Lois Richer - A Baby by Easter

David wheeled around, frustrated by the way she challenged him. “Which is?”

“When you disagree with my suggestions for your sister, and you will disagree,” she said, her smile kicking up the corners of her pretty lips, “will you at least try to understand that I’m making my suggestions for Darla’s benefit?”

What did she think—that he was some angry powermonger who had to lord it over everyone? “I’ll listen,” David agreed. “As long as you don’t take any undue chances.”

“With the baby?” Her face tightened. “I won’t take any chances,” she said firmly. “I want my baby to be healthy. I won’t risk anything for that. That’s the one decision I don’t intend to mess up.”

“Then we have a deal.” David walked away, but his brain puzzled over her last comment. What did she mean?

He found no satisfactory answers to stop his thoughts about Darla’s newest caregiver—at least, that was how he should be thinking of the beautiful Susannah Wells.

Easier said than done.

likes variety. From her time in human resources management to entrepreneurship, life has held plenty of surprises. She says, “Having given up on fairy tales, I was happily involved in building a restaurant when a handsome prince walked into my life and upset all my career plans with a wedding ring. Motherhood quickly followed. I guess the seeds of my storytelling took root because of two small boys who kept demanding, ‘Then what, Mom?’” The miracle of God’s love for His children, the blessing of true love, the joy of sharing Him with others—that is a story that can be told a thousand ways and yet still be brand-new. Lois Richer intends to go right on telling it.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

It’s in Christ that we find out who we are and what

we are living for. Long before we first heard of

Christ and got our hopes up, he had his eye on us

for glorious living, part of the overall purpose he is

working out in everything and everyone.

—Ephesians 1:11, 12

The Message

This story is for those generous souls

who open homes and hearts to kids of all ages

who crave love and affection. Your dedication

will be revealed in tomorrow’s generation.

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

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Evenings in Tucson were a lot cooler than the Los Angeles’ dusk Susannah Wells was used to.

Remember, Suze, we foster kids never know about tomorrow. Save whatever you can so you’ll be prepared.

Susannah squeezed her hand in her pocket, fingering the last bits of change leftover from her meager savings. Connie’s advice about money had been right on, like so much other guidance she’d given in those long-ago days when they’d shared a room in their North Dakota foster home.

What advice would Connie have for her this time—or would she even want to be bothered with her former foster sister?

Susannah hugged her thinly clad arms around her waist and breathed in the heady scent of hot pink oleanders. Deliberately she forced one foot in front of the other. Moving quickly wasn’t an option when the world occasionally tilted too far to the right. Beads of moisture on her forehead chilled her hot skin, making her shiver.

The bus driver had said two blocks—surely she’d come at least that far?

Suddenly off balance, Susannah stopped to steady herself. She focused her blurry eyes on the paper in her hand, peering to confirm that the numbers on the page were the same as those on the house. Her sluggish brain responded as if obscured by fog. She squinted for a second look.

This was it.

Susannah’s heart sank a little lower. Such a grand home. How could she possibly walk into that perfectly manicured courtyard, knock on that elegant glass and wrought-iron door and ask Connie for help?

You’re not worth helping, but you don’t have a choice.

Nothing harder to stomach than the truth. Susannah knew that too well. She gritted her teeth, pushed open the gate and moved forward. Droplets of perspiration ran into her eyes, blurring her vision. She swiped them away with a quick brush of her hand, afraid to release the branches of the hedge for more than a second, lest she flop to the ground. She was cold, and yet she was so hot.

What was wrong with her?

Finally she stood at the entrance. Music floated out from the brightly lit house. Or maybe the melody was just stuck in her head.

Susannah lifted a hand and tapped gingerly, inhaling as the world spun faster.

The door opened, light and laughter flooding out.

“Yes?” A man’s voice, rich and smooth, like butterscotch candy, flowed over her. It was hard to see his face, but light brown eyes gleamed through the dusk. “Can I help you?”

“Connie,” Susannah whispered.

Then everything went black.

David Foster stared at the unconscious woman lying on his best friend Wade’s doorstep. Wade’s wife, Connie, always had someone stopping by, friends from the foster home where she’d once lived, acquaintances she’d met and offered to help, even total strangers who’d heard about her charities. This frail woman must fit into one of those categories.

But Connie and Wade were celebrating their return from Brazil with a houseful of guests. He didn’t want to disturb them. As Wade’s lawyer, David was accustomed to handling things for his friend. He decided he’d handle this guest, for now.

He bent and scooped the young woman into his arms.

“Who’s that?” Darla asked. His little sister had a habit of soundlessly appearing at his elbow.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, leading the way to the study. “One of Connie’s friends, I guess. She fainted. I think she’s sick.”

“Oh.” Darla watched as he laid the young woman on the sofa. “Can I help, Davy?”

David smiled, brushed his hand over her shiny brown hair in a fond caress. Darla loved to help. Though nineteen, a skiing accident had left Darla with a brain injury that cut her mental age in half. David’s goal in life was to make his sister’s life as rich and happy as possible. It was becoming a challenge.

“Sure you can help, sweetie. Why don’t you go in the bathroom over there and get a wet cloth?” he suggested. “You can wipe her forehead. She seems to have a fever.”

“Okay.”

Darla hurried to do as asked, her mood bright because of Connie’s party. “Like this?” she asked him, dabbing the cloth on the woman’s face.

“Very gently. That’s good.” He watched for a few moments. “She had a bag,” he mused. “It must have dropped. Can you take care of her while I go look for it?”

“Yes.” Darla hummed quietly as she gently removed the traces of dust and grime from the visitor’s pale skin. Not that it mattered—their guest was gorgeous.

“I’ll be right back.” David hurried toward the front door, his mind filled with questions.

She was tiny, light as a feather. Her delicate features made him think of fashion magazine covers—thin, high cheekbones, full lips and wide-set eyes. She’d pulled her golden blond hair back and plaited it so it fell down her back, but little wisps had worked free to frame her face in delicate curls. He caught himself speculating what the color of her eyes would turn out to be when those incredible lashes lifted.