Brought Together by Baby. Carolyne Aarsen

need mascara. Her cheeks were, well, pale. But so be it.

      She whisked one hand down her skirt as she walked along the narrow hallway toward the kitchen, brushing away the few wrinkles she had gotten from driving.

      Her mother stood at the huge counter that served as an island in the modernized kitchen, her knife flashing as she chopped vegetables. She wore a bright orange, loose, woven shirt over a wildly patterned silk T-shirt in hues of turquoise, orange, red and gold that accented her short chestnut-brown hair, worn in a spiky style. The kitchen table, tucked away in a plant-laden nook, was set with her mother’s earthenware dishes. Definitely casual.

      “Ah. There you are.” Beatrice put down her knife and swept around the island, arms spread out, her shirt and matching skirt flowing out behind her. She enveloped her daughter in a warm hug, holding her close. “I’m so glad you came. And right on time.” She drew away, cupping Rachel’s face in her narrow hands, her hazel eyes traveling over her. “You’re looking a little pale, my dear. Have you been taking your kelp supplements?”

      Rachel lifted her hand in a vague gesture. “I’ve been busy…” She laid the present for Gracie on the counter.

      “Honey, honey, honey.” Beatrice shook her head in admonition. “You have to take care of yourself. Your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit. God needs healthy servants to do His work on earth.”

      Rachel merely smiled. She wasn’t going to get into a discussion with her mother over what God needed or didn’t need. For the past eight years she had put God out of her life. Or tried to. Now and again glimpses of Him would come through, but she generally managed to ignore them. She preferred her independence, and God required too much and gave too little.

      Beatrice slipped her arm around Rachel’s shoulders and drew her toward the counter. “Your father and I have a lovely surprise for you. Gracie’s pediatrician said he would come and visit us.”

      “He’s here now?”

      Beatrice nodded, giving her daughter a sly grin. “I thought you might want to meet him.”

      A moment of awareness dawned. “Is he the fool on the motorcycle?”

      Beatrice frowned and tapped her fingers on her daughter’s shoulders. “Rachel Augusta Charlene Noble, you shouldn’t use words like that. Especially about someone as wonderful as Eli.”

      Rachel had hoped that adopting not-yet-two-year-old Gracie would satisfy her mother’s deep-rooted desire for grandchildren. Well, this was one romance she was going to nip in the bud. “I’m sorry, Mom, but as far as I’m concerned, anyone who drives a motorcycle isn’t firing on all cylinders. Especially if he’s a pediatrician.” Rachel picked a baby carrot from the bowl sitting on the counter and took a bite. “Where’s Dad?”

      “He and the estimable Dr. Eli are out in the garden with Gracie. I do believe they’re coming back now.”

      Rachel wandered over to the window overlooking the grounds, popping the last of the carrot in her mouth. A tall, narrow-hipped man sauntered alongside her father, the tips of his fingers pushed into the front pockets of his blue jeans, his softly worn shirt flowing over broad shoulders. He reached over and feathered a curl of Gracie’s hair back from her face, smiling softly at her. Gracie laughed up at him and snuggled closer to her father.

      Rachel couldn’t mesh the picture with the one she had created of Gracie’s Dr. Eli. Until her mother’s pronouncement, she had always pictured the man her parents spoke so highly of as an older, portly gentleman, not this…cowboy.

      Who drove a motorcycle.

      A chill drifted over Rachel and she spun away from the window.

      “And what are you making for dinner?” she asked, looking for a distraction.

      When Rachel was younger, her mother had hardly darkened the doorway of the kitchen except to give Francine, their cook for the past fifteen years, directions on when to serve which course. But in the past few years, Beatrice had started exploring various culinary options and had settled on macrobiotic cooking. The result was that Francine turned up her nose at what Beatrice wanted to make and had quit and been re-hired a number of times. The two of them had settled on part-time work, which suited Francine just fine and gave Beatrice the space she needed to create her concoctions.

      Beatrice looked up from the salad she was working with her hands. “Polenta with corn, herbed black soybeans, carrots and broccoli with ume dill dressing and a pressed Chinese cabbage salad.”

      Rachel thought of the fast-food outlets she had passed on her way over here and her stomach growled.

      “Francine made sure there was herbed chicken for you, Gracie and Eli, and she made your favorite chocolate cake for dessert.” Her mother gave her a quick smile. “I know how much you love your empty calories. That’s why you’re so pale, you know.”

      “I’m fine, Mother.” Rachel ate another carrot as if to show Beatrice that she knew how to make healthy choices.

      “Is that my little girl?” Charles called out affectionately.

      Rachel looked back over her shoulder just as her father burst into the room. He strode to her side, and gave her a quick one-armed hug, balancing his youngest daughter on the other arm.

      “Hello, Dad,” she said, leaning against him. “Good to see you.”

      She glanced at Gracie, who grinned at her, her curly brown hair framing a heart-shaped face. She wore blue jean overalls today with a soft pink T-shirt. Fairly normal considering her mother’s personal taste in clothing.

      “Hey, there,” Rachel said with a quick smile, stroking her sister’s shoulder. Gracie held her arms out to Rachel, overbalanced, and tried to compensate, her movements jerky. Rachel restored her back to her father’s arms but took a step away from them.

      Gracie was adorable, cute and loving. But every time Rachel was around her, she felt inadequate and, quite frankly, a little nervous.

      It hadn’t helped that the first time Rachel saw the girl that had captured her parents’ hearts the child had been attached to a respirator, monitor, IV and other machines. Gracie had cerebral palsy and had been recovering from a bad seizure. Her parents had just applied to adopt her. So they had asked Rachel to come with them to meet her.

      Rachel had thought she’d overcome her hatred of hospitals, but five minutes of standing by Gracie’s bedside was all she could take. The hiss of the respirator and the pervasive scent of disinfectant broke over her in a wave of angry memories and nausea.

      She gave her parents her blessing and left as soon as she could.

      Since then, every time she saw the girl, she saw helplessness and sickness and hospitals. And she felt uncomfortable.

      “Here, little one, I brought you a present.” Rachel offered the toddler the wrapped box as a peace offering.

      “What do you say, honey?” Charles prompted.

      “Hank you.” Gracie said with a proud grin at her father.

      Charles tried to catch Rachel’s gaze, but she looked away. She knew her father didn’t always understand her reaction to her adorable little sister. Rachel didn’t always, either. But there it was.

      Charles looked behind him at the man she knew had been watching them. “Rachel, I’d like you to meet Dr. Eli. He is Gracie’s pediatrician. Eli, this is our daughter, Rachel.”

      “I believe we’ve already met,” Eli said, the same lazy smile crooking his mouth as he held out his hand to her.

      She gave him a polite smile. She could do that much. It wasn’t his fault that her parents were itching to be in-laws. “The motorcycle man.”

      “That’s me.” His hand was warm, his fingers long, and at his touch she felt a flicker of awareness that had been dormant for a long time now.

      She didn’t like it.

      “I’m