Ben's Bundle of Joy. Lenora Worth
from the grief of watching her mother deteriorate right before her eyes, time to accept that Steven wasn’t coming back for her and that she wouldn’t get that family she’d always dreamed about.
If she let herself get involved with the town preacher, she wouldn’t know any peace, none at all. But she could be a friend to Ben Hunter, and she could help him with little Tyler. That at least would ease some of her loneliness.
And his, too, maybe.
Ben’s kindness, his gentle sense of nobility, had touched on all her keyed-up, long-denied emotions. That was why she felt this way—all shook up and disoriented. Throw in an adorable, abandoned baby, and well, any woman would start getting strange yearnings for home and hearth, strange maternal longings that would probably never be fulfilled. Any woman would feel completely and utterly lonely, sitting in her car in the cold.
“I’ll be all right,” she told herself as she drove toward the charming cottage she’d rented at Baylor Lake. “I’ll be all right. I came here to find some time, to heal, to rethink my life. Not to get attached to a poetic preacher and a sweet lost little baby.”
But somehow she knew in her heart that she had already formed a close bond with those two, a bond that would be hard to forget, even given time and circumstance.
Chapter Three
In a blur of baby, blankets and bags, Ben Hunter stepped inside the outer reception room to his church office, thankful that the cold morning air didn’t have a hint of snow. That would come soon enough in November. And he couldn’t imagine having to dress a wiggling, tiny baby in a snowsuit. It had taken him twenty extra minutes just to get Tyler in the fleece button-up outfit Betty had thoughtfully supplied.
“Oh, there you are.”
Emma Fulton got up to come around her desk, her blue eyes flashing brightly as she cooed right toward Tyler. “Let me see that precious child, Reverend Ben.”
Ben didn’t hesitate to turn the baby over to Emma. The woman had five grandchildren, so she knew what to do with a baby.
“He had a good night,” Ben said, letting out a breath as he dropped all the paraphernalia he’d brought along onto a nearby chair. “He was up around four, but other than that, we did okay.”
“Of course you did,” Emma said, still cooing and talking baby talk. “Even if the good reverend does look a little tired.” Pointing her silvery bun toward the small kitchen just off her office, she said, “There’s pumpkin bread.”
“Bless you,” Ben replied, heading straight to the coffeepot. “Somehow I didn’t manage to get breakfast.” With a grin he called over his shoulder, “But Tyler sure had his. That little fellow can go through a bottle.”
“He’s a growing boy,” Emma replied as she danced a jig with the baby. “Oh, my, look at that. He’s laughing. He likes his aunt Emma.”
“Well, go ahead,” Ben teased as he came back into the room with a chunk of the golden-brown bread, “tell him you were Strawberry Festival Queen in…what year was that, Emma?”
“Never you mind what year, kid. Just remember who you’re dealing with here.” Her smile belied her defensive tone.
“I always remember who’s the boss around here,” Ben admonished. Then when he heard someone clearing his throat in his office, he turned to Emma. “Visitor?”
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She whirled with the baby in her arms. “Finish your breakfast first. It’s Mr. Erickson.”
Ben immediately put down his coffee and the last of his bread. “Maybe he’s heard something from Jason.”
“Don’t know,” Emma whispered, her expression turning sad. “Want me to take Tyler to the nursery for you?”
“Would you mind?” Ben gathered the baby’s things for her. “Tell Sara I’ll be over in a little while to check on him and give her a report about his first night with me.”
“I certainly will do that,” Emma said, getting her smile back in a quick breath, her eyes perfectly centered on the baby.
Ben knew that look. Emma would try to match him up with Sara. Somehow, the thought of that didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should—considering Emma had tried to match him up with every single woman in Fairweather, usually with disastrous results. With Sara Conroy, he couldn’t foresee any disaster, other than the one in which he might lose his heart. And he wasn’t willing to risk that just yet.
As he entered the quiet confines of his office, however, another type of disaster entered his mind. Richard Erickson stood looking out over the prayer garden, his hands tucked in the pockets of his dark tailored wool suit pants, his graying hair trimmed into a rigid style, just the way he ran the local bank and most of this town.
Ben dreaded another confrontation with the man, but his heart had to go out to Mr. Erickson. His only son, sixteen-year-old Jason, had run away from home several months ago.
“Hello, Mr. Erickson,” Ben said, extending his hand as the older man pivoted to stare at him with a look of condemnation mixed with a condescending air.
The handshake was quick and unmeaningful, but Richard Erickson was too polite and straitlaced to behave without the impeccable manners that befit a descendant of the founding family of the town. Ben gave him credit for that much, at least.
“Reverend.”
“What can I do for you this morning? Any word from Jason, sir?”
At the mention of his youngest child’s name, Richard Erickson’s whole demeanor changed. After having three daughters, his son, Jason, had been his pride and joy, and ultimately, the child of which he made the most demands and held the highest expectations.
His expression became etched with regret and pride. “No. I was hoping you might have heard something. He did call you before.”
“You know I would call you immediately if Jason tried to contact me,” Ben told him. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t heard anything since the last call back in September.”
“Are you sure you’d tell me if you did?”
Ben could see the hostility in the man’s brown eyes. It still galled him that this man who contributed so much financially to the church, could not contribute anything emotionally to Ben or his ministry, or to his son Jason, for that matter. Yet Ben didn’t have the heart to tell Richard Erickson that part of the reason his son was missing today was because of Mr. Erickson’s cold, distant relationship with the boy.
Jason had confided in Ben, and he wouldn’t break that confidence. Early on, right after Jason had left, Ben had tried to sit down with Richard and Mary Erickson and explain what Ben had told him. He’d gotten to know the boy pretty well, after serving as coach for the church basketball team.
But the Ericksons would not listen to Ben’s concerns. They had told him in no uncertain terms that they blamed him for interfering in their relationship with their son, that Ben’s influence had put newfangled notions in the boy’s head and caused him to rebel.
Now, however, Ben was their only source of comfort, since Jason had contacted him on two different occasions after running away earlier in the year. For that reason, and for Jason’s sake, Ben swallowed his own resentment and tried to counsel the couple—when they would let him.
Sensing that Richard needed to talk, Ben gestured to a floral armchair. “Please, sit down.”
“I don’t have much time,” Richard said, but he did sit on the very edge of the chair, his back straight, his expression grim. “I just wanted to tell you—if you hear from my son again, you have to let me know. My wife is beside herself—what with the holidays coming up and everything. And all our efforts to track him down have only brought us disappointment.”
“I understand, sir,”