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“I don’t blame her for acting out. She’s lost everyone she loves,” J.C. said.
Unexpectedly, Maddie covered his hand with hers. “Not quite everyone.”
He stared at her long, slender fingers and pulled his gaze back to hers. “My niece has been fighting with some of the girls at school, her grades are slipping.” And Chrissy was miserable.
Concern etched Maddie’s face. “Can I help? She could spend afternoons with us.”
“Don’t have enough on your plate now?”
“It’s what we do. You know, here in Rosewood. She’s a child who needs any help we can give her.”
It was how J.C. had been raised, too. “Maybe from people who have the time. You’re exhausted now. I’m not going to add to that burden.”
The fire in her now stormy gray eyes was one he remembered. “It’s not a burden. I have enough energy to spare some for Chrissy.”
She was pretty remarkable, J.C. decided. Even more remarkable—she didn’t seem to realize it.
Dear Reader,
Sometimes a book comes from the whisper of an idea or from experience. In an ever-shifting world, I draw from both. I was blessed with loving, caring parents. The immeasurable bond between my mother and myself was a gift from the Lord. Even when dementia robbed her memory, her love for me never wavered. I am thankful every day for what we shared and how incredibly blessed I was to have her for my mother.
I always wished to have the same relationship with my own daughter, but when “she” was born, it was a boy! Brian has been an incredible blessing and this last year had his first child, a baby girl, Liberty. She’s only the third girl in five generations of my family! A miracle! My daughter-in-law, Lindsey, is my girl now, too, a true daughter who I love.
The Lord knew I always wanted a sister, so He gave me friends who are my sisters. Through one, Karen, I was blessed with the daughter of my heart, Erica. She has been dear to me since she was a child, and with her I have been able to have the mother-daughter relationship that I prayed for.
I’ve never known if life does indeed imitate art, but I do know that we are all incredibly fortunate to have families, whether they’re of our blood or not, who care about and love us. My wish for you, dear reader, is that your life is blessed with family, perhaps even family by design.
God bless,
Family by Design
Bonnie K. Winn
MILLS & BOON
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Many daughters have done nobly,
But you excel them all.
—Proverbs 31:29
For Erica Endo, daughter of my heart.
Chapter One
Maddie Carter forgot to breathe. Her hand, swallowed by the doctor’s larger one, rioted in unexpected reaction.
Dr. J. C. Mueller smiled and she gaped, unable to think of anything coherent to say as he turned to her mother, Lillian.
“So, Mrs. Carter, I understand your G.P. recommended you meet with me.” He winked. “Of course, I am the only neurologist in Rosewood.”
Maddie stumbled on her way to the extra chair in the examining room, righting herself quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
How had she forgotten this man? True, he’d been three years ahead of her in high school, then he’d gone to Baylor, while she’d attended the University of Texas, but still … She couldn’t stop staring. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a shock of thick dark hair, mesmerizing brown eyes and a cleft in his chin that begged to be touched.
J.C. flipped through the thick pile of pages in her mother’s chart, detailing the history of strokes that had brought on early onset dementia. He put down the folder, picking up Lillian’s hand, placing two fingers over her upturned wrist.
Maddie couldn’t still her heartbeat, instantly remembering the strength of his long fingers, the touch that tickled even her toes.
“Mrs. Carter, your vital signs are excellent.”
Pleased, Lillian smiled. “Thank you, young man.”
“I’d like to run a few tests, nothing invasive.”
“Have I met you before?” Lillian questioned, puzzled.
“I grew up here in Rosewood,” J.C. responded patiently. His wide smile was easy, kind. And his gold-flecked brown eyes sparkled.
Maddie’s own pulse increased. Good thing he wasn’t recording hers.
“How about you, Mrs. Carter? Are you from Rosewood originally?”
Maddie recognized the pattern to the handsome doctor’s questions. He wanted to see if her mother could remember and verbalize her recollections. Lillian’s worsening symptoms had prompted their G.P.’s referral to a specialist.
“My mother was born here,” Lillian mused, her pale blue eyes reflective. “My father came from the Panhandle, near Amarillo. But he took one look at her and knew he wanted to stay.” Smiling, she looked up at the doctor. “Love will do that, you know.”
“Yes, ma’am,” J.C. agreed, stretching out his long legs.
Immediately, Maddie wondered if he was married, engaged. Surely some smart woman had snagged him long ago.
“So you raised your family here,” J.C. continued. Lillian’s short-term memory was nearly nonexistent, but she remembered
