Some Kind of Wonderful

by Debbie Macomber

  Some Kind of Wonderful is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  2018 Debbie Macomber Ebook Edition

  Copyright © 1988 by Debbie Macomber

  Excerpt from Any Dream Will Do by Debbie Macomber copyright © 2017 by Debbie Macomber

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Debbie Macomber Books, an imprint of Debbie Macomber, Inc.

  Distributed by Random House LLC.

  DEBBIE MACOMBER BOOKS is a registered trademark of Debbie Macomber, Inc.

  Originally published in paperback in the United States by Harlequin Enterprises Limited, New York, in 1988.

  Ebook ISBN 9781941824122

  Cover design and illustrations: Kimberly Glyder

  debbiemacomber.com

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Author's Note

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Ballantine Books by Debbie Macomber

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Any Dream Will Do

  Dear Friends,

  As I look back over the course of my writing career, I find myself shaking my head in wonder. I could never have imagined when I rented that typewriter all those years ago the path my dreams would take me on. It’s been above and beyond anything even I could have imagined.

  I wrote my first eight books on that rent-to-own typewriter, plucking away at those hard keys, holding my dreams close to my heart. Eventually I bought a computer and I haven’t looked back. I don’t know whatever happened to that old typewriter. A few years ago, my son found a similar one in an antiques store and bought it for me for my birthday. It sits proudly in my office as a reminder of how far technology and I have come.

  The book you’re about to read is one I wrote early in my career. Publishing was all new to me back then, and yet all these years later I continue to feel the same excitement and thrill with every book I write. As you read this story my hope is that you experience that same warmhearted emotion I did when I wrote it.

  As always, I consider it one of the highlights of my writing life to hear from my readers. You can reach me through my website at DebbieMacomber.com and on Facebook, Instagram, or Twitter. Oh my, have times changed from the days of the typewriter! If you wish. you can mail me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366. I look forward to hearing from you.

  Now find a comfortable spot, put your feet up, grab a snack or something to drink, and enjoy.

  Debbie Macomber

  Chapter 1

  “Once upon a time in a land far away,” Judy Lovin began in a still, reverent voice. The intent faces of the four-year-olds gathered at her feet stared up at her with wide-eyed curiosity. Hardly a whisper could be heard as Judy continued relating the fairy tale that had stirred her heart from the moment she’d first heard it as a youngster no older than these. It was the story of Beauty and the Beast.

  Today, however, her thoughts weren’t on the fairy tale, which she could recite from memory. As much as she was trying to focus her attention on her job, Judy couldn’t. She’d argued with her father earlier that morning, and the angry exchange troubled her. She rarely disagreed with her father, a man she deeply loved and respected. Charles Lovin was an outspoken, opinionated man who headed one of the world’s most successful shipping companies. At the office he was regarded as demanding but fair. At home, with his family, Charles Lovin was a kind and generous father to both Judy and her older brother, David.

  The teacup had clattered sharply when he’d placed it in the saucer that morning. “All those years of the best schooling, and you prefer to work as a preschool teacher in a day-care center.” He’d said it as though she was toiling among lepers on a South Pacific island instead of on the peaceful Upper East Side of Manhattan.

  “I love what I do.”

  “You could have any job you want!” he’d snapped.

  His unprovoked outburst surprised Judy, and she’d answered quietly, “I have exactly the job I want.”

  He slapped the table, startling her. Such behavior was uncommon—indeed, unheard of—in the Lovin household. Even her brother couldn’t disguise his shock.

  “What good are my wealth and position to you there?” he roared. “Beauty, please…”

  He used his affectionate name for her. She’d loved the fairy tale so much as a child that her father had given her the name of the princess. Today, however, she felt more like a servant than royalty. She couldn’t recall a time when her father had looked at her in such a dictatorial manner. Swallowing a sip of tea, she took her time answering, hoping to divert the confrontation.

  She was a gentle soul, like her mother, who had died unexpectedly when Judy was in her early teens. Father and daughter had grown close in the years that followed, and even during her most rebellious teen period, Judy had hardly ever argued with him. And certainly not over something like this. When she’d graduated from the finest university in the country at the top of her class, she’d gone to work as a volunteer at a local day-care center in a poor section of town. She’d come to love her time with the preschoolers. Charles hadn’t objected then, or when she’d been asked to join the staff full-time, although her pay was only a fraction of what she could make in any other job. But after all these months, it seemed unfair that her father should suddenly object.

  “Father,” she said, forcing herself to remain calm. “Why are you concerned about the day-care center now?”

  He’d looked tired and drawn and so unlike himself that she’d immediately been worried.

  “I’d assumed,” he shouted, his expression furious, “that, given time, you’d come to your senses!”

  Judy attempted to disguise a smile.

  “I don’t find this subject the least bit amusing, young lady.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “You have a degree from one of the finest universities in this country. I expect you to use the brain the good Lord gave you and make something of yourself.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Try living off what you make taking care of other women’s children and see how far that gets you in this world.”

  She touched her mouth with her linen napkin and motioned with her head to Bently, who promptly removed her plate. The English butler had been with the family since long before Judy was born. He sent her a sympathetic look. “Do we need the money, Father?” she asked.

  In retrospect, she realized she probably shouldn’t have spoken in such a flippant tone. But to hear her father, it sounded as if they were about to become destitute.

  Charles Lovin completely lost his temper at that, hitting the table so hard that his spoon shot into the air and hit the crystal chandelier with a loud clang, shocking them both.

  “I demand that you resign today.” And with that, he tossed his napkin onto his plate and stormed from the room.

  Judy sat for a long moment as the shock settled over her. Gradually the numbness subsided and she pushed back her genuine Queen Anne chair. All the furniture in the Lovin home had been in the family for generations. Many considered this a priceless antique; Judy considered it a dining room chair.

  Bently appeared then, a crisp linen towel folded over his forearm. He did love ceremony. “I’m sure he didn’t mean that, Miss.” H
e spoke out of the corner of his mouth, barely moving his lips. It had always amused Judy that Bently could talk like that, and she assumed he’d acquired this talent from years of directing help during dinner parties and other formal gatherings.

  “Thank you, Bently,” she said, grinning. “I’m sure you’re right.”

  He winked then, and Judy returned the gesture. By the time she arrived at the day-care center, she’d put the thought of resigning out of her mind. Tonight, when she got home, her father would be his kind, loving self again. He would apologize for his outrageous tantrum and she would willingly forgive him.

  “Miss Judy, Miss Judy!” Tammi, a lively little girl, jumped to her feet and threw her arms around her teacher’s neck. “That’s a beautiful story.”

  Judy returned the wholehearted hug. “I love it, too.”

  “Did Beauty and the Beast love each other forever and ever?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Did they have lots of little beasts?”

  “I’m sure they did, but remember, the Beast wasn’t a beast any longer.”

  “Beauty’s love turned him into a handsome prince,” Jennifer exclaimed, exceedingly proud of herself.

  Bobby, a blond boy with pale blue eyes, folded his arms across his chest and looked grim. “Do you know any stories about policemen? That’s what I want to be when I grow up.”

  Judy affectionately ruffled the little boy’s hair. “I’ll see if I can find a story just for you tomorrow.”

  The boy gave her a wide smile. “Good thing. I’m tired of mushy stories.”

  “Now,” Judy said, setting the book aside, “it’s time to do some finger painting.”

  A chorus of cheers rose from the small group and they scurried to the tables and chairs. Judy stood up and reached over her head to the tall cupboards for the paper and paints.

  “You know what I love most about the Beast?” Jennifer said, lagging behind.

  “What’s that?” Judy withdrew an apron from the top shelf and tied it around her waist. Her brown hair fell in soft curves, brushing her shoulders, and she pushed it back.

  “I love the way Beauty brought summer into the Beast’s forest.”

  “It was her kindness and gentleness that accomplished that,” Judy reminded the little girl.

  “And her love,” Jennifer added, sighing.

  “And her love,” Judy repeated.

  —

  “I have the report you requested.”

  John McFarland glanced up from the accounting sheets he was studying. “Put it here.” He pointed to the corner of his desk and waited until his business manager, Avery Anderson, had left the room before reaching for the folder.

  McFarland opened it, stared at the picture of the lovely brown-eyed woman that rested on top, and arched his brows appreciatively. Judy Lovin. He’d seen her picture in The New York Times several months ago, but the photo hadn’t done her fragile beauty justice. As he recalled, the article had described her efforts in a day-care center. He studied her photograph. Although she was lovely, he knew women who were far more beautiful. However, few of them revealed such trusting innocence and subtle grace. The women he dealt with all had a seductive beauty but lacked heart. Seeing Judy’s photograph, McFarland was struck anew at the contrast.

  He continued to stare at the picture. Her dark brown eyes smiled back at him, and McFarland wondered if she had half the backbone her father possessed. The thought of the man caused his mouth to tighten with an odd mixture of admiration and displeasure. He had liked Charles Lovin when he’d first met him; he’d been openly challenged by him several years later. Few men had the courage to tangle with McFarland, but the older man was stubborn, tenacious, ill-tempered…and, unfortunately, a fool. A pity, McFarland mused, that anyone would allow pride to stand in the way of common sense. The U.S. shipping business had been swiftly losing ground for decades. Other companies had seen it and diversified or sold out. If McFarland hadn’t bought them outright, he’d taken control by other channels. Charles Lovin, and only Lovin, had steadfastly refused to relinquish his business—to his own detriment, McFarland mused. Apparently, leaving a dying company to his beloved son, David, was more important than giving him nothing.

  Lovin was the last holdout. The others had crumpled easily enough, giving in when McFarland had applied pressure in varying degrees. Miraculously, Lovin had managed to hang on to his company. Word was that he’d been cashing in stocks, bonds, and anything else he could liquidate. Next, he supposed, it would be priceless family heirlooms. It was a shame, but he felt little sympathy. McFarland was determined to own Lovin Shipping Lines, and one stubborn old man wouldn’t stand in his way. It was a pity, though; Lovin had guts, and despite everything, McFarland admired the man’s tenacity.

  Leafing through the report, he noted that Lovin had managed to get a sizable loan from a New York bank. Satisfied, McFarland nodded and his lips twisted with wry humor. He was a major stockholder of that financial institution, and several other Manhattan banks as well. He pushed the buzzer on his desk and Avery appeared, standing stiffly in front of him.

  “You called, sir?”

  “Sit down, Avery.” McFarland gestured to an imposing leather wing chair. Avery had been with McFarland for four years, and John had come to respect the other man’s keen mind.

  “Did you read the report?”

  “Yes,” McFarland said, absently flipped through the pages.

  “David Lovin is well thought of in New York,” Avery added. “He’s serious and hardworking. Wealth doesn’t appear to have spoiled the Lovin children.”

  “David?” McFarland repeated, surprised that he’d been so preoccupied that he’d missed something.

  “The young man who will inherit the Lovin fortune.”

  “Yes, of course.” McFarland had examined the Lovin girl’s photograph and been so taken with her that he hadn’t gone on to read the report on her older brother. He did so now and was impressed with the young man’s credentials.

  “Many people believe that if Lovin Shipping Lines can hold on for another year…”

  “Yes, yes.” McFarland knew all that. Congress was said to be considering new laws that would aid the faltering shipping business. McFarland was counting on the same legislation himself.

  “Father and son are doing everything possible to manage until Washington makes a move.”

  “It’s a shame,” McFarland murmured almost inaudibly.

  “What’s a shame?” Avery leaned forward.

  “To call in his loan.”

  “You’re going to do it?”

  McFarland studied his employee, astonished that the other man would openly reveal his disapproval. John knew that to all the world he seemed to be a man without conscience, without scruples, without compassion. He was all those things—and none of them. John McFarland was an entity unto himself. People didn’t know him because he refused to let anyone get close. He had his faults, he’d be the first to admit that, but he’d never cheated anyone.

  He stood abruptly, placed his hands behind his back, and paced the area in front of his desk. David Lovin was a fortunate man to have a heritage so richly blessed; McFarland knew nothing of his own family. Orphaned at an early age, he’d been given up for adoption. No family had ever wanted him, and he’d been raised in a series of foster homes—some better than others.

  McFarland had clawed his way to the top an inch at a time. He’d gotten a scholarship to college, started his first company at twenty-one, and become a millionaire by twenty-five. At thirty-six, he was one of the wealthiest men in the world. Surprisingly, money meant little to him. He enjoyed the riches he’d accumulated: the island, his home, his private jet; money bought him whatever he desired. But wealth and position were only the by-products of success. Unlike those whose fortunes had created—or were created by—family businesses, McFarland’s empire would die with him. The thought was a sobering one. Money had given him everything he’d ever wanted except what he yearned for most—love,
acceptance, self-worth. A paradox, he realized somewhat sadly. Over the years, he’d grown hard. Bitter. Everything in him demanded that he topple Lovin as he had a hundred other businesses. Without sentiment or regret. The only thing stopping him was that damnable pride he’d recognized in Charles Lovin’s eyes. The man was a fighter, and McFarland hated to take him down without giving the old boy a chance.

  “Sir, do you wish to think this matter through?”

  McFarland had nearly forgotten Avery’s presence. He nodded abruptly and the other man quietly left the room.

  Opening the doors that led to the veranda, McFarland stepped outside, leaned on the wrought-iron railing, and looked out on the clear blue waves crashing against the shore far below. He’d purchased this Caribbean island three years earlier and named it St. Steven’s. It granted him privacy and security. Several families still inhabited the far side of the island, and McFarland allowed them to continue living there. They tended to avoid him, and on the rare occasions he happened to meet any of them, they slipped quickly away.

  A brisk wind blew off the water, carrying with it the scent of seaweed, and he tasted salt on his tongue. Farther down the beach, he saw a lazy trail of foam that had left its mark on the sand, meandering without purpose into the distance. Sometimes that was the way McFarland viewed his life; he was without inner purpose, and yet on the surface his activities were dominated by it. Another paradox, he mused—not unhappily, not really caring.

  Unexpectedly, he made a decision and returned to his desk, again ringing for his business manager.

  Avery was punctual, as usual. “Sir?”

  McFarland sat in his chair and rocked back, fingering his chin. “I’ve decided.”

  Avery nodded, reaching for his paper and pen.

  McFarland hesitated. “I wonder how much that business means to the old man.”

  “By all accounts—everything.”

  McFarland grinned. “Then we shall see.”