Hope Between the Pages by Pepper Basham (ebook reader for surface pro .txt) 📕

But what did that look like? How could it happen? What would she have to do to truly embrace her future?

Her heart trembled as the question nudged her courage.

A knock at the door broke through the silence and a nurse peeked her head around the door. “Clara, there’s a gentleman out here asking to see you. He said he needed to talk to you about some important documents?”

Clara’s eyes fluttered closed in a quick prayer. Surely Uncle Julian hadn’t shown up at the hospital.

“Clara?”

Clara met her mother’s gaze and forced a smile, covering her mom’s cool hand with her own. “I’m sure it’s nothing serious, Mom. I’ll take care of it.”

Clara braced herself and rounded the door. The long, sterile hallway stretched before her. The only festive decor stood on the nurses’ station desk in the form of a jolly-looking Santa Claus figurine. She closed her mother’s door to keep Mom from hearing any unwelcome information from the upcoming conversation and stepped down the hallway toward the waiting area.

The large room, with massive windows allowing late afternoon light into the space, stood almost empty. A couple sat in the far corner, both looking at magazines. A woman sat near them, scrolling through her phone. Clara glanced over the potted plants and landscape paintings, searching for the reason she’d come, and froze. Standing near the wall, slightly concealed by one of the large treelike plants in the room, stood a familiar profile, but not Uncle Julian’s.

“Max?” She blinked to clear her vision, but the figure moved at her call, clearing, proving her vision true. “You’re here?”

He smiled in that nervous way she’d seen inside her head for the past three days. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“Mind?” Clara’s laugh burst out, more air than noise. “No, of course not.” She edged a step closer, still not trusting her vision.

“I brought everything Maggie sent, but it seems she has a few more things.” He drew in a shaky breath and rubbed his palms against his jeans. “So perhaps I should have waited another day before coming.”

“I can’t believe you came at all.”

His expression sobered and he stepped closer, his caramel gaze searching hers. “I…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Those words broke some invisible barrier in her, a dam she’d used to hold back the endless emotions of the past few days. A sob shook through her and she stepped into cardamom and warmth. His strong arms wrapped around her, settling over her with a sudden sense of home. He’d come all this way—the man who rarely left his little village. She buried closer, the fibers of his knit sweater smoothing against her palms. Cardamom mingled with roasting firewood and the smell of Camden House.

“Thank you,” she whispered, nestling her damp cheek against his shoulder. “I know how hard it must have been for you.”

He shook his head and ran a hand over her hair, brushing it back from her damp cheek. “No. I realized it didn’t matter what anybody thought.” She felt the rumble of his reply more than heard it as it reverberated through his chest. “All that mattered was what you thought, and what you needed.”

Another sob shook her shoulders and she squeezed closer to him. She shut her eyes, listening, understanding, and attempting to sort out how she could care so deeply for someone she’d known for such a short time. No, this wasn’t some shallow whiff of heady romance that would dissipate in the light of time and distance and real life. Perhaps this was exactly what it appeared to be: a romance orchestrated to perfection by a heavenly hand.

The uncertainties of logistics and the future quelled beneath this unswerving confidence of being loved, and…of loving in return. She embraced him, this choice…this moment.

His mere presence seemed to shoulder some of her fear. Yes, she’d prayed, and God’s comfort smoothed over the edges of her raw emotions, but He also provided a person to act as an agent of His comfort. Max.

“I…I hoped it wouldn’t seem too forward, too presumptuous.”

“No, not at all.” She shook her head against his shoulder, holding on until the tears abated. “I’m so glad you came.”

She pulled back and wiped at her eyes only to find him offering her a handkerchief. After blinking down at it for a solid five seconds, Clara snatched it with an added sniffle of gratitude. Bow ties, handkerchiefs, knit sweaters, and kisses. Did that fit her Christmas list or what?

“Maggie didn’t find the deed, but she did locate the marriage certificate.” He reached down at his side and tugged a duffel bag onto his shoulder.

“That…that will help.” She fumbled through a response, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Max was there. “At least it proves their legal connection, and it will go along with the other things I have in the office. The other findings.”

“I thought so as well.” He paused to tug a piece of hair from in front of her eyes, and she nearly melted right back into his sweater again.

“And there are some other things that are worth seeing.” He patted his bag. “Photos and letters. All tightening the connection between the two of them.”

“And every thread of evidence will help my case with the bookshop.”

He nodded. “Exactly.”

She stared up at him, her eyes stinging afresh, and then she rocked up on tiptoe to press a kiss against his cheek. “You’re simply wonderful, Max Weston.”

He smiled and looked away, as if he wasn’t sure what to do with such open affection, but he squeezed her hand. She couldn’t stop grinning. Was one of her dreams coming true right before her eyes?

As she gave him another hug, her attention caught on a figure standing not too far away. Dark suit. Hideous mustache. She squinted. Uncle Julian? He was stepping backwards, as if slinking away, but he caught her gaze, and his expression froze, collapsed, and then… exploded into a strangled smile.

He closed