Mother's Day Miracle and Blessed Baby. Lois Richer

      “That’s very kind of you.” Clarissa got to her feet, happy to leave the planting if it meant sharing her cookies. “I’ll bring some milk out too, shall I?”

      He trailed along behind her, up the stairs and in through the back door, with nary a hint of indecision.

      “Do you live here all by yourself?” he asked, his face filled with curiosity as he looked around.

      “Mm-hm. It was my grandmother’s house. She left it for me to live in when she died.” Clarissa set six cookies on a plate, poured two large glasses of milk, then checked to be sure Tabby the cat had some milk in her bowl. “My parents died when I was a little girl. My grandma looked after me.”

      “I don’t gots no mother, neither.” Pete took the plate and obediently carried it out onto her veranda behind her. “She died. My dad, too. Me an’ my brother and my dopey sisters are the only ones left.” He took a huge bite of cookie. “I’m getting ‘dopted.”

      “That’s nice.” Clarissa smiled to hide the shaft of pain she felt at the sad story. “I’m sure your new parents must love you very much.” She set the milk down and pulled out a chair.

      “Enough to confine him to his room for a week if he doesn’t learn to stay in his own yard,” a husky voice informed her sardonically. “There’s something wrong with your back gate.”

      Clarissa gasped at the familiar timbre of those low tones. She whirled around, her face draining of color as she met the dark forbidding gaze of the man who’d been in her library that very afternoon.

      “What are you doing here?” she demanded, noticing that he’d left the front gate open. She hurried to close it. “I don’t allow cats in my yard,” she told him soberly. “They bother the birds.”

      “But you got a cat in your house. I seen it.” Pete’s shrill voice burst into the conversation.

      “You ‘saw’ it. And Tabby doesn’t go outside.” Clarissa stood where she was, her hands buried in the voluminous pockets of her long skirt. “Are you Pete’s father?”

      “His name is Pierce and you know very well that I’m his uncle. I’m sure the entire town has informed you of my existence by now. I have to tell you that I do not appreciate having to scour the neighborhood to find my nephew, Miss Cartwright.”

      “Hey, I didn’t steal him!” Clarissa burst out, affronted by the implication in that low voice. “He came to look at the birds.” Another thought occurred and she whirled to face Pete, who was now enjoying his fifth cookie. “Is Pierce your real name?”

      “Yeah.” Pierce looked shamefaced, his soft melting eyes begged forgiveness. “But I like people to call me Pete. It’s not so…weird.” He pocketed the last cookie, then stared up at the big man who stood towering over them both. “I’ll go home now, Uncle Wade. I’m sorry I disobeyed.”

      Clarissa hadn’t thought it possible, but the stern craggy face softened, just a little.

      “It’s all right this time, son. But please stay in the yard. That’s why I rented the place, so there would be room for all of you to run and jump and play without getting into trouble.” His uncle eyed the torn jeans with a rueful smile. “Another pair? How do you manage to do this, Pierce?”

      “I dunno. It just happens.” Pierce shuffled down the steps, then raced around to the back of the house for his book. “See ya later,” he called to Clarissa, then vaulted over the fence with a huge leap.

      “You’re his uncle?” Somehow the knowledge just now made its way to her brain. “But this afternoon you said you were looking for a book for your son. And Pete, I mean Pierce, said he was adopted.” She frowned, trying to fit it all together.

      As the worst possible scenario flew into her mind, she gasped. She’d seen those milk-carton pictures for years, children who’d been stolen from one parent by another.

      “You can forget whatever you’re thinking. I am their legal guardian.” His rumbly voice openly mocked her.

      “They?” She pounced on the information, struggling to assimilate it all. “Who are they?”

      His face twisted into a wry smile. “One of the meddlers around here really must have slipped up.”

      When Clarissa only frowned in perplexity, he sighed, rolled his eyes, then thrust out one hand.

      “I suppose we didn’t get off to a very good start. You already know my name. And yes, before you ask, I’m part Cree. On my mother’s side. She kept her name.” His dark fuming eyes dared her to make something of that. “My sister and her husband died and left their kids for me to look after. Tildy and Lacey are twins. They’re twelve. Jared is ten and Pierce is seven. We moved here for the work. I would have thought the gossips would have imparted at least that much.”

      Clarissa took his hand and shook it, feeling the zap of his touch shiver all the way up her arm.

      “I don’t listen to gossip,” she assured him in a daze.

      Four children? This man was raising four children? Alone? “Welcome to Waseka.” She managed to get the words out despite the shock that held her jaw tense.

      “In case you didn’t understand earlier, I think I should make one thing perfectly clear,” he muttered, yanking his hand away and shoving it into the pocket of his worn but very well fitted jeans. “I’m not looking for a wife. Despite what people think, men are as capable of parenting as women. Nobody’s going to go hungry or get abandoned or forgotten about. I promised my sister I’d care for them, and I’ll keep my word. I’ll do my duty. Me. By myself.” His lips tightened. “In spite of the locals’ opinion, I’ve been doing just fine for several months now. And I intend to keep it that way.”

      She wondered why he sounded so torn about it. Then the impact of his words hit home.

      “Now, just a minute here.” Clarissa felt the flush push up from her neck, right to the roots of her string-straight hair.

      “No, you wait. I know what small towns are like. Nosy bunch of old fools! Everybody’s been hinting about you since the day I walked into this one-horse place. ‘Clarissa’s a wonderful cook. Clarissa’s so good with kids. Clarissa would make you the perfect wife. She just loves to care for people.’ Yak, yak, yak.” He snorted derisively, eyeing the plate that now held only a few crumbs. “I can see you’ve already been practicing your motherly wiles on my nephew.”

      “Wiles? I wasn’t—”

      “I’ve heard it all before, you know. Too many times. The sweet praise for a man who can care for four children. The innocent suggestion that I might need help. The generous offer to cook us a healthy meal. Out of friendship, of course! Matchmakers!” One corner of his unsmiling mouth tipped down.

      “Forget about whatever you’re planning, Miss Cartwright. We’re not in the market. I don’t need the aggravation.” Wade Featherhawk turned and stomped down the walk, his face grim and forbidding.

      Clarissa followed him down, her brain working furiously. “But, wait a minute. I didn’t even—”

      He whirled around faster than she expected, bumping into her. One tanned hand grabbed her arm, waited until she was steady, then fell away as if it had been burned.

      “No, you wait. Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough. I’m not interested in whatever you’re offering. My family is doing just fine. I don’t need your interference.” His snapping black eyes told her just how little she interested him. When Clarissa didn’t back off, he smiled darkly.

      “I don’t go for blondes, and even if I did, I’d pick someone strong enough to handle four kids, not a woman who looks like she’d blow away in the first storm that came along.” His eyes glinted black as ebony. “You want to mother someone, Miss Cartwright? Find your own kids.”

      Clarissa cringed