Love's Surprise Read online

  Love’s Surprise (eBook edition)

  Hendrickson Publishers Marketing, LLC

  P. O. Box 3473

  Peabody, Massachusetts 01961-3473

  eBook ISBN 978-1-59856-908-7

  Love’s Surprise © 2011 Karen Ball

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Due to technical issues, this eBook may not contain all of the images or diagrams in the original print edition of the work. In addition, adapting the print edition to the eBook format may require some other layout and feature changes to be made.

  First eBook edition — November 2011

  Contents

  Copyright

  A Note to Readers

  Book One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Book Two

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Book Three

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  About the Author

  A NOTE TO READERS FROM

  Karen Ball

  MY MOTHER was the queen of celebrations and filled every holiday with fun and laughter. Valentine’s Day meant the house was decorated top to bottom, and dinner was entirely red. Red food, red drink, red desserts. And there was always a little something special for each of us—my two brothers and Dad—at our plates. St. Pat’s brought green and more green. April Fool’s was a day to see who could play the most outrageous prank. I still have some of Mom’s decorations, and they’re almost as old as I am. I still remember putting them up with her, talking and sharing memories as we did so.

  It’s no wonder I love holidays as much as I do. And no wonder I was delighted to write novellas celebrating three of my favorite holidays: April Fool’s Day, Christmas, and Valentine’s Day! I wrote these short stories back in the late ’90s. In fact, they were some of my first published works. So you can imagine my delight when Hendrickson Publishers asked if they could release them again in a new collection! I was even more delighted when they allowed me to update them. In fact, they let me completely rework all three stories, connecting them with a new thread. Mission: LOVE!

  It’s been great fun to revisit these stories and characters, and even more rewarding to bring new focus and refinement to them. So what awaits you here are three new stories based on those original novellas and threaded together with common and sometimes wacky characters! Stories that celebrate holidays and family . . . and the wonder of love’s surprises.

  I hope you enjoy them!

  Karen Ball

  P.S. I always love hearing from readers, so please feel free to shoot me an email at [email protected].

  Jericho’s Walls

  MISSION CONTROL

  “Mr. Hawk, you have a special delivery. A rather odd letter. I know I usually open the mail for you, but this is marked personal. And, well . . . I’m not sure what to do with it.”

  Brendan Hawk looked up from his drawing table and considered his secretary’s hesitant words. “What kind of letter?”

  She held it out to him, and he couldn’t help a grin. The envelope was made of old newspapers, and his name and address were written, in permanent marker, across the front.

  Gramps. It had to be. The man recycled everything.

  He held out his hand. “I’ll take it, Lisa.”

  His secretary eyed the letter as though it were some desiccated rodent, then handed it over. She left the office, and Brendan settled back in his chair and reached for a letter opener. For just a second he let his gaze rest on the logo across the handle of the stylish, acrylic letter opener: “Hawk’s Eye Fine Art.” Another smile. That promotional had worked like a charm. He’d had a host of inquiries from galleries after he’d sent them out with his press kits.

  Slitting the top of the letter, he pulled the note free and opened it. A short bark of laughter. The message was pure Gramps. Short, concise, and definite.

  Very definite.

  “Come see me. Now.”

  He reached forward to press the intercom button.

  “Yes, sir?” Lisa’s response was as quick as usual.

  “Lisa, cancel my appointments for today.” Another smile crept across his lips. “It appears I have another one I’ve got to take.”

  “Um . . . Dr. Kylie, a . . . well, I guess it’s a note just came for you.”

  Kylie Hawk looked up from the Siberian husky whose teeth she was inspecting. The dog’s owner had the three-year-old ball of energy in a vise grip, doing his best to hold the dog still. “Shelley, I’m a bit busy here. Can it wait?”

  The receptionist shrugged. “I suppose, but it came by special delivery, so I thought it might be important.”

  Kylie sighed and looked over the Sibe’s head to the owner.

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “I could take a break if you could.”

  She patted the dog’s head, then she and the owner let loose the hound—who promptly jumped from the table, tail wagging. Kylie followed Shelley out to the empty reception area, then held out her hand. “Let’s take a look at it.”

  “What’s in it?”

  Kylie turned to find Alan, one of her partner vets, peering over her shoulder at the envelope she now held. “I’ll let you know in a sec.” She turned the so-called envelope over in her hand, then grinned. A taped-up newspaper envelope? Her name and address in crayon?

  “Gramps.”

  “He’s in the envelope?”

  She elbowed Alan, and he backed away, feigning injury. “No, but he sent it. I’m sure he did. It’s just the kind of thing he’d do.”

  Alan took the handmade envelope and arched his brows. “What, is he senile?”

  Kylie laughed out loud at that. “Not at all. He’s just”—her lips twitched—“well, eccentric.”

  “That’s a nice way of saying crazy. It happens when people age sometimes.”

  “Yeah, well, Gramps was born that way. He’s amazing. My mom tells stories about when she was a kid. She thought everyone’s parents were like hers.”

  “Come on, they couldn’t have been that unique.”

  “Oh, yes, they can. It wasn’t until Mom was in grade school that she realized it wasn’t exactly the norm to have your father rise before the sun every day, brew a strong pot of coffee, and then go climb a ladder to the roof. There he’d sit, drinking the coffee from a thermos and reading the early-morning edition of the paper.”

  Alan’s expression was priceless. “You’re kidding me.”

  She nodded. “Nope. He sat up there every day. According to Mom, he said it was the bes
t place in town to watch the day come to life.”

  “And your grandmother put up with it?”

  “Not only that, she’d toss the paper up to him. And she has her own distinctions. She’s always worn these beautiful, bright straw hats and colorful, gauzy dresses that swoosh when she floats by. Oh, yes, and she quotes Shakespeare or Longfellow or Hawthorne or a dozen other classical writers at the slightest provocation.” Kylie wiggled her brows. “Sometimes, backward.” She shook her head. “It’s just Grams’s way of carrying on a conversation.”

  Alan laughed. “OK, you win. They sound like a hoot.”

  “They are that.” Kylie pulled the note from the envelope and four words jumped out at her: Come see me. Now. “Hey, Alan, do me a favor?”

  “Anytime.”

  “Finish checking the Siberian’s teeth for me, will you?”

  His eyes widened. “You’re handing off a Siberian? The ‘most perfect breed in existence’?”

  She batted at him with the note. Leave it to Alan to use her love for Siberians against her.

  “Must be something really important. I thought you were here ’til six.”

  “I thought I was, too. Fortunately, Dasha was my last scheduled appointment today. So if you’ll be an angel and finish her up, I can check this”—she waved the note in front of his face—“out.”

  “You’re lucky to have me, you know that?”

  She slipped her white lab coat off, hung it in the closet, and grabbed her jacket and purse. “So you keep telling me. Every day. Several times a day—”

  “Sorry, no time to chat.” Alan headed to the exam room. “Dedicated vet on his way to better a dog’s life.”

  “You’re my hero.”

  “And don’t you forget it.”

  She tossed him a cheeky grin. “Ha! Like you’d ever let that happen.” She grabbed her purse, pulled open the outside door, and trotted to her car. She had no idea what this note was about, but had a feeling Gramps’s explanation would be one for the books.

  She could hardly wait to hear it.

  Brendan pulled into the driveway of his grandparents’ house just in time to see his sister, Kylie, slide out of her car.

  He pushed open his car door and stepped out. “Yo, sister mine. I take it you got a letter, too?”

  She hurried over to give him a hug. “Newspaper. With crayon.”

  “Ditto. But with marker, not crayon.”

  “You’ve always been more sophisticated than I.”

  They walked up the cobblestone path to the front door.

  “Any idea what’s up?”

  He glanced at his sister. He’d been pondering that very question during the crazy drive here. “I can only think of one thing.”

  She sighed. “Mom?”

  “Mom.”

  Kylie pressed the doorbell, then grinned. “OK, what’s the tune this time?”

  He pressed the doorbell, listened, then nodded. “It’s one of those golden oldies. . . . Oh yeah!” He swept Kylie into his arms for an impromptu dance, and sang out, “ ‘Let me call you Sweetheart—’ ”

  “I forgot your naaaaame,” she chimed in.

  “That’s not how the song goes, young lady, and you know it.”

  The siblings stopped their whirling and turned to grin at their grandfather standing in the now-open doorway.

  “Come on in, you two.” He stepped aside and swept his arm inward. “Grandmother put milk and cookies on the table for us before she went shopping.”

  “Fresh cookies?” Brendan let go of his sister so fast she almost fell over.

  “Hey!”

  He ignored Kylie’s indignation and headed for the kitchen.

  In short order, the three were situated around the kitchen table.

  “So, Gramps—” Brendan spoke around a mouthful of still-warm-from-the-oven, melt-in-your-mouth grandma cookies. “What’s so important you paid for two special deliveries to get us here?”

  All humor left his grandfather’s features. His whole body seemed to sag.

  Brendan sat forward. “It’s Mom, isn’t it?”

  Gramps’s somber gaze said it all.

  Kylie released a heavy sigh. “So it’s time?”

  Gramps inclined his head. “I’m afraid so. We just don’t seem to have any other choice.” He pulled several folded sheets of paper from his pocket and smoothed them out on the table. “These are your assignments.” He handed a sheet of paper to each of them.

  Brendan studied his paper, and couldn’t restrain the slow grin easing across his mouth. “Brilliant. Devious, but brilliant.”

  Kylie looked up from hers and regarded her grandfather, new respect showing in her expression. “If I doubted it before, I won’t do so again.” She laid a hand on their grandfather’s arm. “You are a genius.”

  “So—” Gramps reached out to cover Brendan’s and Kylie’s hands with his own. “It’s unanimous. Operation Save Your Mom has officially begun.”

  THE MOM ASSIGNMENT

  CHAPTER

  One

  Kitty’s eyes cracked, opened. She groaned. Acknowledging the new morning was the last thing she wanted to do.

  She had dreaded this particular day for weeks. Wished she could just sleep through it. Forget it existed.

  But that wasn’t possible.

  Not with her devoted offspring, Kylie and Brendan, along with her parents, “watching over” her. They were all so determined to help her, to cheer her up.

  It made her want to scream.

  “Hope you’re getting ready, Mom,” her son, Brendan, had said a few days ago, that forced smile on his handsome face. “One more month until we march into April.”

  Of course he’d been trying to tug her out of the doldrums, trying to encourage her into their family tradition of making April Fool’s a day of fun and celebration and laughter. Ever since the children were small, March 1 had been, for their family, the starting date for “marching” forward—and planning the biggest and best April Fool’s caper of all.

  How could she tell Brendan it was that very fact that triggered her depression? Yes, the other holidays since Dan’s death had been difficult, but with her family’s love and support, she’d managed to endure them. Rather admirably, she thought.

  They’d even tried to make a go of it last April Fool’s Day. They’d all said the right things and done the right things. And they’d all been loath to admit it was a colossal failure. Everything they attempted only seemed to bring Dan’s absence back into stark focus.

  She should have known it would be a waste of time to even try. April Fool’s was their holiday. A tradition she and Dan started when they were dating. And one they’d continued—and worked hard to perfect—every year since. So when Kitty glanced at the calendar last week and realized it was only ten days to March . . . then thought about how April was on it’s way . . . how this would be the third April Fool’s Day without her husband . . . well, a bone-deep weariness had settled over her. All she felt was a bleak awareness of how horribly different that once-special day would be from now on.

  Of course, it only made matters worse that April 1 also had been Dan’s birthday.

  And the day they got married.

  It was so fitting. Dan was a man who knew how to live with enthusiasm and joy. Indeed, most days their household was steeped in “buffoonery and tomfoolery,” as Dan loved to call it. It was a well-documented fact: Let a practical joke take place in the Hawk household, and Kitty could be sure that the instigator was as often her husband as it was their children. Kitty didn’t mind. She enjoyed a good prank, though she usually played the role of spectator. Or victim.

  A memory shoved its way into her mind, an image so clear and distinct she felt she could almost reach out and touch it. . . .

&nbs
p; She had come up from the basement and found herself in the middle of a fierce water fight.

  Inside the house.

  In the living room.

  Water dripped from the curtains and dribbled down the TV screen. A small pool was forming on the floor, held in check only by the cotton rug in front of the now-soggy couch. Her six-foot-three, forty-year-old husband was crouched behind the couch, full Super Soaker in hand.

  “Daniel Willia—!” But her near-scream was cut short when what had to be an entire glass of water hit her full in the face.

  Horrified silence filled the room for an instant. Then, “Way to go, genius sister. You just creamed Mom.”

  “Me? I didn’t cream her! That was you!”

  “Not a chance. Your signature idiocy at work, runt.”

  She turned to glare at her eldest child, her only son, Brendan, her firstborn, the one who was her constant ally in the onslaught of life—and could not believe the cheeky grin on his face.

  “Yo, Mom, gotta learn to duck.” He held out a handful of already damp paper towels.

  “No, I need to be a duck.” She snatched the proffered towels and tried to stem the stream of water dripping from her hair and off the tip of her nose.

  An arm slid around her shoulders, and she glanced up at Dan’s face, which bore his most winning smile. He didn’t have a drop of water on him.

  She narrowed her gaze. “Don’t. Even. Try.”

  “I think you’ll find this works better.” He held a dry towel out to her.

  She stared at it, not moving. Another drip off her elbow.

  “You’ll feel better if you dry off.”

  She hated it when he did that, talked to her in that low, sweet tone when she wanted to be outraged. He knew laughter—his or hers—was one of her greatest weaknesses.

  Kitty looked away. “Forget it, Dan Juan. You aren’t getting off so easily.” She spread her hands toward the room. “What do you think this is? The lost city of Atlantis?”

  He looked properly chastised—or he tried, anyway, but the twinkle in his hazel eyes belied his penitent demeanor. A rebellious swath of thick, honey-brown hair fell down on his forehead, and she fought the urge to reach out and brush it back.