Mr. Elliott Finds A Family. Susan Floyd
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“I can’t imagine why Carrie’s husband is here.”
“Really?” Glenn’s speculative gaze made Beth Ann turn away.
She shook her head and then guilt pulsated in her stomach. She didn’t want to lie to her dearest friend. “He might have mentioned something about Bernie inheriting a software company…”
Glenn was silent for so long that Beth Ann looked up. Eventually he asked, “Does he want Bernie?”
Beth Ann shrugged. “Do you think he knows the truth?”
“I don’t think so, but you should probably tell him anyway.”
“Are you nuts?” Beth Ann whirled around, then burst into tears, the thought sending terrible waves of dread through her. What if Christian did want Bernie? With his money, his clout, he’d cream her in court.
Glenn enveloped her in a warm hug. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to tell him. Now—while you’ve got nothing to lose.”
“I have everything to lose. I could lose Bernie.”
Dear Reader,
In our ever-changing world, the definition of family shifts, as well. Families expand and contract as people come into our lives or sadly, leave. But every person in the family, whether present or not, contributes to the wisdom, love and laughter shared by all.
In this story, the family is held together by the grit and love of Bethany Ann Bellamy. Caught between the energy of a youngster at the beginning of life and the needs of an elder nearing the end, Beth Ann doesn’t have the time to nurture her own life, her own dreams. Then she meets Christian Elliott, a man of great wealth and power but little understanding of what is truly important.
Please join Beth Ann and Christian as they journey together to discover that what is most real is often least appreciated.
I love to hear from my readers, so feel free to write me at P.O. Box 2883, Los Banos, CA 93635-2883 or visit me at www.superauthors.com.
Sincerely,
Susan Floyd
Mr. Elliott Finds a Family
Susan Floyd
For my dear friend, Annie, who’s found a family all her own.
A special thank-you to Lynne Collins, Darylee Ishimatsu,
Trix Peck, Brenda Latham, Suzanne Davis, Apryl Smith,
Leslie Grigsby and Melinda Wooten, who have all
generously shared their journey through
motherhood and their children for observation.
To Mom, Mother Bate and Grandmother Lucille—
we are forever in your debt.
To my own Fluff, a special pink elephant named Eledent.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
RAAAH! Raaah, raaah! Raaaahhh!
Bethany Ann Bellamy woke to the wail. She rolled over and groaned, steeling herself against the sound, vowing she wasn’t going to be the one to get up.
Not this time.
Just ten days old, Bernadette was Carrie’s responsibility. Beth Ann shut her eyes tightly in a vain attempt to ignore the plaintive cry of the small infant. An ache throbbed behind her left temple. She had been painting nonstop for the past month, her career as a watercolor artist just beginning to flower. With a small show in Sunnyvale opening in a matter of weeks, she didn’t have time—
Raaah! Raaah, raaah! Raaaahhh!
Beth Ann pulled the pillow around her ears. Couldn’t Carrie hear that?
Raaah! Raaah, raaah! Raaaahhh!
The unhappiness in the cry propelled Beth Ann out of bed. If she didn’t get Bernie, Iris surely would. At eighty-seven, Iris needed every moment of rest she could get. Having Carrie, pregnant and cranky, around the past months had taken its toll on all of them. Pushing her feet into worn slippers and pulling on a faded green chenille robe, Beth Ann stumbled out into the hall, her eyes bleary with sleep deprivation, her subconscious still wrestling with a problematic sap green splatter in the center of a near perfect watercolor wash. She heard a creak in Iris’s bedroom.
“I’ve got her, Grans,” Beth Ann whispered as she shuffled past.
Raaah!
Poor Bernie. It wasn’t her fault. Beth Ann padded quietly to the small room where Bernie and Carrie slept. At the sound of the door squeaking open, Bernie stared up at her, distress in her large eyes. Then her tiny mouth opened.
Raaah! Raaah, raaah! Raaaahhh!
Beth Ann scooped up the infant, gently cradling her head, pressing her close to her chest. Bernie instinctively sought to connect with a nipple.
“Shh. Bernie-Bern-Bern,” Beth Ann crooned as she rocked her, supporting her head, pushing her higher up on her shoulder. “You’re okay, sweetie. Shhhh, shhh. Bernie’s okay.”
Raaah, raaah, raaaahh, raaaahh.
“Let’s go find your mommy. Where’s your mommy?”
Raaah, hiccup, raaah?
“I know, sweetie. You’re so hungry.”
Still rocking Bernie, Beth Ann swiftly negotiated the narrow halls and sharp angles of the sixty-year-old, one-story bungalow that she and Carrie had grown up in. In the large kitchen, she took out a