The Best Gift

Was this Blake Sullivan? If so, he sure didn’t match the image she’d created in her mind. She’d envisioned a bookish type, fiftyish, possibly balding, sporting a paunch. A fussy, precise and stern curmudgeon.

She’d been dead wrong about the physical description. Blake was tall, with dark brown hair and intense cobalt-blue eyes. His crisp oxford shirt, beige slacks and well-polished leather shoes bordered on being preppy. His attire also showed off his athletic build.

A.J. could only imagine how she appeared, standing there dripping rainwater on the hardwood floor of the bookstore, her hair no doubt plastered to her head. She could read enough from the look in his eyes. So much for first impressions.

“I’m looking for Blake Sullivan.”

Blake waited a moment, as if trying to decide what to do. Finally he approached her. “You’ve found him.”

She extended her hand. “I’m A. J. Williams. Your new partner.”

is an award-winning author who has been a writer for as long as she can remember. She “officially” launched her career at the age of ten, when she was one of the winners in a “complete-the-story” contest conducted by a national children’s magazine. More recently, Irene won the coveted RITA^>® Award for her 2002 Love Inspired Never Say Goodbye. Irene, who spent many years in an executive corporate communications position with a Fortune 500 company, now devotes herself full-time to her writing career. In her “spare” time, she enjoys performing in community musical theater productions, singing in the church choir, gardening, cooking and spending time with family and friends. She and her husband, Tom—whom she describes as “my own romantic hero”—make their home in Missouri.

The Lord is near. Have no anxiety, but in every

prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your petitions be made known to God.

—Philippians 4:5–6

To my darling niece, Maureen Elizabeth,

who came early to claim our hearts with her sunny smile. We love you, snowflake!

Dear Reader,

As I write this letter, I am in the midst of making plans for my parents’ fiftieth anniversary party, and legacies are on my mind.

The dictionary defines legacy as a gift by will, especially of money or personal property. But a legacy doesn’t have to consist of material things. Nor does it have to follow someone’s departure from this earthly life. In fact, the best legacies aren’t. They are living things, given daily, so that the lucky recipients find themselves richly blessed with the things that matter most. The things money can’t buy.

My parents have given me such a legacy. I will be forever indebted to them for magical Christmas mornings, memorable family vacations and special moments of infinite sweetness. I am grateful to them for teaching me that it’s better to give than to receive. For making home a word to be revered and honored. And for providing a shining illustration of what marriage is all about. Their legacy to me includes the gifts of acceptance. Laughter. Encouragement. Respect. Family. And, most especially, absolute love that is unconditional. Unlimited. Forever. That is a legacy beyond price.

In this first book of my new series for Love Inspired, SISTERS & BRIDES, Aunt Jo offers A.J. and Blake a legacy. But it is up to them to recognize it—and to have the courage to claim it. Because love doesn’t always come in the form we expect. And it often requires a leap of faith. But with God’s grace, with trust in His abiding presence, we can learn to overcome our fears and find our own happy endings.

Just like my mom and dad did.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Morgan Williams glanced impatiently at her watch, then gave an exasperated sigh. “I wish he’d hurry. I have a plane to catch.”

A.J. turned from the window, which framed a row of flame-red maples against a brilliant St. Louis late-October sky. “Chill out, Morgan,” she said wryly. “The advertising world can live without you for a few more hours.”

Morgan gave her younger sister an annoyed look as she rummaged in her purse for her cell phone. “Trust me, A.J. The business arena is nothing like your nonprofit world. Hours do matter to us. So do minutes.”

“More’s the pity,” A.J. responded, turning back to admire the view again. “Life is too short to be so stressed about things as fleeting as ad campaigns.”

Morgan opened her mouth to respond, but Clare beat her to it. “Don’t you think we should put our philosophical differences aside today, out of respect for Aunt Jo?” she interjected gently.

Morgan and A.J. turned in unison toward their older sister, and A.J. grinned.

“Ever the peacemaker, Clare,” she said, her voice tinged with affection.

Clare smiled. “Somebody had to keep the two of you from doing each other bodily harm when we were growing up. And since I was the only one who didn’t inherit Mom’s McCauley-red hair—and the temper that went with it—I suppose the job had to fall to me.”