With All Josie's Heart

He needed Josie’s help. But he couldn’t let her get close.

She had left him once, and she’d do it again.

Michael shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what Sharla’s father is thinking. He says he’s gotten his act together, and now that Sharla is motherless she should live with him.”

“So, he’s really serious about suing for custody?” Josie asked. “What does your attorney say?”

“That my chances are fifty-fifty at best.”

“If I can help… You know I would.”

“I appreciate your offer. Actually there is something you could do.” Taking a deep breath, Michael said a quick prayer before putting his heart in Josie’s hand.

“You can marry me.”

CRYSTAL STOVALL

dreamed of writing inspirational romances from the moment she discovered Grace Livingston Hill’s novels as a teenager. These books changed her life in a profound way, starting her on a quest to blend faith and romance in her personal life, as well as launching her writing career. She’s a graduate of Oral Roberts University and a recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart Award.

Crystal lives in Tulsa with her husband, Jim, who is president of the Emmy Award-winning Narrative Television Network. Though she’s lived in Oklahoma for nearly twenty years, she’s still an Easterner at heart. Her frequent visits to her upstate New York hometown—especially a certain boulder on the edge of Cayuga Lake—provide her with the inspiration and perspective which she finds essential to her writing.

With All Josie’s Heart
Crystal Stovall

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Let love and faithfulness never leave you;

bind them around your neck, write them

on the tablet of your heart.

—Proverbs 3:3

In memory of my mother, Jozell Smith,

whose love lives on in my heart and

whose smile won’t be forgotten.

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter One

This was the last place she expected to be.

Josie Marshall took a deep breath, then knocked on Michael’s front door. Just past five o’clock, the late-afternoon sun cast a long shadow across the wide porch. Potted geraniums and begonias lined the wooden rail, emitting a sweet fragrance that might have calmed her nerves on another day.

For the last seven years, Josie had successfully avoided Michael Rawlins, and she’d had no intention of seeing her parents’ next door neighbor on this trip home either. Yet, here she was, holding the basket of hot food her mother had prepared, waiting for Michael to open the door.

All attempts to convince her mother Josie was too tired, that she needed a long shower and a good night’s sleep before she faced anyone, had fallen on unsympathetic ears. An exhausting international flight fraught with delays and cramped seating was no excuse in Sarah Marshall’s mind. Sarah, relying on the persistent gaze Josie clearly remembered from childhood, had asked her daughter to please take Michael the food. The poor man had just been released from the hospital, and Sarah would have delivered the meal herself except she’d promised to drive Gran to her four o’clock doctor’s appointment and she was already late. If Josie would do this one thing for her, her mother had sworn, she would be so grateful.

Realizing it was useless to argue, Josie had given in. However, she’d procrastinated another hour before making the short trek next door.

She rang Michael’s doorbell a second time and prayed there would be no answer. Quickly, she counted to ten. If Michael didn’t open the door by the time she reached twenty, she was leaving.

Eighteen, nineteen, twenty… Thank you, God, she whispered.

Taking a deep breath, she turned away from the door and hurried down the wooden steps. Halfway across the lawn she heard his voice. She would have known the deep, warm timbre anywhere.

“Josie? Josie Marshall?”

For a split second, Josie considered ignoring Michael, pretending she hadn’t heard him call her name. But why should she? And what was the fuss anyway?

The thought of seeing Michael had her acting like a silly teenager. What was the harm in spending a few minutes with an old boyfriend she hadn’t seen in years? She would hand him the food, make sure he was okay, chitchat for a few minutes and then leave. She would do as much for anyone else. In fact, as director of an international children’s charity, she did much more than this on a daily basis for countless strangers.

Josie took a deep breath. The truth was, not only did she need a hot bath and good night’s sleep before seeing Michael, she needed a haircut, a new dress and a ten-pound weight loss. But it was too late for any of those luxuries. Making certain her brightest smile was in place, she faced him.

Michael stood on the front porch, his tall, lean body holding the screen door open. He looked the same, and yet he had changed. The longer, rebellious hair style had been replaced with a short, layered cut that emphasized his friendly brown eyes and high cheekbones. Instead of the blue jeans and T-shirt she remembered him always wearing, he looked surprisingly comfortable in casual slacks, a cotton shirt and burgundy loafers.

“Hello, Michael,” she slowly answered. “If this is a bad time…” She hoped he would accept her offer to end this encounter before it started.

“Not at all. Come on in.” He waved her toward the house as if he’d been expecting her.

His insistence surprised her, as did his curious gaze. She was tempted to ask what he thought. Had the last seven years been as flattering to her as they had been to him?

Uneasy with entering Michael’s house, she remained in the yard. With her feet on solid ground, it would be easier to keep a safe distance between him and old memories.

“I’ve got your dinner.” In case he hadn’t noticed the picnic basket, she raised it a few inches. “In fact, there’s probably enough food in here to last a family of five an entire week.”

Michael shook his head. “It’s a crime, isn’t it? More food than I can possibly eat has been delivered this afternoon, while somewhere in the world there are families who’ll go hungry tonight. I imagine with your work, the unfairness must really get to you, doesn’t it?”

Josie merely nodded at Michael’s casual remark. He couldn’t know the half of how she felt on that particular matter, and she saw no reason for sharing those private thoughts with him now. Her feelings were strictly between her and God.

Too weary for a serious conversation, she deliberately answered with a lighthearted quip. “If you want to do battle with my mother, then go ahead. I dare you to send this picnic basket back.”

Michael smiled. “No way I’m messing with Sarah Marshall. At least not until I’m fully recovered.”

Only then did Josie notice the tired lines framing Michael’s eyes and the stiff carriage of his upper body. While there were no visible bandages or scars, her mother had said he was badly bruised and very sore.

“Where would you like me to put this?” Josie asked, suddenly aware of his physical discomfort. She rushed up the steps, and as she neared him, he tried to take the basket. But before he could, she glided past him and through the open door.

Though it’d been a long time since she’d been in the Rawlins’s home, it still possessed the same welcoming air she’d remembered from her teenage years when Michael’s parents had owned the house. The floral prints and lemony walls Mrs. Rawlins had loved had been replaced with subtle earth tones and plaid fabrics. Even the carpeting had been pulled up to expose beautiful hardwood floors. The Western art, tailored furniture and Persian rugs hinted at a man she no longer knew.

Making her way to the kitchen, she deposited the picnic basket on the trestle table and started unloading it.

“I can do that,” Michael insisted. He reached for the casserole dish, and for a second his hands covered hers.

Josie flinched, his touch the same combination of gentleness and strength she’d remembered. Before too many old memories slipped to the surface, she turned abruptly and broke the unsettling contact.

“I wouldn’t be Sarah Marshall’s daughter if I didn’t finish the job properly,” she announced, as if his being so close had no effect on her.

Michael jokingly raised his hands shoulder high with palms facing outward. “Hey, like I said before, I’m not messing with your mother.”

Josie flashed her too bright smile. “Good. Then sit down and let me do my work.” As she placed the casserole dish in the oven to warm, she described the meal. “For starters, there’s your favorite, cheese-stuffed meat loaf and roasted potatoes.”

When she hesitated, Michael didn’t notice. A long time ago meat loaf had been his favorite. Maybe it wasn’t anymore.

Oh, God, she turned a silent prayer upward. Please, help me get out of here before I say something I’ll regret.

“I’ll put the coleslaw in the fridge with the applesauce. And there’s a loaf of wheat bread and—ta-da—cherry pie for dessert.”

Michael shook his head. “When your mother does something, she does it right.”

“Yeah,” Josie said. Despite all her grumblings, she had a pretty special mom. Sarah Marshall would do just about anything for her only daughter.

Michael glanced nervously at the food then back to Josie. “I can’t eat all this myself. You will stay for dinner, won’t you?”

The request was simple enough, but the unreadable emotion in Michael’s eyes bothered her. Despite the years and distance between them, she knew him too well not to know when he was trying too hard. If he was as uncomfortable with her presence as she was in his, then why did he ask her to stay?

“That’s so nice of you to offer, but I’m exhausted and you must be, too. Maybe we could get together later in the week?” Josie said, aware that once she walked out the door tonight their paths would not cross for the rest of her six-week hiatus. She would make certain of that.

“Really, I insist,” Michael said. “You know how busy you are when you’re home. Your mother will be dragging you to family reunions and church dinners until you’ll need a vacation to recuperate from your hiatus.”

“Not this time,” Josie promised. “It’s going to be a quiet six weeks spent with my parents.” She’d already warned her mother she wanted peace and quiet. Though she hadn’t told her why it was so important.

“Please stay,” Michael said. “At least for a few more minutes.” The same unreadable look she’d noticed before flashed across his eyes. Could he really want her to stay? Against her better judgment, she gave in to her curiosity.

“For a little while.” She’d never been able to refuse Michael in the past, and even after all this time apart, she still couldn’t say no.

Josie suggested they go ahead and eat. While she filled two plates, Michael poured iced tea and set place mats on the dining room table.

“The kitchen’s fine,” Josie called out. She didn’t want him to go to too much trouble. She didn’t want to be treated like a date. She was an old friend, the girl next door, and she wanted to keep it like that.

“You’re right. The kitchen is more comfortable. I’m not sure why I even kept this old dining room set. I never use it.” Still, Michael continued to set the oak trestle table that had belonged to his grandparents. Stepping back, he inspected his handiwork, and with a look that suggested something was missing, he opened the hutch door.

“Nonsense, it’s beautiful,” Josie said. “Besides, someday, when you’re an old married man, you’ll sit around that big table with your children and grandchildren and think life couldn’t get any better.”

The second Josie met Michael’s gaze, she wished she could have taken back the words. Was she crazy bringing up the subject of marriage? The sooner this meal was over, the better.

“Always the optimist,” Michael said. “I’m glad that hasn’t changed.” Michael held out a chair for her, but before seating himself, he clumsily searched through the bottom hutch drawer.

Josie waited quietly, thinking there’d been a time when she would have responded to his comment with honesty. But today she was content to let him think her optimism had remained intact.

Just as she started to ask what he was looking for, he produced two tapered candles and wrought iron holders she recognized as having once belonged to his mother.

In patient silence, Josie watched Michael strike the match and light the ocean-blue candles. Even though the sun hadn’t set, the flames flickered in the early evening light. Instantly, she recalled how their love had burned out, but unlike a candle it wasn’t something that could ever be rekindled with the strike of a match.

Josie sighed with relief. She shouldn’t have avoided Michael for so many years. Because it wasn’t until she’d faced him tonight that she could really be certain of her heart. She no longer loved him. In this moment, all she felt for him was the lingering fondness anyone would feel for their first love.

“Shall we pray?” Michael asked.

Reaching across the table, Josie held his hand and closed her eyes.

“Dear Father,” Michael prayed. “Thank you for this food and that we could be together to enjoy it. Please, protect Sharla, who I already consider as my daughter, and let her feel how much her grandmother and I love her. And grant Josie the restful hiatus she seeks.” Then a little more loudly, he added, as if it were an afterthought, “May Your will be done during these next few weeks.”

“Amen,” Josie said. “I always like a man who knows how to say a short prayer.”

Michael grinned; and for a moment it was just like old times. Except for the silence that followed. Josie struggled to think of something to say, otherwise it would be a long meal.

“Mom told me about your accident the day before yesterday. She said Sharla wasn’t hurt.” And Sarah Marshall had told her a lot of other things through the years, as well. Thanks to her mother’s newsy e-mails and telephone calls, Josie knew the high points in Michael’s life. She knew who he had dated, when he’d bought the house from his retired parents and when Sharla had come to live with him.

“Thank God, Sharla’s fine,” Michael said with much relief. “She’s been staying at her grandmother’s this summer, and we were lounging in the front yard when she chased a neighborhood cat into the street.”

“That must have been a horrible moment.” Josie had chills just thinking about the child and the speeding car.

“I can’t tell you how terrified I was. I didn’t think I could reach her in time.” But he didn’t have to explain his horror, because the fear still clung to his face. “Sharla never saw the car.”

“You were lucky your injuries weren’t more serious.” Josie closed her eyes for an instant, knowing how close Michael had come to tragedy.

“The driver had slammed on his brakes, so by the time he hit me, he wasn’t going very fast.”

“But fast enough.”

Michael shook his head as if his cuts and bruises were nothing. He was obviously uncomfortable being the focus of attention.

“Thank God, it’s summer and school’s out. How long before you’ll be back on your feet?” Even though he wouldn’t have to teach until the end of the summer, he most likely had a busy agenda planned for his vacation months. Michael considered teaching a year-round job, whether he was teaching his third-grade class or Sunday school.

Michael nodded. “The doc said I should take it easy for a couple of days. My injuries are more inconvenient than anything.” Michael gracefully rose from the table, as if to prove his point. Pulling his wallet from his back pocket, he showed her the photograph on top.

“Sharla’s first-grade picture,” he said.

Michael’s eyes burned bright with love and fatherly pride. The moment stole Josie’s breath.

“She’s your cousin Denise’s daughter?” Josie said, even though she knew the answer. When Sarah had written about Denise Rubee’s tragic death, Josie hadn’t been surprised to learn Michael had wanted to raise the orphaned child.

He nodded.

“She’s beautiful,” Josie said.

“And a spitfire, too.”

Michael continued to stare at the smiling photo. With her long black hair, dark-blue eyes and lightly tanned skin, the young girl physically resembled Michael.

“I was sorry to hear about Denise’s death last fall. The fact that she was so young makes it even harder to accept,” Josie said. The words were inadequate, but then there were no words to heal the pain death left behind. She’d witnessed too many tragedies with her work to think a few words could possibly give real peace and comfort.

When Michael shrugged his shoulders and his eyes misted over, Josie wanted to hug him, but instead she clasped her hands under the table. Michael opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but then changed his mind.

Josie reached for the wallet, flipping through the photographs. There were two more of Sharla, both taken recently, as well as a family shot with his parents, sisters, nieces and nephews. At one time, she’d considered herself part of this great bunch.

“How are your parents doing?” she asked. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen them.”

“They enjoy Florida, and they especially love being near their grandchildren.” She thought she detected a wistfulness in Michael’s voice. He’d always adored his older sisters.

“Have you ever thought of moving closer to them? I’m sure you could get a teaching job anywhere.” And any school would be lucky to have him. No one was better with children than Michael.

He shook his head. “You know me. Tulsa’s my home. I can’t see myself living anywhere else.”

“Of course,” Josie said, avoiding his gaze. She knew that. His refusal to leave Tulsa was one of the reasons they’d broken up.

“And your sisters?” Josie said, once again filling the awkward tension. “They’re doing fine?”

“Couldn’t be better. They love living in Florida.”

Josie popped the last bite of potato into her mouth, then took her plate to the sink. She’d stayed too long already. There was nothing left between her and Michael except old memories, and she didn’t want to stir them up too much for fear she would release the old anger and bitterness as well. She would wash the dishes and leave.

Without asking if she wanted any, Michael cut the cherry pie.

“None for me,” Josie said. “I’m trying to cut back.”

“Really? You look great to me.”

“Thank you,” she said, surprised by how good his approval made her feel. Yet a little leary, too. It was almost as if he were being too nice. She shook the feelings off quickly, but noticed he still served her pie.

Stubbornly, Josie continued to wash the dishes. As she gazed out the window, a small structure, under construction in the backyard, caught her attention.

“Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

Michael came up behind her. His breath was warm on the back of her neck as he spoke. “Yeah. It’s a playhouse for Sharla.”

“Oh,” Josie exclaimed. Grabbing a hand towel to wipe her hands, she left the dish suds and uneaten cherry pie behind. Michael followed her into the backyard.

The June sun hit the horizon as they crossed the thick Bermuda grass. Orange-red fingers blazed across the sky, heralding the end of the day. Evening songbirds welcomed the rise of the moon as darkness approached.

“You’re really building her a playhouse,” Josie said with wonderment.

At the moment, it was little more than a few studs and nails. Close by lay a pile of bricks for the winding walkway, wood shingles for the roof and fancy trim pieces to complete the gingerbread look. She closed her eyes and knew exactly how the finished playhouse would look. Or at least, she saw the playhouse she’d always wanted as a child.

As Michael watched Josie, he pressed his hand against his side to ease the pain. It was silly, but he hadn’t wanted her to know how much he hurt. This wasn’t the reunion he’d always envisioned. In those daydreams, he was strong and healthy and ready to prove he was doing just fine without her. And he was. He’d gotten over Josie a long time ago. The trouble was he needed her help, and from the moment she’d unexpectedly appeared on his doorstep, he’d been trying to find a way all evening to broach the subject.

Perhaps the direct approach was best.

But before he could say anything more, Josie began inspecting the trim pieces and the tiny stained-glass windows he’d located at an antique store last week. She picked up the delicate multicolored glass and let the last rays of light filter through, coating her face in muted blues and pinks.

When the breeze pushed her light brown hair off of her face, Michael silently gasped at the tender beauty of her profile. Her creamy skin and pale red lips looked so lovely, and he was reminded of what might have been. And that made him edgy. Knowing it might be wiser to walk away before he said something he’d regret, he stepped up onto the plywood platform and took the window from her hands.

“I didn’t realize how much you love her until I saw this,” she said. As Josie met his gaze, he would have sworn she knew how it felt to love a child as her own. But then she loved a thousand children. She had put her love for children before her love for him. And now he was going to ask her to do it again.

“Yeah, she’s like my own. I remember the day Denise asked me to be Sharla’s godfather. Though I took the responsibility seriously, I had no idea of the commitment I was truly making. Denise and Eddie had already broken up, and so I was Denise’s birthing coach. I was there when Sharla was born. I held her in my arms when she was only minutes old. I heard her first cries and saw her first smiles.”

Josie nodded. She knew this. Her mother had written about Sharla’s birth in detail and how Michael had stayed with Denise those first few weeks, helping her with night feedings and diaper changes. And then he’d started keeping Sharla on weekends and making sure she had her required shots and clothes for school.

“Little by little, I became her father. I didn’t even see it happening. It was the most natural thing in the world.”

“I can see she makes you happy.”

Michael smiled. “That doesn’t even begin to describe my feelings. She’s the reason I get up in the morning. She’s the reason I look forward to the future.”

And now it was the future that worried him.

“When Denise asked me if I would become Sharla’s legal guardian, I was scared by the responsibility, but deep down I knew God had placed me in this child’s life for a reason. She needed me. She needed the stability and love I could give her. I think deep down Denise somehow knew she would never beat her drug addiction. You know, she died of an overdose?” Michael’s voice cracked, and he paused to regain control.

Watching Denise succumb to her illegal drug addiction had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. He’d tried to help her, but his best efforts combined with the help of family and friends hadn’t been enough. “Loving Sharla is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”