Kathryn Springer - For Her Son's Love

Miranda tried to suppress the wave of discouragement that threatened to crash over her. She’d find a way. Sandra was always willing to let her pick up another shift if she needed it.

“Andrew!” As if conjured up by Miranda’s thoughts, Sandra’s lilting voice swept through the diner. She made a habit of chatting with each and every customer who came into the Starlight.

Sandra gave Miranda’s arm an affectionate pat as she breezed past and paused to talk to Andrew. “It’s nice to see you again. I figured you’d be long gone by now.”

“I’m afraid Chestnut Grove is stuck with me for a while.” Andrew’s New England accent was clipped but pleasant, and Miranda resisted the urge to look at him again, to see if the smile she heard in his voice was reflected in his eyes. “Rachel’s been feeling a little tired lately so I’m going to keep an eye on things at the Foundation.”

Which meant he wasn’t just passing through town. Miranda felt a strange mixture of relief and dread bubble up inside of her. It was the relief that disturbed her.

“Rachel and the baby are all right, aren’t they?” The concern in Sandra’s voice stilled Miranda’s hands as she waited to hear Andrew’s response. Rachel and her friends had been coming to the Starlight for brunch every Sunday after church for as long as she’d worked at the diner.

“She has an appointment with her doctor this morning, which will give us a better indication about what’s going on.”

“Please tell Rachel I’ll add her and Eli and the baby to my prayer list,” Sandra said.

“She’ll appreciate that, Ms. Lange.”

“Sandra,” she said, correcting him. “This is the Starlight Diner, my dear, not the Ritz.”

“I’ll remember that, Sandra.”

The warmth in his voice somehow made him seem more approachable. Miranda could almost imagine he was just another one of the diner’s regulars.

In Armani.

“Sandra! Order up!” Isaac’s voice boomed above the music and the steady hum of conversation.

“Someone should remind that man I’m the one who owns the place.” Sandra laughed and maneuvered her way back through the maze of tables, greeting people by name on her way to the kitchen.

Miranda double-checked the bill before she presented it to the boys and then turned to slip away.

Andrew Noble was looking right at her. Again.

Miranda couldn’t blame the jolt that coursed through her on Isaac’s high-octane coffee. She’d only had one cup since her shift had started.

“I’d like a refill when you have a minute—” his eyes drifted to her name tag “—Miranda.”

She nodded but it didn’t feel like a normal nod. It felt like she’d suddenly turned into one of those bobble-headed dolls. “I’ll tell Darcy.”

Where was Darcy?

Feeling slightly panicked, Miranda scanned the diner but there was no sign of the girl anywhere.

“I think she’s busy with a cleanup on aisle six,” Andrew said helpfully.

Miranda lowered her gaze and sure enough, Darcy was crouched next to a portable high chair, mopping up a waterfall of fruit punch cascading over the side of the tray.

So much for avoiding Andrew Noble.

Miranda.

Andrew watched her stop and chat briefly with an elderly gentleman who sat alone at a table. She was smiling again but it wasn’t the distant, polite one she’d bestowed upon him. No. This one was natural. It momentarily transformed her entire face, softening the curve of her lips and bringing a faint blush of color to her cheeks.

He’d noticed her the first time he’d come into the diner a few days ago. And he wasn’t sure why. With her hair secured in a severe twist at the nape of her neck and not a speck of makeup on her face, she obviously wasn’t the kind of woman who tried to court attention.

In fact, it seemed as if she’d gone out of her way to avoid him.

And she was doing it again.

Which—he hated to admit—chipped at his pride a little. He wasn’t used to women running in the opposite direction when they saw him.

For crying out loud. Get over yourself, Noble.

“Excuse me.” She returned with the coffeepot and Andrew pushed his cup closer. He tried to make eye contact but she didn’t cooperate, intent on searching for something in the pocket of her apron rather than looking at him.

“Cream or sugar?” She finally glanced up, long enough for him to glimpse captivating flecks of gold in her autumn-brown eyes.

“Cream. Thank you.” It was all he could come up with. Andrew wanted to bang his head against the table. He’d had dinner with heads of state and vacationed with celebrities, but a slender waitress with soulful eyes had suddenly reduced his vocabulary to that of a three-year-old. A very shy three-year-old.

“M.J.!” Isaac poked his head out of the pass-through between the kitchen and dining room. “Where are you? The cheese on this burger is aging. I’m going to have to raise the price if it sits up here any longer.”

Andrew saw Miranda bite her lip to hold back a laugh and took advantage of the moment to draw her out. “What does the J stand for?”

Wariness instantly replaced the laughter that backlit her eyes. “Jones.”

Andrew got the impression that only the Starlight’s reputation as a friendly diner prevented her from ignoring his question.

He opened his mouth to say something—anything—else but she beat him to it. “If you need something, just get Darcy’s attention.”

On cue, the young woman who’d been sidetracked by the toddler’s spill dashed over to his table. Her eyes sparkled and her smile bordered on flirtatious. If her bleach-blond hair hadn’t been pulled back in a ponytail, Andrew was sure she would have given it one of those teasing, off-the-shoulder flips.

“Are you interested in dessert today, Mr. Noble?”

Andrew buried a sigh. That was what he was used to.

“Not today. The boss only gives me an hour for lunch.”

She giggled. “Me, too!” Her tone clearly implied that now they had something in common. Andrew looked for Miranda but she’d disappeared into the kitchen.

Fortunately, Sandra came to his rescue.

“Darcy!” She motioned the waitress over to the counter.

The waitress’s shoulders drooped but she gave Andrew an irrepressible smile. “If you need a warm-up—on your coffee, just holler.”

In spite of his overzealous waitress, Andrew lingered at the diner until the lunch crowd cleared out. Maybe it was because there wasn’t a single thing on the menu preceded by the words light or fat-free. Or because Isaac and Sandra treated him the way they did everyone else who came through the door—with down-home charm and a complete lack of pretense.

Or maybe it’s because you’re hoping to get another glimpse of Miranda Jones.

What was it about her that piqued his interest? She was pretty in an understated way, but something else about her intrigued him.

Because she didn’t write her phone number on your bill?

That brought back an unwelcome memory. A few years ago, one of the newspapers had taken his picture while he’d toured a coast guard cutter. A photographer had caught him off guard, capturing the bored expression on his face. It was a direct contrast to the adoring gaze of the officer’s daughter who’d latched on to his arm like a barnacle on the hull of the ship at the beginning of the tour. The tongue-in-cheek caption accompanying the photo had humorously noted that Andrew seemed to be more interested in the search than the rescue.

Andrew had developed a thick skin over the years when it came to the outrageous claims the gossip columns printed, but that one still bothered him. Especially because he wondered if there wasn’t some truth to it.