Crystal Stovall - With All Josie's Heart

She had left him once, and she’d do it again.

Michael shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what Sharla’s father is thinking. He says he’s gotten his act together, and now that Sharla is motherless she should live with him.”

“So, he’s really serious about suing for custody?” Josie asked. “What does your attorney say?”

“That my chances are fifty-fifty at best.”

“If I can help… You know I would.”

“I appreciate your offer. Actually there is something you could do.” Taking a deep breath, Michael said a quick prayer before putting his heart in Josie’s hand.

“You can marry me.”

dreamed of writing inspirational romances from the moment she discovered Grace Livingston Hill’s novels as a teenager. These books changed her life in a profound way, starting her on a quest to blend faith and romance in her personal life, as well as launching her writing career. She’s a graduate of Oral Roberts University and a recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award.

Crystal lives in Tulsa with her husband, Jim, who is president of the Emmy Award-winning Narrative Television Network. Though she’s lived in Oklahoma for nearly twenty years, she’s still an Easterner at heart. Her frequent visits to her upstate New York hometown—especially a certain boulder on the edge of Cayuga Lake—provide her with the inspiration and perspective which she finds essential to her writing.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Let love and faithfulness never leave you;

bind them around your neck, write them

on the tablet of your heart.

—Proverbs 3:3

In memory of my mother, Jozell Smith,

whose love lives on in my heart and

whose smile won’t be forgotten.

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

This was the last place she expected to be.

Josie Marshall took a deep breath, then knocked on Michael’s front door. Just past five o’clock, the late-afternoon sun cast a long shadow across the wide porch. Potted geraniums and begonias lined the wooden rail, emitting a sweet fragrance that might have calmed her nerves on another day.

For the last seven years, Josie had successfully avoided Michael Rawlins, and she’d had no intention of seeing her parents’ next door neighbor on this trip home either. Yet, here she was, holding the basket of hot food her mother had prepared, waiting for Michael to open the door.

All attempts to convince her mother Josie was too tired, that she needed a long shower and a good night’s sleep before she faced anyone, had fallen on unsympathetic ears. An exhausting international flight fraught with delays and cramped seating was no excuse in Sarah Marshall’s mind. Sarah, relying on the persistent gaze Josie clearly remembered from childhood, had asked her daughter to please take Michael the food. The poor man had just been released from the hospital, and Sarah would have delivered the meal herself except she’d promised to drive Gran to her four o’clock doctor’s appointment and she was already late. If Josie would do this one thing for her, her mother had sworn, she would be so grateful.

Realizing it was useless to argue, Josie had given in. However, she’d procrastinated another hour before making the short trek next door.

She rang Michael’s doorbell a second time and prayed there would be no answer. Quickly, she counted to ten. If Michael didn’t open the door by the time she reached twenty, she was leaving.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty… Thank you, God, she whispered.

Taking a deep breath, she turned away from the door and hurried down the wooden steps. Halfway across the lawn she heard his voice. She would have known the deep, warm timbre anywhere.

“Josie? Josie Marshall?”

For a split second, Josie considered ignoring Michael, pretending she hadn’t heard him call her name. But why should she? And what was the fuss anyway?

The thought of seeing Michael had her acting like a silly teenager. What was the harm in spending a few minutes with an old boyfriend she hadn’t seen in years? She would hand him the food, make sure he was okay, chitchat for a few minutes and then leave. She would do as much for anyone else. In fact, as director of an international children’s charity, she did much more than this on a daily basis for countless strangers.

Josie took a deep breath. The truth was, not only did she need a hot bath and good night’s sleep before seeing Michael, she needed a haircut, a new dress and a ten-pound weight loss. But it was too late for any of those luxuries. Making certain her brightest smile was in place, she faced him.

Michael stood on the front porch, his tall, lean body holding the screen door open. He looked the same, and yet he had changed. The longer, rebellious hair style had been replaced with a short, layered cut that emphasized his friendly brown eyes and high cheekbones. Instead of the blue jeans and T-shirt she remembered him always wearing, he looked surprisingly comfortable in casual slacks, a cotton shirt and burgundy loafers.

“Hello, Michael,” she slowly answered. “If this is a bad time…” She hoped he would accept her offer to end this encounter before it started.

“Not at all. Come on in.” He waved her toward the house as if he’d been expecting her.

His insistence surprised her, as did his curious gaze. She was tempted to ask what he thought. Had the last seven years been as flattering to her as they had been to him?

Uneasy with entering Michael’s house, she remained in the yard. With her feet on solid ground, it would be easier to keep a safe distance between him and old memories.

“I’ve got your dinner.” In case he hadn’t noticed the picnic basket, she raised it a few inches. “In fact, there’s probably enough food in here to last a family of five an entire week.”

Michael shook his head. “It’s a crime, isn’t it? More food than I can possibly eat has been delivered this afternoon, while somewhere in the world there are families who’ll go hungry tonight. I imagine with your work, the unfairness must really get to you, doesn’t it?”

Josie merely nodded at Michael’s casual remark. He couldn’t know the half of how she felt on that particular matter, and she saw no reason for sharing those private thoughts with him now. Her feelings were strictly between her and God.

Too weary for a serious conversation, she deliberately answered with a lighthearted quip. “If you want to do battle with my mother, then go ahead. I dare you to send this picnic basket back.”

Michael smiled. “No way I’m messing with Sarah Marshall. At least not until I’m fully recovered.”

Only then did Josie notice the tired lines framing Michael’s eyes and the stiff carriage of his upper body. While there were no visible bandages or scars, her mother had said he was badly bruised and very sore.

“Where would you like me to put this?” Josie asked, suddenly aware of his physical discomfort. She rushed up the steps, and as she neared him, he tried to take the basket. But before he could, she glided past him and through the open door.

Though it’d been a long time since she’d been in the Rawlins’s home, it still possessed the same welcoming air she’d remembered from her teenage years when Michael’s parents had owned the house. The floral prints and lemony walls Mrs. Rawlins had loved had been replaced with subtle earth tones and plaid fabrics. Even the carpeting had been pulled up to expose beautiful hardwood floors. The Western art, tailored furniture and Persian rugs hinted at a man she no longer knew.