A Mother's Promise. Ruth Scofield

Ethan Vale. She was through with men. Totally, forever through with men. Romance didn’t work in her life, she’d painfully discovered. Besides, all the good men were taken.

      But…if Ethan wanted to put himself out to help her, why should she care? She’d let him. His personal interest would be short-lived, anyway, because as soon as he found out about her recent troubles, he’d run scared. Men did that.

      Meanwhile, she could use the promise of her new associations to impress her parole officer.

      “Suit yourself.”

      In the background, she suddenly heard the wail of a small child. “Daddy…”

      “Uh-oh, gotta go. See you tomorrow night.”

      The phone line clicked. He’d hung up.

      So Ethan was a parent, too. What was his story?

      It didn’t matter. She set the phone back on the scratched mahogany end table, wondering how Ethan expected to pick her up from her place of work when she hadn’t told him where to come. And how had he known she’d need a ride? What had Beth Anne told him?

      Chapter Three

      “C’mon, Stacy.” Against a background of three-year-old Jordan making “vroom-vroom” engine sounds and five-year-old Tony squabbling with seven-year-old Bethany over a Game Boy, Ethan pleaded with his sister. He shifted the phone receiver and plugged his other ear. “Please? I took your kids and mine to the zoo last month, remember? For the whole day.”

      “Ethan,” his sister said reasonably, “taking the kids one time doesn’t equal all the extra hours I’ve given you this past year. You have to find someone besides me to help with the kids. Like Sharon’s parents.”

      He mumbled a not-very-nice comment about his in-laws as he watched his children. Tim and Barbara Long were impossible to please, they had never approved of him, and he strongly suspected that given half a chance, they would sue for custody of his children.

      He ignored Stacy’s suggestion.

      “You tell me to get a life, but how can I do that without help, Stace?”

      He heard his sister’s long-suffering sigh. “You can’t expect me to handle all your childcare problems, Ethan. Can’t you ask Sharon’s parents for a change?”

      “Uh…I don’t want to do that. Look, I have two job interviews lined up this week, and Sharon’s mom agreed to pick up Bethany and Tony after school today. That’s enough, okay? Jordan will be all right at nursery school for a bit. But I can’t ask the Longs to watch them tonight. I just can’t. They ask too many questions.”

      “Uh-huh, and I had the kids over last weekend while you hung out at that Roger guy’s house. What were you doing all that time anyway? You were over an hour late picking them up.”

      “Yeah, but that Roger guy is a top fiddle player and we had a hot session. We’re sounding better than ever, sis. Still Western swing, but fresher.”

      His sister sighed into the phone again. “Your band sounding good doesn’t guarantee a steady living, Ethan. Can’t you see it? You’re riding a slippery slope here. If Sharon were alive…”

      “But she isn’t, Stacy,” he said with a quiet reserve, “and I can’t live the rest of my life in an image that no longer fits.”

      “Okay, okay. Sorry.” Stacy sounded mollified, but continued scolding in her gentle way. “But when are you going to get a real job again? You’ve been out of work for almost five months, Ethan. Is either of these two interviews likely to bring you into the fold?”

      Into Stacy’s idea of a family fold, Ethan realized. He struggled with the expression for a few moments.

      “Uh…well, maybe.” He wasn’t completely out of money yet. And he’d return to the banking world as a last resort. He found banking—numbers, mortgages, interest rates and stock market going up and down—boring. Interacting with people, having fun playing his music as he’d done in college—that was much more satisfactory.

      Sharon had never agreed, and he’d gone along with her idea of the family fold. He’d settled into a seventeen-year banking career that had pleased both her and her parents. Oh, yeah. He’d made the money….

      For a long time, he and Sharon had lived a great up-and-coming young professional’s existence. He admitted he’d enjoyed part of it. They jaunted and partied, bought a mid-sized house in a snazzy lake community, and traded cars every three years. He liked to cook and often played chef for a host of friends, devising elaborate menus from TV chefs. People loved his dinners.

      Sharon felt passionate about her career in retail upper management and had been happy enough to postpone having children. He’d been the nag, wanting children sooner rather than later, but he’d let Sharon choose her time. Then bing, bing, bing, three babies in less than five years.

      And a year after Jordan was born, his wife had suddenly died of an unsuspected heart aneurysm.

      Two years ago…two long years…rough years.

      He’d plunged himself into caring for the children, getting through his demanding days at the bank with the promise of their welcoming smiles. For a long time that was enough. It kept him from crying too much, that unmanly pastime that he did only in the deepest night when nobody could see except God and himself.

      His music soothed him, and from it he took encouragement. If only Stacy knew that he was digging himself out of the doldrums, she wouldn’t scold him so much.

      The house was always in shambles, though. A series of housekeepers helped a little, and he wasn’t so pressured to run the vacuum or take care of laundry, but it seemed impossible to keep them.

      Then this last year he’d slowly wakened to a feeling of overwhelming loneliness. He wanted adult company—needed other adults in his life. He also needed to change his life, make it count in a different way. Those feelings came just about the time his bank was merged into a larger one. His position disappeared, and he wondered—what next? Another bank?

      He’d thought about it long and hard, for months now. He wanted a business of his own creation, one that appealed to him. And it would be totally different from banking.

      Slowly a plan emerged.

      He wanted a restaurant; not too large, and with a small lead staff. He wanted a corner stage for a live musical group to entertain customers. It was a leftover dream from his college days, he knew, and he wasn’t sure if he could make it work. But he wanted to try, to give it all he had. It would provide a place he could indulge his love of playing, of performing. It might not make him wealthy, but it would give him peace.

      He’d tossed his ideas around with Mike Faraday. Mike had pointed out that perhaps God was giving him an opportunity for the change in his life that he desired.

      To have a new beginning. And he agreed.

      As his severance pay diminished, he’d sold the lakeside house and moved into smaller digs. Without Sharon, the fancy house felt too big, anyway. His profit from the sale gave him a financial cushion, but not enough to finance his restaurant scheme. He had to have solid backing, and he couldn’t go much longer without a steady income, either.

      Maybe he was a dreamer. Sharon wouldn’t have approved, and neither had her parents when he’d mentioned the idea. He hadn’t a jot of restaurant experience, they pointed out, and his chances of failure were high. Plus, they argued, he had an obligation to support the children in a way that their daughter would have wanted.

      Still, the dream only grew stronger.

      “Daddy, Tony’s gonna hit me,” Bethany declared, her little chin thrust out as she glared at her brother. Her voice yanked Ethan back to the situation at hand.

      “It’s mine,” Tony insisted. The boy squinted defiantly at his sister, his small hands balled into fists.

      Ethan