LITMIR.BIZ

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      “Have you always lived here?”

      Grant shrugged. “Maine is home. I always knew it was where I belonged.”

      “But didn’t you ever aspire to more?” Morgan asked.

      “I have my faith, my family and work I love. What more is there?”

      Morgan didn’t know how to respond to that. Grant seemed like a man who had found his place in the world and was content with it. There was no restlessness, no grasping, no struggle to meet some definition of worldly success. He was a man at peace with himself. She envied him that.

      Morgan suddenly shivered, and she knew it was time to go. But she didn’t want to. Here, in this man’s presence, she felt a sense of calm, of caring, that was a balm to her soul. And she didn’t want the moment to end.

      IRENE HANNON

      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 book 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 Unexpected Gift

      Irene Hannon

      Though the mountains leave their place and the hills be shaken, My love shall never leave you.

      —Isaiah 54:10

      To the many special friends who have supported my writing career through the years—especially Caroline, Janice, Jo Ann and Lori—and to all of the readers who have taken the time to write me such wonderful, heartwarming letters. I read them all.

       Thank you!

      Contents

      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

      Chapter Thirteen

      Epilogue

      Letter to Reader

      Prologue

      Morgan Williams frowned as she read the e-mail message on her Blackberry. Great. Just great. Her newest client at the agency was requesting a meeting first thing tomorrow to discuss ideas for the next ad campaign. Unfortunately, Morgan didn’t have any. She’d been too busy with Aunt Jo’s funeral to give the campaign more than a passing thought. Which wasn’t good. And would not be looked upon kindly by her superiors. In her world, work came first. Period. To paraphrase the postal service motto, nothing—neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet…nor a funeral—should keep her from her appointed task. Not when she had her eye on a top spot in the firm.

      Her frown deepened, and she typed in a reply, asking if the meeting could be delayed a day. Even then, she’d be scrambling for ideas. But she’d come through. She always did. That’s why she was on the fast track.

      Morgan finished the e-mail and hit Send. As she leaned against the plush back of the settee in the attorney’s elegant waiting room, she glanced impatiently at her watch. “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 advised. “The advertising world can live without you for a few more hours.”

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

      “More’s the pity,” A.J. responded in a mild tone, 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, in respect for Aunt Jo?” she interjected in a gentle, non-judgmental tone.

      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.

      “Somebody had to keep the two of you from doing each other bodily harm when we were growing up,” Clare said with a smile. “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.”

      A.J. joined Morgan on the couch. “Okay. In honor of Aunt Jo, I declare a truce. How about it, Morgan?”

      Hesitating only a second, Morgan ditched her cell phone in her purse. “Truce,” she agreed with a grin. “Besides, much as I hate to admit that my kid sister is sometimes right, I am occasionally guilty of taking my job too seriously.”

      “Occasionally?” A.J. rolled her eyes.

      “Enough, you two,” Clare admonished with a smile.

      “Okay, okay,” A.J. said with a laugh. “I bet you whip those kids into shape whenever you substitute-teach. In a nice way, of course. Their regular teacher is probably astounded at their good behavior when she gets back.”

      Her smile fading, Clare looked down to fiddle with the strap on her purse. “I do my best. But I still have a lot to learn. It’s been so many years since I taught…it’s harder some days than others.”

      A.J. and Morgan exchanged a look. “Hang in there, Clare,” Morgan said. “We’re here for you.”

      “It does get easier. Not overnight. But bit by bit. Trust me,” A.J. added, her own voice a bit uneven.

      As Clare reached over to squeeze A.J.’s hand, Morgan looked from one sister to the other. Both had known their share of trauma. More than their share, in fact. Yet they’d carried on, with courage and strength. She admired them for that, more than words could say. And she was also glad they were family. Because even though they had their differences, one thing remained steady. They always stood together, like the Three Musketeers—one for all and all for one. It gave Morgan a sense of comfort to know that her sisters loved her just as she was, and that she could count on them if she ever needed their support or help.

      But she hadn’t done much in recent years to earn their love, she acknowledged. She kept in touch, but her contact with them was sporadic at best. A call here or there, a card on special occasions. Which wasn’t enough. Family was important, after all. And with Mom and Dad gone they were all she had now. On occasions like this when they were all together, Morgan was reminded that she should make more of an effort to keep their bond strong. And each time, she left with good intentions of staying in closer contact. But the demands of her career always undermined her resolution.

      The door to the inner office opened, interrupting her thoughts, and the sisters turned their heads in unison toward Seth Mitchell.

      For a long moment the distinguished,

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