Daddy's Home
WHAT KIND OF MAN WAS HE?Dr. Jasmine Enderlin had once loved Christopher Jordan with her whole heart. And he'd betrayed that love by marrying her sister and then abandoning his pregnant bride. Christopher's actions had made her question her faith. But now her sister was dead, Jasmine was the mother of their child and the prodigal daddy had returned to claim his son….Christopher wanted to explain what he had done, but Jasmine's hurt and anger prevented her from listening. Until she found her sister's well-worn Bible and learned that appearances could be deceiving. Was God trying to tell her that Christopher deserved a second chance?
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âWhere is he?â Christopherâs low voice resonated in her ears.
âGet out of here,â Jasmine said, hurt and anger warring within her.
âNot until Iâve seen my son.â
âYour son? Your son is doing very well without you. When did you decide to be a daddy, Christopher? Yesterday?â
Some things hadnât changed, Christopher thought. Jasmine Enderlin was as pigheaded as sheâd always been. If she hadnât jumped to conclusions a year ago, he wouldnât be standing here like a stranger on her front porch. If God had been willing, they would have been married.
But God wasnât willing. And Jasmine wasnât budging.
Heâd been so certain he was meant to come back. He loved Jasmine. He always had. And though he knew he had a long way to travel to get back in her good graces, it had to be done. He needed Sammy in his life.
Sammyâand Jasmine.
DEB KASTNER
The wife of a Reformed Episcopal minister, Deb naturally found her niche in the Christian/inspirational romance market. She enjoys tackling the issues of faith and trust within the context of a romance. Her characters range from upbeat and humorous to (her favorite) dark and brooding heroes. Her plots fall anywhere between, from a playful romp to the deeply emotional.
When sheâs not writing, she enjoys spending time with her husband and three girls and, whenever she can manage, attending regional dinner theater and touring Broadway musicals.
He has showed you, O man, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.
âMicah 6:8
To my daddy, Jim Larkin,
for never letting me give anything but my best. And for my girlsâ daddy, Joseph C. Kastner, Jr., who never stopped believing.
âChristopherâs back in town.â
Jasmine Enderlin stiffened at the statement. Keeping a carefully neutral expression on her face, she met her grandmotherâs shrewd gaze. âAnd youâre telling me this becauseâ¦?â
âDonât be obtuse,â Gram snapped, shaking a wrinkled finger under Jasmineâs nose. âDonât you pretend I need to spell it out for you. Iâm not buying. You know exactly what Iâm saying, and you know why. Now, do you want to know the details, or donât you?â
âYes,â she whispered, not even sure Gram would hear her. She released an audible sigh and turned back to the thick olive-colored sweater sheâd been folding moments before.
Jennyâs sweater.
Brushing the soft material across her cheek, she caught a whiff of Jennyâs light, breezy scent on it.
She wouldnât have thought something as simple as the smell of her sisterâs perfume would set her off, but for some reason, today it did. Her eyes pricked with tears, and she brushed them away with a hurried swipe of her fist, hoping Gram wouldnât notice the furtive action.
Why would Christopher come back to Westcliffe at all, and especially now of all times?
As if to answer Jasmineâs unspoken question, Gram shrugged her age-bent shoulders. âHe wants his son.â
âWhat?â She sprang from the bed, tipping a pile of freshly folded blue jeans into a heap at her feet. âWhat do you mean he wants Sammy? He canât have him,â she added vehemently, hugging her arms to her chest as if protecting an infant there. Her infant.
A moment more and she would have dashed from the room to snatch up the baby boy sleeping soundly in his bassinet in the next bedroom, but Gram held up a finger in protest. âYou havenât heard the story.â
I know the story, she thought, her heart clenching. Love. Betrayal. Desertion.
That chapter of her life was over, she reminded herself, fiercely determined to remain in control of her emotions. She shook her head to detour the advancing thought, but it came anyway.
Jennyâs dead.
Ugliness folded over her like quicksand. God didnât help Jenny. He could have, but He didnât. Guilt stabbed at her conscience, and she briefly wondered if her thoughts constituted blasphemy.
Maybe they did.
But how could she change the way she felt, the way she viewed things? What else was she to think? Three months ago when she hadnât been able to save Jenny. Not with all her years of medical training, not with so much love that she would have willingly taken her sisterâs place.
And God had done nothing.
âIt isnât your fault, my dear,â Gram said as she hobbled over to a high-backed Victorian chair and seated herself with the sluggishness of age. âYou shouldnât blame yourself.â
Gram, she reflected with an inward wince, had the annoying ability to read her mind. Even as a child when Jasmine lost both parents to a tragic car accident, Gram had known what she was thinking and feeling. Gram had raised her, knew better than anyone what she suffered now.
