A Family For Andi

Cover Page

Excerpt

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Copyright

She raised her hand to ring the bell, but the door opened and he was there.…

Andi walked inside—and into his arms. No words were spoken, none needed. Her face was buried against his shoulder and neck, his cheek against her hair.

So this is what it’s like to come home to Keith.

She had no idea how long they remained like that. It was she who finally forced herself to draw away as his hands moved slowly down her arms, taking her hands in his.

How could I have let this happen? What have I done?

“I’m sorry…” She didn’t want to look into his beautiful brown eyes, which could show such tenderness.

He lifted her chin with one finger. “Look at me, sweetheart. Please…It’s all right. Don’t be afraid.”

It’s not you I don’t trust. I had no idea that in one short week I could fall in love! With a man whom there’s no chance of my marrying!

And I’ve been so completely dishonest with you!

EILEEN BERGER

has been writing for many years, mostly children’s stories and poetry when her daughter and two sons were small, before having hundreds of other manuscripts published. She had been happy growing up on a farm, then living for a time in two major American cities, but feels blessed to continue living in the same north-central Pennsylvania town, Hughesville, where she and her husband, Bob, raised their now-grown children.

She is active in writing circles as speaker, teacher, board member, panelist, conference director and contest coordinator, but is especially grateful for the West Branch Christian Writers, the wonderful critique/support group without which she says she might never have got even the first of her six novels published.

A Family for Andi

Eileen Berger

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Ask and it will be given you;

seek and you will find;

knock and the door will be

opened to you.

For everyone who asks receives;

he who seeks finds;

and to him who knocks

the door will be opened.

—Matthew 7:7-8

To Bob,

the man I love more than life itself.

No wonder I like writing romances!

Chapter One

Andrea Barker lowered the hood of her secondhand car, hoping she’d followed the mechanic’s instructions correctly. She knew little about motors, and her intention was not to fix this one but to make it break down.

She was limping more than usual, but should have expected that; she’d not tried driving long distances since the accident.

The trip from Chicago had been taxing, even though she stayed overnight in Ohio and stopped every few hours to walk a while. Now, getting back in the car, she massaged her right knee and leg before pulling the door shut, fastening the seat belt, and turning the ignition key.

The engine started, and Andi smiled. She was here in Pennsylvania. She took a moment to check her appearance in the rearview mirror before pulling out onto the highway—and resisted the urge to run a comb through her below-shoulder-length auburn hair or to apply color to her fairly full lips. The blue eyes looking back at her sparkled with anticipation.

There was a strange grinding sound, but the car handled fine, as the man who cared for their vehicles had promised.

Hurdle number one taken care of!

If only the rest would go this smoothly! Dad, though apparently understanding her concerns, had argued against her “harebrained scheme,” but she’d been adamant. “I really want to meet my cousins—get to know them. I realize there’s been an estrangement ever since your mother left when still in her teens, but…”

“They treated her very badly, Andi.”

“But that was a previous generation. Hopefully this one’s better.”

“I don’t want you hurt like your grandmother was.”

“Well, someone’s got to find out about them—at least how they handle what money they have now and what they’d likely do with a windfall, that sort of thing.”

“You think they won’t be on their best behavior with you there?” His heavy brows came almost together in that way that used to make her fidget before she learned to recognize the difference between frowns of concentration and those of disapproval.

“They’ll have no reason to be suspicious.”

He sat there shaking his head. “You’ve always liked fantasies, romances, and other not-for-real stuff. I’m afraid, my dear, that what you’re proposing falls into one of those categories. You expect to invade the town of Sylvan Falls, observe our relatives, win their confidence, and determine within a few days if giving them a large sum of money is a sound idea?”

When put like that, it did sound like an ambitious undertaking. “I don’t expect to accomplish it in a couple of days.” That had been months after the death of Jon—Jonathan William Bascomb III—and she was still on crutches, emotionally as well as physically. They’d grown up together and had been in the same grade from preschool through ninth—until his grandparents had enrolled him at Madison Academy to prepare for an Ivy League education.

Andi stayed in public schools, but they remained good friends. Even while he was at Yale and she at Michigan State, they had long conversations on the phone and were often together during holiday and summer breaks.

But then, on his twenty-first birthday, he came into that inheritance from his paternal grandmother—and things were never the same. “Jon would be alive today if it weren’t for all that money!” Andi had cried out as she sat with Dad in his den. “He had no conception of what to do with it—what he should do with it.”

“You must admit that most of his folks’ decisions have been good ones, Andi. The academy. Yale…”

“But he’d never handled money—much money. Whatever he wanted, he bought—the sailboat, the sports car, everything. And he was so generous and loving, always doing for others…”

Tears filled her eyes, remembering the plane he’d chartered to take twenty-seven friends to Paris last fall, to help celebrate his twenty-seventh birthday. And the diamond necklace he had insisted that she accept last Christmas. “And that led to disaster when his new ‘friends’ proved only too eager to help spend his wealth.”

Her father leaned back, raising the footrest of his cordovan leather recliner. His glance circled the big room, with its thousands of books, and all those snapshots of Andi, showing her eyes, fair coloring and regular features to be much like his own, though more feminine. “You’re convinced twenty-one’s too young for that much responsibility?”

“If a person hasn’t had experience with money, any age may be ‘too young.’ I appreciate your insisting that I learn about finance and investing—but Jon’s inability to handle it makes me concerned about our Pennsylvania cousins. I don’t want others destroyed by receiving large amounts.”

She leaned forward to look into his clear dark blue eyes. “I know we’ve discussed giving a sizable amount up front, with the rest in trust funds, but if they should be mean-spirited people whose love of money hurts them or others, even that’s no favor.”

She knew her father was a soft touch, and some found it easy to take advantage of his generosity. She almost reminded him about Mother’s only cousin, Lynne. They’d helped her out of two major jams—if they hadn’t, she’d have been in jail for years. But they made it clear that second time that there’d be no more money from them, ever.

Jon’s being killed was almost too painful to think about. Andi had known the inevitability of Mother’s death from cancer while she was a junior in college—but not Jon!

Dad had not been thrilled at the possibility of having Jon as a son-in-law, but he grieved with—or for—her. She noticed he’d made changes in his own life since then—losing that extra twenty pounds, cutting out smoking, watching what he ate, and exercising regularly.

She understood his urgency when speaking of updating his will, of making all those changes. “I’m glad you’re setting up the Barker Foundation, Dad,” she assured him, “and I’m all for the endowments to our alma maters and gifts to other schools and charities. But I’m concerned about your leaving so much to The Cousins.” She’d never thought of them as individuals, with personalities. “What effect might sudden wealth have on them?”

He pursed his lips. “Would you feel better if I hired a private detective? There’s a good one I’ve used.”

“I hope you didn’t have him checking on my friends.” It was a statement, not a question, and he neither denied nor confirmed it. Actually, she’d prefer not knowing if he’d investigated Jon. Or others. “Perhaps he could get basic information, since all we know is names.”

“I do know more than that, though nothing about what makes them tick, or how they handle finances.” He rubbed his square jaw with his palm. “We don’t have many to check, since my family wasn’t very prolific. Including us.”

She reached from her high-backed chair to place a hand on his forearm. “At least you had me.”

“Impossible to forget we were blessed with the best.” Smiling, he covered her hand with his. “As you know, I’m Katherine’s only child, and MaryJean is the only cousin in my generation—though she’s about fifteen years older.

“Her father, Michael, and my mother were brother and sister, but had no real relationship—not even letters back and forth, or phone calls. I never met him nor his daughter, but did learn that Mary Jean’s husband, Philip McHenry, died some years ago, leaving his wife and three grown children, who’d be your second cousins.

“They all live in or near Sylvan Falls…”

As they were finishing dinner a week later, Dad handed her a thick folder. Pushing aside her half-eaten strawberry sherbet, she riffled through the annotated sheets containing information on the McHenrys. “You’ve read all this?”

“Just skimmed. It arrived just before this morning’s staff meeting, and I had appointments all day.”

Until recently she’d been unaware of how demanding his schedule was, and how thoroughly he knew the workings of each department in the electronics company he’d founded. Now that she was here, learning the business, she had a new appreciation of both his leadership ability and acumen.

She’d agreed that she must become familiar with the work and staff of each section, but the experience was challenging. As “the boss’s kid,” she’d found herself pampered, ignored or fawned over—all of which she detested.

“Dad, I want to leave for a while.…”

“That’s not a good idea, Andi. Neither for the de-partment’s sake nor for yours.”

“I’ll be back soon.”

The right corner of his mouth quirked upward. “You could find you enjoy freedom more than on-the-job training.”

“I do enjoy what I’m doing, and know how necessary it is if I’m to become your assistant.” And I think you’re at least partly teasing, she thought. “You certainly guessed this wouldn’t satisfy my curiosity. Actually, it whets my desire for personal contact.” She tapped one sheet with a forefinger. “It says here that Mary Jean runs a bed-and-breakfast. If I’m lucky, perhaps I can stay there.”

“Nobody there probably knows I exist,” she said after they’d discussed a number of things that would have to be arranged, “but, just in case, I’ll need an assumed name, address and other identification.”

He looked at her over his glasses. “You’ve given this appreciable thought.”

“Yes. I have.” There must be no slipups, nothing carelessly left undone. “By the time I finish my time in Accounts Receivable, I hope to come up with a good reason for being there—and a way to stretch my time till I get all the information I want.”

So here she was, on a beautiful, hot Saturday, the tenth of June, driving around a curve, looking down on the Norman Rockwell-like town of Sylvan Falls. Since there was little traffic, Andi proceeded slowly enough to take in the regular grid of tree-lined streets.

Turning right onto Main Street, she glanced at the dashboard clock—5:23. All right. The garage was supposed to be here on North Main, and they’d probably not check her car till Monday.

Uneven numbers on the left side…500 block, 400s. Ah, there it was: McHenry Auto!

She paused for two northbound vehicles before crossing over into the lot where row after row of new and used cars, vans and trucks stood parked to her right. With little space for parking, she stopped beside a sporty, brightly polished new red pickup, satisfied that no one could mistake her dusty, purchased-for- this-trip, six-year-old vehicle as being offered for sale.

One of the three huge rolling doors along the side of the building was open and clearly marked, but she decided to enter through the glassed-in showroom facing the street. A bell jangled as she opened the door, and a loud buzzer sounded beyond the rear wall. She glanced around, smiling, already conscious of differences between Chicago and this small town.

A sparkling luxury sedan, a minivan, and two compact models were displayed in the spotless room. Good setup, she decided, walking between two of them. The rear door on the left swung open and a tall, brown-eyed man in tan, grease-smeared coveralls came toward her, wiping his hands with a towel. “I’m Keith. How can I help you?”

This couldn’t be her cousin, could it? That Keith was supposed to be an engineer. “My car, that blue hatchback out there—” pointing “—has been making a strange noise, and I thought…” Her voice trailed off.

“How long has it been doing that?”

“Not very long. And I realize it’s late.”

He nodded. “Especially for a Saturday.”

She tried to sound concerned; he must not suspect this to be what she wanted to hear. “I hesitated to drive much farther, the way it sounds.”

He listened with a thoughtful expression. An attractive thoughtful expression, Andi decided. “You’re right, but there’s no way it can be looked at today. There’s only one mechanic here this late, and he’s finishing up an emergency job. I know he’s got to get home.”

“What about you?” Why did I ask that? she wondered. I don’t want anyone doing it today!

“Sorry. I have a date in Dalton for—” a quick glance at the wall clock “—an hour from now. I can’t be late.”

“Oh.” He didn’t look apologetic, and she told herself that her momentary feeling of being a little sorry that he had a date was sheer foolishness. But he was incredibly handsome and had such a warm, friendly smile. “Well, is there anywhere nearby where I might stay till it’s taken care of?”

“That I can help with.” His warm hand under her bare elbow steered her toward the window. “See that big white house across the street, three doors down, with the big front porch? That’s my grandmother’s, and she rents rooms—though her sign’s too small to read from here, isn’t it?”

So Keith is my cousin, she thought. “It looks nice.” ‘Nice’ was such a weak word, but she couldn’t let him know how much more this was than she’d feared.

“If you’d like, I can walk over with you.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

After stepping back into the garage to explain about the car parked in the lot, Keith walked Andi to her car, where they collected the worn suitcase and garment bag she’d brought. “And you want your laptop, don’t you?” he asked, lifting the leather case.

“Yes, please.” She handed him the keys for the car before locking the doors. “I’d better introduce myself, since you’re taking me to meet your grandmother. I’m Anne Marker—and generally answer to ‘Annie.’” That’s close enough to ‘Andi Barker’ that I should respond when spoken to, she told herself.

“Pleased to meet you, Annie Marker. I’m Keith McHenry, son of the founder and owner of McHenry Auto.”

“Hello.” Their shared smiles made up for the lack of a handshake. “You work here with your father?”

“I used to, some, while going to school—but now it’s just to bring in my own vehicles and service them. Actually, I’m an engineer with a design group in Dalton.”

She stopped on the sidewalk, and he turned to look at her. “Were you finished? I shouldn’t take you away if you have to go somewhere.”

“You worry too much, Annie,” he said lightly. “You came at the right time. I’m about to go home and clean up.”

Better timing than you can imagine! she thought. As they crossed the street, several people in cars tooted or waved. “You’re a popular guy, Keith. You seem to know everyone in town,” Andi remarked.

His chuckle was deep-throated. “I do. But I think they’re all making such a racket because they’re not accustomed to seeing me with such a gorgeous woman.”

He probably thought she was flirting, she realized. She concentrated on not stumbling over several slabs of concrete sidewalk heaved by roots of the big old maples. “Does your grandmother have many guests staying with her?”

“Not anymore, not since several motels opened around here.”

They went up four steps to the wide, painted porch with a big wood-slat swing on the left and scattered comfortable-looking wooden rockers. Setting down the suitcase, he pulled open the screen door. “Graam, it’s Keith. Someone’s here to see you!”

“I’ll be right down, dear.” The voice sounded young and enthusiastic—not exactly what Andi expected of the woman she knew to be 75 years old.

He propped the door open with his knee and picked up the luggage, tilting his head to motion Andi in first. With the garment bag draped over her arm, she stepped inside the very large hallway as a slender, graying woman wearing denim shorts and a sleeveless knit top came running down the wide walnut staircase to greet her grandson with a hug and kiss.

He returned the embrace with no embarrassment. “Gram, this is Annie Marker, who has a problem. Annie, meet MaryJean McHenry, who’s the probable solver of it.”

They all started speaking at once, Keith explaining Andi’s need for a place to stay, Gram “hoping to live up to expectations,” and Andi, smiling at her own honesty in stating, “This does appear to be perfect.”

“What a babble, all of us together!” Mrs. Mc-Henry exclaimed. “But yes, I can help—if you find the accommodations satisfactory.”

Refraining from saying that anything that made it possible for her to stay here would be satisfactory, Andi simply nodded when invited to see the rooms.

They passed oversize doorways to two impressive rooms on either side of the downstairs hall—which itself could be an extra-large room in most houses. Even with massive pieces of excellent old furniture, there was much open space.

As the women started up, Keith offered, “Call if you decide to stay, Annie, and I’ll bring your things.”

Turning on the bottom step, she looked directly into his eyes. So, since she was five-eight, that would make him well over six feet. “I know you’re in a hurry and I’m sure I’ll like the room, so we can take them now.” But then she almost wished that he wasn’t right behind her, for he’d surely notice her slightly uneven gait.

He followed them up to the landing, then the six additional steps to another hallway as wide as the lower one. Here, also, were walnut or mahogany chests, a glass-fronted bookcase, and a huge, curvetopped armoire.

Mrs. McHenry crossed to the first room on the left, which had old-fashioned wallpaper delicately patterned with violet nosegays, trellises and ivy vines. The bed’s high, carved headboard and the other furniture could have been museum pieces, and the wellworn oriental rug made Andi want to kick off her sandals and relax. “It’s beautiful, Mrs. McHenry. I’ll be more than comfortable here.”

“Come see the other rooms. You might like one of them better.”

They checked the even larger north front corner room. A quilt-covered white-iron daybed stood along one wall, in addition to furniture comparable to that in the first.

The large bathroom had obviously been constructed from unused space at the front of the hallway. Its white, claw-foot tub and pedestal washbowl were like some she’d seen in magazines, probably the same fixtures bought when the house was “modernized” eons ago with indoor plumbing.

“This will be yours to use—if you stay.”

“I do want to.”

“Well, look at this, too—The Violet Room.” And she opened the door of the other front corner one. There was no need to ask why she’d called it that. Violets were rampant on the wallpaper; there was a violet pattern around the edge of the large carpet; violet-decorated bedspreads adorned both double beds; and there were even violet-patterned vases!

Keith drawled, “She sorta got carried away here.”

Andi feared Mrs. McHenry might be offended, so was relieved to hear her chuckle. “I’ve always loved violets, so was delighted to find wallpaper for both rooms. But my birthday was right after the paper was hung, so, without checking, everyone gave gifts with violets.” Her hand moved in a slow arc, palm upward. “Behold the results!”

Andi smiled. “Each room’s lovely in its own way, but I think I’ll choose the other violet room, with just one bed. Perhaps someone else will need these extra beds.”

“Possible, not probable.” Mrs. McHenry sounded as content as her shrug indicated. “Nowadays, it’s mostly people from the hospital or a nursing home who call to see if out-of-towners can stay for a night or so.”

Back in “her” room, the suitcase was placed on the bed and the computer and attaché case on the smaller, marble-topped chest of drawers, while the garment bag was hung in the closet. Keith kissed his grandmother on the cheek, said, “’Bye for now,” to Andi, and ran down the stairs.

Mrs. McHenry smiled. “That boy, he’s always hurrying!”

“He mentioned having a date.”

His grandmother cocked her head. “Oh?”

Chapter Two

Andi had been invited to come downstairs for some supper after she’d unpacked, so was soon following sounds of activity toward the rear of the downstairs hallway.

She passed a third, regular-size door on her left, and then was in the huge kitchen with built-in floorto-twelve-foot-ceiling cherry cupboards. There was an old, galvanized sink and early-model refrigerator/ freezer and electric stove—but also a top-of-the-line mixer, blender and microwave on the counter. “What a pleasant kitchen to work—to live in!”

“I especially like having all these windows on two sides—except when washing them.” Her hostess took bowls from a cupboard and reached into a wooden drawer for soup spoons. Setting them on the table, she brought a container from the microwave and divided its contents. Andi also saw a basket of homebaked biscuits on the table. “I hope you like chicken-and-corn soup, Miss—Miss? Marker.”