Eileen Berger - A Family For Andi

Cover Page

Excerpt She raised her hand to ring the bell, but the door opened and he was there.… Andi walked inside—and into his arms. No words were spoken, none needed. Her face was buried against his shoulder and neck, his cheek against her hair. So this is what it’s like to come home to Keith. She had no idea how long they remained like that. It was she who finally forced herself to draw away as his hands moved slowly down her arms, taking her hands in his. How could I have let this happen? What have I done? “I’m sorry…” She didn’t want to look into his beautiful brown eyes, which could show such tenderness. He lifted her chin with one finger. “Look at me, sweetheart. Please…It’s all right. Don’t be afraid.” It’s not you I don’t trust. I had no idea that in one short week I could fall in love! With a man whom there’s no chance of my marrying! And I’ve been so completely dishonest with you!

About the Author EILEEN BERGER has been writing for many years, mostly children’s stories and poetry when her daughter and two sons were small, before having hundreds of other manuscripts published. She had been happy growing up on a farm, then living for a time in two major American cities, but feels blessed to continue living in the same north-central Pennsylvania town, Hughesville, where she and her husband, Bob, raised their now-grown children. She is active in writing circles as speaker, teacher, board member, panelist, conference director and contest coordinator, but is especially grateful for the West Branch Christian Writers, the wonderful critique/support group without which she says she might never have got even the first of her six novels published.

Title Page A Family for Andi Eileen Berger www.millsandboon.co.uk

Epigraph Ask and it will be given you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks finds; and to him who knocks the door will be opened. —Matthew 7:7-8

Dedication To Bob, the man I love more than life itself. No wonder I like writing romances!

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

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Copyright

Andi walked inside—and into his arms. No words were spoken, none needed. Her face was buried against his shoulder and neck, his cheek against her hair.

So this is what it’s like to come home to Keith.

She had no idea how long they remained like that. It was she who finally forced herself to draw away as his hands moved slowly down her arms, taking her hands in his.

How could I have let this happen? What have I done?

“I’m sorry…” She didn’t want to look into his beautiful brown eyes, which could show such tenderness.

He lifted her chin with one finger. “Look at me, sweetheart. Please…It’s all right. Don’t be afraid.”

It’s not you I don’t trust. I had no idea that in one short week I could fall in love! With a man whom there’s no chance of my marrying!

And I’ve been so completely dishonest with you!

has been writing for many years, mostly children’s stories and poetry when her daughter and two sons were small, before having hundreds of other manuscripts published. She had been happy growing up on a farm, then living for a time in two major American cities, but feels blessed to continue living in the same north-central Pennsylvania town, Hughesville, where she and her husband, Bob, raised their now-grown children.

She is active in writing circles as speaker, teacher, board member, panelist, conference director and contest coordinator, but is especially grateful for the West Branch Christian Writers, the wonderful critique/support group without which she says she might never have got even the first of her six novels published.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Ask and it will be given you;

seek and you will find;

knock and the door will be

opened to you.

For everyone who asks receives;

he who seeks finds;

and to him who knocks

the door will be opened.

—Matthew 7:7-8

To Bob,

the man I love more than life itself.

No wonder I like writing romances!

Andrea Barker lowered the hood of her secondhand car, hoping she’d followed the mechanic’s instructions correctly. She knew little about motors, and her intention was not to fix this one but to make it break down.

She was limping more than usual, but should have expected that; she’d not tried driving long distances since the accident.

The trip from Chicago had been taxing, even though she stayed overnight in Ohio and stopped every few hours to walk a while. Now, getting back in the car, she massaged her right knee and leg before pulling the door shut, fastening the seat belt, and turning the ignition key.

The engine started, and Andi smiled. She was here in Pennsylvania. She took a moment to check her appearance in the rearview mirror before pulling out onto the highway—and resisted the urge to run a comb through her below-shoulder-length auburn hair or to apply color to her fairly full lips. The blue eyes looking back at her sparkled with anticipation.

There was a strange grinding sound, but the car handled fine, as the man who cared for their vehicles had promised.

Hurdle number one taken care of!

If only the rest would go this smoothly! Dad, though apparently understanding her concerns, had argued against her “harebrained scheme,” but she’d been adamant. “I really want to meet my cousins—get to know them. I realize there’s been an estrangement ever since your mother left when still in her teens, but…”

“They treated her very badly, Andi.”

“But that was a previous generation. Hopefully this one’s better.”

“I don’t want you hurt like your grandmother was.”

“Well, someone’s got to find out about them—at least how they handle what money they have now and what they’d likely do with a windfall, that sort of thing.”

“You think they won’t be on their best behavior with you there?” His heavy brows came almost together in that way that used to make her fidget before she learned to recognize the difference between frowns of concentration and those of disapproval.

“They’ll have no reason to be suspicious.”

He sat there shaking his head. “You’ve always liked fantasies, romances, and other not-for-real stuff. I’m afraid, my dear, that what you’re proposing falls into one of those categories. You expect to invade the town of Sylvan Falls, observe our relatives, win their confidence, and determine within a few days if giving them a large sum of money is a sound idea?”

When put like that, it did sound like an ambitious undertaking. “I don’t expect to accomplish it in a couple of days.” That had been months after the death of Jon—Jonathan William Bascomb III—and she was still on crutches, emotionally as well as physically. They’d grown up together and had been in the same grade from preschool through ninth—until his grandparents had enrolled him at Madison Academy to prepare for an Ivy League education.