Mrs. Miracle Part 6

"You'll thank me for this later, you know," Jayne commented after Reba called and talked to Pastor Lovelace. He seemed genuinely pleased to hear from her and ecstatic when she told him the reason for her phone call.

"Don't be so sure. Depending on how this turns out, I might be forced to hire a hit man."

"Just you wait, you're going to thank me for this," Jayne said with utter confidence. Lights from the Christmas tree stand on the other side of the parking lot blinked on in the descending daylight. "Who knows how long it would have taken you to meet Seth Webster if it weren't for me?"

Reba pinched her lips together to keep from retorting. Yes, meeting Seth was one of the reasons she'd agreed to take over the coordinator's job, but it wasn't the only one.

The bell over the door jingled as the latest customer entered the shop.

Reba glanced up and smiled automatically. "Can I help you?" It wasn't until the words had slipped past her lips that she realized it was Seth Webster who stood in front of her desk.

The air between them sizzled. Reba wondered if anyone else noticed. She did, and she knew he did, too.

"h.e.l.lo again," he said, and smiled.

It took a great deal to unnerve her, but he'd succeeded.

"How can I help you?" she asked in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner, gesturing toward the empty chair in front of her desk. Now all she had to do was figure out a way to carry on an intelligent conversation.

Chapter 9

Standing in the middle of the road is very dangerous: you get knocked down by the traffic from both sides.-Margaret Thatcher, as told to Mrs. Miracle

Emily Merkle hummed softly to herself as she went about preparing dinner for Mr. Webster and the children. It was these short-term a.s.signments that she enjoyed the most. Timing was everything.

She never doubted that broken hearts could be mended, but all the pieces had to be gathered together first. She'd see to that, of course, and in fact had already begun going about the task.

Mr. Webster wasn't a fool. It wouldn't take him long to discover her talents stretched beyond the job description listed for housekeeper. Her smile brightened with all she had to accomplish and the sheer entertainment she derived from doing it. brightened with all she had to accomplish and the sheer entertainment she derived from doing it.

Seth Webster was a prime example, grieving for his young wife the way he did. Pamela wouldn't like that one bit; she was a generous, warm-hearted soul who didn't begrudge her husband happiness.

Emily dumped a glob of hamburger into the palm of her wet hand and skillfully formed a meatball. The recipe, her grandmother's, from the old country, was sure to please.

The door leading from the garage to the kitchen opened and Mr. Webster moseyed inside the house like someone in a daze.

"Good evening," Emily greeted him cheerfully, looking past him to be sure he'd remembered to close the garage door. He had.

She rinsed her hands off under the faucet. "How was your day?" she asked in the same upbeat mode, hoping it would snap him out of his spell.

Mr. Webster glanced at her as if he hadn't heard her speak.

"Mr. Webster?" She noticed the hint of red at the top of his ears. "You stopped off at the travel agency, didn't you?''

He blinked and then frowned. "How'd you know that?''

It was fairly obvious by the fl.u.s.tered look about him. She didn't comment on that but instead offered a convenient excuse. "You're a bit later this evening.''

"Yes...yes, I suppose I am.''

"Did Ms. Maxwell have any suggestions for you?''

"Ah...yes.'' He cleared his throat, and his ears brightened to a deeper shade of red. "She's putting together several packages and prices for me and the kids to review."

"She's rather nice, isn't she?" Emily strived to sound nonchalant, but she could see that his visit had achieved the desired results. She was delighted. This was all going so smoothly, better than she'd hoped.

"You know Reba Maxwell?" her employer asked, sounding surprised.

"Only from church." Emily quickly occupied herself with dinner preparations, methodically adding the perfectly shaped meatb.a.l.l.s to the simmering marinara sauce.

"From church," Seth repeated.

"She's taking over as coordinator of the Christmas program. She made a wise choice. Those who bury their talents make a grave mistake." The decision had been a difficult one for Reba, and Emily was proud of her. Having the travel agent work with the children was all part of the big picture. The rewards would far outweigh any inconveniences, but Reba didn't know that yet. Such wonders awaited her. Emily was impatient to see it come to pa.s.s.

Everything was coming together nicely. Very nicely indeed.

The best was yet to be.

Emily had outdone herself, which was saying something, Seth mused following the evening meal. As time pa.s.sed he'd come to realize that the children's name for her fit her to a tee. Mrs. Miracle had worked wonders in all their lives.

As promised, Emily read to the children following their bath, while he washed the dishes.

He'd followed his housekeeper's suggestion and stopped off at the travel agency. He'd be finished with the Firecracker Project in a couple of months and could use the time away. Although Judd and Jason had been to Disneyland a number of times, they'd never been to Florida. Reba had suggested a number of cruise ideas as well, with prices that fell easily within his budget. But it wasn't the vacation plans that had brought him into the travel agency. It was the idea of meeting the owner, of talking to her one on one, getting to know her. Letting her know him.

Even now his heart raced like an Indy 500 engine. He bent forward and rested his elbows against the desktop and rubbed his hand down his face. He'd never experienced anything like this. Had never felt this strongly attracted to a woman-not since Pamela. He barely knew her name, and already he couldn't wait to see her again.

"Reba." He said her name aloud, thinking that the mere sound of it was musical. Magical.

Seth was convinced that he'd made a first-cla.s.s idiot of himself, staring at her the way he had. He'd hardly seemed able to connect one coherent thought to another. He'd hardly seemed able to connect one coherent thought to another.

Some self-preservation had kicked into place when he'd realized he'd been standing in front of her desk staring at her the way a boy does a puppy in a pet shop window. When he'd finally had the presence of mind to ask about vacations for him and the twins, Reba had seemed as fl.u.s.tered as he. She'd promised to put together several ideas and get back to him.

He'd walked out of the agency, taking small backward steps until he'd backed into the door. It wasn't until he'd raced across the parking lot and was sitting inside his vehicle that he'd realized he hadn't given her his name or phone number. He'd started back to leave the necessary information when she'd met him in the parking lot.

"I need-"

"Could you...Dinner. Friday night?"

His heart returned to his throat at the awkward way in which he'd asked her to dinner. He was certain she hadn't understood a word he'd said until she'd laughed and nodded. They'd set a time to meet and he'd hurried back to his car, his heart jumping rope inside his chest.

He had a date, his first in longer than he could remember. All he had to do now was behave like a human instead of an alien from outer s.p.a.ce. Excitement swelled like a water-soaked sponge inside him.

Seth started for his study with a fresh cup of coffee, then hesitated. He needed to ask Mrs. Merkle if she would be available to baby-sit the twins Friday evening. There weren't provisions in her contract for weekend baby-sitting. Naturally he'd pay her overtime, whatever she wanted. The woman was worth ten Mrs. Hampstons. coffee, then hesitated. He needed to ask Mrs. Merkle if she would be available to baby-sit the twins Friday evening. There weren't provisions in her contract for weekend baby-sitting. Naturally he'd pay her overtime, whatever she wanted. The woman was worth ten Mrs. Hampstons.

With his coffee in his hand he walked into the living room, to find the children snuggled one on each side of the housekeeper. Her reading gla.s.ses were balanced halfway down her nose, a book open. The children were enraptured. The only time Seth had ever seen them this still was when they were sound asleep.

Jason braced his head against the housekeeper's pudgy arm. Judd's arms were tucked about his bent knees, and his chin rested there.

It took Seth a couple of moments to recognize the story: it was C. S. Lewis's The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Pamela's favorite childhood story. The one she'd longed to read to her children one day, only to be cheated out of the long awaited joy. Pamela's favorite childhood story. The one she'd longed to read to her children one day, only to be cheated out of the long awaited joy.

Mrs. Merkle glanced up and smiled.

"Hi, Daddy." Jason covered his mouth and yawned loudly. "Mrs. Miracle is reading us a new story."

"So I see." Some of his tension leaked into his voice. Of all the books in the world, he wondered how it was that she'd chosen that particular one.

"It's good, too," Judd added. "None of that mushy girl stuff."

Seth's gaze fell to the book itself. Moments earlier his heart had raced with thoughts of Reba and the impromptu dinner date he'd arranged. Now it skidded to a sudden, grinding halt. His chest tightened painfully.

"Where'd you get that book?" he demanded, not bothering to disguise his distress.

"The book." Mrs. Merkle closed the volume and stared at the front cover. "It's mine. I brought it with me."

"It's Pamela's," he countered sharply. The woman had been in his den and had searched through his desk drawers. He didn't care how good a cook she was, he wouldn't have her sneaking around in his office.

"Mr. Webster, let me a.s.sure you-"

"I'll prove it," he said, his voice rough with shock and anger. Without another word he marched back into his office and sat down at the desk he'd recently vacated. The children raced into the room after him, and Mrs. Merkle followed, looking fl.u.s.tered and red in the face.

"I put it here myself just recently," he said, jerking open the bottom drawer. He'd held that very book in his hands. Seen for himself how the corners had frayed and worn down so that the filler showed through, just the way the one she had did. The gold lettering had faded on the t.i.tle, the same as with the book Mrs. Merkle held.

"See," he said, leveling his gaze toward the drawer.

The book was there. Seth's mouth dropped, and he glanced up at the housekeeper, dumbfounded. Slowly, almost as if he were afraid Pam's volume would vanish if he touched it, he lifted it from its resting place.

His round, shock-filled eyes returned to Mrs. Merkle.

"Did she take Mommy's book?" Judd asked.

Seth shook his head. "I'm afraid I owe you an apology," he said, nearly choking on the words. Not because he wasn't sorry, for he was. But he'd been so sure. Not only had the woman chosen to read the one book his wife had loved, but she'd read from a copy that was identical to Pam's in every way.

How was that possible? Had he walked into an episode of The Twilight Zone? The Twilight Zone? If he looked at himself in the mirror, would he see Rod Serling's reflection? Seth was almost afraid to find out. If he looked at himself in the mirror, would he see Rod Serling's reflection? Seth was almost afraid to find out.

"Come on, you two," Mrs. Merkle said, ushering the kids back into the room. "Let's find out what happens to the children next."

"They shouldn't go in the wardrobe, should they?" Judd asked.

"That, my fine young man, is a matter of opinion." His housekeeper looked over her shoulder at Seth. "Everyone needs to take a risk now and again, don't you agree, Mr. Webster?"

Red Sauce 3 tablespoons olive oil 3 tablespoons olive oil2 cloves crushed garlic1 onion, chopped1 28-ounce can ready crushed tomatoes1 28-ounce can of tomato puree1 can tomato paste, plus 1 can water2 teaspoons basil2 teaspoons oregano2 tablespoons Parmesan cheeseSimmer all ingredients together for 1 hours. Add meatb.a.l.l.s.

Italian Meatb.a.l.l.s 1 pound lean ground beef 1 pound lean ground beef pound Italian sausage cup fresh parsley, chopped2/3 cup Italian-flavored bread crumbs2 eggs1 or 2 cloves fresh garlicA little milk to moisten mixtureMix all ingredients well, roll into golf-size b.a.l.l.s, and add to simmering spaghetti sauce. Cook 10 to 15 minutes on low heat.

Chapter 10

A closed mouth gathers no foot.-Mrs. Miracle

Sharon Palmer quietly put dinner on the table. Her husband sat reading the newspaper in front of the television, doing his best to ignore her. She knew what he was up to. He'd barely said a civil word to her all week, but then she hadn't behaved any better.

"Dinner's ready," she told him without enthusiasm, sitting down at the round oak table in the alcove off the kitchen. She didn't wait for Jerry to join her before unfolding and placing the napkin on her lap.

Leaving the television on, Jerry claimed his seat at the table and kept his eyes on the screen. For years it had been customary to turn the set off completely. Dinnertime was sacred, a time set aside to share the happenings of their day. No longer. Her husband didn't so much as look at the meal she'd spent the better part of the afternoon preparing. His gaze left the sportscaster only long enough to reach for the serving spoon. aside to share the happenings of their day. No longer. Her husband didn't so much as look at the meal she'd spent the better part of the afternoon preparing. His gaze left the sportscaster only long enough to reach for the serving spoon.

Not until he'd finished heaping his plate did he bother to ask, "What is it?" A frown dominated his still-handsome face.

"A ca.s.serole," Sharon a.s.sured him, not meeting his eyes.

"What's in it?" he demanded.

Jerry had never been a picky eater.

"Eggplant."

His gaze hardened. "You know I don't like eggplant."

"It's cleverly disguised with cheese. Taste it. Who knows, you might surprise yourself." The recipe came from Maggie, her best friend, who was an excellent cook.

"I don't like eggplant," he insisted.

"And I do. Why is it if you don't like something, I can never have it myself? Eggplant happens to be my favorite vegetable."

"Then order it in a restaurant, don't serve it to me."