Mother's Day Miracle and Blessed Baby. Lois Richer

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СКАЧАТЬ thrust the dream of cherubic babies out of her mind and stared at the chubby little boy who stood impatiently waiting to enter her yard.

      “No one ever uses that gate,” she murmured, frowning. “I keep it oiled, of course. But still, it’s very difficult to open.”

      “I can climb over.” In a matter of seconds the little boy hiked himself over the fence. He stood before her, panting as he studied her birds. One bit of his jeans still clung to the top of the fence, but he ignored that. “How many do you got?”

      “What? Oh, the birds. I’m not sure. Eight, I think. I don’t keep them caged, but they always come here for the seeds.”

      “That’s ‘cause they like livin’ in the woods over there.” The child inclined his head to the wild growth of trees and shrubs that occupied the land next to hers. “Finches prefer to build their nests in low bushes or trees.”

      “I expect so.” She studied him. He was a curious blend. A child, yes, but with intelligent eyes and an obvious thirst for knowledge. She remembered the man at the library. “Do you like birds?” she asked curiously.

      “Oh, yes!” His face was a delight to watch, eyes shining, mouth stretched wide in a smile of pure bliss. “I collect pictures of them.” He flopped down on the grass beside her and opened the pad he carried. Inside he’d detailed a carefully organized listing of birds he’d seen, with the odd picture taped here and there. “What’s your name?”

      “Clarissa Cartwright,” she told him smiling. “And yours?”

      “Pete. Do you have any cookies?” His look beseeched her to say yes. “I sure am hungry.”

      He couldn’t have known that was the path straight to her heart, Clarissa decided. He couldn’t possibly know how much she longed to share her special double fudge nut chip cookies with a child who would appreciate the thick chocolate chunks.

      “As a matter of fact, I do have cookies. Would you like some?”

      He nodded vehemently. “I’m starved! I didn’t eat nothin’ for supper.”

      “Why ever not?” She frowned. Children needed good nourishing food. His parents should be more careful. She wondered who they were.

      “Supper didn’t taste so good. Tildy made it an’ she burns a lot of stuff.” He glanced behind quickly, then lowered his voice. “But I’m not s’ posed to say nothin’ so’s I don’t hurt her feelings.”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ