Mrs. Miracle 01 - Mrs. Miracle(4)

Seth knew she was right. He was an absentminded professor, his head filled with work, the kids, and everything else. He didn’t mean to be untidy, it just happened that way. He constantly lost and found himself. Mundane things like remembering to fill up the car with gas escaped him. The other morning, to her disgust, Mrs. Hampston had found his shoes in the refrigerator. Seth vaguely recalled putting them there.

“If you’d be willing to give me another chance…”

“I’ve already assured you I won’t.”

“Yes, but finding another housekeeper might prove difficult just now.”

“I’m sure it will be, but that isn’t my problem.”

Seth leaned against the door, wondering where to turn to next. Mrs. Hampston had been his last hope. The agency didn’t have anyone else to send. He didn’t know what he would do, where he would turn.

“Frankly, Mr. Webster,” the woman stated smugly, “it isn’t a housekeeper you need, it’s a miracle.”





Chapter 2


The best way to get even is to forget.

—Mrs. Miracle





“Reba, there’s a call for you on line one.”

Reba Maxwell’s gaze remained fixed on the parking lot outside the strip mall where her travel agency was located. She saw him again, the mystery man who’d dominated her thoughts for weeks. The one who made her smile. Half the time she wondered if he knew where he was. He’d climb out of the car and then stare at the storefront as though attempting to remember what he was supposed to buy.

She knew nothing about him. Not his name. Or if he was married. Where he worked or lived. Nothing. He stopped off two or three times a week at the supermarket next door to her agency. He had to be married because a single man couldn’t possibly require that many groceries.

He was a stranger, yet for reasons Reba couldn’t understand or explain, she felt physically and emotionally drawn to him. He wasn’t all that attractive. Still, she was fascinated by the strength of character that seemed to radiate from him. Even from a distance she noted that his jaw was strong, his cheekbones high and pronounced, and his lips full. He wasn’t especially tall, and he didn’t possess any of the other attributes that generally interested a woman. Nevertheless she waited day after day, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

He wasn’t even her type, she reasoned, impatient with herself. She’d learned her lesson long ago and avoided those high-powered executives. Always so crisp and formal. Always in control.

“Reba, line one,” Jayne Preston reminded her.

She pulled her attention away from the window and reached for the phone. “This is Reba,” she answered in a businesslike tone.

“Hello, dahlin’.”

Her mother. “Hello, Mom,” she answered, keeping her voice even and unemotional. She knew what was coming, had been expecting it, and dreaded the confrontation and all that was sure to follow.

“How are you feeling?”

Her mother sounded as if Reba had recently recovered from a life-threatening illness, as if she suffered with impossibly fragile health—if not physically, then emotionally, which was a greater insult. She gritted her teeth and prayed for patience before she answered.

“I’m fine. I suppose you want to talk about Christmas.” No need delaying the inevitable. She preferred to deal with the unpleasantness now and be done with it.

“Well, yes…” Joan Maxwell said, and hesitated, her frustration grating through the telephone lines. “I would really like it if we could have a family Christmas this year. With your aunt Gerty and uncle Bill coming, it’d be so awkward with you and your sister…”

Reba’s jaw tensed. “We can have a real Christmas.”

“Oh, Reba, does that mean you’re willing to put aside your differences with Vicki and—”

“We can have a family Christmas,” she repeated without emotion. “We’ll do exactly as we have for the last four years. Vicki and her husband can choose to spend either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day with you, Aunt Gerty, and Uncle Bill. Then I’ll be free to join you and everyone else when they aren’t there.”

Her mother’s disappointment was palpable. “I see.”

“I don’t have to come home for Christmas, Mother,” Reba returned, unwilling to be manipulated by her parent or anyone else. Really it was ridiculous, seeing that she lived in the same south-end community of Seattle. Reba visited her parents on a routine basis. It wasn’t as if she’d saved the holidays for her annual pilgrimage home. Despite the differences with her older sister, Reba made an effort to stop by her parents’ at least every other month. With one condition: She’d go as long as Vicki wasn’t there.

“Not come home for Christmas?” her mother echoed. “Your father and I would be so disappointed…. It’s just that, well, your dad hasn’tbeen feeling well lately, and it would do us both a world of good if you and your sister would—”

“Mom, stop.” This wasn’t a topic Reba wished to discuss, not when she’d already been through it a million times. “We both know what Vicki did, and—”

“You don’t know everything.”

“Listen,” Reba returned, irritated that her mother insisted on pursuing the issue, insisted on taking her sister’s side. “I’ve told you this before and I meant it. If you’re going to phone me to talk about Vicki, then I’ll hang up. I’ve got a business to run.”