Mrs. Miracle Read Free

keep the peace with Mrs. Hampston, and now she was accusing him!
    “You know absolutely nothing about being a father.”
    Seth’s mouth snapped shut. Like all good military strategists, she attacked his weakest point. He had no argument.
    “The twins are your children, Mr. Webster, not your friends, and not cute pets. They need a firm, guiding hand. As far as I can see, you’re no example for them. None whatsoever. Swearing is one thing, but to put it bluntly, you’re a slob.”
    Seth knew she was right. He was an absentminded professor, his head filled with work, the kids, and everything else. He didn’t mean to be untidy, it just happened that way. He constantly lost and found himself. Mundane things like remembering to fill up the car with gas escaped him. The other morning, to her disgust, Mrs. Hampston had found his shoes in the refrigerator. Seth vaguely recalled putting them there.
    “If you’d be willing to give me another chance…”
    “I’ve already assured you I won’t.”
    “Yes, but finding another housekeeper might prove difficult just now.”
    “I’m sure it will be, but that isn’t my problem.”
    Seth leaned against the door, wondering whereto turn to next. Mrs. Hampston had been his last hope. The agency didn’t have anyone else to send. He didn’t know what he would do, where he would turn.
    “Frankly, Mr. Webster,” the woman stated smugly, “it isn’t a housekeeper you need, it’s a miracle.”

Chapter 2
    The best way to get even is to forget.
    —Mrs. Miracle

    “R eba, there’s a call for you on line one.”
    Reba Maxwell’s gaze remained fixed on the parking lot outside the strip mall where her travel agency was located. She saw him again, the mystery man who’d dominated her thoughts for weeks. The one who made her smile. Half the time she wondered if he knew where he was. He’d climb out of the car and then stare at the storefront as though attempting to remember what he was supposed to buy.
    She knew nothing about him. Not his name. Or if he was married. Where he worked or lived. Nothing. He stopped off two or three times a week at the supermarket next door to her agency. He had to be married because a single man couldn’t possibly require that many groceries.
    He was a stranger, yet for reasons Reba couldn’t understand or explain, she felt physically and emotionally drawn to him. He wasn’t all that attractive. Still, she was fascinated by the strength of character that seemed to radiate from him. Even from a distance she noted that his jaw was strong, his cheekbones high and pronounced, and his lips full. He wasn’t especially tall, and he didn’t possess any of the other attributes that generally interested a woman. Nevertheless she waited day after day, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
    He wasn’t even her type, she reasoned, impatient with herself. She’d learned her lesson long ago and avoided those high-powered executives. Always so crisp and formal. Always in control.
    “Reba, line one,” Jayne Preston reminded her.
    She pulled her attention away from the window and reached for the phone. “This is Reba,” she answered in a businesslike tone.
    “Hello, dahlin’.”
    Her mother. “Hello, Mom,” she answered, keeping her voice even and unemotional. She knew what was coming, had been expecting it, and dreaded the confrontation and all that was sure to follow.
    “How are you feeling?”
    Her mother sounded as if Reba had recently recovered from a life-threatening illness, as if shesuffered with impossibly fragile health—if not physically, then emotionally, which was a greater insult. She gritted her teeth and prayed for patience before she answered.
    “I’m fine. I suppose you want to talk about Christmas.” No need delaying the inevitable. She preferred to deal with the unpleasantness now and be done with it.
    “Well, yes…” Joan Maxwell said, and hesitated, her frustration grating through the telephone lines. “I would really like it if