In Search of Love Read online

  In Search

  of Love

  Christine Lynxwiler

  Heartsong Presents

  To Billie and Elva Lynxwiler & Jana and Dan Nichols—for accepting me into your family by marriage and welcoming me into your hearts by choice. The times we’ve spent working cattle and just having a good time at the “farm” made it possible for me to dream up the “Circle-M” adventures.

  Thanks to my crit buds—Tracey Bateman, Susan Warren, Tamela Hancock Murray, Lianne Lopes, Patty Hall, Kathleen Paul, Susan Downs, Sandy Gaskin, Jan Reynolds, and Lynette Sowell!

  As always, thanks to Kevin, Kristianna, and Kaleigh, for being the best family a gal could ever wish for. I love you all so much.

  And most of all, thanks to my Heavenly Father for blessing me beyond measure and loving me in spite of myself.

  A note from the author:

  I love to hear from my readers! You may correspond with me by writing:

  Christine Lynxwiler

  Author Relations

  PO Box 719

  Uhrichsville, OH44683

  ISBN1-58660-688-3

  In Search of Love

  © 2003 by Christine Lynxwiler. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden with-out the permission of Heartsong Presents, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  Prologue

  Annalisa’s hands trembled as she clutched her sister to her chest and buried her face in the baby’s silken curls. Drawing courage from the familiar scent, she looked up to confront the social worker. The stiff-backed woman stood, arms extended, waiting. Waiting for Annalisa to do the impossible.

  “Miss Miller, I know you think it’s for the best, but you can’t take Amy from me.” Annalisa eyed the sheriff standing behind the woman and struggled to sound grownup, in spite of her rising terror. “I’ll be eighteen in less than a year. I can be a good mother to her.”

  Ignoring her plea, the woman pried the baby from Annalisa’s arms. “You know she’ll be better off with a mother and father who can give her what she needs.” The older woman balanced the baby with one arm and tossed the diaper bag strap across her shoulder. “We’ve been through this repeatedly. If I could’ve found you two a foster placement together I would have. Unfortunately, I couldn’t.”

  Miss Miller shifted Amy’s weight to the other side of her angular body and peered down her hawk-like nose at Annalisa. Her expression softened slightly and a tendril of hope sprouted in the girl’s heart, only to be squashed by the social worker’s next words. “Besides, it’s time for you to have a life. You took care of your mother after your father left, and you’ve been more of a mother than a sister to Amy since her birth. That’s a heavier load than most grown women have to bear.”

  Annalisa couldn’t hold back the sobs any longer as she pleaded with the woman who held her beloved Amy in her arms.

  “You can’t take her from me. . .” She discarded any ves­tige of pride and fell to her knees. Fighting hysteria, she clutched the woman’s skirt and squeezed the rough navy poly­ester as if it were a lifeline. “She’s all I have left. I love her.”

  Miss Miller glanced at the sheriff, who stood motionless across the room. “I’ve tried to reason with her.” She nodded toward Annalisa. “She’s all yours. Maybe you can make her understand.”

  “She has just lost her mother. I can see why—” The older man moved toward Annalisa.

  “Your sympathy doesn’t change reality,” Miss Miller boomed. Baby Amy’s face crumpled, and she gave a startled cry.

  Annalisa instinctively reached for her again.

  “I’m leaving with the baby. You need to be sure the girl gets to the social services office so the Johnsons can pick her up.”

  The sheriff gave Annalisa another sympathetic look, but nodded.

  Miss Miller pulled away from Annalisa’s clutching hands. She stepped around her and strode to the door, then turned back. “Take my advice, young lady. The best thing you can do is forget and move on.”

  Annalisa clambered to her feet, infused with a sudden spurt of inner strength. “I’ll never forget.” She stared at the crying baby, memorizing every nuance of the precious face. “I’ll find you, Amy. I promise, I’ll find you!”

  Chapter One

  Annalisa Davis grimaced as her car bounced along the wash­board road. The crunch of gravel resounded through the inte­rior, making the already disjointed cell phone conversation more difficult.

  “You know, Julie, at first, I thought it was a stroke of luck finding out about this ranch. Now I’m not so sure.” She tucked the phone under her chin and waved at a man on a tractor who had pulled over to let her pass. “You should see this road. Mr. McFadden’s secretary said it was out in the sticks. Big-time understatement.”

  “Well, I tried to talk you out of going. What’s six more months after waiting seven years? Or you could’ve used some­one else.” Julie’s voice faded in and out, but Annalisa had heard the speech so many times in the last few weeks she knew it by heart.

  “I couldn’t wait any longer once I had the money saved.” Annalisa slowed the car to a crawl and took her sunglasses off, squinting at a weathered sign. “And, like I told you before, Cade McFadden is the best.”

  “I know—”

  Before her friend could launch into her ongoing campaign against this trip, Annalisa broke in, excitement edging her voice. “Jules, this is it. The sign says Circle-M Ranch. I actu­ally found it. Gotta go now. I’ll call you tonight.”

  “Okay. . .good luck.”

  “It’ll take more than luck. You’d better be praying for me like you promised.”

  Armed with Julie’s assurance of continued prayer, Annalisa said a hurried good-bye. She flipped the little phone shut, then turned her car into the lane. She rolled her window down and eyed the cows munching away in the pastures.

  Trying not to dwell on the four-footed inhabitants of the ranch, she concentrated instead on the lush green grass that carpeted the rolling hills as far as she could see. Whipped-cream clouds decorated the blue sky.

  The scene reminded Annalisa of a child’s drawing. She couldn’t remember ever seeing such crisp, vibrant colors in the city.

  Lord, please let me find a place like this to raise Amy. But first, help me find her.

  Her little car topped a hill, and Annalisa gasped. A massive ranch house stood in the middle of numerous outlying barns and sheds. Several vehicles, all of the four-wheel-drive vari­ety, were scattered around the yard. How many people had she signed on to cook for? Maybe Julie was right . . .maybe she was crazy.

  Biting back a wave of panic, she pulled her car in front of the house and parked. What had she been thinking? When she’d struck up a friendship with Mr. McFadden’s secretary, and consequently begged her way into this job, it had seemed like such a good plan.

  The reality of providing nourishing meals for several large, hungry men sent doubt coursing through her. She was a good cook, but she’d never cooked in huge amounts before.

  Bottom line, she reminded herself, squaring her shoulders—she’d do whatever it took to get close to Cade McFadden.

  ***

  Cade hammered the last board into place and turned to grin at his brother. “That ought to do it, Holt. At least for today.” After wiping the sweat from
his face with his shirtsleeve, he readjusted his Stetson and nodded toward the house. “I’m starving. The cook was supposed to arrive this afternoon. Maybe we’ll have food fit to eat tonight.”

  “Yep. Aunt Gertie tries but, bless her heart, she’s not a cook.” Holt chuckled.

  Cade hung the hammer on a peg above the workbench, then he and Holt started up the hill toward the house.

  “Look over there, Cade.” Holt pointed at a corral up by the middle barn where two men were hammering furiously. “Dad and Jake were so sure they’d beat us. We proved them wrong, didn’t we?”

  “Sure did.” Cade nodded toward the roof of the neighbor­ing barn where their other brother was wielding a paint­brush. “What do you suppose Clint’s excuse will be for not beating us?”

  “Well, you know, as a fireman he’s not used to carrying anything besides an ax and a high pressure hose when he walks on a roof. That brush and bucket of tar in his hand probably threw him off,” Holt retorted with a laugh.

  “Hey. Watch it! You don’t want us to start making politician jokes, do you?” Cade teased, glad to see his brother’s normal good humor returning. Holt was starting to get over the breakup of a long-term relationship. So far, he’d refused to share the details with the family. “Man, I still can’t believe you all came up here this weekend. It’s like an old-fashioned barn-raisin’.” Cade flashed Holt another grin and slapped him on the back. “I don’t deserve to have such a family, but I thank God I do.”

  Cade pulled open the screen door and let his brother go ahead of him into the mudroom. The perfect room for a ranch, it caught all the dirt and grime of a long hard day. A double sink in the corner allowed both brothers to scrub up at the same time.

  As Cade walked beside Holt up the rock steps and through the sliding glass doors that led into the main house, he thought again of how God had blessed him. He knew his family’s presence was their way of letting him know they were rooting for him. His dream of a ranch for troubled kids was about to become a reality, and he couldn’t have done it without them.

  Holt slid the door open and a savory aroma rushed to greet them. The men exchanged a wide grin. Cade’s stomach rum­bled as they hurried inside.

  He grabbed his seventy-year-old aunt by the waist and swung her around in a mock square dance.

  She giggled and slapped his arm. “Now, Cade, you stop it. I’m too old for that.”

  Cade froze in mid-swing and looked at his brother. “Holt, do you think Aunt Gertie is too old to do a little dos-si-do?”

  “No, she’s definitely not too old, but now that you mention it, you look a little out of breath.” Holt and Aunt Gertie broke into laughter.

  “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?” Cade asked, shak­ing his head. “Time for a subject change.” He pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “I see. . .or should I say, smell. . .you got our new cook all settled in. I bet you’re glad to have a female to talk to. It’ll give you somebody to sit on the porch and visit with at night.”

  “Yeah,” Holt chimed in. “You can compare grandkids.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so.” Aunt Gertie pursed her lips, but didn’t say anymore.

  “I’m starving. What time’s supper?” Cade had long since stopped trying to figure out his aunt. Or any woman, for that matter.

  “In about half an hour, I think.”

  “Holt and I’ll get quick showers. Can you send the rest of them to do the same when they give up out there?”

  “That won’t be long,” Holt added with a snort. “They’re about to run out of daylight.”

  ***

  As he slipped into a clean pair of faded jeans, Cade won­dered for the tenth time if he was in over his head, trying to start a boys’ ranch. Day after tomorrow, a vanload of city kids would arrive and he was supposed to whip them into shape. Figuratively, of course.

  Using all his influence, and some he’d borrowed from Holt, he had pulled enough strings to get the ranch going on a trial basis. A wry grin tugged at Cade’s mouth. Who would have thought having a politician in the family would be a good thing?

  The grin faded as he remembered how imperative it was that the ranch succeed. No one in his old circle understood the importance of a place like this. “A guilt offering,” his some­times-girlfriend had called it in her agitation at his six-month leave of absence.

  Maybe the project had germinated from his paralyzing guilt. But he’d done months of research and, when he’d real­ized how few alternatives these kids had, he’d felt ashamed. Ashamed that he’d never thought of helping before.

  Years of hard work and relentless determination had moved McFadden Investigations from a tiny rented office on the wrong side of Little Rock to its new location in a restored colonial manor in the Quapaw Quarters.

  Being a private investigator had been Cade’s fantasy since he was a boy. For the first few years, his dream career had surpassed his expectations.

  Even though he had officially taken a leave of absence, he couldn’t stomach the idea of ever going back. He’d done enough damage to last a lifetime.

  For the sake of his loyal employees he’d resisted the urge to sell the business. So his office manager, Mrs. Spencer, ran the place with an iron hand, efficiently dividing the caseload between four investigators.

  Pain stabbed Cade as he thought of the missing children cases from all over the region that came into his office. Some-times the price for success was too high.

  ***

  Annalisa blew a renegade curl away from her sweat-dampened forehead. She peered into the oven at the golden biscuits, then grabbed two pot holders and eased both pans out. Eyeing them critically, she hoped there was enough to go around.

  The woman who had helped her get settled in—“Aunt Gertie,” she’d insisted Annalisa call her—said there would be five men at supper tonight.

  Annalisa raised the lid on the roast and vegetables, inhaling the scent as it filled the room. Aunt Gertie had invited her to sit down with them for dinner, but she’d decided to eat in the kitchen. Looking at the big wall clock, she breathed a sigh of relief as she realized everything was done right on time.

  Please, Lord, let there be enough food, she prayed.

  The swinging doors burst open, and Aunt Gertie hurried in. “Oh! Everything smells delicious. Let’s get this on the table.”

  The two women carried steaming dishes into the dining room and set them on an oak table that could easily accommo­date ten people. Benches lined both sides and high-backed chairs with wicker seats stood at each end. Annalisa quickly brought out glasses filled with ice and set them on the runner that covered the antique buffet in the corner. When the pitchers of tea were in place, she stood back and surveyed her work.

  “Annalisa, you’ve done a beautiful job.” Aunt Gertie offered a wry chuckle. “If you could have seen supper last night. . . Everything was either charred beyond recognition or too raw to eat.” She put her arm around Annalisa’s waist. “I sure am glad you’re here.”

  Startled by the physical display of affection, Annalisa awk­wardly patted the tiny woman’s hand. “Me too. Smelling all this food is making me ravenous though. I think I’ll go eat.” She left Aunt Gertie to ring the dinner bell and escaped to the kitchen.

  Grabbing the plate she’d prepared for herself beforehand, she sank down on the barstool. After a quiet prayer of thanks, she ate in silent contemplation of her large undertaking.

  Loud laughs from the dining room punctuated the silence in the kitchen. The deep voices rattled through the walls, and Annalisa realized how long it had been since she’d been around a man’s voice on a regular basis. Really not since her dad left. Julie’s father had died two years before she and her mother had welcomed Annalisa into their home.

  She swallowed her last bite of food and leaned the barstool back, balancing it on two legs. Securing herself with her feet under the bar, she reached up with both hands to lift her heavy curls off her neck.

  A deep, masculine voice so
unded nearby. “Now, Aunt Gertie, I want to thank the cook. As good as that supper was, I might just have to do like that plaque on the wall says and ‘Kiss the Cook.’ ”

  Her tired brain didn’t process the words from the dining room fast enough. At the sound of the swinging doors opening behind her, Annalisa lost her balance and the barstool tipped over backward, landing with a thump. Still seated in the stool, which was now flat on its back, she lifted her gaze and offered a weak smile to the bewildered man staring down at her.

  His smoky blue eyes widened. The small hint of a smile around his chiseled lips told her an all-out grin from this man might be more than she could stand. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d really meant it when he said he wanted to kiss the cook.

  Chapter Two

  Cade stared at the startled woman on his kitchen floor. The riotous brown curls splaying out from her head seemed to go on for miles. Her eyes were the color of melted chocolate. Gold flecks sparkled in them now, reminding him of buried treasure, and mesmerizing him into silence.

  Beneath the embarrassment in her gaze, he saw a strong emotion he couldn’t quite identify. Longing, maybe, or des­peration. Suddenly, it seemed more likely her eyes were hid­ing secrets rather than treasure.

  “Cade, now look what you’ve done.” Before Cade could move, Aunt Gertie bustled over to the girl and reached to help her. “Honey, are you okay?”

  The brunette nodded and scrambled to her feet, quickly righting the barstool and putting it in its proper place. Cade noticed she stood only a few inches shorter than his six-feet-two height.

  Red-faced, she met his gaze and, unlike so many tall girls he’d known, she held her shoulders back and her head up. “I’m fine,” she said, extending a long, slender hand. “I’m so sorry. What a klutz I am. You must be Mr. McFadden. I’m Annalisa Davis, your new cook. I know it sounds like a double name, but it’s just one word. . .Annalisa.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry if you mangle it. You’ll probably get the hang of it eventually. Most people do.” With a self-deprecating smile, she added, “Unless I’m fired on the grounds of incredible clumsiness, in which case you can replace me with someone named Jane or Sue, and you won’t have to worry about it.” Again her gaze connected with his and held.