Summer on Blossom Street. Debbie Macomber

news.

      “Anything…unusual happen while I was away?” Anne Marie wasn’t sure how to phrase the question.

      Teresa bit her lip as if considering how to respond. “Not really… What makes you ask?”

      “There were a number of hang-ups on my personal phone. I’ve never had that before. I just wondered if it was something to do with the bookstore.”

      Teresa shrugged. “I’m sorry. I have no idea.”

      “Okay, I was just curious. It’s a bit odd, that’s all.” Anne Marie collected her mail and turned away.

      “Wait a minute,” Teresa said, stopping her.

      Anne Marie turned back. “Yes?”

      “There was someone here earlier in the week. A man. He asked to speak to you regarding a private matter.”

      A private matter? “Did he leave his name or number?”

      “No. I asked, and he said he’d contact you later.”

      Again, this was all rather odd. “Did he say anything else?”

      Teresa’s eyes narrowed slightly. “No, not that I can recall.”

      “What did he look like?”

      A smile wavered on her lips. “Actually, he was pretty hot.”

      Anne Marie grinned. “Define hot.”

      “Tall—about six-one, maybe six-two. In good shape. He’s nice-looking. Very nice-looking.”

      “Dark hair? Or blond?”

      “Dark. And brown eyes. He seemed anxious to talk to you. Do you know who it might be?”

      Anne Marie shook her head.

      “What about your hang-ups? That might’ve been him. Is there a number on caller ID?”

      Anne Marie exhaled loudly. “It came up No Data.”

      “Then I guess we’ll have to wait and see if he comes by again.”

      That was her thought, too. Well, a tall, dark and handsome stranger apparently wanted to meet her. Things could be worse.

      CHAPTER

      6

      Honey, knitting is so much more than just plain obsessive compulsive behavior…it’s the healthiest addiction I know!

      —Antje Gillingham,

      owner of The Knitting Nest in Maryville, TN

       Lydia Goetz

      It’s my habit to check each room before retiring for the night. Brad was already in bed, reading Michael Connelly’s latest suspense novel. As I walked through the house, I checked the locks and turned off the lights in the kitchen. Then I looked in on Cody, who was fast asleep.

      Chase, my stepson’s golden retriever, slept on the braided rug next to Cody’s bed. When I opened the bedroom door a crack, Chase—ever vigilant—raised his head. Seeing me, he lowered his head again.

      All was well in the house and in my world. I had a new feeling of anticipation, a sense of excitement that stayed with me. It had begun the day I received a call from Evelyn Boyle regarding our approval as adoption candidates.

      Just as I entered our bedroom, the phone rang.

      “Good grief, who’d be calling after ten o’clock?” Brad asked as he set his book aside.

      “I’ll get it.” I reached for the telephone on my bedstand, half expecting this had to do with my mother. “Hello,” I said tentatively.

      “Oh, Lydia, it’s Evelyn Boyle. I apologize for contacting you this late.”

      “Evelyn?” My gaze automatically sought out Brad’s. It didn’t seem possible that they’d have an infant for us so soon. Nevertheless my heart raced. “What can I do for you?”

      “Listen, I wouldn’t ask if I had any alternative.”

      “Ask what?”

      “I have a foster child—a girl. It’s an emergency case and I need a home for Casey for two nights.”

      This was the very thing Margaret had said would happen, the very thing she’d warned me about. “Two nights,” I repeated, the hesitation in my voice impossible to disguise.

      “Casey is attending summer school and unless she finishes, she won’t be able to go on to the eighth grade in September. Sending her back to seventh grade would be a disaster. She’s only twelve and this is a difficult year for her.”

      “I thought summer school just started.” A friend of Cody’s had gotten behind in math and was now attending a summer program that had recently begun and would go through the month of July.

      “Well, yes, but if Casey can spend tonight and possibly tomorrow night with you, that’ll give me the necessary time to find her another long-term foster home.”

      “I see.” I bit my lip, uncertain what to say.

      “Two nights, Lydia. Just two nights. It would make a world of difference to Casey. She really can’t miss a single class.”

      I looked at Brad. “I’ll need to discuss this with my husband.”

      “Of course.”

      “Can I call you right back?”

      “Ah…I could stay on the line.”

      “You’re sure this is only for a couple of nights?”

      “Positive.”

      “Okay, I’ll ask.” I held the receiver against my shoulder. “It’s Evelyn Boyle…. She has a twelve-year-old girl who needs a bed for the next two nights.”

      “I take it she wants to bring the girl here?”

      I nodded, ready to accept whatever Brad decided.

      He seemed as hesitant as I felt. “I can’t imagine Evelyn would ask if she had any other option,” he said in a low voice.

      “She told me Casey, that’s the girl’s name, is attending math classes at summer school and can’t afford to miss any or she won’t be able to advance to the eighth grade.”

      Brad made the connection right away. “In other words, she needs to keep Casey in the same school district.”

      “Exactly.”

      Brad met my eyes. “What do you think?”

      I shrugged, torn between generosity and fear. I wanted to help Evelyn, but I wasn’t the least bit prepared to deal with a twelve-year-old. Still, it would only be for a couple of nights. “I don’t suppose it would hurt.”

      Brad nodded. “Tell her to bring Casey over.” He squeezed my hand. “I hope we know what we’re getting ourselves into,” he muttered.

      “So do I.” I lifted the receiver to my ear. “Brad says we can take Casey for the next two nights.” I made sure Evelyn understood that we were willing to fill in, but just for the limited time she’d requested.

      The social worker’s sigh of relief sounded over the phone. “I can’t thank you enough. I’ll be dropping Casey off in the next half hour.”

      “I’ll wait up for her,” I promised. Thirty minutes would give me a chance to straighten the spare room and remake the bed. I’d need to put a few things away, too. The sewing machine was out because