While her mother-in-law laughed and squeezed Skylar Pierson’s hand, Claire studied the stranger who had just agreed to be their cook.
The girl was confident to the point of brashness. Her long, deep-brown hair screamed “dye job.” The mama’s heart in Claire noted the auburn roots, sprinkle of freckles, and clear green eyes and believed their hint that someone less churlish lived inside her.
But which one was going to show up in Claire’s kitchen?
The wife’s heart in her predicted Max would go through the roof. Her husband would insist the girl visit his old staffing firm, fill out an app, interview with a professional. For crying out loud, she should be vetted. “We can’t run a business based on my mother’s whims!”
His mother turned to her now. “This job comes with room and board, right?”
Claire stifled a sigh. Working up close and personal with Indio Beaumont was like riding the back of a tandem bicycle. On the front seat a blind speed demon pedaled with all her might, hitting every pothole along the way.
“Right.” Claire quickly reviewed the guest rooms. Nothing was available for the next four nights.
Indio said, “The ‘oh, by the way’ room.”
The woman read her mind.
“But it needs—”
“Next week.” She smiled at Skylar. “We call it ‘oh, by the way’ because it’s off by itself and small. We usually forget it exists. I do hope you can live here. Serving breakfast to guests requires such an early morning.”
“Uh, yeah. Sure. That’d be great.”
“Wonderful. Get your backpack and I’ll show you your new home. Then we’ll eat lunch and start work.”
Claire remained on her stool and watched them walk outside into the courtyard. She whispered to herself, “Oh, Lord, what was that all about?”
Indio, like Claire, had intuited that Skylar was hungry and homeless. They’d heard no car. She carried her belongings on her back. Her face was flushed from the August heat. She must have hitched a ride, been dropped off on the highway, and walked up the long drive.
It was bizarre that she had found her way to them.
No. Not so bizarre. Indio had been praying. Of course the girl found her way.
The week before, when Indio injured her wrist, Claire had teetered between panic and exhilaration. The maniac steering the tandem now had only one good arm. Her reply as usual, though, was an energized “God is good. There is a reason for this. Let’s see what He’s got in store for us.”
The woman’s faith never ceased to amaze, but Claire’s practical side immediately kicked into high gear. She asked her daughters, niece, friends, and part-time housekeeper for weekend help in the kitchen. To a one, they balked. She cajoled, whined, and threatened to no avail. Max offered to cook on his grill everything from eggs to zucchini.
What on earth had ever possessed the two of them to take over the Hacienda Hideaway? Who in their right mind would sign up to expend all their time, energy, and money on a place for strangers to invade? Messy strangers who would, most likely, gripe about grilled eggs?
Claire smiled. Good grief! The answers were so easy. After thirty some years of growing apart, she and Max had wanted a life together. They wanted to create a safe harbor for themselves, for the family, and for whomever God brought to their door.
Evidently that included people who did not make reservations and pay deposits. That moment at the door when Skylar had said the ad was for a cook, goose bumps prickled all over Claire. She knew then and there that Indio’s prayer had been answered.
Indio’s prayer: an expression of her faith that God would supply the specific need she requested.
A fleeting sense of remorse went through Claire. She had not prayed for a cook. Her petition had been more of a yelp for help.
“All right, Lord, I get it. This retreat center stuff is off the wall and it’s nowhere near simple, but I get it. Thank You.” She sighed loudly. “But maybe now we could please have just few days of biking around the potholes?”