Mending Her Heart. Judy Baer

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      Charley slid into his seat at the table and folded his hands. “Can I say grace?”

      “You bet. Give it your best shot, buddy,” Will said.

      Catherine listened in amazement as the child began to pray.

      “Dear God, thanks for fish, especially salmon the way Uncle Will cooks it, and for cabbage even though it’s gross. And thank you for Jesus and my mom and my uncle and for Miss Catherine who’s come to help us fix up Hope House. And take care of Gram. You’re lucky you’ve got her now. Amen.”

      Catherine didn’t even realize there were tears streaming down her face until Will touched a napkin to one cheek.

      “He affects me that way, too, sometimes,” Will said so softly that Charley, who was busy eating, didn’t hear.

      Everything Charley and Will did seemed to touch Catherine to her core. She looked down at the napkin in her lap. She didn’t want Will to see her face. She was a hairbreadth away from falling for these two charmers, and what a complication that would be.

      JUDY BAER

      Angel Award-winning author and two-time RITA^® Award finalist Judy Baer has written more than seventy books in the past twenty years. A native of North Dakota and graduate of Concordia College in Minnesota, she currently lives near Minneapolis. In addition to writing, Judy works as a personal life coach and writing coach. Judy speaks in churches, libraries, women’s groups and at writers’ conferences across the country. She enjoys time with her husband, two daughters, three stepchildren and the growing number of spouses, pets and babies they bring home. Judy, who once raised buffalo, now owns horses. She recently completed her master’s degree and accepted a position as adjunct faculty at St. Mary’s University, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Readers are invited to visit her website at www.judykbaer.com.

      Mending Her Heart

      Judy Baer

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Weeping may tarry for the night,

       but joy comes in the morning.

      —Psalm 30:5

      For my mom. I love you.

      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

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Epilogue

      Letter to Reader

      Questions for Discussion

      Chapter One

      Goodbye, Gram. I love you.

      Catherine Stanhope turned away from the grave site, her heart aching, unable to watch the ornate silver casket being lowered into the ground. Now the last living Stanhope, she felt truly alone.

      As she turned away, consumed with grief and loneliness, she stumbled on a patch of rough ground and pitched forward. She would have fallen flat on her face but for a pair of strong hands that quickly circled her waist.

      “Are you okay?” Will Tanner studied her with dark, compassionate eyes.

      “Fine, considering the circumstances.” Her voice was faint and monotone.

      She stared down at her feet as if they belonged to someone else. She’d worn ridiculously high heels to the funeral even though she knew full well that she’d have to make her way across the cemetery to the elaborate Stanhope family headstone that towered over the rest of the graveyard’s modest rows of tombstones. She wasn’t thinking ahead. In fact, she wasn’t thinking at all. The sudden death of her grandmother Abigail had come as such a shock that she was still reeling.

      Instead of letting the man go, Catherine gripped his arm even tighter to balance herself, kicked off her shoes, picked them up and sighed. “Sorry. Thank you.” She smiled imperceptibly. “Gram never liked high heels. She always told me I’d break an ankle in these things some day. I certainly don’t want it to be today.” Her grandmother had always been practical and no-nonsense.

      “That sounds just like Abigail,” he agreed pleasantly.

      Catherine looked at him curiously, studying the fine planes of his face and thick, expressive brows. Since she’d arrived in Pleasant, Minnesota, she’d been inundated with the funeral details that left her sad and exhausted. She hadn’t made the connection between Mr. Will Tanner and her grandmother until meeting him in the mourners’ gathering room before the service. “How long did you say you’ve been working for my grandmother?”

      “Nearly six months.”

      An unexpected wave of envy swept over her. Tanner, a virtual stranger, had spent more time with her grandmother than she had in recent weeks.

      She was responsible, she knew. Gram had called her a dozen times asking when she was going to take time away from work to come home for a visit.

      She’d always given the same answer. “I can’t get away, Gram. I have trial dates set and a desk full of cases to address. Why don’t you come to Minneapolis? We’ll go out for dinner every night. You’ll be able to browse all the bookstores and libraries you love. It would be good for you to get away, too, you know….”

      Gram had come, of course, but it wasn’t the same. Nothing matched a visit with Abigail Stanhope at Stanhope House—or Hope House, as the locals called it. Being surrounded by family art, heirlooms and history or sitting on the back porch sipping tea with the woman who’d raised her, were opportunities Catherine had taken for granted until it was too late. The regret tasted bitter in her mouth. And it only deepened the grief that already overwhelmed her. All she could do was steel herself against the pain.

      “Shall we go to Hope House, dear?” Emma Lane, her grandmother’s best friend, was waiting for them by the last few of the parked cars. “Are you ready?”

      Catherine had chosen to stay with Emma the past two nights rather than spend them alone at Hope House.

      “People are coming by. The church ladies are serving lunch at the house. Your aunt Ellen and uncle Max went ahead to welcome the guests.”

      Catherine pressed her thumb and forefinger together over the bridge of her nose to ward off the headache that was lurking behind her eyes. “Yes…but I’d like a few minutes to myself first.”

      Emma, with whom Catherine had ridden from the church, looked concerned. “Of course. I’m sure they’ll realize they need to plug in the coffeemaker….”

      “You can go back to Hope House and do what needs to be done, Emma. I’ll drive her back to the house,” Tanner offered. “That will give Catherine as much time as she needs.”

      Catherine shot him a grateful glance. The past few hours had been a maelstrom of emotion. Add to that