Love Inspired November 2013 #2 by Emma Miller, Virginia Carmichael, Renee Andrews Read Free Book Online Page B

game.”
    His gaze met his daughter’s, and his resolve to have none of this silliness melted. Such a little thing to bring a smile to her face, he rationalized...and he had been away from her all day. “Three throws,” he agreed, “but then—”
    â€œYay!” Amelia cried. “Dat’s going to try.”
    â€œYou have to stand back by the window,” Rebecca instructed. “Underhand works better.”
    With a sigh, Caleb took to the starting point and tossed all three beanbags into the colander on the first try, one after another.
    â€œ Gut, Dat!” Amelia hopped from one foot to the other, wriggling with joy. “But you forgot to count. Now my turn. You take turns.” She gathered up the beanbags and moved back about three feet. “One... zwei... three!” She burst into giggles as she successfully got one of the three into the target.
    â€œA tie,” Rebecca proclaimed, and when he looked at her in surprise, she said, “Amelia gets a handicap.” She shrugged and gave a wry smile. “Both on the English and on her aim.” Rebecca stepped to a spot near the utility room door, a little farther from the colander than he stood, and lobbed all of the bags in. She didn’t forget to count in English.
    â€œRebecca wins!” Amelia declared. “She beat you, Dat. You forgot to count.”
    Caleb grimaced. “I did, didn’t I?”
    Rebecca nodded. “You did.”
    â€œThe lamb’s tail,” Amelia supplied and giggled again.
    â€œComes last,” Rebecca finished for her.
    He chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. It was good and strong, the way he liked it. But there was something extra. He sniffed the mug. Had Rebecca added something? “Vanilla?” he asked.
    â€œJust a smidgen,” Rebecca admitted. “My father liked his that way.”
    Caleb nodded and took another sip. “Not bad,” he pronounced, and then said, “Since I’m new at this corn-bag tossing, I think I deserve a rematch.”
    â€œThe champion sits out,” Rebecca explained merrily. “So you have to play Amelia.”
    Caleb groaned. “Why do I think that there’s no way I can win this?”
    â€œI go first,” Amelia said, scooping up the bag. “Eins.” She tossed the first.
    â€œOne,” Caleb corrected. “You have to say it in English, remember?”
    â€œTwo! Drei! ” she squealed, throwing the third.
    â€œThree,” he said. “One, two, three.”
    â€œI got them all in,” Amelia said. “All drei. ”
    â€œShe did,” Rebecca said. “All three in. That will be hard to beat, Caleb.”
    He pretended to be worried, making a show of staring at the colander and pacing off the distance backward. Amelia giggled. “Shh,” he said. “I’m concentrating here.” When he got back to his spot by the window, he spun around, turning his back to them and tossed the first beanbag over his shoulder. It fell short, and Amelia clapped her hands and laughed.
    â€œYou forgot to count again,” she reminded him.
    Caleb clapped one hand to his cheeks in mock dismay. “Can I try again?”
    â€œTwo more,” Amelia agreed, “and then it’s my turn again.”
    He spun back around and closed his eyes. “Two!” he declared and let it fly.
    There was a plop and a shocked gasp. When Caleb opened his eyes, it was to see Martha Coblentz—the other preacher’s wife—standing in the doorway that opened to the utility room, her hands full, her mouth opening and closing like a beached fish.
    Well, it should be, Caleb thought as familiar heat washed over his neck and face. The beanbag had landed on Martha’s head and appeared to be lodged in her prayer kapp. The shame he felt at being caught in the midst of such childish play was almost as great as his overwhelming urge to laugh. “I’m sorry,”