Mrs. Miracle Read online

  “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.” Seth sincerely hoped he sounded regretful, but he doubted he’d be any more successful in pulling the wool over this woman’s eyes than he was with his own children.

  “I’m afraid I don’t share your regrets. Of all the positions I’ve held in my fifteen-year history of domestic service, I can never remember having to deal with a worse pair of undisciplined children. I understood when I accepted the position that the twins were considered a handful, but this is ridiculous.”

  “They’re only six.”

  “Exactly. Six going on thirteen. I don’t have a moment’s peace from dawn to dusk. Those two are constantly underfoot. They’re savages, I tell you. Savages.”

  “I’ve already explained to the kids that goldfish can’t live in Jell-O,” Seth said. “I realize it was a shock to open the refrigerator and find the goldfish bowl filled with lemon Jell-O and three small fish.”

  “The problem with the goldfish was the tip of the iceberg,” she responded, and grimaced.

  “Okay, okay, so maybe those water bazookas weren’t such a good idea. I didn’t think they’d turn them on you.” By sheer willpower, Seth managed to squelch a smile. One gloriously sunny autumn afternoon, he had been washing the car while the twins raced across kingdom come, soaking each other with their fancy water guns. When Mrs. Hampston stepped onto the porch Judd and Jason had guilelessly turned their weapons on her. To put it mildly, the housekeeper had not been amused. To Seth’s way of thinking, a little water never hurt anyone.

  “It isn’t the Jell-O incident or the water bazookas. It isn’t even having to routinely dig little green army men out of the bathtub drain. It’s you.”

  “Me?” Seth demanded defensively. He’d bent over backward to keep the peace with Mrs. Hampston, and now she was accusing him!

  “You know absolutely nothing about being a father.”

  Seth’s mouth snapped shut. Like all good military strategists, she attacked his weakest point. He had no argument.

  “The twins are your children, Mr. Webster, not your friends, and not cute pets. They need a firm, guiding hand. As far as I can see, you’re no example for them. None whatsoever. Swearing is one thing, but to put it bluntly, you’re a slob.”

  Seth knew she was right. He was an absentminded professor, his head filled with work, the kids, and everything else. He didn’t mean to be untidy, it just happened that way. He constantly lost and found himself. Mundane things like remembering to fill up the car with gas escaped him. The other morning, to her disgust, Mrs. Hampston had found his shoes in the refrigerator. Seth vaguely recalled putting them there.

  “If you’d be willing to give me another chance…”

  “I’ve already assured you I won’t.”

  “Yes, but finding another housekeeper might prove difficult just now.”

  “I’m sure it will be, but that isn’t my problem.”

  Seth leaned against the door, wondering where to turn to next. Mrs. Hampston had been his last hope. The agency didn’t have anyone else to send. He didn’t know what he would do, where he would turn.

  “Frankly, Mr. Webster,” the woman stated smugly, “it isn’t a housekeeper you need, it’s a miracle.”

  Chapter 2

  The best way to get even is to forget.

  —Mrs. Miracle

  “Reba, there’s a call for you on line one.”

  Reba Maxwell’s gaze remained fixed on the parking lot outside the strip mall where her travel agency was located. She saw him again, the mystery man who’d dominated her thoughts for weeks. The one who made her smile. Half the time she wondered if he knew where he was. He’d climb out of the car and then stare at the storefront as though attempting to remember what he was supposed to buy.

  She knew nothing about him. Not his name. Or if he was married. Where he worked or lived. Nothing. He stopped off two or three times a week at the supermarket next door to her agency. He had to be married because a single man couldn’t possibly require that many groceries.

  He was a stranger, yet for reasons Reba couldn’t understand or explain, she felt physically and emotionally drawn to him. He wasn’t all that attractive. Still, she was fascinated by the strength of character that seemed to radiate from him. Even from a distance she noted that his jaw was strong, his cheekbones high and pronounced, and his lips full. He wasn’t especially tall, and he didn’t possess any of the other attributes that generally interested a woman. Nevertheless she waited day after day, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

  He wasn’t even her type, she reasoned, impatient with herself. She’d learned her lesson long ago and avoided those high-powered executives. Always so crisp and formal. Always in control.

  “Reba, line one,” Jayne Preston reminded her.

  She pulled her attention away from the window and reached for the phone. “This is Reba,” she answered in a businesslike tone.

  “Hello, dahlin’.”

  Her mother. “Hello, Mom,” she answered, keeping her voice even and unemotional. She knew what was coming, had been expecting it, and dreaded the confrontation and all that was sure to follow.

  “How are you feeling?”

  Her mother sounded as if Reba had recently recovered from a life-threatening illness, as if she suffered with impossibly fragile health—if not physically, then emotionally, which was a greater insult. She gritted her teeth and prayed for patience before she answered.

  “I’m fine. I suppose you want to talk about Christmas.” No need delaying the inevitable. She preferred to deal with the unpleasantness now and be done with it.

  “Well, yes…” Joan Maxwell said, and hesitated, her frustration grating through the telephone lines. “I would really like it if we could have a family Christmas this year. With your aunt Gerty and uncle Bill coming, it’d be so awkward with you and your sister…”

  Reba’s jaw tensed. “We can have a real Christmas.”

  “Oh, Reba, does that mean you’re willing to put aside your differences with Vicki and—”

  “We can have a family Christmas,” she repeated without emotion. “We’ll do exactly as we have for the last four years. Vicki and her husband can choose to spend either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day with you, Aunt Gerty, and Uncle Bill. Then I’ll be free to join you and everyone else when they aren’t there.”

  Her mother’s disappointment was palpable. “I see.”

  “I don’t have to come home for Christmas, Mother,” Reba returned, unwilling to be manipulated by her parent or anyone else. Really it was ridiculous, seeing that she lived in the same south-end community of Seattle. Reba visited her parents on a routine basis. It wasn’t as if she’d saved the holidays for her annual pilgrimage home. Despite the differences with her older sister, Reba made an effort to stop by her parents’ at least every other month. With one condition: She’d go as long as Vicki wasn’t there.

  “Not come home for Christmas?” her mother echoed. “Your father and I would be so disappointed…. It’s just that, well, your dad hasn’tbeen feeling well lately, and it would do us both a world of good if you and your sister would—”

  “Mom, stop.” This wasn’t a topic Reba wished to discuss, not when she’d already been through it a million times. “We both know what Vicki did, and—”

  “You don’t know everything.”

  “Listen,” Reba returned, irritated that her mother insisted on pursuing the issue, insisted on taking her sister’s side. “I’ve told you this before and I meant it. If you’re going to phone me to talk about Vicki, then I’ll hang up. I’ve got a business to run.”

  “But it’s been four years.”

  “Four and a half,” Reba amended. It wouldn’t take much effort for her to calculate it right down to the minute. A lifetime would pass away and she’d never forget what her sister, her own flesh and blood, had done to her. She wasn’t going to forget, not ever. God help them both, but she wasn’t willing to forgive her sister, either. To her credit, Vicki had attempted
to repair the damage, but it was too little, too late. Three times her sister had come to her seeking forgiveness. Three times Reba had rejected her apology. What Vicki had done was unforgivable. It had been so hurtful and cruel that whatever closeness they’d once shared had forever been destroyed.

  Even as youngsters the two sisters had been competitive. Because she was almost two years older, Vicki had the advantage when it came to sports. But that didn’t keep Reba from trying. She made the varsity basketball team, was a high school cheerleader and track star the same as Vicki, but she’d worked hard for those accomplishments. Unlike Vicki, who was naturally athletic.

  Over the course of her high school and college career, Reba had nearly killed herself in an effort to keep pace with her sister’s accomplishments. Both girls were evenly paired in the academic realm. Each had been offered full scholarships to the University of Washington.

  Their rivalry, although often keen, had always been friendly. Reba liked to think that they brought out the best in one another. Each challenged the other to give one hundred percent to their individual endeavors.

  Until Reba started dating John Goddard.

  Even saying his name mentally produced a hard lump in her throat. Briefly Reba closed her eyes until the pain and bitterness passed.

  In retrospect she was willing to admit, albeit grudgingly, that part of John’s attraction had been that Vicki had been attracted to him, too. Her sister had joked that she’d been the one to see John first. Her teasing had taken on a decidedly sharp tone as Reba and John’s relationship turned more serious.

  Later, when Reba was head over heels in love with John, she suspected Vicki’s feelings for the architect went beyond “sisterly” love. She didn’t realize how accurate that impression was until—

  “I do so wish you girls would settle your differences.”

  “It’s settled, Mother,” Reba said starkly, emphatically. “As settled as it’s going to get.”

  “But Vicki’s your sister.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Reba, sweetheart, why do you continue to carry this grudge when John is out of your life? Out of Vicki’s. He’s married to someone else now. Neither one of you has talked to the man in years, and yet you continue to wage war with your sister.”

  Reba closed her eyes, hating it when her mother insisted on dredging up the past. For her part, she was perfectly content to leave matters as they were.

  “You can’t go on like this.” It was the same argument, second verse. Her mother played the familiar warped record each Christmas. Frankly, Reba didn’t want to hear it. Nothing her mother said or did would ever cancel the heartache and pain her own sister had brought into her life.

  What she said was true. John was out of the picture, but the blame for what had happened fell squarely, solidly, on Vicki’s shoulders.

  Reba had wiped both Vicki and John from her life. The two deserved each other. She’d fully expected Vicki to take advantage of the situation and marry John herself when she stepped aside. It had come as something of a surprise when her sister had married Doug Minder a year later. But then, it really wasn’t much of a puzzle. Vicki hadn’t truly been interested in John. She just hadn’t wanted Reba to have him. Her sister had achieved what she’d set out to do, and that was to ruin any chance Reba had of finding happiness.

  “I do wish you’d reconsider,” her mother said, breaking into her thoughts once more. “If you won’t do it for your father or me, then do it for your aunt and uncle. They think the world of you and Vicki.”

  “I can’t,” she said, and because she knew her response was an invitation to argue, she added, “I won’t.” She did feel a certain amount of regret, but she refused to turn back time. Nothing her sister said or did now would make up for the bitterness of her betrayal. They might have been competitive, but they were still sisters. Flesh and blood didn’t do what Vicki had done to her.

  The silence stretched until it felt as if the tension would snap.

  “It’d mean so much to your father and me.”

  Reba closed her eyes. “Mom, please stop.”

  “Don’t you realize how difficult this is on us?” her mother whispered. “We love you both.”

  “I know, Mom, and I’m sorry, I really am, but I can’t share the holidays with you if Vicki’s there, too. Not the season of love, peace, and goodwill. My presence would be a lie. I’m sure Vicki and her family would be more comfortable without me.”

  Again Reba felt her mother’s disappointment, but she saw no reason to give her parents hope. As far as she was concerned, she had no sister.

  He was back.

  Reba’s gaze followed the man she’d seen a moment earlier. He’d gone into the grocery store and now walked out carrying a single bag. He paused, scratched the side of his head, and continued toward the parking lot. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he’d forgotten where he’d parked his car. He was just what she needed, Reba mused. Comic relief.

  “But, Reba…”

  Her mother was unwilling to drop the subject of Christmas. This was bound to be the first of many such conversations.

  “Mom, don’t. This is hard enough. Let me know if Vicki wants to come Christmas Eve or Christmas Day and I’ll be there when she won’t. If that isn’t agreeable, I’ll simply skip Christmas this year.” The holidays weren’t that important to her. Not any longer.

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Just let me know when Vicki plans on being at the house, all right?”

  Her mother’s sigh was deep and heartfelt, heavy with defeat and sadness. “Tell me, what would it take to heal this rift between you and your sister?”

  Reba didn’t hesitate. Not for a moment. “The answer’s simple. It would take a miracle.”

  Chapter 3

  Feed your faith and your doubts will starve to death.

  —Mrs. Miracle

  The doorbell jingled at the worst possible moment. Seth was doing his damnedest to get dinner on the table. Cooking had never been his forte. Try as he might, he couldn’t manage a simple casserole without forgetting one ingredient. It was already past seven, and everyone was cranky and hungry. The house was a disaster, which was no surprise, and he was in no frame of mind to deal with the Avon lady.

  Jason had taken it upon himself to help him by pouring the milk. Seth had tried to tell him he was too small to manage a gallon container, but Jason wouldn’t listen. By the time he turned to stop him, it was too late.

  “I’ll get it,” Judd shouted, tossing aside the Nintendo game as he rushed to the front door. Two seconds later he glanced over his shoulder and yelled at the top of his lungs, “It’s for you…. Some lady.”

  Seth jerked off the apron, set aside the milk-soaked sponge, and stalked to the front door.

  “Yes?” he muttered impatiently without looking. He never did understand why salespeople found it convenient to call during the dinner hour. Surely research would tell them how irritating it was to have a meal disrupted.

  “Mr. Webster?” An older, grandmotherly type stood under the golden ray of the porch light. Her eyes were warm and kind, her smile wide and friendly. She carried a wicker basket under one arm and waited expectantly for him to respond.

  Seth couldn’t take his eyes off her. The porch light appeared to enshrine her, as if she were the source of the light, which of course was ludicrous. She was the storybook image of—he hated to say it—Mother Goose. She was round and soft, her gray hair pinned into a loose bun, with dimples and the most loving eyes he could ever remember seeing.

  “I’m Seth Webster,” he said after an awkward moment.

  “I thought you must be. I’m Emily Merkle. The agency sent me.”

  The agency. Seth couldn’t believe his good fortune. There was a God, and He was willing to overlook Seth’s bungling attempts at fatherhood. Willing to give him one last chance to redeem himself.

  Before she could find an excuse to leave, he grabbed the new housekeeper by the arm and dr
agged her inside the house. Apparently Mrs. Hampston hadn’t had time to complete the complaint sheet against him. In the past week he’d telephoned the employment agency a dozen times, only to be told he’d already gone through every domestic employee the company handled. He wasn’t about to question his good fortune now.

  “Welcome, welcome.” No truer words had ever been spoken.

  She glanced about, a look of shock on her face. “Oh, my.”

  Seth viewed the room with fresh eyes. A load of clean laundry littered the sofa. Jason had attempted to fold the towels and had decided to iron them first. Seth had discovered it just in time to prevent him from burning down the house. As a result, three fluffy yellow bath towels showed the charred black imprint of an iron. While Seth had been occupied cooking dinner, Judd decided to help his brother fold clothes. Unfortunately his assistance consisted of hauling out the drawers from every dresser in the house. By the time Seth had discovered what the two were doing, clothes cluttered the carpet and furniture until the room resembled Filene’s Basement during the biggest sale of the year.

  “Dinner’s ready. You’ll join us, won’t you?” Seth said quickly, fearing his new housekeeper would turn tail and run before he could convince her to stay. On second thought, canned tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches would reveal exactly how desperate he was for help.

  “I realize it’s inconvenient for me to arrive at the dinner hour….”

  “Inconvenient? No way,” he countered swiftly. By now she must have guessed the truth. “You’re welcome any time.” Judd stood beside him, but Jason had wrapped his arms around his leg and held on with the strength of a boa constrictor.

  Walking was a shade difficult with Jason attached to his thigh, but Seth managed to pretend nothing was amiss. He wanted it to look as though he often loped across the house with a six-year-old connected to his leg.

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I decided to bring dinner along with me.”

  Seth’s gaze dropped to the Red Riding Hood–style basket draped over her arm. A tantalizing scent of rosemary and sage wafted lazily toward him.