Wanted--The Perfect Mom Read online

  His daughter deserves the best

  Police chief John “Mac” McAndrews is on a mission to find the perfect mother for his daughter. Someone who will stay home, welcome his child after school and bake cookies. Obviously, Holly Hoffman is not that woman. She’s still as feisty, independent and headstrong as she’d been when they were teenagers. And she’s just spent every last dime opening the Wildflower coffee bar. Mac would never ask her to give up her brand-new business. Still, he can’t help dropping by the shop whenever he gets the chance, fanning old flames he should be dousing instead.

  “Do you remember when we used to—”

  “—sled down this hill?” The memory sparked a laugh in Holly. “We were crazy.”

  Leaving the trees behind, Holly stepped into the hayfield at the top of the ridge. Mac followed close behind as she walked to the summit and studied the view before them.

  Mac came up beside her. The touch of his shoulder against hers sent an electric shock through her body.

  “Holly.”

  Holly focused on the mountains in the distance, covered in haze, and ignored the burn where his arm touched hers. “Hot today,” she said. “I can’t imagine sledding in weather like this, can you? I wonder if the kids—”

  “Holly.” The gruffness in Mac’s voice brought her up short, but she refused to meet his eyes.

  “Mac, I can’t—”

  Mac reached out and pulled her closer. “The girl I knew didn’t have can’t in her vocabulary.”

  Dear Reader,

  First of all, thank you for picking up this book. The journey to publication has been long and I have learned so much in the past few years. All of which goes to prove you’re never too old to learn. Thanks to all who have offered advice and encouragement along the way. Special thanks to the crew at Harlequin who worked to bring Wanted: The Perfect Mom to print. This book is my first with Harlequin. I am honored to be included in the diverse and talented group of Harlequin Heartwarming authors.

  This story is about family—the one we’re born into and the one we create. Both have tremendous impact on our lives. Family dynamics are a living, growing thing. Sometimes, as in Holly’s case, there comes a time when our place in the original has morphed into something unrecognizable. Creating a new family seems an impossible dream. Holly must find her way in the unfamiliar territory between the two.

  She figures it out. We all do. Eventually.

  Enjoy the read.

  T.R.

  Wanted: The Perfect Mom

  T. R. McClure

  T. R. McClure wrote her first story when she was ten years old. A degree in psychology led to a career in human resources. Only after retirement did she pick up her pen and return to fiction. Wanted: The Perfect Mom is her first novel with Harlequin.

  T.R. lives in central Pennsylvania with her husband of thirty-seven years. They share their country home with one horse, one cat, four beagles and Sunny the yellow lab. T.R. is always up for travel adventures with her grown twin daughters.

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  To Grandma McClure, who always had a bag of sugar cookies in the freezer for hungry grandchildren. On lazy summer walks, she shared with me the magic of the touch-me-not flower. Thanks to her for happy childhood memories on the farm.

  Contents

  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

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM RECIPE FOR REDEMPTION BY ANNA J. STEWART

  CHAPTER ONE

  ONE SHOT.

  Dark, viscous liquid poured into the glass.

  With the final drops, golden crema swirled.

  Pour into a warmed china mug. Add the perfect measure of aromatic vanilla.

  And then the pièce de résistance...perfectly steamed whole milk.

  Holly Hoffman stood back from the shiny new commercial espresso machine and let loose a deep sigh as the aroma of fresh ground beans surrounded her. She grabbed a damp cocoa-brown bar towel and wiped the steam wand.

  The first vanilla latte purchased in The Wildflower Coffee Bar and Used Book Store was a veritable work of art, as it should be. Holly had been working toward this May 1 opening for six months. Six months of visiting coffee bean suppliers in the Strip District in Pittsburgh, training with the espresso machine company and dealing with her loving but definitely opinionated family.

  The shop had been open ten minutes and already the line stretched out the door. Who would’ve thought so many coffee aficionados lived in the little central Pennsylvania community of Bear Meadows?

  As Holly frothed a pitcher of nonfat milk, she looked around the comfortable surroundings created with the help of her sister-in-law, Carolyn. Four brown-and-yellow-plaid armchairs surrounded a low table in the corner. A matching couch and coffee table stretched along the wall lined with bookshelves.

  Louise, Holly’s best friend since kindergarten, was intent on the cash register. She tapped up, down and across like a virtuoso pianist. Mrs. Hershberger stood on the other side of the gleaming white counter, squinting through rimless glasses at the extensive menu over the back bar.

  “What’s the difference between a latte and a cappuccino?” Mrs. Hershberger asked. The recently retired teacher had already ordered a vanilla latte with whole milk...but she liked to learn new things. The summer before, she’d gone on an excursion to the Antarctic.

  Behind her, Wendy Valentine gripped her briefcase to her suit jacket and drummed well-manicured nails on the leather. Smoothing her black pageboy, the local television star glared at Mrs. Hershberger as if staring would help her sort the coins she’d scattered on the countertop as she paid for her drink. But anyone who’d had Mrs. Hershberger for first grade—pretty much everybody in town under the age of fifty—knew the teacher didn’t like to be rushed.

  Holly steamed milk in a shiny metal pitcher. The low rumble joined the buzz of conversation in the shop. Wendy would order nonfat milk, no doubt about it, which was why Holly had the milk almost up to temperature.

  Behind Wendy was Holly’s landlady, Mayor Gold. She eyed the furnishings and lodge-like decor, probably wondering if she was asking enough rent. Carolyn, standing shoulder to shoulder with Holly, was already steaming soy milk. Everyone had heard Mayor Gold’s speech on eating lower on the food chain. Behind her, mailbag slung over his shoulder, stood Bill the mailman in his khaki shorts.

  “Vanilla latte,” Holly shouted, unable to keep the sound of triumph out of her voice.

  Mrs. Hershberger, standing with her bac
k to the espresso machine, jumped. “You don’t need to shout, girl. I’m not deaf, you know.”

  “Sorry, Mrs. Hershberger, that’s just how we announce your drink’s ready.” Holly smiled and lowered her voice. “Here’s your vanilla latte. You enjoy, now.” Apparently her parade-ground voice, courtesy of the military, was a bit too loud for the confines of The Wildflower. She would have to watch it.

  Mrs. Hershberger gave her a wink, patted her hand and headed toward the tables along the windows.

  Louise grabbed a ceramic mug and wrote V C N F on a yellow sticky.

  Holly faced the espresso machine, feeling like Marshal Dillon on Main Street in Dodge City during the opening credits of Gunsmoke. She knew V C N F. They had been practicing all week.

  Vanilla cappuccino, nonfat milk.

  She glanced at the counter to her left, where Louise arranged cups with the precision of a drill sergeant. At least ten mugs with sticky-note orders in coffee shorthand sat in a row. Their eyes met over the mugs.

  Louise’s red lips curved in a smile.

  Holly knew what she was thinking.

  They were officially in business.

  * * *

  JOHN “MAC” MCANDREWS sat in his patrol car across the street from Holly Hoffman’s new coffeehouse. A line of people stretched out the door and down the boardwalk, which ran from Megan Martin’s Hair Today to Sue Hunter’s The Cookie Jar. Not even eight o’clock on a Monday morning and a newcomer would think Bear Meadows was a bustling community. He sighed and rubbed his forehead where the pain of a caffeine headache lurked.

  Mac debated getting in line. Up at five, he had left the house without making coffee, responding to a reported break-in. The Smith brothers again. Hawkeye had decided to visit the family hunting camp to get an early run at some turkeys but neglected to tell his brother. Skinny Smith, hearing someone walking around outside in the darkness, called the police on his cell phone. By the time Mac arrived, the seventy-year-old twins were already in the woods, the cabin empty.

  Through the large windows, he observed Mrs. Hershberger set her cup on a table, then wave cheerily. Too bad she had retired. One of the few people in town not to have had her as a teacher in first grade, Mac had still, through a confluence of events, managed to be a recipient of the woman’s high expectations. Where would he be now without her influence? Probably in jail. He waved back.

  Mac thought back to his last year of high school. He often sat with Chris Hoffman and the rest of his family as they cheered for Holly during the girls’ volleyball games. Mac would watch entranced as Holly made point after point, game after game.

  She was a firecracker. Setter and team captain, Holly would prop her hands on flexed knees and fix her gaze on the ball as the opposing team prepared to serve. When the ball went into play, she hustled about the court, energy pouring out of her, dark ponytail flying. Nothing compared to her intense concentration. He remembered being the object of that concentration once. Her intense focus was hard to resist, all the more reason to keep his distance. They had both moved on after high school, he to the army, she to the air force.

  His temples were throbbing, and when he glanced across the street, the line out the door of The Wildflower had lengthened. A large, tiger-striped cat peeked around the corner of the beauty shop and scurried under the porch. He should call animal control but he had work to do. The cat would have to wait.

  Mac turned his key in the ignition and shifted the SUV into Drive. He would get a coffee at the gas station on the edge of town.

  He didn’t need Holly Hoffman’s fancy coffee. He just needed some caffeine.

  * * *

  A LULL FINALLY came at three o’clock. Carolyn, Louise and Holly collapsed in the cushioned chairs. Crumbs of blueberry scones and bagels littered the surface of the shellacked wood table and the rug. Holly picked up a crumb and inspected it. “Five second rule?” She shot a glance at Carolyn and Louise.

  “More like five hours.” Carolyn groaned. “You need a mat at the cash register. My feet are killing me.” She threw her legs over the arm of the chair and leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Loosening the clip holding her hair, she ran her fingers through curly locks and sighed.

  “Well, you’re no spring chicken, honey.” Carolyn’s husband and Holly’s oldest brother walked in. In each of his big hands Sonny carried three Wildflower mugs. “Your cups are all over the front porch. How are you keeping track?” He set the cups on the counter with a clang and then sat heavily on the arm of Holly’s chair and threw his arm along the back. At six foot two and 250 pounds he sat pretty much wherever he wanted to.

  “Any chance of getting a cup of coffee?” He grinned. Three pairs of eyes glared.

  “Get your own coffee,” Holly said. She leaned back and brushed her bangs from her face. Despite the air-conditioning, a bead of sweat rolled down her cheek.

  “You opened a coffee shop. You better get used to serving customers on demand or you’ll be out of business and living on the street in no time.” He tugged a hank of her hair.

  “Stop it.” Holly slapped at his hand. “At least the orders will be from paying customers. Besides, we’re beat.”

  Sonny pulled her ear. “Welcome to the real world, little sister. Need I remind you of our deal?”

  Holly frowned at her brother. Despite his teasing, he’d always supported her. “You’re right. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” She sat up and fixed her gaze on Carolyn and Louise. “Any of you. Thank you for your help.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Rose Hoffman said. “We’re family. Of course we’ll help.” Holly’s mother came out of the back room and dropped a clipboard on the counter with a clatter. “I’ll bring you a cup of coffee. Would you like regular or decaf?”

  “The strongest she’s got, Mom. What’s the point in drinking coffee if you can’t get a buzz?”

  “Mom, sit down,” Carolyn said. “You’ve been working all morning. He’s got two legs. He can figure out how to get coffee.” Carolyn glared at her husband and whispered, “She’s sixty-two years old, Sonny.”

  Rose’s voice drifted over the counter. “I may be sixty-two but I’m not deaf, dear, and I think I can manage a cup of coffee. Haven’t you heard? Sixty-two is the new forty-two.” She set the large mug down on the table and put her arms around her oldest son’s neck, squeezing tightly.

  “You need a haircut. Your hair’s longer than mine.” Rose ran her fingers through her son’s unruly black hair—the same shade as her own, though hers was threaded with strands of silver. “Why don’t you stop over and I’ll give you a cut later?”

  Holly smiled at the pained expression on Sonny’s face. “Good idea. Why don’t you let Mom cut your hair, bro?”

  “Mom, stop, you’re choking me.” Sonny gagged as he pulled away but only succeeded in losing his balance and sliding down on top of Holly.

  “Oh, for goodness’ sake,” she said, “you’re smashing me.” Holly slid out of the chair and landed on the floor. Pain radiated from her hip. A bruise for sure. Her brother sat comfortably in the chair that had been hers just moments before. She threw a scowl his direction.

  “Thanks, sis.” He reached for the mug his mother had set on the table and slurped. “Your coffee’s good and strong, just how I like it.” He shot a sideways glance at his wife. “That’s how I like my women, too.”

  Carolyn aimed a kick but missed as he jerked his leg away. “Don’t you have some work to do?”

  “It’s not strong...” Teeth clenched, Holly pulled herself up from the floor. “It’s bold.” Limping to the front window, she rubbed the stinging spot on her behind.

  Resting his head on the back of the chair, Sonny wrinkled his brow. “I smell—” he sniffed “—gerbils and cedar chips.” He shot Holly a look of concern. “Are you sure the pet store got everything when they cleared
out of here? I think I just saw something run under the couch.”

  Holly crossed her arms. “This place was spotless before I moved the furniture in. And you know it.”

  Laughing, Sonny reached in his pocket as his phone trilled. Further discussion of the previous tenants was forgotten as he launched into a description of materials for a project on the other side of town.

  Holly caught Carolyn’s eye. “How can you think when he’s on the phone? He’s so loud.”

  Carolyn shrugged. “Welcome to my world. Now I know why your family didn’t mind that we married right out of high school. They wanted him out of the house so they could hold a conversation without shouting.”

  Holly chuckled. She had to admit, when her father, whom everybody called Fritz, and older brothers, Sonny, Thomas and Chris, were in a room, the noise level quadrupled. As the youngest, she had to fight for the slightest attention.

  If she leaned against the window and looked down the street, she could just see the Victorian house her parents had bought two years before. The tiny window in the attic belonged to Holly.

  The sound of boots thumping on wooden planks drew her attention and, pressing her cheek against the window, she chilled at what she saw. With a cowboy swagger, minus the accompanying jingle of spurs, Mac McAndrews strolled in the direction of Holly’s shop.

  She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes. What was he doing here?

  The thumping of the boots came closer.

  Mac McAndrews. She hadn’t seen him since high school graduation...his high school graduation, which just happened to coincide with Chris’s graduation. Otherwise Holly wouldn’t have been within a mile of the high school.

  Jump, Frog, jump. The second half of eighth grade, when every cookie she ate went to her expanding middle. Schedules changed and a tenth-grade boys’ class shared the gym with Holly’s eighth-grade girls’ class. Holly had stayed away from the trampoline after that.

  She’d been back in town for six months and she hadn’t seen him until this very minute. She didn’t care if she never saw him again, if they somehow coexisted without ever crossing paths. So why did he have to show up on opening day?