A Family For The Farmer. Laurel Blount

been bad enough.

      Well, there was no point fretting over all that now. “All things work for good for those who love the Lord and are called according to His purpose,” her minister had assured the congregation last Sunday. Surely that included late lawyers and cranky bosses. Emily forced a smile and smoothed a stray tendril of blond hair away from her daughter’s sulky face. “Try to be patient, honey. I don’t think it’ll be much longer.”

      “Here, Pheebs.” Her son pushed his reptile book over so that it rested halfway in his sister’s lap. “You can share my book. It shows the inside of the lizards, not just the outsides. See? That’s his guts.”

      “Eeww!” Phoebe made a face, but soon she was as absorbed in the book as her brother.

      Emily sighed again and fished the rejected sandwich out of her bag. She was starving, and those hamburgers had smelled good. She broke off a small chunk and tucked it discreetly in her mouth while avoiding looking in the direction of the elegant secretary. The peanut butter stuck to the roof of her mouth and made her long for the travel thermos of double-strength coffee she’d left in the cup holder of her elderly compact car.

      The twins were almost to the end of the lizard book. By the vigorous way Phoebe was kicking her small tennis shoes against the legs of her chair, Emily knew that keeping her small daughter appropriately behaved was about to get even harder. Something had to give.

      Emily rose, and the twins looked up at her expectantly. “I’m going to walk outside and let the children stretch their legs for a minute. We’ll be right back.”

      The secretary glanced away from her computer screen and blinked. “Of course,” she murmured politely. “Why don’t you give me your cell phone number in case Mr. Monroe comes in while you’re out?”

      “Mama doesn’t give out her cell phone number,” Paul interjected helpfully. “It’s just for emergencies. Minutes cost money. Like hamburgers.”

      The secretary’s gaze slid over to her son, and Emily was suddenly aware of how rumpled and sticky they all looked after the three-hour drive in her old car with its wonky air-conditioning system. She tilted up her chin.

      “We’ll come back in about fifteen minutes. I’m sure Mr. Monroe won’t mind waiting for us if he gets back before then.” The secretary looked as if she thought Mr. Monroe probably would mind, but Emily was past caring. She pushed open the heavy door and ushered the twins out into the early-summer sunshine.

      It was only eleven thirty in the morning, but the Georgia heat had already settled over the town like a hot, moist blanket. Emily hesitated in front of the old storefront that housed the lawyer’s office, blinking in the strong sunlight.

      Jim Monroe’s office faced the town square. The brick courthouse loomed directly across the street from where they stood. Its lawn looked lushly green, and shade from a huge magnolia tree dappled a bench near a concrete war memorial. Emily took her twins’ hands and headed in that direction, hoping to put some distance between Phoebe and the smell of grilling burgers.

      While the twins ran off some of their energy chasing each other around the tree’s gnarled trunk, Emily sat on the bench nibbling at the sticky sandwich and feeling uncomfortably conspicuous. Passersby curiously glanced her way, and she could see them wondering who she and the twins were, trying to place them. This was a small town, and outsiders stood out.

      She hadn’t always been a stranger here. She wondered how long it would take before somebody figured that out and remembered the last time Emily Elliott had been downtown in Pine Valley. That had been the day her grandmother had marched her into Donaldson’s Drugstore to buy a home pregnancy test.

      She’d felt pretty conspicuous then, too.

      Emily’s eyes flickered to the twins, who were clambering over the twisting roots of the ancient magnolia, and she felt her nerves ease a little. That had been the beginning of the toughest time in her life, but God had brought two amazing blessings out of it. He’d get her through today, too.

      “I’m telling you, this isn’t right.” An emphatic male voice broke into Emily’s thoughts, and she glanced up to see two men rounding the corner of the courthouse. “None of it’s right.”

      Emily frowned. The man had his dark head turned away from her, but his voice sounded oddly familiar. He was tall and casually dressed in jeans and a red cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His companion was older, and either the Georgia heat or the sharp edge of the tall man’s voice had the fancy-dressed gentleman sweating through his very expensive suit.

      “You’re the lawyer,” the familiar-sounding man continued. “Find a loophole.”

      “There isn’t one.” The other man mopped at his balding head with a handkerchief as he struggled to keep up with his companion’s long strides. “We’ve been over this, Mr. Whitlock. Repeatedly. And all I can do is tell you the same thing I’ve been saying all along. There’s nothing I can do.”

      Whitlock.

      Emily squinted at the dark-haired man, and her heart jumped. She stood, shading her eyes with one hand to get a better look. “Abel? Abel Whitlock?”

      The man stopped walking and turned toward her. “Emily?”

      She felt her lips tilt upward in her first real smile in two long weeks. She took four running steps and flung herself into the tall man’s arms hard enough that he staggered backward a step.

      For a second she held on to him without thinking, her nose buried in the softness of his shirt, inhaling the scent of him—wood shavings, soap, the wild tang of the pine woods that surrounded his cabin. “Oh, it’s so good to see a friendly face.” She backed up a step, still clutching his upper arms, feeling the solid strength of his muscles through the worn cotton of his shirt. She peered up into his face. “You’re a sight for sore eyes, you truly are!”

      His blue eyes, startling in his tanned face, looked bemused. He seemed at a loss for words, but that wasn’t unusual for Abel. She’d met him when she was fourteen, and he was the lanky eighteen-year-old who helped out on her grandmother’s farm. He hadn’t been much of a talker back then, either.

      “Emily,” he repeated.

      She laughed self-consciously and released him. “I know. I’m terrible, flinging myself at you like that. I just couldn’t help it.” She turned back and motioned for her twins to approach them. “Phoebe, Paul, this is Grandma Sadie’s friend Mr. Abel. He takes care of her animals.” She smiled up at him. “He and I knew each other when I used to spend my summers with Grandma Sadie out on the farm.”

      The twins approached them slowly. Their experience with men in general was fairly limited—Emily didn’t trust most men around her children. But this was Abel Whitlock, and he was in a category all by himself.

      Abel detached his gaze from her face and dropped his eyes to the two tousled blond heads beside her.

      “Well, now.” He lowered himself slowly onto one knee and considered the children soberly. “So you’re the famous twins I’ve heard so much about! I’ve waited a good while to meet you.” He fished in his shirt pocket and produced a couple of striped discs of candy. “Do you like peppermint?”

      Emily’s smile widened. She’d seen him use the same technique countless times with skittish animals. Move slow, talk low and have a treat ready, he used to tell her. They’ll come around.

      The children considered his offering warily, glancing up at their mother for direction.

      “You can take it. Mr. Abel’s a good friend.”

      “You’re big. Like a tree.” Phoebe blinked her green eyes at him as she accepted her candy. Abel’s mouth crooked up in a lopsided smile that jarred half a dozen more memories loose in Emily’s mind. How could just that sideways quirk of his lips bring back so sharply the details of her Pine Valley summers? She could almost smell the odors of drying hay, fresh sliced tomatoes and green beans processing in her grandmother’s pressure