Father Most Blessed. Marta Perry

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      “Why on earth don’t you replace this…stuff?

       It’s your house, after all.”

      Alex’s gaze lingered on the heavy oil portrait of his grandfather that hung over the dining-room fireplace. “Sometimes I find that hard to believe.”

      His words were so quiet, he almost seemed to be speaking to himself. Paula wanted to argue, but instinctively she knew it wouldn’t do any good. She’d been wrong. It wasn’t his house, not in the way she understood those words. It was the Caine mansion, and right now Alex looked as if that were a heavy burden.

      She frowned down at the folder in her hand. “I’ll get started on this.”

      Alex turned toward her, seeming to shake off the clouds that surrounded him. “Thank you.”

      “For what? It’s my job.” It was hard to sound casual when her heart clenched at his closeness.

      “For being here. For helping me. I’m glad you’re back.”

       MARTA PERRY

      wanted to be a writer from the moment she encountered Nancy Drew, at about age eight. She didn’t see publication of her stories until many years later, when she began writing children’s fiction for Sunday school papers while she was a church educational director. Although now retired from that position in order to write full-time, she continues to play an active part in her church and loves teaching a class of lively fifth-and sixth-grade Sunday school students.

      Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania with her husband of thirty-seven years and has three grown children. She loves to hear from readers and enjoys responding. She can be reached c/o Steeple Hill Books, 300 East 42nd Street, New York, NY 10017.

      Father Most Blessed

      Marta Perry

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For it is by grace you have been saved, through

      faith, and this not from yourselves: it is the gift of

      God—not by works, so that no one can boast.

      —Ephesians 2:8-9

      This story is dedicated with love and gratitude to

      the siblings and spouses who add so much richness

       to our lives: Pat and Ed, Bill and Molly,

      Herb and Barb, Gary and Arddy, and Chris.

       And, as always, to Brian.

      Contents

      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

      Chapter Sixteen

      Letter to Reader

       Chapter One

       A man who lived in a twenty-room house ought to be able to have silence when he wanted it. Alex Caine tossed his pen on the library desk and stalked to the center hallway of the Italianate mansion that had been home to the Caine family for three generations. The noise that had disrupted his work on a crucial business deal came from beyond the swinging door to the servants’ area.

      Frowning, he headed toward the sound, his footsteps sharp on the marble floor, and pushed through the door to the rear of the house. He’d told his ailing housekeeper to rest this afternoon, so there should have been no sound at all to disturb his concentration. But Maida Hansen, having taken care of him since the day his mother died when he was six, tended to ignore any orders she didn’t want to follow.

      Well, in this case she was going to listen. If he didn’t find the right words for this delicate negotiation, Caine Industries might not survive for another generation. There might be no company at all to leave to his son.

      He winced. What would his grandfather or his father have said to that? They’d assumed they were founding a dynasty to last a hundred years. They wouldn’t look kindly on the man who presided over its demise.

      The noise came from the pantry, down the hall from the kitchen. He seized the doorknob and yanked.

      The figure balanced precariously on the step stool wasn’t Maida. Maida had never in her life worn blue jeans or a sweatshirt proclaiming her World’s Greatest Teacher. His heart stopped, and he looked at the woman he had thought he’d never see again.

      “What’s going on?”

      She spun at the sound of his voice, wobbled and overbalanced. Her arms waved wildly to regain control, but it was too late. The step stool toppled, sending her flying toward him. Pans clattered to the floor. In an instant his arms had closed around Paula Hansen.

      The breath went out of him. Carefully he set her on her feet and stepped back, clamping down on the treacherous rush of feelings. Paula—here in his house again, looking up at him with what might have been embarrassment in her sea-green eyes.

      With an effort he schooled his face to polite concern and found his voice. “Paula. I didn’t expect to find you here. Maida didn’t tell me you were coming.”

      Maida’s time outside her duties was her own, and she was perfectly free to have her niece stay at the housekeeper’s cottage whenever she wanted to. But in the almost two years since the plane crash, since what had happened between them, Paula hadn’t returned to Bedford Creek.

      “She didn’t tell you?” Surprise filled Paula’s expressive face. She tried to mask it, turning away to right the step stool.

      “No, she didn’t.” If he’d known Paula was on the estate, he wouldn’t have betrayed shock at the sight of her. In fact, he’d probably have found a way to avoid seeing her at all.

      “But I thought she…” Paula stopped, seeming to edit whatever she’d been about to say. “My school just got out for the summer yesterday, so I’m on vacation now.” Again she stopped, and again he had the sense of things left unsaid.

      She’d been on vacation two years ago, when she’d come to Pennsylvania to spend the summer taking care of his son. It had seemed the perfect solution. He had needed someone reliable to care for Jason until kindergarten started in the fall. His housekeeper’s niece needed a summer job. Neither of them had anticipated anything else.

      The June sunlight, slanting through the small panes of the pantry window, burnished the honey blond of her hair. Her hair was shorter now than the last time he’d seen her, and it fell in unruly curls around her face. Her green eyes still reflected glints of gold, and that vulnerable mouth and stubborn chin hadn’t changed.

      Tension jagged along his nerves as images of the last time he’d seen her invaded his mind—lightning splitting the sky outside the small plane; the brief hope the pilot would manage to land, shattered when the plane cartwheeled and flames rushed toward him; Paula, several rows ahead, trapped in a mass of twisted metal. If an unexpected business trip hadn’t put him on the daily commuter flight the same day that Paula was leaving to go home, what might have happened? Would someone have pulled her from the jammed seat to safety?

      “Is something wrong?” She pulled her sweatshirt sleeves down, frowning.