The Garden of Love (paperback)

ISBN Digital: 9781509201990
ISBN Print: 9781509201983
Page Count: 188
Word Count: 46435
Rating: Sweet
MSRP: 12.99

Widow Finola MacNamara needs a home -- and a job. She’s no stranger to hard work, but faced with the dire prospect of being forced to work as a saloon girl, she  finds work as a housekeeper for a Louisville banker with an ailing young son. Caring for the young lad helps her grieving hear to heal, and she even finds a secret place for the garden that will make her whole again. But has she also found love, as well?

Widower Timothy Adams has already lost his wife, now he fears losing his son, too.  He’s expecting the housekeeper he’s hired to be an old widow woman, but the lovely brunette who steps off the train isn’t what he was expecting.  Before long, his young son is blossoming under Finola’s loving care and his house is soon feeling like a home again.  But can the upstanding town banker truly have found love with his Irish housekeeper?



The ticket master regarded her with a cool stare. “Mr. Timothy Adams?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Well, yes. I do know him. He came by here about fifteen minutes ago looking for an old woman.”

“An old woman?”

“Yes, miss. He said he was waiting on the arrival of his new housekeeper.”

Stunned disbelief threatened to knock her breath away. An old woman?

“Oh, there he is, miss. There’s Mr. Adams.” The man pointed toward a bench.

Finola followed the point of his bony finger to a thin, dark man sitting at the edge of the platform. He seemed to be studying the palms of his hands.

“I thank you, sir.” She hoisted her bag up once again. His chuckle made her more aware that her words sounded more like, “I tank ye, suh.”

She squared her shoulders as if to knock the lingering chuckle of insult away and walked sedately toward the man on the platform. Never mind him, she thought, I’ve other business to attend.

“Mr. Adams?”

He looked up at her with sorrowful dark, brown eyes. Not a hint of smile played on his mouth that was nothing more than a stern, thin line.


“Are you looking for Finola McNamara?”

“Oh, thank Heaven. Is she here? Do you know her? I was terrified she had changed her mind. Where is she?” He looked around as if the woman he was expecting might be hiding behind her.

I am Finola McNamara.”

Timothy stared at her as if she were a spook haunting him in some terrible nightmare. He shook his head, slowly at first and then faster with a firm resolve.

“That can’t be. Mrs. McNamara is an old widow woman. That’s what the priest said.” His voice sounded a bit shrill, his voice rising with each syllable.

“I am a widow, Mr. Adams.” She drew her eyebrows together, as she always did when facing a problem. “And I am Finola McNamara from St. Louis.”

“No, no, no!” Timothy Adams slumped in the bench. “This can’t be happening.”

She feared for a moment that he might start crying.

Although she had not expected a big parade or other fancy greeting, she had not expected a reaction such as this. What was wrong with him? What was wrong with her?

Copyright © 2018 The Wild Rose Press, Inc.