Building a Family, page 1
Creating a circle of love together...
Can love for two little matchmakers
unite their reluctant hearts?
Worried that Noah Williams is still the reckless bull rider she remembers, Kayla Fisher is convinced he isn’t the right person to care for their orphaned niece and nephew. Now she’s back home, determined to fight for custody. But Noah is a changed man, and he intends to prove it. When Noah and Kayla start falling for each other, could raising the children together be the perfect solution?
“Think you might want to nanny some?”
“Timber and Sophia?”
He nodded. “You’ve probably noticed, my folks and I sort of share custody. They’re happy to do it but they get tired, you know. And they’re busy. But I can’t manage the kids on my own, not while running my ministry.”
She nodded. “So you want my help.”
“If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”
“Spend more time with my niece and nephew? I’d love it. Do you need to talk this over with the kids’ social worker?”
“Already did. She said she ran a background check on you a couple days ago?”
She nodded. “When would you like me to start?”
“Would Monday morning be too soon?”
“Nope. Sounds perfect.”
“Good. Thank you.” He grabbed her hand again, twined his fingers with hers and enjoyed a quiet, peaceful morning with a woman he was becoming more determined than ever to hold tight to. If only he could figure out a way to make her stay.
Her nannying for him was a start.
Jennifer Slattery is a writer and speaker who has addressed women’s and church groups across the nation. As the founder of Wholly Loved Ministries, she and her team help women rest in their true worth and live with maximum impact. When not writing, Jennifer loves spending time with her adult daughter and hilarious husband. Visit her online at jenniferslatterylivesoutloud.com to learn more or to book her for your next women’s event.
Books by Jennifer Slattery
Love Inspired
Restoring Her Faith
Hometown Healing
Building a Family
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
BUILDING A FAMILY
Jennifer Slattery
Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.
—Isaiah 49:15–16
Dedicated to all those who consistently speak life and hope into other people’s lives.
Acknowledgments
I’m always amazed and so very grateful to all the people God brings to help me take a book from initial idea to print. Though I couldn’t possibly name them all, there are those I would like to publicly thank.
First, my husband, who was the first to see the emerging writer within me and call it out, then spent the rest of our marriage encouraging me to pursue my gift. I also want to thank Doug Valentine, a Nebraska police officer, for patiently and thoroughly answering countless law-related questions. Then there’s my sweet friend LaShawn Montoya and amazing critique partner Kristi Woods, both of whom showed incredible reading skills and a servant’s heart to read the revised version of this story in under a week.
Finally, I wanted to thank my sweet agent, Tamela Hancock Murray. You are such a treasure! Your heart for Jesus and your continued support have meant the world to me!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Her Amish Suitor’s Secret by Carrie Lighte
Chapter One
Kayla Fisher wasn’t one to invite conflict, yet here she sat, in Noah Williams’s gravel driveway, about to initiate a conversation certain to be anything but pleasant.
A handful of vehicles, predominantly rusted trucks, filled the small gravel lot. She eyed the scalloped-edge main ranch house in front of her, with peeling paint and a covered porch. Was this the right place? She checked the address scrawled on the notepad beside her then glanced about. To her left, maybe a hundred yards away on the same property, sat a gray mobile home with blue trim. Some distance beyond, at three o’clock, stood a faded red barn, fenced corral and what appeared to be stables.
Kayla sent Trista, her longest-lasting and dearest friend, a text. I’m here. Pray for me. And for my niece and nephew.
Kayla’s sister still hadn’t replied to all the frantic messages she had sent her. Christy, where are you? Something had to be wrong, because the alternative—that she’d completely abandoned her children, a toddler and infant—was incomprehensible.
What type of mother could do that?
One who was using again, that was who.
Lord, show me what to do here. Kayla wasn’t prepared to take on the role of motherhood. Her interior-design firm was just starting to gain traction. Besides, her hours were long and often unpredictable. Children needed stability, someone with more availability. A husband wouldn’t hurt, either. But Kayla couldn’t allow the state to place her niece and nephew into foster care.
Would Noah Williams, their daddy’s brother, want to raise them? Surely the former bull rider, who’d once earned the title of Sage Creek’s biggest partier, wasn’t any more ready to play parent than she was. With all his girl-chasing, bar-hopping...
No. She was her niece and nephew’s best option.
She eyed her reflection in the rearview mirror, her red eyes evidence of her lack of sleep. Her auburn locks hung limp, hitting just below her chin. After a long day of travel, exhaustion and anxiety had paled her normally rosy complexion.
And she had a feeling that whatever she was stepping into was just beginning.
She exited her vehicle and breathed in the humid Texas air, the familiar scent of earth and hay offering some comfort.
Gravel crunched beneath her as she strode toward the lopsided stairs leading to the ranch-house entrance. She stopped on the covered porch to bolster her courage, then knocked.
A moment later the door opened to reveal a short, apple-shaped woman with long blond hair parted down the center. She held baby Sophia, who was squirming and fussing, in her arms. In a far corner, Kayla’s nephew, Timber, was stacking plastic cups one on top of the other.
“Hello.” The woman offered a wide smile, though she was clearly frazzled. She looked to be in her midfifties. “How may I help you?”
Kayla introduced herself and smoothed a hand over Sophia’s soft head. “I’m here to see Noah. And my precious niece and nephew.” She crossed the room to where Timber was playing. “Hey, buddy.” She moved to hug him, but he shied away, as if he’d forgotten who she was.
Had it been that long since she’d last seen him?
“Noah’s leading a class right now.”
“We have an appointment.”
The woman wiggled a paper calendar out from under an overstuffed diaper bag. With Sophia balanced on her hip, she flipped through some pages. “You’re a day early.”
“Are you sure?” Kayla felt certain she’d told Noah she’d be coming into town today. She’d scrambled to get the earliest flight she could afford and had rearranged her rather full schedule to make this happen.
Sophia began to cry, and the woman started to bounce her. “No matter. I’m sure he can step away for a moment.” She picked up a phone and tapped the screen. “Kayla Fisher is here to see you.” She paused. “Okay. I’ll show her back.”
She gave Timber a stern eye. “You be good and stay right where you’re at.”
If he heard her, he gave no indication.
“Follow me.” She led Kayla down a dimly lit hall, past a cluttered office barely bigger than a storage closet, through a galley kitchen and out the back. They continued to a barn filled with various band saws and other machines manned by a smattering of men, one dressed in coveralls, the others in jeans, flannels and T-shirts. At least half of them had thick beards, long hair and large tattooed arms.
Sawdust and wood shavings covered the ground, while shelves lined with branches, planks and stumps stood above a cluster of chairs and bar stools. The scents of cedar, earth and varnish tickled Kayla’s nose.
She recognized Noah’s six-foot-plus, broad-shouldered frame instantly. He wore faded jeans and gray boots, and the tips of his ash-brown hair curled out from beneath his Stetson. He was as muscular as she remembered, if not more so. The scruff of a beard he’d developed in high school had filled out, and he now wore it trimmed and neat.
She’d once had quite a crush on him. Before he’d turned wild and reckless.
He appeared to be engaged in a tense conversation with an angry-looking teen with longish black hair that swooped to the side.
The woman watched the two with her hands clasped in front of her. Finally, she stepped forward. “Noah, Kayla Fisher is here to see you.”
Noah turned in their direction, his green-gray eyes making Kayla’s breath catch.
The kid Noah was talking to started to leave. Noah grabbed his arm.
The teen jerked back. “Dude. Lay off.” He stormed away, and the woman called after him.
“Let him go, Brenda.” Noah stepped closer. “Give him a minute to cool off.” He tipped his Stetson at Kayla and looped a thumb through his belt. “Thanks for coming out on such short notice.”
“Absolutely.”
He studied her as if gauging what to say, or maybe what not to say. “Mind if we talk somewhere quieter?”
She swallowed and nodded, then followed him back the way she’d come, finally to a kitchen table covered with forms and brochures. She looked at the front of one—Helping Hands Ministry: Using Craftsmanship to Rebuild Lives. A phone number and address followed.
She met his gaze. “This what you do?”
He nodded. “We help men beat their addictions by teaching them to make something useful. Something they can be proud of so that maybe they’ll man up and stop self-destructing.”
A framed newspaper clipping hung on the wall behind him, with a photo of him standing in his barn-turned-workshop, two other men on either side. The headline read, Former Bull Rider Stands Among Us as One Who Serves. Next to this hung an image of an eagle soaring above a mountainous landscape, with the words:
If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed. John 8:36.
“How was your trip?” Noah asked.
Whether he was practicing the Southern hospitality Sage Creek was known for or was asking to give her time to compose herself, she was grateful. “Uneventful.”
“Good. I hear you’ve been doing well. Started your own business, making a name for yourself in the interior-design world.”
She shrugged. “Working on it.” In fact, up until she’d received the call about her sister, she’d been preparing for the Pacific Northwest Home Designs Tour, one of the most prestigious home shows in the nation. At this moment, the local television crews and newspaper reporters were likely interviewing her competitors in preparation for the big reveals. A designer could really make a name for herself through that event.
Hopefully Kayla’s assistant had managed to snag some camera time.
“I know this is hard.” The tenderness in Noah’s voice squeezed her heart. “Unexpected.”
She nodded. “So what now?”
“I’m still trying to figure all that out. When did you last hear from your sister?”
Kayla winced inwardly as guilt pricked her. She should’ve checked on her more, visited more. Then maybe she would’ve noticed when Christy had started slipping. If that was what had occurred. “It’s been a while. She’s not one to text or talk on the phone.”
“Haven’t seen or heard hide or tail of my brother, either. Not in a long time.”
That Kayla knew. Christy had been raising Timber by herself since before Sophia was born. Largely from the get-go, actually. “My sister loves those kids. I can’t believe...” She swallowed. “Do you think something happened?”
Noah looked at her for an extended moment, then shook his head. “I wish I could say yes. But—you know how gossip travels here—word has it she’s been spending time in the bars again. Hanging out with her old crew.” His phone chimed. He glanced at the screen then set it on the table. “How long you in town for?”
She released a breath and raked a hand through her hair. “As long as I need to be.”
He rubbed his thumb knuckle. “The kids got a home here. They’ve formed relationships. At church, with my parents.” A tendon in his jaw twitched. “With me.”
“Meaning?”
“They’ve experienced enough upheaval as it is.”
Was he saying he planned to keep them? For how long? That eased some of the pressure off her, but was that best? Surely he knew less about parenting than she did, especially considering his upbringing, if all the rumors circulating around Sage Creek had been true. Granted, his mom left her abusive husband prior to moving here, but not before Noah had witnessed his fair share of violence, or so she’d heard.
Everyone said his background contributed to his tenacity and courage as a bull rider. But those traits that gained him rodeo victories could easily work against him when it came to dealing with crying babies and headstrong toddlers.
He studied her. “How much do you know?”
“About what happened?”
He nodded.
“News travels in Sage Creek.” Not that Kayla accepted church gossip as fact. At least, she hoped the accounts she’d heard weren’t true. She’d received a voice mail from a woman claiming to be the children’s social worker but hadn’t managed to connect with her yet.
“Billy Johnson was out making his trash rounds. Said he found Timber just after seven in the morning wandering out on the gravel road about half a mile from Christy’s place. Billy scooped him up and drove him home.” Noah exhaled. “Found quite a mess. Empty liquor bottles and trash everywhere. Place colder than an icebox, no food except half a jar of mayonnaise in the fridge. And poor little Sophia...” He shook his head. “So Billy called the cops, they contacted Child Protective Services and, as far as I know, no one’s seen or heard of your sister since.”
Now what? Hopefully the social worker would call Kayla back soon, explain what the next steps were.
What if she asked Kayla to take the kids? Was she prepared for that?
“I’m staying at the Cedar View Inn just outside of town.” She sat taller. “I’d like to bring Timber and Sophia with me.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“Move these kids to a hotel when they’ve got a perfectly fine place to stay right here with me?”
“Timber, get off of that!” Brenda’s sharp voice emanated from the other room. What sounded like a toddler-size fit followed.
Kayla arched an eyebrow and faced Noah. “Seems to me y’all could use some help.”
He held her gaze while the ruckus in the other room continued. Was he challenging her? It felt as if she was challenging him. Maybe she was. But she knew little about this man, his temperament or his parenting skills.
Why hadn’t he said anything? Surely he’d seen Christy falling back into her old behavior. Maybe if he’d stepped in to help, acted like a loving and involved uncle, they wouldn’t be in this situation now.
Noah gave a quick nod. “All right. You should come to my parents’ place for dinner tonight. I’d like my mom to be included in these discussions. We’d welcome a hand, I’m sure, if that’s what you’re offering. So long as you’re in town.”
“Oh, I don’t plan on going anywhere, Mr. Williams.” At least, not until she knew the children were well cared for.
* * *
Noah walked Kayla out, closed the door behind her and released a heavy breath.
“What’re you going to do?” Brenda asked.
“About Christy’s sister?”
What if she fought for custody of the kids? She probably felt she’d do a better job minding them, being a woman and all. But that’d kill his parents, his mom especially. She loved being a grandma and had grown mighty attached to those little ones. If not for his stepdad’s early onset Alzheimer’s, which kept his mom busy, they’d be the best candidates to adopt Timber and Sophia themselves.
Maybe they couldn’t, but Noah sure could. And run his ministry? He’d just have to make it work, get help from the community when necessary. That was how they did things in Sage Creek. Everyone banded together, and they would rally around him for this. He certainly had more right to those children than Kayla, who lived five states away and popped in maybe twice a year.
