper back inside the fence. Don’t let him in the house just yet, though. I haven’t finished cleaning up the remains of that platter he knocked off the counter.”

“So that was what caused the crash I heard.”

Mrs. Wilson returned her attention to Amy as the girls reluctantly hauled the Springer Spaniel back up the driveway. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh.” Amy tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I was on the phone with the girls and I heard an awful noise that sounded like breaking glass. Of course, when I couldn’t get an answer on the phone, I hurried over to check. You see, my grandmother fell a few months ago and…” She paused.

Had she said too much? Perhaps insinuated that Mrs. Wilson wasn’t properly looking after her granddaughters?

The older woman crossed her arms over her chest and appeared to be considering something. Her smile settled Amy’s concerns. “It takes a special person to find that level of concern for children.” A pause. “And for me. I do appreciate what you’ve done today.”

“I feel a little silly,” Amy said. “And I’m terribly sorry for assuming.”

“Don’t you dare.” The older woman waved away her concerns then winked. “So, did the girls manage to place the ad before the chaos began?” When Amy told her no, Mrs. Wilson’s grin reappeared. “Come on inside and let me get my purse.”

“Mrs. Wilson,” Amy said carefully, “you do understand the girls were—”

“Playing matchmaker for their daddy?” Her smile broadened. “Yes, of course, dear. Who do you think dialed the phone for them? Now won’t you come in and let me offer you some sweet tea and a slice of pie while I write a check for whatever this ad’s going to cost?”

Chapter Three

Amy shifted her purse off her shoulder then opened it to stuff her sunglasses inside. “Did I miss anything while I was gone?”

Bev swiveled around in her chair to give Amy her full attention. “Other than the earth-shattering news that the Vine Beach Washateria will be slashing their prices on the Sit and Spin special? No, nothing.”

“Wow,” Amy said with a half grin. “I’m going to miss working where the big news happens.”

Shrugging, Bev pressed her glasses up a notch. “So, the classifieds emergency. How’d it turn out? Everything okay with the lady who wouldn’t answer her phone?”

Amy groaned. “Turned out there was no emergency, after all. It was a misunderstanding. Though I did meet three adorable little girls and their grandmother. Oh, and their Springer Spaniel named Skipper. Whom I saved from running headlong into Elm Street. The girls had a little help in dialing the phone, and were calling to put an ad in the paper for a wife for their father. Not a girlfriend. Their father isn’t interested in one of those. Their grandmother Susan thinks he’s afraid to move on after his wife’s death. So she paid for the ad, which will run in the next edition. I’m going to email her the receipt.” She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she turned toward her cubicle. “All right, then. Back to the classifieds I go to watch the phone not ring.”

“No, you don’t.” Bev followed Amy into her office and leaned against the door frame. In one hand she held a legal pad, and in the other, a pen. “You can’t just leave me like that. I’m a reporter and this sounds like quite a story. Spill it, girl.”

“Spill what?” Amy settled back into her chair.

“The dad. What’s his name?”

Amy stowed her purse in the bottom drawer. “Dr. Eric Wilson.”

“That yummy new vet?” She scribbled another note. “This just keeps getting better.”

“Yes, that’s the guy.”

“Go on. Tell me everything from the beginning.”

So she did, starting with the phone call and ending with the conversation she had over iced tea and peach pie with Susan Wilson, or “Grammy” as the girls called her. She did, however, skip the part where she’d spent a few minutes speaking to the vet in the park during her lunch hour. That, Amy decided, was off the record and definitely not pertinent to the story.

“I did get ad copy while I was there, but I’ll work longer this evening to make up for the time I was gone,” she added.

Bev waved away her statement. “You might not have realized it, but you were working, Amy. Even when you weren’t getting ad copy.”

“I was?”

“Yes, you were.” She scanned her notes then glanced back at Amy. “This is a great story. Definitely a human-interest angle.”

“It is?”

“Plus, we haven’t done anything on the new businesses in town in quite a while. What with Dr. Wilson taking over the practice, that’s newsworthy in itself. Then there’s the side story of his girls and their search for their new mama. All to draw attention to the ad, of course.” She giggled. “Why, this is practically going to write itself. What did you say the name of the Cocker Spaniel is?”

“Skipper. And he’s a Springer Spaniel.” She peered over at Bev’s notepad. “Are you really thinking about writing a story on this?”

“Why not?” Bev said. “Sure beats the article on the Sit and Spin special.”

Amy laughed. “I suppose so.”

“So, what does the ad say?”

Amy fished the paper from her purse. “‘Best daddy in the world needs a wife. Must love dogs and little girls and sailboats and want to be married forever. Ask for Dr. Eric Wilson at Wilson Vet Clinic. Tell him Daddy’s little matchmakers sent you.’” She paused to laugh at the memory of how long it took them to get the wording just right. “That’s it. The girls came up with the ad and their grandmother paid for it. Susan assured me that Eric wouldn’t mind the extra attention, what with the vet clinic being in need of new clients.”

Bev nodded. “So this could be a PR stunt.”

“I thought of that, actually,” Amy said. “But if it is, the girls and their grandmother aren’t showing any signs of it. They really appear to want Eric to find someone. Nothing more. I promise I asked a whole lot of questions before I agreed to take the ad.”

“All right, then. I’ll need a couple of quotes from you.” She waited, pen poised.

“What kind of quotes?” Amy shook her head. “Hold that thought while I put my purse away.”

“I’ll get started on the article.” Bev turned to head back down the hall. “Come into my office when you’re done and we’ll talk about it.”

For all the interest this story might generate, it seemed a bit presumptuous to think this family might want this kind of publicity. In fact, given the tragedy surrounding Dr. Wilson’s status as a widower, they might want just the opposite.

“Hey, Bev, do you really think this is worth writing about?” she called as she opened her desk drawer. “The Wilsons seem like nice people. And I haven’t even spoken to Dr. Wilson.” She paused to reconsider the statement. “At least not about the girls and this ad. Don’t you want his side of the story? To make it more balanced?”

“No need,” Bev called from around the corner. “He’s well represented by his mother and daughters. Besides, it’s the women’s point of view that really makes this interesting, don’t you think?”

“Well, okay,” Amy said slowly as she found Bev’s office and spied her jotting more notes on the almost-full page. “You’re the reporter. But I’d hate to have their personal tragedy made so public.”

Bev scribbled a second more then looked up. “Triumph over tragedy, Amy,” she said. “That is definitely worth writing about. And I promise I’ll be nice.” She shrugged. “I’ve already got the headline all planned out. Daddy’s Little Matchmakers.”

Eric Wilson slumped against the back of his chair and shook his head. “Mother, how in the world did they…”

Words escaped him. Between trying to make a success of the vet clinic and navigating the deep waters of grief over Christy’s loss, he’d obviously found precious little time to attend to the needs of the girls. Why else would they have done something so ridiculous?

And of course they would find the one woman in town who didn’t look at him as if he were the daily special at the Bachelor Buffet. He thought of Amy Spencer’s easy smile and the way he enjoyed speaking to her earlier today and stifled a groan. What must she be thinking of him now? Had his girls really called her and caused a commotion?

“Hailey mentioned that you were considering putting the boat up for sale,” his mother said, one brow lifted. “I assume one classified-ad idea led to another. Did you place yours?”

A shaft of guilt sliced at him. Perhaps he should have mentioned something about parting with the boat before making the call.

“No, I was interrupted. I’m still considering it, actually.” Eric gave his mother a level look. “But back to this ridiculous ad. Whose phone did the girls use?” he continued. “I haven’t gotten around to putting in a home phone yet.”

Eric watched a look he couldn’t quite explain cross his mother’s face. Slowly, she shrugged. “Does it matter?” He was about to answer when she continued. “By the way, Skipper got the remainder of the sandwiches so there’ll be no leftovers.” Mom chuckled. “You also need a new platter. He got that, too.”

He groaned. What next?

“It’s just about time to pick the girls up from ballet, so I should go. Please don’t be too harsh with them tonight. They love you so.” His mother reached for her car keys but made no further move to leave. “And by the way, Amy is a beautiful girl. Long blond curls and the loveliest eyes I’ve ever seen. No ring on her left hand, either.”

“Mother, seriously.” He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his desk and sighed. Even now the gaping wound of Christy’s death felt fresh. “You know I’m not interested in dating anyone. It’s just too soon, no matter what my daughters seem to think.”

“Son,” his mother said gently, “it’s been almost four years. Christy would never have wanted you to grieve so long when—”

“I can count.” Eric exhaled slowly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I’m sorry. Coming here to take over Doc Simmons’s practice was a good move. I’ll never doubt the Lord led us to Vine Beach, and I know the girls love being back here so close to you. So do I.”

“And you know it’s an answered prayer for me, dear. This grandma’s heart was breaking with you and those girls so far away.”

Eric exhaled slowly. Leaving the home in Dallas that he’d shared with Christy had been the hardest thing he’d done since the funeral. And yet it did feel good to be with people who didn’t constantly ask him how he was doing.

“While I’m sure you’re right about why the girls and I are here, I’m also certain His immediate purpose was not to make me wealthy.” He gave his mother a second to take that in. “So, yes, I did have the paper open to the classifieds section. I figured what I could get from the sailboat would cover the bills for a few months. That ought to give God enough time to do a miracle.”

To Eric’s surprise, his mother actually laughed. “Sweetheart, do you think God needs your help doing anything, miracles or otherwise?”

“I suppose not.” His vet tech knocked then slid the door open to indicate his next patient had arrived. “But while I’m waiting for Him, the bills won’t wait for me.”

“All right.” Mom stood and clutched her purse. “But might I suggest you pray about selling that boat? I can’t help but think God has another way of filling this need.”

“I already have,” Eric said. “I suppose if He wants me to keep the boat, He’ll handle the details.”

“Oh, He’s certainly in the detail-handling business,” she said. “And just one more suggestion before I let you get back to work.”

“All right.” Eric pushed a button to activate the speakerphone then set the receiver back on the cradle and rose to reach for his lab coat.

“Your daughters didn’t call the classifieds for no reason, Eric. Amy told me they were quite specific. They wanted a wife for you, not a girlfriend. Said you weren’t interested in girlfriends. Wonder where they heard that? The comment about girlfriends, I mean.”

How many times had he responded to his girls’ pleas with that statement? And yet even now Eric could testify to the truth of it. The last thing he needed right now was a romantic relationship causing further complications in his life. If only his mother and daughters would understand this.

“Eric, look at me.” When he complied, Mother’s expression softened. “Honey, you need to let this go.” Before he could protest, her grip tightened again. “I mean it, Eric. And don’t tell me I have no idea what you’re talking about because I do. I lost my spouse, too. Not in the same way as you, but I do know what it is to lose the one you love, and you know it.”

He did. Eric nodded and covered his mother’s hand with his own.

“So let me give you some unsolicited advice. If you don’t get out there and start living again, you’re going to die inside and have nothing to offer anyone. Not your daughters or me or anyone else. Is that what you want?” She released her grip to wrap her arms around her waist. “Is this what Christy would have wanted?”

Eric’s temper sparked. “That’s not fair, Mother. You cannot know what she would have wanted, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t bother to try.”

“Yes, I can, Eric, and so can you. She told you she didn’t want you to grieve her.”

His heart thudded against his chest. “How did you know?”

“Because she told me,” his mother said gently. “She knew you wouldn’t listen to her, I suppose. Or maybe she wanted me to be sure of it. Anyway, Christy loved you enough to ask that you get on with your life in her memory. And that her memory didn’t consume you. She lives on through those girls, Eric. But are you really living?”

“I am,” he said with more than a little irritation in his voice.

Her expression softened. “No, sweetheart,” she said as her eyes misted with unshed tears, “you’re not.”

“Mom,” he said as he gathered her into an embrace. “Don’t. I’ll get this figured out. I promise.” He held her a moment longer then patted her back and held her at arm’s length. “For the girls’ sake, I will.”

She nodded, her eyes shining. “Would you do one more thing for me?” At Eric’s skeptical glance, his mother continued. “Hold off on selling the boat. At least for a little while. You all loved sailing, and I’d hate to see it go.”

“I would hate to see it go, as well, but I’ll do what I have to do to provide for my family.” He paused only long enough to offer his mother a smile. “However, I haven’t placed the ad yet.”

“And I hope you don’t have to.” She held up her hand to wave off any response from him. “But before any of that, you still need to speak to your daughters.”

“I plan to, Mother,” he said wearily.

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise. Right after I call the Gazette to stop the ad then ground the girls for using your cell phone without permission.”

“It’s too late to call. The paper closes at four. And who said they didn’t have permission, Eric?” she said as she slipped out into the hall.

“Mother, come back here,” he called as he started to follow her.

“Sorry, darling,” his mother said sweetly as she waved over her shoulder. “The girls will be wondering where I am, and you’ve got patients to see.”

He cast a glance at his watch and then back at the lone file on his desk. “Patient,” Eric corrected under his breath. “At least I’ll be home early tonight, and I can sleep late.”

This thought kept him going through the remainder of the afternoon and got him through the bedtime routine that sometimes derailed his patience. Tonight, however, the older two girls were unusually compliant, taking their baths and climbing under the covers without a single complaint.

That in itself was suspicious. But when Brooke, the baby girl who was growing up far too fast, kissed him good-night and marched off to bed without a single request for water or a second story to be read, Eric suspected something was up.

He loaded the supper dishes into the dishwasher and reset the coffeepot for tomorrow then waited a full five minutes longer before tiptoeing down the hall to see if he could catch the trio at whatever trouble they’d planned. Instead, he found his girls sound asleep, bathed in the pale yellow glow of the night-light.

Eric padded back to the kitchen and turned off the lights. Standing in the darkened room, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply of the spice-scented candle his mother insisted made a suitable centerpiece for the table. What she couldn’t have known is the smell reminded him of Christy. Cinnamon and spice had always been her favorite scent.

Opening his eyes, Eric scooped the candle off the table and marched outside. The warm night air fell around him like a salt-tinged blanket as he walked barefoot to the trash can behind the garage. Lifting the lid, he hesitated only a moment before throwing the candle into the deep recesses of the empty can then slamming the lid back down tightly.

He returned inside and fell into the recliner. Reaching for the remote, Eric turned on the television but after realizing he’d heard nothing of what the talking head on the sports channel had said, he shut off the television and went to bed.

Tomorrow would be another day, he reminded himself as his head hit the pillow. Fridays were generally slow at the clinic—slower than even the snail’s pace of the other weekdays—so he’d decided starting today he wouldn’t go in until noon unless there was an emergency.

Maybe he’d set the alarm and make pancakes. Eric smiled. Yes, pancakes. A reward for the girls’ good behavior in going to bed so nicely. And just maybe, a chance to see what in the world they were up to. Also, a way to have a nice family meeting regarding why they would not be placing any more ads.

“The ad.” Eric scribbled a note to remind himself to call the Gazette first thing. Perhaps he could stop the ad before it went to print.

After a fitful night of mostly missed sleep, Eric rolled over and reached for his phone as soon as the alarm went off. “Classifieds, please,” he said when the call was answered.

“I’m sorry, there’s no one in yet. May I take a message?”

Stifling a yawn, Eric laid back against the pillows. “Yes, please. This is for Amy Spencer or whoever has the power to pull an ad before it goes to press. Please call Eric Wilson at—”

“The Eric Wilson? From Daddy’s Little Matchmakers?”

He groaned. “Yes.”

“What a great story. We’ve already had inquiries on it.”

Sitting bolt upright, Eric gripped the phone. “Wait. You’re saying the ad has already gone to print? But it was just placed yesterday afternoon. I thought there was a lag time of a day or two. Your paper only comes out once a week.”

“All the more reason to get such a great story in quickly,” the woman said with a lilt in her voice. “Was there anything else I could help you with?”

“No, nothing,” he managed.

“Amy’s last day was yesterday but I’m sure someone can call you back if you’d like. I’ll have to check and see who’s handling classifieds now that the temp job is finished. Would you like me to do that?”

“No,” he snapped. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. But you could do me one favor.”

“What’s that, Dr. Wilson?”

“Could you tell whoever’s inquiring that there’s no story here? Its just three little girls and one nosy grandmother trying to run my life. I love them but I certainly don’t want to encourage them.”

A giggle and then she said, “Can I quote you on that, Dr. Wilson?”

“No,” he said a bit too harshly before hanging up.

Later that morning Eric scooped the last pancake off the griddle and added it to the stack. With summer upon them, that meant he could spend the morning with the girls before his mother came to take up her babysitting duties. Even as he grumbled over the embarrassment of the ad, he gave a quick thanks for Mom—whose home was a short three blocks away—as he reached into the pantry for the syrup. Maple for Ella and Hailey, and strawberry for Brooke.

“Girls,” he called as he said a prayer for guidance before their family meeting. “Breakfast.”

Down the hall they came, a scampering herd of pink-clad girls whose giggles and squeals were forever imprinted on his heart. One by one he greeted them and then, with a great show of mock formality, he set their glasses of juice and milk before them.

“Look, Daddy’s using the stick glasses.”

Hailey lifted the glass, a piece of wedding crystal that had been woefully hidden away for special occasions—until this last move. Since Christy’s death, Eric had learned that any day he woke up and put both feet on the floor was a special occasion.

He slid his Bible out of the way and sat the milk carton on the counter. Tucked into the pages of the well-worn book was a neon-green flyer for Starting Over—the new men’s group for widowers that the church advertised last Sunday.

Wincing, Eric recalled sitting through the clever basketball-themed video the pastor had shown last Sunday. While he loved the sport, the idea of getting together with a bunch of guys on Saturday morning to shoot hoops and talk about their grief certainly did not appeal. And even if it did, Saturday mornings were always spent with the girls.

It was their time, and nothing would come between him and his girls. Not even a group that purported to offer help to men stuck in the cycle of grief. If the Lord wanted him at that group, He’d just have to clear the time.

Which Eric knew He wouldn’t.

So he turned his back on the thought and joined the girls at the table. He was doing just fine, and anyone who told him otherwise was just wrong.

“Look, Daddy, my pancakes are pink.”

Eric glanced over at Brooke’s plate and found she’d mixed her milk with the syrup to form a gooey glob of her favorite color. “Nice, Brookie” was all he could manage. No sense in correcting what could become a budding culinary career. “Now tell me how pink tastes.”

“Daddy, Hailey’s making flowers with the syrup again.”

A glance at his middle daughter’s plate confirmed Ella’s complaint. Rather than pour syrup over her pancakes, his artistic child was making elaborate swirls and tiny leaves to decorate what was a garden of floral delights. All while her older sister waited for her turn at the syrup bottle.

“I’m just getting it right, Daddy,” she said. “I don’t want to mess up the flowers.”

“Enough, Hailey,” Eric said. “Let Ella have—” His cell phone rang, and Eric debated a moment before he reached for it. The clinic. “Dr. Wilson,” he said as he rose to step away from the now-chattering females.

“Hey, Doc,” his receptionist said. “Things have gotten kind of busy and it might be a good idea if you come in earlier than you planned.”

Skipper came bounding in the dog door shaking his wet coat all over the cabinets, the walls and the newly refinished wood floor. “Sure, soon as I talk to the girls and clean up this mess,” he said as he hurried to end the call.

A glance around the room told Eric that the conversation with the girls would have to wait until tonight. Cleaning up the dog’s mess soon turned into cleaning up the girls’ mess and then, after that, to turning on the sprinklers in the backyard and creating a make-do Slip’n Slide out of the leftover plastic tarps the painters left behind. By the time his mother arrived, Eric was covered in pieces of grass and soaked head to toe.

“Well, now,” she said as she wisely stood out of the range of the girls’ splashes. “Is this any way for the town’s most eligible bachelor to behave?”

“Mother, really.” He grabbed a towel off the fence and began to dry off. “Not in front of the girls.”

“What do you mean ‘not in front of the girls’?”

“I mean we’re having a good time.” He looked back to note three sets of eyes staring in their direction. “So leave off with the eligible-bachelor stuff, okay?” he added in a much quieter voice.

“They look awfully happy. You didn’t punish them, did you?” She gave him one of those “Mom” looks.

“Actually I haven’t had a chance to speak to them.” He shook his head. “But no, they won’t be punished. Not since they had you egging them on.”

His mother lifted a silver brow. “Egging them on? Really, Eric, you act as if I’m the only one who wants you to find someone to love.”

“Grammy, come swim with us,” Brooke called.

“Grammy didn’t bring her suit,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder. “Maybe tomorrow morning I can take you all to the pool at the community center. Or maybe to the beach. If it’s all right with your daddy.” His mother turned her attention to Eric. “You didn’t have anything planned for tomorrow morning, did you?”

“Tomorrow morning?” His heart sank. “No,” he replied weakly. “Just spending time with the girls like we do every Saturday. I suppose we could go to the pool.”

“Looks like you just spent the morning with them, Eric.” Mom gave him her most radiant grin. “And no offense, but I was hoping to make this a girls-only morning. Maybe go get our nails done and our toes painted afterward. Is that awful?”

“No, it’s fine,” he said as three girls began to cheer. “Great.” His mother clapped her hands. “I had hoped to take them to breakfast, too. So, I’ll be here around seven-thirty. Is that too early?”

“Too early? No, I don’t suppose.” Especially since the men’s group meeting began at eight.

“Well, go on and get ready for work, then,” she said brightly as Hailey called for her. “Grammy’s got it covered out here.”

Eric reluctantly complied, grumbling his way through his shower, getting dressed and then making the short commute to the clinic. As was his custom, he pulled around to the back only to find there were no empty parking spaces.

“That’s strange,” he said as he drove around to the front of the building only to see the parking spaces on Main Street filled, as well. Across the way, the Gazette’s parking lot was also at capacity. “Must be a sale going on over at the shoe store.”

He finally found a parking spot down at the Vine Beach Public Library some three blocks away. By the time Eric reached the front door, the Texas sun had begun to toast the back of his neck and his shirt was soaked. He was, quite literally, hot under the collar and beginning to steam.

Before he could wrap his fingers around the knob, the door flew open. “Thank goodness you’re here, Doc,” his receptionist said. “I didn’t have a clue what to do with all the calls for appointments.”

“Appointments?” Eric walked in to find the tiny office filled with pets and their owners, the great majority of whom were women. All chairs were occupied and a woman in tight jeans holding a mewling cat in a hot-pink cage leaned against the opposite wall.

“Hello, Eric,” she said when she met his gaze.

Eric? He nodded in greeting then stepped around her. The phones were ringing and the crowd at the front desk was three deep. A teacup Chihuahua shivered violently, it’s diamond-studded collar sending rainbow sparks across the worn floorboards while a Yorkie with blue hair bows relieved herself behind the lone plant.

Nancy, his vet tech, was pulling files and adding them to a thick stack. Rather than working in the back at her grooming table, Cassie Jo seemed to be busy printing what appeared to be new-client forms. Dee had one phone to her ear and another resting in the crook of her arm. It was not immediately apparent whether she was speaking to the caller or the dark-haired matron at the front of the line.

“Follow me,” Eric said to Nancy as he stepped over a pet carrier and hurried to the solitude of his office. “All right,” he said when she shut the door behind her. “What’s going on?”

Her smile was inappropriate to the stress of the situation. “My guess is they’re all here to see you.”

“Me?” Eric shook his head. “I don’t know what’s going on here.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Look,” he said with what he hoped would be a calmer voice, “I know you don’t know me all that well, but I’m usually a guy who can laugh right along with the rest of them. The catch is, I need to be in on the joke. So, why don’t you tell all those people to go home so I can have my parking place and my office back?”

Nancy gestured to the folded copy of the Gazette that topped the stack of periodicals on the corner of his desk. “See for yourself.” She paused. “You might want to sit down.”

“Surely all of this insanity wasn’t caused by that ridiculous ad in the classifieds. Who reads that section, anyway?”

His vet tech shook her head. “Don’t know about that but I’m pretty sure everyone reads the headlines.” She shrugged. “See for yourself. If you don’t need me for anything else, though, I probably should get out there and help.”

“No, go ahead.” He waited until Nancy left then carefully opened the paper to read the headline. “Daddy’s Little Matchmakers.”

Before he could read past the first paragraph, the intercom buzzed. “Yes?”

“Phone’s for you, hon,” the receptionist said. “And you’ll probably want to take this one.”

“What?” He shook his head. “Not right now.”

“No, seriously,” she repeated. “You want to take this.”

Eric leaned back, exasperated. “And why would that be?” he managed.

“Well, it’s some reporter from the Houston Chronicle. Said she read the most interesting story about you on the newswire this morning. Wants to know if you have any comments she can put in the story she’s writing.”

“Great,” he said weakly.

“Line three.” Nancy’s voice dissolved into a giggle as she skittered out of the room and left him alone with the red light blinking on line three and a Houston Chronicle reporter asking for details of his search for a bride.

Chapter Four

Friday afternoon ended with Amy bolting out of the empty house on Vine Street and heading toward the beach. Knee-deep in the warm Gulf, she lost herself in the swirling waters she loved so much.

A steady line of traffic moved down Vine Street, passing silently between her and Nana’s white cottage. From her vantage point she could see the swing swaying gently beneath the arbor of sunny yellow Lady Banks roses. And while the white picket fence hid them, Amy knew the blossoms in Nana’s perennial garden were swaying, as well, though the weeds around them were likely moving in unison.

She turned her face to the salt-tinged wind. Something about the topography of the land and the angle of the waves kept a breeze blowing year-round at Vine Beach. At least that’s how Grandpa had tried to explain the phenomenon, though she’d never known whether a bit of his theory was true. Her stomach growled, a reminder that she’d only snacked on cheese and crackers for lunch.

Tucking an errant curl behind her ear, Amy was swishing through the water toward the sandy shore when her cell phone began to ring. A quick glance at the display told her that the temp agency was on the other end of the line.

Her heart sank. Just yesterday upon completion of her assignment at the Gazette, the agency’s administrator had told her that there was no more work for her in Vine Beach. All taken by summer workers willing to take minimum wage, she’d been told. While the news had been delivered in an apologetic tone, Amy had felt as if a weight had been lifted.

If a job had been found, she might have to rethink her theory that lack of work meant it was time to leave Vine Beach. Amy said a quick prayer that this would not be the case.

“Hello,” she said on the third ring.

“Amy, I’m so glad I caught you before the end of the day,” the agency administrator said. “There’s been an opening for an assistant at Dr. Wilson’s clinic. He’s specifically asked for you. Monday morning. Seven a.m. sharp. No idea of how long he’ll need you, so this one’s open-ended. Might become permanent.”

Her breath caught and for a moment, Amy considered the proposition of working for the vet. Then clarity and good sense told her what to say. With no idea of what she was supposed to do next, it was not the time to take on another temp job. At least not one that might become permanent. No need to leave him one employee short should she decide to leave town.

“No, I’m not interested, but please tell Dr. Wilson thank you.”

“Are you certain?”

“I am,” Amy quickly replied. “I’m really not sure how much longer I’ll be in Vine Beach, so I can’t really commit to another job right now.”

“I’ll let him know.”

Amy hung up with a promise to update her contact information should she decide to leave town. Replacing the phone in her pocket, Amy shook her head. Why in the world would Eric Wilson specifically ask for her? Very odd indeed.

Perhaps she should call Dr. Wilson and explain her reason for declining his offer. Then she might also have to answer for why she contributed to the story that landed in today’s headlines.

She went to bed still debating the issue and awoke to decide that weeding the gardens was a much better idea than taking on such a task. Thus, Amy spent Saturday morning tending to the long-overdue chore of caring for her grandmother’s garden. While she worked, her mind once again wandered back to what Eric Wilson might think about the article in the Gazette. Surely he would understand that she’d only performed the duties of her job. That anyone who happened to answer the phone would have done the same.

And there could have been something seriously wrong with his mother.

“Who am I kidding? If it were me, I’d be horrified,” Amy muttered as she swiped at the perspiration on her brow. “I should have minded my own business. And I certainly shouldn’t have said anything to Bev.”

The article hadn’t been all that awful. A little embarrassing if you were of a mind to prefer your privacy, but not awful.

Shrugging off the thought, Amy leaned back on her heels and sighed. More pressing was the fact that as of yesterday, nothing held her in Vine Beach other than the silly notion that her grandmother might eventually come to need her again.

She wouldn’t, of course, at least not anytime soon. Rather, since moving into the assisted-living facility, her grandmother’s social life had blossomed, and with it any question of her return to the cottage on Vine Beach disappeared. The issue now was what to do with the house. And what to do with herself. For much as she loved to sit on the swing and stare across Vine Street at the gray-green water of the Gulf of Mexico, Amy knew the situation was only temporary.

When she took the three-month assignment at the Gazette, Amy promised herself when the work there was done she would make plans to move on. Three months had seemed like a very long time when she took on the commitment. Now that she’d seen the assignment to its completion, she felt no closer to knowing what came next.

Perhaps she’d go back home to Houston and return to the flower shop. Unfortunately, every time she thought to broach the subject with Mom or Dad, she found it impossible to do so. The words just wouldn’t come out. Finally Amy realized that much as she loved her parents, the Lord seemed to be leading her elsewhere. But where? So far He’d been silent on that.

So, she’d filled out a few applications last night online and printed out her résumé to mail three more. If the Lord wanted her here, He wouldn’t allow any of those inquiries to become offers.

At least she knew she’d done something. Anything. Now she could only wait.

She straightened and gathered up the basket, the summer sun warm on her shoulders. Across Vine Street, the sound of waves breaking on Vine Beach beckoned. Amy cast a glance around the vegetable garden with a satisfied smile. The morning’s work had been productive, and she’d picked enough to make a nice salad for lunch.

Porch salad. Amy smiled as she thought of the name she and her grandmother had given to the salads made from the garden. Whatever they picked they washed and chopped into a mishmash of vegetables that were served up on Nana’s porch in bowls taken from the cabinet in the dining room. Something about the combination of the rose-covered fancy china, the lace tablecloth cast over the old wicker table at the corner of the porch and the best view of the Gulf of Mexico on all of Vine Street made each porch salad meal unforgettable.

She shook off the dirt from her gloves then gathered up the basket and strolled toward the back door. Just inside the kitchen, after leaving her gloves and shoes outside, an idea occurred, and Amy reached for her phone to call her grandmother. Why have porch salad alone?

“Sweetie, much as I would love a good porch salad, you know it’s my bingo day and we always have lunch together after,” Nana said once the pleasantries were exchanged and Amy’s purpose for calling divulged.

“Is it?” she asked as she retrieved the colander and sat it in the sink to begin rinsing the vegetables.

After a long pause, Nana said, “Amy girl, are you all right?”

She turned her back to the sink and leaned against the counter, one arm around her waist. On the opposite wall, the old regulator clock ticked a comforting, even rhythm.

“I’m fine, Nana,” she said as brightly as she could manage.

“How’s that job going down at the paper? Goodness but today’s headline about those darling little girls was something.”

“The job ended yesterday, actually, and the headline…” She paused to reach behind her and turn off the water. “It certainly was something.”

“I know Susan Wilson must be tickled pink that Eric’s finally going to get over his loss. I need to call her. Yes, I’ll do that right after bingo.”

She froze. “You know Mrs. Wilson?”

“Of course I do,” Nana said. “Known her for years. I believe we first met at the Garden Club meetings. Or maybe it was volunteering over at the old folks’ home. Before we were both old folks, of course. Anyway, she’s got an absolutely green thumb when it comes to roses. No one grows them as thick and pretty as Susie.” A pause while she chuckled. “Except me, of course. But then, I taught her everything she knows.”

While Nana rambled on about soil enhancements and the benefits of deadheading roses earlier rather than later in the season, Amy moved to the tiny kitchen table and sat down. From her vantage point, she could see the climbing rose on the trellis that Grandpa had built so long ago. In another month, the sturdy vine would be covered in a profusion of pink blooms.

A pity she wouldn’t be here. She would have to arrange with someone at the assisted-living facility to bring Nana out to see them.

“Sweetheart,” her grandmother said, “you’re a dear for letting me go on about roses and such, but I am afraid I’m going to have to hang up. It’s just about bingo time and I haven’t done a thing with my hair yet.”

“Of course. Have a great time with the ladies, Nana,” she said.

“I will, sweetie,” she said. “Oh, wait. Listen to me going on about flowers and bingo when I didn’t even think to ask what you’re going to do next.”

“Next?”

“Yes, you said you were finished with your job at the paper. What will you do next?”

Amy leaned back in the chair and thought of yesterday’s call from the temp agency. “I don’t know, Nana. I had thought once I was finished at the Gazette, I might…”

“You might what?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I just never thought that I was supposed to live in Vine Beach permanently.”

There. She’d said it. Aloud. Amy held her breath and waited for Nana’s response.

“Well, of course you didn’t,” her grandmother said lightly. “You came for me and now that I’m on the mend, you’ve got to decide what the Lord’s asking of you next.”

“Yes,” she said on an exhale of breath. “That’s it exactly.”

“So what’s He telling you, sweetie?”

“That’s the problem,” Amy admitted as she rose and moved down the hall toward the front door. “I keep asking, and I even sent out a few job inquiries, but so far He hasn’t responded and neither have the employers.”

“Yes, He has,” Nana said. “Surely you understand that no response is also an answer.”

Amy stood at the front door looking through its beveled glass to the beach and the shimmering water beyond. “I suppose,” she said. “But what I don’t understand is what I do about it.”

“It?”

“Staying in Vine Beach,” she said. “What’s God telling me about that?”

“In my experience when God isn’t telling you to do something new, He means for you to keep doing the last thing He told you to do.”

“Nana, I don’t even remember what that was,” she said as she saw a familiar truck pull into the driveway and stop.

“Sure you do, sweetie,” Nana said. “He told you to come to Vine Beach. Well, here you are and I suppose it’s here you stay until He says otherwise.”

“Yes, well, enjoy your day,” Amy said as she watched Eric Wilson climb out of the truck.

Eric slammed the truck door then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Coming here was a bad idea. But then so had going to the church support group for widowers. He’d managed to get all the way into the parking lot before good sense prevailed and he drove back home.

Back home, he’d found the quiet—brought on by his mother’s insistence on having a girls’ day with his daughters— impossible to bear. So he’d gone to work.

Another mistake, for the moment he drove into the parking lot, he was set upon by a woman who had hoped he kept office hours on Saturday. Suspiciously, she carried not a pet but a copy of yesterday’s Gazette.

That had sent Eric hurrying back to his truck. And somehow between Main Street and Vine Street, he’d decided to speak to Amy Spencer personally about the current state of his life. At least the part that was her fault.

He’d circled the block three times. Finding out where Amy Spencer lived had been easy, given the size of Vine Beach and his mother’s propensity to talk about who was related to whom.

Before he could change his mind again, Eric bounded toward the front steps of the picturesque home then stopped short of his destination when the door opened and Amy Spencer stepped out onto the porch. His gaze collided with blue eyes the color of the afternoon sky, and the speech he prepared—where he told her exactly how he felt about her part in everything from the humiliating headline to the near mutiny his office staff staged yesterday afternoon—completely evaporated.

Unlike her professional appearance yesterday, the classifieds girl’s curls had been captured in a somewhat messy knot at the nape of her neck, leaving her shoulders bare beneath the pale pink floral sundress. As the screen door slammed behind her, Amy’s eyes narrowed.

He hadn’t thought of it until just now, but Christy’s eyes had also been blue. Eric saw them every day in his daughter’s faces. But unlike the color of soft denim that his late wife had handed down to the girls, Amy Spencer’s eyes were the startling pale shade of robin’s eggs.

Eric expected she might speak first, and truly she appeared to consider it. When the silence stretched too long, he said, “I guess you’re wondering why I’m here.”

She worried with a small heart-shaped locket, strung on a thin gold chain at her neck. “If it’s about the job…”

Leaning against the rail, Eric felt the worn wood sway slightly. A quick look told him it could use a coat of paint, as well. Signs of a lack of attention that could easily be remedied. He forced his attention back on Miss Spencer. “The agency told me you turned my job offer down.”

“I did.”

Eric waited for an explanation, one that was obviously not forthcoming. “Any reason?” he finally asked. “I thought the salary was generous, and I can guarantee there will be plenty to keep you busy.”

Thanks to you and your snooping, he wanted to say.

“Yes, actually.” She stopped toying with the locket and allowed her hand to fall to her side. “I’m leaving Vine Beach soon.”

The news hit him with an unexpected stab of disappointment. And then he recalled just how much trouble Amy Spencer could pack into a short time.

“Soon as in when?” he said. “Because thanks to a certain article in the local paper, my office is swamped with women whose pets don’t have a thing wrong with them beyond the fact their owners are single. And my office staff? I’ve gone from wondering how I will pay the women I inherited from the vet who retired to wondering how I can keep them from quitting. So if you’re still here on Monday morning, I think it would be a good idea for you to come and help fix what you’ve caused.”

“Fix what I’ve caused?” She shook her head. “Look, I’m sorry for any trouble the newspaper article caused but I assure you it was not my intention.”

His patience snapped. “A reporter from the Houston Chronicle called yesterday, and my office manager told me she’s fielded phone calls from a half-dozen television stations in a four-state area as well as CNN and Fox News. And every one of them wants to know about my search for a wife. For a wife,” he repeated before taking a deep breath. “And never mind the fact I’m trying to figure out how to tell my daughters they’ve done something wrong without breaking their hearts. I’d call that trouble whether you intended it or not,” Eric managed in a calmer tone.

Color rose in Amy’s face, belying the cool breeze that danced through her curls. “I did not ask to be any part of this, Dr. Wilson. Your daughters called me.”

“They are children,” he said, though he suspected those children had more than a little help from his mother. How much help he’d yet to pry out of her. “And you are an adult.”

“As is your mother,” she said evenly.

That reminder caused him to pause a moment. “While I’m sure they were only trying to help me,” he said after a moment, “I can’t say that I believe that’s what you were thinking.”

“Oh, really?” The former classifieds girl straightened her spine and eyed him as if he were the most distasteful thing she’d seen all day. “What is it you believe I was thinking?”

“I believe you were asking yourself how you could get out of the classifieds department and into the big time as a real reporter. And along came my three girls. Bam! You had your story.”

“And I planned all that?” Sarcasm seeped from her words. “Really?”

Logic took a little of the bluster from his response. “No,” he said slowly as he struggled to think on the fly, “but you seized the opportunity when it was presented to you.”

“Seized the opportunity,” she echoed. “That’s an interesting theory, Dr. Wilson. But if I’m so interested to rise to the coveted ranks of reporter at the Gazette, explain to me why not only do I no longer work there as of Thursday at 4:00 p.m., but I am also planning to leave Vine Beach.” A pause, punctuated by a triumphant stare. “How do you explain that?”

He picked at a flake of white paint on the stair rail then sent her a look. “I’d explain it by saying you got a better offer. My guess is Houston or Dallas.”

Her laughter caught him by surprise. “I hope you’re better at diagnosing animals than you are at figuring out people.”

Eric had no response for that. A passing car honked and Eric turned to see Riley Burkett, a friend he’d met at church. He returned Riley’s wave then looked once again at Amy Spencer.

“So, you’re not as quick to speak now?” she said.

“I’ve said enough.” He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “And I stand by what I said.”

“Then you’ll be surprised to know that I am a florist by trade, not a reporter, and I have no intention of having anything to do with a newspaper of any kind other than reading one on occasion. I came to Vine Beach to take care of my grandmother after her fall.” Her expression sobered. “I thought your mother had fallen. That’s how all this started.”

Her statement took Eric aback. “What are you talking about?”

She gave him a pointed look. “When the girls called, I thought it was a prank call. I worked in classifieds three months. You’d be surprised at what people think is funny.”

Rather than respond, Eric remained silent.

“The call came in while I was out at lunch.” She paused. “Talking to you in the park, actually.” Amy appeared to let the statement sink in a moment before continuing. “So when I got back to my desk, there was the sweetest message. I returned the call. Your mother answered, and she passed the phone on to one of the girls. All three of them, actually, but anyway, before we could complete the wording of the ad, there was a crash and some noise that sounded like breaking glass. Then the screaming. And there was barking, which I now know belonged to Skipper. The dog.”

“Yes, I know my own dog’s name,” he snapped. “Sorry. You were saying.”

“The line disconnected, and when I tried to call back no one answered. I assumed…”

Realization dawned. “You assumed my mother had fallen.”

Her nod was almost imperceptible. “No one was there when my grandmother fell. She lay there for hours until…”

An image that didn’t quite fit his idea of who Amy Spencer was rose in his mind. Until now he’d imagined she’d gone to his home in search of a story.

“Anyway,” she continued, “as it turns out, the dog knocked a platter of sandwiches off the counter. That was the cause of the sound of breaking glass as well as all the other noise. And lest you think your mom was being negligent, she told me she was just outside the back door watering her roses.”

Eric took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then I owe you an apology. For being wrong about why you went to my home.” He held up his hand to silence her response. “However, the fact remains that you sold my daughters and me up the river with that article, and now my office is full of women thinking they want to be the next Mrs. Wilson.”

Laughter again, this time with much more humor in it. “Isn’t that what the girls wanted?”

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