His Daughter's Prayer
Page 1
One little girl has a very big wish...
A mother is all his daughter wants...
Might an old love be the answer to her prayers?
Struggling to keep his antiques store open, single dad Mark Chatham can’t turn down his high school sweetheart, Callie Hargrove, when she offers her assistance in the shop. But his daughter is wishing for a mommy, and she’s convinced that Callie is the perfect match. As they work to save the business, will their little matchmaker reunite Mark and Callie for good?
“I didn’t mean to get into your business...”
She held the doll out, and he stared for a second, then, looking disgusted, took it from her and carried it back to the counter. Unable to help herself, Callie added, “If your daughter really treasures it, maybe you could put it away for her.”
Mark walked behind the counter and set the toy down.
“What do you think of her?”
His question caught her off guard. She tried to hush her mind so she could find something to say without throwing open a can of worms.
“I mean,” Mark probed, “you didn’t seem surprised. I assume you’ve always known.”
She gave a sharp nod and panicked at the lump forming in her throat.
He waited, patient as always, forcing her to speak.
Callie choked the lump down and cleared her throat. “I heard about it after you moved back. I think she was a baby then.”
“It must have surprised you.”
She smiled faintly. “No, not that you had a family. I mean, it happens eventually.”
Danielle Thorne is a Southern girl who treasures home and family. Besides books, she loves travel, history, cookies and naps. She’s eternally thankful for the women she calls friends. Danielle is the author of over a dozen novels with elements of romance, adventure and faith. You’ll often find her in the mountains or at the beach. She currently lives south of Atlanta with her sweetheart of thirty years and two cats.
Books by Danielle Thorne
Love Inspired
His Daughter’s Prayer
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
HIS DAUGHTER’S PRAYER
Danielle Thorne
And again, I will put my trust in him. And again, Behold I and the children which God hath given me.
—Hebrews 2:13
This story is dedicated to good men and fathers; to single dads, faithful husbands and stepfathers who fill empty shoes; and to all who walk beside little girls and boys until they can walk on their own. Thanks, Dad.
Contents
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
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from An Amish Mother’s Secret Past by Jo Ann Brown
Chapter One
A brass bell jingled as Callie Hargrove strode into the Antique Market. She found the inside of the store as uninspiring as the simple name printed over the front window in block letters. The familiar fragrance of aged wood and furniture polish met her nose, and she inhaled to calm her nerves.
Looking around, she noted stacks of furniture and collectibles. It looked like they’d been plopped down as an afterthought. Not much had changed. She wondered if he had.
An old typewriter caught her attention, and she made her way over to it. Visiting the family business of her high school ex her first week back in town was unavoidable if she was going to impress her boss at her new temp job with the local real estate office here. With any luck, Mark Chatham wouldn’t be around. She was here for hutches and old buffets that could be refinished and staged in model homes, not to be distracted by the fact that this was the Chatham family business.
She’d been gone awhile, working in Nashville, but it hadn’t gotten her any closer to her dream of opening a boutique. With a job here this summer, she had a whole season to see if she could make a living here. If not, she’d head back to the city. Worries about seeing Mark again would have to wait.
Soft music drifted from the back of the store as Callie browsed. She knew both of the elderly Chathams had passed away, so the new manager must be busy in the back. Not that Ragland, Georgia, had a high crime rate, but some people still knew the value of things covered in dust. She certainly did, and she needed the inventory for the boutique she wanted to make happen here. If not, it was back to Nashville and the urban grind.
Callie scanned the faded oyster-colored walls, and her mouth fell open. Behind the checkout counter hung a display rack with the most beautiful spoons she’d ever seen. They shimmered like a beacon. They were handsome, engraved silverware from decades or centuries past. She tripped over a wooden rocking horse in her hurry to study them.
Her mind raced with ideas. They’d look amazing on a freshly painted wall. They’d look amazing on her own walls. Forgetting about staging homes for the local real estate company, she wondered if she could buy the spoons for herself, split them up and sell them. It’d be enough to settle her credit card debts and open her own shop.
She slipped behind the counter, stood on her tiptoes and ran a finger along the edge of the spoon rack. It was buffed to a high sheen, one of the few things that didn’t appear to be coated in dust.
“Can I help you?”
Callie jumped, even as the quiet, familiar timbre made her heart stand still. She turned, hoping to see a crotchety old employee, the kind who acted like they didn’t really want to rid themselves of surplus junk piled to the ceilings.
No such luck. Her heart liquefied and sluiced down into her gut.
The man who’d walked up behind her was not old, although crotchety was a possibility. Mark Chatham looked almost exactly as she remembered him, only better if that were possible—taller, filled out and with crinkles around his brilliant eyes. A slight trembling in her hands made her fold them into loose fists.
“Those aren’t for sale.”
She forced a smile, as she struggled for something to say. “I, uh...” Callie glanced over her shoulder at the wall. “I really like the spoon set. They’re beautiful.”
He studied her for a long while like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “They are,” he said at last. “They were my grandmother’s, so I’m sorry, but they’re not for sale.”
Callie reminded herself—this was work. Strictly business. She had a boutique she planned to open. “Everything’s for sale.” She lifted the corner of her mouth teasingly.
“Not these, Callie.” Mark took a step forward, shrinking the space between them, and she realized he could trap her behind the counter if he wanted. They could pick up their argument right where they’d left off over ten years ago. To her relief, he held out a hand instead.
“How are you? Your sister told me you were moving back to Ragland.”
For some reason, Callie couldn’t bring herself to reach out and touch the hand of her first serious crush. Was this really the boy who’d given her her first kiss?
She reached into her purse for a business card. “Yes, I’m back home for now. I’m working with Martin Hometown Realty, staging homes for the summer.”
“Is that so?” Mark motioned to the store. “Well, welcome back. I have lots of pieces around here that don’t need much work, an
d they’re fine quality.”
After handing him her card, Callie folded her arms to hide the fact that the sound of his voice was making her tremble. She tried to focus on what she wanted. The antique spoon collection.
Even though he’d refused, an imaginary billboard with dancing flatware in the back of her head chanted, Spoons! Spoons! Spoons! She narrowed her eyes, tried to look apologetic and gave him her most bashful smile. “It’s really good to see you again, but I need those spoons, Mark. How about fifteen hundred dollars?”
He shook his head again. “Nope.” Something about his tone reminded her of the day he’d refused to try to work things out between them. And then he’d run off.
She swallowed and stood up straight. She could be all business, too. “No counteroffer?”
“Nope,” he repeated. He glanced past her at the spoon rack and put his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s nice to see you again. Have a look around and let me know if there’s anything else you’d like.”
He dropped his arms and walked off. Dismissed. Just like at the end of his senior year. Well, she was more stubborn now, too. “Why do you have them on the wall if they’re not for sale?”
He didn’t reply. Instead, he disappeared past a narrow grandfather clock into the back.
She furrowed her brows. Why wasn’t the clock against the wall? It looked like he just dropped stuff wherever there was an empty space.
Frustrated, she pursed her lips. Yes, she’d come in search of a sideboard or curio cabinet to refinish, but those silver heirlooms would bring in top dollar even if she sold them individually. She could even put them away and wait until she was out of debt and ready to open her place.
The spoons gleamed in the sunshine. Dust particles whirled in a shaft of light. Country music echoed from a radio. Callie turned on her heel. Everything had its price. Mark Chatham should know that; he’d sold out and moved to Florida after dumping her and his baseball career.
She picked her way past the shop’s odds and ends until she reached a cleared aisle. Then she marched toward the back of the store, calculating how irresponsible it would be to use all of her emergency savings and max out her credit cards on a set of a dozen spoons. She couldn’t help herself. Everything was negotiable—even with old boyfriends.
Callie passed under an ancient green exit sign. A door on the left stood open. She wrinkled her nose to stave off a sneeze. A rustling of papers in the room drew her over to the door.
Mark jerked when she moved into the doorway. “Did you find something else?” he asked.
Callie couldn’t resist teasing him. “Actually, I sell refinished furniture on the side, too, and I’m good at it.”
“Great,” he said before she could finish. “What would you like to see?”
A glimmer of humor sparkled in his eyes. His unruffled demeanor made her feel like he was an older, wiser bird, and she was nothing more than an amusing little parakeet. Behind him, she noticed a framed picture of a baby girl wearing pink-and-white ruffles. Her heart flopped to the ground this time. It was the daughter. She’d heard about her. Callie grimaced inside and out.
“How about two thousand dollars?” She dropped her smile and put on her best I mean business face. “For old times’ sake? It’d certainly motivate me to come back when I need other things for staging.”
Mark stood up with a spreadsheet in his hand, and the sparkle in his eyes clouded over with something else. “The spoons aren’t for sale, and I’m closing up for lunch in a few minutes so you may want to finish looking.”
His tone hurt. He wasn’t impressed that she’d moved back home, and he wasn’t interested in her offer. The natural charm she’d relied on since she was a little girl with dimples had no effect on him anymore.
Was he married? she wondered. No one had told her. Oh, yes, she’d heard he was a single dad. So now he didn’t even blink when a woman walked into his store alone? That made him as rare as his spoons.
She realized he was waiting for some kind of answer. Glancing at his hand and seeing no wedding band, Callie’s mouth turned up at the corners. “I’ll finish up front by myself then,” she said, calculating how long she should wait to come back. It wouldn’t make sense not to return with the store so close by.
“Okay.” He sat back down in his chair and picked up a pair of frameless glasses.
Dismissed. Again. Usually, Callie had to find a way to extricate herself from conversations with men. Most people seemed to find her interesting or funny. Mark acted like she was another piece of furniture, not a girl he’d dated for over two years. The picture of the baby on his desk pricked her heart again. He’d found someone better, right after high school. She was old news, even if it hadn’t worked out for him.
Callie returned to the front of the store. Irritated with her experience seeing Mark for the first time in years, she decided not to look around anymore. Maybe she’d come back the day after tomorrow. There’d probably be another employee here.
She glanced at the clock on her phone as she hurried out the door. It was time for lunch. Shoving down the unease seeing Mark had caused, she swallowed hard and hit the sidewalk, making her way past a salon and an abandoned shop on the corner. At least seeing Mark for the first time was over. Done. They had run into each other and acted civil. He had his shop and a daughter. She had her career.
She wiped her damp palms on her slacks and took a deep breath of floral summer air. It filled her with hope. Her favorite diner was still open on the square, and she hoped they still sold her favorite burgers.
* * *
Just before closing for the day, Mark shook hands with Mrs. Bake, relieved she’d taken the 1950s buffet off his hands. Midcentury antiques were becoming popular, and he’d had the piece for over a year. He’d bet it’d look fantastic in her home, not that he’d been inside, but he knew she ran the classiest floral shop in the county.
With the store quiet again and the lunch crowd rush gone, he strolled back to the office, his mind whirling over Callie Hargrove. Seeing her again had taken his breath away the moment she’d looked over at him. Her wavy, mahogany-colored hair had a copper shine to it, and those eyes of hers were still a spectacular brown that gleamed like brass.
He’d never forgotten her. Although he’d heard she might be back in Ragland, it had taken him by surprise when she strode in, so much so that he could only stare and robotically tell her that the spoons weren’t for sale. He never dreamed she’d come into his shop.
Mark blinked to keep his feelings in check as memories assaulted him. The last time they were together, they’d been standing on the baseball practice field, arguing about their plans for the future. He’d decided to join the Coast Guard no matter what she—or his parents or the town—thought. She couldn’t convince him to accept the offer from Nashville’s minor league baseball team. He knew she had dreams of going to design school there, but he didn’t want to play baseball. Their lives were going in different directions.
She still looked gorgeous, and her interest in the spoons was charming. People asked about them often, but he couldn’t let go of his family’s beloved heirlooms passed down through many happy marriages, even though he suspected that finding a “love of his life” might not be in the stars for him. Callie was the only girl who’d ever come close. Regardless, some kind of odd hope—or maybe it was faith—compelled him to hang on to them and keep them in a place where he could see them every day.
The old rotary phone in the office rang, and he headed toward it and scooped up the receiver.
“Antique Market.”
“Hey, Mark, this is Robby from Community Trust Bank.”
Mark’s stomach roiled. He forced words to come out of his mouth. “Afternoon, Robby, what can I do for you?”
“Hate to bother you, Mark, but we had our quarterly meeting today, and the top brass is asking about your note.”
“Oh, just that we talked last month, and you need another few weeks to catch up.”
“That’s right,” Mark agreed. “I put something in the mail this morning, but I’m still short for May. April’s caught up, though, right?”
The sound of keyboard clicks came through the phone. Mark let out a slow breath to calm his thumping heart. Frustrated with his grandparents for not buying the place outright, he twisted the phone cord in his hand.
“Yes, we’re good for April,” came Robby’s response. “If May is coming, then I’ll let him know we’re just a couple weeks behind. Should be caught up by next quarter, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Good deal then, Chatham.” Robby dropped the business act and flipped to neighborly. “Are you going to the game on Saturday?”
“Yes, I’ll be there,” Mark assured him. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“See you there, player.”
Robby hung up, and Mark put the phone down with a shake of his head. He walked around the desk and folded himself into the old swivel chair. He’d brought a microwave burrito for lunch, but he wasn’t in the mood to warm it up. Grabbing a can of honey-roasted peanuts from his stash he tossed some into his mouth. Then he propped his legs up on the desk.
The rent on the building was almost caught up for May and then he had this month to deal with. July lurked just around the corner. It was the first time he’d ever fallen behind like this; there’d always been extra acreage from the family farm to sell off the last time business was slow. But he’d reached the limits of what he was comfortable parting with.
Home was safety and peace. Plus, it was paid for. The store was... Well, it was the Chatham legacy, and he would pass it on to his daughter, Hadley. Hopefully. If he didn’t lose it. He just had to find a way to hold off the bank and increase the shop’s sales. He was confident he’d pull through.