Mrs. Miracle Page 0,22

course, and in fact had already begun going about the task.

Mr. Webster wasn't a fool. It wouldn't take him long to discover her talents stretched beyond the job description listed for housekeeper. Her smile brightened with all she had to accomplish and the sheer entertainment she derived from doing it.

Seth Webster was a prime example, grieving for his young wife the way he did. Pamela wouldn't like that one bit; she was a generous, warm-hearted soul who didn't begrudge her husband happiness.

Emily dumped a glob of hamburger into the palm of her wet hand and skillfully formed a meatball. The recipe, her grandmother's, from the old country, was sure to please.

The door leading from the garage to the kitchen opened and Mr. Webster moseyed inside the house like someone in a daze.

"Good evening," Emily greeted him cheerfully, looking past him to be sure he'd remembered to close the garage door. He had.

She rinsed her hands off under the faucet. "How was your day?" she asked in the same upbeat mode, hoping it would snap him out of his spell.

Mr. Webster glanced at her as if he hadn't heard her speak.

"Mr. Webster?" She noticed the hint of red at the top of his ears. "You stopped off at the travel agency, didn't you?''

He blinked and then frowned. "How'd you know that?''

It was fairly obvious by the flustered look about him. She didn't comment on that but instead offered a convenient excuse. "You're a bit later this evening.''

"Yes...yes, I suppose I am.''

"Did Ms. Maxwell have any suggestions for you?''

"Ah...yes.'' He cleared his throat, and his ears brightened to a deeper shade of red. "She's putting together several packages and prices for me and the kids to review."

"She's rather nice, isn't she?" Emily strived to sound nonchalant, but she could see that his visit had achieved the desired results. She was delighted. This was all going so smoothly, better than she'd hoped.

"You know Reba Maxwell?" her employer asked, sounding surprised.

"Only from church." Emily quickly occupied herself with dinner preparations, methodically adding the perfectly shaped meatballs to the simmering marinara sauce.

"From church," Seth repeated.

"She's taking over as coordinator of the Christmas program. She made a wise choice. Those who bury their talents make a grave mistake." The decision had been a difficult one for Reba, and Emily was proud of her. Having the travel agent work with the children was all part of the big picture. The rewards would far outweigh any inconveniences, but Reba didn't know that yet. Such wonders awaited her. Emily was impatient to see it come to pass.

Everything was coming together nicely. Very nicely indeed.

The best was yet to be.

Emily had outdone herself, which was saying something, Seth mused following the evening meal. As time passed he'd come to realize that the children's name for her fit her to a tee. Mrs. Miracle had worked wonders in all their lives.

As promised, Emily read to the children following their bath, while he washed the dishes.

He'd followed his housekeeper's suggestion and stopped off at the travel agency. He'd be finished with the Firecracker Project in a couple of months and could use the time away. Although Judd and Jason had been to Disneyland a number of times, they'd never been to Florida. Reba had suggested a number of cruise ideas as well, with prices that fell easily within his budget. But it wasn't the vacation plans that had brought him into the travel agency. It was the idea of meeting the owner, of talking to her one on one, getting to know her. Letting her know him.

Even now his heart raced like an Indy 500 engine. He bent forward and rested his elbows against the desktop and rubbed his hand down his face. He'd never experienced anything like this. Had never felt this strongly attracted to a woman - not since Pamela. He barely knew her name, and already he couldn't wait to see her again.

"Reba." He said her name aloud, thinking that the mere sound of it was musical. Magical.

Seth was convinced that he'd made a first-class idiot of himself, staring at her the way he had. He'd hardly seemed able to connect one coherent thought to another.

Some self-preservation had kicked into place when he'd realized he'd been standing in front of her desk staring at her the way a boy does a puppy in a pet shop window. When he'd finally had the presence of mind to ask about vacations for him and the twins, Reba had seemed as flustered