Angels Everywhere – Read Now and Download Mobi

To Kevin and Marcia Hestead
for their shining example of God’s love

Contents

A Season of Angels

Acknowledgments

1   The manger was empty.

2   It was a disgrace, a downright disgrace . . .

3   “Timmy,” Jody Potter called . . .

4   Chet never intended to kiss Monica.

5   Shirley loved old white churches . . .

6   “You’re up bright and early,” Lloyd Fischer . . .

7   It must have taken Jody forty-five . . .

8   Monica was in a tizzy.

9   ]ust when everything was straight . . .

10   “Mom, I need another quarter.”

11   “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

12   Monica paced her bedroom, . . .

13   Angels rarely wept.

14   Leah walked into her house . . .

15   Jody swore she didn’t sleep . . .

16   “Hey, man, you don’t look so . . .

17   This wasn’t going to be easy.

18   “You’re back early,” Helen Chandler . . .

19   “You’re my real-life dad?”

Touched by Angels

Acknowledgments

1   The young man wore a staple in one ear.

2   “Hannah who?”

3   “Jenny, wake up.”

4   “I’d like everyone to take out . . .

5   “Gabriel handed you an assignment . . .

6   Jenny didn’t want to do it.

7   This meeting with Joshua was so . . .

8   “Suzie, can I see you after class?”

9   Hannah had no intention of staying . . .

10   “Aren’t you going to help Jenny?”

11   “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

12   Emilio followed Roberto around . . .

13   Hannah returned home from an errand . . .

14   Emilio was absent from school . . .

15   Trey didn’t dislike New York.

16   Jenny didn’t know what to think about Trey.

17   Talking to Carl proved to be so . . .

18   From inside his office Joshua . . .

About the Author

Praise and Acclaim

Books by Debbie Macomber

Copyright

About the Publisher

Acknowledgments

Writing A Season of Angels has been an incredible experience. Needless to say I had lots of help, some in the most unexpected places.

First and foremost my heartfelt appreciation goes to Bonnie Ballew for the photograph of the real, living angel she gave me as an office-warming gift. That was the beginning.

Next in line are Irene Goodman, Karen Solem, and Carolyn Marino, who strongly believed in this project, and gave me the chance to write my angel book.

To my good friends Linda Lael Miller and Jo Ann Algermissen, who lent me confidence when I needed it most. My husband, Wayne, deserves a medal for his patience. I forced him to listen to each segment of each chapter countless times until I got it right.

A writer couldn’t have a better support system.

Lastly Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy deserve to be thanked. They presented themselves, full-blown for my inspection, anxious for me to tell the world Someone out there cares.

One

The manger was empty. Leah Lundberg walked past the nativity scene Providence Hospital put out every year, stopped, and stared. The north wind cut through her like a boning knife as Leah studied the ramshackle stable, her heart heavy, her life more so.

The blue of Mary’s gown had long since faded, she noted. Joseph, leaning heavily against his staff, was slightly off-balance, and looked as if he’d topple in a stiff wind. There seemed to be one less lamb this year and one of the donkey’s ears was missing. It was a small wonder the structure remained upright with the weight of the angel, yellow now instead of golden, nailed to the top. Triumphantly, she blew her chipped horn, proclaiming the glorious news of the Savior’s birth.

The hospital had reconstructed the Christmas scene every Advent for the last fifty years, long before Leah was born, long before she realized an entire lifetime of tears could be stored within a single tattered soul.

It was ironic that a woman who toiled as a nurse day after day on a maternity ward would be childless herself. Her work with laboring mothers was her gift, they said, her special talent. Women specifically requested that she be with them for the birthing of their children.

For whatever reason, Leah had been granted the touch, a gentle hand, and a sympathetic heart. Birthing mothers claimed she was inspiring, encouraging, and supportive. Labor didn’t seem nearly as difficult when Leah was with a patient. She’d heard it all before, countless times, the praise, the gratitude. What most of Leah’s patients didn’t know was that she, who was an expert at labor and delivery, had never given birth herself.

Her patients left the hospital with their arms and their lives full. Each afternoon, Leah walked out of Providence alone. And empty.

Tears crowded her eyes and spilled unheeded down her cheeks. She bowed her head and closed her eyes in prayer. “Dear God,” she whispered, choking down the emotion, “please give me a child.” It was a plea she’d whispered innumerable times over the last ten years. So often that she was convinced God had long since given up hearing. Or caring.

Wiping the moisture from her face, she gathered her coat more closely around her thin shoulders and headed for the staff parking lot. She forced herself to smile. It upset Andrew that she continued to dwell on their inability to have children, and she didn’t want him to know she’d been crying.

Her husband had accepted the news with little more than a shrug. He felt bad, knowing how desperately she longed for a baby, but it wasn’t nearly as earth-shattering to him. If God saw fit to send children into their lives, then fine, if not, that was fine too.

It wasn’t all right with Leah and she doubted that it ever would be.

Leah’s prayer whistled in the breeze, up through the bare spindly arms of a lanky birch tree, winging its way higher and higher until it had ascended the clouds and drifted into the warm winds of heaven. It arrived fresh with the salt of her tears at the desk of the Archangel Gabriel. The very angel who’d announced the news of the virgin birth to Mary nearly two thousand years earlier. His responsibilities had been wide and varied through time, but he felt a certain tenderness for humans and their multiple problems. He found earth’s population to be a curious lot. They were stubborn, rebellious, and arrogant. Their antics were a constant source of amusement to those behind the pearly gates. Who could help laughing at a group of people who heatedly declared that God was dead and clung to the belief that Elvis was alive?

“Leah Lundberg,” Gabriel repeated softly, frowning. The name was vaguely familiar. He flipped the pages of a cumbersome book until he’d found what he was seeking. Sighing, he relaxed against the back of his chair and slowly shook his head. Leah was one of his most persistent cases. He’d heard her prayer often, had ushered it himself to the very feet of God.

Gabriel had sent countless couriers to intercede on Leah’s behalf, but their efforts had been met with repeated failure. Time after time, their reports came back virtually the same. It was a familiar problem that blocked the answer to Leah’s prayer. Herself.

It would have been much easier if Gabriel could sit down with Leah and talk out this matter face to face. Circumstances arose now and again when doing exactly what was required, but generally not when it came to answering prayer. Humans tended to believe all that was required of them was a few mumbled words, then they were utterly content to leave the matter in the hands of God.

Through the ages humans had yet to discover what should have been obvious. The answers to prayer required participation. The people of earth expected God to do it all. Only a shocking few realized they had their own role to perform.

A good example was a request that had come in earlier from Monica Fischer, a preacher’s daughter. Monica had asked for a husband. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem; she was twenty-five and strikingly attractive, or would be if she didn’t choose to disguise her natural beauty. The whole process of attracting a young man was complicated by her self-righteous attitude. Few men, even devout servants of God, were willing to marry sanctimonious prudes.

Gabriel hadn’t decided how he would handle Monica’s request or the prayer that had come in the unusual form of a letter from Timmy Potter. Gabriel had a soft spot when it came to children’s prayers. Timmy was nine, and had requested a father.

Gabriel shook his head, needing to clear his thoughts. He’d deal with one prayer at a time. For the moment Leah’s request was the most pressing, and the most challenging. He’d figure out something for Monica and Timmy later.

He stood and walked around his desk. Gabriel thought best while on his feet. It didn’t help matters that Leah chose Christmastime to issue her fervent prayer. The busiest time of year, no less. His best prayer ambassadors were already out on assignment and those who were left were young angels lacking in experience.

Of course there was always Mercy. She possessed a heart of pure gold and was especially patient with humans. But there was a small problem with this particular angel.

Mercy was enthralled with earthly things. Mechanical things. She seemed particularly fond of escalators and motor scooters and not even heaven knew what else. Reports of her escapades circulated in both spheres.

An angel, especially one under Gabriel’s command, simply did not hijack meter maids’ carts. That business with the forklift on the San Francisco waterfront . . . well, that didn’t bear thinking about.

Gabriel’s musings were interrupted by the whisper of rustling wings. Mercy appeared bright-eyed and hopeful before him, her hands clasped in prayerlike fashion. She was a dainty thing, petite in stature when compared to several of the other prayer ambassadors.

“You wanted to see me.”

Gabriel grinned. He hadn’t sent for Mercy, but apparently God had.

“I’d be happy to volunteer my services in any way I can,” Mercy offered brightly, her wings fluttering slightly with anticipation. “I want to prove myself.”

“Can you stay away from motor scooters?”

Mercy nodded eagerly. “And jet skis.”

Jet skis. He hadn’t heard about that one and it was best that he didn’t, not now, at least. “I can’t have you intercepting any more Boeing 747s.”

“I’ve learned my lesson, Gabriel,” she murmured, and smiled innocently, as if to suggest that these incidents were a series of minor misunderstandings. “I promise I won’t get into any of the trouble I have before.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” Gabriel muttered.

“Then you’ll give me the assignment?”

Gabriel stood. His seven-foot stature was intimidating, he knew. Each time the heavenly Father had sent him on a mission to earth he’d been required to calm a multitude of fears before relaying his message.

“The prayer is from Leah Lundberg,” Gabriel explained with a thoughtful frown. “For the past ten years she’s been in constant communication with heaven. She longs for a child.”

Compassion filled Mercy’s deep blue eyes. “Her arms must feel empty.”

“When Leah first married Andrew Lundberg the prayer request came now and again, but when she didn’t become pregnant after repeated failure, well, let me put it like this. Leah had us in a tizzy for a good long while. At one point we had five angels assigned full-time to her prayers. A year later we reduced it to one, and now her prayers are infrequent, and her faith is weak.”

Mercy blinked several times. “This is a problem case, isn’t it?”

Gabriel nodded. Mercy had achieved some success in answering prayer, but her experience was limited. To assign her to Leah was an extreme measure. Gabriel regretted that, but he didn’t have much choice.

“How often does she pray now?” Mercy asked, and her wings stilled.

“Once or twice a year. She’s given up believing God listens to the concerns of His children. Unfortunately she’s given up on her faith too,” Gabriel explained with regret. “If that isn’t tragic enough, she’s walking straight towards the pit of despair.”

“But that’s not true about her prayers going unheard,” Mercy cried. “Someone should tell her, give her a message, offer her hope. Why, all that poor, dear woman needs is a bit of reassurance.” Agitated, the petite angel paced the area in front of Gabriel’s desk. “Send me, please, Gabriel, I promise to stay out of trouble.”

The archangel hesitated. He had the sinking feeling that Mercy’s promise would quickly become famous last words.

He noticed that the tips of her wings feathered out and fluttered gently when he nodded. “I’ll go with you and explain the circumstances. I can’t afford to spare you much past Christmas.”

“Just until Christmas,” Mercy protested. “That doesn’t give me much time.”

“Do whatever you feel is necessary to help her,” he said, granting her unprecedented powers.

Gabriel didn’t want to say it, but when it came to Leah Lundberg, he felt her prayer had little likelihood of being answered. Over the last ten years the human had been given countless chances. Mercy was one of the least experienced angels in his task force. He didn’t hold out much hope that she’d succeed when so many other far more accomplished ambassadors had failed.

“We should start right away, then, don’t you think?” Mercy pressed, eager to begin.

Gabriel glanced at the stack of unanswered prayers piling up on his desk and nodded. “I can only spare a few moments.”

“I’d appreciate whatever help you can give me.”

Gabriel grumbled under his breath. This could be a waste of precious time, then again, it might well be the answer to a long-standing request. He’d witnessed far greater miracles.

“Come with me,” the archangel instructed, and Mercy followed obediently behind him. He was fond of this prayer ambassador although he wasn’t keen on admitting as much.

“I hope I can help her.”

“I hope so too,” Gabriel murmured. “Look with me and I’ll introduce you to Leah and Andrew Lundberg.”

Slowly he raised his massive arms and with one swift motion the thick white clouds parted into a gentle mist that slowly dissipated. The scene unfolded like the opening pages of a pop-up book as the majesty that surrounded Mercy evaporated into the midst of the mundane world. The archangel and Mercy stood on the sidelines as Leah Lundberg opened the front door of her house and walked inside.

“I’m home,” Leah called out to her husband, removing her thick winter coat and hanging it in the hall closet. As always her house was spotless. Her furniture was polished, the latest in contemporary styling. The black-lacquer-on-silver dining table shone back at her like a mirror. Her gaze rested on a white lambskin sofa that had cost nearly four thousand dollars. Her home was expensive and ultramodern. A child would wreak havoc in her pristine domain.

Leah’s friends envied her home. Their own were often a minefield of toys and other traps children left scattered about. Her friends’ lives centered around feeding schedules, soccer practices, and flute lessons. Leah would gladly relinquish her grand piano for a crib and the Persian rug for a playpen. She would gladly trade her tidy existence for the chaos and joy a child would bring into her life and marriage.

“I’ve got dinner cooking,” her husband announced from inside the kitchen. “How does marinated flank steak, new red potatoes, and fresh asparagus sound?”

“Excellent.” She moved into the kitchen and wrapped her arms around Andrew’s waist.

Their massive kitchen included every modern convenience imaginable. A large room for two people who dined out more often than they ate at home. Andrew, an architect, had designed her kitchen when they believed their future included children. She’d clung to the thread of that hope, but it had grown impossibly thin as the fiber of her dreams had worn away.

Leah’s eyes rested on her shiny, clean cupboards and her waxed, spotless floor. Her heart moved into her throat with a sharp stab of unexpected pain. She longed for a refrigerator door smudged with jelly-coated fingerprints, and linoleum scuffed with marks made from walking shoes and toy trucks.

“Did you have a long day?” Andrew asked.

Leah nodded. She deeply loved her husband. Without him, she didn’t know how she would have endured the last several years. “We delivered three babies before noon. Two boys and a girl.” Leah had long since lost count of the number of births she’d assisted. Hundreds, she guessed. But it didn’t matter how often or how commonplace it seemed, the miracle of birth hadn’t lost its impact.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Same old grind as always,” Andrew mumbled, preoccupied with their dinner preparations.

“We should have ordered out.”

“I don’t mind,” he told her, and she could hear the warmth in his voice. “I talked to the decorator about a tree,” he said, and turned to face Leah. He buried his face in her hair and breathed in deeply. “I thought we’d have the tree done in angels this year.”

“Angels,” Leah repeated softly. “That sounds nice.”

“Mom phoned earlier,” he continued. “She invited us over for Christmas Eve.”

Leah nodded. Christmas was meant for children. Instead of stringing popcorn and cranberries on the tree with her toddlers, she was working with a decorator who would shape their Christmas tree into a work of art. She would have much preferred a work of love.

When, Leah asked herself, when, oh, when, would the raw edges of her pain go away? She’d be a good mother. Andrew would be a doting, loving father. That God in his almighty wisdom had not seen fit to give her a child was the cruelest of fates. Tears filled her eyes and she looked away, not wanting Andrew to see. He knew her so well it was difficult to hide anything from him.

“Leah?”

She snuggled closer in his arms, needing the warm security of his love.

“It’s worse at Christmastime, isn’t it?” he asked gently.

They’d had this same conversation a hundred times over the years. With nothing new to add, with nothing new to share, it was best shelved.

“When will dinner be ready?” she asked, easing herself from the comfort of Andrew’s embrace. She managed a watery smile. “I’m starved.”

“Have you seen enough?” Gabriel asked, standing directly behind Mercy.

She’d seen more than she wanted. Slowly, thoughtfully, Mercy dragged her gaze away from the scene below. Compassion swelled and throbbed within her. “Leah’s hurting so terribly.”

“She hasn’t stopped and won’t until . . .”

“Until when?” Mercy prompted.

“Until she’s found her peace.”

“Peace,” Mercy cried, folding back her wings. “The poor dear’s at war with herself.”

Gabriel looked surprised by her insight. “Leah must fully accept her inability to bear a child before the invisible threads that bind her fall away,” Gabriel explained. “Then and only then will she be ready.”

“This is my mission, to show Leah the way to peace?” The tentacles of dread gripped Mercy’s tender heart. Gabriel was seeking the impossible. She longed to help this woman of the earth, longed to ease the pain of her loneliness and the desolation of her soul. Slowly Mercy shook her head, wondering how she, an inexperienced prayer ambassador, would break through the barrier of Leah’s misery and lead her to the warm, sandy shores of serenity.

“You may choose to refuse,” Gabriel announced formally.

“I would never do that,” Mercy said, surprising herself with the strength of her fervor. She didn’t know how she’d manage but somehow, some way, she’d find a means of accomplishing her mission. One thing she’d learned since her appointment as a prayer ambassador. With God’s help she could forge a path where there hadn’t been one before. With God’s help she would make a way where there was none.

“I can’t spare you any longer than three weeks, earth time,” Gabriel reminded her. “Not with the New Year coming on. You know what it’s like around here when people start making resolutions. By the middle of January, earthlings decide to take one last-ditch effort and try prayer.”

“Only three weeks,” Mercy repeated slowly. Even now she was having a difficult time pulling her gaze away from the scene between Leah and her husband.

“You’ll contact me with any problems?” Gabriel asked.

Mercy bristled. The archangel’s offer insinuated that she’d encounter more than her share, which was an unfair assumption. It was true she’d had trouble with the last assignment, had gotten sidetracked a time or two, but she successfully managed to complete her mission.

“There’s no physical reason why Leah can’t become pregnant?” Mercy asked, wanting to be certain she had her facts straight. The last thing she wanted was to walk into the middle of a prayer request without adequate information.

“None whatsoever,” Gabriel stated matter of factly. “Leah and Andrew have been to see every fertility specialist on the West Coast.”

“What about adoption?”

“They applied five years ago, but the waiting list is several years long. They were chosen by a birth mother and then bitterly disappointed when she changed her mind at the last minute. They withdrew their name shortly afterwards.”

“How very sad,” Mercy said softly.

“The Lundbergs are deeply in love.”

“That helps.”

Gabriel’s chuckle caught Mercy off guard. She swiveled her attention to the archangel, who was clearly amused.

“What’s so funny?” Mercy demanded, irritated and not taking time to censure the thought. Gabriel, after all, was an archangel and she was in no position to be questioning him.

“Nothing,” he said, smiling broadly.

Gabriel wasn’t one to smile. He did so only rarely. Mercy wasn’t convinced it was even in his personality profile.

“I’ll give this prayer request my best effort,” Mercy said, thinking it was important that Gabriel know that.

“I trust you will. Just promise me one thing.”

Here it came, the long list of offenses she’d managed to rack up in the short while she’d been serving as a prayer ambassador. “Yes?” she said, straightening for the coming lecture.

“Stay away from scooters and escalators this time.”

Mercy grinned. “I will.”

Two

It was a disgrace, a downright disgrace the way Providence Hospital continued to use the same weatherworn figures in their nativity scene, Monica Fischer mused. The colors had faded and the animals, why, it was a travesty how dilapidated they’d become. If the hospital insisted upon decorating the grounds for Christmas, then they should do so properly.

“Did you see the nativity scene at Providence Hospital?” she asked her father as she joined him and the other choir members outside Nordstrom’s department store, downtown Seattle.

“I adore the crèche,” Lloyd Fischer said with a beaming smile. “Mary’s seen better years, I know, but I can’t help thinking that battered stable must be much closer to the way it actually was that night in Bethlehem than we realize.”

Her father was right, Monica knew. He generally was. She tried to be as charitable in thought and deed as he was, but it seemed beyond her. That was the crux of her problem, Monica realized. Every man she met was measured against her father’s goodness and none had withstood the evaluation. Not even Patrick, whom she’d dated off and on for the last two years. Apparently their relationship was more off than she realized. He’d phoned two weeks earlier to tell her he was engaged to someone else.

That hurt and it hurt deeply. Monica had been dating Patrick all this time and assumed they’d enjoyed one another’s company. She hadn’t a clue he was seeing anyone else. True, they hadn’t spoken of love or commitment, but they’d shared something special, at least Monica had thought it was special.

To make matters worse Patrick had finished by saying he would always think of Monica as a special friend. Monica had wanted much more than his friendship. It was time for her to marry and start her own family, and she’d foolishly set her sights on the wrong man. Now she’d need to make up for lost time, but by heaven, she vowed she’d marry, and soon. There was a man for her, she was convinced of that, and she fully intended to find him.

“Are you ready?” her father asked, cupping her elbow.

Monica nodded. She enjoyed these Christmas performances the church choir gave each December in the busy downtown streets. The harried shoppers would pause and listen to the joyous music, enjoying the short respite from the hectic holiday rush. For a few short moments peace would descend like a warm blanket upon the milling crowd.

Monica climbed to the soprano section on the back row of the risers. She was tall, nearly five nine, and stood a full head above the majority of the sopranos. Unlike the others, she opted for sensible flats with her dark blue suit. Her hair, although shoulder length, was tucked into a tight bun at the base of her neck. She wore no cosmetics and frowned upon women who did.

This was the first year their music was provided by their own church band. To Monica’s way of thinking they should have made a point of practicing more often. The band’s mistakes stuck out in an otherwise flawless program.

She played the piano, and as a favor to the choir director, Michael Simpson, sat in for a couple of weeks in their practice sessions. She hoped her dedication and example would inspire the small group. Her plan hadn’t worked and no one seemed to appreciate the rigorous practice schedule she set for herself and the others. Eventually she’d gone back to the choir, and was pleased she had. Michael, as a means of making amends, asked that she sing a short solo in one of her all-time favorite Christmas carols, “Silent Night.”

When everyone was positioned on the risers, Michael raised his baton. The choir snapped to attention. Monica was proud of the professionalism of their small ensemble. Their voices rose in melodic harmony, blending smoothly. Monica’s clear, high soprano voice escalated gloriously with the others. When she sang, she felt closer to heaven than at any other time, even when she prayed, which was something she’d been doing a good deal of lately. She needed a husband.

“Monica’s the tall one on the top riser,” Gabriel said, pointing out the earthling to Goodness. Like Mercy, Gabriel held a special fondness for this prayer ambassador, who, again like Mercy, possessed certain character traits that left him with misgivings. If it weren’t for the business of the Christmas season, he wouldn’t have assigned Goodness such a difficult case.

Unfortunately he had little choice and of those ambassadors left, Goodness was his best chance of seeing this prayer to fruition. If only he could guarantee that Goodness would stay away from television and movie screens. The incident of her showing up on an in-flight movie and using John Wayne’s voice to warn everyone of approaching turbulence continued to rankle. He’d counseled her on a number of occasions, but to no avail.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Goodness said, looking up at him with eyes filled with innocent promise. “I won’t pull any more stunts with humans. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“You’re sure this time?”

Goodness glanced toward Monica and nodded eagerly.

Gabriel wished he shared her confidence. His own gaze drifted toward Monica Fischer. Her name was a familiar one, as her father, a man after God’s own heart, often included her in his prayers. Monica came from a strong religious background. With her father serving as the pastor, Monica had been raised in the church. It was ironic that what the young woman lacked was faith when she was surrounded on all sides by it. Instead Monica was deeply religious and had yet to distinguish the differences between faith and religion.

“She’s lovely,” Goodness claimed, locking her wings together. “Finding Monica a husband won’t be the least bit difficult, not when she’s so outwardly beautiful. God must have a special man in mind for her.”

“He does,” Gabriel agreed with some reluctance, wondering just how much he should explain to this inexperienced ambassador. Goodness would learn everything she needed to know soon enough, he decided. The information he had would overwhelm her now. Soon enough Goodness would recognize exactly what God had planned for Monica Fischer.

The angel focused her attention on him, her eyes wide and questioning, awaiting an explanation. “What is it I must teach her?”

Gabriel drew in a deep breath and explained. “I fear Monica’s steeped in the juices of her own self-righteousness. She struggles to be good under her own power and ignores all the help made available to her through faith.”

Goodness sighed with heartfelt sympathy. “She must be miserable.”

“No,” Gabriel returned without hesitation, “she just makes everyone else feel that way. Monica’s complicated her life with a long list of rights and wrongs and dos and don’ts. Her head’s so clouded with matters unrelated to faith that she’s lost sight of what it means to be a child of God. Her struggles are useless when everything has already been done for her. All she need do is ask.” But Gabriel wasn’t telling Goodness anything new. The earth was populated with those who looked for redemption through religion.

“The poor dear.”

Gabriel didn’t view Monica in those terms. It was her type that caused him the greatest concern. While Monica struggled to lead people to God, her sanctimonious ways often steered them in the opposite direction.

“She sings very well,” Goodness commented.

Gabriel nodded. “She’s gifted in several areas.”

“I shouldn’t have any trouble teaching what she needs to know before Christmas.”

How confident Goodness sounded, Gabriel noticed. He sighed inwardly, wondering once more how much he should explain, then decided it would be best not to discourage Goodness’s enthusiasm. She’d discover everything she needed to know soon enough.

“The man God has for her is ready for a wife?”

Gabriel was beginning to feel a twinge of guilt. “Yes, and eager. Very eager. Only he doesn’t know it yet, but you won’t have to worry about him. Monica’s the one who needs you.”

“Then I’ll do everything within my power to help her.”

“You’re ready?” Gabriel asked, thinking he’d best send her soon before he said too much. This request would be a learning experience for this young prayer ambassador as well as for her charge. All he could do was hope for the best.

“Let’s go,” Goodness said, impatient to leave the splendor of heaven and walk incognito into a dull, sin-cloaked world.

Gabriel watched as Goodness floated down from heaven, thinking humans were right about one thing. God often did work in mysterious ways, and never more so than in this instance. Gabriel was confident of one thing. Neither Goodness nor Monica Fischer would ever be the same again.

Monica looked out over the gathering crowd and was pleased at the attention their small choir had garnered. Shoppers stopped, their arms folded around packages, and some of the tiredness left their eyes. A few joined in and sang themselves. Children were lifted in their fathers’ arms for a better look. The transformation the singing group produced brought a small, satisfied smile in Monica’s heart.

Then she noticed a man who stood head and shoulders above the others. He seemed to be trapped by the people around him, and was impatiently edging his way around the gathering.

Being on the top riser gave her an excellent view and she frowned at this intruder. He needed both a shave and a haircut. Even from this distance she noted his eyes, which were a cutting shade of cobalt blue. He seemed to need to get somewhere and was impatiently making his way through the crowd, scooting around one and then another with nary a word of pardon. He wore a beige trench coat and looked as if he’d slept in the bedraggled thing.

Monica’s gaze followed him as long as she could, but he soon moved out of her peripheral vision. What an unpleasant man, she decided, annoyed at his intrusion into their performance. No doubt he was a modern-day Scrooge who resented every moment wasted on the celebration of the Savior’s birth.

The small church band struck up the first chords of the next carol, “Silent Night.” The highest notes were well within Monica’s vocal range and her voice was strong enough to ring out loud and clear. When the moment arrived for her short solo performance she allowed her soul to soak up the music and fly free. Then unexpectedly, from out of nowhere, another voice joined and blended with hers.

Quickly Monica looked in both directions to see who had been so bold as to disrupt her one moment of glory. She knew she shouldn’t be so concerned, but it bothered her, and yet as far as she could tell none of the other sopranos was singing.

She raised her voice a full octave, straining her vocal cords. The second voice followed her lead, angelic in its purity and so strong it all but drowned out her own. What perplexed Monica most was that no one else around her seemed to notice anything was amiss. Faces from the audience gazed on approvingly and even the choir director smiled, delighted by her performance.

As she drew to a close, the last of the notes fading into nothingness, the small crowd cheered and she was enthusiastically applauded. Annoyed that her one and only solo had been interrupted by an intruder, Monica twisted around to see if she could find the second voice.

She must have been more energetic in her efforts than she realized because she lost her balance. Her arms flew out in an effort to catch herself, but before she could alert anyone to her plight, she tumbled backward off the top step of the riser.

Crying out, her arms flapping in empty space, she was surprised to land in the unexpected cushion of a man’s waiting arms.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

It was him. The very man she’d noticed earlier, the one who’d cut his way through the crowd with such impatience.

“Ah . . .” For the life of her Monica couldn’t make herself speak. All she could do was stare into his handsome features. On closer inspection his eyes were a deeper shade, a metallic blue, amused now, but dispassionate. The thick lines that fanned out from his eyes weren’t from smiling. They spoke of experience, most of it harsh, and disenchantment, most of it warranted, she guessed. Lines bracketed his mouth as well, they deepened as he studied her with the same curiosity with which she regarded him.

“No need to take such a chance,” he chided. “If you wanted an introduction all you needed to do was ask.”

Gasping and breathless, Monica struggled until he slowly, reluctantly lowered her feet to the ground. He waited until she’d found her balance before he released her completely.

“You might want to thank me,” he suggested lazily.

Flustered, Monica blinked several times, seldom at a loss for words as she was now. “Thank you,” she managed, the words as stiff as starch, stuck in her dry throat. “I’m not sure what happened, but apparently I lost my balance.”

His brazen grin broadened. “Was that you singing just now?”

She nodded, and the curiosity got the better of her. “Did you hear two voices or one?”

“One.”

“But there were two. That’s what flustered me so. Another voice blended with mine. A strong soprano. Surely you heard the other voice?”

“Listen, lady, all I heard was you, and I’m not much for religious music, but from where I was standing you sounded real good.”

She blushed with pleasure. Her voice was adequate and she did love to sing, but she didn’t possess any great talent. To assume she did would have been vain on her part, and vanity was a greased track straight to the arms of the devil as far as Monica was concerned. “Thank you again.”

“You need some help joining the others?”

Monica glanced toward the riser and shook her head. The ensemble was almost finished with their program and it would only disrupt the group to have her climb back into position now.

“Then I’ll be on my way,” he said. “I can hardly wait to tell Lou. It isn’t often a beautiful woman throws herself into my arms.”

“I didn’t throw myself into your arms,” she informed him primly, straightening the sleeves of her dark suit jacket.

“Not technically perhaps, but there you were, pretty as a picture, gazing up at me, asking for a kiss.”

Monica bristled. “I most certainly was not.”

“It felt good to be in my arms too, didn’t it?”

“I beg your pardon?” Monica stared at him in numb disbelief. Was the man so arrogant he actually assumed she’d hurl herself into open space on the off chance a man would catch her? He was being ridiculous and she took delight in telling him as much.

He was smiling when she finished, a cocky off-center smile that lifted the edges at one side of his mouth. “I’d say, from the look of you, having a man hold and kiss you is exactly what you need.”

This sounded like a threat to Monica, and she pinched her lips together and retreated a step. “You’re disgusting!”

He raised his hands, palms up. “I’m just an innocent bystander. I was minding my own business, looking for nothing better than to drown my sorrows in a cold beer when you catapulted into my arms. The way I look at it, you should be thanking your lucky stars I was here to catch you.”

“You were headed toward the Blue Goose?” she asked, realizing now why he’d been so determined to cut through the crowd. He wanted a drink.

“Lady, after the day I’ve had, you’d need a beer too.”

“Don’t,” she pleaded, urgently taking a step toward him.

He glared at her, and his beige trench coat fanned out at his sides. The cold cut through Monica, but it didn’t seem to bother him. “Don’t what?” he demanded impatiently.

“Drink. There are better ways of dealing with problems other than alcohol.”

“Lady . . .”

“My name’s Monica. Monica Fischer,” she said, holding out her hand to him. He looked at it for a moment as if he were going to ignore it, before reluctantly exchanging handshakes.

“And you’re . . .”

“Sorry I ever met you,” he muttered.

“Please, let my friends and me help you,” she said, gesturing toward the ensemble standing on the risers, singing the last of the songs.

“Listen, all I want is a cold beer and some peace and quiet. I’ve been on a stakeout for the past twenty hours and I . . .”

“You’re with the police?”

He hesitated, and it was evident by the way he glanced longingly toward the Blue Goose that he had other matters on his mind. “I’m a private detective,” he admitted. “There, does that satisfy you?”

“You must be tired,” she tried again, thinking fast, hoping to convince him of the error of his ways.

“And getting more so every minute. Good-bye, Marcia.”

“Monica,” she corrected. She hurried after him, convinced she owed him this much for having saved her from certain injury.

“Whatever,” he said, without looking her way. “Have a good day.”

“Has anyone ever talked to you about the direction your life is headed?” she asked, scurrying to keep pace with him. She was tall, but he was taller and it took two of her strides to equal one of his.

“Are you going to preach at me next? Trust me, the last thing I need now is a sermon.”

“Not if you promise me you won’t drink.”

“Listen,” he said, stopping abruptly, “I’m trying to be as polite as I can, but my patience for this malarkey is long gone. I’m a responsible adult and I don’t have a problem with alcohol, so if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be left alone.”

“You’re drinking beer, aren’t you, and it’s barely afternoon,” Monica insisted. “Anyone who needs alcohol this early in the day must be addicted.”

“Fine, then, to satisfy you, I’ll order coffee. There, are you happy?”

Monica knew a lie when she heard one. “Don’t try to appease me with lies,” she said, glaring at him.

They’d crossed the street by this time and he continued to ignore her as much as possible, but Monica was making that difficult. She didn’t know what was driving her to behave so uncharacteristically. Normally she wasn’t nearly as aggressive; she was weak on evangelism, but this man desperately needed help and she was returning a favor. He’d saved her and now it was her turn to do him a good deed and rescue him, although it was clear he didn’t appreciate or welcome her efforts.

They’d reached the Blue Goose and Monica hurled herself against the thick wood door, flinging out her arms until she stood spread-eagled across the entrance.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, glaring at her.

“I’m saving you from yourself.”

“Go save someone else, would you?” His eyes were formidable, cold and cutting, but Monica refused to back away.

“I’m doing this for your own good.”

He clamped his mouth closed and appeared to be counting to ten. His head nodded with each number and by the time he reached eight, his patience had evaporated. “Either you move or I’ll be forced to move you myself and I guarantee you won’t approve of my methods.”

Monica was saved from having to make a decision when the door opened and she was momentarily pushed to one side. By the time she’d turned around and recovered, her reluctant hero had disappeared. It didn’t take her two seconds to know where he’d gone. For half a heartbeat she toyed with the notion of going inside the Blue Goose after him.

Defeated and mildly discouraged, Monica trudged her way across the street. The other choir members were mingling with the crowd, passing out invitations for the Christmas Eve service. The idea had been her father’s and although Monica feared they might attract riffraff from the streets, she hadn’t said as much. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with her father, not when he had such a soft spot in his heart for street people.

“Monica.” Michael Simpson, the director, edged his way around two altos and moved toward her. “What happened?”

“I lost my balance and fell off the riser,” she explained.

His eyes widened. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. “A . . . someone caught me.”

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt.” His smile was shy as he gently patted her hand. “I wanted to congratulate you on your solo.”

“But . . .”

“Your voice was never more pure.”

Monica gestured weakly. To accept the credit would have been wrong. “But another voice joined mine. Didn’t you hear it? I swear it came out of nowhere.”

“Another voice,” Michael asked, frowning. “I only heard you, and you were magnificent. You really outdid yourself.”

“Monica, Monica.” The Reverend Fischer hurried to his daughter’s side and clasped her hand between his. His eyes shone bright with tears. “I’ve never heard you sing more beautifully. You sounded so much like your mother. I’d almost forgotten what a stunning voice she had. This is God’s gift to you, this voice.”

“But, Dad . . .” She stopped, not knowing how to explain. There had been another voice that merged with hers. One that didn’t happen to belong to anyone in the choir. It didn’t belong to anyone she knew.

“Goodness, Goodness, Goodness,” Mercy said in that small chiding tone Gabriel had used with her so often in the past. “You were the one singing, weren’t you?”

Goodness did not attempt to deny it. “I couldn’t help it. ‘Silent Night’ is one of my personal favorites.”

“But she heard you.”

“I know.” That part had been unintentional. Simply put, Goodness had gotten carried away with herself. But she had used considerable restraint. No one, however, seemed to appreciate that part. She could have used Barbra Streisand’s voice. Barbra could really belt out “Silent Night,” or Judy Garland. Now, that would have caused a whole lot of comment. To her credit, Goodness had resisted, although on second thought, she did an excellent Carol Burnett.

“What if Gabriel hears about this?”

“Don’t worry about it.” The archangel would eventually find out, Goodness knew. There would be no keeping it from him, but even that hadn’t been enough for her to resist singing with Monica.

“He might take you off the assignment.”

“Not a chance. Gabriel’s shorthanded as it is. If he was going to pull me off this prayer request it would be for something a whole lot more troublesome than singing.” The prayer ambassador was far more concerned by the consequences of her folly. Monica had fallen into the arms of that hard-nosed, disgruntled private investigator. If anything unsavory had happened, Goodness would have held herself personally responsible.

Three

“Timmy,” Jody Potter called from the compact kitchen. “Dinner’s ready.”

“In a minute.” The nine-year-old kept his gaze level with the television as he worked the controls of the Sega game. “I’m just about to save the world.”

“Timmy, please, we go through this every night.” Jody’s nerves were on edge and had been ever since she’d found the letter. The folded sheet of paper had slipped from Timmy’s school binder when she’d set it on the kitchen counter the night before.

A letter to God, but this wasn’t any ordinary letter. Timmy had asked for a father. Jody’s first instinct had been to sit him down and explain that he already had a father. Only Timmy had no recollection of Jeff, who’d died when Timmy was barely ten months old.

Timmy had no way of knowing how proud Jeff had been of his son. How he’d insisted on holding him each night when he returned from the office and feeding him his last bottle. Timmy didn’t remember that it was his father who’d sung him to sleep and then stood by his crib, gently patting his back. Her son couldn’t possibly remember that Jeff had burst into tears of joy the night Timmy had been born.

What Timmy wanted now was a father who was alive. Someone who could throw a ball and catch better than she could, according to his letter. Someone who understood and enjoyed football. Someone who would be a friend.

What Timmy accepted far better than she did herself, Jody realized, was that Jeff was forever lost to them. Her son was looking for a replacement.

“I won,” Timmy cried, leaping to his feet, holding his hands high above his head while he danced around the living room.

“I’m relieved to know the world is safe at last,” Jody muttered, carrying the meat loaf over to the round oak table. “Can we eat now?”

“I guess.” From habit, Timmy hurried into the bathroom and washed his hands, drying them against his thighs as he joined his mother moments later.

They sat down at the table together and Jody passed the vegetables.

Timmy stared down at the bowl and frowned. “I hate green beans.”

“Take three.” Jody didn’t know why she chose three, but it seemed a reasonable number and she was hoping to have a heart-to-heart talk with her son. A confrontation over green beans would be detrimental to her plan.

Timmy judiciously sorted through the vegetables until he’d located three stubby green beans. Then he carefully placed them on the edge of his plate where they were in danger of slipping unnoticed onto the tablecloth. He paused and glanced up at Jody, who pretended not to notice.

She waited until he’d drowned his slice of meat loaf in catsup and loaded his plate with fruit salad and mashed potatoes before she broached the subject of his letter.

“We were supposed to write someone for Christmas,” Timmy explained after she mentioned having found it. “I’m too old for this Santa Claus stuff so I went straight to the source. It was silly anyway, the post office won’t mail a letter to God. The teacher made a fuss about it and now you are too. What’s the big deal?”

“Nothing,” Jody was quick to assure him. “It’s just that I hadn’t realized you wanted a father so badly.”

“Every kid does,” he said. “Don’t they?”

“I guess.” Jody’s own father had died a year earlier and she missed him still. It had been a crushing emotional blow she hadn’t expected. Her father’s heart attack had taken the family by surprise. Just a week earlier, he’d been in for his yearly physical and was given a clean bill of health. Both Jody and her mother had been rocked by shock and grief. She’d assumed because her father had lived a long, full life that death would be easier to accept. That hadn’t been the case any more than it had been with Jeff, whose death had come without warning.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Mom,” Timmy continued, burying a green bean deep in his pile of mashed potatoes, “but you can’t throw a ball worth a darn and I need to practice. Mr. Dillard said I had a chance of being a really good player someday.”

“I see.”

“You’re not ugly either. I bet there’s some man out there who’d be willing to marry you.”

Jody had to stop and think about that one. Her son wasn’t intentionally insulting her. In his eyes, he’d paid her a high compliment. “I’m sure there is someone who’d be willing to take a chance and marry me,” she said after a moment.

“You think so?” How eager he sounded. He scooted to the edge of his seat, propped his elbows against the table, and looked solidly at her. “Could you find and marry him before Christmas?”

“Timmy, be serious, Christmas is less than a month away.”

“You mean it’ll take longer than that to get me a dad?”

“Yes, I’m sure it will.”

“How much longer?”

Jody shrugged, not knowing how to answer. “I . . . I don’t know if I’m ready to be married again.”

“Why not?” Timmy asked, his eyes wide and innocent. “Rick Trenton told me his mom’s been married three times. You’ve only been married once. I was thinking about that and it doesn’t seem right. You’re a lot prettier than Rick’s mom and she’s already had two more husbands than you.”

“It doesn’t have to do with how pretty a woman is.”

“Then what does it have to do with?” He cocked his head to one side, awaiting her answer.

Jody wished she knew. “Marriage is a complicated business.” Much more complex than she could adequately explain to a nine-year-old boy who seemed to think she could find a husband on a grocery store shelf. She was about to suggest signing him up for Big Brothers when Timmy buried his fork in his meat and added, “Besides, I was thinking about you having a baby. I’ve decided I wouldn’t mind if I had to share my bedroom. Rick’s mom just had another baby and she let me hold him, and you know what, I kinda liked it.”

“How does Rick feel about having a little brother?”

“He thinks it’s cool, especially since he’s got two little sisters. Rick said you don’t get a choice if it’s a boy or a girl when babies are born. I don’t know how I’ll feel about a sister instead of a brother, but I decided I’d do what Rick does.”

“And what’s that?”

“Take what he gets.”

Jody set her fork aside, her appetite gone. “That’s a mature attitude,” she murmured, wondering what she was going to do next. Timmy was serious. He wanted a father. Now he was talking about a brother or sister too.

“Then you’ll start looking for a new dad for me?” His big brown eyes studied her carefully as if her decision was a momentous one.

“I’ll think about it,” Jody said thoughtfully. “Now eat your green beans.”

“I already did.”

“They’re buried in your mashed potatoes,” she said, waving her fork at him. “Now eat.”

“Aw, Mom.”

It wasn’t until after nine that night, when Timmy was sound asleep in his bed, that Jody walked over to the bookcase and took out the bulky photo album. She sat in the overstuffed chair that had been Jeff’s favorite and held the book against her breast in the dim light.

For several moments she closed her eyes. It had been almost a year since she’d last looked at the pictures. Twelve long months since she’d tortured herself with the memories. Timmy was right. It was way past the time for her to pick up the pieces of her life instead of dwelling in the past. A sob swelled in her throat as she tried to figure out how she was ever going to give up loving Jeff.

“That’s Timmy’s mother,” Gabriel said in quiet, somber tones.

Shirley looked down upon the young mother and her heart ached. “She seems to be crying. What’s happened to make her so sad?”

“She’s thinking about Jeff, her husband who died,” the archangel explained.

“Why does she torture herself this way?” It made no sense to Shirley that this young woman would continue to torment herself with memories.

“Jody is the problem,” Gabriel continued. “She continues to hold onto her husband. Before you can answer Timmy’s prayer you’ve got to deal with Jody. She must learn to trust enough to willingly let go of the past and reach toward the future. If she doesn’t, she’ll never be ready for the man God has for her.”

“But it’s been over eight years, doesn’t she realize what she’s doing to herself and to her son?”

“No, all she knows is the pain. Your assignment is to gently guide her toward the joy that awaits her and Timmy.”

“And you expect me to accomplish this before Christmas?”

Gabriel didn’t look any more pleased about this time restraint than Shirley. “I can’t spare you any longer.”

Shirley’s wings stretched to their full reach, then folded over themselves once more. She’d assumed this would be a cushy assignment. After all, she’d only been serving as a prayer ambassador for a short while. The other cases she’d been given had been far less complicated.

“I . . . might not be able to help her,” Shirley murmured.

“Apparently God the Father feels otherwise, or He wouldn’t have personally requested you for Timmy’s prayer.”

“But how can I reach Jody when others have failed? How can I show her she doesn’t have to stop loving Jeff, only open up her heart and her life to the love God has ready and waiting for her?”

“You’ll think of something, only . . .” Gabriel hesitated and leveled his strict gaze on her. “You’re not to pull the tricks you have in the past, understand?”

“Yes,” Shirley agreed. “I won’t misplace a single thing,” she promised.

“That’s what Goodness and Mercy told me earlier. I don’t know what it is about you three, but you worry me more than all the other prayer ambassadors combined.” His wiped his hand across his face, and briefly closed his eyes. “Just do your level best to stay out of trouble.”

Chet Costello sat down at the bar in the Blue Goose and ordered a cold draft beer. He glanced over his shoulder to be sure that pesky little missionary hadn’t decided to follow him inside. Seldom had he met a more aggravating woman.

“What’s plaguing you?” Lou asked from the other side of the bar. He polished the mahogany surface with a clean rag, his hand making wide circular movements as he studied Chet. “You look like you’ve lost your best friend.”

“You would too if you’d sat up all night in the cold.”

“You were on a case?”

“No,” Chet returned sarcastically, “I enjoy spending my nights in a freezing car peeking at a couple through binoculars. These infidelity cases have always thrilled me.”

“No need to bite my head off.”

“Then don’t ask stupid questions.” His little run-in with the do-gooder hadn’t done anything to improve his mood. He’d encountered a hundred pious souls just like her over the years, each one convinced he needed to be saved from himself. He’d had it with that religious garbage years ago, and hadn’t darkened the door of a church since his mother had died ten years earlier. He had no intention of changing his ways now.

He laughed out loud, the sound echoing like a sonic boom around the almost empty bar.

“What’s so funny?” Lou asked, eager to share in the humor.

Chet paused, the beer bottle poised in front of his mouth. “She said there were better ways of settling problems than booze.”

“Who?” Lou asked, bracing both hands against the edge of the bar and grinning, waiting for an explanation.

“Never mind.” Chet wasn’t in the mood to talk. She’d gotten under his skin, he realized, somewhat surprised. What was her name again? Marcia, no Monica. With her clear, dark eyes and her prim and proper ways, she was desperate to save him from the clutches of demon alcohol.

Part of the problem was how good she’d felt in his arms, all soft and feminine. The last time he’d held a woman had been . . . longer than he cared to think about, Chet realized. It was this job, he decided, that soured him on relationships. No one was faithful anymore, not according to the statistics he’d collected. The child custody cases were the worst and he’d sworn off those. After he’d left the police department years earlier, he’d floundered for a bit before deciding to work as a private investigator. What a crock of bull this had turned out to be. The time was fast approaching when he’d need to find something else. He wouldn’t go back to the force, not after Tom’s death. He didn’t trust himself, not anymore. His partner had gotten killed, and Chet had accepted responsibility for the loss of his friend. The incident continued to haunt him. There were certain things in life a man didn’t put behind him, and this was one.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, the erstwhile missionary drifted back into his mind, with her warm, pleading gaze and her soft, sweet mouth.

“You know, what she really needs is to be kissed,” he said aloud. “None of this pansy stuff of holding hands and gazing longingly into each other’s eyes either.”

Lou glanced his way and without comment continued to polish the sleek wooden surface of the bar. After a moment, he paused and scratched his head. “You looking to talk?” he asked.

“Hell, no.”

“That’s what I thought.” The bartender resumed his task.

Remembering the way she’d flung herself against the tavern door produced another burst of laughter. The buttons of her jacket had strained with the effort until she resembled a martyr tied to the stake. She had nice, full breasts, although heaven knew she did everything she could to disguise the fact that she was a woman. If he ever did have the opportunity to kiss her, which was highly unlikely, the first thing he’d do was pull the pins from her hair. It was a travesty to keep it twisted away from her face that way. She’d have thick, luxuriant hair and he’d run his fingers through it. He imagined she’d put up a fuss at that. Anything remotely related to sensual pleasure was sure to be sin, pure, unadulterated sin.

Chet knew her type. The mission house down the street from his office was filled with do-gooders thinking their efforts with the derelicts and vagrants were going to make a difference. Chet felt sorry for them more than he did the street people they struggled to reach with their message.

Then why couldn’t he stop thinking about her? The hell if he knew. The hell if he cared. One consolation, he wasn’t likely to run into her again.

“Of course I remember you, Mr. Lundberg,” Mrs. Burchell, the caseworker from New Life Adoption Agency, assured him over the telephone. “It’s good to hear from you again.”

Andrew rolled the mechanical pencil between his palms, praying he was doing the right thing. “I’d like to know how difficult it would be for my wife and me to resubmit our application.” He leaned against the back of his chair. Leah had been on his mind all day and he was worried about her.

It was so damn unfair that they couldn’t have children. What troubled him most was that there didn’t seem to be any physical reason. They’d spent years, and thousands of dollars, working with fertility specialists. Leah’s life was governed by that ridiculous book she kept. He swore she’d documented her temperature every morning for the last seven years.

Perhaps if they’d been able to pinpoint the problem as his, Leah might have been able to accept their situation.

“I have your file right here,” the caseworker went on to say. “I know you and your wife were terribly disappointed when Melinda Phillips decided to rescind the adoption of her infant son. It doesn’t happen often, but unfortunately these girls do change their minds.”

“I understand,” Andrew said, not wanting to rehash the details. Having the birth mother change her mind had been much harder on Leah than it had him. They’d gone to the hospital, their hearts filled with joy, only to return empty-handed an hour later. Afterward Leah had sat for hours alone in the nursery they’d so lovingly prepared. Nothing Andrew could say reached her. He’d been disappointed too and for a while there’d been a strain between them. Then one day he returned home from the office and discovered that Leah had dismantled the nursery. She calmly announced that she’d withdrawn their application from New Life and that they’d simply wait for her to become pregnant and bear a child of their own. She refused to subject them to that kind of torment again.

“I’ll be happy to resubmit your names,” Mrs. Burchell said, “but I must warn you there are fewer babies available for adoption now than before.”

“How long would you predict?”

The caseworker hesitated. “I can’t really say. It’s different with every couple.”

“What about the Watcombs?” Andrew asked. “We went through the orientation classes with them three years ago.”

“Ah, yes, the Watcombs. Jessie and Ken, am I right?”

“Yes. Has their adoption gone through?”

“Not yet, but we’re hopeful we’ll have an infant for them soon.”

Andrew’s hopes plummeted. The Watcombs were special people and he couldn’t imagine any young mother not choosing them to rear her child.

“You were in the same orientation class as the Sterlings, weren’t you?”

Andrew allowed the name to filter through his mind. “He was a fireman as I recall.”

“That’s the couple. They adopted a baby girl last October.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“I thought you’d be pleased.”

He was, of course, but a small part of him couldn’t help being envious. Leah desperately wanted a child, and in an effort to reassure her he’d downplayed his own desire for a family. He loved his wife and would give anything for them to have a child.

“Do you still want me to resubmit your name?” Mrs. Burchell asked after a moment’s silence.

“Please,” he said, his hand tightening around the receiver. If it took another five years or more, then that was just how long they’d need to wait. That he was doing this behind Leah’s back didn’t sit well with him, but some action needed to be taken, and this seemed the most logical choice. If they were chosen by a birth mother again, then they’d make the necessary adjustments. A child was welcome into their lives at any time. Love guaranteed.

* * *

For the life of her, Monica hadn’t been able to forget the private investigator. Heaven knew she’d tried. He was little better than an alcoholic, drinking beer in the middle of the day. Not only that, he’d been arrogant, rude, and curt with her. He’d treated her as if she were a senseless child when she’d tried to help him.

Monica didn’t understand what it was about this one man that intrigued her so. She’d gone to bed that night and dreamed of him. She’d woken breathless, her heart pounding double time. A woman had no control over her dreams, Monica assured herself. If she had, Monica certainly wouldn’t have allowed that . . . man to touch her. The very idea was appalling. No, Monica corrected, closing her eyes and shaking her head, that wasn’t the truth. It was the problem. She had thought about him touching her, kissing her. Her untamed imagination had taken over and she’d allowed it to happen in her dreams.

“There you are,” her father said, strolling into the living room. “I’ve been looking for you.” He settled down in the leather chair by the fireplace and reached for the evening paper. “I’m afraid I’m going to need you tomorrow afternoon.”

“For what?” He seemed to forget she had a job and even if she did work as the church secretary it was a demanding position. Her father would cover for her if necessary, but she would rather he asked first instead of volunteering her services, which was something he often did.

“Mrs. Ferdnand just phoned and she can’t be a bell ringer for the shift she signed up to take last Sunday.”

“But, Dad.” Standing on a cold street corner and collecting charitable donations was the last way Monica wished to spend an afternoon. An hour never lasted so long and by the end of her shift she’d be frozen solid.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t necessary.”

“I know.” It was useless to argue with him. The man had the patience of Job and an answer for every argument.

“It’s downtown so you’ll be sure to get plenty of traffic,” her father added, reaching for the sports section of the newspaper and folding it open.

“Great.” She stabbed the needle into the fabric and set aside her needlepoint. After working on this Ten Commandments project for weeks she was only on the fourth commandment, which meant she hadn’t a prayer of finishing before Christmas. She studied the tiny stitches. Ironically the one she was currently stitching stated Honor Thy Father and Thy Mother. God must have worked it out that way, sealing any argument she might have given.

“Are you all right?” her father asked her unexpectedly, momentarily setting the paper aside.

“I’m fine,” she said, then amended, “a little tired perhaps.”

“I thought as much. You don’t seem to be yourself lately.”

“Oh?”

“I know this thing with Patrick hurt you and . . .”

“Patrick is a friend, Dad. He was never anything more. I don’t know why you insist upon dragging his name into every conversation.” It was a white lie to suggest she hadn’t cared about Patrick, but sometimes she found those necessary, although she was never comfortable stretching the truth.

“I noticed Michael talking to you the other day. He’s a very nice young man.” He eyed her speculatively as if waiting for her to comment.

“Very nice,” she agreed. But Michael didn’t stir her blood, he didn’t make her heart throb and the thought of him kissing her produced not so must as a whit of excitement.

Her father was right, there was definitely something wrong with her.

The following afternoon, Monica was dressed in her dark blue suit, standing on the corner of Fifth and University, ringing her little heart out. Surely there was a reward awaiting her in heaven for this.

A man dressed in leather and wearing enough gold to strangle himself stopped and inserted a ten-dollar bill in the bright red pot. When Monica thanked him, he insisted upon “giving her five.” It took her a good three minutes to realize what he intended. He was simply looking to slap her hand. He ambled away, suggesting she get with it, whatever or whomever “it” was.

Okay, so she wasn’t cool, if that was the current vernacular. Nor was she hip or groovy or several other words that came to mind. She was God’s willing servant. All right, she wasn’t so willing just then, but she was doing her part and that was all that mattered.

Her ears were cold and her fingers had lost their feeling and she had another half hour to go when it happened.

It was him.

The man who’d caught her in his arms three days earlier, the one she’d attempted to restrain from entering the Blue Goose. He was standing on the other side of the street waiting for the traffic to pass so he could cross. Everyone else would wait for the green light and the walk sign, but not him. Oh, no, he was too impatient for that.

She stopped ringing the bell, then started again with a vengeance, closing her eyes, hoping with everything in her that he’d simply walk past and not notice it was her.

Monica should have realized that would have been asking too much.

“Well, well, well,” he said, strolling all the way around her. “And who do we have here? Monica, am I right?”

She ignored him and stared straight ahead, jerking the small bell back and forth for all she was worth, her shoulders so stiff they ached.

“It’s mighty cold to be standing outside for any length of time, isn’t it?”

Monica didn’t deign to answer him. A lady in a fur coat walked past and dropped a few coins into the red kettle. “Merry Christmas,” Monica said from pure habit.

“The same to you,” the private investigator answered.

“Please leave me alone,” she whispered.

“It seems to me I asked the same thing of you recently and did it help? Oh, no, you were convinced I needed to be saved.” He flung his hands into the air. “Hallelujah, brother.”

“Please.” She tried again.

“Not on your life, sister,” he responded.

“If you continue to pester me you’ll leave me no choice but to contact the police and have you forcibly removed.”

“Threats?” He folded his arms over his broad chest and arched both brows in mock terror. “So you want to involve the authorities. Fine. Good luck finding a cop walking his beat. In case you weren’t aware, the city’s seriously understaffed, and this time of year is busier than most.”

Monica knew God was looking out for her when a city cop turned the corner just then, casually sauntering down the sidewalk. “Officer, Officer,” she called, wasting no time. “This man is bothering me.”

The policeman, who was tall and burly beneath his thick coat and cap, was casually swinging his billy club. “You troubling this young lady, Chet?”

It was just her luck that they knew each other.

“Bothering this woman? Me? You know me better than that,” Chet answered, beaming Monica a cocky smile. “I’ve got more important things to do.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“He refuses to leave,” Monica supplied huffily.

“Now, listen, miss, I know Chet’s a sorry-looking alley cat, but he’s harmless. Let me assure you, you’re in no danger from him.”

“Thanks, Dennis,” Chet said and dipped his head slightly.

“That’s simply not true,” Monica tried again, more adamantly this time. “I politely asked him to leave and he refused.”

Dennis bounced the billy club against his open palm a couple of times. “Chet, stop pestering this pretty young lady.”

“Sure thing.”

Dennis touched the tip of his hat. “He’ll leave you alone now, miss.” With that he strolled away.

“You aren’t going to leave, are you?”

“Trust me, sweetheart, he’s got better things to do than listen to you making a fuss over nothing. This is a public sidewalk, there’s nothing Dennis can do but ask me to move on, which he’s already done.”

“Why do you insist upon doing this?” Monica demanded, straightening her shoulders. She forced herself to look directly ahead of her and away from him, because looking at Chet caused her stomach to flutter as if she were coming down with the flu.

“Hey,” he said, raising both hands, “I’m paying you back for what you did the other day.”

“I was trying to help you.”

“You were a major pest. Now you know how it feels.”

“If you’re looking for me to apologize, then—”

“No, thanks.” He walked all the way around her once more, then stood directly in front of her, hands on his hips. “You know, you might really be something in the looks department if you ever decided to wear makeup.”

Monica ignored the comment.

“A little blush and eye liner aren’t tools of the devil, you know.”

She pursed her lips to restrain herself from chastising him the way he deserved.

“My oh my, look at that sour puss. I was right the first time.”

“About what?” she demanded before she could stop herself.

“What you really need is to be kissed, and sweetheart, I’m the man to do it.”

Four

Chet never intended to kiss Monica. He’d taken delight in teasing her and she was easy game. Her face flushed with color, brightening her cheeks, and her eyes snapped with outrage, challenging him. Chet was ready to laugh and walk away when a Metro bus came rushing down the street, the thick tires spraying the sidewalk with a shower of icy, muddy water.

Monica, standing as close to the curb as she was, would receive the brunt of the spray. Thinking quickly, Chet caught her by the shoulders and whirled her around. The bus passed and the muddy water sprayed him against the back of his legs. He grimaced as the icy liquid soaked through his trousers at his calves.

“What are you doing?” Monica demanded.

Her back was against the brick building and she was breathing hard. Her breasts rose up and down and her hands clenched at the lapels of his trench coat as though to push him away. When she moistened her lips as if she fully expected him to follow through with his threat, it was his undoing. He felt as if a fist had been plowed into his gut. He didn’t want to kiss her any longer, he needed to.

“No, please,” she blurted out, sounding as if she were near panic.

“Relax,” he whispered coaxingly. “This isn’t going to hurt in the least.”

She jerked her head to one side but he caught her by the chin. By all that was right he should have released her then, but the temptation was too strong, too sweet and piercing to ignore.

Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers with the confidence of years of experience. His lips cut off her gasp of protest, and the strong pressure of his mouth opened hers to him. She tasted good, damn good, a hell of a lot better than he expected. When his tongue entered her mouth, her nails dug into his coat, and then she amazed him and quite possibly herself with a soft, womanly sigh of pleasure. Under his tutelage her mouth opened further, and unwilling to let this opportunity slip past him, Chet slanted his head and kissed her with months of pent-up passion.

He didn’t mean to be so demanding, but he couldn’t stop himself.

With effort, Chet forced himself to break off the intensity of the kiss and wean himself away from her with a series of short, nibbling ones. With a reluctance he didn’t dare question, he lifted his mouth from hers. He would have enjoyed continuing this experiment and given the opportunity, a hell of a lot more.

Monica’s chest was heaving and her eyes were closed. Her head was slightly lowered but not enough to disguise the soft, feminine look about her. He noticed that half the pins were missing from her hair so that it fell haphazardly over one shoulder. Hell, he didn’t even remember doing anything more than plowing his hands into the thick fullness and positioning her head so he could kiss her properly.

Her eyes slowly opened and she looked slightly dazed and definitely pale. She gazed at him steadily for just a moment and then quickly lowered her eyes. Her slender throat moved up and down as she swallowed and it seemed that she was getting ready to speak.

“I . . . wish you hadn’t done that.”

“No, you don’t,” he returned, sounding far more cocky than he intended. Insolence was part and parcel of his job. He didn’t like it in himself, but he didn’t know how to stop.

“Please, will you leave me alone now?”

“Is that what you really want?”

She nodded, but refused to meet his eyes.

He stepped away from her and she immediately went about tucking her hair back into place, her hands trembling so badly that Chet had to resist offering to help.

“It was just a kiss,” he said in a weak effort to comfort her, although he was beginning to feel he was the one who needed reassurance. This woman was completely unaware of what a powerful punch she packed. She’d felt good in his arms, damn good, as if that was where she was supposed to be. The thought didn’t sit well with Chet. Nor was he keen on admitting how difficult it was to walk away from her.

“I . . . think it would be best if you left,” she said, struggling valiantly to compose herself. She refused to look up at him.

Chet’s mind was sluggish and his pulse still hadn’t returned to normal. He nodded, unable to think of anything more to say. As he moved away from her, he found the small, silver bell she’d dropped on the sidewalk. Stooping, he retrieved it for her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re sure you’re all right?”

She nodded and Chet stepped away from her, walking backward. He bumped into a lamp post, his shoulder hitting hard enough against the steel column to jar him. Sucking in a deep breath, he rubbed his hand over the tender spot, turned, and walked away.

He didn’t want to think about what had just happened. He’d kissed a woman who, for all intents and purposes, was living the life of a nun. It shouldn’t have been this good. One taste should have been enough to cure him of ever thinking about her again. He could tell right now that it wasn’t going to happen that way.

By the time Chet returned to his office, he discovered he was shaking like a leaf. He’d faced danger a dozen times, hell, more than that, but no encounter with life or death had left him so jittery that he needed to sit down. It took a morally uptight missionary intent on saving the world to reduce him to this.

“Oh, Leah, look,” Pam Hewitt said, holding up a thick cable-knit sweater the color of winter wheat. “Doug would love this.” She checked the price tag and then slowly shook her head. “Unfortunately I can’t afford a hundred bucks for a sweater.”

“I thought we were shopping for a party dress for you,” Leah reminded her friend. They’d known each other since university days and kept in close contact although they weren’t able to get together often. Pam had temporarily traded in her nurse’s uniform to be a full-time housewife and mother to her three youngsters. Leah loved each one, but Scotty, the just-turned three-year-old, held a special place in her heart. The baby Andrew and she were to have adopted had been born around the same time. Somehow Leah had transferred to Scotty all the love she had for the child that was to have been hers. She gave Pam’s three children gifts every Christmas and invented excuses for outings with them, but it was Scotty who ruled her heart.

“I hate Christmas parties,” Pam muttered, folding the sweater and setting it back on the table. She ran her hand over the top and sighed expressively. “I was thinking I’d cut down the fancy maternity dress I wore a couple of years ago and—”

“Absolutely not,” Leah insisted. “We’re going to find you a dress that will make you feel like a queen for Doug’s Christmas party.”

“That will take some doing,” Pam muttered. “Two years at home with the kids and I’m afraid I’ve lost it.”

“Lost what?”

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Pam admitted slowly. “I think a part of the brain starts to deteriorate after so many years of dealing with diapers, bottles, and potty training. It’s like you’re on the children’s level for so much of the day that you lose the ability to communicate with other adults.”

“All this tells me is that you need to get away more often.”

“That’s probably true,” Pam agreed, “but you wouldn’t believe the trouble it is to find a baby-sitter, especially on weekdays.”

“What about taking some time for yourself while the kids go down for their naps?”

Pam laughed softly as they headed toward the escalator. “Nap time is like an oasis in the middle of the day. I treasure every moment of that hour, but lately even that time’s been robbed from me. I’m sewing Scotty and Jason Batman pajamas and that’s the only free time I have to do it.”

“Batman pajamas?”

“They’re crazy about him and Spiderman.”

“Why don’t you sew in the evenings?” Leah suggested. It made perfect sense to her since the three were generally in bed by eight.

Pam laughed and shook her head. “Because, my dear friend, I’m too pooped. Honestly, I head for bed no more than an hour after the kids. I never dreamed I’d be in bed before nine. Remember me, the original night owl? Trust me, kids will do that to you.”

A pang of envy struck Leah at the thought of her life being dominated by the demands of a houseful of children. Then again, the grass always appeared greener on the other side of the fence. More than once, Pam had said how much she envied Leah her freedom.

Freedom. True, she often had time on her hands, but for what?

“I’m on a budget, you know,” Pam complained when they reached Nordstrom’s second floor.

“Would you stop?” Leah demanded, laughing. “We haven’t even gotten to the women’s section yet and already you’re convinced you aren’t going to find anything.”

“My old maternity dress isn’t all that bad.”

“Pam!” Leah braced her hands against her hips and glared at her friend. “Now I understand why Doug insisted I go shopping with you. He knew darn good and well that you’d end up buying something for everyone else and nothing for yourself.”

“Did you see that darling pinafore,” Pam said, pointing toward the children’s section. “Diane would look like an angel dressed in that.”

Leah looped her arm through Pam’s and steered her in the opposite direction. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do.”

“What? Hog-tie me and force me to try on several dresses?”

“Close. I’m taking you directly to the dressing room and bringing the party dresses in to you.”

Pam’s shoulders sagged with defeat as they entered the dressing room area. “All right, just try to find something reasonably priced, will you?” Leah opened the white louvered door and gently pushed her friend inside.

Pam stuck out her hand and waved her index finger. “Check on the sale rack first. I’ll feel better about spending so much money on myself if the dress is discounted.”

“Never you mind,” Leah argued. “I’m not even going to let you look at the price tag.”

“But, Leah—”

“Don’t even try to argue with me. I’d have thought you’d know better by now.” Smiling to herself, Leah left the dressing room.

“My hips aren’t nearly as slender as they used to be either,” Pam called after her. “You’d better start with a size twelve instead of a ten . . . better make that a fourteen.”

Leah stopped long enough to roll her eyes, then headed for a rack of newly arrived fashions. It took less than five minutes to find a wide selection that would suit her friend.

“Mercy, where are you?” Goodness called, frantically circling Nordstrom’s like the second hand of a clock gone berserk.

Mercy turned around to find Goodness, her wings all aflutter, breezing six feet off the ground, close to a state of panic.

“I need to talk to you right away,” Goodness said breathlessly.

“Over here,” Mercy called, wondering what could possibly have gone wrong so quickly. “I’m on the light fixture.”

Goodness soared to her side, rustling the dress display and toppling a mannequin. Apparently feeling guilty, she scooped up the lifeless form and set it back into place, to the horror of a sales clerk, who gasped and placed her hand over her heart to watch a lifeless form right itself.

“Goodness,” Mercy shouted. “Would you stop before you get us both into trouble?”

“I need help,” Goodness blurted out for the second time, joining Mercy, who was dangling from the light fixture.

“So soon? You just received the assignment. What could have possibly gone wrong?”

Goodness, who was easily flustered, looked helpless and confused. She cast a pleading look at Mercy. “I knew I was in way over my head when Gabriel first gave me this assignment, but I wanted to help Monica Fischer. You know I’m a sucker for romance, and finding her a husband didn’t sound as if it would be the least bit difficult.” She stopped long enough to draw in another deep breath. “Now the poor girl’s more confused than ever and I’m afraid it’s all my fault.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing . . . well, obviously it’s something, but . . . oh, dear, I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“I take it this has something to do with finding Monica a husband?”

Goodness nodded energetically. “I found the most suitable young man who has a wonderful heart for God. He directs the choir and he’s half in love with her already.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Monica isn’t the least bit excited about him. She has this dangerous attraction for that . . . that private eye. They’re completely incompatible. Why, a union between the two of them will never do, and I fear I’m the one responsible for them meeting.”

Mercy frowned. “Goodness, when will you ever learn?”

“Me!” Flustered, she wrung her hands and eyed her fellow angel. “You don’t think I know that was you riding up and down the escalator just now?”

“You couldn’t have known that was me.”

“Let’s just say I made an educated guess,” Goodness said confidently. “A woman’s being treated with smelling salts and two kids are telling everyone what they saw, and it sounds to me as if they were describing you. Who else do you know with long, blond hair, deep blue eyes, and magnificent wings? You know better than most that children’s spiritual eyes have yet to close. You were taking a terrible chance.”

“Ah . . .”

“Just as I thought. Mercy, what are you going to do if Gabriel hears about this? You know he will eventually. Why, he could pull you off of this assignment in nothing flat and with good reason.”

“But he won’t,” Mercy said with utter confidence.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he’d never have assigned me to this prayer request if he had anyone else to send. We both know that.”

“But he might never give you another assignment if you continue to do crazy stunts like that.”

“Sure he will. Gabriel has a soft spot in his heart for the three of us. I venture to say we’re his favorites, although he’d never let us know that.”

Goodness stared at her with round, disbelieving eyes.

“He’ll forgive me just about anything,” Mercy continued, undaunted, “because I’m going to find a way to teach Leah what she must learn and as soon as she does, she’ll become pregnant.”

“Mercy, have you been sniffing the eggnog again?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But you’ve got the most difficult assignment by far. How can you be so confident Leah’s ever going to learn what she must when so many others have failed?”

“Simple,” Mercy said with a cocky tilt to her head, “I’m going to teach her. Now stop worrying about me. Let’s concentrate on what’s happening with you and Monica Fischer.”

Goodness adjusted her wings around the troublesome light fixture. “I hate to admit it, but I’m worried. She really likes this Chet fellow.”

“Chet who?”

“Chet Costello. He’s a private investigator and from what I’ve managed to learn of him . . . let me just say this, Gabriel would need to assign a legion of angels to work with him.”

“You’re sure Monica’s infatuated with him?”

Goodness nodded. “I read her journal this morning and it was full of all the things she felt while he kissed her. She said she never knew that kissing could be this good or that a woman felt those kinds of things when a man touched her.”

“Oh, my.” Mercy waved her hand in front of her heated face.

“And that’s not the half of it.”

“You mean there’s more?”

“She wrote that she felt herself responding to him even when she promised herself she wouldn’t and how disappointed she was when he stopped.”

“Do you think Michael knows about Chet?”

“No one knows, not even her father. She raced home afterwards and went directly to her room, where she wrote everything down. When her father came to ask if she wanted dinner, Monica claimed she wasn’t hungry.”

“Kissing is better than food?” This was a whole new thought to Mercy.

“Apparently so.”

Goodness wrung her hands once more, then blurted out, “Say something. Anything. I need help.”

Mercy slowly shook her head back and forth. “You’ve got trouble.”

“I know that, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. What do you suggest?”

Mercy thought long and hard. “We both need to talk to Shirley. She’s much better at deciphering these matters than we are.”

“Let’s meet at Reverend Fischer’s church at midnight in the choir loft,” Goodness suggested as she elegantly slid off the dangling fixture. “I’ll see you then.”

Mercy nodded.

Goodness fully intended to leave the shopping mall right then and return to Monica, who was sitting in the church office typing up the bulletin for the Sunday morning worship service. But when she shot past a video store, she skidded to a stop. Mercy seemed confident that Gabriel would leave them on their assignments because he was so shorthanded. Maybe she should test her friend’s theory, and have a little fun herself.

Row upon row of television screens faced her. There must have been over fifty in various sizes and shapes, all tuned to the same channel. The temptation was too much to resist.

She hesitated and laughed silently at the thought of her face showing up on all fifty screens at once. The mere suggestion was her downfall. If Mercy could ride up and down the escalator then she should be able to enjoy a few short moments of notoriety.

“This is our best model,” the salesman was saying, stepping over to the wide twenty-five-inch screen. The salesman was busily showing an older couple the capabilities of the remote control when Goodness popped onto the screen.

“What’s that?” The grandmotherly woman pointed to the television.

“It seems to be a . . . woman with wings,” the man with her added.

“Wings?” The salesman quickly adjusted the buttons. “We had it tuned to a game show earlier. It’s nothing to worry about, folks, this happens sometimes. I’ll just change the channel.”

“The same woman appears to be on that channel as well,” the woman said. “If I didn’t know better I’d say it was an . . . angel. Do you think she’s trying to tell us something, Delbert?”

“She sure is,” the man grumbled. “She’s saying we shouldn’t be buying this fancy new television when the one we’ve got is perfectly fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is the punishment you get for skipping mass last Sunday. God’s sent this angel to show you the error of your ways. Then again”—she hesitated while Goodness adjusted her wings for show—“she might be telling us we should pick up some lottery tickets on our way home.”

The salesman was becoming more and more agitated as he punched a variety of buttons on the remote control. “I’m sure there’s been some mistake.” He looked around and shouted, “Harry! I think it might be a good idea if I have the manager took a look at this.”

“I’ve seen enough,” the older man said, reaching for his wife’s arm. “Let’s get out of here.”

“It has to do with you missing church, I’m sure of it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” her husband said with annoyance.

“We are going to stop for lottery tickets on the way home, aren’t we?”

“We don’t do this nearly often enough.” Jody’s mother set the pot of tea on the oak kitchen table.

“I agree,” Jody said, slipping into the chair across from her mother. She didn’t drop by to visit her mother as often as she had before her father’s death earlier in the year. Her childhood home stirred far too many memories. Privately Jody wondered how her mother managed. Perhaps it wasn’t so difficult to understand. Jody continued to live in the tiny two-bedroom house she and Jeff had purchased when she’d first learned she was pregnant with Timmy. Giving up even this small part of her life with her late husband was more than she could have borne.

“Where’s Timmy this evening?” Helen Chandler wanted to know.

Jody smiled although she knew her mother didn’t understand her amusement. “He’s spending the night with his good friend, Rick Trenton.”

“I thought it was Ricky.”

“They’re in the fourth grade this year and suddenly Ricky is Rick. Timmy is Tim to all his friends now too. He’s growing up more and more.”

“I didn’t think that sort of thing happened until junior high.”

Jody had been amazed herself. “Kids mature much faster these days. Generally Rick spends the night with us, but his mother just had a baby and Timmy’s enthralled with the little tyke. He . . . he went so far as to suggest that I remarry so he could have a brother.”

“He said that, did he?”

“I don’t mind telling you, Mom, it threw me for a loop. I found a letter in Timmy’s binder. His class was assigned to write a letter and he opted to address his to God.”

“That grandson of mine is one smart cookie. What did he have to say?”

Jody stirred a spoonful of sugar into her tea with enough energy for some to slosh over the rim of the delicate china cup. “He wrote about needing a dad.”

Helen Chandler grew quiet at that. Jody expected her mother to laugh or perhaps lecture, but she hadn’t expected her to say nothing.

“You don’t have any comment to make?” she asked, eyeing her mother speculatively.

“Of course I do, but I’m not so sure you want to hear it.”

At this point Jody was more than willing to listen to words of wisdom. She’d thought of little else but the letter from the moment it had slipped from Timmy’s binder. The conversation with her son had served to disconcert her even more. This hadn’t been an impulse; he’d been serious.

“Go ahead, Mom, say what you want and I’ll listen.”

Her mother smiled and reached for Jody’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I don’t think I fully appreciated your grief when Jeff died. I ached for you and would have given anything to bring Jeff back, but the depth of your pain escaped me until . . . until this past year.” She paused as if she needed to steel herself. “After Ralph died I knew what you’d endured. The death of a loved one is the sharpest pain a human can experience. I felt like a piece of myself had died with your father.”

“Oh, Mom.” Jody’s grip on her mother’s hand tightened, to let the gesture say what she couldn’t because of the huge constriction blocking her throat. They were close, had always been close. Jody had been an only child and the bond had been firm and strong between her and her parents.

“I can appreciate far more the agony you endured when you lost Jeff. I understand why your grief has lingered all these years, but I also know Timmy is right. The time is long past due for you to get on with your life.”

“But—”

“Listen, please, and when I’ve finished you can say what you wish.

“Take the love you and Jeff shared and place it in the most tender part of your heart. Treasure the few short years you had together as a precious gift God gave you and then offer it back to Him in gratitude that you found such a special man to love.”

Tears rolled unchecked down Jody’s cheeks. She’d assumed the well was dry after spending the night looking through the photo album, but they returned fresh and hot, streaming down her face.

“In my heart I know Jeff wouldn’t have wanted you to grieve this way.”

“I know that too,” Jody whispered, struggling to check the emotion. She’d wanted to be strong when she spoke to her mother, but it took only a few words for her to realize how weak she actually was.

“Meeting other men, even marrying again, doesn’t mean you have to stop loving Jeff,” her mother continued.

“I don’t think I could ever stop loving him.”

“I understand that. It would be impossible for me to stop loving your father.”

“It is time for me to start dating again, isn’t it?” Even as Jody made the suggestion, she couldn’t help wondering if she was doing the right thing. It didn’t feel right, but then nothing had from the moment she’d received word Jeff was gone. It seemed as if her world had been knocked off its orbit and would never right itself. Now her mother and her son were saying different. There was a new life waiting for her and the possibility of finding love again, if she were willing to put the past behind her and march forward.

“It’s past time,” her mother told her gently. “I’m sure you’ve been asked out over the years. You’re a beautiful young woman.”

Jody nodded, twisting a tissue with her hands. “Glen Richardson surprised me last week with an invitation to dinner. I was so shocked I didn’t know what to tell him.”

“I don’t believe I’ve heard you mention his name before.”

“He’s one of the attorneys at the firm. I don’t work directly with him, but it seems we continually bump into each other at the copy machine. It’s become something of a joke.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Heavens, Mother, I don’t remember. I made up some ridiculous excuse, but he said he’d ask again and he probably will.”

“And when he does?” her mother prompted.

“When he does,” Jody said, clenching the tissue in both hands, “I’ll . . . I’ll promise to think about it.”

“Jody Marie Potter!”

Jody laughed and relaxed against the back of her chair. “Oh, all right. One date, just to test the waters.”

Her mother smiled broadly, looking downright pleased with herself.

The phone was ringing when Jody let herself into her house later that same night. Setting down her purse, she hurried into the kitchen and caught it on the fourth ring, just before the answering machine took over.

“Hello,” she said, her voice shaking with breathlessness.

“Jody?”

The voice was strangely familiar. “Yes?”

“This is Glen . . . Glen Richardson. I hope I didn’t catch you at an inconvenient time.”

Jody’s shoulders sagged against the wall. “No. I just unlocked the door and had to run to catch the phone.”

“The funniest thing just happened. I was thinking of calling you and for the life of me, I couldn’t find your number. Then I walked into the kitchen and found it attached to the phone. Heaven only knows how it got there. It seemed fate was telling me to give you a jingle,” Glen said, sounding confused even now. “And to think I caught you just as you walked in the door.”

“I just got back from visiting my mother.”

“I suppose you’ve already had dinner.”

“I’m sorry, Glen, but we ordered Chinese take-out.” He sounded so bewildered that she almost felt sorry for him. “What are you doing, sitting home alone on a Friday night?”

“My best gal turned me down for a date.”

It took Jody a moment to realize he was talking about her, leading her to wonder what excuse she’d given him earlier.

“I was thinking I should suggest a deli sandwich and a couple of sodas for the next time we meet at the copy machine. Larry Williams warned me that you don’t date often.”

Often. The last time she’d gone out with a man, she’d ended up marrying him. Jeff had been persistent too, she remembered, unwilling to take no for an answer. He’d wooed her carefully and when they’d fallen in love, it was the kind of love that was meant to last a lifetime. She might marry again, even give birth to another child, but she’d never stop loving Jeff. This was her vow, to his memory and to the extraordinary love they shared.

“Jody?” Glen said, interrupting her thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I got distracted.”

“I know it’s short notice and all, but how about a movie? I understand there’re several good ones playing. How would you feel about that? I could meet you at the theater if that’d make you more comfortable,” he added, rushing the words together in his eagerness.

So soon. It was happening so fast, much faster than she’d expected. Much too soon, long before she was ready. Then she remembered her mother’s words about placing the love she shared with Jeff in the most tender part of her heart. She didn’t know what to make of Glen finding her number pasted on his telephone.

“A movie,” she repeated. There was a six-plex less than a mile from her house. “Ah, all right.”

“Great,” Glen said, sounding a little like Timmy when she’d given in on something he’d really wanted. “This is just great. I promise you, you won’t be sorry. Just you wait and see.”

Jody wondered if that were possible.

Five

Shirley loved old white churches with tall steeples and huge bells. In the Reverend Lloyd Fischer’s church she felt a certain kinship with this righteous man of God. She was waiting for her two compatriots in the choir loft, which was situated up the winding stairway in the back of the old church. The freshly polished pews gleamed in the moonlight and the scent of lemon oil wafted toward her.

She frowned as she viewed the magnificent old organ. It would take a minor miracle to keep Mercy away from this. The public address system didn’t bear thinking about.

“Shirley?” Goodness arrived first, agitated and impatient, racing up and down the center aisle.

“Up here.”

Goodness joined her, hurling herself over the wooden railing of the choir loft. “Where’s Mercy? She should have been here by now.”

“I’m sure she will be soon.”

No sooner had Shirley spoken than Mercy appeared. “I’m up here. No one bothered to tell me Leah Lundberg’s a night owl.” She sagged into one of the choir chairs and tilted back her head. “I’m bushed. Leah had me running from one end of the shopping mall to the next. After she found her friend an absolutely delightful party dress, she took off on her own and shopped for hours. I didn’t know a single human being possessed so much energy.”

“We’re all learning lessons about earthlings,” Shirley maintained. Her own experiences had been exhausting as well.

“You’re telling me,” Goodness joined in. “All Monica’s done since Chet kissed her is stew in the juices of her self-righteousness. She’s convinced God never intended a good Christian woman to experience desire. I think it must be the first time she was ever kissed, I mean really kissed. I don’t mind telling you, this whole situation has got me plenty worried.”

“You?” Mercy cried, and a look of frustration and bewilderment marked her face. “How am I supposed to help Leah when she crams every spare minute of the day with mindless activity? It isn’t any wonder the woman has no peace. She doesn’t take time to listen to herself, let alone anyone else.”

“This must be a common trait with humans,” Shirley added thoughtfully. “Have you seen Jody’s yard? Why, it’s meticulous. The woman must spend every available minute maintaining those flower beds.”

“I’d hoped to make a real difference in Leah’s life,” Mercy continued, “and now I wonder if that’s possible.”

Shirley surveyed the small group of prayer ambassadors. She was new at this and uncertain herself, but then they were all relatively inexperienced and it made sense that they help each other.

“What about you, Shirley?” Mercy asked, her gaze skittering past the organ and then drifting lazily toward the huge pipes. Shirley could all but see Mercy’s mind feverishly devising ways of getting at that organ.

“As it happens, things are developing nicely with Jody and her son, Timmy,” Shirley said, walking directly in front of the organ, cutting off Mercy’s view. “Jody went out on her first date in years this evening and afterwards Glen asked her out for dinner and she agreed.”

“Glen? Who’s Glen?”

“An attorney. They work for the same law firm. Glen’s hardworking and sincere. From what I was able to learn about him, he’s interested in settling down and starting a family. I’m sure once Timmy meets him everything will fall neatly into place.”

Goodness slapped one disgruntled wing against her side. “I’m going to do my very best to remain angelic here, but it seems to me you received a cushy assignment while Mercy and I are at our wits’ end.”

Mercy chimed in in agreement. “In case you haven’t guessed, Goodness and I are experiencing some minor difficulties.”

“It might help,” Shirley said in gentle, forgiving tones, “if you stayed away from escalators and television screens.”

“You heard?” Goodness ventured.

Shirley nodded. “And so has Gabriel.”

Mercy closed her eyes. “Is he furious?”

“He hasn’t pulled you off the assignment, has he?” Shirley asked. “I heard what you said this afternoon, and you’re right. Gabriel doesn’t have the angel-power to replace you just now and I’m sure all will be forgiven if, and it’s a big if, Mercy is able to help Leah find her peace. Goodness, you’ve got to help Monica find a decent husband.”

“I thought it’d be easier than it is,” Goodness confessed in a small voice.

Mercy joined her friend, sagging defeatedly into a chair. “We could both do with some suggestions. This prayer business is difficult work.”

Goodness agreed with a sharp nod. “Being around humans for any length of time is enough to make any angel go stir-crazy.”

Shirley did a poor job of containing a smile. How well she understood her friends’ frustrations. Most of her career had been spent working with humans. “Just don’t ever volunteer to work as a guardian then,” she suggested. The stories she could tell!

“Can you help us, Shirley?” Mercy asked.

Her friends’ faces were both tired and gloomy, and Shirley didn’t know if she had any words of wisdom to offer them. “I can try. Tell me what’s happening.”

Mercy and Goodness exchanged glances. “You go first,” Goodness suggested.

“I’ve already told you about Leah’s day. I’ve spent most of my time observing her, and frankly, I haven’t gained a lot of insight into her personality. She holds her pain deep inside herself, unwilling to give up even the smallest portion of it, as if it were something of value.”

Shirley thoughtfully mulled over this information. “If that’s the case, it seems to me she must find joy before she finds peace.”

Stubbornly Mercy folded her arms and frowned and her chest lifted with a gigantic sigh. “Gabriel didn’t say anything about joy. All he mentioned was peace. Who exactly does he think I am, St. Peter?”

“Perhaps that was the problem with the other prayer ambassadors. They were looking for shortcuts as well.”

“Oh, all right,” Mercy said ungraciously. “But how am I supposed to teach her about joy? Joy, peace, what’s the difference?”

“What are Leah’s favorite things?”

Mercy frowned. “It’s difficult to tell. She enjoys her home, but she’d gladly relinquish it for the chance to be a mother. While she was with her friend this afternoon, they talked quite a bit about Pam’s kids. A spark shone from Leah as they discussed the children, especially her friend’s three-year-old. I think she said his name was Scotty.”

“Children,” Shirley repeated, her thoughts deep and grave.

“But that’s the crux of the problem, don’t you see,” Mercy said, and the expression in her eyes changed, becoming more intent. “She doesn’t have a child so she holds fast to her disappointment. The child will bring her the true joy, and I doubt that anything else will.”

Goodness had grown especially quiet. “What if you brought a child into her life for a short time, like a weekend or something? You could manage that, couldn’t you?”

“I suppose.” But Mercy didn’t sound overly enthusiastic.

“If she had a taste of deep inner happiness, she might be willing to release a portion of her pain,” Goodness added. “It seems to me what Shirley’s saying is that what Leah really needs isn’t an absence of sorrow, or a feeling of gladness. Earthly joy wouldn’t accomplish your purpose. Leah needs a connection with heaven.”

“Yes,” Shirley shouted with her excitement. She couldn’t have said it better herself. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

“In other words,” Mercy said slowly, thoughtfully, “if Leah would be willing to take hold of a . . . higher level of joy, then she might be willing to release her disappointments and frustrations.”

“Exactly,” Shirley said and Goodness echoed, “Exactly.”

Shirley realized they made it sound simple, but she didn’t envy Mercy her task. It was little wonder so many other prayer ambassadors had been defeated by Leah’s problem.

Mercy stood and was pacing in front of the huge church organ, sending longing looks toward the antique instrument. “Anyone have any other suggestions how I’m supposed to accomplish this?”

Shirley was silent and so was Goodness.

“Don’t worry, I’ll think of something,” she offered brightly. “I always do.”

“Let me tell you what’s going on with Monica,” Goodness said next, looping her legs over the arm of the chair and tilting her head back with a dramatic flair. She sighed and placed the back of her hand against her brow. “She’s enthralled with this . . . this private investigator. The choir director might as well not exist, and Michael’s perfect for her, just perfect.”

“What about Chet?” Mercy asked. “He might not be as bad as you think.”

“He’s not for Monica,” Goodness said firmly, brooking no argument. “I was able to check into his past and believe me, it isn’t a pretty picture. He’s lied, he’s stolen and been in trouble with the law, although he once worked for them. He’s not exactly what I’d call an upstanding prospective husband for a minister’s daughter.”

“Oh, my,” Mercy mumbled.

Shirley mulled over the situation, tapping her fingers against the top of the railing, her thoughts moving in several different directions at once.

“Furthermore,” Goodness added seriously, “he’s egotistical, chauvinistic, and he hasn’t darkened the door of a church in more than ten years. The last time he prayed he was in his early teens.”

“He doesn’t sound like the man for Monica,” Mercy agreed.

Shirley hesitated, then decided she might as well speak her mind. “I don’t think we should be so hasty here. Isn’t your mission to teach Monica to be more flexible and accepting of others? From what I understand she’s caught in a trap of following a list of rules and regulations.”

“Yes, but any lessons I have to teach her don’t include Chet.”

Shirley wasn’t convinced of that. “From what you’ve told me, she views everything as black and white, with little room for compromise.”

“True,” Goodness was willing to admit, “but don’t you see? The two are completely incompatible. Gabriel wanted me to get her feet wet, not throw her off the Freemont Bridge.”

“All I can suggest is that you be patient with Monica.”

“One thing’s in my favor,” Goodness said, sounding encouraged. “They aren’t likely to meet again.”

“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” Mercy said, slipping onto the bench in front of the massive organ.

“Mercy,” Shirley warned, knowing her friend well enough to recognize the movement was anything but casual. The organ was too big a challenge to ignore.

“Don’t worry,” Mercy reassured her, “I’m going to be good.”

Shirley wasn’t the least bit convinced, and she was right. As she winged her way out of the church and back to her charge, a blast of organ music crescendoed into the night. Groaning aloud, Shirley recognized the opening bars from Phantom of the Opera and knew exactly where they’d come from.

“Dinner was lovely,” Jody said, slipping out of the rich velvet booth in the luxurious downtown restaurant. Glen had been a wonderful dinner companion. Although Jody had been nervous when he’d come to pick her up at the house, he’d quickly put her at ease.

“It’s still early,” Glen was saying as he helped her on with her full-length wool coat. “I can take you back to the house, if you want, but I was hoping you’d consider taking a ferry ride with me.”

It had been a year or more since Jody had last been on any of the Washington State ferries. After she’d received the word of Jeff’s death, she’d come down to the waterfront often. She found a peace, a solace here that escaped her otherwise. On more than one occasion she’d whiled away an hour or more riding the ferry, standing on the deck facing the wind, letting it batter her. She’d close her eyes and pretend Jeff was with her. She’d breathe in the scent of sea and salt while the birds screeched overhead. Each time she came away rejuvenated.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked, reluctant for reasons she didn’t care to explain. The ferry ride had been her own private haven, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to share this.

“Anywhere you like. The Bainbridge run is a half hour each way. We could get a caffé latte and look at the city lights. The Bremerton run is an hour each way.”

“All right,” Jody surprised herself by saying. It was easy to be with Glen. He was friendly and undemanding, allowing her to set the course of their evening, deciding even if there was to be a relationship. Jody found the lack of pressure necessary and reassuring.

He kept his hand at her elbow as they walked along the waterfront. The scent of Puget Sound mingled with that of fried fish from the take-out booths was in the crisp night air. The cold nipped at Jody’s cheeks and she buried her hands deep within the silk lining of her coat pockets.

“Here,” Glen said, wrapping the muffler her mother had knit for her around her face, covering her mouth and ears. “I can’t have you catching a chill.”

How thoughtful he was, she noted. This was exactly the type of thing Jeff would have done. Jody forced all thoughts of her dead husband from her mind. It was time to let go, time to put the past behind her and look forward, not back.

Remember Lot’s wife.

Jody didn’t know where the thought came from, it was as if someone had whispered it into her ear. Lot’s wife? Why she would even think of the Biblical character was beyond her. All Jody could remember was that Lot’s wife had turned into a pillar of salt when she fled Sodom and Gomorrah. Against the angels’ command, she’d stopped and looked back.

That was it, Jody realized with a sudden burst of insight. Instead of setting her course for the future, Lot’s wife had looked back over the life that she’d once had. In many ways Jody had been doing the same thing, and in the process she’d become frozen, unable to move forward to whatever awaited her.

They arrived at the ferry terminal minutes before the ferry pulled away from the huge dock, headed toward Bainbridge Island. Holding hands and laughing, Jody and Glen raced through the terminal and onto the ferry, their steps echoing like ricocheting bullets in the stillness of the night.

While Jody found them a table in the small cafeteria section, Glen ordered their caffé lattes. She was lucky enough to find a booth by the window. Surprisingly, there didn’t seem to be many passengers. The majority of the commuters remained in their cars for the short crossing.

“Here we go,” Glen said, slipping into the seat across from her and handing her the thick paper cup.

Jody trained her gaze out of the window, watching the city lights grow smaller as the huge boat effortlessly glided its way across Puget Sound. She lowered her gaze to the hot drink cradled in her hands. The time had come for her to be forthright with Glen.

“You mentioned the other night that you’d learned I don’t date much.”

“That’s the scuttlebutt,” Glen agreed.

“I’m a widow.”

“I know that too, with a nine-year-old son. I was sorry to have missed meeting him.”

“Timmy and my mother went to McDonald’s for dinner. I’m sure he’ll still be awake when we get back.” She didn’t mention that he’d probably give Glen the third degree, asking him about baseball and other sports. To be fair she should warn Glen about her son’s inquisitiveness, but before she could he spoke again.

“No one seems to know much more about you.”

“I . . . generally don’t combine my home life with business.”

“I understand,” Glen was quick to assure her. “If you’d rather not talk about yourself, that’s fine. I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you.”

“You aren’t,” she said, touched by his gentleness and how hard he worked to please her. “It’s only fair that I tell you about Jeff . . . he was my husband.”

“Only if you want,” he said and sipped from his coffee. As he did, Jody noticed what nice hands he had. Large, but gentle. They were the kind of hands that comforted a child, that shook on fair deals, and were rarely clenched in anger.

“I met Jeff shortly after he graduated from college,” Jody continued. “I was going into my junior year and we fell deeply in love. We dated for several months and talked about marriage. The next thing I knew Jeff had sold his car so he could buy me an engagement ring.” She paused as she remembered how she’d wept with joy the night he’d given it to her. For weeks afterward he took a bus to job interviews. “To make a long story short,” she continued when she could, “he got a job with Boeing and shortly after that we were married. Timmy wasn’t a planned pregnancy, but I’ve thanked God for my son every night since I lost Jeff. I . . . I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for Timmy. He . . . he gave me a reason to live.”

She paused, needing a moment to collect herself.

“Jeff’s job entailed a lot of traveling. He was always very good about keeping in touch with me. Timmy was only ten months old when Jeff was sent on assignment to Berlin. We set a convenient time for him to phone me each day. When he didn’t call one evening I knew immediately that something was dreadfully wrong. I tried his hotel room several times, but there wasn’t any answer.”

Her voice wobbled and Glen reached for her hand.

“A week passed with no word. Nothing. I was frantic and so was Jeff’s mother. Together we traveled to Germany. We stayed there nearly a month, in an effort to learn what we could.”

“You mean he just disappeared into thin air?” Glen asked as they pulled into Winslow, the dock on Bainbridge Island. The sound of the cars driving off the ferry was followed by those boarding. The activity in the cafeteria increased.

“It seemed that way. We did everything we could, pulled every string, made a nuisance of ourselves at the police station and the American embassy. The best we could figure then was that Jeff had gone for a walk along the Spree River, which was close to the hotel. There’d been a string of muggings and beatings that year. The only scenario the authorities could give was that Jeff had been the victim of such a crime and either been thrown or had fallen into the river. I toured every hospital in the city. Gloria, Jeff’s mother, did as well. She insisted Jeff was alive, and refused to give up hope.”

“And you?”

“I held on to the belief as well because the alternative didn’t bear thinking about. Soon there was nowhere else for us to look, no one for us to see. We didn’t have anywhere else to turn, and had no choice but to return to the States. Gloria lives on the East Coast and after I returned to Seattle, she continued to pressure the powers that be.”

“Did she learn anything?”

“Nothing . . . but I did.” Those early months had been a living nightmare to Jody. “As much as I believed in Jeff’s love for me and Timmy, I couldn’t help wondering if this disappearance was planned. I know it sounds ridiculous now, but you have to understand my mental state at the time. I . . . had him investigated. If there was another woman in his life, I needed to know about her. I had to find out if this was some kind of cruel hoax.”

“What did you learn?”

Jody focused her gaze on the caffé latte. “Very little. The only remote possibility came from a background check, and I discovered Jeff had been approached by a government agency, the CIA, I believe—one of those—while he was in college. He turned down the offer. My father had a good friend in government who did some discreet checking and they reported back that what I’d found out was true. Jeff had been recruited, but declined, and that was the end of it.”

“How’d you manage to live?”

“It wasn’t easy because I wasn’t working at the time. Within a few months my finances were a nightmare. My parents helped me out as much as they could, but I didn’t want to live off their generosity. I couldn’t. Jeff had disappeared, but because there wasn’t a body I couldn’t collect his insurance or any of the other benefits that would normally be available to a widow. Somehow I managed to hold on for nine months, with the help of my family and a few good friends. Eventually I was forced into filing for a divorce in order to sell some property. That gave me income to return to school and live on until I could get a job.”

“They never found a body?”

Jody looked out the window, the night was inky and thick, and her heart felt more so. “Yes, eventually they did, but it took nearly three years.”

“My God, what happened?”

A tingling sensation roved up and down her spine even now, after all this time. “I . . . received word from the German police that they’d found a body caught in the cable beneath a bridge. They believed it was Jeff. They needed me to provide dental X rays and claim the body.”

“It must have come as a terrible shock.”

Jody managed a nod. “It was. As best the authorities could figure, Jeff was mugged, beaten, and knocked into the river and left for dead. The body was so badly decomposed that there wasn’t any real way of telling us much more than that. The news came at a bad time. Timmy had the chicken pox and I don’t think I could have borne returning to Germany. Those weeks in Berlin three years earlier had been the most painful of my life. I thought to ask Jeff’s mother to go, but she was always a bit eccentric and after Jeff’s death she became more so.”

“How do you mean?”

“She continually insisted Jeff was alive and was furious with me when I divorced him. Our relationship was strained afterwards. She claimed she’d talked to spirits in a séance, and Jeff had sent a message to her. He wanted Gloria to tell me how terribly disappointed he was in me because I’d divorced him. I didn’t talk to her much after that.”

“She insisted he was alive and that she’d been able to talk to him in a séance? It sounds like she had a rough time of it.”

“She has. I don’t know that she’ll ever fully recover.” Then again, Jody didn’t know if she would either. “My father, bless his heart, volunteered to make the trip. The dental X rays matched and that’s the end of it. That was nearly five years ago now. Jeff’s been gone a total of eight years.”

“I’m sorry, Jody, I really am. Jeff must have loved you and Timmy very much.”

“I know he did. I get angry with myself that I doubted him even for that little bit.”

“Anyone would have.” Glen took their empty cups and deposited them in the garbage. He slipped into the seat and seemed unnaturally quiet. “I don’t pretend to understand the grief you experienced, but I was in a relationship that lasted for three years. Breaking it off was one of the most emotionally difficult times of my life.”

“Would you think I was prying if I asked you what went wrong?”

His mouth moved into a half smile. “Not at all. You were frank with me and deserve the same consideration. I loved Maryann and wanted to marry her, but she’s a successful attorney and, well, I’ll simplify it by explaining that her career is more important to her than marriage. Somehow or another we got involved in a game of ultimatums. I wanted a wife and children. Maryann claimed she wasn’t ready for either. In the end she suggested a compromise. She thought it was a good idea for us to move in together. I wasn’t willing to fall into that trap, and that was more or less the end of it.”

“You still love her, don’t you?”

Glen lowered his gaze. “I think it’s very much like you and Jeff, I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving her. It’s been several months now and nothing’s going to change. I’ve accepted that and apparently so has she. We still bump into each other in court occasionally, and it’s awkward, but there’s nothing left for either of us to say.”

“Then it doesn’t bother you that I have a child?”

Glen straightened in his seat. “Bother me? I consider your son a bonus.”

“Don’t say that until you meet him. He’s quite a character.”

“I’m looking forward to doing exactly that.”

They were nearing the Seattle dock and Glen stood, eager for them to be on their way. He glanced at the gold watch on his wrist. “You think Timmy might still be awake?”

Jody laughed and nodded. “I’m sure of it. He’s anxious to meet you too and please don’t hold it against me if he asks you a lot of personal questions.”

“Does Timmy like sports?”

“He loves them. According to his coach, he’s going to be a dynamite pitcher someday.”

“Really.” Glen actually beamed. “I was the pitcher for our high school team.”

“You were?” This was like a match made in heaven. Almost too good to be true. “If you mention that to my son, he’ll be your friend for life.”

Their pace was fast as they headed toward the car. Glen’s hand was at Jody’s elbow and although they were walking up a steep hill, it didn’t seem to thwart their enthusiasm.

As Jody suspected, Timmy was dressed in his pajamas waiting for her return. The instant he heard the front door open, he raced from the family room like pistons firing awake an engine. He stopped abruptly in front of Glen and threw back his head to look up at him.

“How tall are you?”

“Six-two. Is that tall enough?” Glen asked, crouching down so that they met eye to eye.

“That depends.”

“Timmy, where are your manners?” Jody reminded her son.

“I’ve got to check him out, don’t I?”

“Let me introduce you before you bombard him with questions,” she said.

Timmy held out his hand. “I’m Timothy Jeffery Potter.”

Glen stuck out his much larger hand. “Glen Francis Richardson, but don’t tell anyone my middle name’s Francis, all right?” The two exchanged enthusiastic handshakes.

“I won’t tell a soul.” Timmy spit on his two fingers and crossed his heart. “I promise and you can zap me with a laser gun if you find out that I have.”

Just then Helen Chandler came out of the family room, which was situated off the kitchen, and Jody made the introductions. “If you don’t mind, I’m heading home. My favorite television program’s about to start and I don’t want to miss it.”

“I’ll see you to the door,” Jody said. She needn’t have worried about Glen. Timmy led him back into the family room, insisting that he show Glen his baseball card collection. At this rate her dinner date would be there for hours.

“How’d it go?” her mother whispered loud enough to be heard into the next county and certainly the family room.

“Very well,” Jody said, opening the door. She didn’t want to stand in the doorway and carry on a conversation when it was likely Glen could hear every word they were saying.

“Do you like him?”

“Mother.”

“Well, do you?” Helen pressed.

“Yes.”

Her mother threw back her head and shocked Jody out of five years of her life by shouting, “Hallelujah!”

“Mom,” Timmy called from the other room. “Are you coming? Did you know Glen has a signed Ken Griffey, Jr. baseball card?”

“I have to go,” Jody said, grateful to her son for the convenient excuse. This was neither the time nor the place for this intimate conversation with her mother. “I promise I’ll call you after church tomorrow morning.”

“Mom,” Timmy shouted again, “can Glen go to church with us?”

“Ah . . .” Jody glanced from her mother to the other room, not knowing which way to turn.

“Go and talk to Glen and Timmy. We can chat later.” Before Jody could turn away, her mother impulsively reached for her and hugged her. “Everything’s going to be just fine. I can feel it. I’ve waited a good long time for this,” she said and kissed Jody on the cheek with a loud smack.

“Mom.” Timmy raced into the room and grabbed her by the hand, dragging her into the other room. “If Glen comes to church with us, you’ll cook breakfast for him, won’t you? Make something really good, though, okay, because I told him you’re a really fabulous cook.” He lowered his voice substantially, to a soft whisper. “Just don’t serve that liver sausage stuff you did at Christmas, it was yucky.”

“All right, all right,” Jody said, walking into the room. It amazed her how easily Timmy had accepted Glen. Her eyes met Glen’s and he smiled at her. “You’ve got yourself quite a son, Jody. He’s everything you said and more.”

“I like Glen, too,” Timmy announced. “I bet he’d make me a great dad.”

Six

“You’re up bright and early,” Lloyd Fischer said when Monica came down the stairs early Sunday morning. It was still pitch dark and although Monica had tried countless times, she hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, Chet Costello drifted, unbidden and unwelcome, into her thoughts, planting himself in her mind and refusing to go away.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Monica was scheduled to sing with the choir that afternoon in downtown Seattle. She’d be near the Westlake Mall, where she’d first met Chet. The tantalizing threat of bumping into him a third time had plagued her like an overdue mortgage payment.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Monica mumbled, helping herself to a cup of coffee. She kept her back to her father, letting him know she wasn’t interested in conversation. She didn’t mean to be rude, but she didn’t feel up to her usual cheerful chatter.

Her father generally woke around four on Sunday mornings, enthusiastic and eager to review his sermon and make any last-minute changes. He was the first one at the church, turning on the furnace so the building would be warm when the congregation arrived. He was a gentle spirit, her father, a man who brought joy to God’s heart. His tendency to look at the bright side of an issue was often a source of contention between them, but it was a minor fault.

One of them had to maintain a realistic outlook on life and it was the role she’d chosen. Because of this, others tended to view her in a less than favorable light. Her father, on the other hand, was loved by all. He was a good shepherd to his flock, sensitive and gentle, steering them toward a deeper understanding of God’s word.

Monica sluggishly stirred a teaspoon of sugar into the coffee. She wasn’t looking forward to the outing with the choir, and had toyed with the idea of digging up a plausible excuse not to go. Knowing it would have caused a hardship for the others was her only hesitation.

No, she corrected, striving for honesty, that wasn’t entirely true.

Some small, dark part of herself hungered to see Chet again. It pained and troubled her to admit that. The man had taken advantage of her, threatened her, and then, against her will, had blatantly kissed her. The mere thought of their last encounter brought a flash of heated color to her cheeks.

It mortified her to recall the way she’d responded to him, the way she encouraged his advance, the way her body had reacted to his. No decent woman would feel the things she had, Monica was convinced of that. Patrick had kissed her several times early on in their relationship, and what she’d experienced with him had been a small spark of tenderness. When Chet had kissed her, she’d felt as if she were standing in the middle of a forest fire.

“Are you feeling all right?” her father asked, studying her closely as she sat down at the kitchen table across from him.

Now was the perfect time to say she wasn’t up to par. That was all she need do. Her father would be the one to suggest she not participate in the choir’s performance that afternoon. Naturally she’d put up a token fuss, but he’d be adamant, insisting her health was more important, and the choir could make do without her.

“I’m fine, Dad,” she murmured. She braced her elbows against the edge of the table and sipped from the thick ceramic cup, wondering what it was about Chet that caused her to be so weak-willed. It was unlikely that she would run into him, although, as luck would have it—not that she believed in such matters—she’d encountered Chet twice now within the same week.

Her father left and returned to the kitchen a moment later, dressed in his thick winter coat. He wrapped a wool scarf around his neck, slipped his hands into leather gloves, and announced, “I’m going over to the church.”

She acknowledged him with a nod, grateful she’d be alone for the next several minutes. Instead of worrying about the possibility of seeing Chet, she should be praying for him. The man was clearly in need of divine intervention. One look at him told her everything she needed to know about his shabby life and immoral habits. Their all-too-brief conversations had reinforced her suspicions. He was cynical, irrational, stubborn, and only heaven knew what else.

“Then why won’t he leave me alone?” she asked out loud, surprising herself with the shrill sound of her own voice.

She leaped from her chair and paced the compact kitchen. Absorbed in her thoughts, Monica continued walking about the room, circling the wooden table a number of times. She’d prayed long and hard for God to send a man into her life, but she hadn’t asked how she was supposed to recognize him.

How she wished her mother were alive. Esther Fischer had always seemed to know what to do even in the most awkward of situations.

Her father looked surprised to see her when he returned fifteen minutes later. His nose was red and his cheeks bright with color from the short walk from the church to the parsonage.

“It’s a beautiful morning,” he announced cheerfully, removing his gloves, one finger at a time.

It could be blizzard conditions and her father would say the same thing. Sundays were beautiful to him no matter what the weather, because he was leading his flock in worship.

“Dad,” Monica said, walking over to the refrigerator and taking out a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. She set them on the counter and then purposely turned around to face him. “When you met Mom, how did you feel? I mean, did you have an inkling that this was the woman you’d eventually love and marry?”

If her father thought her question was out of the ordinary, he gave no indication. “I saw your mother for the first time in church.”

“I know.” She loved the story of how her parents had met while in the college-age Sunday school class. Her mother’s family had recently moved into the area and Esther had felt shy and awkward that first Sunday.

Her father had been captivated by the beautiful young woman and had wanted to claim the empty seat beside her. Unfortunately several of the other young men had shared the same idea. While they were arguing about it, Esther had quietly stood and moved over to the chair and sat next to Lloyd. It wasn’t a wildly romantic story, but Monica had enjoyed hearing it again and again as a young girl. It had deeply impressed her that her mother, although she was only nineteen at the time, had the presence of mind to choose such a wonderful man as Monica’s father.

Monica doubted that she had such finely tuned discrimination herself, and after meeting Chet she was convinced of it.

“Did I know that first Sunday I was going to love your mother?” her father repeated her question slowly, his look thoughtful. “It’s funny you should ask about her. I was just thinking about her myself and how she loved cold, crisp mornings such as this.”

“How soon after you met did you realize you were going to love her?” Monica pressed, anxious now.

Her father poured himself a fresh cup of coffee. “It would sound romantic if I said I did that first Sunday, wouldn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, I was attracted to Esther from the moment I laid eyes on her. Any young man with a lick of sense would have been. She was lovely then and more so as the years progressed.”

“You dated for several years, didn’t you?”

“Yes, those were difficult times. We weren’t married until four years later, after I’d completed seminary.”

“I know that. What I want to know is when you realized you were in love with her.”

He sat down at the table and rubbed his hand over his face.

Monica laughed. “It shouldn’t be this hard, Daddy.”

He nodded, his dark eyes intense. “I was trying to think back and it’s been more years than I care to count. As best as I can remember, falling in love was a gradual process for me. Your mother and I saw a good deal of one another and I always enjoyed her company. It just seemed to me that she’d make a good pastor’s wife and so I asked her to marry me.”

“I see.” Monica didn’t bother to hide her disappointment. She’d been looking for something that hadn’t been there. Her parents, while deeply in love, hadn’t shared any great passion for each other. To the best of her memory she couldn’t remember them doing more than holding hands in public.

Her disappointment must have shown because her father looked at her and asked, “This troubles you?”

“Oh, no. I . . . I was just wondering, is all. It isn’t important.” Only it was.

Even when they were young and in love her parents had been sensible and prudent when it came to choosing their life’s partners. There hadn’t been any explosion of—she hated to even say the word—passion between them. They’d drifted into marriage as a natural conclusion to a long-standing relationship.

It was the way her romance had started with Patrick, but their relationship had fizzled out and died without Monica even realizing what had happened. What she’d hoped to hear had been a confirmation of the feelings she’d experienced since meeting Chet. Not that she’d ever consider marrying anyone like him.

“I deeply loved your mother.”

“I know that, Dad.”

“I understand you’re impatient to be a wife yourself, and all I can say is that God will bring a man into your life in His own time.”

Monica nodded and, returning to the stove, placed an iron skillet on the stove. “I’m in no rush,” she said, and even as she spoke, Monica knew that wasn’t true.

“Remember what happened when Sarah decided to take matters into her own hands by giving Abraham her servant girl?”

“I remember.”

“Don’t make this a do-it-yourself project.”

Monica laughed. “I won’t.”

Her father was silent for a moment, then asked, “Michael’s certainly a nice-looking young man, don’t you think?”

Monica resisted the urge to laugh outright. Her father couldn’t have been less subtle. The choir director was a couple of years younger than Monica, not that it mattered. He was reserved and quiet, and frankly, she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life with him. She liked Michael, and appreciated his efforts with the choir, but when she looked at him there wasn’t any spark, any sizzling attraction. She felt nothing.

How she wished she could say the same for Chet. What she felt for him had to be immoral. It was immoral. Only that morning when she was trying desperately to sleep, her thoughts had been full of Chet and the kiss they’d shared. The mere memory had turned her body into a traitor. Monica was convinced those feelings were ones godly women were never meant to experience.

“Ah, yes,” her father continued, blithely unaware of the route her unruly thoughts had taken. “Michael would make you a good husband. I’m an old man, and I don’t know much about romance, but my guess is that he’d very much like to get to know you better.”

“He’s a good man,” Monica agreed, unwilling to say anything more.

“You could do far worse.”

Her father hadn’t a clue how true those words were. He approved of Michael, but she had no doubts of what the good reverend would think should she introduce him to Chet. Monica could well imagine the look of alarm that would come into his eyes. Naturally, he’d be gentle with his concern, but his response would be impossible to conceal.

After she’d finished frying the bacon and eggs, Monica set the plate on the table and said, “I’m going upstairs to change.”

Her father tossed a surprised look her way. “You’re not eating?”

She shook her head.

“You’re sure you’re feeling all right?”

At the moment Monica wasn’t sure of anything.

“Come sit with me,” Andrew invited. Leah’s husband was relaxing on the white leather sofa, his feet stretched out and propped against the end of the glass coffee table. He set aside the morning paper and held out his arms coaxingly to her.

“I was going to wash the breakfast dishes,” Leah said, and hesitated.

“Do them later.”

“Andrew!” Her husband had the look about him that was unmistakable. He wanted her the way a man wants his wife and he wasn’t willing to wait much longer.

“Yes?” she asked, poising her hand against her hip and shifting her weight to one foot. “It’s barely ten o’clock in the morning.” She didn’t know why she was making excuses, she was as eager for him as he was for her. This was a good time of the month as well, her temperature would confirm that, but she hadn’t taken it yet that morning.

“So? Who cares about the time?” he asked, holding his arm out to her. “Does the clock have to chime a certain number of times before I’m allowed to make love to my wife?”

“No.” She walked toward him, her steps slow and provocative. When she was close, Andrew gripped hold of her waist, and gently lowered her onto his lap.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are lately?”

Leah smiled and shook her head. “Not since yesterday morning.”

His hands stroked the length of her arms, his touch light and gentle. “Then I need to make up for lost time, don’t I?”

“By all that’s right, you should do penance.”

“Oh?”

She looped her arms around his neck and pressed her forehead to his. Andrew’s hands were busily working open the fastenings of her robe. After ten years of married life, Leah’s body was well acquainted with that of her husband’s. He was hard and eager, but she couldn’t allow them to become so caught up in the urgency of the moment.

His hand found her breast and her heart began to pound, hard and steady. He kissed her neck, and she closed her eyes, sighing softly when his tongue explored the throbbing hollow, working his way upward over her chin toward her lips.

Their kiss was slow, sultry, and thorough. She was breathless and panting by the time Andrew dragged his mouth from hers.

“You taste good.”

“So do you,” she whispered, her eyes closed.

His hands left her breasts and eased aside the elastic of the silk bottoms of her pajamas to stroke her flat stomach sensuously.

Andrew groaned as she moved against him, and kissed her again and then again, each one growing more intense in length and need.

“You know what I want?” he whispered hoarsely close to her ear, panting.

“You haven’t made any effort to disguise it.” Her hand went on a mission of its own, worming its way between the folds of his pajama bottoms. His abdomen tightened when she encountered his skin.

“Leah,” he warned.

She found her goal, not that there was any attempt to hide his desire from her. Her fingers closed around his engorged manhood. Andrew groaned and caught her by her shoulders, pushing her back onto the leather couch. Her pajama bottoms were stripped from her before she had a chance to catch her breath.

“Stop, Andrew,” she whispered, caught in the urgency of his need, and struggling against her own. She braced her hands against his shoulders to maintain the distance between them.

“Stop?” He looked down on her as if in a daze, then shook his head as though he needed to clear it. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Let’s go in the bedroom.”

“Why?” He kissed her neck and his hands sought her breasts. “You’re my wife, I can make love to you any place I damn well please, can’t I?”

“I should take my temperature first. This might not be the best time of the month for us to be doing this. If we’re going to make love let’s do it when there’s a chance I could get pregnant.”

The silence that followed her words was filled with tension. Leah didn’t know what she’d said that was so terrible. Their lovemaking had always been arranged according to her menstrual cycle and her temperature, which signaled ovulation.

“Andrew?” she asked, not understanding.

He moved away from her and straightened his clothes. She noticed that his hands were shaking. The anger came off him in waves like heat shimmering off concrete in the hottest days of summer.

“It’ll only take a moment,” she promised.

He kept his back to her. Still not understanding what she’d said, Monica sat up herself and straightened her own pajamas.

“It . . . it only makes sense if we’re going to make love to do it at a time when I could get pregnant.”

At her words, Andrew vaulted off the sofa and stormed into their bedroom. It was rare for him to act this way and she instinctively followed, wanting to right the wrong.

“Don’t you agree?” she asked softly, placing her hand on his arm.

He whirled on her then, eyes flashing with anger, his teeth clenched. “No, Leah, I don’t agree.”

The force of his anger took her by surprise and she gasped and automatically stepped away from him. She couldn’t remember him ever looking at her this way.

“I . . . I assumed you want a baby too,” she offered weakly.

“I do.” The words were hurled at her like sharp knives. “But not at the expense of everything else. It might come as a shock to you, but I’d appreciate being treated more like a husband and less like a robot. Every time we make love, all you can think about is making a baby. Did you ever stop to consider why we make love less and less often? Have you?” he shouted.

Leah had backed all the way across the room. Her backside was flattened against the wall. “I . . . I didn’t notice we made love less often.”

“For the last seven years it’s been sex on demand. Our entire love life is centered on what time of the month it is. If Mars is lined up with Jupiter or some such stuff.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, wanting to defend herself.

“My thoughts exactly. We make love when you want, when you think there’s a remote possibility you might become pregnant. It isn’t love any longer, it’s sex, and if that was all I wanted, I could get it on the street.”

Leah felt the color drain from her face. “You . . . you don’t mean that.” It was a fear she’d lived with from the moment she realized she might never bear a child, that Andrew would eventually leave her. That he’d find another woman who could give him the family he wanted.

He tore out of his pajamas, dressing quickly. “I can’t remember the last time we made love,” he said, jerking a shirt from the closet. The hanger swung with the force of his action. “Really made love,” he amended. “It isn’t me you want, it’s what I can give you, and if I can’t, then I’m no use to you.”

“That’s not true.”

Andrew didn’t answer. He yanked on a pair of pants, then sat on the end of the mattress to pull on his socks and shoes. His shirt wasn’t buttoned as he stalked past her, toward the door.

“Where are you going?” Leah asked, running after him. Tears blurred her eyes and it was difficult to speak normally.

“Out.”

“Andrew,” she cried, “please wait.”

His hand was on the door, his back to her.

“Don’t go. You’re right. I’m sorry, so sorry. Please.”

His shoulders rose and then relaxed. For the longest time he didn’t move. She wasn’t entirely sure he was breathing—she knew she wasn’t. The only sound in the room was her soft whimper as she struggled not to weep.

“I won’t be gone long,” he said, opening the door and walking out.

Leah flinched when the door closed, the sound exploding in the otherwise quiet room. She pressed a hand to her flat stomach and for a moment she thought she was going to be physically sick.

How long she stood there, paralyzed with pain, she didn’t know. She couldn’t guess. After a while she turned and headed for their bedroom. Slumping onto the edge of her mattress, she opened the drawer of her night stand, reached for the temperature chart she faithfully kept, and the thermometer. Staring at them, her eyes filled with tears. After a moment, she walked into the kitchen. Her feet felt heavy and made small scuffing sounds against the floor as she listlessly made her way across the other room.

She opened the garbage compactor and tossed both inside. Along with the spiral pad and the temperature gauge, Leah felt as if she were throwing away her dreams.

It took her a moment to compose herself before she drew in a deep, stabilizing breath and reached for a dirty plate from their breakfast. She rinsed it off and blindly stacked it into the dishwasher.

Chet wasn’t anywhere in the audience, at least not where Monica could see him. Relief swept through her as she looked out over the crowd of Christmas shoppers from her stance on the top riser. She hadn’t approved of this Sunday afternoon outing. To her way of thinking a performance on Sunday wasn’t proper for Christians. The way she interpreted the Bible, the Sabbath was a day of rest. Those who opted to spend their time shopping were breaking the observance of the Lord’s day. She’d tried to reason with her father and Michael when they’d first planned this performance weeks earlier, but her objection had been overridden. Her father had claimed their singing was a way of spreading the message of love and joy. As usual, Monica had no argument.

Now she was pleased it had been overridden because it gave her an opportunity to see Chet again—if she did. It didn’t feel good to admit that, but Monica was tired of fooling herself. She needed to see him again, just once more, to banish him from her mind, to prove there could never be anything between them.

The performance went well, although Monica was preoccupied searching the sea of faces for Chet’s. No doubt he was entertaining himself in the Blue Goose, the bar he chose to frequent. It would serve him right if she walked right in there and demanded to talk to him. She could embarrass him the way he had her.

Sneaking away from the others, however, proved to be more difficult than she anticipated.

“Are you coming?” Michael asked her. He was tall and so thin the first thing she thought of whenever they met was that someone should feed him.

Monica looked up at him, her mind a blank. She hadn’t been listening to the conversation and hadn’t a clue what he was talking about.

“To Sherry’s,” he elaborated when she didn’t respond right away. “She’s invited the ensemble over for hot cider and cookies.”

“I . . .” Her gaze darted to the Blue Goose. “I have an errand to run first, but I’ll be there shortly.”

“An errand,” Michael repeated. “Downtown?”

She said in a no-nonsense tone, grateful he didn’t quiz her about what she was doing, especially in light of her earlier protests about abusing the Lord’s day, “I won’t be long . . . you go on ahead with the others. I’ll be at Sherry’s within the hour.”

“You mean you aren’t going back with everyone else?”

The man seemed to have a comprehension problem. “Yes,” she said forcefully. “I already explained I have an errand I need to run.” Then feeling mildly guilty for the outburst, she added, “I won’t be long.”

“Perhaps we should wait for you.”

“No,” she said quickly. She could well imagine what the others would think if they saw her walking into a tavern. “I appreciate the offer, but that isn’t necessary.”

Michael looked as if he weren’t sure what he should do, which only served to irritate her further. “Perhaps I should stay with you.”

“Michael, please, that isn’t necessary.” The man seemed intent on thwarting her, which aggravated her so much she was barely civil. “I’ll see you within the hour.” Not waiting for any further arguments, she turned and abruptly walked across the street to the Westlake Mall.

The crowds were thick and the moment she was free to leave, she escaped the shopping mall and hurried across the street. Making certain none of the other choir members had lingered, she walked purposefully toward the Blue Goose.

Her hand was on the door when she realized what she was doing. She was willing to walk into an establishment that practiced iniquity in the lowest form, in order to locate Chet. A man who’d plagued her thoughts from the moment they’d met. Something was dreadfully wrong with her.

She turned, practically running in her eagerness to escape, stopping only when she came to the street. She felt someone move behind her.

“I thought as much. You were looking for me, weren’t you?”

There could be no mistaking the voice. It belonged to Chet Costello.

Seven

It must have taken Jody forty-five minutes to persuade Timmy to go to bed, and then only after Glen agreed to help her tuck him in.

“I’m not tired,” Timmy insisted as Jody pulled back the sheets of his twin bed. “I want to talk to Glen.”

“About what?” Jody knew the instant the words escaped her lips that she’d walked right into that with both feet.

“All kinds of stuff. I need to know what kind of dad he’s going to be. After all, God sent him, didn’t He?”

A gigantic hole for her to fall in would have been welcome just then. Her son had a knack of knowing exactly what to say that would embarrass her the most. “Timmy, please.”

“I don’t really need to be tucked in,” Timmy told Glen, sounding mature for his years. “I just wanted to show you my stuff.” Something that he’d spent every available moment doing since Glen had arrived. Timmy had dragged out his baseball mitt and bat and his beloved baseball card collection for Glen to inspect. The poor man hadn’t had a moment’s peace in over an hour.

“Good night, Tim,” Jody said sternly, standing in the doorway, her hand on the light switch.

“ ‘Night, Mom. ‘Night, Glen.”

Jody felt as though her cheeks were red enough to guide ships lost in the fog. She barely knew Glen and already her son was announcing what a great father he’d make. There was no help for it, she was forced to explain.

“I’ll get you that coffee now,” she said, leading the way into the compact kitchen and reaching for a mug. Her back ached from holding it so straight and stiff. She didn’t know how she could possibly explain. “I apologize for what Timmy said earlier.”

“About what?”

“You know, about you making him a great father. He’s at the age now where he misses a man in his life.”

“I imagine his friends talk about their dads.”

Jody nodded. “Recently Timmy wrote a letter in school to God asking for a father. Apparently he looks at you as the answer to his prayer because . . . well, because you’re the first man I’ve dated in a long while and . . .”

“That explains the comment about God sending me,” Glen said as he carried the two steaming coffee mugs to the table.

“I suppose.” Jody reluctantly admitted that much. “I didn’t want you to feel pressure because of what he’d said and I certainly didn’t want you to think that . . . that I’d put him up to it.”

“I didn’t.” Glen sat down and crossed his legs, relaxing against the chair. He appeared more amused than concerned. “He’s a wonderful boy. You’ve done a good job raising him.”

“Thank you.” His words made her proud, but at the same time she realized that she’d failed her son in some way, otherwise she would have recognized his need for a man in his life. Her father had served that purpose for Timmy until his death and the void had been deeply felt by her young son.

“I’m honored that Timmy thinks I’m good father material,” Glen added between sips of coffee.

“It helped that you had a signed Ken Griffey, Jr. baseball card,” Jody teased, then grew serious. “I thought I should explain why Timmy’s so eager for us to get to know each other better.”

The lines that fanned out from Glen’s eyes relaxed as he set aside his mug and reached for her hand. “I’m just as eager to know you and Timmy better, but I’m an adult and it wouldn’t be considered cool to let it show. I realize we’ve only been acquainted a short while, and it’s much too soon to be thinking along the lines Timmy is, but . . .” He hesitated and his eyes studied hers, his look intense. He seemed to be weighing his words carefully, then shrugged and added, “Oh, what the hell, you can think what you want, but I like you, Jody, I like you a lot, and I think Timmy’s a great kid. I haven’t made it a secret that I’m strongly attracted to you.

“As far as I’m concerned the fact that you have a son who’s looking for a father is an added bonus. I want a family, and have for some time. I’d be pleased if we both started thinking along those lines.

“There, I’ve said it and I’ve probably shocked you, but we’re both mature adults, capable of handling the truth, don’t you think?”

Jody didn’t know what to say. She felt overwhelmed and apprehensive. She stood abruptly, nearly toppling her chair in her haste. “I’m flattered, really flattered, but . . . it’s too soon, much too soon for us to be thinking along those lines.”

“Of course it is,” Glen agreed patiently. “I’m sorry, Jody, I didn’t mean to upset you. You’re right, of course, I got caught up in Timmy’s enthusiasm. Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Glen hadn’t done anything more than sample his coffee, but he stood and carried the mug to the sink. “I should be going.”

Jody nodded, but immediately felt guilty. Glen looked a little like Timmy after she’d had to tell him no when it was something he really wanted.

“Would you be willing to see me again, or have I completely terrified you?” he asked when he reached the front door.

Jody couldn’t see how she could refuse. “I’d enjoy going out with you again.”

The defeated puppy-dog look was replaced with a wide smile. “I’ll give you a call some time tomorrow, then.”

“That’d be fine.”

Glen opened the door and paused. “Would you be willing to see me if it weren’t for Timmy?”

Jody laughed softly. “Probably.”

She was rewarded with another warm grin that lit up his eyes. He took a small step toward her and then stopped abruptly and exhaled a long, deep breath. “I’d very much like to kiss you, but I’m afraid that might be pushing matters. We’ll do this your way, Jody. I’m a patient man, especially when the prize is one of such value. Good night and thank you for one of the most enjoyable evenings of my life.”

“ ‘Night.” She stood at the door and waited until he’d reached his car. Once he pulled away, his headlights illuminating the dark street, Jody closed the door and leaned against the heavy wood.

Glen had nice eyes, she decided. The eyes of a man she could trust, who wouldn’t rush her into something she wasn’t ready for. The eyes of a man who was well acquainted with pain and disappointment himself.

After a few moments she walked over to the mantel in the family room where Jeff’s picture rested. She stared at his familiar features, the features she loved so dearly. Even after all these years, he had the power to stir her.

Reaching out, she traced her fingers over the outline of his jaw, waiting for the swell of emotion that generally accompanied such moments. To her surprise none came. Not guilt. Nor doubt. Jeff smiled benignly out at her and perhaps it was her imagination, she was sure it must be, but he seemed to approve of Glen, approve of the job she’d done raising Timmy. It seemed he was telling her that even in death he would always love her.

Leah heard the door shut. Andrew had returned after being away most of the day. She closed her eyes, and took a moment to compose herself before she faced her husband. He was right and she knew it. Having a child had become an obsession with her, so much so that she was systematically destroying the most important relationship in her life.

Stepping out of the kitchen, she watched as Andrew sat down in front of the television and reached for the remote control.

“I . . . I thought that must be you,” she said, which sounded silly since it couldn’t have been anyone else.

“As you can see, it’s me.” His words were as stark and cold as they had been earlier. It wasn’t a good sign.

“Can we talk?” she asked, tentatively stepping into the room.

“I don’t know that there’s anything more to say.”

The fact that they were having this conversation with his back to her said far more than any words they might have spoken.

“I’m sorry, Andrew,” she whispered, struggling not to break into tears. She hated any kind of discord between them. They’d always been so close, she didn’t think anything could destroy their love. She feared now that she might be wrong.

“You’ve already apologized, you don’t need to do it again.” The newsclips from the game between the Seattle Seahawks and the San Diego Chargers were playing and the noise of the game filled the room.

Leah, who was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, wiped her hands against her thighs. “I was hoping we could talk,” she said, lowering herself onto the far side of the sofa across from him.

“Leah, listen,” Andrew said sharply, “I’m not good company at the moment. If we’re going to talk it should be when we’re both in the right frame of mind.”

She could never remember Andrew being like this. They rarely disagreed and when they did, both were eager to resolve their differences.

“When do you think you’ll be in the right frame of mind?” she asked, swallowing her pride.

“I don’t know. I just need some time to put my thoughts together. I probably shouldn’t have come back to the house, but it’s damn cold and I wasn’t keen about spending the rest of the day and evening sitting in my car.”

“Of course you should have come back here. I’m glad you did. Do you want me to get you a cup of coffee? Some dinner?”

He shook his head. “What I’d appreciate more than anything is some time to myself.”

“Sure,” she said, scooting off the leather sofa, “whatever you want. Take all the time you need. I was thinking of going out anyway.”

He acknowledged her with an abrupt nod and continued to stare at the television screen. “That sounds like a good idea.”

So he wanted her to leave, was willing for her to go. Leah hadn’t realized how deeply she’d injured Andrew’s pride or how she’d weakened the foundation of their marriage. It came as a painful shock.

He didn’t say anything more to her when she left. Leah went about gathering her coat and purse as if she were going on an outing she’d looked forward to for weeks. Humming softly she called out cheerfully, “I won’t be late.”

Not knowing where to go, Leah drove around for an hour before heading toward Pam’s house. Her college friend knew there was something wrong the minute she opened the door. Not that Leah would have been able to hide it.

“Leah,” Pam said, alarm filling her eyes. “What happened?”

Unable to speak, Leah shook her head from side to side.

“Come inside. I’m sure it’s nothing a long talk and a strong cup of tea can’t help.”

This was what Leah loved about Pam—the ability to solve any problem with a cup of tea and a stiff upper lip. Now that she was here, she wasn’t keen on talking. What she really needed was a friend, not a counselor.

“It’s not all that bad,” Leah said, making light of her troubles as she followed Pam into the kitchen. The sink was stacked with dirty dishes and the cupboards were smeared with miniature fingerprints, a stark contrast to her own spotless kitchen.

“Auntie Leah?” Scotty raced into the kitchen, clutching his stuffed dinosaur, the one she’d given him for his birthday a month earlier.

“Scotty, you’re supposed to be asleep!” Pam said, hands on her hips.

Leah scooped the three-year-old into her arms and hugged him close while he pressed happy kisses over her face. He was a sweet boy with deep blue eyes and a froth of unmanageable curls and Leah loved him as much as if he were her own.

“How’s my darling?” she asked, setting him on the countertop and brushing the curls away from his forehead.

“Look!” he said, proudly holding up his thumb.

“It’s dry,” Pam explained. “Scotty has given up sucking his thumb, isn’t that right?”

Scotty nodded eagerly and Leah carried him back into the bedroom he shared with his younger brother. Thirteen-month-old Jason was sound asleep, his knees tucked under his stomach, his small buttocks thrust into the air.

“Shhh,” Scotty said in a loud whisper as Leah set him back in his bed, after maneuvering around a stack of plastic building blocks and several wooden puzzles. Pieces were scattered all about the area.

“I’m very proud of you for not sucking your thumb,” she whispered.

Scotty beamed with the praise. She kissed his forehead and tiptoed out of the room.

Pam had the tea brewed by the time Leah returned. “Where’s Diane?” she asked about her friend’s oldest child.

“Doug had to run an errand and she wanted to go with him. As you can see I haven’t gotten around to the dinner dishes. Sit down and tell me what’s upset you so much.”

Leah didn’t know where to start, or if she should. It wasn’t easy to admit her failings. “Andrew and I had a spat, is all. We both needed some time to think matters through so I left.”

“It’s nothing serious, is it?”

Leah shook her head, discounting her concern. “I . . . I don’t think so. We’ll be fine.”

Pam brought the china teapot to the table. “You’re sure?”

“We rarely squabble and it upsets me when we do.”

A series of short horn blasts interrupted their conversation. Although the sound was irritating there seemed to be a certain rhythm to it. Leah closed her eyes and listened carefully. If she hadn’t known better she’d swear it sounded like someone was tapping out “Hit the Road, Jack.”

Pam sent a curious look Leah’s way. “Doug must need my help,” she said, “he’s certainly being clever about getting it.”

“It sounds like . . .”

“ ‘Hit the Road, Jack,’ “ Pam finished for her, snapping her fingers as she walked toward the door. She stopped abruptly and turned around, looking puzzled.

“Is it Doug?” Leah asked.

Pam shook her head. “It’s coming from your car.”

This had to be some kind of joke. She set aside her tea and followed Pam. “Are you telling me my car’s making that weird sound?”

“It’s your horn,” Pam insisted. “Just listen.”

“My horn!” She joined her friend at the doorway.

“This is the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“You?” Leah laughed. “I better find out what’s going on here.” She grabbed her car keys and hurried across the yard.

“Mercy, stop that right this minute.”

Mercy whirled around to find Shirley hovering over the trunk of Leah’s car, her hands braced against her hips. Knowing she’d overstepped her authority, Mercy reluctantly complied. No doubt she’d done it this time and the archangel had dispatched Shirley to send her home.

“Did Gabriel send you?” Mercy demanded defiantly. If she was going to crash, she was going down in flames.

“No, I’m here to stop you before you get yourself into even bigger trouble.”

“I had to do something fast,” Mercy cried. “Andrew’s worried because he can’t find Leah.”

“What?”

Mercy should have known she’d need to explain. “Leah and Andrew argued this morning and now he feels terrible. He wants to talk to Leah but he doesn’t know where she is.”

“We’re not to get involved in any human’s life,” Shirley chastised. “By the way, what’s with that ridiculous song?”

“It was popular several years back, one Leah would recognize. I’m trying to tell her to hightail it home.”

Shirley folded her arms over her chest and impatiently tapped her foot. “You’re courting trouble with this one. By heaven, Gabriel’s going to be furious. Secular music, no less. You couldn’t have come up with something more . . . spiritual?”

“ ‘Swing Low Sweet Chariot’ just didn’t hack it. I was desperate. It worked, didn’t it? Look, Leah’s leaving now and two to one she’s headed home.”

“You’re placing bets now too?” Shirley said behind a smile. It wasn’t unheard-of for a prayer ambassador on earth assignment to return home with a few minor bad habits. Some angels were known to have found gambling appealing.

“Are you with the God Squad Police Patrol or something?” Mercy blurted out impatiently. Shirley had the luxury of having everything falling neatly into place with her prayer assignment. The last she’d heard, Timmy’s mother had agreed to date a fine, upstanding young man who’d make Timmy a great father.

She and Goodness should have it so easy. As for herself, Mercy was batting zero when it came to helping Leah, and from what she heard, Goodness wasn’t in much better shape. If anything, matters had gotten progressively worse. In the last report from Goodness, Mercy had learned that Monica Fischer had stretched the truth in an effort to seek out Chet Costello. For a woman who prided herself on rigid honesty this was not an encouraging sign.

“I don’t mean to sound so bossy,” Shirley explained, looking apologetic, “but Gabriel could have your wings for this.”

“My wings! I don’t think so.” It would take a whole lot more than tapping out “Hit the Road, Jack” on a car horn for that to happen.

“I’m only trying to help you.”

“I know, but . . .”

A whoosh of warm wind accompanied Goodness, who arrived breathless and impatient, with her feathers ruffled with indignation. “What is going on with you two?” she demanded.

“Shirley decided to appoint herself as my guardian and—”

“I was watching out for your best interests.”

“Stop! Both of you!” Goodness cried, tossing her arms in the air. “I had to leave Monica and Chet at the worst possible moment for this.”

“Not really, we were—”

Goodness cut her off by stamping her foot. “Shall we all get back to our jobs? Humans are trouble enough without the three of us squabbling.”

“I was only looking to help,” Shirley offered with an injured look.

When Leah pulled into her driveway, she wasn’t sure what to expect. The business with her horn had ceased the moment she started the engine. Since Andrew took care of the maintenance on their vehicles it was something she should tell him. But how could she explain her horn going all weird on her?

The front door to the house opened even before she had a chance to climb out of the car. Andrew’s large frame filled the doorway as he rushed out to meet her.

“Where were you?” he asked, his face tight with concern. “I must have made a dozen phone calls and sounded like a complete idiot looking for my wife.”

“I . . . I drove over to Pam and Doug’s.”

“Pam and Doug,” Andrew repeated and stabbed his fingers into his hair as if to punish himself. “I should have tried them first—it makes perfect sense, the way you love those kids,” he said, steering her toward the house. He closed the door, shutting out the cold.

“You weren’t ready to talk, remember?” Leah said. “You were preoccupied with the sports news and needed time to sort through your feelings. Or so you said.”

Andrew nodded. “I behaved like a fool. I’m sorry, Leah.”

“You? I was the one who owed you an apology.”

“You gave it,” Andrew reminded her, and something she couldn’t read flared in his eyes. “Hell, I don’t know what was wrong with me.”

“You needed your space,” Leah supplied, removing her coat and hanging it in the hall closet. “We all do at one time or another. I understand.”

“I should never have let you go. You wanted to settle matters then and there. I was the one who made everything so difficult.” He brought her into the circle of his arms and sighed as she relaxed against him. “I love you so damn much,” he said.

“I know,” she whispered. His fingers lovingly worked through the tangles in her hair. “I love you too. You’re right, Andrew, I realize that now and I’m so sorry for the way I’ve treated you—”

“Hush,” he whispered, gently kissing her. “It’s forgotten.”

“You’re the most important person in my life.”

“I found the thermometer and record book in the garbage. Do you mean it, honey? Can we stop worrying about a pregnancy and concentrate on each other?”

Leah understood what he was asking. He wanted her to let go of the frantic need she had for a child, to stop looking for a pregnancy to fulfill her as a woman.

She’d cheated her husband out of far more than she realized. All these years she’d been subtly and not so subtly telling him his love wasn’t enough. Every time she’d dragged him to another doctor, to another fertility clinic, through another series of tests, she in essence said she found him lacking and that she needed something more. She tagged a condition onto her happiness, insisting she needed a child, the child he should give her.

Wrapping her arms around Andrew’s neck, Leah slowly nodded. The dream was dead. It had been from the moment she realized what she’d done to him.

“Mom.” Timmy greeted Jody at the door the minute she walked into the house after work Monday morning. “A big package came for me from Grandma Potter. Can I open it?” He was hopping up and down like a pogo stick, following her from one room to the next. “It’s addressed to me.”

“A package?”

“It’s probably for Christmas. You’re not going to make me wait, are you?”

Jody moved into the family room and stopped short. Timmy hadn’t exaggerated, the package was huge. She was curious herself. Gloria was very good remembering Timmy on his birthday and Christmas, but she generally sent a check, claiming he should save for his college education.

“I don’t think it’d do any harm to open it up,” Jody said, curious herself.

“I’ve got the scissors all ready,” Timmy said, racing into the kitchen.

“Don’t run with scissors in your hand,” she warned.

“I’m not a kid!” Timmy chided, walking back with exaggeratedly slow steps.

“Sorry,” Jody said, smiling to herself.

The box had been carefully packaged, as if it contained something of exceptional value. Once the tape had been cut away they were able to peel back the cardboard lid. Timmy immediately starting digging when they discovered the box was filled with Styrofoam packing balls. The material flew in every direction. She laughed, watching her son virtually attack the present.

He bent over the top, his feet six inches off the ground. “There are a bunch of smaller boxes inside,” he called, lifting out the first of what proved to be several.

Jody lined them up on the coffee table and Timmy opened the largest one first. “What’s this?” he asked, bringing out a trophy.

Jody was puzzled herself.

“Look, there’s a letter in here for you.”

Jody took the envelope and ripped it open.

Dearest Jody and Timmy,

You were right, Jody. Jeff is dead and it’s time I accepted as much. Forgive an old woman who can’t bear to believe that her only son is gone. The truth was too painful to accept. Painful for you and Timmy too, I realize.

It came to me the other day that now Timmy’s growing up, he might be interested in having the things that once belonged to his father. Jeff’s childhood treasures are his now and don’t belong to a grieving mother. Take them, and treasure them, but most of all, remember Jeff.

“What’s the trophy for?” Timmy asked, turning it upside down and examining the bottom. “This is weird, the way they put it together.”

Jody could barely speak for the tears in her throat. “Your father won that when he was twelve,” she said, holding onto the statue with both hands. “For soccer.”

“My dad played soccer?”

Jody nodded.

“I didn’t know that.”

Jeff was wonderfully athletic, the same way Timmy was, but he’d concentrated on football and track in high school and college.

“Wow,” Timmy said, “look at this. It’s really old.”

“It’s your dad’s report card from when he was in the first grade.”

“He was smart, wasn’t he?”

“Very smart.”

“You were too, weren’t you, Mom?”

She nodded.

Timmy was hurriedly opening one box and then the next. “This stuff is really neat. I can keep it, can’t I, forever and ever?”

“Of course.”

“I’m never going to forget my dad. Never,” he vowed, sitting back on his legs and releasing a slow, uneven sigh. “You know, Mom, it might not be such a good idea for you to get me another dad. Not when I already have one. It was just that until now he was a face in a picture you keep by the fireplace. But he was really a neat guy, wasn’t he?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” she agreed, “he was someone very special.”

Timmy’s eyes grew serious. “Then it’d be wrong to look for another dad.”

Eight

Monica was in a tizzy. Chet had seen her standing outside of the Blue Goose, and knew she’d sought him out. Her first thought was that she should adamantly deny everything. That, however, would be a lie and she prided herself on her honesty.

“Couldn’t stay away, could you?” he said in that impertinent way of his.

“I’m sure you’re mistaken,” she snapped. The buzz of traffic zoomed past her as she stiffly stood on the curb, waiting for the light to change.

Chet laughed, the sound mingling with those from the street and the busy holiday shoppers. The signal changed and she remained frozen, unable to move with the others.

“I imagine that’s as close to the truth as I’m likely to get from you,” he said, and gripping hold of her elbow, escorted her across the street. He didn’t tell her where he was taking her and she didn’t ask. Although she had long legs, she had trouble keeping up with his brisk pace.

He steered her into Woolworth’s and over to the lunch counter.

“What are we doing here?” she demanded, disliking the assumptions he was making.

He ignored her and slipped into a booth. She would have brought attention to herself if she’d continued standing so she uneasily claimed the seat across from him.

“You hungry?” he asked nonchalantly, reaching for the yellowed plastic-coated menu tucked behind the silver napkin dispenser.

“I . . . as a matter of fact I am, but . . .”

“The steak sandwich is excellent and they don’t do a bad chicken fried steak.”

“I’ll just have coffee,” she told him. By all that was right she shouldn’t be sitting with him. She barely knew the man and what she did know was a cause for a twenty-four-hour prayer vigil.

“Suit yourself.”

The waitress came, an older woman with gray hair in a pale pink uniform. She chewed gum and looked more worn than the linoleum in Monica’s kitchen.

“I’ll have a BLT on wheat, with coffee,” Chet ordered.

The waitress wrote down the order and looked to Monica expectantly.

“The same, only put mine on a separate ticket.”

The woman left, jotting down Monica’s order as she went.

“I saw you outside the Blue Goose,” Chet announced casually.

It was all Monica could do not to cover her face with her hands. It mortified her to know he’d seen her standing outside the tavern, debating whether she should go inside or not.

“I know why you were there too.”

“You do?” Her rebellious gaze shot to his. She was certain he could see her pulse beating in the vein in her neck, the sound echoing in her ear like thunder.

Chet set the menu back in place and waited for the waitress to finish pouring their coffee before he continued. “You’re curious about the same thing as me.”

“Which is?”

He smiled without humor. “I don’t know if you have enough courage or honesty to admit it so I’ll say it. We’re both trying to figure out if what happened between us was real.”

Monica had entertained a whole spectrum of possibilities of what had happened when Chet had kissed her. She blamed him, then herself, and eventually her upbringing. Having lived a sheltered, protected life hadn’t prepared her for the sensual magnetism she experienced at his touch.

“I certainly don’t have any intention of allowing you to kiss me again,” she told him, the words ringing with disdain. It was important he understood this right now.

“Not to worry, I’m not exactly thrilled with the prospect myself. I’m curious, and you have to admit you are too, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. Frankly, I can’t figure out what it is about you that intrigues me so much.”

“I . . . I was wondering the same thing myself. You won’t leave me alone either.”

Their sandwiches arrived and Chet tore into his as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. Monica glared at him and pointedly reached for her napkin and spread it evenly across her lap. Bowing her head, she murmured a simple prayer of thanksgiving. When she’d finished, she lifted half the sandwich from her plate, holding it daintily in both hands. Chet had started on the second half of his before she’d taken the first bite.

When he finished, Chet reached inside his pocket and brought out a small spiral pad. He flipped through several pages until he found what he was looking for.

“Your father’s name is Lloyd Fischer, the Reverend Lloyd Fischer. You’re an only child and your mother died when you were in your teens. Currently the church employs you as a full-time secretary. You play the piano on Sunday mornings and teach a Sunday school class. Your two best friends are married and live in another state. It’s said that you miss them dearly and write often.”

Monica was so shocked it took an effort for her to disguise her distress. “How . . . how do you know all that?”

Chet grinned suspiciously. “I have my ways. I’m a private investigator, remember? Don’t tell me you didn’t find out what you could about me.”

“I most certainly did not.” She snapped her mouth closed before she added to the lie. She had looked up his name in the business directory and noted the address. His office was close to the Westlake Mall on First Avenue in a dingy part of town. The mission was situated on the same street and she’d mentally calculated which building was his. She’d looked his name up in the white pages as well and learned that his apartment was in the same building.

“So,” he said, pushing the empty plate aside and reaching for his coffee. “Do you have any suggestions?”

“For what?” She wasn’t sure where he was leading, but she had no intention of continuing with this farce. Having lunch with him was about as far as she intended to go.

“Figuring out what’s going on between us,” he said loudly as if she were hard of hearing.

“Keep your voice down,” she pleaded.

“The thing is,” Chet continued, “I’m not sure I like you. You annoy the hell out of me and at the same time I can’t help thinking you could be one hell of a woman if you’d let yourself go a little bit.”

Monica jerked her shoulders back and scowled at him. “You haven’t exactly endeared yourself to me either, Mr. Costello. You’re everything I don’t want in a man.”

Instead of insulting him, her words appeared to do just the opposite. He grinned as if she’d stroked his ego with compliments. “Ain’t it a bitch?”

Her head snapped back at the use of vulgarity. “Kindly watch your language.”

His grin was cocky in the extreme. “You want me so much you’re practically frothing at the mouth.”

Monica’s hands were shaking so badly she could barely open her purse zipper. She removed her wallet and carefully extracted a five-dollar bill, which she set next to her plate.

“I don’t believe there’s anything more for us to say,” she said crisply.

Chet held up his hand. “Don’t be so hasty. We’ve got several matters to discuss.”

Monica slipped out of the booth and dramatically tossed her purse strap over her shoulder. “I won’t say it’s been a pleasure,” she said, taking her gloves from her coat pockets. “Good-bye, Mr. Costello.”

She heard him swear and winced at his words as she walked away. His hurried footsteps sounded behind her before she left the store and reached the sidewalk.

“All right, I apologize,” Chet murmured impatiently, “I shouldn’t have said that.”

The man was full of surprises. She certainly hadn’t counted on him making amends any more than she’d expected him to chase after her. Monica wasn’t sure how to react, or what she should do. She was more comfortable believing him to be a hopeless Neanderthal. His sincerity went against the assumptions she’d made about him.

“You want to go for a walk?” Chet asked before she had time to sort through her feelings. “It’ll be a test of our control to see how long we can go without finding something to argue about.”

“Where do you suggest we walk?” Monica asked, as if that were her only concern. She looked up at him and found his deep blue eyes intently studying her.

“The waterfront’s as good a place as any. There’re always lots of things going on down there.”

“All right.” Her words were little more than wisps of sound. She hurriedly looked away because she found his gaze mesmerizing and buried her hands in her pockets. Chet followed suit, his own hands waist deep in the pockets of his beige coat.

“You seem to know a lot about me,” she said as a means of opening the conversation, “it only seems fair for you to tell me something about yourself.” She wasn’t sure, but this sounded like a good place for them to start. Her only concern was in knowing exactly what they were starting. She didn’t know if she could be friends with this man, and anything else was impossible.

“I’m thirty-three and have never been married,” Chet said, cutting into her thoughts.

“Why not?”

“You’re twenty-five and I didn’t ask you that,” he barked, then seemed to regret his tart remark. “I never found a woman who’d be willing to put up with me.”

Monica smiled to herself. “I guess you could say the same thing about me. I don’t seem to communicate very well with men. I thought I did, but I was wrong.”

“That sounds like you’re speaking from experience. I take it someone’s hurt you.”

She shook her head. “We’re talking about you, remember?”

He frowned as if he found the subject boring and was much more interested in her. “What do you want to know about me?”

She shrugged, not knowing what to say. “Where’d you go to school, that sort of thing, and how you got into the detective business.”

“All right,” he said, releasing a beleaguered sigh. He seemed eager to get this part over so he could learn what he wanted to know about her. “I graduated from the University of Washington with a degree in criminology and took a job with the local police force. After a few years I decided I’d rather strike out on my own.”

Monica speculated that there was a great deal missing in this story, but she didn’t feel she should pressure him for details, not when she was unwilling to supply the missing pieces of her own story.

“Did you enjoy police work?”

“Yes and no. When I was shot—”

“You were shot?” Monica couldn’t hide her alarm. She studied him for any evidence of permanent injury, and her heart raced at a furious pace.

“It was little more than a flesh wound, nothing to worry about physically, at any rate.” He hesitated as if he’d said more than he intended, more than he wanted her to know.

“What do you mean?” she probed, not willing to drop the subject.

“Nothing. We’ll leave it at that, all right?” The way he said it told her she wouldn’t get any more information out of him. Knowing that he’d been physically injured had a curious effect on Monica. A strange sick feeling attacked her. Knowing he’d suffered terrible pain greatly distressed her.

They reached the waterfront, the day was cold and gray, and the angry sky reflected on the waters of Puget Sound. The sidewalks were crowded with the heavy tourist and Christmas traffic.

“What made you decide to become a private investigator?” she asked as they stood at the end of the pier. The wind buffeted her and she turned her back on its force. Chet, however, leaned against the rough wood railing, his hands clenched.

Chet glanced her way. “You aren’t going to like the answer to this one.”

“I asked the question, didn’t I?” His attitude irked her.

“All right, since you asked, I’ll tell you. A shapely blonde with loose morals and legs that reached all the way to her neck—”

“You’re right,” Monica cut him off, “I don’t want to hear the rest.”

“That’s what I thought.”

They strolled back to the sidewalk and turned into a small shop that specialized in seashells, tacky souvenirs, and gaudy jewelry. Curious, Monica moved to a crowded aisle, no particular destination in mind. She found a paper Japanese fan with a brightly painted dragon and spread it open, fluttering it in front of her face.

Chet grinned and she lowered the fan. Slowly the amusement drained from his eyes and darkened to a shade as deep and dark as a moonless night. His sudden enmity unnerved her and she quickly snapped the fan closed and returned it to the table, wondering what she’d done that had displeased him so.

His hand stopped her. “You’re beautiful when you choose to be,” he said.

His words confused her as much as his look.

She turned hurriedly up another aisle and paused at a rack of necklaces. Taking one, she slid the chain against the palm of her hand until she reached the pendant. A mustard seed was framed in a glass teardrop. The scripture verse about faith the size of a mustard seed leaped into her mind.

“Faith is an amazing thing,” Chet surprised her by saying.

That he’d know the verse shocked her. “You’ve read the Bible.”

He made a gallant effort not to laugh and failed. “I’m not a heathen, Monica, even if I’ve been known to frequent seedy bars and sleep with immoral women.”

“I see.” Embarrassed now by his honesty and her assumptions, she started to leave the shop. To her surprise, Chet took the necklace from her hand and carried it to the front of the store.

“What do you believe in?” she asked as they waited to make the purchase.

“Do I need to believe in anything?”

She could tell that the question made him uncomfortable. “Everyone has a belief system, whether he acknowledges it or not.” She sounded far more versed in the subject than she was. Her own had been so clearly defined for her from the time she was a child.

He didn’t answer her for a long, silent moment. “I believe life’s a bitch,” he said as he paid for the necklace.

Monica bristled, but then she’d asked and he’d told her.

He moved behind her and put the necklace around her neck. The glass teardrop felt cool against her skin. “Thank you,” she whispered, touched that he’d bought it for her.

“Don’t make a big deal out of a buck ninety-nine,” he said as if he regretted the purchase.

When they came out of the store, Monica was surprised to find that it was snowing. She couldn’t remember the weatherman mentioning snow. The fat flakes came down fast and furious and had already covered the sidewalk.

“I’d better hurry to the bus stop,” she said, anxious to get home before the weather made it impossible. She was already an hour later than she said she’d be.

By the time they’d climbed the steep hill to the bus stop Monica was breathless. It seemed that everyone in town had decided to head for home at the same time. Within minutes it became clear she was in for a long wait.

“You go on,” she urged Chet. “I’ll be fine.” But he refused to leave her and after waiting a half hour, Chet shook his head.

“This is ridiculous,” he said, “I’ll drive you home myself.”

“But it’s snowing, and the road conditions might make that impossible.”

“We’ll wait out the craziness and once everything settles down I’ll get my car out of the parking garage.”

He didn’t leave room for her to argue, and she doubted he would have listened if she had. Chet steered her toward the exit and reached for her hand when it looked as if they might be separated in the crowd.

“Where are we going?” she asked while they were making their way down the street. The conditions were blizzardlike. They were bent nearly in half as they walked against the brunt of the storm.

Chet didn’t bother to answer until they entered a red brick building. In the foyer, he stamped the snow from his shoes and led the way to the elevator.

“Where are we?” she asked, obediently following him.

“My building, and before you get that outraged virgin look I promise I won’t so much as touch you.”

“I’d better call my father or else he’ll worry.” Monica sincerely doubted that he’d ever dated a woman who needed to check in with her family. She was pleased she couldn’t read his thoughts.

“No problem,” Chet said. At his floor, he took her down a narrow, dark hallway. His office had his name painted on a milky white door. Chet inserted the key and opened it for her, letting her precede him.

The first thing Monica noticed was the calendar with a naked blond woman sprawled out on a blanket of black velvet. The year 1963 was printed in bold letters down the side. His desk looked as if it had weathered a war on the losing side. It was scarred and battered and so cluttered it was impossible to see any part of the surface. His chair came straight out of the 1920s. A row of antique slot machines lined one wall.

Chet made his way around her and Monica realized she’d been blocking the doorway. “This is my office,” he explained.

“Your calendar’s for the wrong year,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

He laughed. “Only a woman would notice that.” He walked over to the other door and opened it. “Home, sweet home,” he said, gesturing for her to go before him.

Monica was just getting accustomed to the disarray in his office. She held her breath as she stepped into his living quarters, preparing herself for the worst.

She hesitated in the doorway. “It’s not so bad,” she said, then realized she’d verbalized the thought. There appeared to be some order to his studio apartment, compared to the chaos of his office.

Dishes were washed and stacked on the drainboard and the only food on the counter was a bowl with three overripe bananas. The sofa was a large overstuffed one with a stack of laundry—she couldn’t tell if it was clean or dirty—piled in one corner.

“The phone’s by the television,” Chet said. “I’ll make us some coffee.”

“All right,” she said, taking several tentative steps into the room and reaching for the phone. Her father answered on the second ring.

“I got caught in the snow,” she explained.

“I don’t understand why you didn’t leave with the others.” Her father was rarely angry, but he was close to being so now. “Just how do you propose to get home?”

“I’m an adult, Dad, I can take care of myself. Stop worrying. I’ll call again if I run into any problems.” Rather than get into discourse that required explanations, she quickly ended the conversation. When she’d finished, Chet brought her a steaming mug of coffee.

“It’s instant,” he said, and with one sweeping motion of his hand, he cleared the surface of the sofa.

Monica sat close to the edge of the cushions, cradling the mug with both hands, her back straight, her knees together. Rarely had she felt more out of place. She’d never been alone with a man in an apartment before and her sensibilities were badly shaken. Chet had promised to be a gentleman, and to her dismay she was sadly disappointed by his assurance.

“Relax,” Chet said, sounding irritated. “You look like you’re waiting for me to pounce on you. I said I wouldn’t touch you.”

She decided to ignore the comment. “Do you have any idea of how much snow is forecast?” she asked, looking for a means of light conversation. She wished now that she’d stayed and waited for a bus. No matter how tardy the transportation it would have saved them both this awkwardness.

“Sweetheart, the weatherman didn’t know about this. You don’t honestly expect me to figure it out, do you?”

She didn’t like the way he said sweetheart. He made the term of affection sound like an insult. “I’d rather you didn’t call me that.”

“What?”

“Sweetheart.”

“Why not?”

“Listen here, honeybunch,” she murmured sarcastically, “I’m not your sweetheart or anything else.”

“I didn’t say you were. Let’s just forget it, all right?” He stalked over to the sink and dumped what was left of his coffee. “I’ll see about getting you home now.”

One look out the window told her the snow hadn’t let up in the least; if anything, it was coming down heavier. Chet wanted to be rid of her and she was just as eager to go. She didn’t know what she was doing with a man who hung a picture of a naked woman in his office. She was out of her element and eager to get back where she belonged.

“I can take the bus.” She felt obliged to volunteer, but it was doubtful how much longer the transit would continue to run in the heavy snow.

Chet cast her a look that told her what he thought of that idea. “Come on, this might take a while.”

Monica bundled her coat around her and hurried after him. The wind was bitterly cold as it sliced through the open garage. Chet drove a battered Chevy Impala with a tailpipe that hung so low she wondered if he could make it over a speed bump. She couldn’t imagine that the faded green was a factory color.

“My Mercedes is in the shop,” he said, unlocking the passenger door for her.

Monica let herself inside and searched until she found the seat belt, clicking it into place. Chet started the engine, which came to life with the roar of a lion, and pulled out of the parking space.

The streets were terrible, and the traffic was a nightmare, but Chet was an excellent driver and managed to avoid the worst of it. Monica breathed a sigh of relief as they left the congested downtown area.

Both were quiet for several minutes, and as they neared her neighborhood, Monica tensed. “It might be a good idea if you dropped me off a block or so before the house.”

“Why? You aren’t wearing boots—your feet would be drenched within minutes.”

“I know, it’s just that . . .”

“It’ll save you having to make explanations if your father happens to see me.”

“Yes,” she murmured, appreciating that he’d said it for her. He drove a few more blocks, before pulling over to the side of the road. The church and parsonage were within sight, but it wasn’t likely that her father would notice her with Chet.

Now that she was near home, Monica wasn’t eager for her time with Chet to end. She clenched her purse in her lap with both hands. “Thank you,” she whispered, fingering the mustard-seed necklace. “For everything.”

“Think nothing of it.”

“I mean it,” she said, more adamant this time. “You didn’t need to do this and I appreciate everything you went through . . . even when it didn’t seem like it.” Only heaven knew how long it would take him to drive back into the city. The streets were difficult enough as it was.

Chet’s hands were braced against the steering wheel, his gaze focused straight ahead. “I don’t know that we solved anything.”

“You’re not the monster I assumed,” she said, making light of her prejudices. Honesty, however, could be a burden. Now that she’d admitted as much, she wasn’t sure where that left them. Monica didn’t know and she doubted that Chet did either.

“You’re not quite as prudish as I believed.”

They looked toward each other and a smile blossomed between them, slow and sweet. Time stood perfectly still, but it seemed impatient, as if waiting for them to act. The stillness swelled around them, cutting off all sound except the silent wonder of the falling snow.

Monica didn’t know who moved first. It didn’t seem that either of them had, when she found her mouth inches from his. Chet was motionless. She could barely feel his breath, barely feel her own. She should move, should turn away from him and flee while she could, but she couldn’t make herself do it. Enthralled, she raised her hands and placed them on his shoulders. He felt solid and strong. Her touch was all Chet needed. He bent forward and claimed her mouth in a slow, leisurely exercise.

This wasn’t the way it was before. It was much better . . . much worse. She dragged her mouth from his, tears of frustration close to the surface, but she wasn’t allowed to vent them or anything else. Before she could so much as draw in a stabilizing breath, Chet caught her face and brought her mouth back to his.

His need was urgent now and he kissed her again and again as waves of confusion assaulted her. A warm, dizzy feeling began to build within her, spreading throughout her body. The sensation flooded every cell. She was aware of everything about Chet, the taste, the feel, the masculine scent of him.

When they did finally ease away from each other, neither of them seemed to know what to say.

Slowly, Monica raised her eyes to his. His gaze revealed the extent of his confusion. The same bewilderment, the same questions, the same doubts.

Monica had no idea how long they stared. The air crackled with static electricity, with sexual tension.

“You better get inside,” he said, and his voice sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a deep well.

She nodded and turned away from him. Her hand was on the car door when he spoke again.

“Will the choir be downtown again any time soon?” he asked brusquely.

Monica wasn’t so dense not to know what he wanted. He was asking to see her again. She shook her head and not daring to look at him, she said, “I was planning to do some Christmas shopping, though.”

“When?”

The question shouldn’t have been so difficult. Her plans had been nebulous at best. Sometime over the next weekend, but that seemed far too long to wait to see Chet again. A whole week was out of the question.

“Monday night,” she said, still not looking at him. “Around six.” Not waiting for a sign of confirmation from him, she hurriedly climbed out of the car. Walking as fast as she could, she rushed toward the house, not looking back until she reached her front porch. Only then did she chance a look over her shoulder.

Chet was parked in the same spot, she noted, waiting for her to make it safely inside the house.

Nine

Just when everything was straight in her mind, this had to happen, Jody mused as she drove home from work Tuesday afternoon. The snow that had taken Seattle by surprise on Sunday had melted away Monday morning to a dirty slush that filled the side streets.

Jody’s route from the house to the office had been traveled so often she could almost do it blind. She avoided the busy intersections by taking a side street that led her past Providence Hospital.

For reasons she couldn’t explain even to herself, she pulled into the hospital parking lot and climbed out of her car. Glen had asked to take Timmy and her out for pizza Thursday evening, and she’d put him off, claiming she had to check her schedule. He’d seemed surprised and disappointed, but he hadn’t questioned her further.

Timmy claimed he didn’t want another father, not now, not after he’d carefully gone through Jeff’s items. For the first time his natural father was real to him. It didn’t seem right to start another relationship now.

The nativity scene had been up for several days and she’d driven past it for the last seven years without ever stopping. Now seemed the perfect time. Now seemed the worst possible moment.

She walked over and stood before the manger scene, and breathed in the serenity.

“Jeff,” she whispered, “help me.” She didn’t honestly expect him to hear her, nor did she believe it was possible for him to respond to her despondent prayer. Yet she reached out to him, because she wasn’t sure which way to turn.

“You’d like Glen,” she whispered. “He’s the kind of man you would have called a friend.”

The only sounds that returned to her were from the traffic in the streets.

This wasn’t helping, Jody realized. Nor was it hurting. She took a few more minutes to soak in whatever comfort she could before returning to the car.

Timmy was waiting for her. Every day she called the baby-sitter when she left the office and Timmy walked down the block, unlocked the house, and was there when she arrived home a few minutes later. It made him feel less of a kid and more of a young adult. Less of a Timmy and more of a Tim.

The lights shone from the windows as she pulled into the driveway. Timmy was in the family room, the Sega football game blaring from the television screen.

“Glen called,” he told her when she joined him.

“Did you bring in the mail?”

“It’s on the counter. Nothing interesting, just bills.”

Jody sorted through the small stack, disappointed not to receive so much as a single Christmas card. Her own had yet to be mailed.

“Are you going to call Glen back?” Timmy wanted to know as he expertly manipulated the game control.

“In a minute.” She scooted the ottoman over to her son, who was kneeling on the floor, intent on his game. “Can we talk?”

“In a minute, Mom, I’m just to the good part.”

“Are you ready to save the world again?”

He broke his concentration long enough to cast her a disgruntled look. “You can’t do that with football.”

“Oh.”

Apparently having lost, he groaned and set aside the controller. “Okay,” he said, looking at her expectantly. “I’m ready.”

“Glen wanted to take us out to dinner one day this week. What do you think?”

Timmy’s eyes brightened with enthusiasm before his gaze slid to the row of trophies he’d set out the night before on the fireplace mantel.

“I don’t need another dad.”

“I remember you said that earlier, I just wanted to be sure you meant it.”

Although he looked disappointed, Timmy said, “I meant it. You’d better call Glen back and tell him no.”

Timmy was unusually quiet during dinner, but Jody wasn’t up to much conversation herself. After she’d finished the dishes, she phoned Glen, and was grateful when his answering machine came on. It was a cowardly thing to do, but she left a message on his recorder declining his offer to take Timmy and her to dinner.

Timmy was sound asleep when the doorbell chimed. Jody glanced at her watch, wondering who’d be dropping by unannounced at this late hour. She hesitated, then realized anyone who intended to do her harm wasn’t likely to ring the doorbell first.

Glen stood on the other side of the door.

“Glen.”

“I know it’s late, but do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” she said, stepping aside.

A blast of cold air accompanied him as he stepped into her house. He rubbed his hands together and cast her an apologetic look.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“If you don’t mind,” he said, continuing to look uneasy. “I shouldn’t have come.”

Jody felt a twinge of guilt over the way she’d rejected his offer to take Timmy and her out for pizza. It had been a cowardly thing to do.

“Please, sit down,” she said, motioning toward the kitchen table while she assembled a pot of coffee and waited for the liquid to drain through.

Glen stood until she’d finished with the coffee before he took a seat himself. Jody guessed that this didn’t have anything to do with manners. He seemed preoccupied and nervous.

“I’m not exactly sure what I want to say,” he began, stretching his arms across her tabletop. “I don’t doubt that I’m making a fool of myself. I seem to do that when it comes to dealing with women.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Jody’s guilt was mounting until it was a palatable thing. Glen was one of the nicest men she’d ever known.

“I guess the real reason I’m here is to ask you what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I realize I was rushing you and if I haven’t already apologized for that, then I am now. I . . . it’s just that I think the world of you and Timmy, and knowing I’d done something—”

“Glen,” she said, interrupting him. “Believe me, please, it isn’t anything you said or did. Timmy received a package from his grandmother, Jeff’s mother, with things that had been Jeff’s as a boy, and now . . .”

“And now,” Glen finished for her, “Timmy feels another man in his life would be betraying his father’s memory.” Glen grew silent for a moment, then slowly he leveled his gaze on her. “More important, so would you. I know how much you loved Jeff,” he continued, his voice gaining conviction, “that was one of the things that attracted me to you the most. You’re not the kind of woman who’d give her heart lightly, and when you do, it means something.”

The compliment made her uncomfortable.

“That appeals to me, Jody, because I’m that kind of person myself. I didn’t fall in love until recently and it’s been hell getting over that relationship. Love means more to me than being sexually compatible. It means being an important part of your life as you’ll be in mine. It means encouraging you to be everything you’ve ever wanted to be, sharing in your triumphs and comforting you in your failures. It means giving you the courage to try again. That’s what love is all about.”

Jody didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t likely to meet anyone like Glen in a good long time. A man who looked outside himself was a rarity. He’d spoken of his broken relationship and the pain it had brought him, and yet he was willing to trust again, willing to love again.

“I’ve been thinking about marriage for a long time,” Glen went on. “And because of that I’ve put unnecessary pressure on you and Timmy. I want you to know how sorry I am.”

“Please,” she said, “don’t apologize again. It isn’t anything you’ve done.”

He stood as if sitting had become intolerable. “I want you to know I don’t plan on taking Jeff away from you and Timmy. It would be impossible. All I’m asking is that you give me a chance to prove myself to you. All I’m asking is that you make room in your life for me.”

Jody recalled the way her son’s eyes had lit up when she mentioned the outing with Glen and how that expression had gradually faded as he looked at the trophies that had once belonged to his father. Like her, Timmy had assumed having dinner with another man would betray Jeff’s memory.

Glen plowed his hand through his hair. “I realize men aren’t supposed to react to rejection like this. We’re supposed be flippant and to take it on the chin and all that. Forgive me, Jody, if I’m made you uncomfortable. I hope I haven’t embarrassed you, but I wanted to speak my piece. I figured I’d better do it while I had the courage.” He turned and walked out of her kitchen.

He was at the front door before she stopped him. “Glen?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for stopping by. You’ve given me something to think about. I’ll . . . probably see you at the copy machine soon.”

He nodded and his soft, dark eyes held hers captive. “I can be patient, Jody, I just haven’t proved it yet, but I promise you I will.” With that, he turned and let himself out the door.

“Here they come.” Bonnie Stewart stuck her head in the labor room door where Leah was stripping the sheets from the bed. Her patient had recently delivered a healthy eight-pound baby girl, her third child. The labor and delivery had gone smoothly and mother and father were delighted with their latest addition.

Leah’s shift had been over half an hour earlier and she’d hoped to be long gone before the birthing-class tour group arrived. There was something about ten pregnant woman parading through the labor and delivery rooms that left a sour taste in her mouth.

She was being unfair, Leah realized, but meeting with these groups had always been a painful experience for her. Dealing with the mothers-to-be, one and often two or three at a time, was challenge enough. A roomful tested the very limits of her patience.

“I’ll be out of here in nothing flat,” Leah tossed over her shoulder. Bonnie didn’t know the extent of Leah’s dislike for these predelivery tours, but she was aware enough to warn her the little darlings were on their way.

“Leah, hello.”

Once Leah had been asked to be a guest speaker for one of the birthing classes and she’d talked briefly about labor and delivery and answered an hour or more of questions. As luck would have it, the tour guide was Jo Ann Rossini, who’d been the instructor for the class Leah had visited. Jo Ann walked into the room with ten or more women, all in varying stages of pregnancy.

“Ladies, this is the nurse I mentioned earlier. I sincerely hope one of you is lucky enough to go into labor during Leah’s shift. Leah Lundberg is one of the most wonderful labor coaches you’re likely to meet.”

Leah appreciated Jo Ann’s kind words, but she was eager to escape.

“I’ll be out of your way in just a moment,” Leah said, bundling up the sheets and stuffing them in the laundry basket.

“There’s no need to hurry. You’d probably do a much better job of giving a tour around the labor room than me,” Jo Ann insisted.

“Leah’s shift was over a half hour ago,” Bonnie said, coming in. Leah was so grateful she could have kissed her fellow nurse, not that staying beyond when they were scheduled was anything out of the ordinary. It was part and parcel of her job, which, despite everything, Leah loved.

“Would you mind if we asked you a couple of questions?” A timid voice rose from the back of the group. The girl didn’t look to be any more than eighteen, with eyes the size of poker chips. Her hand rested on her protruding stomach, which she rubbed as if to reassure her unborn child.

“I’ve only got a few moments.”

“My mother said only a woman who’s been through labor and birth can fully appreciate what it’s like for another woman,” one of the other mothers-to-be added loudly. She was large and brusque and looked as if she wanted to punish her husband for getting her into this predicament. “Don’t you think that’s true?” she added on a brash note.

“Ah . . .” This definitely wasn’t an area Leah wanted to address. “A doctor doesn’t have to experience a festering cut to know how to treat one,” she said, making sure no emotion bled into the words.

“How long can we expect the labor to last?” came another question. This one was less intrusive.

“It’s different with every woman, as individual as we each are. I’ve seen women who suffer little more than a few twinges of pain, and others who feel like they’re giving birth to a grand piano. Labor can last anywhere from a few minutes to days.”

“That long?” It was the same timid voice that had spoken earlier.

“Just remember the vast majority are within the normal range.”

“Thank you, Leah,” Jo Ann said, stepping forward. “We appreciate your taking the time for this. I know you’re on your way home so we won’t keep you any longer. Remember Leah,” Jo Ann said, speaking to her class. “Because once you’ve had her with you during labor you aren’t likely to ever forget her.”

“One last question.” The same brassy woman who’d spoken earlier did so again. “Tell us how many children you’ve had yourself.”

Leah looked at the other woman, her gaze connecting with hers. “None,” she said, then turned and walked out of the room. Her steps gained speed as she hurried down the hallway, tears blurring her eyes.

* * *

“Bremerton,” Shirley said, joining Mercy on the deserted flight deck of the aircraft carrier Nimitz. Bright stars dappled the crisp December night like beacons from home. “Why in the name of heaven did you decide we should meet here?”

“I like ships, especially navy ones.”

Goodness shared a meaningful look with Shirley. “You haven’t done anything, have you?”

Mercy’s eyes widened as if she were offended by the suggestion. “Good grief, I know better than to move ships around.”

“Gabriel wouldn’t ignore that,” Shirley said, folding her arms and glancing approvingly toward Mercy, as if to say she appreciated the maturity Mercy revealed.

“Gabriel, nothing,” Mercy said, “I don’t plan on tangling with the U.S. Navy. They can be real sticklers about that sort of thing, although it would be fun just once to—”

“Mercy!” both Goodness and Shirley cried simultaneously.

“Come on, you guys, don’t you know a joke when you hear one?” The petite angel drifted effortlessly upward, resting on the bridge.

Goodness wasn’t sure of anything these earth days. Humans had frustrated her in the past, but she’d never had to deal with one as obstinate and foolish as Monica Fischer. There was a soft spot in her heart for preachers’ children. Goodness was convinced Gabriel was aware of her feelings and that was what had prompted him to give her this particular assignment.

“I don’t mean to change the subject, but are those submarines over there?” Shirley asked. She was dangling from the top of the communication tower and pointed to a series of seven fast-attack black boats docked in the murky, moonless waters at the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard. “I don’t believe I’ll ever understand how the human mind works. Imagine designing a boat that’s supposed to sink.”

“Can we get back to the matters at hand?” Mercy asked. “I don’t mind telling you I’m at my wit’s end when it comes to helping Leah and Andrew.”

“You!” Goodness cried.

Shirley cleared her throat. “To be honest, I should tell you matters aren’t going all that well for me either.”

“But I thought—”

“Weren’t you saying—”

Shirley held up her hand, stopping them both. “Timmy’s grandmother ruined everything for me. It’s as bad now as it ever was. Jody turned down Glen’s dinner invitation and Timmy believes if he becomes friends with Glen that he’ll dishonor the memory of his father.”

Goodness felt sorry for her friend. They should have realized nothing is ever as easy as it seems, but then Shirley had been so smug about her assignment.

“What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Shirley admitted. “Glen’s patient, but I wonder just how long he’ll continue to invite Jody if she shows no signs of wanting to go out with him. Until the package arrived from his grandmother, Timmy was working with me, and we all know what an advantage it is to have a child on our side.”

“How long is it until Christmas?” Earth time always served to confuse Goodness.

“Three weeks,” Shirley mumbled, her wings sagging with discouragement.

“You’ve got plenty of time, just be patient and do what you can,” Mercy suggested. “You’ll find a way, I know you will.”

Goodness didn’t have any better ideas herself. Her own lack of success with answering Monica’s prayer request was getting downright depressing. The preacher’s daughter claimed she wanted a husband, yet she ignored the attention of the man most suitable. Instead she was flirting with disaster, secretly meeting a private eye with an attitude problem.

“I’m doing worse than ever,” Mercy admitted grudgingly as if this were something new the others hadn’t figured out yet. “Shirley had a great idea. She felt, and I’m in complete agreement, that if Leah could sample joy, then she might find the steps leading to serenity.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Everything,” Mercy admitted, telling them about the scene in the hospital with the birthing class earlier that day. “I haven’t figured out how to help her. Leah’s more miserable now than when I first arrived.”

“I thought you told me she seemed more accepting.”

Mercy folded her arms. “Perhaps. It’s difficult for me to tell. She’s been overly burdened lately with work, the holidays, and the guilt of knowing how badly she’s hurt her husband with her demands for a child. If anything, her grip on her pain has tightened—she holds it close to her heart so that it suffocates her happiness.”

“Poor Leah,” Shirley whispered, then turned her attention toward Goodness. “What about you? Are matters any better with Monica Fischer?”

“I’m growing more and more concerned about Monica,” Goodness said, sharing her own disappointment. “She hasn’t given Michael the time of day and he’s such a dear young man.”

“You sound as if you’re attracted to him yourself.”

“I am. Well, who wouldn’t be? He’s dedicated and caring and a prince of a guy, not that Monica’s noticed.”

“What about the private eye?”

Goodness tossed her hands into the air. “She continues to meet him on the sly. My guess is she’s more attracted to him than ever.”

“What about him?”

Goodness cringed. “The more I know about Chet Costello the less impressed I am. He’s lived hard and loved hard and it shows.”

“What does he want from Monica?”

Goodness didn’t have the answer to that any more than she did the other questions. “As far as I can guess, she’s everything he isn’t. He doesn’t share her faith, her interests, her values, yet he’s attracted to those qualities. He carries the misery of his past with him, and as far as I can see he hasn’t cared about anything or anyone for the last four or five years, himself included.”

“You know, there might be hope for him yet,” Shirley said. “Monica must think so too, otherwise she wouldn’t continue seeing him.”

“How can you suggest such a thing?” Goodness demanded. To her way of thinking, any relationship between the two was doomed from the start. If anyone was capable of teaching Monica the lessons she needed to know, it would be Michael, not Chet.

“I don’t have any suggestions for you,” Mercy told her. “I’m having enough trouble dealing with my own problems with Leah. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“Don’t fret,” Goodness said as a means of encouragement to her friends.

“We’ve got three weeks yet,” Shirley reminded them. “There’s no need to panic. Anything can happen in that time, anything at all.”

“Right,” Mercy said, eyeing the aircraft carrier Carl Vinson. Goodness recognized that gleam in her friend’s eye. It spelled trouble. She had to be honest, she found the radar system downright attractive. And feeling as disgruntled as she did with humans and romance, Goodness didn’t think she should be held responsible for what might happen.

“You’re both right,” Shirley agreed, glancing toward the submarines. “Anything’s possible.”

* * *

Crews from all three Seattle television stations were at the Bremerton shipyard the following morning. The sky was filled with navy helicopters that circled overhead, and a no-fly zone had been declared.

The top navy brass converged on the area and the activity on Sinclair Inlet was unprecedented. No less than ten navy vessels circled the area. Three of the fast-attack submarines patrolled the waters.

“Can you tell us exactly what’s happening here?” Brian Lewis asked Marilyn Brock, a reporter from Seattle’s ABC television affiliate.

Marilyn Brock pressed the earphone to her head. “As best we’ve been able to learn, the aircraft carrier Nimitz and the Carl Vinson have traded places. You heard me right, Brian and Carol, traded places. The Nimitz was docked at Pier 12 and is now in Pier 24, where the Carl Vinson was formerly docked.

“Also from what we’ve been able to find out, despite very tight security, an unidentified object showed on the radar screens this last evening. Reports are mixed. Some claim it was nothing more than a commercial flight off course, but others have said it was the silhouette of an angel.”

“An angel?” Brian Lewis repeated.

“You heard me right. This is definitely one for the record books.”

Chet had called himself every kind of fool. He’d waited around the area at the Westlake Mall for nearly thirty minutes and Monica had yet to show. After the tempestuous kisses they’d shared, she’d probably had her sensibilities so shaken she decided against seeing him again. It was just as well. Their relationship wasn’t headed anywhere.

Monica Fischer was little more than a passing fancy to him, but even as he said the words, Chet wondered if they were true. What she was to him remained a deep, dark secret, even to himself.

Well, there wasn’t any need to wait around here any longer. If she was going to meet him, she would have done so earlier. A cold beer would ease his disappointment, he decided, heading toward the Blue Goose.

“Chet, Chet Costello.”

He caught the tail end of his name and whirled around, searching through a mob of empty faces, seeking Monica. His heart gladdened when he caught sight of her making her way through the crowds, weaving in and around those who were going too slow to suit her.

She wore her hair up and tightly pulled away from her face. The severe style sharpened her features, but Chet was too pleased to see her to worry about the way she wore her hair or the drab, lifeless colors that made up her wardrobe.

She was breathless by the time he reached her. He stopped himself just in time, otherwise he would have wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off the ground. As it was, his hands gripped hold of her elbows.

“I had trouble getting away,” she explained, smiling up at him, her pretty eyes revealing her relief. “I wasn’t sure you’d still be here.”

“I was just about to give up,” he admitted. They were causing something of a distraction and Chet turned, looping his arm over her shoulder and guiding her across the street. He hadn’t a clue of how much time they’d have together, but he fully intended to make the most of it.

“Where are we going?” Monica asked.

Chet paused. “Do you have any place particular in mind?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Do you?”

He wasn’t sure she’d agree. “My apartment. You look half frozen and it’s the only place I can think of where we’ll have some privacy.”

Her steps slowed. “I . . . don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?” he asked. He’d perfected his innocent look until it was practically an art form. “I was thinking we could talk, and get to know each other a little better.” Sure he intended to talk, but there was a whole lot more on his agenda. Monica possessed a delectable body that she carefully disguised behind clothes that were at least one size too large for her. She needed to learn exactly what it meant to be a woman, and he was an able teacher. Ready and able. It had been a good long while since he’d been this strongly attracted to a woman. That worried him, but not enough to prevent him from seeing Monica. He’d sort through his feelings later, once he’d coaxed her into his bed.

Generally Chet preferred to relieve his sexual frustrations with Trixie, a cocktail waitress who worked at the Blue Goose on weekends. They had a long-standing relationship, or better said, a long-standing understanding. They didn’t pretend to be in love, pretense was beyond them both. A divorcée with two teenagers to raise on her own, the cocktail waitress wasn’t looking for another long-term relationship, and God knew he wasn’t either. They were comfortable with each other.

“I have to get back before nine, otherwise my father will ask a lot of questions and I refuse to lie to him.”

“For the love of heaven, you’re twenty-five years old.”

“I know. You don’t understand.”

Pressuring her wasn’t going to help his cause any. The way he figured it, after he’d made love to Monica he’d be over whatever it was that attracted him so strongly, and would exorcise her from his thoughts and his life.

“I was thinking we could have coffee and talk,” she suggested.

“People might see us.”

She blinked. Obviously that thought hadn’t occurred to her, and being seen with him would surely be cause for talk. That might put her father and her in an embarrassing situation. Monica loved her father too much to do anything that would hurt him in any way.

“We could find a dark corner somewhere,” she suggested next.

This wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as he’d assumed. “All right,” he agreed, “on one condition. I want you to take the pins out of your hair.”

She looked at him as if he were daft. Her fingers tentatively investigated the back of her head. “You want me to let my hair down?”

It should have been clear, but he nodded.

“Why?”

“Do I need a reason?”

“I suppose not, it’s just that it’s such an unusual request.” Already her fingers were working at the pins, unfolding the thick knot of hair, which streamed over her shoulders in a warm cascade of dark chestnut. She kept her gaze lowered as though she felt foolish.

He was right. Her looks were substantially softened by the effect. She was lovely, more so than he would have guessed. Her face was fresh and scrubbed clean. It didn’t take much to imagine what a little makeup would do for her already appealing good looks.

“Great,” he said, when it became apparent she was waiting for him to say something. “You don’t look like you’re waiting to be thrown to the lions now.”

“I beg your pardon,” she said, her eyes snapping.

Chet laughed boisterously and reached for her hand. “Come on, let’s go have that coffee before we start arguing.”

“I’ll have you know I dress this way for a reason. I’m trying to promote a meek and humble spirit. With the world the way it is, with girls looking to Madonna as a role model, I feel I should do my part to promote purity.”

“Sweetheart, listen, you shouldn’t knock those gold-tip bras until you’ve tried one. Just promise me you’ll let me be there when you do.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”

He probably shouldn’t have. She was as skittish as a colt, as well he could understand. This was probably the most daring thing she’d ever done in her life, meeting him this way without her father knowing what she was up to.

“Do you want me to tell you how sorry I am?” he asked, as they made their way down First Street. A dingy cafe he frequented was about the only place he could think of where they’d have a bit of privacy.

“No.”

Her response surprised him. He was thinking she’d demand an apology of him and then proceed to lecture him on the error of his ways. Perhaps there was hope for her after all.

The café was dreary, and he felt a bit embarrassed to be bringing Monica into such an establishment, but since she’d turned down the offer to visit his apartment, that didn’t leave them with much choice.

He led her to a table in the back and called out his order for two coffees. The chef, Artie Williams, who was an old army cook, appeared from inside the kitchen. He wore a grease-smeared T-shirt and apron.

Artie glanced curiously toward Monica when he delivered two ceramic mugs. “You’re out of your element with this girl, aren’t you, Chet?” he said in his gravelly voice.

“Just pour the coffee and keep the commentary to yourself,” Chet barked. He was having trouble enough breaking down Monica’s barriers without his so-called friend’s help.

Monica held the cup between both hands as if she were looking to warm her palms. “What would you like to talk about?” she asked, her eyes nervously avoiding his.

“Why’d you come?” he asked. He’d feel he was making progress if he could get her to admit to their attraction.

“I . . . don’t know. Michael asked me to stop by his house this evening and I had to make up this excuse and the whole time I was on the bus I kept thinking I must be crazy.”

“Then we’re both crazy,” he muttered, and sipped his coffee. It was hot, black, and thick. Just the way he liked it.

Monica sipped hers too, made a face, then reached for the sugar bowl. She added three heaping teaspoons before she sampled the liquid again.

“Where does that leave us?” she asked.

“I was thinking you could tell me.”

“I can’t.” She raised her eyes to his, then quickly lowered them. “No one’s ever kissed me the way you have.”

That didn’t come as any surprise to Chet. “That’s only the beginning.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kissing is the tip of the iceberg. There are a dozen different directions we could go from there.”

She looked at him as if she hadn’t a clue what he was talking about and he realized what should have been obvious from the beginning. Monica Fischer, preacher’s daughter, was a virgin. He didn’t know there were any left in the world and damned if he hadn’t stumbled onto the last living one.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look as if you just swallowed a basketball whole.”

“I feel that way.” He stood so abruptly that the chair shot two feet away from the table. Slapping a fistful of change on the table he reached for her arm, practically lifting her out of the chair. “Come on, we’re out of here.”

His grip was so tight, Monica’s toes barely touched the ground.

“Chet,” she cried, “what are you doing?”

“Getting you out of here.”

“Where are we going?” she asked. The way her voice struggled to stay even revealed the extent of her surprise.

“I’m taking you back to the bus stop.”

“Why?” She shook herself free of his hold and whirled around to face him.

“Because, sweetheart, I just realized something. You’re a virgin and I’m the last person you should be around.”

“Why?” she asked. Apparently she still hadn’t caught on.

“Because,” he said, having trouble keeping the anger out of his voice, although it was directed at himself, and not her. He was a bigger fool than he’d realized.

“Because doesn’t tell me anything.”

She was having trouble keeping pace with him, but Chet didn’t care. The sooner he was rid of her the better.

“Tell me what’s so terrible about being a virgin. Good grief, you make it sound like I’ve got a communicable disease or something.”

“All right, since you want to know I’ll tell you, but you aren’t going to like it.” Chet stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Although it was well past seven the streets were busy. Several people were forced to walk around them. “I wanted you to go to my apartment tonight for one reason and one reason only. I planned to seduce you.”

Monica went pale. “I see.”

“Apparently you don’t. Good-bye, Monica.” Having said that he turned and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the middle of the sidewalk.

Ten

“Mom, I need another quarter.” Timmy raced up to the table at the pizza parlor, his face bright and his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I’m blowing the brains out of the Laser Man.”

“I don’t think this is the kind of video game I want you playing.”

“Mom,” he protested, “I was just kidding. I’m winning, or I was until just now, but I need another quarter. Hurry, I gotta get back before someone else gets the machine.”

Luckily the pizza parlor wasn’t overly crowded, although a handful of kids had gathered around a row of video games against the back wall. Jody didn’t know how they could play at all with the lights so dim.

“Just a little while longer,” Jody said, rummaging through her purse for yet another quarter. Timmy’s easy acceptance of this outing with Glen had come as a welcome relief.

“Here.” Glen held out a fistful of change to her son. “Take what you need.”

“All these?” Coins spilled over Timmy’s small hands. His eyes were round with disbelief as he hurriedly pocketed the change. “Gee, thanks.”

“I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“I will. Thanks, Glen,” he said, walking backward. He turned abruptly, eager to get back to his prize machine.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Jody felt obliged to say. She didn’t want Glen to spoil Timmy, especially if they were to continue seeing each other. Her son might come to look upon Glen as his own personal Santa Claus.

“I have an ulterior motive,” Glen told her, his eyes brimming with a smile. “If Timmy’s busy with the video machines, we’ll have a chance to talk.”

Jody already guessed as much, but was uncomfortable having him say it out loud. Agreeing to this outing had been an enormous decision for her.

She’d been afraid to accept, but more afraid not to. Afraid of what she was becoming, afraid of what she already was. She’d stood in one place for so long she feared she’d rooted there like the flower garden she so carefully tended. Bit by bit, Glen was urging her forward. Each step was agony. Each step momentous.

“It hasn’t been so bad, now, has it?” Glen asked, coaxing her into admitting the truth. Even that didn’t come easy.

“It has been fun,” she agreed. Timmy had certainly enjoyed himself, downing an amazing five pieces of sausage and pepperoni pizza and a huge cola. Jody didn’t know where he managed to put it all. Generally when they ordered a medium-size pizza it was enough for two meals.

“Would you feel comfortable enough to go out with me again?” Glen asked, and his eyes held hers steadily until she couldn’t bear it any longer and looked away.

Glen was pressing his advantage and deliberately pushing her, forcing her to stretch her boundaries. This was only the beginning, she realized with a hundred forming regrets. From here on out it would only get more difficult, more threatening.

It certainly wasn’t going to get any easier. Soon Glen would want to hold her and kiss her, and if she continued to date him, he’d consider it a natural conclusion to their spending time together.

He hadn’t made any secret of what he was after. He wanted a wife and a family, and he’d said so from the first. Part of her attraction was her son. Glen and Timmy got along like gangbusters. Glen was literally the answer to her son’s prayer. That was the crux of the problem. Jody wasn’t dating Glen for herself, but for her son. Now she had to learn to do so for herself.

“I was able to get two tickets to The Nutcracker.”

“The Nutcracker?” Jody repeated, her voice no more than a breath of sound. The ballet was performed each December by the Pacific Northwest Ballet, and was said to be both charming and brilliant. For years Jody had heard how captivating the costumes and music were. Everyone she’d ever known who’d attended had come away filled with the Christmas spirit. Since Jeff’s death, Christmas had been a season to endure, not one to enjoy. Something told her this year it would be different.

“They’re for this Thursday night. I realize it’s a week night, but I was lucky to get those.”

“I . . .” The temptation was strong, stronger than she expected. “I’m honored that you’d ask me,” she said, hedging, trying to decide if she should continue this relationship.

“Then you’ll come?”

A full, tension-filled minute passed before she agreed with a short nod of her head.

Jody watched the play of glad emotions on Glen’s face, watched how he struggled to disguise his excitement, and in that moment she realized she’d crossed the line.

This was the beginning for them.

Everything else that had led up to this moment had been a prelude of what was to come. The time was right. It had been for a good long while, but she’d been too stubborn to accept it. As odd as it sounded, she was too comfortable in her grief to recognize what was happening.

There was no turning back now. Any qualms she experienced would need to be met head-on, one at a time.

Glen must have realized how momentous her decision was because he reached across the table for her hand, squeezing her fingers. “You won’t regret this,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“I don’t know why you want to go out with me,” she said, her voice small and trembling. She bit into her bottom lip in an effort to keep it still.

“You don’t understand?” Glen frowned as if dumbfounded by the question. “You’re a beautiful woman, a woman of character and strength. Every time I’m with you I’m struck by your courage.”

Jody laughed nervously. “Then why am I frightened out of my wits?”

“Because this is all so new, but I’m not going to push you into anything you don’t want. Oh, I’ll prod and poke and nudge you along from time to time, but you have my word, I won’t rush you into anything you don’t want.”

“Mom.” Timmy’s voice echoed across the room, sounding as though it came from the bottom of a tin drum. He raced back to the table, skidding to a stop. “When are we going to get our Christmas tree? I was talking to George, he’s the kid who showed me how to beat Laser Man, and his family’s already got theirs, and you know what? They went to this farm, but this isn’t the kind with cows and pigs, this is a farm with Christmas trees. And guess what?” he asked, dragging in a deep breath. “They cut it down themselves. We could do that, couldn’t we, Mom?”

“Ah . . .” Jody wasn’t sure how she’d manage chopping down a tree, but she was up to the challenge. “I’ll see if I can find out about the tree farm.”

“I know where there’s one,” Glen volunteered. “It’s a ways north, but if you wanted, the three of us could make a day of it. We’ll leave early Saturday morning, get the tree, and then decorate it in the afternoon.”

“That’d be great,” Timmy said, so pleased he could barely stand still.

“How does that sound to you?” Glen asked, looking expectantly at her. What else could she say? Little by little Glen was easing his way into their lives. Jody was uneasy with that, and at the same time eager.

“It sounds like a lot of fun.”

Glen’s eyes met hers and a slow, satisfied smile started to form.

Monica’s fingers bounced against the typewriter keys like clumps of hail hitting the sidewalk. Her hands kept pace with her thoughts, which sped at a record hundred words or more a minute.

She’d been stunned by what Chet had said to her. So shocked she hadn’t had time to react. Not then. Reaction had set in later that evening as she rode the bus home. She’d tossed and turned most of the night, her indignation scaling previously unreached thresholds of fury.

Chet Costello was everything she’d originally assumed. He was much worse than she, in her innocence, had suspected. Egotistical, untrustworthy, why, the man was a blight on decency.

He’d planned to seduce her, to break down her defenses and use her body for his own selfish satisfaction. As if she’d have allowed such a thing! As soon as he realized she would have nothing more to do with him, he couldn’t be rid of her fast enough. Without a qualm he’d cast her aside like so much dirty laundry.

The one glitch in his plan was that he hadn’t expected her to be a virgin. As if she were the kind of woman who’d fall into bed with him! And to think she’d actually been—it pained her to admit this—attracted to that scoundrel.

Tears burned her eyes as she continued typing. Thank heaven her father was away for the morning. To think she’d actually toyed with the idea of introducing Chet to her father, of bringing him into their family home. That would have been a disaster. Her father had always been an excellent judge of character and he would have seen through Chet in an instant.

Monica drew in a deep, wobbly breath as her resentment flared bright and then slowly burned itself out. She covered her face with both hands and attempted to pull herself together, which was difficult when she was shaking so badly.

After several moments had passed, Monica straightened, and ripped the sheet of paper from the typewriter with a vengeance. Having vented her feelings, there was no need to mail the letter. Any further communication between them whatsoever was completely unnecessary. Her hand automatically reached for the mustard-seed necklace dangling from her neck, fingering it. She’d worn the piece every day since Chet had bought it for her, until it had become habit.

Chet had made his views on life plain. If anything she should be grateful that he’d put an end to this madness when he had. One small part of her, however, refused to conform. One small rebellious corner of her soul yearned for the discoveries he would have shown her.

The thought terrified Monica into accepting how far she’d slid toward sin.

Well, she was safe. He was out of her life now. Good riddance was all she could say.

A knock came softly from the outer door.

“Come in,” she snapped, then realized she sounded like an old shrew, and said it again, softer this time. Church secretaries weren’t supposed to be confrontational.

Michael opened the door and stepped inside. “Hello, Monica.”

“Hello,” she said, tossing the crumpled-up letter into the wastebasket.

“Your father said I’d find you here.” He stepped into the office, his stance doubtful. His gaze hesitantly met hers as if he were unsure of himself.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, working hard to keep the impatience out of her voice. All she needed now was for him to load her down with extra work. Having wasted a good portion of the morning writing Chet and telling him exactly what she thought of him left her with a backlog of unfinished church business.

“I realize it’s short notice but I’d like to take you to lunch, that is, if you’d let me.”

The invitation was so unexpected that she didn’t know what to say. “Lunch?” She had to look at her watch to check the time. The morning had sped past on the wings of her aggravation. “I suppose that would be all right,” she said without much enthusiasm.

“Great.” His eyes lit up and she realized what nice eyes Michael had. He loved his music and had done wonders for the church choir. It was because of his efforts that the small band had formed. He’d volunteered several hours a week to church work.

Monica liked Michael. She’d always liked him—there wasn’t anything to dislike about the young man. He was godly, principled, and sincere. Everything she should want in a man.

But didn’t.

“If you have no objection I thought we’d go to the Pancake Palace. They serve a decent lunch.”

“Sure.” The Pancake Palace. That was the problem. Michael was a wonderful man, God’s own servant. Humble, gentle, the perfect choice of a mate for a preacher’s daughter, only . . . only she’d dined on pancakes most of her life and she was ready for some salsa.

There’d been a trace of hot sauce in Patrick. That was what attracted her to Chet, she realized now. He’d been daring and fun and he’d made her laugh. He’d also badly wounded her pride.

“I’ll get your jacket for you,” Michael offered. “I wouldn’t want you to a catch a chill.” He took her navy blue wool coat from the rack and held it open for her.

Michael was a gentleman and Chet was a rogue. If she had a lick of sense, she’d cultivate the relationship with Michael and thank God there were still men like him in this sick and decaying world.

Since the Pancake Palace was only two blocks away, they decided to walk. Monica buried her hands in her pockets and struggled to keep her attention on what Michael was saying. His voice was a low monotone and she had trouble concentrating.

A car drove past, the same sick green color of Chet’s Impala, and she whirled around, wondering if it could possibly be he. Her heart leaped into double time at the prospect.

If it was Chet, it would do him good to see her with another man. If he’d come to apologize, as well he should, then she would accept nothing less than his pleading for forgiveness.

She held her head high, refusing to allow him to think he’d left her floundering in the wake of his crass behavior. But the sight of the car had been fleeting and she couldn’t be entirely sure it was he. More than likely it wasn’t. Men like Chet Costello didn’t know how to apologize.

It was Andrew’s night out with his friends, and Leah schlepped into the living room, carrying a book and a cup of coffee. The house was lonely without her husband. Empty. The contrast between her life and that of Pam, who struggled to squeeze in a few moments for herself, struck Leah once more.

What she needed was a hobby, Leah decided. Something that would take her mind off the fact that she didn’t have a child. Something that would occupy her time so she didn’t dwell on how hollow her life was. Perhaps she should do volunteer work. There were any number of worthy causes that would welcome her attention.

Maybe when the holidays were over, she decided.

She read the first chapter without much enthusiasm. Finally, she put the book down and wandered into the kitchen for a refill on her coffee and stopped abruptly in front of the sink. In the bay window she’d arranged a row of cacti she’d carefully nurtured over the years. Andrew teased her that if she forgot to water them, it wouldn’t matter. Five thick pink-and-turquoise pots each held a different variety of cacti, and each one had sprouted a flower.

In the last hour.

A variety of pink, red, and white blossoms had appeared, as if by some miracle, from the time she’d finished the dishes and wandered into the living room until now, no more than an hour later. It wasn’t that she didn’t notice. One might have gone undetected, but not five. She could have sworn not a single one had been blooming an hour earlier.

Unexpected tears pooled in her eyes, the moisture hot and unwelcome. She brushed them away from her cheeks with the back of her hand. “It seems everything in this house is fertile except me,” she murmured aloud, and headed blindly toward the living room to await her husband’s return.

Sitting on the kitchen counter, her knees crossed, her foot swaying like a too-fast pendulum, Mercy heaved a gigantic sigh. Getting those flowers to appear hadn’t been an easy trick. She would have preferred African violets any day of the week over cacti!

Everything she’d done for Leah had backfired. The flowers were supposed to be a sign of hope. A way of telling her that all was not lost and that there was someone out there who’d heard her prayer and was working hard to see that it was answered. Well, it was back to the drawing board.

Perhaps what Shirley had suggested about Leah experiencing joy before she could find her peace was what it would take. First Mercy had to figure out a way to manage that, but if she could coax cacti into bloom, then anything was possible. Right?

“Shirley.” Goodness shot across the darkened family room of Jody and Timmy Potter’s house in a vapor of speed and excitement. “Give me five,” she cried, holding up her right hand for the other angel to slap. What a difference a few earth hours could make. For the first time since Goodness had accepted this assignment she was making progress. Real progress. Monica and Michael had gone to lunch together. It wasn’t much but it was a start in the right direction.

“Oh, do be quiet,” Shirley whispered heatedly. “You know better than to be exuberant when there’re children around. Timmy might very well hear you.”

“But I’ve got great news. Monica and Michael had lunch together and I arranged the whole thing without them suspecting. I tell you it was a work of art the way I got Michael to show up at the church office.”

“Please keep your voice down,” Shirley pleaded a second time, placing her finger against her lips.

“All right. All right, I’ll do my best, but this news is too good to keep to myself.”

Shirley whirled around so unexpectedly that Goodness was caught by surprise. A sleepy Timmy Potter wandered into the room, rubbing his eyes. He was wearing flannel pajamas with silly-looking armed turtles.

Shirley moved behind him.

“Mom,” Timmy called.

A moment later Jody Potter appeared in a long flannel nightgown that had seen better years. Shirley had her work cut out for her if she planned to find this woman a husband any time soon. Her charge looked downright frumpy.

“Timmy, what are you doing up?”

“I thought I heard something.”

Jody turned on the light and searched the room. The minute her back was turned, Shirley and Goodness righted the floral arrangement and set the magazines in order. Both headed straight for the ceiling, hovering there.

Jody searched the room, finding nothing out of the ordinary. “There’s no one here.”

“I thought I heard something,” Timmy said with a yawn. “But I guess not.”

“I guess not, too,” Jody said, placing her arm around her young son’s shoulders and steering him back to his bedroom. “Unless, of course, it was God’s own angels looking down and smiling on us.”

“You think it might have been?” Timmy asked excitedly, looking up. He paused and blinked, rubbed his eyes again, then looked back.

“Who knows?” Jody said and turned out the light.

* * *

Monica’s attitude toward Chet altered drastically over the next couple of days. He was still a scoundrel and a no-good rogue, but darned if she didn’t miss him. There was no explaining it, no possible way of reasoning it out in her mind.

She tried to fill the emptiness that surrounded her with a flurry of activity. The night before she’d dragged out the Christmas decorations and gone about setting them around the house and office. Her father, impressed by her initiative, assumed this burst of energy was somehow connected with her long lunch with Michael. Monica didn’t correct him.

Monica knew she wouldn’t see Chet again and wondered if he missed her. She wondered how he looked upon their time together or if he’d given her as much as a fleeting thought in the days since they’d last been together.

She wore her hair down that morning and when she walked into the kitchen her father lowered the morning paper and smiled gently at her.

“Monica,” he said softly, “how nice you look.”

“Thank you.”

“Will you be seeing Michael again this afternoon?”

“I . . . I don’t know.” How keen her father was on the young musician. He’d pegged Michael early on as the perfect husband for her. He was right. Her father generally was. How she wished she felt the same way about the earnest choir director. There was no question of what a fine man Michael was. Several of the eligible women at church would have gladly welcomed his notice. For now those attentions were sadly wasted on her.

“It seems to me I said something to Michael about coming over for dinner one night soon. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Of course not, Michael is welcome anytime.” So this was to be the way of it. Her father would chart her romance for her, making excuses for the two of them to be together again.

“I’m sure he’ll approve of the way you’ve done your hair,” he added, looking pleased.

She smiled weakly. “I’ll see you in a few minutes,” she said, anxious to escape their conversation.

“You’re leaving for the office so soon?”

“I . . . have several things I need to do first thing this morning.”

“I won’t be in until later. I’m visiting Mrs. McWilliams,” he reminded her, downing the last of his milk and setting the glass in the sink.

The woman was an old and faithful church member who’d recently broken her hip. Lloyd visited her at least twice a week.

“I’ll see you later, then,” Monica said, eager to make her escape. She walked across the yard to the old church building and let herself in by the side door that opened onto the sanctuary area. She’d been raised in this building, lived the majority of her life in the same house with the same people.

Instead of heading directly to the office, which was situated in the room at the rear of the church off the foyer, Monica paused and looked toward the altar. An unspoken prayer rose in her throat and she found herself moving toward the altar rail.

Monica knelt there and slowly bowed her head. “Guide his life, Father,” she whispered. The tears that filled her eyes came as a surprise and the remainder of the words were choked off in her throat. She wasn’t sure how to pray for Chet. But God knew and she’d leave the man and the matter in His capable hands.

Several moments passed before she stood.

Her morning slipped past almost unnoticed. Typing was something of a chore with her hair continually falling in her face. It irritated her so much that she found two bobby pins in a desk drawer and clipped both sides behind her ears.

She was busy working on the bulletin for Sunday morning worship service when the door opened. Monica looked up from the typewriter and her pulse quickened. Quickened was a mild way of explaining what happened to her. Her heart was banging against her ribs with such force she wasn’t able to do anything more than breathe.

“I see you took my advice about your hairstyle,” Chet said, and sauntered into the office as if he were right at home.

“What are you doing here?” She glanced anxiously toward her father’s office, forgetting he wasn’t there.

“Don’t worry, he’s off visiting Mrs. McWilliams.”

“How . . . how do you know that?”

Chet laughed lightly and rearranged the figurines that made up the nativity scene she’d set in a froth of angel hair, switching the camels and the mules. “I know just about everything there is to know about you.”

Playing a game of cat and mouse with him was beyond her. Chet was much too clever for her. “Why are you here?”

“To see you. Why else? I’m not exactly the type of guy who frequents churches.”

She was on her feet without knowing how she got there. Clenching her hands together in front of her, she drew in a steadying breath. “Why do you want to see me?”

“I figured I owed you an apology.”

His willingness to admit it surprised her. “Then I accept your regrets,” she informed him, sitting back down. “You don’t need to trouble yourself further.”

“I came for another reason,” he said, easing himself onto the corner of her desk as if he had every right to do so.

“What’s that?” Monica placed her hands on the keyboard, ready to resume her task although heaven knew she couldn’t have typed had her life depended on it.

“You planning on seeing that milquetoast choir director again?”

“I . . . I don’t believe that’s any concern of yours.”

“Perhaps not, but if you do, you’re cheating him and you’re hurting yourself.”

Monica had taken about as much of his advice as she could tolerate. “What gives you the right to say those kinds of things to me?” she demanded.

“I know you, sweetheart.”

She hated it when he called her that and he knew it. He was purposely trying to irritate her.

“You’ve got fire in your blood, not milk. You’ve sampled desire. Now that you know what it is to be weak with wanting a man, you won’t be able to accept second best. Not anymore—it’s too late for that.”

“You have your nerve.”

“You’re right,” he agreed readily enough, “I do.” He stood and walked around to her side of the desk.

Monica watched him, not knowing what to expect. Every nerve was at full attention. A siren was blaring in her head, blocking out all sensible thought.

When he reached for her, she didn’t offer the least bit of resistance. As it never failed to do, his touch rippled through her, snapping her senses to life. He roughly lowered his mouth to hers, where he planted desperate, hungry kisses.

She resisted him at first, attempting to jerk her mouth from his, but he wouldn’t allow it, trapping her face and plundering her mouth with his tongue. Her stand against him was pitifully weak, and soon she was as much a participant in the exchange as he was.

Slowly he eased himself away from her. “Dear God,” he whispered and Monica was convinced he didn’t mean this as a prayer.

Something attracted his attention and he jerked his head around. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered.

Monica was too startled to do anything.

“Whoever it is, get rid of them,” he instructed, slipping behind the door that led to her father’s office.

Get rid of them, Monica thought in panic. She wasn’t accustomed to playing these ridiculous cops-and-robbers games. She hadn’t a clue of what to say or do.

The door opened just then and Michael strolled inside. He smiled at her warmly. “I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Bad time,” she repeated with a phony laugh. “Of course not. Come on in, Michael.”

Eleven

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” Pam asked, leading Scotty by the hand into Leah’s house. “After all the trouble I’ve gone through for this silly Christmas party of Doug’s, who’d believe my baby-sitter would come down with the flu. At the last minute, no less. It was the oddest thing. One minute she was fine and the next she was sick.”

“You should have brought over Diane and Jason too,” Leah said.

Pam laughed outright at that. “Even my mother won’t take all three at once.” Flustered and in a rush, she set everything down on the sofa and started unpacking the items she’d brought along for her middle son. Sorting through the brown paper sack, Pam removed Scotty’s pajamas, an extra set of clothes for the morning, his stuffed dinosaur and a tattered yellow blanket. “He’s mostly given up his blanky, but he might need a bit of security to sleep in an unfamiliar bed.”

“I’ll make sure he has it with him.”

“I brought along some extra training pants,” Pam said, setting out a stack of them.

“I don’t wet,” Scotty said, his fists braced against his small hips. “I’m a big boy.”

“I forgot his potty seat,” Pam cried. “Oh, well, you’ll just have to hold him over the toilet.”

“Don’t worry, Scotty and I’ll figure everything out as we go. Isn’t that right, bud?”

“Right.” She held out her hand for him to slap, which he did with enthusiasm, his arm making a high arc into the air.

Pam straightened and held back her hair with both hands. “I hope to heaven that’s everything. Here’s the number where Doug and I’ll be,” she said, pulling a slip of paper from her coat pocket. Getting down on her knees, she wrapped her arms around her three-year-old. “Promise me you’ll be an extra good boy for Auntie Leah?”

Scotty clung to her neck and planted a wet kiss on her cheek.

“We’re going to have a great time, aren’t we, Scotty?” Leah urged, knowing how bad Pam felt to be leaving him in an unfamiliar setting.

Scotty nodded, but looked uncertain when his mother left. Pam was halfway out the front door when she turned back. “He probably needs to go now.”

“Pam,” Leah said, ushering her friend out of the house, “scoot, otherwise you’ll miss your hair appointment.”

“I’m hurrying—”

“Stop looking so worried. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Scotty was standing at the window, his mouth pressed to the cold glass as he watched his mother pull out of the driveway. He looked at Leah and his bottom lip started to tremble.

“Scotty, how about helping me with lunch?” she asked, holding out her hand. “You can decide what to fix for Uncle Andrew, all right?”

The boy shook his head, smearing his lip prints from one pane to the next.

“Are you hungry?”

Once more Scotty shook his head. “I want my mommy.”

“She’s going out to dinner with your daddy and his friends from work.”

“I want to go too.”

“This dinner is only for mommies and daddies.”

Apparently this wasn’t what Scotty wanted to hear because the tears started in earnest. He was breaking her heart, standing with his back to the window, rubbing his eyes and sobbing softly. She couldn’t bear to see her godson weeping so pitifully, so she lifted him into her arms to comfort him. Scotty buried his face in her shoulder, snuffling into her expensive cashmere sweater. Leah smiled to herself and shook her head. This was what it meant to be a mother, to be loved and needed. She’d treasure every moment of the time with this precious little boy.

It took Leah only a few moments to get Scotty interested in helping her assemble sandwiches. Andrew arrived about the time the boy was licking the jelly off the knife and sticking it back inside the jar.

“So we have company,” he said, removing his jacket and hanging it on the peg just inside the door.

Scotty looked at her husband as an unknown entity, his big dark eyes following Andrew’s movements around the kitchen as Leah explained Pam’s sorry predicament.

“Peanut butter and jelly?” Andrew grumbled under his breath, eyeing their lunch.

“That was what Scotty wanted us to have.”

“You sure he didn’t suggest pastrami on rye?” Andrew mumbled out of the corner of his mouth.

“Scotty made the peanut butter and jelly all by himself,” Leah said, urging her husband to compliment the boy on his efforts. There was more peanut butter on the countertop than the bread, but Scotty had done it himself and beamed with pride.

“So I noticed.” Andrew skeptically lifted one corner of the bread. The peanut butter was spread so thin the white bread showed through. He looked at Leah and they both burst into laughter. It wasn’t especially funny, but they seemed to find it so.

Scotty studied them as if he didn’t know what to make of the two. Leah kissed his chubby cheek and set the sandwich and a small glass of milk down on the table. Moving out the chair, Scotty climbed onto the seat. He knelt on the cushion and leaned against the glass tabletop, his small hands circling the glass.

“Apparently lunch is served,” Andrew said, bowing and gallantly gesturing for Leah to take her place at the table. He held out the chair for her, then seated himself.

After sampling the sandwich, Andrew eyed Leah. “Is Scotty choosing the dinner menu as well?”

“Hot dogs and macaroni and cheese,” Scotty said with his mouth full of food.

Andrew looked at Leah and there was something so crestfallen in his eyes that she couldn’t help it, she burst out laughing. Andrew didn’t know what she found so funny, but soon he was laughing too. Scotty, who hadn’t a clue of what was going on, joined in, milk dribbling out of the corner of his mouth.

Mercy looked down upon the scene from where she was lounging on top of the double-wide refrigerator. Her scheme had worked beautifully, although she did feel mildly guilty about inflicting Pam’s baby-sitter with the virus.

Scotty’s visit with Leah and Andrew was going much better than she’d anticipated. So well that it was all Mercy could do not to stand up and cheer. The sound of Leah and Andrew’s laughter brightened the room like floodlights on an empty stage.

The kitchen radiated with the warmth of their happiness. The dim, dark pall of melancholy faded as the joy was slowly released, circling the room with tails of light. The gloom, discouragement, and despair that marked this house lifted like dissipating fog over the Golden Gate Bridge, revealing the sound structure of this marriage, and the deep, profound love Leah and Andrew shared.

This was what Mercy had waited for so impatiently.

Joy.

Her gaze wandered closely over Leah and the emotion she read in the young woman’s face deeply stirred her soul. At last they were making progress. The light was on, the mist had lifted.

It was a beginning.

The lunch was over and Leah lifted Scotty from the chair, washed his hands and face, and carried him into the guest bedroom. Knowing his penchant for amusing himself instead of napping, she sat in the rocking chair and held him in her lap. Scotty chose a book and she read to him until he dozed off.

For a long time after Scotty was asleep, Leah continued to hold him, enjoying these rare moments of peace and the ecstasy of having a child in her arms.

Kissing the top of his curly head, she was amazed at all Pam managed to do with a houseful of preschoolers. Scotty had only been with her a couple of hours and already she was emotionally and physically exhausted.

Andrew arrived just then, leaning indolently against the door frame, his face wide with a saucy grin. “It looks like you could use a nap yourself.”

“No one ever told me toddlers could be so exhausting,” Leah admitted.

“Here,” Andrew whispered, gently lifting Scotty from her arms. “Let’s put him to bed.”

Moving around her husband, Leah turned back the sheets and Andrew carefully laid the sleeping child onto the mattress. Covering him with the quilt, Leah bent down and kissed her godson’s forehead.

Neither Andrew nor Leah were in any hurry to leave the room. Standing next to her husband, she nestled in the warm security of Andrew’s arms, her head resting against the solid wall of his chest.

“He’s really something, isn’t he?” Andrew said softly, so as not to disturb Scotty’s sleep.

“He’s a ball of energy.”

Andrew kissed the side of her neck. “Come on, I think we could do with a nap ourselves.”

From the way he made the suggestion, Leah knew resting was the last thing on her husband’s mind. She caught his eye, and whispered regretfully, “Andrew, we can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Scotty might wake and—”

“Do you think Doug and Pam worry about that? Besides, I can be real quiet, and with some effort so can you,” he whispered, steering her toward their bedroom.

Sometime later, Leah woke to the sounds of someone hopping up and down at the foot of her bed. She rolled onto her back to find Scotty doing a marvelous impression of a kangaroo.

“Hi, Scotty.”

He was holding onto his front with both hands, his eyes wide and appealing.

“Scotty?” she asked, sitting up, clenching the sheets to her breasts. “Do you need to go potty?”

“That would be my guess,” Andrew said, yawning. “Come on, fellow, I’ll show you the way.” Lifting the boy into his arms, Andrew carried him to the bathroom.

Leah grabbed her sweater and finished dressing. “How’s everything going in there?” she called out.

“Not good. He seems to need something.”

“What?”

Scotty apparently didn’t trust Andrew to properly relay the message. “I need my blanky . . . I need my blanky . . . I need my blanky.”

Leah retrieved the yellow monstrosity in record time and rushed back into the bathroom, where Andrew was holding Scotty over the toilet seat. The boy grabbed the blanket, and held it against his face. As soon as the blanket was in position, he released a long, grateful sigh and relaxed.

When Scotty finished, Andrew sagged onto the side of the bathtub. “What was that all about?”

“Pam said something about forgetting his toilet seat. He must have been terrified of being perched up there.”

Andrew looked at Leah and she looked at him and soon the two of them dissolved into giggles.

“I’m a big boy,” Scotty insisted, looking downright proud of himself, his laughter mingling with theirs.

Monica was convinced Michael would guess that Chet was hiding behind the door in the other room. Why Chet felt he needed to disappear, she could only speculate.

The man was a fool to show up at the church this way. She’d wanted to shout at him, and throw the entire contents of her filing cabinet in his face. Heaven knew he deserved that and far worse. Why, she should have slapped him silly.

She would have, too, if she hadn’t been so pleased to see him.

“Your hair looks especially nice today,” Michael said with glowing approval.

“Thank you.” Knowing Chet, it was probably all he could do to keep from leaping out from behind the door and commenting that he’d been the one to suggest the change.

“I’m playing the piano for the Methodists’ church cantata this evening,” Michael was saying. “Their regular pianist came down with the flu. I thought I’d stop by and see if you’d like to come along.”

“Tonight?” Monica asked, stalling for time. In truth she was looking for an excuse, anything to get out of this date, but nothing readily presented itself.

“I mentioned this evening to your father and he said you didn’t have anything planned,” Michael pressed.

“No, I don’t believe I do.” So her father had put him up to this. She should have realized that sooner.

Michael hesitated, glancing at her as if he were waiting for her to say something more. Uncertain, Monica steadily met his look.

“Did Lloyd mention anything about dinner?”

“Dinner?” She knew she was beginning to sound like a parrot. “Why, yes. Dad did say something this morning about having you over for dinner some evening. We’d be more than happy to have you join us, if you’d like.”

“Tonight?”

“Tonight . . . why, sure . . . tonight would be perfect, wouldn’t it, since I’ll be there for the Methodists’ cantata.”

“What time?”

“Six,” she said automatically, willing to agree to anything that would convince him to leave faster. Knowing Chet was listening in on the conversation made matters ten times worse.

“Great,” Michael said, looking well pleased with himself, “I’ll see you around six, then. Would you like me to bring anything?”

“No. Everything’s under control. Good-bye, Michael,” she said, sitting back down at the typewriter, hoping he’d take the hint and kindly leave while her sanity was intact. She placed her hands on the keyboard until she noticed how badly she was trembling and immediately lowered them to her lap.

“I’ll look forward to this evening,” he said, reluctantly moving toward the door. He was looking for an excuse to stay, but she refused to give him one.

Despite her obvious signs of distress, she rolled a fresh sheet of paper into the typewriter.

“Your father claims you’re a fabulous cook.”

“I do a fair job,” she muttered. This was getting worse every minute and she didn’t know how much more she could bear.

“Good-bye for now.”

“Good-bye, Michael,” she said, closing her eyes in relief.

Michael left then and the door closed with a soft clicking sound. The instant he was gone, Monica leaped out of her chair, raced around her desk and into her father’s study. By the time she arrived she was both breathless and furious.

“Why’d you hide?” she demanded. “Of all the crazy things you’ve said and done in the last few weeks, this takes the cake.”

“It would have required awkward explanations,” was all he’d say.

“Well, he’s gone now.”

“So I see.” A frown darkened Chet’s face and he glared at her. “So you’re going to continue seeing him despite what I said.”

“What choice did I have?” she cried, throwing her arms into the air. “I said what I had to to get him to leave. Besides, what business is it of yours who I do or do not date?” How could he say such things to her when he was the one who’d put her in this predicament!

It took him a long time to answer. “You’re right, it’s none of my damn business.”

Monica was pleased that Chet did care, but she didn’t want him to know it.

“Michael’s not so bad,” he said after a moment, “it’s plain as day that he’s crazy about you.”

The man was full of surprises. First he demanded that she stay away from Michael and now he was urging her to see the other man.

Chet’s eyes were clouded as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I should never have come.”

He strode past her and in her heart Monica knew if he walked out the door she’d never see him again. She had to do something.

He was all the way across the room, his hand on the doorknob, before she found the courage to speak. “Don’t go.” She advanced a single step toward him and stopped.

Chet turned around slowly, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard her correctly. Gradually a grin danced its way across his lips. “You don’t want me to leave?”

Her tongue was trapped against the roof of her mouth and she shook her head, unable to say the words a second time. It had demanded every ounce of courage she possessed the first time.

His gaze narrowed into thin, disbelieving slits. “Why not?”

She shrugged.

“Come on, sweetheart, you can do better than that.”

“Don’t call me that.” She backed away from him, as far as she could go, until her buttocks were pressed against the edge of her desk.

“What would you like me to call you?”

It was a mistake to have asked him to stay, a mistake to let him know how much of the time he dominated her thoughts. He made her weak where she’d once been strong, and she’d found no compensation for what she’d lost.

“I think you should go,” she whispered.

He cocked his thick brows at that. “You don’t seem to know what you want, do you? You want me to stay, yet you invite that mild-mannered choirboy for dinner.”

“My father invited him.”

“Ah, your father,” Chet said thoughtfully. “Michael’s the type of man he wants you to marry, isn’t he? We both know what your daddy would think of the likes of me.”

“That’s not true. My father isn’t like that.”

“Sure,” he scoffed. “He’d welcome me with open arms. Don’t kid yourself, Monica, we both know better. Listen, sweetheart, forget I was ever here, all right?”

“No. No, I won’t forget,” she whispered heatedly. “I can’t forget.”

She read the questions etched in his eyes and realized they were a reflection of her own. She didn’t have any of the answers and apparently neither did he.

Walking toward him was the boldest thing she’d ever done in her life. Flattening her palms against the hard expanse of his chest, she slowly, reluctantly raised her eyes to his.

He didn’t give her a chance to speak. His mouth came down on hers in a kiss that was as hot as it was wild. With a low, guttural sound, he sent his tongue searching deep inside her mouth. Instinct dictated her actions as she raised her arms and looped them around his neck, giving herself completely to the mastery of his kiss.

His arms folded around her waist, greedily holding her against him as his mouth plundered hers. Her feet dangled several inches off the ground.

The kiss ended only when they were both desperate to breathe.

Monica was left stunned, her heart in a panic. It had always been like this between them, this craziness. Her head felt as if it were in its own orbit, spinning madly out of control. Emotionally she was a wreck, close to tears and trembling.

Chet’s lips returned to hers in a series of long, slow kisses and her world righted itself. Everything slipped neatly back into place. Only when she lifted her head from his did outside influences overtake her.

For the love of heaven, they were in a church building, and yet she couldn’t have left his arms in that moment for all the gold in the world.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” Chet whispered against her neck. He drew in a deep breath as if that would give him the necessary fortitude to ease her out of his arms.

“Not yet,” she pleaded.

The sound of voices in the yard outside was all the incentive they needed. They broke apart as if they’d been burned.

“That’s my father,” Monica said, her gaze flying to Chet’s.

Chet jerked his head both ways. “I’ll go out the window.”

“That’s crazy.”

By the time she reached him in her father’s office, he’d hoisted the window open and had one leg draped over the sill. “Meet me tonight,” he said.

“When?” she pleaded, glancing over her shoulder. “Where?”

“Never mind.”

“No,” she whispered frantically. “Tell me when and where.”

He smiled, and the look in his eyes was enough to cause spirals of heat to coil in her belly. He reached for her, kissed her once hard and fast and whispered, “I’ll let you know.” With that he vanished.

The door opened and her father casually strolled inside, humming softly to himself. He looked surprised to find her standing there.

“Monica.”

“Yes, Dad?” she said, still trapped in a sensual daze.

“You might want to close the window. It’s downright chilly in here.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said, lowering it as if it were nothing out of the ordinary to have it open in the middle of December.

“I’ll open the door for you,” Timmy cried, running toward the front porch, leaving Glen to untie the Christmas tree from the top of his car.

“Timmy has his own key,” Jody explained, catching the rope that Glen tossed down to her as he untied the tree.

Glen looked toward the front of the house. “He enjoyed himself this afternoon, didn’t he?”

Jody smiled and nodded. “I swear he was like a jackrabbit, leaping from one tree to the next, certain each time he’d found the perfect Christmas tree. It’s a miracle we were able to convince him to choose just one.”

“What about you, Jody?” Glen asked thoughtfully. “Did you have a good time too?”

It shouldn’t be so difficult to admit to the truth, but it was.

“I had a very nice time,” she said, keeping her eyes averted.

His laugh came unexpectedly. “Good girl,” he praised. “I knew you could do it.”

Jody laughed then too, because it was rather silly of her to hold out against the obvious.

Timmy returned, breathless and excited. “The door’s open,” he announced, eager to help in any way he could.

Her son was a marvel, Jody mused. Rarely had she seen him more animated. He’d laughed and chatted incessantly, until she was convinced he was going to drive Glen nuts. For a man who wasn’t accustomed to being around children, the attorney had been marvelous.

“Mom got the tree stand and all the decorations out last night,” Timmy told Glen, for about the fifth time. Actually Jody had lost count of the number of times Timmy had felt it was necessary to clue Glen in to this information.

Together, the three of them carried the Christmas tree around to the backyard.

“We’re going to need to cut off a couple of inches from the bottom,” Glen said, once they’d got the tree to the patio and recovered. The trunk was too wide for the stand. “Think you might be able to help me saw it off?” he asked Timmy.

It was like asking the boy if he liked popcorn. Timmy beamed with pride as he solemnly nodded his head. “Sure, I can do it.”

“I know you can,” Glen said, affectionately patting his shoulder.

“While you’re busy with that, I’ll put on some hot chocolate,” Jody said, pushing open the sliding glass door. The tears that stung her eyes were unexpected. She wasn’t entirely sure what prompted them, nor was she sure she wanted to know.

The changes in Timmy had been revealing. Yes, it was Christmastime and yes, he was excited, but it made her realize how rare those times were. Generally Timmy involved himself in his video games and didn’t show much enthusiasm for anything else—with the one exception being baseball, which he dearly loved.

Between sniffles, she brought the milk out of the refrigerator and set a pan on the stove, furious with herself for the weakness of tears.

Glen appeared unexpectedly and she twisted her head away, praying he wouldn’t notice. “That’s quite a boy you’ve got there,” Glen said. “I swear he’s another Paul Bunyan.”

“He’s certainly had the time of his life.” She was grateful that the hot chocolate gave her an excuse to keep her back to him.

Glen moved behind her and gently placed his hands on her shoulders. Jody froze, unaccustomed to a man’s touch.

He bent forward and kissed the side of her neck.

“Where’s Timmy?” she asked, her voice trembling.

“Putting the saw away.” Glen turned her so that they faced each other. He frowned when he saw her tear-bright eyes and slid his thumb across the high arch of her cheek. “Bad thoughts?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Let me help.” Then, before she could protest, he lowered his mouth to hers. It was hardly enough pressure to call it a real kiss. Gradually he increased the intensity, deepening the contact. Jody felt like a rag doll, limp and unresponsive. The kiss was sweet and undemanding, but Glen was the first man to touch her since Jeff. Doubts blew against her with hurricane force winds until she pressed her hands against his chest and broke the contact. Later she’d analyze her feelings toward Glen, but for now it was too new.

Glen sighed softly. “It would be very easy to fall in love with you.” He continued to hold her until he heard Timmy’s approach.

Once her son was back, Glen carried the tree into the house, and with a good deal of ceremony, set it in the living room. When it was in place in front of the large picture window, they sat back and sipped hot chocolate.

Unwilling to rest, Timmy sorted through the boxes of decorations. It seemed with every one, he found something he needed to show Glen. Each discovery involved a lengthy explanation.

Glen’s patience surprised her, and she told him so.

“He’s a great kid,” Glen said. “Who wouldn’t like him?”

“Can we decorate the tree now?” Timmy asked, standing in the middle of three strings of lights. Wires were wrapped around his feet and another strand was draped over his shoulder as he grinned broadly in their direction. “You aren’t going to make me wait until Christmas morning to see my presents, are you? I’m much too old to pretend I believe in Santa Claus.”

“It’s tradition,” Jody said, as means of an argument.

“Oh, phooey. I still have to pretend I believe in that silly kid stuff for my grandma, but it’s downright embarrassing. I just hope none of my friends find out about it.”

“Sometimes there are things a man has to do,” Glen said, and Jody marveled that he kept a straight face.

“Can we decorate the tree now?”

“Sure,” Glen agreed, setting aside his empty mug.

“It’ll be our best tree yet, won’t it, Mom?”

Jody was saved from answering by the phone. She left the pair to untangle the strings of lights and took the call in the kitchen.

“Hello.”

“Jody, dear, it’s so good to hear your voice.”

“Hello, Gloria.” It had been a year or longer since she’d last spoken to her former mother-in-law. “Did you get my letter?” Jody asked, glancing guiltily into the living room. There wasn’t any reason for her to feel the least bit contrite for dating Glen or for kissing him, but she did, as if she’d been unfaithful to Jeff’s memory.

“I have some very important news,” Gloria said, ignoring the question.

“Who is it?” Timmy wanted to know.

“Just a minute, Gloria,” Jody said, and placed her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s your Grandma Potter,” she explained. “I’ll let you talk to her when I’m finished. I’ll call you in just a minute.” When Timmy was gone, she replaced the receiver at her ear. “I’m sorry to interrupt you. You were telling me you had something important to tell me?”

“My dear, it’s the most wonderful news. Brace yourself because what I’m about to tell you will come as a shock. Jeff’s alive.”

Twelve

Monica paced her bedroom, wondering what, if anything, she should do now that she was home. Her evening with Michael had been miserable. Michael couldn’t be blamed for that; he’d been sweet and considerate, wanting to please her.

When he’d arrived for dinner, he’d presented her with a potted pink poinsettia, which riddled her with guilt. Throughout the meal he’d praised her efforts while her father looked on approvingly. Monica was a fair cook, but the pot roast and mashed potatoes and gravy were nothing to brag about.

The cantata, while inspirational, had seemed to drag. Every note was torture and Monica knew why.

She was looking for Chet, half expecting him to slip into the pew next to her at the Methodist church. It was just like something he’d do. Monica had sat through the entire program with her stomach in knots, wondering when and where Chet would show up.

After she returned home, she wondered if he’d come for her, as he’d said he would, but as the night ripened, she was further burdened with uncertainty.

Fortunately, her father had gone to bed early. She hadn’t been fooled. Lloyd Fischer was hoping she’d invite Michael in for a cup of coffee and had afforded them the necessary privacy to talk. Monica, however, had made her excuses, thanked Michael for a lovely evening, and then quickly slipped inside the house.

Waiting for Chet was intolerable. The not knowing. Twice now she’d ventured through the house, turning lights on and off as she tiptoed from one room to the next, fearing she’d wake her father.

At ten, she sat on the end of her bed, depressed and miserable. She picked at her fingernails, which she kept square and neatly trimmed. Although she’d often admired women with beautifully manicured nails, she personally thought of them as vain. The Bible has a good deal to say about vanity and a good many other things, including . . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking sound against her bedroom window. Monica flew off the bed and was breathless by the time she boosted open her window and stuck out her head.

“Chet?” she whispered as loud as she dared, leaning out. “Is that you?” She was eternally grateful that her father’s room was at the front of the house, opposite her own.

“Are you expecting anyone else?”

She heard Chet, but couldn’t see him. “Where are you?” she demanded, squinting into the inky black night. Shadows flickered here and there in what little light the moon offered. Still she couldn’t locate him, and yet he sounded incredibly close.

He appeared then, like an apparition, and stood directly in front of her. For a moment they did nothing but stare at each other. Monica’s heart was positioned somewhere between her chest and her throat and felt like a concrete ball.

Chet’s look was unreadable. This private investigator was superbly talented at hiding his feelings.

Her own were as plain as a first-grade primer, she was sure of it. She was so pleased to see him it would have been impossible to disguise even a small part of her feelings.

His eyes darkened with intensity before he framed her face with his hands and gently pressed his mouth to hers. Monica sighed and wrapped her arms around his neck. The upper part of her body was thrust out the window so that her waist was pressed against the sill.

“I’m so pleased you came,” she whispered again and again between frantic kisses. Her fingers were in his hair and her mouth was working against his, her need urgent.

The power Chet held over her was frightening. Each time they were together a little more of her restraint was stripped away. A little more of her control.

By the time they broke apart, Monica was gasping and trembling. She was aware of every part of her body his hands had touched. Her face, her shoulders, her neck. She felt a deep, physical hunger that shook her to the core.

“How was your date?” he asked.

She shook her head, not wanting to discuss Michael.

“Did you enjoy yourself?” he demanded, refusing to allow her to brush off the question. His hands held her face prisoner, and his eyes burned into hers.

“I was miserable.”

His shoulders relaxed and he rewarded her with a shockingly thorough kiss. Before she had time to recover, he hoisted himself inside her bedroom.

Monica backed away from the window, and sank onto the edge of her mattress, her knees too weak to support her.

Chet glanced about the starkly furnished room and frowned. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Where would we go?”

“My place.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Where she gathered the strength to refuse him she never knew. She folded her hands in her lap and concentrated on drawing in deep, even breaths. If ever she needed a clear head it was now.

Chet was pacing the room, restless and agitated. “We can’t stay here.”

“Why not?”

“Monica, be reasonable. Your father’s—”

“On the other side of the house. He’s a sound sleeper, he won’t hear anything, and if he does, well, I’m twenty-five years old and if I care to invite a man into our house, then that’s my business.”

Chet’s smile lacked amusement. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m in your bedroom, and inviting me to stay is a little like inviting the fox into the henhouse.”

“Is your place any safer?”

He laughed softly at that. “No, but it’ll ease my conscience. In the time it takes us to get there I just might find the strength to keep my hands off you. But I doubt it. You’ve got me so tied up in knots, it’s a wonder I’m able to do my job.”

Monica wasn’t in any better condition herself. Brushing the hair from her face, she forced herself to think rationally. That, she soon realized, was a mistake. “As far as I can see we have absolutely nothing in common,” she mumbled under her breath, discouraged and depressed.

“Except we’re so damn hot for each other we’re both about to break out in a heat rash.”

“A relationship built on physical attraction is doomed from the beginning.”

Chet nodded. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

“So,” she said, straightening her spine, searching for the necessary resolve to do the right thing. “Where do we go from here?”

“The logical choice is to bed. It’d help matters tremendously, don’t you think? It’s what any other couple would do in like circumstances. We just might be able to put this damn foolishness behind us and get on with our lives.”

His words felt like a cold slap in the face. “That’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said to me,” Monica managed despite her outrage. “I’m not some bimbo you can use to satisfy your carnal cravings and then toss aside. Dear heaven.” She moaned, covering her face with both hands. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“All right, all right,” Chet whispered, kneeling down in front of her. He pried her hands away from her face, clasped them in his own and kissed her knuckles. “You’re right, it was a stupid thing to suggest. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

Leaning forward she rewarded his honesty with a lengthy kiss, one that gained in intensity and momentum until they were both sprawled across the top of her mattress, their arms and legs entwined.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, his voice husky and low. He was struggling for control and for that matter so was she, but it felt so wonderfully good to be in his arms. Better than anything she’d experienced in all her twenty-five years.

“I better leave,” he whispered.

“Not yet.” She ran her tongue along the underside of his jaw, loving the taste of him; the scent of rum-and-spice after-shave enveloped her. She burrowed more completely into his embrace. For a moment she thought he intended to push her away, but instead he released a long, slow sigh and held her tightly against him.

“Monica . . .”

“Hmmm?” She felt the powerful strength of his erection and heaven help her, gloried in it. By slightly lifting her leg she was able to move ever so gently against the part of him that was uniquely male.

“Stop,” he muttered between clenched teeth, “otherwise I won’t be held responsible for what happens.”

Monica smiled to herself, knowing he’d never do anything to hurt her. Where the assurance came from she couldn’t be sure, but she felt it as strongly as she did his arms around her.

“I knew it would be a mistake to come,” he mumbled, seemingly to himself.

Monica continued to move her mouth over his throat. Her tongue made small circular movements against his jaw and over his ear.

“You’re playing with fire,” he said, his voice stiff with resolve.

“I know,” she assured him.

“A man can only take so much of this.” The words were barely audible.

“I know that too.”

His hands were busy with the fastenings of her blouse, which he peeled open with ease. Monica thought to stop him before he slipped it from her arms, but he was kissing her and the feelings were too incredible to interrupt. Her bra followed next and when the cold air hit her naked breasts, she squeezed her eyes closed, suddenly afraid.

Chet altered their positions so that she was straddled atop him.

“Open your eyes,” Chet instructed after a moment.

Monica wildly shook her head. “I can’t.”

“You’re very beautiful.” The awe in his voice felt like a warm caress. The size of her breasts had been a constant source of embarrassment to Monica from the time she’d entered puberty. They were large and full. For most of her life she’d done what she could to mask them with the clothes she chose to wear.

She started when he touched her, lifting the fullness of her breasts in his palms, as though weighing them on a delicate scale. Monica bit into her lower lip and turned her head away.

The pad of his thumbs stroked her nipples, which immediately hardened and started to pulse as if they had taken on a life of their own. The ache intensified with each caress until she threw back her head and swallowed a moan.

His mouth closed over her nipple and he sucked once, hard and strong. Monica buckled at the bolt of sizzling-hot sensation. He calmed her with gentle words, caressing the length of her arms as he spoke.

Monica didn’t know what caused her to relax, or when she opened her eyes, but suddenly everything went very still. Their gazes met and Chet raised his hand and brushed a stray tendril from her face. His hand lingered there and his eyes clouded with what she suspected was regret.

“I didn’t mean for things to go so far,” he whispered. He rolled away from her and changed their positions so that they were lying on their sides, facing each other.

Monica’s head was cradled in his upper arm, their mouths separated by scant inches. Their breath merged and mingled. Her thigh met his. He was warm and hard and she was soft and happier than she could remember being in a good long while. Monica would have been utterly content to stay exactly like this for the next hundred years.

Being here with Chet like this forced her to acknowledge how incredibly lonely she’d been in the last few years. Her mother had died, and her friends, the only two she considered good friends, had both married and moved away. Funny she hadn’t realized how empty and pointless her life had become. Nor had she realized what poor company she was to herself and others.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

Their eyes met and she found him openly studying her. She quickly averted her gaze. “I didn’t realize how downright good a man could feel.”

He laughed softly and kissed the tip of her nose. “That’s very honest of you.”

“I couldn’t very well deny it.”

“You could, and have,” he said. His fingertips grazed her temple, softly caressing her face. “I’ll be honest too. You feel damn good in my arms. Tonight,” he whispered, “while you were with Michael, I was like a caged animal.”

“He doesn’t mean anything to me,” she rushed to explain.

He closed his eyes and nodded. “I know, but it didn’t make any difference. There was this band around my chest that tightened every time I thought about the two of you together. Yet I know in my heart Michael’s a hell of a better man than I’ll ever be.”

“Don’t say that,” she pleaded, feeling the panic rising in her voice. His next suggestion might be that they not see each other again and she couldn’t bear that.

“Monica, listen—”

“No. No, don’t say it. I have an idea.” The words rushed out on top of each other.

“An idea for us?”

She nodded and bent forward and kissed him, using her tongue in all the ways he’d taught her until they were both panting and clinging to each other.

“As you said,” she whispered, her chest heaving, “we seem to get along fabulously well on the physical level.”

He chuckled and buried his face in the lush fullness of her breasts, kissing each upturned nipple. “That, my dear, is putting it mildly.”

“It seems to me that we could learn to communicate on other levels as well.”

He went still and raised his gaze to hers. She swallowed and forced herself to smile. His eyes narrowed.

“I was thinking that, well, if we feel so strongly about one another then we should . . .”

“Should what?” he prodded.

Monica gathered her courage and blurted it all out at once. “That we should get married.”

“Leah,” Andrew whispered in the darkened theater.

Leah’s gaze reluctantly left the screen, where a Walt Disney animation film was playing.

Her husband pointed to Scotty, who was curled up in his lap. The toddler was sound asleep. Husband and wife shared a meaningful smile. Andrew reached over and stole a handful of popcorn from her box.

“Do you want to leave?”

She shook her head, surprised he’d ask. “This is the very best part. Besides, Scotty will want to know what he missed.”

The older grandmotherly type in the row in front of them turned around and glared pointedly at Andrew.

“My husband apologizes for disrupting the show,” Leah whispered.

“So does my wife,” Andrew added.

The woman huffily turned around and Leah smothered her laughter as best she could. Her husband certainly wasn’t helping matters any. He was making faces at the old biddy, which caused Leah to giggle all the more.

The woman turned around once again and Leah nearly choked in her effort to keep from laughing outright. Once she’d composed herself, she scooted down in her seat and leaned her head against Andrew’s shoulder. She hadn’t laughed this much in one day since . . . she couldn’t remember when. It didn’t matter, she was laughing now and it felt incredible. When had she allowed her life to become so cheerless? Time had slipped between her fingers with barely a notice.

Scotty was a delight, and she loved him until her heart felt as if it would burst. He would be about the same age as the baby they’d wanted to adopt. In some unexplainable way, Leah had transferred to Scotty the love she had stored in her heart for the child taken from her. Pam must have understood that because she and Doug had asked Leah and her husband if they’d be Scotty’s godparents.

In the last couple of years they’d done their duty and bought Scotty birthday and Christmas presents, but that had been the extent of their commitment. He held a special place in her heart, but Leah realized now that she’d cheated Andrew and herself out of the pleasure this child could bring into their lives.

Loving Scotty frightened her. She feared she might become overly attached to her friend’s son. The pain of the lost adoption had cheated her out of enjoying Scotty the way she should. She’d feared that if she became overly attached, he’d be taken from her too.

The movie ended and the lights came up. Scotty yawned and, sitting up, rubbed his eyes.

“How you doing, big boy?” Andrew asked.

Scotty blinked several times, as if he’d forgotten where he was and who he was with. A look of panic came into his eyes as he glanced around the theater, and then to Leah.

“Remember, Mommy and Daddy went to dinner,” Leah reminded him.

He nodded, but he didn’t seem overly happy about it.

“I bet you’re hungry,” Andrew said, lifting him onto his shoulders. Andrew waited until the aisle was clear and then led the way out of the theater. It was dark by the time they reached the parking lot and the stars glittered like a splattering of diamond dust tossed across a bed of shiny black satin.

“Want to make a wish?” Leah asked.

Scotty looked to the heavens and nodded. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, releasing it all at once. His eyes flew open and he grinned broadly.

“I bet he misses Diane and Jason,” Andrew said, unlocking the car door.

“Nope,” Scotty said. “I like you better.”

“Don’t get a big head,” Leah warned her husband, under her breath. “He’d say the same thing to anyone who gave him horsy rides and took him to the movies.”

“Maybe so,” Andrew agreed, “but it’s me he loves.”

“Auntie Leah too.”

Leah planted a kiss on his chubby cheek. “That’s telling him, kiddo.”

It wasn’t until much later, hours after they’d finished the dinner dishes, long after they’d read Scotty a story and tucked him into the guest bed, that the emptiness surrounded her.

The night was dark and moonless as Leah slipped out of her bedroom and wandered into the room where Scotty slept. Standing over his sleeping figure, she gazed down on this perfect child who belonged to her friend, and held the pain of her loss tight within her soul.

She finally moved and walked over to the closet. Standing on her tiptoes, she brought down the baby book she’d hidden there.

Sitting in the silence and the dark, she held the book in her lap and turned each empty page until she’d made her way through the entire satin-covered book. From newborn to the space for the high school graduation photo. When she’d finished, she pressed the book against her heart and rocked back and forth as if she were holding the long-awaited child in her arms.

Instead she clung to a hollow dream.

* * *

Jody gasped.

Jeff alive! It wasn’t possible. She could hear her mother-in-law continue speaking but the words were unintelligible and seemed to come from a far-off distance. It was then that Jody realized she’d dropped the phone and had backed away.

“Jody.” Glen was there and she turned and buried her face in his chest. “What is it?” he asked, his words as gentle as the arms that comforted her.

“Mom?” Timmy asked, picking up the receiver. Gloria continued talking, apparently not realizing anything was amiss. “Grandma says she needs to talk to you,” her son said.

Jody shook her head. “No. No, I can’t, not now.”

“Tell your grandmother your mother will call her back later,” Glen instructed. He encircled her shoulders and led her back to the living room. Gently he lowered her onto the sofa cushions. “What happened?”

Speaking was beyond her. Tears filled her eyes and spilled like burning acid against her cheeks, scalding her skin.

“Are you all right, Mom?” Timmy asked, racing to her side. “Grandma said she didn’t mean to upset you. She told me to tell you to call her the minute you’re feeling better.”

“Did she say anything to you?” Jody demanded, gripping her son by the shoulders and making a careful study of his features. It was important that Gloria not say anything to Timmy. If her mother-in-law had made the outlandish claim to her son, Jody didn’t know if she’d find it in her heart to forgive her.

“Say what?” Timmy wanted to know.

“I think your mother could do with a cold glass of water,” Glen interrupted. “Would you get it for her?”

“Sure.” Eager to help, Timmy hurried into the kitchen.

Glen’s hands clasped Jody’s. “What did Jeff’s mother say to you?”

Speaking the words aloud was difficult. “She . . . claims Jeff’s alive.”

Glen released a troubled sigh. “Is there any chance it’s true?”

Jody shook her head. “None. His body was positively identified by dental records. The same thing happened the first Christmas after we buried him. Gloria insisted Jeff wasn’t dead. We argued and our relationship has been strained ever since. She’s never understood that I had to divorce Jeff in order to sell the property, especially when she insisted she would continue to support Timmy and me, but I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t financially drain her or my own parents.”

Glen sat next to her and gently patted her hand. “She sounds like a lonely old woman.”

“I know. It shouldn’t upset me when she does these things, but it does. I thought . . . I hoped she was making progress. I know she’s trying, but it’s hard for her. Jeff was her only child and she loved him very much.”

“Here, Mom.” Timmy vaulted into the room with a glass of water. The liquid sloshed over the rim as he presented it to her. “Is she all right?” Timmy asked Glen.

He nodded. “I think so.”

“Grandma Potter’s real nice,” Timmy explained, “but she’s a little weird sometimes. She visits old ladies who talk to the dead people and it doesn’t have to be Halloween.”

Jody, drinking the water, almost choked at Timmy’s comment about Halloween. Leave it to a kid to put everything into the proper perspective.

“Your grandmother badly misses your father,” Glen explained, kneeling down so his eyes were level with the nine-year-old’s. “And when you love someone so very much it eases the pain to pretend they’re still with you.”

“Grandma’s been missing him a long time,” Timmy said solemnly, then looked to Jody. “My mom has too. Until you came along all she ever thought about was my dad and her garden.”

“How do you feel about that?” Glen asked.

“It bothered me a little because I’d like to have a dad who’s alive and who can teach me the things a kid needs to know. I was kind of hoping you’d like me and my mom enough to stick around a while.”

“I like you both a whole lot,” Glen assured him.

“Enough to last through baseball season?”

Glen laughed and hugged the boy. “I’m sure I’ll be around at least that long. Of course it’s up to your mother if she wants to continue dating me.”

“She does,” Timmy said enthusiastically, “don’t you, Mom?”

Jody knew she shouldn’t allow her conversation with Jeff’s mother to upset her, but it had. There’d been similar discussions over the years.

Jody remembered vividly every detail of every long-ago conversation. One had ruined her Christmas, but she refused to allow it to happen a second time. She’d met a good, kind man and she wasn’t going to allow her ex-mother-in-law’s grief to interfere in celebration of the holidays.

If that was the case, Jody reasoned, why couldn’t she sleep? The house was dark and quiet, and she wandered from room to room, unable to quiet that deep inner part of herself.

The pain, she realized, was as fresh now as it had been when she’d been forced to accept that Jeff was dead.

Her father had phoned from Germany with the news. He explained that he’d be bringing Jeff’s body home for burial. She had written down the flight details on a slip of paper and calmly thanked him for dealing with these agonizing details. It wasn’t until after she’d hung up the phone that the full impact of what her father had said settled over her.

Jeff was dead. The years of not knowing had come to an end.

The intolerable waiting was over. The haunting questions had been answered, but the sharp edges of her grief were only beginning. The agony of the unknown felt almost comfortable compared to the brutal loss of hope she’d suffered in exchange.

Until Jeff’s remains could be positively identified—until she could place her husband’s body in the ground and stand at his tombstone, there had always been hope, however slim, that he was alive. Now that had been stripped away from her and she was left to bleed.

Jody remembered how she ripped the flight information from the pad and folded it over and over again until it was a tight square, clenching it in her fist. She needed something to hold on to. All there was for her was a folded slip of paper that listed the information on the flight that was bringing her husband’s body home.

For a long time she’d done nothing but sit and stare into the silence. Her heart had felt as if it had stopped beating.

It was then, Jody realized, that a part of herself had died. No one could endure this kind of emotional torture and possibly survive.

She was dead to all the happy dreams they’d shared. Dead to whatever the future would hold, because she couldn’t share her tomorrows with the man she’d loved so fiercely.

Helen Chandler had arrived shortly after the call came from Jody’s father. She walked into the house and softly called Jody’s name. Jody had stared up at her mother, her eyes dry, her heart shattered. At first she didn’t acknowledge her presence. No one could comfort her. Not even her own mother.

“He’s gone,” Helen had whispered.

Jody nodded. She couldn’t deny it any longer. The hope had been forever destroyed.

Her mother had attempted to console her, wrapping her arms around Jody’s shoulders. But Jody held herself stiff and unyielding.

“Let him go,” her mother pleaded. “Let him rest in peace.”

“Peace?” Jody whispered. How could she possibly have peace now? She shook her head, refusing to release any part of her life with Jeff.

“He’s been found, Jody. Jeff’s coming home.”

Perhaps Jeff’s body had been located, Jody reasoned, but she was more lost now than ever. And she doubted that she would ever find her way again.

How much time had passed since that disastrous day, Jody wondered. Four years? Or was it five? Like so much else in her life, she’d lost track. She moved, one day into the next, dragging her pain with her, the weight almost more than she could bear.

It wasn’t until Timmy had written the letter to God that she realized what she was doing to herself and to her boy. It had shocked her into taking action.

For the first time since Jeff’s death, she was making a new life for herself and for her son, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, let that be ruined. It had taken her this long to find her footing and she wasn’t going to allow anyone to topple her again.

Thirteen

Angels rarely wept. It happened so seldom, and only while they were on earth duty. Mercy had heard tales of angel tears, but never experienced the phenomenon herself. It was an unpleasant experience. Now they came as a surprise, misting her gaze. She brushed them aside, feeling Leah’s pain as deeply as if it were her own as the young nurse clenched the empty baby book against her bosom.

Mercy had done everything possible, but she hadn’t been able to help. It was the most frustrating case she had ever encountered.

If only Mercy could sit down and talk to Leah, face to face. If only Mercy could explain to this woman of the earth that she must find serenity within herself before her prayer could be answered. But that was impossible.

And so they both wept.

Leah cried silent tears standing guard over her friend’s child while Mercy wept openly, unable to contain her sorrow at this feeling of helplessness.

“Married.” The word went through Chet like a bullet, with much the same effect. He bolted off the bed and stood, the sour taste of panic filling his mouth.

“It seems the logical thing to do,” Monica said, her voice as sweet as chocolate-dipped caramels.

Chet rubbed his hand down his face, hoping that would set matters straight in his mind. It didn’t. If anything, his thoughts filled with pure terror. “Sweetheart, in case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not the marrying kind.”

“That’s the point,” Monica continued softly, “I’m not either. It seems we’re perfect for each other.”

“You’re not the marrying kind? Don’t be ridiculous.” She remained on the bed, so damn beautiful he had to force himself to look away. Otherwise he just might find himself considering her ridiculous suggestion. Much more of this sexual teasing they’d been exchanging and he’d find himself agreeing to just about anything.

“I’m twenty-five years old and have never been asked,” she reminded him.

“Michael’s chomping at the bit, waiting for the opportunity,” Chet muttered. He couldn’t believe he’d said that, not after the fretful evening he’d spent thinking about Monica cheek to cheek with the other man. He quickly glanced about the room, making sure he wasn’t leaving anything behind, such as his heart and a good portion of common sense. He looped his leg over the windowsill, eager to make his escape before he found himself actually discussing the possibility of marriage. The mere thought sent cold chills down his spine.

“You’re leaving?” Monica was kneeling on top of the mattress, holding her discarded blouse against her bare breasts. Her eyes were wide and pleading. “Don’t go. Please.”

The “please” had cost her a good deal, but Chet knew that if he didn’t make his escape then and there, it would be too late. Before he knew what he was doing, he’d find himself agreeing to this asinine scheme of hers.

As it was, their ongoing relationship continued to confound him. He’d never meant to see her again after she’d lectured him on the misery brought on by the evils of alcohol. Little by little he’d knowingly allowed himself to be drawn to this preacher’s daughter. They’d been a hair’s breath from making love only moments earlier. She didn’t seem to realize how close they’d come.

“I should have realized,” she said in a small, pitiful voice, “that you wouldn’t want to marry me.”

Chet groaned inwardly. He was prepared to slip into the night as unnoticed as when he’d first arrived, but she’d managed to do it again. This woman knew exactly which cords to pull to reach him. It happened like this each and every time they met. Much more of this and she’d have the threads wrapped so securely around his heart there’d be no escape.

“It isn’t that,” he said, his back to her. Looking at her was dangerous, especially now with her lips swollen from his kisses and her hair all mussed up. He’d never known a woman who looked more beautiful when her hair wasn’t combed.

“Then what is it?” she asked. From the nearness of her voice he knew she’d moved off the bed and was standing almost directly behind him.

Nothing but the truth would satisfy her, Chet realized, yet he hesitated, knowing she’d argue with the devil himself.

“Tell me exactly what it is then,” she demanded, and he noticed she was regaining some of her natural pluck.

“Listen, sweetheart,” he said, knowing she disliked the affectionate term, “I’m not good enough for you.”

Until he’d met Monica his life had been reduced to wild weekends, blown paychecks, and cheap thrills with a cocktail waitress. He’d been shot, beaten, and chased down by a jealous husband. Not exactly pick-of-the-litter husband material for a minister’s daughter, but there was no telling Monica anything. He’d learned that the hard way.

“Don’t say that.” Her arms came up under his and she looped her hands on his shoulders, then flattened the side of her face against his back. She felt so damn good and warm pressed to him that for an instant he was nearly swayed.

“Nothing could be further from the truth,” she insisted. “Don’t you realize how much you’ve taught me? I was a prude until we met and now I know what it means to be in love. You’ve made me proud to be a woman.”

“Lessons rarely come cheap.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her arms slipped away from him and Chet was eternally grateful. He slipped out of the window, landing with a thud on the hard ground below.

Turning around to face her was a mistake in what was proving to be a long line of tactical errors. Her eyes were bright with tears and her lower lip was trembling. Something sharp and painful twisted in his gut. He could deal far easier with her anger than he could her tears.

“I’m not going to marry you, Monica,” he told her harshly. “So get that idea out of your head right now. It’s just not going to happen.”

She was silent for a moment, then nodded. “You can’t get much clearer than that. Good night, Chet.” Her voice was soft and a little broken.

Damn, but she had her hooks in him good and deep. The best thing for him to do was to get out while the getting was good. Working as a private investigator, Chet had developed a sixth sense for these things. The time to leave was about five minutes ago.

“I’ll see you around,” he tossed over his shoulder. He waited for her to close the window, but she didn’t and he was left to wonder exactly how long she stood there watching him.

Fighting himself he made it all the way to his car, which he’d parked two streets over. He didn’t want anyone to see his vehicle and connect Monica with him.

He unlocked the door and sat in the front seat and battled with himself until he accepted that he wasn’t going to be able to leave matters unfinished between them.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel, climbed out of the car, and retraced the same route he had taken only moments earlier. He came by the side of the darkened church and toward the back side of the house where Monica’s bedroom was situated.

Her room was dark. He hesitated, then carefully made his way to the window, tapping lightly against the glass pane. He heard her climb out of the bed and pull up the sash.

Neither of them spoke right away. It was as if they were both unsure of what to say. After coming all the way back, Chet hadn’t any more of a clue than when he left the car. Apparently Monica didn’t either.

“I volunteered to be a bell ringer,” she whispered. He couldn’t see her face as clearly as he would have liked, but he could tell from the soft catch in her voice that she’d been crying.

Damn fool woman. She should have known better than to fall in love with the likes of him.

“When?” he found himself asking, already anxious to see her again. They were playing a no-win game, but for the life of him Chet couldn’t make himself walk away from her.

“Tomorrow afternoon between two and three.”

“Same street as before?”

“Yes.” The last part was barely discernible. “Chet,” she said more clearly, but he heard the hesitation in her voice. He heard the pain too, but ignored it as best he could, which was near impossible.

“Yeah?” he prompted when she didn’t immediately continue.

She was kneeling, he noticed, her face only a short distance from his own. “Do you . . . are you in love with me?”

It didn’t take him long to respond. “I don’t know.” It was the honest-to-God truth. What did someone like him know about love? Damn little to be sure.

“You can’t be any more articulate than that?” The righteous ring was back in her voice and he found himself smiling.

“I like you,” he said, realizing what an inadequate phrase that was.

“In other words I turn you on?”

He wasn’t sure he liked her vernacular, but he wasn’t in any position to be arguing since he was the one who’d taught her everything she knew about the sexual part of her nature. He never figured she’d be such a fast learner.

“It’s more than that,” was about all he was willing to admit.

“How much more?”

He should have known she wouldn’t leave that alone. “I don’t know,” he said, raising his voice more than he’d intended. His words seemed to echo like thunder in the silence of the night. All they needed now was to wake her old man. “I just don’t know,” he repeated, softer this time. “Listen, Monica, it doesn’t help to phrase the same question in different ways, the answer’s going to be the same. I don’t know about love. I’ve never been in love before, so how in the hell am I supposed to know if what I feel for you is any different than what I’ve felt in the past?”

“But surely you’ve had some experience with love.”

His laugh was low and husky. “Experience I’ve got, lots of that, but mainly it’s of the physical nature.”

“In other words if . . . if we’d made love, then you might be able to tell me exactly what your feelings are towards me.” The stiff indignation was back, as inflexible as always.

“Not exactly.” It did his heart good to hear the outrage in her voice, although he’d never known a woman who could irritate him faster. By the same token he’d never known a woman who did the other things to him she did either. The problem was, he still hadn’t figured out whether he liked it or not. Mostly he liked it, he reasoned, otherwise he wouldn’t keep coming back for more.

“I have my principles, Chet Costello, and I can tell you right now that I refuse to sleep with any man until after we’re married.”

Laughing was a gross error and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself. He could have had her any number of times. The only thing that had stopped him was knowing that neither one of them would be the same afterward.

Monica was innocent in the ways of men and he refused to take from her what rightly belonged to another. His thoughts were abruptly ended when Monica slammed the window shut, practically in his face.

Her eyes glared out at him accusingly.

He shouldn’t have laughed and knew it even as the amusement escaped his throat. As means of an apology, he pressed his fingertips to his lips and then set his open hand against the cold windowpane.

Monica’s angry gaze held his in what little light the moon afforded. After a moment, she pantomimed his action and poised her hand on the other side of the glass against his.

Reluctantly, he dropped his hand and turned away from her while he had the strength. He didn’t know where the relationship was leading and as far as he could see they were striding down a dead-end street, but for the life of him he couldn’t make himself terminate it. Maybe he did love her. God almighty, he didn’t ever want to think about the consequences of that.

“Young man.”

The voice startled Chet. He was getting sloppy in his old age, otherwise he’d never have been heard cutting through her side yard. Chet whirled around to find a thin man standing on the front lawn, dressed in a robe and slippers, holding a flashlight. It could only be Monica’s father.

Chet drew in his breath and waited.

“I’d like to know exactly what you’re doing on my property this time of night,” Lloyd Fisher demanded, aiming the flashlight into his eyes, blinding him.

It was happening, Leah thought. She woke to the buzzing of the alarm and even before she opened her eyes she realized how queasy her stomach was. Was it possible? Could she be pregnant?

Mentally she tried to calculate the dates of her last menstrual cycle, and couldn’t. Sometime the first part of November, she guessed. It would help if she hadn’t tossed her notebook in the garbage.

It was wishful thinking, she finally decided. Or the flu. Probably a nasty virus, she mused, yawning.

“Morning,” Andrew said, cuddling her. His hand automatically slipped over her abdomen as he scooted closer to her side. Leah savored his warmth. “Did you sleep well?”

“Hmmm.”

“Me too.”

Leah smiled. Their routine was the same every morning. It was these small things, these everyday habits that had become a part of the structure of their marriage.

After Andrew had gone to make the coffee, Leah decided to take her temperature for old times’ sake, not that it would tell her anything.

Two minutes later she was studying the normal reading and calling herself a silly goose, grateful Andrew hadn’t caught her with the thermometer in her mouth.

“I think I’ll just have yogurt this morning,” Leah said when she entered the kitchen.

Andrew studied her. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him, taking a carton of blueberry-flavored non-fat yogurt out of the refrigerator. The bread popped up from the toaster and Andrew spread a thin layer of butter over the warm surface.

“You look a little pale,” he commented, removing the lid from the strawberry jam. He smeared a thick coat over the toast and carried his plate and cup of coffee to the table.

“I do?” Her voice rose with a dash of excitement she couldn’t hide. She brought her yogurt with her and joined him.

The toast was poised in front of Andrew’s mouth and he slowly lowered it to his plate. He didn’t say anything for several moments. “How late are you?”

“I don’t know. I threw away my notebook, remember?”

“Surely you can figure it out.”

“Can you?”

He shook his head. “I guess not. It doesn’t matter though, does it? If you’re pregnant we’ll both be happy.”

“And if I’m not?” she asked, watching him expectantly.

“Then you’re not,” he concluded, munching on the toast. He made it sound as if it didn’t matter to him one way or another. Leah knew that wasn’t true, not after having had Scotty with them for two days. Andrew was wonderful with children. He deserved to be a father. The familiar ache returned but the intensity wasn’t as strong as it had been. The pain that had been so much a part of her all these years seemed to peel away and disappear.

She’d experienced this sensation only once before—the night she’d met Andrew.

She remembered the first time she saw him. They were both college students attending the University of Washington. Some friends had introduced them and the minute they’d exchanged greetings Leah felt a powerful emotional punch. She wished there was a word to describe the feeling that came over her. It was as if fate had given her a swift kick where she’d feel it.

From that moment on she knew this man was going to be an important part of her life. Afterward she discounted the feeling, chalking it up to the beer she’d had earlier. Andrew was steadily dating someone else at the time and she’d heard rumors that he was close to becoming engaged.

They ran into each other soon after that at the library. Leah was struggling with a chemistry class, certain she was going to fail. The library was the only place she could study and so she made the nightly trek across campus to hit the books.

Andrew had been grappling over a term paper and they’d sat at the same table for nearly two hours without speaking a word. Leah had wanted to get to know him better, but hadn’t exchanged more than preliminary hello, good-to-see-you-again sort of chitchat.

Andrew left first, whispered something about being glad to see her again, and was gone. But when she’d walked out of the library he was waiting for her. A couple of friends had delayed him, he explained, and besides he didn’t think it was a good idea for her to walk across the campus alone in the dark. So he escorted her back to her dorm.

They continued to meet nightly at the library long after his term paper had been turned in and graded. Later Andrew told her she was the only girl he’d ever dated who helped improve his GPA. He’d done more studying with her than any other woman he’d ever dated.

Leah didn’t know when she realized she was in love with him. The night they’d met seemed a good choice. She just knew.

Just as she knew now, in the deepest most sheltered part of her heart, that she was going to have a child.

Leah didn’t question where this knowledge came from. It wasn’t intuition, or instinct, or anything psychic, but a deep abiding belief that her time of waiting had come to an end.

“I suppose you’re going to buy one of those home pregnancy test kits,” Andrew said, frowning, as he carried his empty plate to the sink. He rinsed it off and stuck it in the dishwasher.

They’d been through this procedure no less than a dozen times over the years. The minute she was a day late, Leah typically ran to the drugstore, needing to know the answer as soon as possible. For all the test kits she’d purchased over the years, she should be entitled to a discount.

“Not this time,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Like you said, if I’m pregnant, great, and if not, well, then I’m not.” She looped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I love you.”

He didn’t answer her right away. Instead he carefully studied her upturned face. “Something’s different.”

“It is?” she asked, beaming him a smile.

“I don’t know what, but it’s there in your eyes.”

Leah knew what it was. She was pregnant. Oh, heaven help her, she was diving into the deep end again and she hadn’t meant for that to happen.

She knew she was pregnant. Felt it to the very marrow of her bones, but she’d believed the same thing a hundred times before.

Now was different. The feeling she had now was as powerful as the night she met Andrew, but she couldn’t allow her sanity to rest on something as unmeasurable as a feeling.

“You’re sure you’re all right?” he asked, looking concerned.

“I feel wonderful,” she said, tightly hugging her husband’s waist. She closed her eyes, praying with all her heart that this wasn’t a sick joke her mind was playing on her.

From the moment she’d received the call claiming Jeff was alive, Jody had dreaded contacting her mother-in-law. She carefully bided her time and waited until Timmy was down for the night. Even then it had taken Jody another half hour to fortify her courage enough to reach for the phone. She didn’t know where she’d find the grit to face Jeff’s mother when she was in one of these moods.

“Hello, Gloria,” Jody said calmly, knowing she’d probably woken her mother-in-law from a sound sleep.

“Jody,” she said groggily, “is that you?” Not giving her time to answer, she immediately continued. “I’m so pleased you called me back. I know this news is as much of a shock to you as it is me, but—”

“Gloria,” Jody cut in calmly, unwilling to listen to any more. Her only chance of reaching Jeff’s mother was when she sounded composed and confident. “Jeff is dead.”

Someone had played the cruelest of hoaxes on them. “Who phoned you?” Jody demanded, and a telltale wobble came into her voice, betraying her slipping poise.

“I didn’t get his name,” Gloria explained. “You see, I was so excited that I wasn’t thinking clearly, but he sounded very professional. He gave me details.”

“What sort of details?” It was clear this line of questioning was flustering Jeff’s mother all the more, but for the sake of them all Jody had to get to the bottom of this.

“I can’t really tell you right this minute.”

“Did he say where he was calling from?” Jody asked more calmly this time.

“Oh, yes, he was in Germany. Such a nice young man. You see, the call woke me in the middle of the night. I didn’t believe him at first and then the more he talked the more I realized he was telling the truth. Jeff is alive. In my heart I always knew he was and now it’s coming to pass.”

“But wouldn’t the authorities have contacted me?” Jody asked.

“I . . . don’t know, dear. Maybe it has something to do with the divorce.”

“But surely they’d want me to know. After all, Timmy is Jeff’s son.”

“I can’t answer your questions, Jody. All I know is what they said.”

“And what was that?”

“I should have written everything down, but I was too excited, and I’m on this new heart medication that makes my mind go all fuzzy at times.”

Jody’s grip on the phone relaxed. “Was this one of those times, Mom?” she asked softly.

“Oh, no, this was all very real. I thought to call you right away, but—”

“But you didn’t,” Jody concluded when the older woman hesitated.

“No,” she admitted reluctantly.

“And why didn’t you?”

“Because,” Gloria said, following a heartfelt sigh, “I knew you wouldn’t believe me, and I was afraid we would end up arguing and I do so hate the thought of us disagreeing. You and Timmy are the only family I have left.”

Left. The details were quickly tallying in Jody’s mind. Her mother-in-law was taking a new heart medication, one that, at times, confused her and she’d been woken abruptly from a sound sleep. The episode was probably a very lifelike dream. Not entirely sure the phone call had happened herself, Gloria had delayed contacting Jody until the following evening.

Because she’d been so desperate to believe her son was alive, Jeff’s mother had clung to the dream, building it in her mind, until she’d convinced herself it was authentic.

“Have you heard from anyone since?” Jody asked softly.

“No. You think I should have, don’t you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think. What do you believe?”

Speaking on the phone had always been an inadequate means of communication as far as Jody was concerned. She heard the faint intake of breath that came from her mother-in-law and knew Gloria was weeping softly. How Jody wished she could be there to wrap her arms around her and comfort her.

Jody had needed consolation herself the night before when Gloria had first phoned and there’d been a strong pair of arms to hold her. It had helped tremendously.

“How’s Timmy?” her mother-in-law asked in an apparent effort to change the subject. “I bet he’s getting excited for Christmas.”

“Timmy’s great.” Jody couldn’t talk about her rambunctious son and not smile. “We chopped down a Christmas tree this weekend.”

“All by yourselves?”

Jody hesitated, unsure if she should mention Glen or not. This didn’t seem to be the appropriate time to drop the news that she was dating again, although heaven knew it was well past the time she should.

“A friend went along and helped,” she answered, being as diplomatic as she could.

“A friend,” Gloria repeated slowly, thoughtfully. “Male or female?”

“Male.” She couldn’t leave it at that. She’d need to explain now. “Glen’s an attorney who works at the same law firm I do.”

“I see.” Funny how much was visible in those two brief words. “Just how long have you been dating this . . . other man?”

“Mom, it isn’t like that. We’ve only been out a couple of times, but it isn’t anything . . .” She stopped herself in time from saying “serious.” Glen was serious. He’d said as much from the first. He wanted a wife and family. Timmy wanted and needed a father figure. She needed a husband. One who would laugh with her, one who would hold her when she needed to be held. One who would fill the empty spaces of her heart.

“Everything’s becoming clear to me now,” Gloria said stiffly. “No wonder you don’t want to hear about Jeff. You’re involved with another man.”

“Mother, that’s not true.” This was an impossible conversation, and growing more so every minute. The immediate sense of guilt she experienced was nearly crippling.

“The man who called from Germany knew that you’d divorced my son.”

“Mother, we’ve been through this a thousand times or more. I didn’t divorce Jeff because I didn’t love him any longer. It was for financial reasons.”

“I was never satisfied with that excuse and you know it. Both your parents and I were more than willing to support you.”

“Mom, please—”

“The man who called asked me about you and Timmy.”

“Mom, don’t, please,” Jody whispered, her small voice trembling. “It was a dream. It never happened.”

“He did call.” Gloria’s high voice rattled from the telephone receiver. “Jeff’s alive.”

“I realize it’s difficult for you to accept that I’m dating again, but it’s time I got on with my life. Don’t you think I’ve grieved long enough? Don’t you think it’s time?” Despite her resolve not to break down, she was crying. It happened like this nearly every time they spoke.

“I imagine you plan to marry this other man?” Gloria continued, her voice filled with disdain.

“I never said that.”

“You can remarry, you know, there’s nothing I can do to stop you.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do,” Jody said, bewildered and miserable, looking for a means of ending the conversation.

“That would make for a fine thing for my son to come home to, his wife married to another man.”

“Mom, please don’t say that.”

“You know what I think?” Gloria said accusingly, knowing she had the upper hand. “You don’t want Jeff to be alive. You’ve made such a fine life for yourself that it would be inconvenient for you if he did turn up alive.”

“You know that’s not true,” Jody sobbed.

“Do I, now? You have your new boyfriend, you don’t need Jeff anymore.”

“Glen is a friend,” she insisted.

“That isn’t what you said earlier.”

“I think it’s time we ended this,” Jody said, struggling for what little composure remained.

“That’s just fine with me. But I think you should know, I’m going to tell Jeff myself just what kind of wife you turned out to be. He’s going to call me soon, and then I’ll tell him. Then he’ll know the truth about you.”

Fourteen

Leah walked into her house and was greeted with the fresh, pungent scent of evergreen. The decorator had arrived and set up the Christmas tree, and it was breathtakingly beautiful.

The flocked tree looked as if it belonged in the foyer of a classy hotel. Glossy gold bows were strung in one continuous ribbon from top to bottom. Bright red porcelain poinsettia flowers were symmetrically placed. And then there were the angels. Leah counted twelve. In gold gowns with massive white wings, each one playing a musical instrument. One had a guitar, the next a harp, another a saxophone, a tuba, and a flute. A horn and trombone. It became a game to find each one hidden among the heavy white limbs.

“You’re home,” Andrew said, ambling into the living room from the kitchen. “Well,” he said, his gaze following hers toward the Christmas tree, “what do you think?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I thought so too.”

She hung her coat in the closet.

“Debbi outdid herself this year,” Andrew said, bending over and turning on the tree lights. Ten strings of miniature red globes glowed, casting warm shadows about the room.

The decorator was a friend of Andrew’s mother. As part of her Christmas gift to Andrew and Leah, Shirley Lundberg had their Christmas tree decorated.

“I love the angels,” Leah said, slipping her arm around her husband’s waist and pressing her head to his shoulder.

“How’d your day go?”

There was far more to the question than what he was asking. What Andrew wanted to know was if she was feeling the same queasy sensation she had the last few days both in the mornings and late in the afternoons. He was asking if her period had started. In sum he wanted to know if she was pregnant.

“My day was great, how about yours?” she asked, smiling up at him.

His gaze skirted past hers. “Let’s sit down,” he suggested. With a flip of the switch, the gas fireplace roared to life and tongues of fire licked at the imitation logs.

Together they sank into the soft comfort of the leather sofa. Andrew’s arm was tucked around her shoulders and he rested his chin on the crown of her head. “I’ve been thinking,” he began.

“This sounds ominous.”

He chuckled, but she noticed his laughter contained a dash of concern. “I’d feel a whole lot more comfortable if we got one of those pregnancy test kits,” he continued.

“Why does it matter?” she asked, laughing off his request. “We’ll know sooner or later, won’t we?”

“You’ve been on this emotional high all week and I’m afraid if it continues much longer—”

“But I am pregnant,” she said with supreme confidence. “I know it’s finally happening for us. There’s never been any physical reason why we can’t have children. Dr. Benoit assured us of that countless times. How many times has he claimed all we need do is relax and that it’ll happen when we least expect it? I don’t know about you, Andrew, but I’m floored by this.”

“Leah, please, listen to reason.”

“Our time of waiting has passed,” she insisted, unwilling to listen to his arguments.

“If you’re so certain, then it won’t matter if you take the test now or later, will it?” Andrew pressed.

“I’m not going to buy another one of those awful test kits. I hate them.” She eased herself away from him and stiffly folded her arms. They’d been through this routine countless times and the result had always been devastatingly the same.

Negative.

No matter how long she studied the results she couldn’t make them read what she yearned for so desperately. No, she wouldn’t subject herself to that again.

“Leah, please. I just don’t want you to get yourself worked up over this. You’re a few days late and already—”

“I don’t know that I’m late. You don’t either. To my way of thinking, you’re making more of this than necessary. As you said before, if I’m pregnant, great, if not, well, then I’m not pregnant.”

He was uncharacteristically silent, but Leah knew her husband well enough to recognize how deceptive this calm could be.

“Let me do this my way,” she asked, reaching for his hand and kissing his knuckles.

He didn’t respond immediately. “I can’t stand by and watch you do this to yourself. How many times have you gone through this?” he demanded. “It’s always the same and each time your hopes go a little higher and you fall a little harder. Each time it takes you longer to recover.”

Leah knew what he was saying was true, but this was different. This time she’d throw back her head and shout for joy. This time her heart and her soul would be left intact. How she wished there was some way to reassure Andrew.

“I don’t want you to worry about me,” she said.

“I am worried.”

She leaned against him. “Don’t, please.”

“Does this mean you won’t take the home pregnancy test?” The fire crackled in the distance, adding punctuation to his request.

She hated to refuse him anything, but it was necessary. Those tests dredged up far too many unpleasant memories. That was all in the past, and her future, their future, was spilling over with promise.

“No, Andrew, I won’t. Not this time.” She threw her arms into the air and fell backward so that she was sprawled across his lap, smiling up into his face. “Now kiss me, you fool.”

He closed his eyes as though to blot her out. “Leah, for the love of—”

She didn’t allow him to finish, but gripped hold of his neck and levered herself upward until her mouth met his. As familiar as she was with her husband’s body, Leah knew exactly what she needed to do to evoke a strong and positive response.

“Leah.” Her name became a helpless plea.

“I have this incredible urge to ravish you,” she whispered, opening the buttons of his neatly pressed dress shirt. He groaned when her hands met his warm skin.

“Dinner,” he managed, between slow, deep kisses.

“What about it?” she asked, rotating her hands around to his back. His heart was pounding hard and fast, but then so was her own.

“Can wait,” he told her brokenly.

Leah smiled softly to herself. “That’s what I thought.”

It wasn’t until she was dressing for work the following morning that Leah found the pregnancy test kit. How long it had been sitting on the bathroom counter she could only speculate. Probably from the night before.

The night before. A small, satisfied smile lit up her eyes. They might be an old married couple, but the lovemaking couldn’t get more incredible or more romantic than beneath a glowing Christmas tree in front of a flickering fire.

She carried the test kit into the kitchen with her and set it down on the kitchen table in front of her husband. “Is this a hint?”

“As broad as I can make it,” he said, and finished his glass of orange juice. “For the love of heaven, let’s get this agony over with.”

It was then that Leah knew.

In the beginning she was afraid he was worried about her building her hopes upon a foundation of sand. But it was more than that. Andrew was suffering the torment of the unknown himself.

For years, Andrew had disguised his feelings, not allowing her to guess how very much he wanted children.

He was studying her now, his features sharp and anxious. “How much longer will you wait?”

She wanted to make some flippant reply, some casual remark that they could both laugh away, but it wouldn’t work.

“If it’ll ease your mind,” she said, disliking even this small compromise, “I’ll make an appointment with Dr. Benoit right away.” The physician, however dear, produced a flood of unhappy memories. She couldn’t think of him and not remember the months of hormone shots, the ultrasound, and everything else they’d attempted over the last seven years.

“All right, call your doctor friend,” Andrew said, but he didn’t sound especially pleased. He wanted to know. The sooner the better.

Not so with Leah. She’d already received all the confirmation she needed.

Monica had been standing in the cold, sounding the bell for charitable donations, for nearly forty-five minutes. She was cold, her feet hurt, and she was almost convinced Chet wouldn’t show.

Not after her father had caught him walking out of their yard in the dead of night. Worse, she’d been left to speculate what had happened. Her father had remained uncharacteristically tight-lipped about the incident. She’d tried once to pry information from him, but to no avail. Any further questions and he’d guess that her interest was more than normal curiosity.

Monica felt Chet’s presence several seconds before he came into view. Her body was developing a kind of sonar when it came to locating him. Her spirits lifted immediately and she drew in a deep breath and whispered a soft prayer of thankfulness.

“Hello,” she whispered, when he strolled up to the bright red pot and slipped a twenty-dollar bill inside.

“We need to talk,” he murmured, not looking at her.

“I know.”

“Can you meet me afterwards?”

“Of course.” She was in love and a woman in love would do whatever was necessary to be with her man. “Your apartment?” she asked, loving to tease him.

“No.” The word was sharp and instant.

Monica couldn’t help it, she laughed. “Where?”

“Pier Fifty-six. I’ll be waiting for you at the restaurant. There’s a table way in the back, closest to the water.”

She nodded eagerly. “I shouldn’t be much longer.”

“I’ll see you there,” he murmured, and before she could say another word, he was gone. The man was like a magician. He could appear and disappear at the drop of a hat, or so it seemed.

Twenty minutes later, Monica was hurrying downhill, toward the Seattle waterfront. She raced across the street, promising herself she’d stop on her way to the bus stop and look at the Christmas display in Nordstrom’s window. She’d heard it was angels this year, perched atop a train set that circled a frothy cloud. Stars shone bright from above. Another window was the traditional Santa’s elves at the North Pole and Mrs. Claus baking sugar cookies.

Chet was sitting at the table, waiting for her. Puget Sound showed through the huge plate-glass window behind him. The sky was blue and clear and the ferry had just pulled away from the dock. The scene was lovely and for a moment she studied the tranquil waters.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said. She slipped out of her coat and waited a moment, wondering how long it would take Chet to notice her new dress, but he seemed preoccupied and said nothing. Monica was a bit hurt, but let it pass.

“I’m dying for a cup of coffee,” she said.

Chet waved for the waitress, who carried the glass pot over to the table. “Do you want something to eat?” he asked Monica.

She shook her head. “Just coffee for me, thanks.”

“Me too.” The waitress refilled his cup and poured hers.

Chet smiled over at her and the same intense look was back, the one she’d noticed earlier. His frown returned as if he’d become aware of a change.

“Something’s different,” he said, studying her.

Monica beamed proudly. He had noticed. “I’m wearing a little makeup,” she whispered, leaning toward him. “Out of the blue I got a call from Donna Watkins, a lady from church. She invited me to lunch. Donna’s wonderful with clothes and scarves and pretty pins. . . . I didn’t always think so, but that doesn’t matter now. She claimed she was getting dressed that morning and had the irrepressible urge to call me and invite me out.

“After lunch she took me shopping. I bought the dress and”—she tossed back her head to expose her earlobes—“these. They’re lovely, aren’t they?”

Chet’s eyebrows shot toward his hairline at the sight of the small gold earrings. “I thought you claimed jewelry was a tool of the devil.”

She might have thought that at one time, but would never have said so, at least not publicly. “Don’t be ridiculous. I said that if a woman opted to wear jewels then whatever she chose should enhance a meek and gentle spirit.”

“Earrings do all that?”

He was teasing her, but she didn’t mind. “I think so. Donna did too, but then she had on these huge Christmas tree decorations. They’re wild. As far as I can see, each woman is left to her own interpretation of this.”

She took a sip of coffee, grateful for the warmth it offered her. “Do you like the dress?” She tried to make light of it, but her heart was dangling precariously on her sleeve. Everything she’d bought that afternoon had been with Chet in mind. Each time she stepped before the mirror, her first thought had been what he would think when he saw her.

“It’s very pretty.”

It wasn’t much as compliments went, but enough. “It’s the first thing I’ve had in years that isn’t black, gray, or navy blue. Donna says I’m a summer, if you know what that means. I didn’t until she explained, but basically I should be wearing pastels, pinks, pale blues and the like.”

Chet nodded, but looked distracted, as if this summer business were beyond him.

“I’m sorry,” she said, setting her cup down hard in the saucer, “I didn’t mean to get sidetracked. Tell me what happened with my dad?” She was breathless with anticipation. “He didn’t say a word to me.”

“Nothing happened.”

Chet certainly seemed to be uncommunicative this afternoon. “Nothing?” she demanded. There was more to this than met the eye.

“I explained I was a private investigator and had cut through his yard. I apologized for the intrusion. As far as I could tell he believed me. After he’d read over my license he went back into the house.”

“That was it?” Surely there was something more. It wasn’t her imagination, her father had been unnecessarily quiet all morning. He seemed preoccupied and absentminded. When she mentioned meeting Donna for an early lunch, he’d encouraged her, and even sounded pleased. He insisted she needn’t come back to the office when she’d finished. Since she was volunteering downtown, she should go directly there.

“You seem so quiet,” Monica said after several moments of silence. She’d never seen the serious side of Chet. She’d seen him angry and frustrated, aroused and flippant, but never serious.

He didn’t seem to hear her. “I don’t think I ever realized how truly beautiful you are.”

Unaccustomed to compliments, Monica felt herself blush. Her heart was so full, it felt as if it were ready to burst. Love must do this to a woman, she decided, but she wouldn’t change this incredible feeling for the world.

He leaned forward and reached for her hand, gripping her fingers hard with his own. “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

“About us?” Her chest tightened as though she already knew what he was going to say. In that same moment she recognized that no amount of arguing would change his mind.

Chet nodded. “It has to end, Monica. I never intended matters to go this far. You’re bright and beautiful and someday you’ll meet a—”

She stopped him from saying anything more by pressing the tips of her fingers against his lips. She knew her eyes were wide and pleading. They stung with the effort to hold back a wall of tears.

“Don’t say it,” she pleaded softly.

His hand gripped her wrist and he closed his eyes as if this were causing him as much pain as he was inflicting upon her. He kissed her fingers and slowly moved her hand away.

She lowered her gaze. “There’s this song,” she whispered in fractured tones, having trouble speaking. “Michael plays it on the piano. It’s from some musical. I don’t know which one . . . it’s about two people who must end their affair, and the girl who’s singing asks only one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“All she wants is to choose the time and place where he tells her good-bye. She wants it to be on a Sunday at the zoo. I don’t know why she chose there, but she did.” She forced herself to smile and realized a toddler would have seen through the effort. “I always thought that was the most ridiculous song. The only reason Michael played it was that he knew it irritated me, and now . . . now I think I understand.”

Chet didn’t say anything for several minutes. Monica couldn’t.

“The time is now,” he said. “It’s over.”

She nodded. “At least let me choose the place. Not here in some fancy restaurant with half the world looking on. Let’s go outside to the end of the pier. Tell me there you don’t love me. Tell me there you never want to see me again.”

She didn’t wait for him to agree or disagree, but stood, taking her coat. With her head held high, she walked out of the restaurant and down the long pier, stopping when she’d reached the farthest corner.

The wind blew hard against her as she stood at the railing looking out over the green, murky waters. It amazed her that she could be so outwardly calm and still hurt this badly.

For a moment she feared Chet would choose to leave her there alone, but she was wrong. Soon he joined her. Standing beside her, he braced his elbows against the railing, and looked out over the water. Dusk was setting, and a soft shade of pink brightened the horizon. The wind howled softly in the background.

“I can’t say I don’t love you, if that’s what you’re looking for.” The words were almost accusing, tight with pain.

Monica’s hands were buried deep in her coat pockets. She turned to study him. The wind slapped the loose tendrils of her hair about her face. “Why are you doing this?”

“Damn it, Monica, I don’t want to argue. We both know all the reasons. We’ve been through all this. I’m not going to get involved in another debate with you. One of us has got to keep his head on straight. Do you think I’m enjoying this?”

“No.”

“Accept it, then. It’s over before either of us has more cause for regret.”

So this was what it felt like to die, Monica mused. She closed her eyes as the pain worked through her heart, then slowly nodded.

“Michael’s a good man.”

“I don’t love Michael,” she said evenly. “I love you.”

He ignored her. “I ran a background check on him for you and he’s squeaky clean. You couldn’t ask for better husband material.”

“Don’t, please,” she whispered fervently. She knew what he was doing, but it wasn’t helping.

“If you’re not attracted to Michael, fine. He’s not the only fish in the sea. For that matter I’m not either. You’ll fall in love again. Within a couple of weeks, maybe less.”

Monica’s short laugh was filled with more tears than amusement. “Oh, Chet, don’t you know me at all? Do you honestly believe I’m the kind of woman to walk from one relationship to another? Do you really think I’d ever marry a man I don’t love?”

His lack of response was answer enough. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” he warned.

“Like what?”

“Hell, I don’t know, join a convent or something.”

“That’s for Catholics.”

“I realize that, but knowing you, you’d convert just to spite me. There’s too much passion in you for that, understand? You’ve kept it buried for too damn long as it is. You’ll do fine,” he said starkly, turned, and started to walk away.

“Chet.”

He stopped, and his back and his shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn around.

“Would you hold me, please. One last time.”

It looked as if he intended to keep on walking. He took one step, and then another. Monica bit down so hard on her lip to keep from calling for him that she tasted blood. Whatever it was that caused him to change his mind, she would never know.

Before another moment passed she was in his arms. His hold on her was hard and tight. Sobbing, she clung to him.

“You’re a fool,” she told him, weeping so hard, she doubted he could understand her.

“I’ve always been one. Why change now?”

“Because I love you.”

“Yeah, well, that and two bits will buy you a cup of coffee.” He broke away from her so abruptly that she nearly stumbled backward. Gripping her hands with his, he raised her fingers to his mouth. “Dear God, I can’t believe . . .”

“What can’t you believe?”

“Nothing.” He closed his eyes and folded his fingers over hers. “There’s so much I owe you.”

“But, Chet,” she pleaded, “don’t you understand? I’m so grateful for you.”

“This is my gift to you.”

“What,” she sobbed, “breaking my heart?”

“No, letting you go before I screw up your life as much as I have my own.” He dropped her hands, and without another word, turned and walked away.

It was highly uncommon to get a summons from Gabriel while on prayer assignment, and Goodness was convinced she was about to be pulled off the case. She had her arguments all lined up. Good ones too. Matters were going much better than they appeared at first glance. She intended to explain everything, if only he’d give her the opportunity.

At last Goodness had something positive to report. Monica had come to her senses. It was no small task dealing with this human either. The preacher’s daughter had been a challenge from the first, but Goodness had made progress. With some effort, she’d arranged the phone call from Donna Watkins, although she was disappointed that Monica had chosen to impress Chet instead of Michael with her new outfit.

“Goodness.” Gabriel greeted her upon her arrival. He was pacing, his massive hands clenched behind his back. “I’d like a progress report on Monica Fischer’s prayer request.”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” Goodness said, eager to tell her side of the strange happenings. “There’s a fine young man in her church by the name of Michael Simpson—”

Gabriel cut her off with a look. “I understand she’s currently involved with Chet Costello. And from what I hear, you’re responsible for the two of them meeting.”

“Was involved,” Goodness said quickly, steering the archangel away from the unfortunate incident of Monica literally falling into Chet’s arms. “That’s all behind her now.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“You needn’t worry about Monica and that shoddy detective any longer,” Goodness concluded, folding her hands and proudly flaunting her wings. “Michael Simpson has a good deal going for him. He’s talented and dedicated. I’m sure that within a matter of days, Monica will—”

“Days?” Gabriel repeated.

“Perhaps it will take a week, but I’m confident Monica will come to her senses soon.”

Gabriel continued his pacing. “From what I can see of matters, Monica Fischer is deeply in love, and it isn’t with Michael Simpson.”

“I’m sure this private detective was nothing more than a passing fancy.”

“You think so, do you?” Gabriel asked calmly. “Look at this and then tell me what you think.” With a wave of his arm, the walls of heaven slowly parted, followed by a rush of warm, humid winds. Mists swirled and Goodness squinted, having trouble locating Monica through the thick fog.

Soon the vista cleared. It took her a moment to recognize the stark interior of the old church. It was the very sanctuary where Goodness had met her friends—where Reverend Fischer tended his flock of faithful believers.

Monica was kneeling at the altar, her face buried in her arms as she openly sobbed. It was her tears and her prayers that had created the humid fog. The sounds of her pain rose pitifully toward heaven as if echoing from a sound chamber.

“She’s changed,” Gabriel said gently. “Her hair is different.”

“Chet, he’s the private detective—”

“I know him well.”

“You do?”

Gabriel nodded. “Is he responsible for the other things as well? I notice she’s wearing an attractive dress and gold earrings.”

“Ah, I believe so.” Now didn’t seem the time to mention Monica’s lunch with Donna Watkins.

Gabriel’s nod was thoughtful. “I suspected as much. As I recall, the last time I saw Monica, she was trapped in the web of her own righteousness. Am I wrong, or is she a little more willing to accept the differences in us all?”

“I couldn’t really say, but I must explain, I did a bit of research on this private detective and I don’t mind telling you, he’s had a sordid past.”

“I see,” Gabriel commented with a decided lack of appreciation. This wasn’t a good sign. “How far back did you investigate him?”

“The last couple of years.”

“Did you learn about his gunshot wound?”

“Ah, I wasn’t aware he’d been wounded.”

“He nearly died. As I understand it, he stepped in front of a bullet to save his friend. He was willing to sacrifice his own life for that of someone he loved. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough, his friend died.”

“Oh, dear.” The picture Gabriel painted of Chet was becoming clearer. Goodness’s gaze slowly returned to Monica, kneeling at the altar railing, pouring her heart out in prayer. It rose like a sweet-smelling mist toward heaven. “What’s she saying?”

Gabriel stood behind Goodness. “She’s thanking God for teaching her about love, for giving her the short time she had with Chet. Her heart is filled with gratitude.”

Goodness frowned. “Gratitude comes with tears?”

“Very often it does,” Gabriel admitted with a beleaguered sigh. “It seems to me you’ve taught Monica Fischer what she needed to learn.”

“But I did nothing.” Goodness was more confused than ever. Her efforts had all been geared toward Michael. “The changes are due to Chet Costello, not me.”

“I know. Maybe we should look at him.”

Goodness pressed her lips tightly together. “He’s probably in a bar somewhere.”

“He is.” The picture of Monica faded and was replaced by one of Chet slouched atop a bar stool, nursing a shot glass. His shoulders were hunched forward and he ignored any attempts at conversation the bartender made.

“You notice he isn’t in any church,” Goodness felt obliged to point out.

“I realize that.”

A cocktail waitress ambled to his side and whispered something. “That’s Trixie.” Goodness felt it was important that Gabriel know how well informed she was. She hadn’t slouched in her duties.

“I know all about Trixie as well.”

“Then you must be aware of their ongoing relationship,” Goodness supplied.

“It’s over and has been from the moment Chet met Monica,” Gabriel said absently. “He’s doing it again, you see.”

“Drinking?”

Gabriel slowly shook his head. “No, he’s sacrificing himself for another. He loves Monica, but he doesn’t believe he’s right for her. It seems to me that a man who’s twice put the good of someone else before his own deserves something more than pain.”

“He deserves love,” Goodness whispered, watching Trixie.

Goodness thought she heard Gabriel groan. “Not Trixie,” he said impatiently.

“Who, then?”

“Monica Fischer.”

Goodness felt knocked off-balance. “You couldn’t possibly mean that the good Lord intends to answer Monica’s prayer for a husband with Chet Costello?”

Gabriel laughed, the rich and full sound echoing like a Chinese gong. “My dear Goodness, that’s what He intended all along.”

Fifteen

Jody swore she didn’t sleep except in ten- or fifteen-minute snatches the entire night. It had been like this when Jeff had first disappeared. Mentally and physically exhausted, she’d fall into bed, immediately slip into a druglike sleep only to jerk awake minutes later. The pattern was back.

Jeff was alive.

Jeff was dead and buried. Buried and mourned.

Resurrected.

The next morning, when the alarm rang, Jody was tempted to call into work sick. The only thing that kept her from doing so was the idea of facing the day at home alone with her doubts—a day alone with her fears. Alone. It held no appeal.

Sensing her mood, Timmy was extra quiet. He dressed for school while she cooked his breakfast and then drove him to the bus stop.

“Have a good day,” she told him as he climbed out of the car.

“You too, Mom.” With that he was gone, hurrying to meet his friends.

The traffic into the city was heavy, but Jody barely noticed. She drove by rote, her mind wandering from one inane topic to another. When she pulled into her assigned spot in the parking garage, she was surprised to realize where she was and had no memory of the commute.

At least while she was at the office she could occupy her thoughts with matters other than Jeff’s mother. Despite everything, a small part of her—no, she corrected, a very large part of her—had been wounded by the things Gloria had said.

Why should it matter that her mother-in-law would tell her dead son what a terrible wife Jody was?

Somehow it did.

It unsettled her that Gloria’s opinion of her was so important. Jody had been a good wife. No woman could have possibly loved Jeff more. No woman could have grieved harder, or longer—except, possibly, his mother.

Because of Timmy it was impossible for Jody to isolate her life the way Gloria had. Because of Timmy she was forced to deal with the present. She’d done a good job, or at least she assumed she had until her son had written his letter to God. Timmy needed her, not to look back and weep with her pain, but to stand tall and proud and to point the direction of their future.

Jody had no more than settled down at her desk, her thoughts more confused than ever, when Glen Richardson arrived. She looked up at the attorney’s warm, concerned face, and felt an immediate sense of serenity.

He had a calming effect on her and had from the first. It hadn’t taken long for him to become a good friend, and she’d never needed one more.

“How’d it go with your mother-in-law?” he asked, sitting on the edge of her desk.

Jody averted her gaze. “Not good.”

“She’s a lonely old woman.”

“I know,” Jody said, “but somehow that doesn’t make this any easier.”

Glen’s eyes were sympathetic. “I’m sure it doesn’t. How’s Timmy?”

“Great. He’s checking the water in the tree stand every morning just the way you said. I swear, he’s brought every kid in the neighborhood home to show them the Christmas tree he cut down by himself.”

“Hey, don’t I get any credit?”

“Apparently not. He’s got the neighborhood believing he’s a regular lumberjack. He wanted to wear his plaid shirt and boots to school this morning. It seems he’s got an image to live up to now.”

Glen chuckled, but then his eyes grew serious. “I hope you don’t mind, but I bought Timmy a baseball mitt for Christmas. I realize it was presumptuous of me to do something like that without talking to you first.”

Jody wasn’t sure how she felt about Glen giving them presents. It was thoughtful, yes, but baseball mitts were expensive and it seemed to imply that there was something more than mere friendship.

“The mitt he showed me is too small for his hand,” Glen explained. “I’m surprised his coach let him play with it. If Timmy’s going to pitch, and he certainly seems to have his heart set on that, then he’ll need a properly fitting mitt.”

“It was very kind of you, Glen.”

“But?” He scooted off her desk, and seemed to be waiting for her to chastise him.

“Timmy will think he’s in heaven.” Jody couldn’t make herself berate Glen. She wouldn’t have known Timmy’s mitt was too small if Glen hadn’t told her. If anything, he’d proved Timmy’s point. Her son needed a father’s loving guidance.

Glen looked at his watch. “I better get back to my office. I have to be in court later this morning.”

“Thanks for stopping by.”

“No problem. How about dinner one night this week?”

Before Jody even thought about what she was doing, she nodded.

This was a pivotal moment for her.

She’d welcomed another man into her life, calmly accepted his companionship. She had taken for granted that she would see Glen again and soon. More earth-shattering was how much she was looking forward to spending more time with him.

Some of what she was feeling must have leaked into her eyes, because Glen didn’t leave. Slowly, he walked around to her side of the desk, claimed a second chair, and sat down next to her.

“What just happened?” he asked, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees. “Something clicked in your mind just now. I could see it as plain as day. Tell me what it was.”

“I realized how pleased I was that we’re dating.”

He laughed, and Jody was certain he didn’t understand the significance of what she was saying. For the last seven years she’d lived her life in limbo. The still, shadow-filled existence had become a shelter to her. It had protected her from exposing her heart to any additional pain. What she had missed in all those years, wrapped in a cocoon of safety, didn’t bear thinking about.

Now here, out of the blue, like a miracle, was a man who’d gently pushed and prodded his way past the barriers of her resolve. A man who hadn’t asked her to stop loving Jeff. He hadn’t attempted to push her dead husband out of her life. All he’d asked was that she make room for him.

“Glen?”

“Yes.” He reached for her hand, holding it lightly in his own.

Where she found the courage, she didn’t know. Didn’t question. All at once it was there, like the warming rays of dawn at the end of a long, cold night. “Would you like to marry me?”

At first her words were met with a shock-filled silence. Glen looked at her as if he suspected he hadn’t heard her correctly. “Did you just say what I think you did?”

Jody had never been more embarrassed in her life. She hadn’t a clue what had prompted her to ask such a thing. All at once the thought was there, and the words had tumbled from her lips like awkward chunks of ice over the edge of a pitcher. She wanted to reach out and jerk back the question, but before she had a chance to do or say anything more, Glen spoke.

“I would consider it the greatest honor of my life to be your husband and Timmy’s stepfather.”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“You should have,” Glen interrupted with feeling. “I just never dreamed this would happen so soon.” He looked at his watch once more and she could see the regret work its way into his eyes.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she promised.

“Set the date, Jody. We can shop for an engagement ring this weekend.” How eager he sounded, how pleased.

Maybe it wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. She’d waited so long and here was an opportunity of a lifetime. Here was a chance of finding happiness and she was grabbing hold of it with both hands.

Yes, it was happening so fast, but that was the way she wanted it. If she had too much time to think about remarrying, she might find an excuse to change her mind.

“Let’s get married in January, after the holidays,” she blurted out, as Glen headed for the door.

He turned around and flashed her a smile that rivaled the noonday sun. “January it is.”

“Yes!” Shirley did a leap into the air off the filing cabinet, both hands raised in jubilation. A stack of papers went flying in all directions and Jody whirled around.

“What was that?” she asked as the papers fluttered to the ground.

Another woman in the office said, “It’s that damn heating vent. It sends out a rush of hot air every now and again.” She rolled her chair over to Jody. “Here, let me help you pick those up.”

Jody looked up and frowned. The heating vent wasn’t anywhere near the filing cabinet.

Shirley stayed plastered against the ceiling, her hands covering her mouth. “Oops,” she whispered.

“Don’t you think we should contact the maintenance man?”

“Naw,” the other woman said. “It doesn’t happen that often.”

“Hey,” Jody murmured, “look at this. It’s a feather. How do you suppose a feather got in here?”

“I haven’t got a clue,” her friend said, handing her a stack of papers.

Shirley left before she caused any further damage and ascended directly toward the golden light of heaven, exhilarated with this unexpected turn of events.

To her delight Gabriel was waiting for her.

“Come in, come in,” he greeted her. He was a magnificent angel, tall and regal-looking, an impressive sight after a steady stream of men of the earth. For a fraction of a second Shirley admired the strength and power exuding from him.

“You’re here to report about Timmy Potter?” Gabriel asked in a no-nonsense tone.

“That’s right,” Shirley said, nodding. “My mission’s accomplished, Timmy’s mother became engaged to Glen Richardson this morning.”

“Glen Richardson,” Gabriel repeated. He walked over to the desk where the cumbersome volume was stored and flipped open the thick book. He ran his finger down the page until he found Glen’s name, then looked up at Shirley and frowned.

“He’s a wonderful man and will make Timmy an excellent father,” Shirley hurried to say. She strained her eyes to read what Gabriel seemed to question, but wasn’t able to see anything beyond the archangel’s massive hand.

“You need to return to earth right away,” Gabriel continued. “There’s been some misunderstanding. Jody and Timmy are going to need you. The winds of trouble are brewing.”

“You can’t tell me anything more than that?” Shirley asked. She should have known it wouldn’t be this easy, especially since she was so new at this.

“There’s nothing more I can tell you,” Gabriel said, and she heard the regret in his voice.

“But . . .”

“Go,” Gabriel said, spreading his massive wings. “You have work to do.”

For years Leah had avoided the infant sections of department stores. Now she found herself drawn to them as if a magnet were luring her in their direction.

She was supposed to be Christmas shopping, instead she wandered about looking at beautifully crafted cribs, lovingly running her hand over the polished wood railings. The joy that blossomed in her heart was strong.

She was going to have a baby.

After all these years she was about to bear a child. Her waiting, her pain had come to pass.

Andrew’s words of warning echoed harshly in the back of her mind. How she wished she could find some way to explain the deep certainty she experienced. She yearned to rub away his doubts and lend him the assurance she’d felt from that very first morning.

Soon she would be able to look him in the eye and tell him her body was nurturing his seed. For years she’d carried this dream with her, of watching her husband’s expression when she told him he would soon be a father.

Nothing could have pleased her more than to purchase a complete layette right then and there, but she didn’t want to risk another confrontation with Andrew. They had all the baby furniture they’d ever need in storage. Once Dr. Benoit had confirmed her pregnancy, there’d be plenty of time to set up a nursery.

Her appointment wasn’t until the twenty-third, but she was fortunate to get one as quickly as that, so she wasn’t complaining. Seeing the doctor that close to Christmas had its advantages. That way she wouldn’t need to wait long to make the announcement to both sets of parents. If she saw Dr. Benoit any sooner, she’d never have been able to keep the happy news to herself.

Andrew’s mother would be thrilled. Her own, too, of course, but her parents had plenty of grandchildren, while Shirley Lundberg impatiently waited for her first.

Leah had had names picked out for years. If they had a girl her name would be either Sarah, Hannah, or Elizabeth. A son would be named Isaac, Samuel, or John. Few understood the significance or what had prompted her decision.

The names were Biblical. Leah shared a good deal in common with the three women. Sarah, Hannah, and Elizabeth had been barren too, but God had heard their prayers and answered them with the birth of their firstborn child. As it happened, all three were boys, and those were the names she’d chosen for her own child, should she bear a son.

Deep in her heart, Leah felt this child was a miracle. He was a testament to faith. Over the years her hope had grown weak and faltered, but God had listened. He’d heard her cries. Even when it seemed all that was returned to her was the echo of her own sobs, God had been faithful.

Unable to leave the infant department without purchasing one small item, Leah opted for a beautiful sterling silver Christmas tree ornament for Andrew with Baby’s First Christmas beautifully inscribed in the silver. Technically she was a year early, but she was eager for Andrew’s reaction when he opened this gift. By then he’d know for certain she was pregnant.

As she suspected, her husband was waiting for her when she arrived home from her Christmas shopping spree. He trailed behind her from the garage all the way into the guest bedroom, where she stored the unwrapped gifts.

“How’d the shopping go?” he asked, following close on her heels.

Leah set her purchases on the bed and tossed him a saucy smile over her shoulder. “Very well, thank you.”

“Did you buy me anything?” One thing she’d always loved about Andrew was his childlike attitude toward Christmas. He was like a little kid about presents. He played silly guessing games with her, checked out the packages under the tree as often as he dared, and shook his gifts until they were in danger of being broken.

“I might have found you something,” she answered cryptically, “and then again I might not.”

“But you did,” he said, sounding confident. He leaned against the doorway and cupped his hands behind his head, as if he had it all figured out. His pose suggested that she needn’t wrap the gifts since he knew everything she’d bought anyway.

“You were gone a long time,” he commented.

“Hmmm,” she said, bringing the Christmas wrap out from the closet.

“Where’d you go?”

“Andrew, honestly!”

“Did you know the golf store was having a sale?”

“That does it,” Leah said, throwing her arms in the air. “Scoot. I’m going to wrap these and I can’t do it with you standing over my shoulder watching every move I make.”

“Yes, but you have some great moves.”

“Andrew, please, I’m serious. Scoot.”

“Aha. So you did buy me something!”

“Good-bye, darling.” She walked over to the door and closed it. The latch clicked softly into place.

Andrew stood stubbornly on the other side, refusing to leave. “You’ll call me if you need anything, right?” he asked, sounding downright cordial.

“In a heartbeat.”

A minute passed, perhaps two, but no longer. “Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you. Andrew, why don’t you go in and watch television for a while?”

“Nothing good’s on.”

“What about football?”

“The game’s over. How long is it going to take you to finish?”

“I can’t rightly say.” Was it any wonder family and friends made fun of her gift-wrapping efforts. She used more tape than any three people. She couldn’t wrap a single gift without being hounded by her husband, who behaved more like a six-year-old than a mature adult.

A long, slow release of breath followed her announcement. “I’m going to make a cup of hot chocolate,” he said, sounding as if he’d lost his last friend.

“Make two,” she called out. She’d finish up later. By some miracle she’d managed to wrap everything she’d purchased for him, including a box of golf balls. The man had a sixth sense when it came to ferreting out his gifts.

Andrew was carrying steaming mugs of hot chocolate into the living room by the time she’d put everything away. They kicked off their shoes and snuggled up together on the sofa.

“When’s your doctor’s appointment?” Andrew asked, rubbing his chin along the side of her head. Leah was convinced she’d told him no less than three times. “The twenty-third.”

He didn’t say anything for a couple of moments. “How are you feeling?”

“Wonderful.” Leah smiled to herself. He was becoming a believer. Bit by bit, little by little, as each day passed. Like her, he was afraid to believe. Like her, he couldn’t make himself not do so.

“You know what I was thinking this afternoon?” she said, tilting back her head so their eyes could meet. “I’d like to start attending church services again.”

“What brought this on?”

“I don’t know. I realized it’s been months since we last went to church. Far too long, and you know what? I miss it.”

“I’ve always loved singing Christmas carols,” Andrew said wistfully.

Leah nearly choked on her hot chocolate. “You can’t sing.”

“I know,” he admitted readily, his eyes bright with silent laughter, “but that never stopped me.”

“I noticed.” She loved to tease him. It felt good to be together like this. “You wouldn’t mind then if we went back to church?”

His eyes met hers. “Why should I? I think it’s a good idea.”

Leah nestled back into the warm security of his arms.

“It seems we have a good deal to be grateful for lately.”

“Yes, it does,” she agreed.

The moment was peaceful and serene and Leah happily traipsed along the meandering path of her thoughts. They led her on the same well-traveled road she’d traversed so often, trying to picture what Andrew’s and her child would be like. She hoped, boy or girl, that their baby would inherit her husband’s love of life, his excitement and joy for the little things.

“Leah,” he said after a moment, “do you still believe you’re pregnant?”

“I know I am. It’s there—that confident feeling inside me. We’re going to have a child, Andrew.”

“You realize you’ve got me believing it now too, don’t you?”

“Yes, and that’s even better.”

“This could be dangerous thinking for us both. We might be setting ourselves up for another major disappointment, and I don’t think either one of us can take many more.”

“We aren’t,” she assured him, not doubting, not even for an instant. “Here, feel,” she said, taking the hot chocolate and setting it aside. Then, reaching for his hand, she pressed his palm against her stomach, holding it there, her fingers pressed over his. “Now tell me what you believe.”

He was silent for what seemed like an eternity before he wrapped his arms around her and brought her tight against him, holding her as if he were suddenly afraid and needed someone to cling to.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I know,” he whispered, and when they kissed she realized he was trembling.

“Monica,” her father said, walking into the living room, his look contemplative. “Michael called again.”

The needle was poised in her fingers, ready to pierce the linen fabric. “I don’t feel much like talking, Dad. Would you make my excuses?”

“I explained you were a little under the weather.”

She pulled the thread through the material. “Thank you.” The needlepoint was a means of occupying her mind, but she doubted that she’d ever finish this project. The Ten Commandments were filled with Thou Shalt Not and that was the way she’d viewed life. Her views had subtly changed, thanks to knowing Chet.

Her father claimed his favorite chair across from her and reached for his Bible. He opened it and silently read for several moments before he gently closed the yellowed pages and set the leather-bound book aside.

“I’ve waited now for three days for you to tell me why you’re so low. I don’t know that I have the patience to hold out much longer.”

Monica set aside the needlepoint, not knowing where to begin or how. The pain was too fresh yet, too raw. She lowered her gaze to her lap and clenched her hands together. Her father was a patient man, and she prayed he’d understand her hesitation.

He gave her a few moments, then leaned toward her and gently patted her knee. “It’s at times like these that I wish your mother were alive. She’d be much better at understanding what’s wrong than I am. Funny, isn’t it,” he said with a sad sort of laugh, “I counsel people from all walks of life and I can’t help my own daughter.”

“Dad, it’s not that.”

“I know, love. If it will make it easier, you don’t need to tell me there’s a man involved in all this. I have eyes in my head. In the beginning I believed it was Michael, but it’s obvious he’s not the one.” He reached for his handkerchief and methodically cleaned his glasses. “I apologize for playing the role of the matchmaker with you two. I should have known better. I’m an old man who would like grandchildren someday.”

Monica closed her eyes to a fresh wave of pain. Now there would be no children, because there was no Chet. It was melodramatic to think she would never fall in love again, never marry. But right then that was exactly how she felt.

“Whoever this young man is I’d like to thank him,” her father continued after a lengthy silence.

“You don’t know him, Dad.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

She was forever grateful he didn’t play a game of cat and mouse, attempting to guess Chet’s identity.

“For the first time since you entered your twenties you’ve taken your eyes off yourself. You’ve worked so hard to do the right thing, to be the perfect example of God’s love to others. Soon you focused all your efforts on yourself and how good you were. It was then that you started to notice the flaws in others. It became a vicious circle and I couldn’t seem to reach you with the truth.”

Monica raised her gaze to his. “I don’t understand.”

“Forgive me for sounding like the preacher I am. You’re my only child and I love you more than words can say, but there’ve been times I wanted to take you by the shoulders and shake you good and hard.”

“For what?” Although she asked the question, Monica was well aware of the answer.

“For standing in judgment of others instead of trying to look at them through God’s eyes,” her father continued.

“The man, his . . . his name is Chet,” she whispered, feeling she owed her father some explanation. “I met him downtown, the first time the ensemble sang. He was going into a tavern and I tried to stop him by telling him how wrong it was for him to drink.”

Her father smiled at that and settled back in his chair. “I suspect he didn’t listen to you.”

“No, quite the opposite. He laughed.” She did too then, at the memory. Softly, sadly. “We met again by accident later and several times more by design.

“I couldn’t understand what it was I found so intriguing about him. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever known.”

“You’ve been raised in the church. Your experience with the world has been limited.”

She reached for a tissue and twisted it between her fingers. “He’s a former policeman and has lived a hard life. He’s done things neither of us would ever dream of doing. He’s been shot and sometimes carries a gun, although he doesn’t realize I know that.”

“A gun?”

“At first glance he looks rough and mean,” she hurried to explain, “but on the inside . . . I don’t think I could have found a better man to love. He was honest when he didn’t need to be, and gentle. There were any number of times he could have seduced me and didn’t.”

“I see.”

The strain in her father’s voice produced a small smile. She shouldn’t have told him that part. Any father would have reacted the same.

“He’s so damn noble I could cry . . . and have,” she said, clenching her fists.

“I take it he’s the one who insisted you not see each other again?”

Monica nodded. “He never said he loved me, but I know he does. He loves me so much he was willing to send me away rather than take the chance of hurting me.”

“Monica,” her father pleaded, “why didn’t you bring him to meet me?”

It was a question that had plagued her as well. One she’d repeatedly asked herself the last few days. Chet had claimed he wanted it to end before there were more regrets, but she’d stewed in them for days. She feared Chet had assumed she was ashamed of him and that simply wasn’t the case.

“I don’t know why I didn’t introduce you. I guess I was afraid you’d think ill of him, or me.”

“But, Monica, you love this man. That would have been enough of a character endorsement for me. Your mother and I raised you and if you can’t judge a man’s worth by now then you wouldn’t be our daughter.”

“Oh, Dad, I wish I’d done so many things differently and now it’s too late. Forgive me for not trusting you. I’ve been wrong about so much.”

Her father patted her knee once more. “There’s a special man for you. Remember how hurt you were when you learned Patrick was engaged.”

Patrick. She’d nearly forgotten about him. It was laughable to think she’d been anything close to loving her former boyfriend. Her pride had been hurt at Patrick’s surprise announcement. Far more than her ego was involved this time, and Monica sincerely doubted that she’d ever be the same again.

Sixteen

“Hey, man, you don’t look so good,” Lou, the Blue Goose bartender said as he poured Chet another shot glass of Kentucky bourbon.

“If you’re looking for a pretty face,” Chet muttered, “call Trixie.”

“You got the flu?”

“Yeah,” Chet said, thinking that would get Lou off his back. He wasn’t interested in company or conversation.

“Then get the hell out of here,” Lou continued. “No one wants to be sick for Christmas.”

Christmas. It was just another day like all the others as far as Chet was concerned. Christmas was for families and he didn’t have one. No one bought him gifts, and there certainly wasn’t anyone he cared enough to buy one for other than . . . His thoughts came to a grinding halt.

Funny how a woman could mess up a man’s mind. He’d known Monica what . . . two, three weeks? He’d lost count and within that short amount of time she’d managed to worm her way into his heart until she was like a virus that had spread to every part of his body.

He couldn’t eat or sleep for want of her. He couldn’t close his eyes without his head filling up with thoughts of her. Nor could he get the image of her out of his mind. The one of her standing at the end of the pier, the wind ruffling her hair, her beautiful eyes bright with tears . . . and love. A love so damn strong it was like a torchlight beaming directly at him.

That final picture of her would haunt him to the grave. He didn’t know how he was going to get through the rest of his life without her.

The rest of his life. Chet nearly laughed out loud. What life? That was the real question. He was sick to death of the endless lies, the constant need for charades, flirting with disaster.

That’s how it’d started with Monica. A game, because she irritated him. One diversion too many and this time he was paying the piper in spades.

The empty days stretched out before him, followed by cruel nights staked out in some dark alley or a cheap hotel room crawling with loneliness.

The rest of his life was reserved in hell. He was born there and had spent a good majority of his carelessly lived existence there, except for one brief furlough with a preacher’s daughter. Just long enough for him to taste what could have been his, so he’d know exactly what it was he’d thrown away.

He emptied his drink, slapped the money down on the bar, and stood. The room spun and he shook his head, hoping that would help. It was too damn early in the afternoon to be drunk.

When he left the Blue Goose the cold hit him like a sharp claw. He squinted in the sunlight, cursing it as much as he cursed himself. The only person he had to blame for this was himself.

This was what he got for involving himself with a missionary. He’d known from the first time he kissed Monica that something like this would happen. It hadn’t stopped him from seeing her again. It hadn’t stopped him from caring. Nor had it stopped him from nearly screwing up her life.

The walk back to his office did him good. He was beginning to think he might be able to pull himself together and accomplish something by the end of the day, when he strolled past the department store window. Santa was there, and a long line of kids were waiting for him to listen to their wish lists. A little boy was squirming in his lap.

Something about the kid reached out and grabbed Chet by the gut. Perhaps it was the boy’s eyes, maybe it was the color of the kid’s hair, which was close to his own. It came to Chet then as unwelcome pain. If his life had been different, he might have had a son.

That fantasy along with everything else had been destroyed years ago when he’d been brash and naive enough to believe in justice and truth. Years ago before Tom was murdered, before he hadn’t been able to save his partner.

He forced himself to keep walking until he reached his building. His office lacked welcome, but Chet had wasted enough time already. He had work to do.

He sorted through his mail and tossed it unopened into the garbage. Reaching over the top of his desk, he pushed the button for his answering machine. A series of impersonal beeps followed. No one wanted him, not even his clients.

What he needed, Chet decided, was a change of scene. He should have left this stinking city years ago. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what it was that had prompted him to stay.

His mind made up, he pulled the phone from its jack, stuck it in the bottom desk drawer, and then searched through his filing cabinet for his lease, wishing he could remember the terms.

A knock sounded at his door.

“It’s open,” he shouted, shuffling though his papers. He made decent money, but had never gotten around to hiring himself a secretary. He wished now that he had.

“I’m looking for Chet Costello.”

“You found him.” He looked up and damn near swallowed his tongue. It was Monica’s father.

Lloyd Fischer grinned in recognition. “So it was you? I was guessing, you see. Monica didn’t give me your surname. Then again, I didn’t ask.”

“What can I do for you, Reverend Fischer?” Chet asked crisply. He wasn’t going to put up with an interrogation. Fact was, he wasn’t up to much more of anything.

“We’re working at the Mission House,” the older man explained, looking around the room. His eyes revealed neither approval nor disapproval, just mild curiosity.

“What can I do for you?” Chet pressed a second time.

The question seemed to take the reverend by surprise and he reverted his attention to Chet. “I’m not exactly sure. Would you mind if I sat down?”

“I was just on my way out.” The last thing Chet wanted was a lengthy conversation with Monica’s father.

“This won’t take more than a couple of minutes,” he said, and helped himself to a chair.

The reverend was being deliberately obtuse, and Chet gritted his teeth with impatience.

“When was the last time you saw my daughter?”

“Tuesday.” Chet made a point of looking at his watch as if he needed to be someplace important soon. “If Monica didn’t give you my name, how’d you find me?”

“I read your license, remember?”

He was losing it, Chet mused. He’d forgotten the old coot had caught him coming out of the side yard that night and had asked to see his identification.

“My daughter’s badly hurt, you know.”

For one wild second Chet assumed Monica had been injured and the fear that seared through him burned hotter than the bullet he’d taken years earlier.

“Life’s tough and then you die,” Chet stated unemotionally.

The man grinned as if he easily saw through Chet’s ploy. The grin irritated Chet. “Listen, I have work to do.”

“Monica claims you love her. Is that true?”

“No.” The pain of the lie pricked his heart, but he ignored it. “Listen, if you’re worried about what happened between us, let me assure you nothing did. Now, if you don’t mind I’ve got an appointment.”

“Yes, I suppose you do,” the reverend said, slowly getting to his feet. He extended his hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, young man. It’s plain to see why Monica thinks so highly of you.”

Chet’s chest tightened with a crippling ache as they exchanged handshakes. “You should be beating the hell out of me for having ever touched your daughter.”

The other man’s eyes gentled as he slowly shook his head. “I was young once myself, you know, and deeply in love. Monica’s a woman and old enough to know her own heart. I’m not here to judge you or my daughter. I came out of curiosity to meet you. And thank you.”

“Thank me?” Lloyd Fischer was offering him gratitude when Chet had expected condemnation.

“Oh, yes, you’ve helped Monica tremendously.” The minister looked older now than he had when Chet first saw him the fateful day he’d met Monica. Weary and burdened. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you,” he continued, “please don’t hesitate to come see me.”

“Sure,” Chet said, but a man who’d lived the life he’d lived, and done the things he had, didn’t make social calls to preachers.

He walked Monica’s father to the door, and opened it for him, anxious for him to leave. If Lloyd Fischer stayed much longer, Chet just might start to believe in the impossible.

“She’ll get over me,” he said.

The older man nodded. “I suspect you’re right. In due time. She loves you, and Monica’s a good deal like her mother when it comes to love.”

Chet hadn’t a clue what that meant and furthermore he didn’t want to know. His ladle of guilt was filled to capacity and overflowing.

“Good-bye, Chet. I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.” He patted Chet’s upper arm as if he were little more than a schoolboy and then ambled out of the room.

Standing in the doorway, Chet watched as Monica’s father absently walked down the hallway, strolling past the elevator. He turned around, looking confused, when he reached the end of the hall.

Chet shut the door, leaned against the thick white glass, and closed his eyes. He smelled of stale liquor, hadn’t shaved in two days, and as a general rule looked like shit, and this man of God had thanked him for damn near deflowering his daughter.

There was something screwy somewhere, and the hell if Chet could figure out where.

He was dizzy again and decided it was probably due to the fact that he hadn’t eaten since the day before. The alcohol hadn’t helped.

After showering and fixing himself something to eat he felt better. He’d finished his scrambled eggs when the thought subtly presented itself to him. Monica was at the Mission House. Hadn’t her father said so himself?

“No,” Chet said out loud. “I will not go down there.” He reached for his television controller, his finger poised over the Power button.

“You’re a fool,” Chet muttered, already knowing there was no force on this earth that could keep him away.

He had no intention of talking to her. None. The picture windows in the place gave ample opportunity to view the inside without being noticed. He’d go down, check out what her father had said, and slip away without anyone being the wiser. It was something he’d done a thousand times before as part of his job. He was good at this sort of thing.

With purpose directing him, Chet locked up his office, and when the elevator didn’t arrive fast enough to suit him, he took the stairs.

The mission was only a few doors away from his own building. It amazed Chet how easily he was able to find Monica in the crowd of workers. There seemed to be some sort of Christmas party going on. He spied Lloyd Fischer serving turkey with all the trimmings to a long line of derelicts.

Monica was in another part of the room with the children. Apparently she was telling them a story. A handful of kids were sitting on the floor looking up at the book she was holding. A toddler was fidgeting in her lap, reaching for her dangly earrings.

This was what hell must be like, Chet decided. To stand hidden in some corner and view the woman he loved so much it defied reason, and know he would never have her. Hell was watching her hold a child in her arms, and realizing she would never hold their child.

She was pale, Chet realized with regret, and dark circles shadowed her eyes. No wonder her father was concerned. Monica wasn’t faring any better than Chet was himself. He wanted to shake some reason into her, but that was part of his hell too. He would never touch her again.

Coming here had not been one of his most brilliant ideas. He took a step back, and then another, and was ready to turn and walk away when Monica’s gaze suddenly, unexplainably, locked with his.

Chet read her shock and watched the book she was holding tumble unnoticed from her fingers and fall to the floor.

Chet’s heart faltered. He couldn’t turn and walk away. Then she’d know his game. Then she’d know he’d purposely been spying on her. He had to do something and do it fast.

His shoes made harsh sounds against the sidewalk as he slammed into the Mission House door. He walked past the soup kitchen and moved directly to where Monica was sitting with the children. He braced his feet and glared down at her, sneering.

“Tell your father to stay away from me,” he ordered coolly.

Monica’s eyes widened with shock.

Not giving her a chance to recover, he turned and walked out, leaving the door to slam in his wake.

Jody let herself into the house that evening, same time as always. Timmy was sitting on the carpet in the family room, occupied with his video game.

“I’m home,” she told him, walking into the kitchen.

“Hi, Mom,” he called out. “Grandma called.”

Jody’s blood ran cold. “Grandma Potter?”

“Yes. She wants you to call her right away. She said—oh, darn—”

“What did she say?” Jody asked, hoping to hide her anxiety. It was times such as this that she regretted ever having purchased Timmy the video game system.

“Grandma said if you didn’t call her right away that she would call you.”

Jody wasn’t up to another confrontation with Gloria.

“Glen’s coming over for dinner,” Jody announced, watching for her son’s reaction, hoping to gain confidence in his enthusiasm to spend more time with the attorney. “I thought I’d make spaghetti.”

“Sure. He’ll like that.” Timmy’s gaze didn’t waver from the television screen, his attention rapt.

Inviting Glen to dinner so they could talk to Timmy together about their engagement had been Glen’s idea. Jody had immediately seen the wisdom of it, although now she wished she’d discussed the matter of her remarrying with her son much sooner.

Jody didn’t doubt that Timmy would be thrilled. After all, this was what he wanted. His nine-year-old heart had yearned for a father, and his desire was what opened her eyes to the way she’d isolated her life.

“You want to help me set the table?” she asked, although it was an hour or longer before they’d eat.

“In a minute.”

Jody rolled her eyes. She’d heard that phrase often enough to have it etched into the patio walkway.

Seeing that she wasn’t going to get much conversation from her son, she fried the ground turkey and set the sauce to simmer. Once she’d finished, she reached for the phone and dialed her mother’s number. If ever she needed emotional support it was now.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Jody, how are you?”

“All right, I guess.” She didn’t want to unburden her soul, nor could she very well announce that she’d decided to marry Glen within earshot of Timmy. But she could tell her about Gloria’s call.

“My guess is that Gloria wants to apologize, dear,” her mother said, after Jody finished. “She was hurt and angry and said something she didn’t mean, and now she’s looking to make amends.”

Jody was sure her mother was right, but needed confirmation before returning the call, and said as much.

“You need to remember,” Helen continued, “you and Timmy are the only relatives she has left. I’m sure she regrets everything and would like to mend fences. The Christmas gifts you mailed probably arrived and they were the perfect excuse for her to contact you. She means well, sweetheart.”

The doorbell sounded and Jody glanced at her watch. “That must be Glen,” she explained.

“I do like that young man,” her mother announced, and after a quick word in parting, Jody hung up the phone.

Her guess proved correct. Glen stood on the other side of the door, a bottle of wine in his hand and a bouquet of red rosebuds in the other. He kissed her on the cheek and handed her both.

“How’s Timmy?” Glen asked as she arranged the roses in a crystal vase.

“Preoccupied,” Jody whispered.

Glen’s arm circled her waist as they returned to the kitchen. When Timmy noticed Glen had arrived, he turned off the game.

“Hi, Glen.”

“How’s it going, scout?”

“All right, I guess. Mom said you were coming over for dinner.”

“Yeah, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh, no,” Timmy said, “I think it’s great, but she made spaghetti and she makes me eat it with a spoon. She’ll probably make you do the same thing.”

“I think I can live with that, if you can.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Timmy said.

“Son, Glen and I would like to have a talk with you before dinner.” Rubbing her palms together as if warding off a chill, Jody looked at Glen for assistance. They hadn’t talked about when they’d break the news to Timmy, and Jody worried their dinner would be a disaster with this hanging over their heads.

“Sure,” Timmy said.

The three of them sat down together in the family room. Glen was next to Jody and Timmy sat across from them. Glen reached for Jody’s hand.

“Your mother and I talked this afternoon and decided that we like each other very much,” Glen explained.

“I kind of guessed that you did,” Timmy said. “I saw you kissing her once.”

“Did that trouble you?” Jody asked, watching her son for any telltale signs of jealousy. Although Timmy yearned for a father, he may not have understood that it would mean having to share his mother’s attention with someone else.

“I don’t know why people kiss on the lips,” Timmy said. “It’s seems silly when you’re always warning me about germs, but adults seem to like it and even some kids. Rick told me he kissed a girl and it wasn’t too bad.”

“But how do you feel about me and your mother kissing?” Glen pressed.

Timmy frowned as if he didn’t know how to answer. “All right, I guess.”

Glen’s hands tightened around Jody’s. She noticed for the first time that he was nervous, which was something she suspected happened only rarely. Her gaze met his and he smiled weakly.

“Glen and I want to talk to you about us getting married,” Jody said, surprised by how shallow her voice sounded. Saying the words aloud for the first time caused her heart to pound at a fast rate, as if she were walking up a steep hill. In many ways she was and the anticipation of this new path she’d chosen suddenly felt momentous.

“Does this mean we’d be a family?”

Jody nodded.

“I’d be your stepfather,” Glen explained.

Timmy frowned at that. “But we’d still be a family?”

“Of course we would. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Jody sensed Timmy’s uncertainty and wanted to reassure him that there was nothing on this earth that would ever change her love for him.

“Would you have more babies like Rick’s mom?”

Jody released her breath and looked at Glen. They hadn’t discussed the prospect of having children.

“I’d like that very much,” Glen answered for her. “But we’ll leave the decision up to your mother.”

“What do you think, Timmy, would you like it if Glen and I married?” Jody experienced the strongest need to break down and cry. It felt like a band around her chest that tightened more with each second.

“Sure, that would be great. Glen could help me be a better pitcher and then you wouldn’t miss my dad so much. It’d be nice to be part of a real family.”

Jody bit back the words that claimed they were already a real family, he and she together.

“It’s settled, then,” Glen said, “your mother and I are officially engaged. You know what this means now, don’t you, Timmy? Another set of grandparents and aunts and uncles that you’ll need to meet.” He placed his arm around Jody’s shoulder and squeezed gently.

The phone pealed just then and Jody knew in her heart that it was her mother-in-law. Bracing herself, she stood and reached for the phone.

Her guess was accurate.

“I want to apologize for our conversation the other night,” Gloria said, sounding calm and collected. It was almost as if the fog in her mind had cleared.

“We both said things we regret,” Jody assured her. “This is a difficult time for us.”

“Oh, no,” Gloria corrected, “you’re wrong, my dear. Life couldn’t be more beautiful. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year, and more so now than ever before.”

“Mine too. Remember the year you joined Timmy and me? We wish your health was better so you could travel more.”

“Jeff always enjoyed the holidays,” she said.

Discussing her dead husband just then, minutes after she’d announced her engagement to another man, was more than Jody could bear.

“Mom, there’s something you should know,” she said quickly. “Something wonderful has happened and other than Timmy you’re the first one to hear.” She didn’t mean to announce her engagement like this, but she couldn’t think of any other way to divert Gloria from speaking about Jeff.

“You do sound excited and rightly so.”

“I told you earlier I’d met another man.”

Jody waited for some acknowledgment but none came. “We decided we want to be married,” Jody said, “and have set the date for January.”

“Married!” Gloria shrieked. “But you can’t, you can’t! What about Jeff?”

“If Jeff were alive why wouldn’t he contact me or Timmy?” she asked reasonably.

“He’s been very sick and weak. I haven’t talked to him myself yet, but the German official told me he’s recovering and asking about you and Timmy.”

“Mom, give me the phone number of the person you’re talking to and I’ll contact him myself.”

“I’m sorry, dear, I don’t have it. But everything he’s said is true, I swear it’s true, Jeff’s alive. You’ve got to believe me. You’ve got to break your engagement before Jeff learns you’re involved with another man.”

“Mom, this is a cruel hoax. We buried Jeff, remember?” Jody gently reminded her.

It was as if Gloria hadn’t heard her. “What am I supposed to tell my son when he phones? I demand that you tell this other man you’ve changed your mind. No, no, I’ll tell him for you. He’ll listen to me.”

“Mom, please,” Jody pleaded, her voice low and trembling.

Glen was standing next to her then, his arm around his shoulder. Gently he took the receiver from her hand, and explained that he was the man Jody was marrying. Naturally she couldn’t hear her former mother-in-law’s response.

Jody turned into his arm and buried her face in his shoulder.

“Grandma thinks my dad’s alive?” Timmy asked, when Glen had hung up the receiver.

Jody was trembling too hard to respond. Glen continued to hold her, patting her back. “Your grandmother wants it to be true so badly that she’s convinced herself your father is still alive,” Glen explained, when it was apparent Jody was in no condition to do so.

Somehow they made it through dinner, although the three of them took turns attempting to make a festive occasion of it. Glen tried the hardest. Timmy made an effort as well, and Jody too, however feeble. She was grateful when Glen claimed he was working on the brief for an important case and left shortly after they’d finished clearing the table.

Jody walked him to the door. “I’m sorry about Gloria.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers. “We’ll get through this.” He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her gently.

Jody let him out the door and watched until Glen’s car was out of sight. He was a good man, a decent man, but she didn’t feel any great passion for him. She smiled sadly and realized she’d been lucky enough to know about love from Jeff. Love wasn’t the reason she and Glen had decided to marry. They cared deeply for each other, shared the same goals, and were comfortable with one another. A lot of marriages had far less.

“I’m done with my homework,” Timmy said some time later. Jody had finished the dishes and was busy writing out Christmas cards. She was later than usual this year.

“Are you telling everyone about Glen?” Timmy surprised her by asking. He reached for the top card and read her brief note.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I thought we’d send out announcements later. I’ve already mailed out half my cards and it doesn’t seem fair that half my friends know and half don’t.”

Timmy nodded as if her reasoning made perfect sense to him. He plopped his elbows on the table and tucked his chin in his hands as he watched her work.

“You know what I wish?”

“What?” she asked absently, thinking he was about to add another item to his detailed Christmas list.

“I wish what Grandma Potter said was true. I wish my dad was alive.”

Jody’s hand stilled as her fingers tightened around the pen. “I do too, sweetheart.”

“Well, what do you think?” Shirley said, looking anxiously to Goodness. “Gabriel insists the winds of trouble are brewing, but I can’t see it. Jody’s engaged and from everything I can see Glen Richardson is a perfect match for her and Timmy.”

Goodness, who was poised atop the Christmas tree, slowly shook her head. “You don’t know very much about humans and love, do you?”

“Not really.”

“After tracking Monica and Chet I could write a book.”

“What’s wrong with Jody and Glen?” Shirley asked impatiently. “They’re great friends.”

“I noticed, and that’s a great place to start a relationship.”

“If you’re going to tell me Jody’s still in love with Jeff, I’ll agree with you. Good grief, I never dreamed this assignment would be so difficult. I do everything Gabriel wants and then he sends me hightailing it back to earth, claiming trouble’s afoot. But he won’t tell me where.”

“It’s obvious,” Goodness said. “Glen doesn’t love her either.”

“Now, I sincerely doubt that. Glen’s crazy about Jody.”

“It’s the little boy,” Goodness said gently. “Glen’s impatient for a family, and Jody has one ready-made for him.”

“I disagree.” Shirley might have been new at this business, but she didn’t doubt Glen’s honorable intentions for an instant.

“Why don’t we check him out and see for ourselves,” Goodness suggested. “I’ll help you and then maybe you can help me. I’m having troubles of my own.”

They left Timmy’s house and had no problem locating Glen’s. “He told her he was working on a brief,” Shirley explained.

Glen was sitting at his desk, a pen poised in his hands, but he seemed to be having trouble. They watched for several moments while he did nothing more than stare into space.

“What’s he doing?” Goodness whispered.

“I don’t know. He seems to be thinking.”

“Doesn’t he know that will only get him into trouble?”

Shirley smiled. “I guess not. Look, he’s opening a drawer.”

Glen’s shoulders heaved with a deep sigh as he removed a photograph from the bottom drawer. Goodness and Shirley looked over his shoulder. The photograph was that of a beautiful young woman with long black hair that cascaded over her shoulders.

“There’s your trouble,” Goodness whispered. “Glen’s in love with another woman.”

Seventeen

This wasn’t going to be easy. Monica had carefully steeled herself for the coming confrontation with Chet. She stood outside his office door, her heart pounding hard and fast.

Fervently she prayed she was doing the right thing. All she knew was that she couldn’t leave matters between them the way they were.

She could hear movement and knew Chet was there. She drew in a deep breath, knocked, turned the door handle, and stepped inside.

Chet was standing in front of his file cabinet, tossing one file after the other into a large cardboard container. Boxes were piled high on every bit of available space. His desk was clear, and the infamous calendar was down.

He was moving. Leaving Seattle. Leaving her.

“I won’t be taking on any new—” He stopped abruptly when he saw it was Monica. For one all-too-brief moment tenderness flashed in his eyes, but that was quickly replaced with practiced hardness. His gaze became sharp and dangerous like that of a cornered animal that was prepared to lash out in order to protect itself.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

“My father wanted me to apologize,” she began haltingly. “He never intended to offend you.”

“You’ve apologized, now go.”

What gave her to courage to stay, Monica would never know. “Why are you moving?”

He didn’t answer, but continued working at a furious pace, lifting several thick folders at a time, carelessly tossing them into the box.

“Where are you going?” she asked, trying a different vein.

“Away. Monica,” her name was little more than a frustrated sigh, “please, just go. Don’t make this any more difficult than it already is.”

“All right,” she agreed and he visibly relaxed at her words. “If you answer one question.”

“It’s over,” he said with sharp impatience. “Leave it at that.”

“I can’t.” Monica had honestly tried to accept that he wanted her out of his life. But no matter how hard she struggled to find acceptance none would come.

“I’m not going to debate the issue with you.”

“Just tell me why you don’t want my love,” she said forcefully. “Tell me what it is about me—”

“It has nothing to do with you. The problem is mine.”

“Then tell me. I need to know.” Despite her efforts to the contrary, her voice cracked with the strain of emotion.

Chet moved as if he were in pain, slowly and with difficulty. His back was to her as he stared out the window. Monica stayed where she was by the door, trembling and hating herself for subjecting them to this torment a second time.

The room seemed to spark with tension.

“I know you love me,” she whispered. “You can’t make me believe you don’t. There has to be something more.”

“I’m not good enough for you,” he shouted. “Now for the love of God get out of here.”

“No,” she said softly. “Not until you tell me why you aren’t good enough.”

“Monica, please.”

She walked over and stood next to him. He was so close she could feel his frustration. It seemed to come off him in waves.

“Why aren’t you good enough?” she asked again.

Chet’s hands were braced against the windowsill, his knuckles white. A war was being waged within him and the battle seemed to be a fierce one. When he turned to face her, his eyes were dull with pain.

“I murdered a man,” he shouted. “There, you know, now leave.” He pointed toward the door, his face growing red and angry. “Get out of my life, understand, before I ruin yours too.”

The force of his anger rocked her, but Monica stood her ground. “I don’t know the circumstances,” she said shakily, “but if you killed him, then he must have deserved to die.”

Chet jerked back as if she’d slapped him.

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done, I’ll always love you.”

“Damn you,” Chet cried, and then reached for her, hauling her into his arms. The strength of his embrace all but crushed her, but Monica didn’t care. There wasn’t any place else she would rather be than with Chet. He seemed to be drinking in her softness, as if it were as vital to him in that moment as oxygen.

After a short while, he released a harsh shudder and relaxed his hold enough for her to breathe comfortably. He brushed the hair from her temple and kissed her there. “I’ll always love you, too,” he whispered brokenly.

It felt like heaven to be in his arms. For the first time in days Monica felt whole, as if the part of her that had been missing had been found.

“You’re right when you say he deserved to die. He was a drug lord and brought misery to thousands all for the sake of money and power. An easy death was too good for him. He deserved to suffer.”

“Are you wanted by the police?”

He shook his head and laughed shortly. “No, I was too smart for that. I goaded him into a fight and I knew, being the weasel he was, he’d go for his weapon. He did, but I was ready. After an investigation, it was decided that I acted in self-defense, but I knew the truth. I murdered him just as if I’d waited in a dark alley and shot him in the back. He didn’t have a chance.”

“The gunshot wound,” she said, flattening her hand over the scar on Chet’s shoulder. She could feel it even through the material of his shirt. “That was when you were shot, wasn’t it?”

“No,” Chet told her. “Not then.”

“He scared you, though, didn’t he? Tell me what he did to you.”

“None of that matters.” He released her then abruptly as if he feared her touch, and backed away. “You got the answer you wanted, now go.”

“But, Chet—”

“Go, damn you.”

Monica flinched. “All right, but there’s something you should know.”

“How much more of this is there?”

“Not much, I promise you.” Her voice wobbled a bit, but with the strength of her pride she managed to keep it under control. “There’ll never be anyone who loves you more than I do.”

“Monica.” He groaned. “Stop, please. This isn’t necessary.”

“It is for me, so do me the courtesy of listening. Someday you’re going to look back on your life and regret this moment.”

“The only thing I regret is not moving sooner. Another twenty-four hours and I would have been out of here. You couldn’t have waited one stinking day for this, could you?”

“No,” she threw back at him. She didn’t know when the tears came, but she felt their moisture against her face and brushed them aside. “I’ll haunt you . . . or rather, my love will. I swear that’s what will happen. It doesn’t matter if you travel to the other side of the world, I’ll be there. It’s my face you’ll see when you look at another woman. And . . . and when you sleep, I’ll be there each and every night. You won’t be able to close your eyes without thinking of me, without knowing you walked away from the one woman in all this world who loves you.”

“Damn it all to hell,” Chet stormed, his hands knotted into tight fists. “Next you’re going to tell me that you’re going to sacrifice your life for me. Listen, Monica, I don’t want you sitting here, believing that something’s going to happen that will change my mind. It’s over, understand? Over.”

“Don’t worry,” she whispered and her shoulders quivered. “That’s what I came to tell you. I won’t be waiting for you. I can’t, Chet. I’ve wasted too much of my life already.”

“Good,” he snapped. “That’s just the way I want it.”

Jody had dreaded the office Christmas party for days. She never had been one who enjoyed these types of social gatherings, and generally didn’t stay beyond the first few minutes. Glen, however, thought the party the ideal time to announce their engagement to their peers.

He’d presented her with a lovely engagement ring, a solitaire diamond that was large enough to feel heavy and awkward on her finger. She’d removed Jeff’s wedding ring years earlier, not because of any desire to put that part of her life behind her, but to satisfy her parents. Both were worried about her and although she’d hated it, she’d placed the simple gold band in her jewelry box to appease them.

She could tell from the sounds drifting from the reception area that the party was underway. There were enough goodies to feed a small Third World country. Everyone had contributed something. Jody was guilty of overdoing it herself, bringing a large homemade cheese roll and several dozen gingerbread cookies Timmy had helped her bake the night before.

Her mother was watching Timmy, and insisted Jody stay late and enjoy herself. Because she was with Glen, she was obligated to remain as long as her fiancé wanted.

Glen came looking for her, his smile gentle. “You ready?” he asked.

“Give me a moment to freshen up first, all right?”

“Sure,” he said agreeably.

It seemed for a couple engaged to be married, neither of them revealed a high degree of enthusiasm. Glen looked tired. Jody knew he was working hard on a difficult case and put a lot of time and effort into his client’s defense, but she strongly suspected his fatigue was something more than his workload.

The rest room was several doors down the hall. Jody walked past a number of offices and wondered how many other Christmas parties were going on in the building that night.

She’d just stepped into a cubicle in the ladies’ room when she heard two women.

“You’re sure he’s engaged?” the first voice asked.

“Yes. Lily took a good deal of delight in relaying the details to me.” The second woman sounded shaken and very close to tears.

Jody bit down on her lower lip. Lily was an attorney who worked with Glen. Was it possible the two were referring to Glen and her? She wondered what she should do, or if she should say something.

“Honestly, Maryann, what did you expect Glen to do? You told him in no uncertain terms that you weren’t interested in marriage.”

Maryann. This was the woman Glen had mentioned, the one he’d once loved. Jody squeezed her eyes closed and tried to remember the particulars of his and Maryann’s romance. All she could recall was that Glen was convinced Maryann didn’t love him. Breaking off the relationship had devastated him. It was this common ground of loss in which their own relationship had been rooted.

“I . . . I assumed we could live together,” Maryann told her friend. “Couples do that these days, you know, test the waters to see if they’re compatible. It seemed to be a reasonable thing to do in light of all the divorce cases I’ve handled over the years. Oh, damn,” she said, “I hate it when I cry. Look what it’s doing to my makeup.”

“What are you going to do?”

“About what?”

Maryann’s voice faded and Jody assumed that was because she was studying her reflection in the mirror.

“You aren’t going to let him go ahead with the wedding, are you?”

“How can I stop him?” Maryann asked.

“Tell him the truth.”

Maryann hesitated, and when she spoke Jody could hear her tears. “I don’t even know what the truth is anymore.”

“Tell him you’re in love with him.”

“It’s too late for that. Oh, Shelly, honestly, you’re too much of a romantic to realize love doesn’t automatically fix everything.”

“It does if you’re both willing to work at it,” Maryann’s friend insisted.

Afraid of eavesdropping any longer, Jody walked out of the cubicle. It was then that the two women realized they weren’t alone. Embarrassed, they both avoided looking in Jody’s direction. Taking advantage of their surprise, Jody quietly slipped out of the rest room.

She returned to her office, walking past the merrymakers, needing some time alone to absorb what she’d learned. Sitting at her desk, she closed her eyes and tried to reason out what she should do.

The answer should have been far less complex than she was making it. Her sense of fairness said she needed to break off the engagement and explain what she’d heard to Glen. It was an ironic twist that in all the time she’d worked in the building she would meet Maryann now and overhear the conversation she had.

Yet there was a part of her that yearned to give her son the father he longed for, the man who would gently guide him through life. Timmy enjoyed Glen’s company so very much. Her son had never been happier than the last few weeks when she’d been dating the attorney.

The real question was if Jody had it in her to grab hold of happiness, however limited, at the expense of another. Having placed the question in that frame, she knew instantly that she had no choice.

“I thought I saw you,” Glen said, stepping into the small office. “What are you doing back here?”

Jody looked up from her desk and blinked, surprised to see him.

“What’s wrong?” Glen asked. He was a gentle, sensitive man, Jody realized, and she was going to miss him dreadfully. But not nearly as much as Timmy would.

“Sit down,” Jody said.

“Jody?” His eyes held hers as he sat.

She stared down at her hand and the beautiful diamond. Before she could find an excuse, she slipped the ring from her finger. “I should never have accepted this,” she whispered.

“Why not?”

She held the ring out to Glen, but he didn’t take it.

“We aren’t in love,” Jody said and her chest tightened with regret. “You’re a special man and you deserve a woman who will love and treasure you with all her heart.”

“You’re that woman,” Glen insisted.

“We both know that isn’t true. If there was anything special about me, it was the fact that I have a son. Timmy was the real attraction. He represents the family you’ve always wanted. The son you long to have. I made a mistake too,” she said, expelling her breath in a rush. “I hurried matters and all but proposed to you myself, long before either of us was ready for a committed relationship. I’m not exactly sure why I found it so urgent for us to marry so soon. Especially when I realized neither of us is anywhere near being ready.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” Glen said, sounding very much like the attorney he was. “We can reason this out. There isn’t anything that says we can’t have a long engagement, get to know each other better. You’re right, I am fond of Timmy, but don’t discount what I feel toward you.”

“There is a very good reason you shouldn’t marry me,” Jody whispered. “I’m deeply in love with another man.”

“Jody, please, we’ve talked about this before. You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll never try to take Jeff’s place in your life.”

“And you,” she continued undaunted, “are deeply in love with another woman.” It wasn’t until she said the words that she realized the depth of truth in them.

Glen didn’t argue with her, and for that she was grateful. “I’d never be unfaithful to you,” he assured her.

“But you’re willing to do so with yourself.”

Glen hesitated. “It’s over, Jody, and has been for months. There isn’t any hope of reviving the relationship. It’s dead.”

Jody smiled to herself and set the diamond ring on the desktop as she stood. “It may not be as dead as you think. I want you to wait here.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find someone. I shouldn’t be long.”

Jody left him and hurried out the door. She wasn’t entirely sure for which firm Maryann worked, but a quick inspection of the names on the outside of the doors on the floor helped. The receptionist directed her to Maryann’s office.

“Hello,” Jody said, letting herself inside. “I’m Jody Potter.” She waited to see if the other woman recognized the name. “I was the one who overheard you speaking in the ladies’ room a few minutes ago.”

Maryann paled when she recognized Jody’s name. “I had no idea you were there . . . we’d never met and . . .”

“Don’t worry, I believe you. I’m here because I have an important question to ask you. Are you in love with Glen Richardson?”

The other woman folded her arms and looked out the window. “I don’t mean to be rude, but this isn’t any of your business. I understand you and Glen are engaged and—”

“It is my business now, don’t you think?” Jody interrupted.

“I can imagine it was disconcerting for you to overhear my conversation with Shelly. It’s just that . . . actually, I think it’s best if I didn’t say anything more.” She drew in a steadying breath and then added graciously, “I want you to know that I wish you and Glen every happiness.”

“Glen is a wonderful man.”

“Yes, I know,” Maryann whispered.

“It complicates matters considerably knowing how deeply he loves you,” Jody said.

Maryann’s head snapped up, her eyes wide with surprise. “I’m sure that’s not true, not after the things that happened between us. I was such a fool. There’s no hope, not anymore.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Jody told her. “Glen’s free.”

“Free?”

“We’re no longer engaged. He’s waiting for you in my office now.”

Jody had worked with attorneys for a number of years, but she rarely saw one speechless.

“Why . . . why are you doing this?”

Jody didn’t feel particularly noble. “I’ve experienced that kind of love myself, and for a while was willing to take second best. Go to him, Maryann, and settle whatever it was that drove you two apart. But most of all, love him. He deserves to be happy and so do you.”

Tears shone bright in the attorney’s eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Sure,” Jody said, shrugging. “Anytime.” She turned and walked out then, past the sounds of the Christmas party and into the cold, dark night the same way she had every evening since Jeff’s death.

Alone.

Michelle Madison was alone and frightened, and desperately trying to disguise her fear. Leah had spent a good deal of the afternoon with her and the young woman’s labor was progressing smoothly.

“How much longer?” Michelle asked, following an intense contraction. Her hands rested against her protruding stomach and she drew in a deep, calming breath.

“It shouldn’t be much longer now,” Leah assured her in gentle tones, although she was well aware it could be hours yet. She didn’t want to discourage the young mother-to-be.

Michelle had come in earlier in the first stages of labor, before Leah had arrived for work. Because there was no one Michelle wanted to contact, she was alone. By the time Leah arrived for her shift, the labor had intensified and, frightened, Michelle had clung to Leah’s hand, begging her to stay.

Since there weren’t any other patients on the floor, Leah was able to linger at the young woman’s bedside, guiding her step by step through the stages of labor and birth.

“I’m so pleased I’m having my baby with you,” Michelle offered just before the next pain overtook her. She closed her eyes and drew in deep, even breaths while Leah softly encouraged her to relax and accept the pain.

“I was in the birthing class that visited the labor room when you were here.”

Leah had thought the young woman looked vaguely familiar, but wasn’t sure where she’d seen her.

“I don’t expect you to remember me,” Michelle continued. “Lots of people were asking you questions that day. Jo Ann Rossini claimed anyone who was lucky enough to have their babies on your shift should consider themselves blessed.”

“As you might have guessed, Jo Ann’s a longtime friend,” Leah said, discounting the compliment. She wasn’t a miracle worker and although she was gentle with the mothers, they were the ones who did the work. It was called labor for a reason.

“You said you don’t have children yourself,” Michelle murmured, her eyes closed as the lingering pain gradually faded.

There’d been a time when the careless comment would have felt like a body blow to Leah, but not now. A child nestled beneath her heart, nurtured by her body, one conceived in love.

“Not yet,” Leah concurred. She carefully studied the fetal monitor, pleased that matters were progressing normally for Michelle.

“You want children, though?”

“Very much,” Leah confirmed.

A smile, fragile and ever so slight, turned up the edges of Michelle’s mouth. Leah guessed the girl was barely twenty, if that, but she didn’t want to burden her with unnecessary questions.

Michelle massaged her belly and took in several calming breaths, bracing herself for the next pain. “I didn’t expect to love this baby. I imagine that sounds odd to someone like you.”

“Of course not,” Leah said, wanting to reassure her.

“Lonny didn’t want to have anything to do with me after he found out I was pregnant. I believed he loved me, and in his own way, I’m sure he did, but he wasn’t ready for the responsibility of a wife and family.”

“You don’t sound bitter.”

“I’m not. At first I was. Not until later did I realize Lonny was right. Getting married now would have been wrong for us both.”

“You’re very wise for your years.” Leah greatly admired Michelle for looking past her pain and finding her peace. Women much older would have difficulty recognizing such deep truths.

“For a while I seriously considered getting an abortion. I never thought I was that kind of person. That’s what my mother wanted and later when my dad found out, he did too.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I’m pleased now that I decided to go through with the pregnancy. It hasn’t been easy, especially toward the end when I looked like a blimp. My parents have had a difficult time dealing with me having this baby. They said they loved me, but if I wanted to do this, then I’d do it alone. That’s why no one is here.”

“You’re a strong woman, Michelle.”

“It was the right choice for me. What surprises me is how much I love this baby.”

“You’re going to be a good mother.”

“I want to be the very best.”

With this kind of attitude, Michelle had a chance, Leah decided. She stepped around to the end of the bed. “It’s time we check you again.” The last series of pains had gained in intensity and she suspected Michelle would soon be entering the third stage of labor.

Once the task was completed, Michelle relaxed. “Will you be in the delivery room with me?”

“I’m not sure,” Leah said. “Normally I’d stay but I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon myself. Let’s play this by ear and see how matters go. You’re doing just great so I don’t think there’ll be any problem.”

“Good,” Michelle said faintly. “I want you to be there if you can. I need someone.”

To have Michelle so alone at this important moment tore at Leah’s heart. She longed to reassure her patient that she’d seen cases like hers often. “Your parents will come around soon enough,” Leah said, gently patting her hand. “They’re going to love this baby. They won’t be able to help themselves.”

“I think so too.”

“Do you have any names picked out?”

Michelle shook her sweat-dampened head. “No, I didn’t want to know if the baby was a girl or a boy. I thought I’d decide on a name later.”

Another two hours passed before Michelle was ready for the delivery room. Leah went in with her, along with the anesthesiologist, Dr. Leon, and the gynecologist, Dr. Beecher. Leah had worked with the anesthesiologist on numerous occasions.

Michelle was a model patient and when the moment came for her baby to be born, she gave a shout of joy. “A girl, a girl.” Leah weighed the squalling newborn, wrapped her in a warm blanket, and gently placed her in Michelle’s arms.

“A girl,” Michelle sobbed. “I’m so pleased I had a little girl. That was what I wanted, but I was so afraid to care.”

“She’s a beautiful baby,” Leah said.

“Thank you. Thank you for your help.”

After she carried the newborn into the nursery, Leah happened to glance up at the clock. She’d need to hurry if she was going to make it to Dr. Benoit’s in time for her appointment. “I have to rush now, but I’ll be by to see you in the morning,” she told Michelle when she returned.

“Please don’t forget,” Michelle said.

“I won’t,” Leah promised. She started to leave, but Michelle grabbed hold of her hand. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you.”

“I wasn’t the one who worked so hard,” Leah said, squeezing the young woman’s hand. “Give yourself some credit.”

Michelle beamed her a bright smile. “All right, I will.” She closed her eyes and yawned. “I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

“ ‘Bye for now.” On her way out the door Leah realized Michelle was already asleep.

Leah felt wonderful. Her workday had been full and rewarding. She hurried into the parking lot and started her car, driving past the nativity scene on the hospital side yard. A sense of expectancy filled her. The way she felt, she didn’t need Dr. Benoit to confirm what she already knew. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind what he would tell her.

The housekeeper had instructions to place a bottle of fine champagne on ice, and there were two thick steaks in the refrigerator. This evening she and Andrew would celebrate. She’d call her parents and if possible wait until the following evening to let Andrew’s mother know when they got together for Christmas Eve.

This would be the best Christmas ever, Leah was convinced of that.

Dr. Benoit was a kind older physician with a quick wit and a gentle heart. He’d been a comfort to her in those bleak years, reassuring and confident when Leah felt having a child was hopeless. It was only fitting that he be the one to tell her she was pregnant.

“Leah,” he said, coming into the cubicle. His smile was warm and tender. “It’s so good to see you again.”

“You were right,” she said, holding onto his hand with both of hers. “It’s happened. Andrew and I are pregnant.”

He said nothing, but then Leah gave him no opportunity.

“Kathy is thrilled for me.” Kathy was the nurse who’d collected the urine sample from her.

“Let’s sit down and talk,” he said, directing her to the chair. “Leah, you don’t know how deeply this pains me.”

“Pains you?” she asked. “I’m going to have a baby. How could such wonderful news pain you?”

The doctor’s eyes softened. He took her hand in his. “Leah, the test is negative.”

“There must be some mistake,” she said, leaping to her feet.

“I’d give anything to tell you otherwise.”

“But I’m late and experienced all the symptoms,” she argued. “It isn’t possible for me not to be pregnant.”

“The mind is very powerful. I don’t believe science has a clue of its potential. When a woman wants a child as fervently as you do, she’s sometimes able to convince her body she’s pregnant. That’s what I believe happened in your case.”

It wasn’t true. Leah refused to believe it, and yet she had no choice. Reaching for her purse, she walked toward the door.

“Are you all right?”

“Sure,” she said, but she wasn’t and she doubted that she ever would be again.

Eighteen

“You’re back early,” Helen Chandler commented when Jody walked into the house after leaving the office party. She took off her coat and hung it in the hall closet.

“Jody, whatever is the matter?” her mother pressed. “You look as if you’ve been crying.” Helen followed her into the kitchen, where Jody poured herself a cup of coffee. She wasn’t the least bit thirsty, but she needed something to hold onto while she steadied her nerves.

“Where’s Timmy?” she asked, surprised not to find her son in front of the television screen, battling it out with alien warlords.

“In his room,” Helen answered with a slight frown. “He’s wrapping his gift for you. He wouldn’t even show me what it is. Now tell me what’s wrong. I can’t remember seeing you like this in a good long while. You’re as pale as a ghost.”

“I broke off the engagement with Glen,” Jody whispered, not wanting Timmy to hear. Not yet. She’d tell her son as soon as she’d composed herself and could do so without emotion. Her heart wasn’t entangled with Glen’s and yet she ached for all the might-have-beens.

“But why?” her mother asked, sinking into the chair.

“I don’t love Glen.”

“Love,” her mother cried. “How could you not love someone like Glen? He’s perfect for you and Timmy. Why, that man walks on water. You couldn’t ask for a better husband.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Mom. Everything you say is true, but it was more than not loving him. I know what it’s like to be deeply in love, but when it came right down to it, I realized I couldn’t accept second best.”

Her mother’s shoulders sagged with defeat. “You might have grown to feel that way about him. Jody, for the love of heaven, you’ve got to let go of the past.”

“There was one other minor complication with Glen,” she said, holding the coffee mug tightly. “He’s in love with someone else and I learned that she’s still in love with him too.”

Helen braced her elbows against the tabletop and hung her head. “And so you did the noble thing and stepped aside. Oh, Jody, what am I going to do with you?”

Jody laughed and impulsively squeezed her mother’s arm. “This entire experience has been a valuable lesson to me. In my heart, I know I did the right thing. I just didn’t expect it to hurt so much.”

“Life’s lessons aren’t cheap.”

Jody nodded. “Ever since Jeff disappeared, I’ve clung to the misty memories of our years together. The circumstances surrounding his death and all that followed caused me to build a cocoon around Timmy and me. I was so terribly frightened of being hurt again. Jeff was a good husband and I loved him more than I thought it was possible to love another human, but I’ve built up those years in my mind into a picture of paradise.”

Her mother’s head came up. “I’ve waited a good long while for you to realize this. It sounds like you’ve done some heavy-duty thinking these last few weeks.”

“I have,” Jody admitted, and a good deal of it had been enlightening. “More than anything I realize I’ve clung to a half-filled glass, afraid to let go of that small bit of happiness I’d found and reach for the quart jar that was sitting right in front of me.”

Helen’s frown deepened. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me with all this talk of glasses and quart jars. I thought we were talking about you and Jeff.”

“I’m ready to get back to my life now,” Jody said pensively, “ready to reach out in faith and trust God for Timmy’s and my future. I’m going to squeeze every bit of joy I can out of what’s left of my life. For the first time since Jeff’s death I feel like I have one.

“I don’t want to spend the rest of it alone, either. There’s a man for me out there—someone who’ll be a good father to Timmy, and a good husband for me. A man who’ll be a friend, a partner, and a lover.”

Helen bit into her lower lip. “I’ve waited years for you to tell me this. I don’t know what happened to open your eyes to the truth, but I’m eternally grateful.” She stood and hugged Jody. “I’ll leave you to talk to Timmy now.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime,” her mother said. “I love watching Timmy. He’s a delight.”

“For that, yes,” Jody said with tears in her eyes. “But for everything else too, for being there when I needed you, for listening to me, and most of all for standing with me, loving me, giving me the emotional support I needed. You’re the best mom in the world.”

“You were like this as a little girl,” her mother said with a smile, “buttering me up before Christmas.”

Jody laughed and the two hugged.

“Mom,” Timmy said, standing in the doorway. “Why are you and Grandma crying?”

They both started laughing then, which was sure to confuse him all the more.

“Where’s Glen?” Timmy wanted to know next.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Helen said, reaching for her coat and purse.

Timmy watched his grandmother leave. “What’s going on around here?”

Jody smiled and patted the top of his head. “I need to talk to you.”

“Did I do something wrong?” His eyes grew round with concern, or perhaps guilt, Jody didn’t know which.

“No,” she assured him, placing her hand on his shoulder and bringing him close to her side. “This isn’t about anything you did, I need to tell you something important about Glen and me.”

“Mom,” Timmy muttered dejectedly, leaning against the doorway in the bathroom as if his weight were too heavy to support, “are you sure we have to go to church? It isn’t even Sunday.”

“We’ve been through this before,” Jody said, adding the finishing touches to her makeup. “It’s Christmas Eve. After church we’ll go to Grandma’s house and open our gifts with her.”

“Will she have hot chocolate and goodies like she did last year?”

“I’m sure she will. Is the car loaded?” Jody asked.

“I did that a long time ago. I wish you’d hurry.”

“We have plenty of time.” She knew what Timmy really wanted was for the minutes to go by fast so he could get to the gift-opening part of the evening. The Christmas Eve church service was just unnecessary nonsense as far as he was concerned.

“I’ll only take a little bit longer,” Jody promised. “Don’t let me forget the cheese roll and the crackers. They’re in the refrigerator.”

“Ah . . .”

There was something in Timmy’s voice that clued her in to the fact that there was a problem with the cheese roll.

“What?” she said, lowering the mascara brush and turning her head away from the mirror to study her son.

“About the cheese roll.”

“What about it?” Jody returned the brush to the holder and tightened the top. Setting the cosmetic bag aside, she faced her son.

“I had a little party with my friends the day Grandma was watching me.”

“Yes?” Jody prompted.

“Everyone had something yummy to bring and you took almost all the gingerbread cookies and besides I like the cheese roll better than cookies anyway.”

“In other words there isn’t any left.”

Timmy nodded and hung his head. “I have the feeling this isn’t going to be a very good Christmas anyway.”

“Because of Glen?”

Timmy lifted one shoulder halfheartedly. “I understand why you aren’t going to marry him and everything. But I was kinda thinking maybe he wouldn’t mind coming by and seeing me every once in a while.”

“We’ll wait until after Christmas and ask, okay?” The real attraction for Glen had always been Timmy and she sincerely hoped the attorney would maintain contact with her son.

The doorbell chimed.

“Who could that be on Christmas Eve?” Jody wondered out loud.

“I’ll see,” Timmy said, running toward the front door.

“Timmy,” Jody called out after him. “Let me answer that.”

She was too late. Her son enthusiastically threw open the door as if he expected Santa Claus to be on the other side.

“Hi,” he was saying cheerfully by the time Jody reached the door.

“Hello,” Jody said automatically, then gasped as she recognized the man standing on the other side of the screen door. In that moment, she swore her heart stopped dead. She flattened her palm over it and the room started to sway. Staggering two steps, she reached for the door to keep herself from collapsing.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Timmy,” she said on the tail end of a strangled sob, pulling her son protectively toward her. “This is your father.”

Leah had shed so many tears over the last seven years that she discovered that her fountain was dry. A numb feeling attached itself to her as she walked toward her car. She was barren. There was no child to swell and stretch her womb. There never would be. And yet . . . and yet she couldn’t make her heart believe what surely was the truth.

The joy she’d felt these last two weeks, believing she was pregnant, was gone. All she could do was live day by day with the emptiness in her heart.

Now she must tell Andrew.

Naturally they’d both pretend it didn’t matter, there was nothing else to do. They’d reassure each other and go on, one day into the next, through Christmas, pretending. All the family would be celebrating and she’d have no choice but to make believe all was well with her.

She drove home in a daze, parked her car in the driveway, and walked like a zombie into her house. She moved without direction or will, walking around the perfection of her home, stopping in front of their designer Christmas tree.

Her gaze rested on the beautifully wrapped gifts. Her one thought was to locate the Baby’s First Christmas ornament she’d purchased for Andrew, remove it before he unwrapped it on Christmas morning.

Her search became frantic as she sorted through the presents. They’d both suffered enough.

Suddenly she was blinded by tears and couldn’t locate the gift, couldn’t recall which package contained the ornament. She tossed one gaily wrapped present after another aside, her chest heaving with sobs.

Collecting herself, her hands shaking almost uncontrollably, she methodically sorted the packages into two piles. Hers and Andrew’s. Then one by one she tore open his presents until she’d located the silver ornament.

Taking it with her, she walked into the kitchen and threw it in the garbage. The champagne was on ice. She paused, picked it up, and with drops of water leaving a glistening trail across the floor, she carried that to the garbage as well.

The garage door sounded in the distance, signaling Andrew’s return. His steps sounded eager as he approached the door leading to the house.

Leah was frozen with immobility.

Andrew walked into the kitchen and stopped when he saw her.

She didn’t need to say a word. He came to her and wrapped her in his arms.

Leah woke the following morning, her throat dry and chest heavy. Her eyes stung. Andrew rolled over and tucked his arm over her side, scooting closer, cuddling her spoon fashion.

“Don’t go to work today,” he suggested. “I’ll stay home with you.”

“It’s Christmas Eve. The hospital is already short-staffed.”

“For once, think about yourself instead of that damned hospital.”

The short fuse on his temper was the first indication he’d given her of his own bitter disappointment. In some ways having him release his frustration freed Leah.

“I’m all right now,” she whispered.

“Call in sick,” he pleaded.

“I need to work. It’ll help.” As if there was anything capable of easing this constant ache. It continued day after day, dull and constant, a steady, ever-present reminder that she was less of a wife, less of a woman.

Despite Andrew’s protests, she dressed in her uniform, and even managed to down a cup of coffee before she left the house. Andrew walked her out to her car, looking weary and burdened. His hands were buried in his pockets.

“I’ll meet you back at the house at four,” he said. “I told mother we’d be at her place around four-thirty.”

She raised questioning eyes to her husband.

“We’re spending the evening with her, remember?”

“Of course.” She’d momentarily forgotten.

“Do you want to cancel?” Andrew asked, tenderly brushing the hair from her forehead.

“No, I wouldn’t want to disappoint her.”

Andrew nodded and hugged Leah. They clung to each other for a moment extra and then reluctantly separated.

Leah drove to the hospital and for reasons she didn’t understand, she walked over to the side yard where the faded nativity scene was displayed.

The manger was empty. As empty as her heart. As empty as her arms. She hung her head and closed her eyes. If this was a battle, she was surrendering. A prayer sailed straight from her heart.

“I don’t know why You don’t want me to have a child,” she whispered, “but I can’t hold onto this pain any longer. It hurts too damn much. I can’t trust even myself.” She’d given up trusting God years earlier, preferring to rely upon herself. Now that foundation had crumbled and she was left standing on the sharp rocks of her self-inflicted pain. In essence she was holding up a white flag to God, accepting whatever it was He had planned for her life. She was through fighting, through insisting she knew best, through being miserable.

Her prayer complete, she lifted her head. As she looked upward her gaze continued toward the faded yellow angel that adorned the rickety stable. Leah gasped as a breathless emotion clenched at her heart.

The angel was magnificent, golden and bright, her wings spanned out in elaborate display. She was so bright that Leah couldn’t continue to look directly at her. She blinked, thinking this was some type of optical illusion. The sun bouncing off a mirror, or some such phenomenon. But when she opened her eyes, the angel was still there.

Glancing around, she wanted to point out this miracle to whomever she could find.

“Look,” she cried out, spying an older woman walking along the sidewalk. Her head was bent against the wind. “It’s an angel,” Leah cried, attracting the other woman’s attention.

The woman stopped and looked toward the nativity scene where Leah was standing.

“That angel’s been there for years. Hospital ought to do something about replacing that old set. It’s about to fall over.”

“This is a real angel,” Leah insisted, looking back, but when she did she realized God’s messenger had vanished. Leah stared good and hard, wondering if God was attempting to tell her something. If so, the meaning was directed at her alone.

“If she’s real, then heaven’s in sorrier shape than I realized,” the woman said with a deep-throated chuckle.

Leah’s heart felt as light as an angel’s feather as she walked into the hospital. Since she was a few minutes early, she stopped in the nursery to take a look at the baby girl Michelle had delivered the day before.

The infant, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, was sound asleep. A small red Christmas bow was taped to the side of her crib. Leah rarely visited the nursery. It had been a painful experience in the past, longing for a child so hopelessly herself, but she experienced none of the sharp edges of regret this time. It was as if the burden on her soul had been lifted.

“So here you are,” Bonnie said when Leah stepped out of the nursery. “Your husband phoned, looking for you. He sounded anxious.”

“Andrew?” He rarely contacted her at the hospital.

“I assumed you only had one husband,” Bonnie teased. “You might want to call him yourself. From the sounds of it he’s pacing the floor, waiting to hear from you.”

Leah headed for the phone, but after four rings the answering machine kicked in. If it was that important, Andrew would call again soon.

He didn’t. No more than ten minutes later, Leah was reading over the nurse’s report at their station when Andrew came rushing down the corridor.

“Leah,” he called breathlessly. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground. His eyes were bright and his voice sounded as if he were about to burst into peals of laughter.

“What is it?” she pleaded.

He released her and his hands framed her face. “I love you, Leah, never more than I do this moment.”

She stared up at him, wondering at his craziness.

“You were right about us having a child. That feeling you claimed you had. It’s happening, sweetheart, just the way you said it would.”

“But Dr. Benoit said—”

“Mrs. Burchell phoned not more than two minutes after you left the house.”

The name was vaguely familiar to Leah, but she couldn’t remember from where.

“The lady from New Life Adoption Agency,” he filled in. “They have a child for us. She’ll be ready to leave the hospital first thing tomorrow morning. The mother’s already signed the adoption papers.”

“But we withdrew our names,” Leah cried, covering her mouth, unwilling to believe it was true.

“I asked that she reactivate our file weeks ago. We have a baby, Leah. A precious baby girl.”

Monica was right, Chet realized. She’d announced her decision to torment him and by God she’d done it. He’d close his eyes and he’d be damned if she wasn’t there like some ghost, pestering him until he ended up spending half the night dulling his mind with late-night television rather than attempt sleeping. The minute he tried, Monica was there, all sweet and soft, wrapping the tendrils of her love around his heart, reminding him of all he’d rejected.

He’d been trying to get hold of a moving company for the better part of the afternoon. Every one he called insisted on knowing his destination. That was the problem. They didn’t have rates for “any place that wasn’t Seattle.”

The bartender ambled over to where Chet was sitting. He was new, Chet noted, young and wet behind the ears. He’d introduced himself as Billy. Appropriate enough since he looked more like a kid than an adult. If Chet were the one serving up the liquor he’d have carded the youth.

“You want another cup of coffee?” Billy asked.

“Please.” Chet had given up on booze. The desired effect caused too many problems. True, he could drown his sorrows, as the saying went, but there was a heavy price to pay. Hangovers had never appealed to him.

“What do you think of the new big-screen television?” Billy asked. “The boss had it brought in this morning.”

“Nice,” Chet said, without looking. He wasn’t interested in making conversation. He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d stopped in at the Blue Goose. It was a damn sight better than hanging around his place, he decided. Everything he’d managed to accumulate in the last thirty-odd years was packed and ready to go. He just didn’t know where he was headed yet.

The bar was deserted, Chet noticed, which was unusual this time of night. A couple was off in a dark corner and the two only had eyes for each other. Hands too, apparently. Other than the lovebirds and Billy, Chet was the only other customer. “Where is everyone?” he asked.

“Home, I guess. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“It is?” He’d lost track of the days. In the back of his mind he knew Christmas was close, but it was a day like any other as far as he was concerned.

“I don’t expect we’ll get much of a crowd this evening. Places like this generally don’t over the Christmas holidays,” Billy commented as if this were something he’d garnered in his vast experience tending bar.

“Guess not,” Chet mumbled, unwilling to be drawn into a conversation, but he could tell from the way the kid was hanging around that he wasn’t going to have much of a choice.

“You’d think Lou would close up shop,” Billy said next.

Chet sipped from his coffee. It was dark, thick, and potent enough to satisfy a Cajun.

“Apparently you don’t know Lou,” Chet commented.

“Not very well,” Billy agreed.

Thinking he might divert the kid’s attention, Chet swiveled around in his chair and concentrated on the television. The national evening news was on, forecasting gloom and doom. Chet had heard enough of that.

“Mind if I change the channel?” he asked.

“Be my guest,” Billy said, handing him the controller.

Chet worked his way through the stations. Nothing appealed to him, not even a rerun of a play-off football game telecast earlier that week.

“Hey, go back, would you?” Billy asked. “I have a friend who was picked up by the pros. He’s a defensive lineman for the Redskins.”

Disgusted, Chet handed the remote control back to the bartender. So much for that idea. Oblivious to Chet’s ugly mood, Billy punched the controller until he found the play-off game.

The kid focused his attention on the screen, which suited Chet just fine as long as he left him alone.

Before he realized it, Chet had turned around on his bar stool and was watching the game himself. So this was what his life had boiled down to—sitting in some bar on Christmas Eve, talking to a kid he didn’t know and didn’t want to know and watching reruns of old football games on television.

At halftime Billy disappeared into the back storeroom. Chet cradled the coffee mug in his hands and studied the television screen. The commentator was the well-known former coach of the Los Angeles Raiders, John Madden.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Chet Costello,” the TV commentator said.

Chet’s head snapped up. He was losing it. The television was actually talking to him.

“Yes, I’m talking to you,” John Madden said again. “You’re the biggest fool I’ve ever seen.”

By that time Chet was on his feet. He stared down at his drink, thinking the kid had played a cruel joke on him and laced it with some mind-bending drug.

“Quit looking at your drink,” the former coach told him. “It’s only coffee.”

Other men claimed to see pink elephants, but not Chet. Oh, no, that would have been too easy. He had to have some voice come out of a television to chastise him.

“You’re in love with Monica Fischer, and she’s in love with you. So what’s the problem? You think you’re being noble, don’t you? Wrong. You’re a fool.”

Chet had had enough. He didn’t need this. Slamming his cup down on the bar, he started out the door.

“Go ahead and run,” the voice said, sounding so close he swore he could feel the breath against the back of his neck. “It’s what you’ve been doing for most of your life.”

“Shut up,” Chet shouted.

The couple in the back of the room glared over at him, and Billy, who was hauling a box of pretzels to the front, stopped in his tracks.

“Something wrong?” the kid asked.

Chet shook his head and slammed out of the bar. “Damn,” he muttered, running his hand down his face. It was worse than he imagined. Monica had decided ruining his sleep wasn’t bad enough, now she’d taken on his waking hours as well.

He was putting an end to that right now. With purpose directing his steps, he walked to the parking garage and drove to her house.

The streets were full of parked cars. The Blue Goose might be less than busy, but Lloyd Fischer’s church was doing a bumper business. Light spilled out of the church, and the parsonage was dark, all but one small light in the front of the house. Music filled the night, traditional Christmas carols played on an old-time pipe organ.

Chet found a place to park on the street, half a block down from the church. Several people were walking toward the building. There was a family with two small children in tow, and an older couple, holding hands, smiling up at each other.

Chet stayed where he was, hidden in the shadows. One thing he knew, he wasn’t walking into that church. He was deciding what he was going to do when he spied Monica coming out of the parsonage. The porch light went on as the light in the living room was extinguished. Her silhouette was framed in the warm glow of the single bulb on the porch.

She seemed to be in something of a hurry, Chet noted. Rushing across the street, he met up with her on the sidewalk.

She stopped when she saw him. Surprise worked its way across her features, starting with her eyes and then her mouth. She opened it as if to say something, then closed it again. She hugged sheet music against her breast and seemed to be waiting.

Chet didn’t know what he intended to say. It was too damn hard not to bring her directly into his arms, hold her against him, and breathe in her softness.

“Whatever you’ve done has got to stop,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Done?” she echoed, and blinked as if she didn’t understand what he was saying.

“Leave me alone,” he ordered.

She nodded once and waited, apparently for an explanation.

“I can’t eat or sleep, and now I’m hearing voices as well.”

“Voices?” The edges of her mouth quivered with amusement. “And what did these voices say?”

“That I was a fool for walking away from you.” Chet rammed his fingers into his hair.

Monica smiled boldly at that and Chet swore he’d never seen a woman more beautiful. He shouldn’t have come, and now that he was here, God help him, he didn’t know how he was ever going to leave.

“I wish I could claim credit for that, but I can’t,” she said softly. “Dad told me he suspected you were drinking heavily. My guess is that it was the liquor talking.”

“Not this time,” he argued. “I haven’t had a drop all day.”

“I can’t help you, Chet,” she said sadly and raised her fingers as if to touch his face. He meant to jerk away, but found he couldn’t. As it never failed to do, her touch rippled through him like an electrical current. Her softness had branded his life and his heart. There was no escape. He could run to the far ends of the world and every breath he drew, every beat of his heart would be for her.

Capturing her wrist, he roughly drew her palm to his mouth, where he planted a series of tender kisses.

“Dear God, Monica,” he said, hauling her into his arms. He buried his face in the delicate curve of her neck and drew in several deep, uneven breaths. “I can’t make myself leave you. I tried. God knows I tried.”

The sheet music she’d been holding fell to the sidewalk as she clung to him. He felt her trembling, her tears moistening his face and her breath coming in soft gasps that fanned his throat.

He held her against him, his chin resting on the crown of her head. His eyes were tightly closed. “We’ll get married, just the way you want, although I can’t help but feel you’re getting the bum end of this deal.”

Nineteen

“You’re my real-life dad?” Timmy asked, staring up at Jeff with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Yes, son, I’m your father.” Although Jeff answered Timmy, his gaze was leveled on Jody, his look expectant and filled with nervous anticipation.

Her pulse had yet to right itself, and the dizziness from the frantic beat of her heart continued. He was terribly thin, she noticed. His cheeks were hollow and his eyes seemed to sink back into his head. This was a man she didn’t know and barely recognized as the one she’d loved.

Jeff seemed greedy for the sight of Timmy and her, staring at the two of them as if he couldn’t quite believe this moment was real.

Timmy opened the screen door and Jeff walked inside the house, pausing in front of Jody.

Her eyes begged him to convince her this was happening and that he was as real as he seemed. She’d been under a good deal of stress and she feared that this was all a figment of her imagination. Some dream she’d wake from with a start. When Jeff had first disappeared she’d repeatedly dreamed of a moment like this when they’d be reunited. Then she’d wake with a heavy heart and the loneliness would close in and swallow her.

Her hand trembled as she worked up the necessary courage to touch him. She laid her fingers against his forearm. He felt solid and real. Warm and alive.

Alive. Jeff was alive.

“Where were you?” she asked in a sobbing breath, pressing her hands to her throat. “Why did you leave us? Why?” The questions crowded on top of each other, damming her mind and her tongue. The only one to escape was the least important.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” he asked, and Jody realized how terribly shaky he was. “I’m a bit weak yet,” Jeff explained.

It was all Jody could do to nod.

Timmy took Jeff by the hand and led him to the sofa. “You don’t look like my dad,” he commented, carefully studying his father. “You’re too old.”

“I feel like I’m about a hundred,” Jeff said, examining his son. He cupped Timmy’s face and his eyes filled with tears. “Not a day passed that I didn’t think about and pray for you. I carried the picture of you with me through the months. I swear it was what kept me alive. I could endure anything as long as I remembered my wife and my son.”

“Where were you?” Timmy asked, sinking onto the cushion next to his father.

Trembling almost uncontrollably, Jody sat in the chair across from them both, her legs too numb to continue to support her.

“I was in a Russian prison,” Jeff explained. “It’s a miracle I was released.”

“You were in Russia?” Jody repeated in a breathless whisper.

“I’d gone to Germany on business and on a fluke decided to visit East Berlin. I was curious about the other side of the wall, but doubted that I’d be able to make it through the border with an American passport. It was surprisingly easy to obtain fake identification.”

“You went through all that trouble because you were curious about East Berlin?” Jody found the entire story unbelievable and a fermenting kind of anger took hold of her. He’d risked everything for some crazy need to look at life on the other side of the wall?

“I was young and stupid, so incredibly stupid,” Jeff said, the regret weighing down his voice. “My German was passable, and all I intended to do was wander into a few shops and get a look around. I was heading back to the border when I stumbled upon two soldiers beating a teenager. They would have killed him. I couldn’t stand by and do nothing and so I intervened. That proved to be a costly mistake.”

Jody’s anger dissipated. He’d paid a terrible price for his curiosity, and consequently so had she and Timmy.

“I was taken in for questioning and soon arrested,” Jeff continued.

“Why didn’t you contact the embassy?” Jody demanded. He could have saved them both this agony.

“I wasn’t allowed. And when they discovered I was an American with a false passport my fate was sealed. I was a spy, and tried as one. I wasn’t able to talk to an attorney, and the trial, such as it was, lasted all of two minutes. Before I fully understood what was happening to me, I was shipped off to a prison camp in Russia.”

“Oh, dear God.” Jody covered her mouth with both hands.

“I’ve been held there ever since.”

“But how did you escape?”

“I didn’t,” Jeff explained. “I was freed. They dropped me off on a German street as if nothing had happened. The last two weeks I’ve been hospitalized and debriefed. From what I’ve been able to grasp this all has something to do with the breakup of the Soviet Union. There was a British man with an experience similar to mine who was released about the same time.”

“Why wasn’t I contacted right away?” Jody demanded.

“In the beginning I was too ill. Apparently the authorities communicated with my mother first. I learned that you’d divorced me.”

“I had to do that for financial reasons,” Jody told him. “It wasn’t what I wanted.”

A weak smile lit up his face.

“If you were well enough to travel, surely you could have made a phone call?” Jody wasn’t satisfied, not yet.

“All I knew was that the woman I’d loved had divorced me. I talked to my mother only once and she insisted I get home right away because you were about to marry another man.”

“Not anymore,” Timmy told him. “They’re only friends.”

Once again, Jeff looked greatly relieved. “The doctors wanted to keep me longer, but I couldn’t wait another minute. I had to reach you and talk to you face to face before it was too late.

“If getting out of Russia was miraculous, then finding an empty seat on a transatlantic flight was an even greater phenomenon. I was flying standby when some lady came running off the plane, claiming she was hearing voices over the headset that told her she shouldn’t be on this flight. The funny thing was, she insisted it was Johnny Carson, speaking directly to her. Whatever her reason, I got her seat.”

“But you were dead. My father took your dental records with him to Germany and your remains were positively identified. We buried you. This isn’t possible, it just isn’t possible.”

“It wasn’t me, Jody. I don’t know why your father would do such a thing.”

“Oh, Daddy,” Jody whispered and briefly closed her eyes. “It was three years after you’d disappeared and I refused to give up hope. My life was in limbo. For financial reasons I’d had to divorce you. Your mother didn’t understand and I felt so incredibly guilty. Dad must have assumed that if we buried a body, I’d be able to put the past behind me and get on with my life.”

“Your father has a lot of explaining to do,” Jeff said without rancor.

“He died a little more than a year ago. Unexpectedly. I’d like to believe that if he’d known he only had a short time to live, he’d have told me the truth.”

“I believe he would.”

Jeff was more generous than he need be.

“Your mother was telling me the truth,” Jody whispered, remembering the calls she’d received from Gloria Potter.

“I don’t blame you for not believing her. I was terribly ill and hadn’t spoken to her myself. I want you to know that I love you, Jody. I’ve always loved you and Timmy. It was the memory of the two of you that got me through this hellish nightmare. I also realize a lot of things can change in eight years, and I won’t stand in the way of your happiness. All I ask is that you allow me to have contact with my son.”

“Oh, Jeff.”

“Mom and Glen aren’t engaged anymore,” Timmy explained excitedly. “He was in love with someone else and Mom’s still in love with you.”

Jeff’s eyes slowly sought out hers as if he were afraid to trust what he was hearing. “Is that true?”

She nodded. “I never stopped, not for an instant. I couldn’t breathe and not love you.”

Jeff held out his arms to her, Jody flew off the chair and inside a heartbeat was at his side. Jeff wrapped both Timmy and her in his embrace.

Tears rained down Jody’s cheeks as she spread soft kisses over Jeff’s face. The three of them were laughing and crying all at once.

“God answered my letter,” Timmy said excitedly. “He gave me back my very own dad.”

“A baby girl,” Leah repeated, afraid there’d been some misunderstanding. “We should have been contacted by the adoption agency before now.”

“Apparently the mother only made her decision yesterday afternoon. The crazy part is our daughter’s right here in this very hospital. She’s here, Leah. Here. Mrs. Burchell said she was born yesterday afternoon at Providence Hospital.”

According to the records Leah had been reading when Andrew arrived, there’d only been one girl delivered on December twenty-third and that had been the birth she’d assisted. Michelle Madison’s baby.

“Michelle,” she whispered, closing her eyes. The frightened young woman who was so alone and had clung to Leah. The one Leah had spent her entire shift coaching through labor and birth.

“Andrew,” she said, laughing and crying both at the same time. She took her husband by the hand. “Come, I’d like to introduce you to our daughter.” Trembling, she led her husband toward the nursery. She had him remove his jacket and put on a sterile blue gown and set him in the rocking chair. Then with her heart so full it felt as though it would burst wide open, she gently lifted the sleeping infant from her crib and tenderly placed her in Andrew’s arms.

“She’s so tiny,” her husband whispered, looking down on the plump pink face of their daughter.

“At eight pounds six ounces, her birth mother didn’t think so,” Leah said, smiling through her tears. “You two get acquainted and I’ll be right back.”

A look of panic came over Andrew. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to someone very special.”

“What if she cries?”

“One of the nurses will help you, but don’t look so worried. Everything will be all right.” Including the rest of Leah’s life.

Michelle was sitting up in bed when Leah came into the room. When she saw it was Leah, the young woman smiled and held out her hand, which Leah gripped. “Have you heard from the adoption agency yet?” Michelle asked.

Leah nodded. “My husband just told me.” Now that she was here, Leah’s heart was so full that she didn’t know if it was possible to find the words to thank Michelle.

“When I decided against the abortion, I didn’t know what I was going to do,” Michelle started. “A friend suggested adoption and so I contacted New Life Adoption Agency. Their counselors were great, they didn’t pressure me one way or the other. I met with them several times and they listened. You see, I assumed that in order to give up my baby, I had to keep myself from loving her, and I couldn’t seem to make myself do that. In the beginning when Lonny left me, all the baby represented to me was heartache, and later as she started to grow and move, I discovered how very attached I was getting. I couldn’t help being curious about adoptive parents, though, and for the first time, just a few weeks ago, I read over several profiles. Your letter stood out in my mind.”

“Why?” Leah wanted to know. The letter had been written years earlier, and she couldn’t remember any of what she’d said.

“You wrote about being a delivery-room nurse and how you felt about helping young women through labor and birth. It seemed to me you must be someone very special. Then by some kind of fluke the birthing class I was attending toured Providence Hospital and we met you. Naturally I didn’t know your last name, but I remembered what you’d written. When I asked Jo Ann about you she told me you didn’t have any children yourself and I figured you must be the Leah whose letter I’d read.”

“That was why you chose to have your baby here at Providence Hospital?” Leah asked.

Michelle nodded. “It was pure chance that you could be with me. I still hadn’t decided if I could give my baby up for adoption. Then yesterday after she was born, you said something that helped me make up my mind.”

“I said something to help you decide?” Leah was incredulous.

Michelle nodded. “You told me I would be a good mother to my baby. I’m not giving her up because I don’t love her. It’s because I love her so very much that I can.

“Mrs. Burchell explained that you’d had one birth mother change her mind at the last minute. You needn’t worry, that won’t happen this time. I feel very strongly that God led me to you and your husband and you’re exactly the right couple for my baby.”

“How can I thank you?” Leah whispered through her tears.

“By loving her, guiding her through the years for me. When she’s older and has questions about me, tell her how God brought the two of us together, tell her that He handpicked her family for me.”

“I will,” Leah promised, rubbing the moisture from her cheek.

The two women hugged and after she’d dried her eyes Leah returned to the nursery. Andrew was gently rocking back and forth, staring down at the face of his newborn daughter. One tiny fist was clenched around his index finger. The newborn was holding onto her daddy’s hand.

“It looks like the two of you are getting along nicely,” Leah commented.

“I still can’t believe she’s really our daughter,” Andrew said.

“I don’t have a single doubt she belongs to us,” Leah assured him.

“Have you decided on a name?”

“Yes,” Leah said, her response automatic. “Angel.” Someday she’d tell her husband and her daughter about seeing the special Christmas angel, but not now. The angel had been His sign to her, His confirmation. She would carry that very special gift with her through the years.

“Angel?” Andrew repeated slowly, glancing up. “But I thought you had three names already chosen and I don’t recall any of them being Angel.”

“It seems fitting to me. Do you object?”

“Angel Lundberg,” he said again as if testing it on his tongue. “It feels right. Angel Hannah Lundberg.”

“My turn to hold her,” Leah said.

Andrew stood and gently placed the sleeping baby in Leah’s arms. Angel arched her back and stretched, yawning before she nestled comfortably in Leah’s arms, as if this were exactly where she was supposed to be. With that Angel Lundberg immediately returned to sleep.

“You’re willing to marry me?” Monica asked, unsure if she should trust what Chet was saying. “But why now?”

“Because I know you’re right. I’ll regret letting you go the rest of my life. I love you, Monica. I heard a voice telling me what a fool I was and if it wasn’t the booze speaking, then . . . hell, I didn’t think anyone up there cared about me.”

“I love you, Chet Costello. I can’t explain that voice, but whoever or whatever it was, I’m thanking God.”

He smiled and gently kissed her. “Next thing I know we’ll have a couple of kids and I’ll be a regular churchgoer.”

That sounded like heaven to Monica. “Would you kindly shut up and kiss me again?”

He pulled her to him as if she were the most precious thing he would ever touch, as if he cherished every moment spent with her.

Monica inched her mouth from his and stared up into his face. His eyes met hers and it seemed they were filled with a thousand regrets.

“I love you so much,” she whispered.

“You must.”

“Stop.” She pressed her finger over his lips. “I don’t pretend to know everything there is about the Bible and God, but I do know that He said He would forgive us when we ask. If it’s peace of mind you’re seeking, it’s available.”

“In church.”

“No.” She pressed her hand over his heart. “You won’t find what you’re seeking in any building.”

“I killed a man,” Chet reminded her. “He murdered my partner and attempted to kill me. That’s a little more serious than jaywalking.”

“Do you think you’re the only one who’s ever done something he wishes he hadn’t? You say this man you murdered attempted to kill you first. What you don’t seem to realize is that in some ways he succeeded. He’s reached out from the grave and gotten a stranglehold on your heart and your life.” Monica saw Chet as a man whose life had been shredded to ribbons with the ax of revenge and regret. “Your time of hate is over. You can stop punishing yourself now.”

“My time of love is about to begin.”

“Oh, yes,” she said, winding her fingers into the hair at the base of his neck. “Now, what was it you were saying about the two of us getting married?”

“Soon, Monica, I’m not going to be able to wait for you much longer.”

She could feel the heat coming into her cheeks. “I’m not going to be able to wait for you much longer either. I don’t think there’s ever been a woman more eager to give up her virginity than I am.”

They kissed and the heat of their love and need was like a spontaneous combustion. Monica didn’t know what would have happened if her father hadn’t happened upon them just then.

It was the sound of Lloyd clearing his throat that broke them apart. “Dad,” Monica said breathlessly. “Oh, Dad, you’ll never guess what—”

“Reverend Fischer,” Chet said, taking charge. He looped his arm around Monica’s waist and held out his free hand to her father to shake.

“I take it congratulations are in order?” the reverend asked.

Chet nodded. “If you don’t object, I’d like to marry your daughter.”

“Object,” her father said, laughing. He slapped Chet across the back. “I’m thrilled for you both. You don’t mind if I announce it at this evening’s service, do you?”

Chet looked at Monica, then back at her father. “I’d be more than pleased.”

Together the three of them walked toward the church, where the music swelled and teased the golden silence of the night with its lyrical melody.

* * *

Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy stood in the choir loft, looking down on the congregation that had crowded into the church for Christmas Eve services.

“You should all be pleased with your efforts,” Gabriel announced from behind them in a voice as light as yesterday’s dreams.

The three prayer ambassadors whirled around. Gabriel hadn’t meant to surprise them, but he was well pleased with their accomplishments. His trips to earth were few and far between, but this was a special night, one created for exceptions.

“Timmy has his father for Christmas,” Shirley said proudly, “thanks to a bit of manipulation with the airlines and a certain passenger.”

“We need to talk about that,” Gabriel said sternly. Shirley was new to prayer assignments, and had much to learn. He noticed she’d picked up a number of bad habits from her friends.

“What’s going to happen to Jeff and his family?”

The future could be read by only a chosen few. Gabriel was pleased to offer a view to his young charges. “Jeff and Jody will go on to have another child, but not for two years. They’ll have a little girl. As you can imagine they have a fair amount of readjusting to do first.”

“What about Timmy?” Shirley pressed. “He seems to be a very special young boy.”

“He is. Timmy Potter will grow up to become a top-notch pitcher with his goals set on the major leagues. He has a strong faith that will sustain him all his life.”

“What about Monica and Chet?” Goodness wanted to know next, her eyes eager for a look into the future.

Gabriel was tempted to comment about this last bit of trouble Goodness had gotten herself into with the television screen. He decided against it, however. Goodness’s methods had been unorthodox, but had worked wonderfully well. Chet had gone directly from the Blue Goose to Monica.

“Now, there’s an interesting couple,” Gabriel said, studying the pair who sat in a pew in the front of the church, holding hands. “Chet will go back into police work. It’s what suits him best and he’s good at it. Monica will present him with four daughters and all four will be holy terrors. Their lives together are going to take a fair amount of adjustment as well. They’re both strong-willed people, but their love for each other is much stronger.”

“Leah and Andrew were able to bring Angel home this evening,” Mercy told him, although Gabriel was well aware the couple’s daughter was doing so well she was able to leave the hospital early.

“You might be surprised with what the future holds for them,” Gabriel said. He wasn’t overly pleased with Mercy’s appearance atop the nativity scene, but at least this time she wasn’t racing forklifts along a pier and frightening night watchmen out of ten years of their lives.

“Are they able to adopt another child?”

“No, but three earth years from now Leah will become pregnant with identical twin boys.”

“Twins,” Mercy echoed with delight. “That’s wonderful.”

“I’m proud of you three,” Gabriel felt obligated to comment. Their success had delighted him. “You worked well together.”

“ ‘Surely goodness and mercy shall follow you all the days of your life,’ “ Goodness quoted the well-known Bible verse. “We make a great team.”

“Can we do it again?” Shirley asked eagerly.

“Soon,” Mercy insisted. “We help each other.”

“I think we should all visit Los Angeles next,” was Goodness’s suggestion. “It seems to me that the City of Angels could do with our help.”

The three looked expectantly toward Gabriel. “I’m not making any promises,” he said, and with a sweep of his wings ushered the three ambassadors into the celestial realm of heaven, where the Christmas celebration was just about to begin. All of heaven was awaiting their return.

To Gaylynn Hoffman
My very own personal angel

Acknowledgments

Here it is, the third and final installment of the angel series. Who would have guessed that my ditzy sweethearts would make an appearance three years running? Not me! What fun I’ve had with them. This December they’re visiting New York, one of my all-time favorite cities. The dust has yet to settle.

As with any project, there are a number of people who richly deserve a mention. First and foremost is my family, who so willingly adjust to a variation of home, sweet home whenever I’m working on a deadline.

A special note of appreciation to my agent, Irene Goodman, for carefully reading through Hannah and Joshua’s story.

My editor, Carolyn Marino, as always is a sweetheart to work with.

To Gary Staley, Susan Weaver, and Jim Whitener, the three wonderful Harper sales representatives I met. Thank you for showing me the ropes.

It’s fitting that the last angel book is title Touched by Angels. They have touched my life, and several of you have let me know how they’ve influenced you. I love getting your letters, and treasure each one. You can reach me at P.O. Box 1458, Port Orchard, WA 98366.

One

The young man wore a staple in one ear. Brynn Cassidy tried not to stare as he paraded past her and slouched down in the desk in the farthest corner of the classroom. His nose was decorated with a safety pin. The fact that his hair was cut in a Mohawk style and dyed orange shouldn’t faze her. She’d been told what to expect.

Manhattan High School wasn’t St. Mary Academy, the parochial girls’ high school where she’d taught for the last two years. But teaching here was an opportunity she couldn’t let pass her by. She’d accepted this position to test her theories and gain experience in dealing with students from a disadvantaged neighborhood.

Next, a young lady entered the room in a miniskirt, blouse and no bra. Her hair, pitch-black and stringy, covered her far better than her choice of outfits. She glanced around, shrugged, and claimed the seat closest to the door as if it were important to make a fast getaway.

The room filled quickly. The school building itself was said to be dilapidated and run-down, but that didn’t trouble Brynn. St. Mary Academy was a turn-of-the-century structure with high ceilings and lovely polished wood floors that smelled of lemon oil.

When Brynn learned Manhattan High in the Washington Heights area had been constructed in the early 1950s, she’d expected it to be an improvement, but she was wrong. Like so many other schools, Manhattan High had been forced to make some difficult budget choices. Thanks to three failed school bond levies, modernizing the classrooms was on the low end of the priority list.

“Will everyone kindly take a seat,” Brynn instructed nervously. She stood in front of the class and was ignored, which wasn’t surprising since the bell had yet to ring.

Looking for something constructive to do, she walked over to the badly chipped blackboard and wrote out her name.

The bell rang, and several of the kids stopped talking long enough to indicate their irritation at being interrupted. The level of conversation increased once the bell finished.

Brynn returned to the front center of the room and waited. She’d learned early in her teaching career never to outshout her students. It only made her look foolish, and it didn’t work. After five full minutes of being ignored, she went to the wall and flipped the light switch a couple of times. This technique had worked elsewhere but had only a mild effect upon the class. The level of talking decreased momentarily while several glanced her way, then quickly continued their ongoing conversations.

Brynn decided she had no option but to wait them out. It demanded the longest fifteen minutes of her life to stand in front of that classroom until thirty people voluntarily gave her their attention.

It might have taken longer if the boy, Hispanic from the look of him, hadn’t raised his right hand and snapped his fingers. Ten or so other Hispanics stopped talking and turned around on their seats. An African American followed suit, and several of the others clustered together went silent.

The class had divided itself along ethnic lines, Brynn noted. The Hispanics sat in the front, the African Americans chose the back.

Once silence reigned, Brynn stepped forward. “Good morning,” she said with her brightest smile. “My name’s Miss Cassidy.”

“Why ain’t you married?”

“Because I’m not,” she answered simply, preferring not to get trapped in a conversation about herself. “I’m your teacher, and—”

“You’re new, ain’t you?”

“Yes,” Brynn answered politely. “As you already know, we’re involved in an experimental program called Interdisciplinary Learning.”

“That doesn’t sound like something a nice girl like you should be teaching,” one of the boys called out.

Despite herself, Brynn smiled. “We’ll be spending three hours together each afternoon, exploring senior English, world history, and social science. You’ll notice how the classes are grouped along parallel lines.”

“Is she speaking English?” one girl whispered loudly, leaning toward another.

Brynn decided it would be best to explain the concept in simpler terms. “The classes we’ll be studying are connected by subject. We’ll read The Diary of Anne Frank for the English portion, the history section will involve the study of World War Two, and in the last part of the session I’d like to discuss the justification for war and other value clarification.”

“All three hours will be spent with you?”

“That’s right,” Brynn said. “You’ll know me better than any other teacher, and by the same token, I’ll know you. I’d like it if we could work together as a team.”

“If we’re going to be spending this much time with one teacher, then it only seems right that you tell us something about yourself first,” the Hispanic boy who’d quieted the class said. Since she owed him a favor, she agreed.

“What do you want to know?”

“How long you been teaching?”

“This is my third year.”

“If she lasts the first week,” someone suggested under their breath.

“I’ll last,” Brynn assured them. “I’m too young to retire and too stubborn to quit.”

“Where’d you come from?”

“Rhode Island.”

“Why’d you decide to teach here?”

“She’s a fool, that’s why,” someone answered for her.

“That’s not true,” Brynn countered. “As I explained earlier, we’re involved in an experimental program that’s being sponsored by the federal government. I was asked to participate.”

“Why’d you do it?”

The questions were making her decidedly uncomfortable. “Part of the agreement would be that a portion of my student loan would be forgiven.”

“Forgiven?”

“That’s the word the government used.”

“Where’d you teach before?” a Chinese girl asked, her gaze shyly meeting Brynn’s.

“St. Mary Academy. It’s a private school for girls near Rochester.”

“La de da,” one of the boys said in a high-pitched voice. He stood, dropped his wrists, and pranced around his desk.

“Hey, could you set me up with one of those nice Catholic girls?”

Brynn didn’t bother to answer.

“Do you color your hair or is it naturally red?”

“It’s auburn,” Brynn corrected, “and it’s as natural as it comes.”

“What do you think, dummy, with a name like Cassidy? She’s Irish, can’t you tell?”

“Dummy?” Brynn repeated, and then added in a Home Alone voice, “I don’t think so. If he were dumb, he wouldn’t be a high school senior. This brings up something I consider vital to this class. Respect. I won’t tolerate any name calling, racial slurs, or put-downs.”

“You been in girls’ school too long, Teach. That’s just the way we talk. If Malcolm here wants to call Denzil a nigger, he’s got a right ’cause he’s a nigger himself.”

“Not in this classroom he won’t. The only thing I’ll ask of you in the way of deportment is mutual respect.”

“I don’t even know you, how am I supposed to respect you?”

It was a good question and one Brynn couldn’t slough off.

“Especially if the only reason you decided to take this job was so you could be forgiven for something you did to the government.”

“That’s not the only reason I took the job,” Brynn pressed, “I want to teach you to dream.”

“Excuse me?” A girl with her hair woven into tiny braids all over her head sat upright. “You’re making us sound like babies.”

“I’m not suggesting naps,” Brynn explained. “How many of you know what you’re going to do after you graduate from high school?”

One hand went up, from the same Hispanic youth who’d helped her earlier.

“Your name is?”

“Emilio Alcantara.”

“Hello, Emilio. Tell me what your dreams are.”

“I got plenty of those. I dream about Michelle and Nikki and . . .” His friends made several catcalls, and Brynn smiled and shook her head.

“I’m talking about the future. After high school, five years down the road. We all need a dream, something to pin our hopes on, something that gives us a reason to wake up in the morning.”

“You mean a dream like Martin Luther King?”

“Yes,” she said enthusiastically. “An ambition to do something, travel somewhere, or be something.”

“Why?” The boy who asked had caught her attention earlier. He seemed indifferent to everything that was going on around him. A couple of the kids had said something to him, but he’d ignored them as if they weren’t there or, more appropriately, as if he weren’t entirely there himself. Briefly she wondered if he were on drugs.

“Why?” Brynn repeated. “Because dreaming is a necessary part of life, like eating or sleeping. Sometimes we just forget about it, is all. We’ll be exploring more about this later, but I guarantee you one thing, by the end of this quarter, there’ll be plenty for you to think and dream about.”

“You know,” said the girl who’d claimed the desk closest to the door, “you might be all right, but it’s going to take some doing, getting used to a teacher who doesn’t look any older than one of us.”

“She isn’t married, either. Say, Teach, do you want me to set you up?” Emilio asked. “I got an older brother who could use a chick like you.”

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Brynn answered, reaching for her attendance book. “Now that you know about me, it’s time for me to learn something about each one of you.”

“But we don’t know you!” two or three protested in turn.

Brynn held the book against her breast and sighed. “What other information do you need?”

Questions were tossed at her in every which direction. She put a stop to them with a wave of her hand. “Listen, I’ll give you the basics and then we’ll have to get started. My first name is Brynn.”

“How many kids in your family?”

“Eight.”

“Eight!”

“She’s Irish and Catholic, ain’t she?”

Brynn ignored the comment. “I’m the fourth oldest and the first girl. My oldest brother is thirty-three and my youngest sister is sixteen.” She lowered the grade book and called out, “Yolanda Aguilar.”

“Here.” The Hispanic girl raised her hand and waved enthusiastically.

Brynn looked at Yolanda and made a notation next to the girl’s name. “Emilio Alcantara is here,” she said, making a second notation.

“What are you writing down about me?” Emilio demanded. He sat up on his chair and craned his neck toward her as if that would be enough to read what she’d written.

“I said you sat in the front row and revealed leadership characteristics.”

“I do?” He sounded surprised.

“What’d you say about me?” Yolanda asked.

“That you’re energetic and personable.”

“How’d you know that?”

“Yeah, how’d you figure that about Yolanda?” another boy demanded, then leaned over to the student at the desk next to him. “What’s personable mean?”

“Shhh, I’m next and I want to know what she’s gonna say about me.”

“Modesto Diaz,” Brynn called out, looking at the youth above the grade book.

He curled his upper lip and snarled at her. “Yo.”

Brynn added her comment to the book.

“What’d ya say?” Modesto insisted, straightening. He was halfway out of his seat. “I gotta right to know since you told the others.”

“I wrote down that you have a flair for the dramatic.”

“What’s that mean?” Modesto asked Emilio under his breath.

“The hell if I know,” Emilio complained. “She’s gonna be one weird teacher.”

By lunchtime Brynn was convinced Emilio was right. She was completely out of touch with their world. Her vocabulary, which she’d never thought of as especially advanced, served to confuse her students. Half the morning was spent repeating in simpler terms what she’d said previously.

She’d no more than handed out The Diary of Anne Frank and briefly described to them Anne’s story when the bell rang for their first break. The classroom emptied so fast, one would think the school was on fire.

Brynn sat down at her desk and exhaled sharply, weary to the bone. This was her first day in an inner-city high school, and she was going to need help—lots of help, and she didn’t expect it to come in the form of the PTA.

Bowing her head, she murmured a simple prayer, asking for patience and guidance. She yearned to teach her students to dream, to look to the future with enthusiasm. She hungered for them to see beyond the troubles they faced day in and day out and reach for the stars, and she wanted to be the one to show them the way.

* * *

Brynn’s whispered prayer fluttered past the chipped blackboard, echoed silently through the scarred halls, as it winged its way toward heaven. The request soared, swiftly spanning the distance between man and God. Carried on the brisk winds of faith, guided by devotion, navigated by love, it arrived fresh and bright at the very feet of the Archangel Gabriel.

“Brynn Cassidy,” Gabriel repeated slowly as he flipped through the cumbersome book, marking the entry. He was writing when he glanced up to find Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy standing directly across the desk from him. He’d never seen the three look more—he hated the term—angelic. Their wings were neatly folded in place and they smiled serenely as if the world were at their feet.

“It’s that time of year again,” Goodness reminded him, grinning broadly.

Gabriel’s hand tightened around the quill pen. Heaven help him, he was going to be left to deal with these three lovable troublemakers once more.

“Time of year for what?” he asked. Gabriel was playing dumb in a stalling effort. For the past two years this trio of prayer ambassadors had visited earth, working their own unique brand of miracles. A sort of divine intervention run amuck.

“We’d like to try our hand in the Big Apple,” Mercy explained with limited patience. It was apparent she was eager to get her assignment and be on her way. “We’ve been looking forward to working together again,” she reminded him primly. “One would assume that with the success of the past two years we’d have proven ourselves beyond question.”

“We don’t mean to be impertinent,” Goodness inserted, glaring at her fellow prayer ambassador, “but I find myself agreeing with Mercy.”

“Brynn Cassidy,” Shirley repeated softly, reading over Gabriel’s shoulder.

Gabriel deliberately closed the huge book, cutting off Shirley’s view. The last thing he needed was for the former guardian angel to take a hankering for this particular assignment.

The students of Manhattan High would require a far more experienced angel than Shirley. Why, her tender heart would be mush by the end of a week, working with this group of adolescents. Frankly, Gabriel didn’t expect Brynn Cassidy to last long herself.

Gabriel knew all about the young teacher. Her mother and grandfather had been praying for her for several years. As far as Gabriel was concerned, Brynn Cassidy was far more suited to teaching the proper young ladies of St. Mary Academy. Manhattan High was a graveyard of lost souls. An unseen storm cloud had settled over the school, feeding on tears yet to be shed and broken promises. Brynn’s humble faith was like a newborn lamb placed in the midst of ravenous wolves. She’d quickly be devoured. Naturally Gabriel would do what he could to aid her, but one ill-equipped prayer ambassador would hardly be sufficient.

“Brynn needs me,” Shirley said, looking him squarely in the eye.

“She needs an army. I don’t mean to discourage you,” Gabriel said, feeling mildly guilty, “I’m sure we’ll find a more appropriate assignment for you. A less complicated request,” he muttered more to himself than to Shirley.

As he recalled, a prayer request had come in that morning from a teenage girl in Boston who needed a date for prom night. Surely Shirley could scrounge up a decent young man. As for Goodness and Mercy, why, there were any number of less demanding requests with which to occupy them.

“Give me a minute,” he said, flipping through the unwieldy book, finding a page, and running his index finger down the large number of entries. “I’m sure I’ll come up with something appropriate for each of you.”

“No arguments?” Goodness asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

“Wow, maybe we have proven ourselves.”

“I want to talk to Goodness about Hannah Morganstern,” Gabriel said, his brow creased with contemplation.

“Yes,” Goodness answered excitedly.

“Her family owns one of the most popular delis in all of New York,” the Archangel went on to explain.

Goodness and Mercy looked at each other and squealed with delight. The two joined hands and danced a happy jig around his desk, kicking up their heels.

“What about me?” Mercy asked, breathless with excitement.

“Jenny Lancaster,” Gabriel said decisively. “She moved to New York from Custer, Montana, three years ago, hoping to make a name for herself on Broadway.”

“Has she?”

“No,” Gabriel said with a sigh of regret. “It’s time to go home, only she can’t bear to face that. You see, she doesn’t want to disappoint her family, and I’m afraid she’s stretched the truth and told them things that weren’t altogether true. You’re going to have to help her make the decision.”

“I can do it.”

“Without moving the Statue of Liberty?” Gabriel demanded.

“That’s kid stuff,” Goodness muttered.

“Maybe so, but is Rockefeller Center safe?”

The two found little humor in his question. It was then that Gabriel noticed that Shirley had disappeared.

“Where’s Shirley?”

Goodness and Mercy glanced over their shoulders. “I haven’t a clue.”

“I didn’t see her leave.”

Gabriel had a sneaking suspicion he already knew where the prayer ambassador had disappeared to. “Wait here,” he instructed impatiently. He raised his massive arms and with one wide, sweeping motion parted the clouds of heaven and descended from paradise to the mundane world.

He found Shirley right where he suspected: in an inner-city classroom, keeping a close watch on a young, inexperienced schoolteacher.

Brynn finished her lunch and poured herself a cup of coffee. Standing at the window, she looked out over the concrete jungle that made up the city.

St. Philip’s, the cathedral located across the street, had once been the pride of the diocese. The stained-glass windows, depicting the Stations of the Cross, had aged badly over the years. A flight of concrete steps led to the eight-foot-tall double doors. The church was a magnificent piece of Gothic architecture, but like Manhattan High, it had fallen upon harsh economic times.

When Brynn had first been approached about this assignment, she’d visited New York City and loved it. There was a rhythm to the city, a musical beat that had set her heart to racing.

In her mind’s eye came a picture of prosperity and abundance. Not of wealth or riches in the monetary sense, but of purpose. The feeling had stayed with her in the days that followed, and when she’d penned her name to the contract, Brynn had felt instinctively that she was doing the right thing.

Following the break, Brynn headed down the crowded hallway. Several students leaned against their lockers in passionate embraces. This was a foreign element to Brynn, since she’d attended a parochial girls’ high school as well as taught in one. It was a bit of a shock to discover how friendly students were allowed to get in the school hallway.

A ruckus broke out at the end of the corridor, and several heated words in Spanish flew at her like fiery darts. Brynn’s knowledge of the language was limited, but she was well aware the two boys weren’t exchanging pleasantries.

After making her way to the problem, she found Emilio Alcantara and an African American she didn’t know staring each other down. A crowd had circled around the two.

“Is there a problem here?” Brynn asked, maneuvering into the tight circle.

“If you know what’s good for you, Teach, you’d better leave,” Emilio advised.

“I can’t do that, and now I suggest you two boys give it up and go about your business. Fighting isn’t going to solve anything.”

The black boy looked at her with such unadulterated hatred that for a wild second Brynn was caught speechless. She’d never had a student, or anyone else, look at her in quite that way.

A shiver ran up her spine when she noticed both boys had knives. She grabbed Suzie Chang, the shy girl from her class, by the shoulder. “Get help immediately,” she ordered, her heart in her throat.

Suzie took off running.

By then the Hispanic youths had lined one side of the hallway and the blacks dominated the second half. The two ethnic groups glared at one another, waiting for an excuse, any excuse, to fight. The atmosphere was explosive, the tension as tightly strung as a fiddle.

Without thinking, Brynn positioned herself between the two boys. Her head was spinning and she felt lightheaded with fear. “Stop,” she ordered in her most authoritative voice, but the request sounded hollow even to her own ears.

The sound of footsteps running toward her was so welcome, Brynn nearly collapsed with relief. A male teacher and a janitor exploded onto the scene, and the knives disappeared as if by magic. Emilio and the other youth looked as if they were the best of friends. Emilio wrapped his arm around the black youth.

“What’s happening, bro?”

“What’s going on here?” Doug Keast, the teacher, demanded, looking to Brynn.

“Emilio and this young man were involved in an exchange of words. Everything’s under control now. Thanks for your help.”

“Knives?”

Brynn hesitated, not wanting to rat on Emilio but at the same time unwilling to lie. “They both drew out knives, but—”

“I don’t need to know anything more than that,” Doug barked, escorting both youths to the principal’s office. “I’ll need you to make a statement.”

“What’s going to happen?” Brynn asked, scurrying behind Doug and Emilio. A second male teacher appeared to escort the other boy.

“I’m gonna be suspended,” Emilio said, glaring at her as if she’d turned traitor on him. “I thought you were different,” he spat out. “You ain’t no different than any of the other teachers.” His dark eyes, leveled at her, were filled with animosity.

“Listen here, Emilio, it wasn’t me who got involved in an altercation.”

“A what? You know, if you’re going to teach English, the least you could do is learn to speak it first.”

“A fight,” she said, losing her patience. She was half trotting in order to keep up with Doug’s long-legged stride. Her fellow teacher was making haste for Mr. Whalen’s office.

“You know the rules about knives on school property,” Doug told Emilio.

“What knife?” the youth demanded. “She was seeing things. I didn’t have any knife, and neither did Grover, ain’t that right, bro?”

“The new teach needs glasses,” Grover claimed, sounding as if they’d been strolling through a bed of wildflowers.

“Tell him, Miss Cassidy,” Emilio said, staring at her. “There wasn’t any sign of knives, now, was there?”

“If you expect me to lie on your behalf, I won’t do it,” Brynn told him in no uncertain terms. “And if you’re both expelled, then—”

“They’ll be suspended for three days,” Doug interrupted.

“Then you have no one to blame but yourselves,” she finished.

“I ain’t coming back,” Grover announced in chilling tones. “School ain’t gonna help me or my homies. I’m outta here, understand?” He jerked his elbow free from the teacher and strolled out the door, letting it slam in his wake.

“Good riddance,” the man murmured.

“I’ll talk to him,” Brynn said, going after Grover.

She hadn’t taken two steps when Doug Keast stopped her. “Let him go.”

“But—”

“He’s right. Grover’s nothing but bad news.” Doug looked to Emilio as if to suggest the Hispanic boy fell into the same category.

“Emilio’s different,” Brynn insisted. “Grover’s choosing to give up, to fail. Emilio’s got a future.”

“Yeah,” Emilio muttered, pulling himself free of Doug’s hold. “Some future. First you tell me what a great leader I am and then you get me kicked out of school.” Having made that little speech, he slumped down on the worn vinyl sofa outside Mr. Whalen’s office.

“Did you see the knives?” Gabriel asked Shirley gently. “They were real, and the risk to Brynn is equally grave. She could have been seriously hurt.”

“The woman’s in profound need of heavenly intervention,” Shirley said forcefully. “In other words, this teacher needs me.”

“Ah . . .” Gabriel hated to be the one to break the news, but Shirley was out of her league. He’d hoped the prayer ambassador would see it for herself, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Shirley said, eager to prove herself. “You think I’m in way over my head.”

“My thoughts were running along those lines,” Gabriel admitted.

“I believe I could help Brynn,” Shirley insisted, and then stiffened her shoulders. “You’re the one in charge of handling the prayer assignments, and I have no option but to accept your decision, but I want to help Brynn Cassidy teach her students to dream. I want to stand at her side when their eyes light up with discovery, and I especially long to be there when she tells them about faith in God.”

“There are other teachers who need you,” Gabriel assured her. “And they aren’t trapped in a poor neighborhood school.”

“I see,” Shirley whispered, hanging her head in defeat.

“Perhaps another year,” Gabriel suggested.

“Perhaps.” The word was so low, it dragged against the floor.

Gently patting the discouraged angel on her shoulder, Gabriel escorted her back to heaven, where Goodness and Mercy awaited their return.

“I’ll find another assignment for Shirley in a moment,” he promised, “but first, I want to introduce Goodness to Hannah Morganstern.”

Two

“Hannah who?” Goodness asked, looking puzzled.

“Morganstern,” Gabriel supplied. “The prayer request came in from Hannah’s mother and grandmother. They want her to make a good marriage.” He opened the cumbersome book that listed the incoming prayer requests and smoothly folded back the page. Running his index finger down a list of names, he paused when he located Hannah’s.

Gabriel smiled, pleased with himself. This request would be a simple matter and would quickly appease the novice prayer ambassador. The sooner Goodness was back where she belonged, the better for all concerned.

As it happened, Hannah was close to becoming engaged to Carl Rabinsky, the rabbi’s son. Carl was a fine, upstanding young man with a bright future.

Hannah’s family was delighted that their daughter had chosen such an outstanding marriage candidate. A professional matchmaker couldn’t have come up with a better choice. Goodness would soon recognize how advantageous such a marriage would be for Hannah. Naturally the prayer ambassador would accept full credit for the match, which was fine with Gabriel as long as she left well enough alone.

By his best estimate, Gabriel would have Goodness out of harm’s way within a day or two. Heaven knew he wouldn’t rest until all three were back where they belonged. There was no telling the trouble they could rouse in the Big Apple. Gabriel cringed involuntarily at the thought of Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy loose on the unsuspecting souls of New York City.

They did try. He’d give them that much. The three angels were dear hearts, but frankly they were trouble with a capital T. There was no end to the mischief they managed to muster each Christmas. The season was hectic enough without having to deal with those three.

“When can I see Hannah?” Goodness asked eagerly.

“When are you going to tell me more about Jenny Lancaster?” Mercy asked, crowding her way between him and Goodness. The smallest of the three juggled her elbows until she’d jockeyed herself into position. “I’m looking forward to meeting Jenny.”

“It’s my turn,” Goodness reminded her friend sternly.

“Be patient,” Gabriel advised the two. At times he felt like a referee at a hockey match. “Goodness, let me take you down to meet Hannah.”

“I want to come,” Mercy insisted.

“Me, too.” Shirley was determined not to be left behind.

Gabriel hadn’t planned on making an expedition out of this. He’d thought it would be a simple matter to point out Hannah to Goodness, then introduce her to Carl. They’d be back before either of Goodness’s friends had time to miss her. He was about to reassure Mercy and Shirley of this when he noticed that the three had looped their arms together. They stood before him with a determination that would have shook Moses before that unfortunate incident on Mt. Sinai.

“All right, all right,” he grumbled under his breath. These particular prayer ambassadors had a way about them that foiled him at every turn. Only this year, he was simplifying matters. Their assignments were all straightforward requests that would bring them back to heaven in record time. Nothing complicated. Nothing involved. Assignments each one should be able to arrange in record time. This Christmas, Gabriel promised himself, wouldn’t be like the past two.

Stepping away from the others, the archangel raised his massive arms and with one sure movement parted the massive clouds of heaven. A thin layer of mist remained, and gradually he was able to make out the earth below. Soon the four of them narrowed in on the big city. Skyscrapers punctured the sky. The top floors of the twin towers of the World Trade Center came clearly into focus. Then he viewed the landmark Brooklyn Bridge, followed by Times Square.

“This is New York City?” Goodness breathed in awe.

“My heavens, what’s that?” Mercy asked, pointing to the street below.

Gabriel grinned. His timing couldn’t have been better. They’d arrived in time to witness Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. A giant balloon replica of a popular comic-strip dog floated far above the street, steered by several silly-looking adults dressed in elf costumes.

“It looks like some kind of parade,” Shirley answered before he had a chance to explain.

A marching band, the trombone players with their instruments aiming skyward, blared a lively rendition of an easily recognizable Christmas ditty. A fierce pounding of drums added to the excitement of the music.

“This is wonderful,” Goodness said, and spread-eagled herself across the top of a blossom-laden float. Six men dressed as toy soldiers stood guard over an open treasure chest filled with a variety of brightly wrapped gifts in gold and silver paper.

“You wanted to meet Hannah,” Gabriel reminded her, hiding a smile. Goodness’s eyes were as round as a two-year-old child’s.

“In a minute,” Goodness told him. It was apparent she was more interested in watching the parade than in meeting her young charge.

With a stiff-kneed walk, one of the toy soldiers marched to the end of the float. A fairy princess appeared, with dainty wings strapped to her back, and scooped up handfuls of candy. Smiling, she tossed them into the cheering crowd.

“You call those wings?” Mercy asked on a disdainful note.

“We’re here to meet Hannah Morganstern,” Gabriel felt obligated to remind the three.

“I’m ready,” Goodness announced, reluctantly tearing herself away from the dazzling scene.

“If we must,” Mercy added with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

“Do you think Brynn Cassidy’s here?” Shirley’s gaze scanned the thick crowds that crammed the cement sidewalks. “What about the kids from the school? They’d come, wouldn’t they?”

“We’re supposed to meet Hannah, remember?” Gabriel reminded Shirley. He should have known it would be a mistake to bring the others. “There’s Hannah now,” he said in an effort to divert their attention. He motioned toward a group of parade watchers standing along Central Park West.

“Hannah’s the petite woman with the blue angel scarf tied around her neck.” Gabriel had a soft spot in his heart when it came to the gentle Jewish woman. She reminded him of Rebecca, the young woman God had chosen for Abraham’s only son.

“She’s lovely.”

Gabriel agreed. “Hannah’s the only child, born later in life to a devoted couple. Ruth Morganstern prayed faithfully for many years for a daughter.”

“Leah Lundberg did the same,” Mercy reminded Gabriel. “I don’t understand why God makes some couples wait.”

“It’s not for us to question.”

“I know,” Mercy agreed, “His timing is always perfect.”

“Getting back to Hannah,” Gabriel tried again. “The Morgansterns have raised their daughter well. They couldn’t be more proud of her, and rightly so. Hannah is well loved by many.”

“Do you mind if Shirley and I entertain ourselves for a few moments?” Mercy asked, and her eyes twinkled with mischief. Gabriel noticed the angel was staring at the reader board above Times Square.

“You can go on without us,” Shirley insisted.

“No way. Listen, you two. Shirley . . . Mercy,” Gabriel stuttered, wanting to stop them before they vanished. Unfortunately he was too late. He clenched his jaw and turned to Goodness.

“You don’t have a thing to worry about,” Goodness assured him. “They can take care of themselves.”

That was what Gabriel was afraid of.

He was about to go after Mercy and Shirley himself when Goodness tugged at his sleeve. “Tell me what you know about Hannah Morganstern. You said her mother and grandmother are looking for Hannah to make a good marriage.”

“Yes,” he muttered. He would need his wits to make this assignment sound more difficult than it was.

“Well, if that’s the case,” Goodness muttered, her shoulders heaving with a deliberate sigh, “I certainly hope she isn’t interested in the young man she’s with. It’s perfectly obvious they aren’t the least bit suited.”

Gabriel’s attention went back to the street corner where he’d last seen Hannah.

“What’s wrong with Carl Rabinsky?” he demanded.

“Just look.”

“Carl, couldn’t we please stay a bit longer?” Hannah asked. She pleaded with him with her eyes, hoping she could find a way to change his mind. Carl had agreed to attend the Thanksgiving Day parade with her, but they’d barely arrived and already he was anxious to leave. She knew he was having trouble with the headmaster at the Hebrew academy where he taught and had been preoccupied most of the day.

“Ten minutes more, then,” Carl conceded indulgently. His gloved hand squeezed hers. “I’m sorry, but I told you earlier that this just isn’t my thing.”

“I know.” Hannah was grateful he’d consented to come. She only wished he could enjoy the festivities as much as she did. Hannah found the merrymaking contagious—the children, the excitement, the wonderful silliness that surrounded this time of year.

“Oh, Carl, look,” she said, pointing toward the huge float making its way down the wide street. “It’s a scene from the Nutcracker Suite.”

Carl smiled tolerantly and pointedly glanced at his watch. “Five more minutes,” he announced under his breath. “If you want to see more of the parade, you can watch it on television.”

Television. Never. Hannah refused to allow his stick-in-the-mud attitude to spoil her fun. Standing on the tips of her toes, she peered down the bustling street, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was coming next. The distinct tones of an approaching band floated toward her.

Unable to see, she edged her way into the crowd until she was wedged against the waist-high barrier to the street. She stayed there until the marching musicians passed, applauding their efforts. The tall, distinguished-looking man standing next to her whistled boisterously. Hannah looked up at him and smiled warmly. Their eyes met, and he returned the friendly gesture.

The man looked vaguely familiar, but then it wasn’t uncommon for Hannah to see someone she thought she knew. Working in the family-owned, kosher-style deli, she met literally hundreds of people on a daily basis.

His eyes were a deep, rich shade of coffee brown. They sparkled with delight as he looked down at her. He had a kind face, appealing but not particularly handsome. His hair needed to be trimmed, but that gave him a rumble-tumble look that she found endearing. It was apparent he was some kind of businessman; she could tell that much from the way he dressed and the way he stood. Besides, if he frequented her parents’ deli, then chances were he worked in one of the office buildings close by.

“Do I know you?” he asked, frowning slightly.

“I’m Hannah Morganstern,” she said. “Most people recognize me from my parents’ deli.”

“Of course. Your father serves the best pastrami in town.” He held out his hand to her. “I’m Joshua Shadduck.”

“Hello, Joshua.” The noise level made it difficult to carry on a conversation.

They shook hands, and Hannah glanced over her shoulder, looking for Carl. He wasn’t there. She scanned the crowd once more, certain he wouldn’t have left her intentionally. Carl would never do that, yet he was nowhere in sight. Anxious now, she stood on her tiptoes and looked around.

“Oh, dear,” she whispered, and bit into her lower lip.

“Is something wrong?” Joshua lowered his head close to her so she could hear him.

“My friend. I’m afraid we’ve gotten separated.”

“That happens in crowds like these.”

“I know, but . . .” She continued to study the huge throng. The crowd was moving, milling about. “I didn’t mean to leave him behind.” Carl would be worried and flustered. If she ever hoped to talk him into attending another parade, he’d be sure to remind her of this.

“I’ll help you look,” Joshua offered.

“You don’t need to do that.” She was the one to blame. If she hadn’t been so impatient to see what was ahead, she wouldn’t have lost Carl.

“Tell me what he looks like,” Joshua suggested. Since he was head and shoulders taller than she, his chances of finding Carl were far better than her own.

“Let me think,” she mumbled. She went with the most obvious: his clothing. “He had on a black wool overcoat.”

Joshua leveled his eyes on her, amusement bracketing the sides of his mouth. “Hannah, every man here has on a black wool overcoat.”

“Yes . . . I know. He’s five ten or so, and . . . he’s probably frowning. He only came because I wanted to see the parade, and he’s probably annoyed with me for disappearing like this.”

“A frowning man, five ten, in a black wool overcoat.”

Their eyes met once more, and for no reason Hannah could explain, they both started laughing.

“He’s probably given up on me and left,” she conceded, and glanced longingly over her shoulder, not wanting to miss the rest of the parade. “I should probably go back myself,” she said with regret.

“Why? Your friend can find his own way home, can’t he?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“Stay,” he urged. His hand cupped her elbow, his touch light and encouraging. His eyes smiled with warmth and pleasure, something she’d found sadly lacking in Carl. Her friend had only tolerated the merriment. Macy’s parade was one more thing Carl considered frivolous and impractical. He often mentioned the overwhelming cost of such a production. To Carl’s way of thinking, this money would be better spent feeding the hungry or aiding the homeless.

Hannah had no argument to offer. The parade would go on no matter how wasteful Carl found it to be, and she could see no reason not to enjoy it.

“Oh, look,” she said, pointing down the street at the oncoming float. She glanced at Joshua and discovered that he viewed the winter festival creation with the same keen enjoyment and wonder that she did.

One lazy snowflake drifted down from the lead gray sky. Another soon followed.

“Snow!” Delighted, Hannah held up her hand to catch a fluffy flake. It melted in the palm of her hand.

“It’s a perfect conclusion to the parade, don’t you think?” Joshua asked. Pressed against him as she was, Hannah couldn’t help noticing how warm and close he was.

“Is it over? Already?” She didn’t want it to be.

“Do you have to hurry back?” Joshua asked. “We could take a short stroll in Central Park and enjoy the snow.”

It went without saying that she shouldn’t. Her family would be waiting for her. They assumed she was with Carl, not some strange man she barely recognized. Her father had always been protective of her. She was his jewel. Hannah remembered how pleased her parents had been when she’d first started dating Carl. The fact that he was a rabbi’s son added to their endorsement of the young man.

“A stroll in Central Park,” she repeated, and then before she could change her mind, she nodded. Her willingness to spend time with him, a man who was little more than a stranger, would be frowned upon by everyone concerned.

“Goodness,” Gabriel warned, “don’t even think about it.”

“About what?” The fact that the archangel was traveling with her had cramped her style considerably.

“I know what you’ve got up your sleeve.”

“What?” Archangels knew so little about romance; what else was she to do? Gabriel thought Carl Rabinsky was the perfect husband for Hannah. Anyone with half a brain could see how ill suited the young couple was. Carl was a determined man, sincere in his faith. Unfortunately he’d fallen into a common trap. He was big on religion and weak on faith.

“I can see what you’re thinking and I’m telling you right now, it isn’t going to work,” Gabriel continued, disapproval beaming from his piercing eyes. “Joshua Shadduck is an important attorney. The two have nothing in common.”

“Joshua is Jewish, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but that has nothing to do with the issues here. Goodness, listen to me. You’re stirring up a hornets’ nest if you continue in this vein. I absolutely forbid it, do you understand?”

“Yes, but—”

“There’re no buts about it.” Gabriel’s brow was knit with a thick frown. He opened his mouth and Goodness was convinced he was about to argue further with her when a breathless but elated Shirley arrived.

“I found Brynn Cassidy,” the other angel announced gleefully. “She’s with Suzie Chang, one of the girls from her class.”

“We’re discussing something important here,” Goodness said. She refused to let Shirley interrupt her now. Not when she was about to make an important point. She glared at the archangel. “Didn’t you notice Joshua and Hannah together? It’s as plain as the wings on your back that they’re right for each other.” Anyone with eyes would recognize how lonely Joshua was. Success wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. It seemed to her that he’d come to this realization himself recently. As far as Goodness could tell, Hannah Morganstern complemented his life, and she wasn’t about to let Gabriel tell her otherwise.

“What I’m saying,” Gabriel insisted, “is that you must leave well enough alone. You think I didn’t notice the way you manipulated Hannah and Joshua? I’m not blind. You practically steered her right into him.”

Goodness released a pent-up sigh. Dealing with Gabriel often required persistence. “I realize you find this difficult to believe, but I’m something of an expert in matters involving the heart. Remember last year?”

“I’m not likely to forget it,” the archangel muttered. “I was nearly sent back to singing with the choir because of you three.”

Goodness ignored his comment, which she was sure was a gross exaggeration.

“Promise me you’ll keep your hands off of Hannah and Joshua,” Gabriel warned, “otherwise I’ll have you restringing harps for the rest of your days.”

The threat was an empty one, and Goodness knew it.

“Did anyone hear me?” Shirley asked excitedly. “I actually located Brynn Cassidy. Don’t you realize what a miracle that was in this crowd?”

“I heard you,” Gabriel told her with a sour look. “Miracle or not, you won’t be working with Brynn Cassidy. The schoolteacher needs far more help than you can offer. You can’t work with Brynn and those kids from the high school. I have another assignment waiting for you,” Gabriel insisted with a hard edge to his voice.

“But—”

“It’s a take-it-or-leave-it situation.”

Goodness feared that Shirley was about to blow it. She was relieved when the other angel snapped her mouth closed. At times, Shirley could be downright argumentative. If Shirley made the mistake of debating this Brynn Cassidy issue, the archangel just might pull all three of them out of New York City. Goodness didn’t want that to happen just when matters were beginning to look promising.

Without being obvious, she scanned the dispersing crowds, hoping to catch a glimpse of Hannah and Joshua. She found them strolling through Central Park, deep in conversation. The two were oblivious of everything around them. They made a striking couple, she mused, immeasurably pleased with herself. Archangels might be high-and-mighty creatures, but they knew little of dealing with humans and love. When it came to affairs of the heart, Goodness was far more knowledgeable than Gabriel. The problem, and admittedly it was a big one, was convincing him of that.

Joshua wasn’t sure what had happened to him. He’d suggested this walk in the park with Hannah for purely selfish reasons. The Thanksgiving Day parade had been enjoyable, but it hadn’t been nearly as much fun until Hannah had joined him.

He remembered her with a clarity that surprised him. She was the daughter of the deli owner. When he’d claimed her father made the best pastrami in town, he hadn’t been exaggerating. Over the last few years he’d visited the deli a number of times, but generally he had his lunch delivered. Hannah might well have been to his office.

Hannah was a delicate creature, beautiful in ways that struck a man’s soul. She wasn’t like the crisp, business professionals he knew and worked with on a daily basis. She inspired him with her gentle goodness. Although he’d never met the man she was with—Carl, if he remembered his name correctly—already he found he didn’t much like him. If Joshua had become separated from Hannah in a crowd, it would have taken a lot more than a little congestion for him to stop searching for her. Hannah hadn’t said a lot, but it was obvious Carl didn’t enjoy parades.

Joshua had taken Hannah’s hand while strolling through the park. The snow had long since stopped, but the afternoon remained crisp and cold. A perfect winter day.

The moment their hands linked, Joshua experienced a faint stirring of emotion. Faint stirring, nothing, he mused with a bleak smile. It felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach with a pipe iron.

He wondered if this was the woman he’d been searching for all these months. He certainly hadn’t expected her to be the daughter of a deli owner. It didn’t matter, he decided. Who was he to question fate? They’d met, and being with her, laughing, joking, talking, had felt instinctively right. Never had he been more comfortable with anyone.

It embarrassed him, the way he couldn’t stop staring at her. She had such beautiful eyes, but then everything about Hannah was beautiful. She was guileless and genuine, and when she looked up and blinked, Josh swore he could see all the way to her soul.

“We’ve been talking all this time and I never asked where you work,” Hannah commented.

“I’m an attorney.” He would have mentioned the name of the law firm, one of the most prestigious in Manhattan, but he didn’t want to sound as though he were bragging. Knowing Hannah, he doubted that it would impress her. More than likely she wouldn’t recognize the name of the firm.

“A lawyer.” She said this as if the information distressed her.

“You don’t like attorneys?”

“No, it’s not that. I think there are some wonderful attorneys, only . . .”

“Yes,” he prodded.

“My parents were recently involved in a frivolous lawsuit, and my dad’s convinced the real culprits in the case were the lawyers. I’m afraid he’s developed something of a prejudice, but I don’t think that will last long.”

“Good. I’d hate to get off on the wrong foot with your family.”

At the mention of her parents, Hannah looked at her watch. “Oh, dear,” she said anxiously. “I didn’t realize how late it was.” She took several steps backward. “Thank you for a wonderful time. I’m sorry to rush off like this.”

She’d turned and was speed-walking away from him before he’d had time to react. “Hannah,” he called.

She spun around.

“I’d like to see you again.”

Her eyes were wide, and she seemed to hesitate. Joshua decided it was best not to press her.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll stop in at the deli and we can talk about it then.”

She nodded abruptly, and it was plain she was in a hurry to get away.

“If it’ll reassure you, I’ll avoid mentioning I’m an attorney.”

Her beautiful eyes brightened with a soft smile before she hurried out of the park. Josh buried his hands in his pockets and ambled along the walkway toward Cherry Hill Fountain. He kicked lazily at burnt orange-colored leaves.

Josh found himself smiling broadly. His patience had paid off. For nearly thirty years he’d been waiting to meet a woman like Hannah Morganstern. To think all this time she’d been right under his nose. He threw back his head and laughed. The sound of his delight echoed through the park.

Hannah hurried into the apartment on top of the family deli, stripping the blue scarf from her neck.

“I’m home.”

“Thank heaven you’re home; I was worried, you’re so late,” her mother said, planting her hand over her heart as she stepped out of the kitchen. “Your father and I didn’t know what to think when Carl phoned and asked if you’d returned safely.”

“The parade was wonderful,” Hannah said.

“What happened with Carl?” Her father stood with the morning paper clenched in his hands. He studied her over the top of his spectacles.

“I don’t know,” Hannah told them, walking into the kitchen. The smells of turkey and sage, pumpkin pie and applesauce, that greeted her caused her to pause and inhale deeply. Her stomach growled, reminding her how hungry she was.

“Carl claims you disappeared into the crowd.”

“I wanted to get a closer look at the floats,” Hannah explained as she lifted the lid off a cast-iron kettle. Broth simmered with a mixture of savory herbs floating on the slowly churning surface.

“There’s nothing to worry about now that you’re back safe and sound,” her father muttered, studying his daughter as though he expected something of her. Hannah knew exactly what her family was hoping. They wanted Carl to ask for her hand in marriage.

“Carl said he’d be by later,” Ruth Morganstern said, and shared a secret look with her husband of many years. The exchange confirmed Hannah’s suspicions.

“We both think the world of Carl,” her father told Hannah unnecessarily. “He’s a good man.”

“Dependable,” her mother added.

“Honorable.”

“A righteous man.” Her mother nodded for emphasis.

Hannah offered them both a shaky smile and headed toward her bedroom. She didn’t want to discuss Carl, not when her head was spinning from her time with another man. “I’m going to change my shoes and then I’ll be back to help you with dinner.”

Her father looped his arms around Ruth’s shoulders. “Take your time,” her mother called out after her. “Dinner won’t be ready for some time yet.”

Inside her bedroom, Hannah slumped on the edge of her mattress. It would be impossible to tell them about meeting Joshua now. He was the man who caused her heart to sing. She couldn’t disappoint them. Not with her family extolling Carl’s virtues.

Hannah had only briefly discussed marriage with Carl. Their parents had been the ones who frequently spoke of the two entering into an agreement. As far as Carl’s family was concerned, the marriage was a foregone conclusion. Her parents seemed to feel the same way.

Hannah lay back and stared up at the bedroom ceiling. Carl was a wonderful man. He was everything her parents had said and much more. Someday she probably would marry Carl.

She closed her eyes and thought about what their lives would be like together. She liked Carl, enjoyed his company. When he kissed her it was something sweet and gentle. But try as she might, Hannah couldn’t imagine Carl ever being passionate. A smile cracked her lips, and she chided herself silently.

In her mind’s eye she thought about the children she might have with Carl. But instead of conjuring up babies, her mind filled with Joshua Shadduck.

She shook her head in an effort to dispel the image. If only he wasn’t an attorney. If only she’d met him last year at this time. If only . . .

“Hannah.”

Guiltily she bolted off the bed. “Yes, Mama.”

“Carl’s on the phone. He wants to know what took you so long. He’s been worried. You should have phoned him first thing.”

Hurriedly Hannah reached for her shoes. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Hannah will marry Carl,” Gabriel said as if he needed to convince himself.

Goodness was wise enough to say nothing. She’d learned the hard way that it was often more advantageous to hold one’s tongue with the archangel.

“You understand this, don’t you?” Gabriel asked pointedly.

“I’m sure you’re right,” the prayer ambassador answered without emotion. It demanded everything she had to hide her true feelings.

Gabriel studied her with a weary look. “You’re sure you can handle this case?”

“Positive.” She beamed him her brightest, most innocent smile.

“No monkey business.”

Goodness’s eyes rounded with indignation. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Just remember that promise.”

“Can I please meet Jenny Lancaster now?” Mercy asked.

Goodness wanted to kiss her friend for distracting Gabriel. She didn’t know how much longer she would have been able to hide her feelings.

“Ah, yes. Jenny.” Gabriel turned his attention away from Goodness and exhaled sharply. “I’d almost forgotten. Now there’s a sorry case. Let me take you to her now.”

Three

“Jenny, wake up.” Michelle Jordan burst into the bedroom and pulled open the thick drapes. Brilliant sunlight spilled into the room as Jenny Lancaster struggled to an upright position.

“What time is it?” she asked, yawning loudly. It couldn’t be morning. Not yet. Not so soon. Her eyes burned and it felt as though she hadn’t slept more than an hour or two.

“It’s party time.” Michelle dramatically threw her arms into the air.

Jenny collapsed against her pillow. “Not for me.”

“For both of us, girl.” Michelle curled up at the foot of Jenny’s bed. “John Peterman’s sent out a casting call for a new Lehman musical. He’s going to need twenty singers and dancers. I don’t know about you, but I intend to be one of those who ends up on stage opening night. Now you can come along and audition with me, or you can sleep the rest of your life away.”

Jenny closed her eyes. The choice shouldn’t be this difficult. There was a time when she would have leapt out of bed, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, grabbed her dancing shoes, and headed out the front door. Not so these days. At twenty-three Jenny Lancaster felt like a has-been. Or, more appropriate, a never-was.

“Are you coming or not?”

Another cattle call. Jenny had given up counting the number of times she’d set her heart on getting a bit part on Broadway. Off Broadway, near Broadway. She didn’t care. This was her dream. Her goal. Her ambition.

She’d left Custer, Montana, blessedly naive about the cutthroat world of the stage. Three years later she felt washed-out, washed-up, and ready for the wringer.

Three years was a long time to subsist on one’s dreams. Jenny would have thrown in the towel a long time before now if it hadn’t been for one thing. Her family and friends back home believed in her. She was the bright, shining star the community had pinned its hopes upon. Back home she could outsing, outdance, and outact anyone in town. But in New York she was just another pretty face with talent.

“Twenty singers and dancers,” Jenny repeated, still trying to decide if another audition was worth all the pain involved. She wasn’t sure her heart could stand another rejection. “Does twenty singers and twenty dancers mean Peterman needs forty people?”

“I don’t know,” Michelle said with her characteristic boundless energy. “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

It did. Jenny sat upright and rubbed a hand down her face. “I don’t know if I’m up to this. Rejection hurts. Frankly I’m not sure this is what I really want anymore,” she whispered. Admitting this to her best friend was hard, but it needed to be said. She loved New York, but at heart she would always be a country girl.

“You can’t think of it like that. Rejections are simply the rungs to the ladder of success,” Michelle announced, ever positive, ever confident.

Jenny sighed audibly. “You’ve been listening to motivational tapes again, haven’t you?”

Michelle nodded. “It shows that much?”

“Yes.” Almost against her will, Jenny tossed aside the bedding and climbed off the mattress. “All right, I’ll go, but I’ll need a few minutes to put myself together.”

“Good girl.” Michelle pulled open her bottom drawer and took out a pair of black leotards. “You don’t want to spend the rest of your life waitressing at Arnold’s, do you? Sure you get to sing, but it isn’t anywhere close to Broadway.”

Jenny sincerely hoped her roommate didn’t let anyone back in Custer know that. The entire town firmly believed in her talent. Firmly believed in her.

After so much time, she couldn’t continue to make up excuses why her name didn’t light up a marquee. So she’d stretched the truth. All right, she’d elasticized it to the point where it was no longer recognizable. Performing in an Off Broadway musical was a long shot from her job as a singing waitress. Her friends and family believed she was well on the road to becoming a star. Little could be further from the truth. The light of ambition in Jenny’s eyes had dimmed considerably in the past three years. Not so long ago she would have jumped at the chance to audition for John Peterman. These days it was difficult to find the energy to drag herself out of bed.

“I don’t know if all this trouble is worth the effort,” she confessed as she reached for her beige dancing shoes.

“Don’t talk like that, Jenny. This is your dream.” She hugged her clenched fists to her breast. “Don’t let go now. Not when you’re so close to making it all come true.”

Jenny wished she shared her friend’s limitless enthusiasm. Michelle had been spurned as many times as Jenny. Yet her roommate continued to bounce back with renewed optimism, ever hopeful, ever cheerful, ever certain their big break was just around the next corner.

Part of Jenny’s reluctance had to do with the season. Christmastime away from her family had always been difficult, but it seemed even more so this year. Not only could she not afford the trip home, but once she was with her family and friends, Jenny realized, she’d never be able to continue with the lie. One look and her parents would guess the truth.

Then there was Trey, their neighbor and longtime family friend. The boy next door, only anyone who met the cattle rancher would be hard-pressed to refer to him as a boy. Whenever Jenny became disheartened, she closed her eyes and remembered Trey.

Trey sitting atop his roan, his Stetson dipped low enough to disguise his eyes. He did that on purpose, she believed, just so she couldn’t read his expression. His ranch bordered her father’s spread, so Trey had been around for as long as Jenny could remember.

While in school, Jenny had never given much thought to her handsome neighbor. In the years since she’d been away, all that had changed. Whenever Jenny thought about home, it was Trey LaRue who popped into her mind. Trey riding the open range. Trey gentling a startled filly. Trey carrying a sick calf.

Of course he might be married by now, although she doubted it. Surely her mother would have said something if he’d tied the knot. He was at the age—past it, really—when most ranchers married. Three years was a long time to be away from home. Although she remembered him, there was nothing to say he thought about her. A lot of things changed over time.

“Are you ready?” Michelle asked. Her roommate’s eagerness was a burr under Jenny’s saddle. By all that was right, she should be in bed. Her feet hadn’t stopped hurting, nor had her back ceased to ache. Yet when she’d finished dancing her heart out, singing until her vocal cords were strained, she’d be due back at Arnold’s.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Even as she said the words, Jenny felt a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. Auditioning seemed a waste of effort. A waste of time. A waste of her heart.

“That’s Jenny?” Mercy asked Gabriel, standing in the corner of the tiny apartment.

“That’s her.”

“Who’s been praying for her?” This question came from Goodness.

Mercy glared at her friend as if to say she was the one who would be asking the questions. After all, this was her assignment. Goodness had already met her charge, and as always, her friend was looking to meddle. Mercy knew that look and sincerely hoped Gabriel didn’t.

“The prayer originated from her neighbor in Montana,” Gabriel answered. He frowned as he said it, as if plowing through his memory to put a name to the request. “Trey LaRue, I believe,” he said decisively. “Trey’s known Jenny most of his life.”

“What has he asked?”

“Trey wants Jenny to come home for the holidays. It seems Jenny’s father has been feeling poorly. Dillon Lancaster won’t ask his daughter to come home, and neither will Jenny’s mother. But both miss her terribly.”

“Why don’t they visit New York?” The solution seemed obvious to Mercy. She could easily manipulate the couple into heading for the wonders of the big city. Naturally Goodness and Shirley would be willing to lend her a hand. Already she was formulating a plan.

Why, the three of them had gotten so good at this sort of thing that it wouldn’t surprise her if the Lancasters never guessed how they’d gotten to New York. A little celestial manipulation never hurt anyone.

“Jenny has discouraged them from coming,” Gabriel explained.

“But why . . .” Mercy stopped herself. She already knew the answer. Jenny didn’t want her family to know that she’d lied. She wasn’t starring in an Off Broadway production of Guys and Dolls. She was a waitress who quite literally sang for her supper. The line of success she’d fed her family was gagging the young woman now. Jenny couldn’t allow her parents to see where she worked. Being forced to admit the truth would humiliate her, so she continued to sabotage herself.

Lies were like that, Mercy realized, and wondered why humans so readily fell into that trap. She’d seen for herself how lies tainted human lives. Would they never learn?

What had started out as a slight exaggeration on Jenny’s part had turned into a monster that separated her from those she loved most. All because she hadn’t wanted to disappoint her family. Instead she’d disappointed herself.

“This shouldn’t be so hard, should it?” Goodness said, looping her arm through Mercy’s. “From what we’ve seen, Jenny’s ready to give it up and head back to Montana all on her own. Not just for Christmas, either. After all the disappointment she’s suffered, she’s more than ready for the green, green pastures of home. I can’t say that I blame her. The time has come for her to face up to a few home truths.”

Gabriel’s brow rose as if Goodness’s insight surprised him, and Mercy’s friend beamed. “Is that a fact?”

“I wouldn’t be so fast to form an opinion about Jenny,” Gabriel warned. “She’s very talented. I shouldn’t need to remind you what God says about the desires of one’s heart.”

“You mean she isn’t ready to relinquish her dream?” Mercy asked. She’d read the situation the same as Goodness. It seemed all Jenny needed was one good excuse to pack her bags and head home to Montana. And to Trey, the young man who cared enough to pray for her return.

“I’m not here to answer those questions,” Gabriel said, “but I don’t think you should underestimate the power of a dream. Jenny has lived and breathed little else for three long years. It’s true she’s discouraged, but that doesn’t mean she’s willing to give up. You might be surprised to discover just how close she really is to seeing her name in lights. Don’t forget,” Gabriel warned, “that the darkest hour is just before dawn. She could be on the brink of something big.”

“Do you really think so?” Mercy felt the excitement churning inside her. But that enthusiasm slowly ground to a halt as she studied the archangel. “Is there something you know that we don’t?” Gabriel occasionally withheld information in a blatant effort to teach them a lesson. Mercy had long suspected it to be so.

“No,” the archangel assured them. “Just don’t be so quick to assume the obvious.”

“My oh my, she is talented,” Mercy admitted, watching her young charge’s agile leap across the stage.

It was at times like this that Jenny realized how badly she hungered for this dream. Once she stood on stage with the other dancers, her adrenaline started flowing, pumping her deflated hopes until they soared higher and higher.

This was where she belonged, where she longed to be. Her heart hummed with excitement, waiting for the opportunity to prove herself.

“Jenny Lancaster.” Her name was called by a man sitting in the theater seating. Since the lights blocked her view, the casting director was no more than a hoarse, detached voice. From her best guess, she figured he was somewhere in the first five or six rows.

Jenny stepped forward and handed the piano man her sheet music.

“What will you be singing?” asked the same uninterested voice.

She moved one step and peered into the dark. “ ‘Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina.’ “

“Fine. Give us your best eight bars.”

It was always the same. Rarely did it vary. Jenny suspected she could have sung a tune from a Sesame Street production and no one would have known the difference, least of all the casting director. He’d made up his mind even before her turn had come, even before she’d been given a chance to prove what she could do.

Argentina might not weep for her, but Jenny felt the tears welling up inside her. Tears of disappointment. Tears of struggle. Tears of a dream that refused to die.

The first chords from the piano filled the silence. Jenny hung her head and closed her eyes, allowing the music to transport her to another world. She drew in a deep breath and slowly lifted her head. No longer was Jenny Lancaster auditioning for a bit part; she was playing the role of her life. Within the magic of a few notes, she was transformed from a disillusioned waitress into the ambitious wife of a South American dictator.

“Wow.” Mercy was set back on her wings. “That girl can sing.”

“She is talented,” Shirley was quick to agree.

“Incredible.” Goodness seemed to be at a loss for words, which was completely unlike her.

Mercy knew she could accept no credit for Jenny’s skill; nevertheless she experienced a deep sense of pride that she should be assigned to this amazing young woman.

“Her voice, why, it’s almost . . .”

“Angelic,” Gabriel supplied, grinning broadly. It was a rare treat to find the archangel in such good spirits.

“Yes,” Mercy agreed. “Angelic.”

“You believe you can handle this request?” he questioned.

Mercy was sure she could. “Yes,” she assured him confidently. “Leave everything to me.” Somehow, some way, Mercy would come up with the means of helping Jenny fulfill her dreams. With a little help from her friends.

Anyone with this much talent, this much heart, deserved a break. A bit of intercession from the heavenly realm never hurt. Naturally Mercy wasn’t about to let Gabriel know her plans, but then what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.

And while she had her hand in Jenny’s life, Mercy decided, she might as well do what she could about getting the talented singer home for the holidays.

“No funny stuff,” Gabriel warned.

Mercy managed to look offended. “Gabriel, please, you insult me.”

“I won’t have you hot-wiring cars and sending them where you will.”

Mercy’s shoulders went back in a display of outrage. “I’d never resort to anything that underhanded.”

Gabriel didn’t say anything for several moments. Then, scratching his head, he studied the three prayer ambassadors. “Can anyone tell me why I don’t believe you?”

Four

“I’d like everyone to take out a clean piece of paper,” Brynn instructed, standing in front of the classroom. It sounded like a simple enough request, one would think. But from the moaning and groaning, it was as if she’d sprung a surprise quiz on them.

“You aren’t going to make us write again, are you?” Emilio Alcantara groaned aloud, voicing, Brynn suspected, the thoughts of half the class.

“Yes, I am,” she said, unwilling to let her students’ lack of enthusiasm dampen her spirits.

Yolanda leaned so far out of her desk toward Denzil Johnson that she nearly toppled onto the floor.

“Yolanda,” Brynn said, “is there a problem?”

“I don’t have any paper. I wanted to borrow a piece from Denzil.”

“Get your own paper, woman,” the black youth protested. “What do I look like, a friggin’ Wal-Mart?”

“I loaned you paper last week.” Yolanda’s dark eyes snapped with outrage.

“That’s because you were lucky enough to have me sit next to you. I never said nothin’ about paying you back.”

Yolanda’s mouth thinned, and it looked as if she were about to explode when Suzie Chang saved the day.

“I have an extra sheet she can use,” the Chinese girl volunteered shyly, tearing off a clean page from her tablet and passing it across the aisle to Yolanda. The Hispanic girl grabbed it and glared at Denzil as if to say it would be a cold day in hell before he got anything from her again.

“Thank you, Suzie,” Brynn said, eager to return to the writing assignment.

“What are you going to have us write about this time?” Emilio asked. “Not something stupid, I hope.”

Teaching the value clarification portion of the class had proved to be the most difficult for Brynn. She wanted to make this as interesting and as much fun as she could, but she often found herself on a completely different wavelength from her students.

The incident with Emilio in the hallway was a prime example. The teenager had actually expected her to lie on his behalf. Emilio didn’t understand why she’d told the truth about the knife. He’d missed three days of school and consequently blamed her. He saw nothing wrong with his own behavior but seemed to feel that she’d been the one to betray his trust.

It had taken the better part of another week for his sullen mood in class to disappear. She wasn’t sure even now what she’d done to get back into his good graces. Whatever it was, she was grateful. Emilio was a natural leader, so his attitude was quickly picked up by the others in class.

Ever since the incident with Emilio she’d been subjected to an attitude of mistrust. It was as if she’d fallen from grace in the eyes of her students.

“First off, don’t put your name on the top of the page.”

“You don’t want our names?” This clearly came as a surprise since she’d so often instructed them to remember just that.

“No names,” she reiterated. “Now I’d like each of you to write one hundred and fifty words.”

“We gotta count them?”

“That’s about a page and a half,” Brynn explained. “The subject of your paper is this: If I could kiss anyone in this classroom, who would it be, and why.”

For a moment the entire class looked at her as if they couldn’t believe what she’d said. Someone smothered a giggle and catcalls echoed across the room.

It didn’t take anyone long to get involved in the project. Soon heads were bowed over the paper, and her students wrote feverishly. Brynn liked to involve her students in some type of writing assignment, often on a daily basis. She did this for a number of reasons, but first and foremost was an effort to require them to clarify their thoughts on certain subjects. She attempted to balance a serious topic one day, followed by a lighter one the next.

Although she’d been teaching the class for a number of weeks now, whenever they were asked to write, her students put up a royal stink. Often they bombarded her with silly questions or employed other delay tactics in an effort to forestall the assignment.

Not this time. Looking at them now, writing as fast as their hands would allow, one would think the first student finished would be excused for what remained of the quarter.

“When you’re done writing, please bring the papers to my desk.” The class was both cooperative and silent. The cooperation part was a welcome relief. Brynn was beginning to feel like a salmon swimming upstream. Every inch was a struggle, every day a challenge.

One by one, her class delivered their papers to her desk. Before long Brynn had accumulated a tidy stack.

Curious whispers followed.

“Aren’t you going to read them?” someone asked.

“I will later,” she promised, as if this were a normal assignment.

“Wait a minute,” Emilio said, slouching down on his seat. “I gotta right to know how many women want me.”

Several of the girls booed, suggesting he wasn’t the one on their list.

Emilio planted his hand over his heart and looked deeply grieved by their lack of appreciation for his obvious charms.

“Did anyone put me down?” Modesto demanded. “Emilio’s got a point, you know.”

“One thing’s for sure, no one picked Mike,” taunted a boy in the back of class.

Mike was a loner and rarely contributed to class discussions. He suffered from a bad case of acne and kept his distance from the others. Brynn had never seen him talk to any of the other students. In many ways her heart went out to Mike, and she struggled to reach him. To have someone taunt him now was cruel and unnecessary. For the first time Brynn wondered about the wisdom of her assignment. It had sounded like such fun when she’d planned it.

“Don’t be so sure,” Brynn said, and reached for the stack of papers. Her relief was great when she saw that one of the first papers mentioned Mike’s name. “Here’s a paper for Mike.”

“You gotta be kidding.” This came from Modesto. The youth sat up and turned around to stare at Mike.

Brynn walked down the aisle and handed Mike the paper.

“How come he gets to read his and I can’t have mine?” This came from Emilio.

The corners of Mike’s mouth turned up and revealed a brief smile when she laid the sheet down on his desk.

“I’ll get to you soon enough,” Brynn promised.

“If anyone chose him,” Yolanda joked.

“Do bears shit in the woods?”

“Emilio,” Brynn admonished. “I won’t have that language in my class.”

“Sorry, Miss Cassidy.”

“Careful,” Brynn heard someone say under their breath. “She might get you suspended again.”

The next paper listed Emilio’s name. She handed it to him and he let out a triumphant cry and punctured the air with his fist. “What did I tell you?” he shouted. “Women are crazy about me.” Excited and pleased, he was halfway out of his desk. “I got charisma, you know. Real charisma.”

Brynn walked up and down the aisles, delivering the papers. It flustered her a bit when she found her own name toward the top of the page. Emilio’s handwriting was immediately recognizable, and she flushed. She’d never intended for anyone to put down her name.

“You aren’t going to want these back, are you?” Yolanda pleaded.

“No. Keep them.”

“Ms. Cassidy.” Denzil’s hand waved frantically. “There must be some mistake. I didn’t get any papers.”

“That’s because you’re greedy,” Yolanda took delight in informing him. “Besides, why would anyone want to kiss you?”

“Hey, you didn’t have any problem the other night.”

“I’d had too much to drink and you know it.”

“That’s not what you said earlier.”

The bell rang just then, and Brynn was saved from having to break off a spat between the two for the second time that day. Whatever was taking place between Yolanda and Denzil was best settled outside the classroom.

“For your assignment,” Brynn said, raising her hand to capture their attention before the room emptied, “read the next chapter of The Diary of Anne Frank.”

Her words were followed by a loud moan.

“I’ll see everyone tomorrow afternoon. Have a good evening.”

It never ceased to amaze Brynn how fast her classroom emptied. It was as though her students stampeded toward the door in an effort to escape a nuclear holocaust.

As was her habit at the end of the day, Brynn sat at her desk and graded assignments, but today she didn’t have much time because of a dental appointment in New Jersey. After a half hour, she tucked what she hadn’t finished into her briefcase and headed toward the staff parking lot.

“Yo, Ms. Cassidy!” Emilio raced toward her.

“Hello, Emilio.”

His steps soon matched hers. “You probably guessed it was me who wrote down your name, right?”

Brynn could feel her face growing warm.

“Listen, I thought I should explain,” he said quickly, looking slightly embarrassed himself. “I gotta be careful paying too much attention to any one chick. You see, there are three or four in the class who’ve got the hots for me. I was trying to be diplomic about it.”

“Diplomatic.”

“Yeah, that.”

“I understand, Emilio, and applaud your efforts.”

“Good, ’cause I don’t need chick trouble.”

“I figured it was something like that,” she assured him.

“Great.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, doing her best to disguise her amusement. One thing was certain: she didn’t want to be the cause of “chick problems” for Emilio Alcantara.

Emilio turned and hurried across the parking lot toward the basketball hoop where his friends were busy playing two on two.

Brynn climbed inside her car and turned the key. It flickered to life, sputtered, and then quickly died. Surprised, she tried again, with the same results. She hadn’t left her lights on that morning, she was sure of that. Her vehicle had recently been serviced. She tried once more, and this time the engine did nothing more than cough and choke.

“No, please, no,” Brynn murmured, and pressed her forehead against the steering wheel. Trouble with her car was the last thing she needed.

Hannah shouldn’t be this eager to see Joshua again, but she was. Again and again her gaze drifted toward the deli’s front door as she waited impatiently for the man she’d met at Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.

Her heart pounded like a race car piston every time she thought about Joshua. He’d been so gentle and caring. So considerate.

Although they’d only just met, they hadn’t lacked for conversation. Joshua was the kind of man she could talk to for hours on end. Generally Hannah found herself tongue-tied and uneasy around men, but not with Joshua. It was as if they’d been friends for a long time.

Friends.

The word comforted her and eased her conscience.

Carl had joined her family for Thanksgiving dinner, and afterward he’d sat in the living room with her father. The two men had talked far into the evening, debating political issues and other matters. Before he’d left, Hannah’s parents had discreetly left the room, affording her time alone with her beau. At first Carl and Hannah had seemed awkward with each other, Carl as much as she.

In an effort to ease the discomfort, she apologized for having lost him while at the parade. Carl reminded her that he felt responsible for her safety and suggested that in the years to come they’d watch the parade on television.

Hannah had lowered her head to hide her disappointment. Then, almost as if it were expected of him, Carl had leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to hers.

It was a sweet kiss, undemanding and totally lacking in passion.

Standing in the deli, Hannah closed her eyes and tried to dredge up some emotion, some deep feelings for Carl. But try as she might, she felt nothing. Surely not desire. Definitely no compelling yearning for his company. He was Carl, the rabbi’s son. The man her parents felt would make her the perfect husband.

“Hannah,” her mother admonished, coming out of the kitchen. Her arms were loaded with a tray of sliced bread. “Are you ill?”

“No, Mama.”

“Then why do you stand there with your eyes closed? We have customers.”

“I’m sorry.” And Hannah was. She didn’t know what was wrong with her to dawdle when there was work to be done.

Her mother peeled off a list of lunch orders from the fax machine, smoothed them out on the counter, and went about assembling sandwiches with a skill and dexterity that spoke of many years’ experience.

Hannah lent a hand, packing the orders into plain brown bags and marking each one. The scent of freshly baked bread spilled out of the kitchen and into the front of the deli, mingling with those of sliced pastrami and knishes, her father’s specialties.

After a few minutes, Hannah tried again. “Mama, tell me how you met Dad.”

Ruth Morganstern slowly lifted her eyes to Hannah. She appeared surprised by the question. “I don’t have time for such foolishness now.”

Disappointed, Hannah said nothing.

“We have orders and you’re asking me about your father and me?” She laughed lightly. “It was so many years ago now. For over forty years I’ve loved this man. I don’t remember when we met.”

“You don’t remember?” David shouted from the far side of the deli. “Forty-three years and you don’t remember? What kind of wife forgets the day she met the man who would be her husband?”

Ruth laughed and dismissed him with a wave. “I remember some things.”

“I should hope to God you do.”

“He was handsome,” Hannah’s mother said out of the corner of her mouth.

“I’m still handsome.”

“More so then,” Ruth added, her eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Your mother was even more beautiful than she is now,” Hannah’s father called back. “I’d look at her and forget all about slicing meat. The time I courted her I nearly lost two fingers.”

Hannah laughed, delighted at the exchange between her parents. It seemed the lunch crowd, pressed against the glass display case, lost their impatience, and there were shared smiles all around.

Her father handed a thick pastrami sandwich on a paper plate to a young businessman. “You’ll have to excuse my daughter,” he said under his breath, but loudly enough for Hannah to hear. “She’s in love.”

In love? This was news to Hannah. But then, if she were to marry Carl, it was implied that they cared deeply for each other. Hannah liked Carl, respected him. He was a good, honorable man and, according to her parents, a fine catch.

Her mother couldn’t have been more pleased when Hannah first started dating Carl. A rabbi’s son. In Ruth’s eyes, Carl was a better catch than a doctor or even an attorney.

An attorney. Automatically Hannah’s thoughts drifted back to Joshua, although he’d never been far from her mind since they’d met.

“Here,” Ruth said, handing Hannah the bag loaded with faxed orders. “With your head full of romance, can I trust you not to confuse these orders?” she teased affectionately.

“Of course,” Hannah answered, and blushed.

“Your head’s some place else these days.” Her mother leveled her gaze on Hannah. “Your head and your heart.” Hannah reached for her hand-knit scarf and wool coat. The deli employed a number of runners, but she was often needed to fill in during the lunch-hour rush.

“I won’t be long,” she promised before heading out into the cold.

Both her parents stared after her, and Hannah had the distinct impression that they would soon be bragging to their customers about her imminent engagement to Carl.

The wind nipped at her face as she hurried along Front Street in the bustling financial district. Taxis honked with impatience and a bus roared past, leaving her to choke on its exhaust.

Hannah’s steps were filled with purpose as she wove her way in and around the foot traffic. She hadn’t gone more than a block when she heard someone call her name. After a moment’s hesitation, she looked over her shoulder. She didn’t see anyone she knew.

“Hannah, wait.”

The voice was recognizable now. Joshua.

She scanned the crowd but couldn’t see him. Then she found him, standing on the other side of the street. He raised his arm high above his head and waved to attract her attention.

Standing on her tiptoes, Hannah smiled and waved back.

Joshua gestured for her to wait, and as soon as the traffic passed, he jogged across the street.

“Hello again,” he said, smiling down at her.

“Hello.”

There didn’t seem to be anything more to say, but her pulse quickened and she felt as if her heart were trying to escape from inside her chest.

“I was on my way to the deli when I saw you.”

“I’m delivering orders,” she told him. She didn’t have time to talk, not when hungry customers were waiting for their lunches. “I can’t visit now.” Regret settled over her. All day she’d waited for the opportunity to see Joshua again, and now, when she did happen upon him, she was forced to leave.

“I’ll come with you,” he suggested.

“But . . .”

“Do you have to get back right away?”

She should. She knew she should. Her parents might need her to make a second run and possibly a third. She hedged, not sure what to do.

“Five minutes,” Josh suggested. “Ten. Listen, I’ll help you deliver these orders and you won’t be away any time at all. Don’t say no, Hannah.”

Hannah knew she shouldn’t, but she found it even more difficult to turn him down, to deny herself the pleasure of this one short encounter. She gave him a barely discernible nod, praying she was doing the right thing.

Even before she had a chance to think the matter through, Joshua reached inside her carrying bag and grabbed three lunch orders. Not giving her time to protest, he rattled off the address to his office and instructed her to meet him there in ten minutes.

Feeling slightly guilty, she hurried to deliver what remained of the orders. Hannah often took a couple of minutes to chat with her customers, many of whom she considered friends, but not this afternoon. She was in and out as fast as she could manage it.

As soon as she could, she made her way to Joshua’s office building. Crammed inside an elevator, she headed for the twenty-sixth floor. The elevator doors slid open and she stepped into an office complex lavishly decorated in mauves and grays. The names of the law firm partners were elegantly sprawled in large gold letters across one fabric-covered wall.

Hannah had been inside this complex a number of times and knew it to be one of the most prestigious law firms in Manhattan. She’d had no idea Joshua was a part of this firm.

Law clerks bustled about, and the phone jingled. Clients lingered in the waiting room.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked. If she recognized Hannah as the girl from the deli, she didn’t say anything.

“I’m Hannah Morganstern,” she said.

The woman’s face relaxed into a smile. “Ah yes, Mr. Shadduck said you’d be here soon. I’ll have someone take you right back.” She motioned toward one of the law clerks.

Hannah was escorted down a wide hallway. The law clerk gestured toward Joshua’s door, which was open. Joshua stood on the far side of the office. He must have sensed her arrival because he turned around and his face brightened with a warm, welcoming smile.

She knew it was impolite to stare, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the framed list of achievements that lined his walls. This was no ordinary man. He was rich and powerful.

“What’s wrong?”

She pulled her gaze away from the wall, surprised he had read her so easily. “I’ve never been inside your office before.” She’d delivered his lunch any number of times but had never been past the foyer and the receptionist. She recognized Joshua from the times he’d come into the deli himself.

“Sit down. I’ll ring Mary for something hot. Which do you prefer? Coffee or tea?”

“I . . . I really can’t stay.” To think that she’d allowed this important attorney to deliver lunches on her behalf. Hannah was mortified to the very marrow of her bones.

“You can’t stay? Why not? I thought we had this all settled.” He walked toward her and reached for her hand. Hannah didn’t know if it was from the cold or the shock of seeing Joshua in this environment, but her fingers were icy cold.

“You’re freezing.” He rubbed her right hand between his own two hands. “You should be wearing gloves.”

She felt completely out of her element. Pride prevented her from making up some excuse and rushing away. “I . . . I didn’t know,” she whispered.

Josh led her to a comfortable brown leather sofa and sat her down. “Didn’t know what?”

Hannah held her tongue rather than blurt out the truth. When they’d met at the parade he was a familiar face, someone she recognized. In this office, he was the epitome of the kind of man her father distrusted.

“I’ve been thinking about you all weekend,” he said. “How was your Thanksgiving?”

Now was the perfect opportunity to tell him how close she was to becoming engaged to Carl. She could bring Carl’s name up naturally and explain the situation. She could tell him how Carl had joined her family for dinner. How Carl and her father had talked. How Carl had kissed her good night. How they’d met on the Sabbath, after services in the synagogue.

“It was very nice,” she said instead, wanting to kick herself. “How about you?”

“I ate with my mother and grandmother.”

That started it. Within a matter of minutes he had her laughing over something his grandmother said, and they were immersed in conversation.

Twenty minutes slipped by, and it seemed like only five. “I have to get back,” she said, unable to disguise her regret. “Thank you for the tea . . . for everything.” She wouldn’t indulge herself again. Not with Joshua.

Whatever made her so bold, Hannah would never know. She stood, prepared to walk away, and before she left, she pressed the palm of her hand to Joshua’s clean-shaven face.

“Good-bye, Joshua,” she said, and not giving him time to answer, she hurried from his office.

Her mother eyed her wearily when Hannah arrived back at the deli. “What took you?” she asked.

“I got sidetracked,” Hannah admitted.

“Next time don’t visit so long,” her father warned her. “We needed you here.”

“I’m sorry I’m late. Do you need me to make another run?”

“Don’t worry, Louise was able to do it.” Her mother rattled off a list of tasks. Hannah was grateful to work in the kitchen the rest of the afternoon.

“Hannah,” her father called two hours later. “A package’s been delivered for you.”

“For me?” Drying her hands on a linen towel, Hannah stepped out to the front of the deli. A freckle-faced delivery boy held out a small, flat box. “Hannah Morganstern?”

“That’s me.”

“Sign here.” He thrust a clipboard at her.

Hannah penned her name and then, with her parents watching, unwrapped the flat, oblong box.

Inside were a pair of expensive leather gloves and a note from Joshua.

“I’ve never heard you sing better,” Michelle said as she and Jenny returned to their shared apartment. “Oh, Jenny, this is the break we’ve been waiting for. We’re going to sing and dance on Broadway. I can feel it in my bones. We’re really going to make it.”

They often built each other up after an audition. Casting directors weren’t known for lavishing potential stars with positive feedback, so they gave it to each other.

“Your voice . . .” Michelle hesitated as though she had trouble finding the words. “It’s different now. There’s a depth and maturity that wasn’t there six months ago.” Michelle set the mail on the kitchen table. “Don’t misunderstand me, you’ve always been good, but this afternoon you were nothing short of brilliant.”

Jenny rolled her eyes.

“I’m not blowing smoke out my ears, either.” Michelle sounded slightly offended. “I mean it, Jenny. I really think you’re going to get a part, maybe even one of the leads.”

Jenny knew otherwise. She sang her heart out the way she did for every audition. Nothing was going to change. She refused to build up her hopes again.

“This looks interesting,” Michelle said, holding up an envelope and tossing it to her. “It’s addressed to you. It might even be a Christmas card. Already? Good grief, it’s not even December yet.”

Jenny examined the envelope, her gaze scanning the return address. She recognized it immediately, and her breath jammed in her throat.

“Jenny? What is it?”

“It’s from Trey,” she whispered.

“Trey who?”

She stood and walked around the table while motioning with her hands, unable to formulate the words. “Trey LaRue . . . my neighbor, or rather my parents’ neighbor.”

“You’ve never mentioned him before,” Michelle said.

“I haven’t?” That seemed impossible. He was an integral part of what she considered home and family.

“Well, open it and find out what he has to say,” Michelle encouraged.

That seemed the most logical thing to do. Jenny’s hand trembled as she peeled back the flap and withdrew a card. A colorful turkey decorated the front, its plumage fanned out across the top. She opened the card and found Trey had written only one short sentence: “I’m eager to see you this Christmas.” His name was signed below in smooth, even strokes of the fountain pen.

Jenny’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. She handed the card to Michelle.

“You’re going home for the holidays?”

Jenny shook her head. “You know I can’t. Not with money so tight.” Not after she’d let everyone believe she had a starring role in an Off Broadway production.

“I like his signature,” Michelle said, studying the card. “You can tell a lot about a man by the way he signs his name.” Her look was thoughtful. “But,” she continued, grinning at Jenny, “I’d rather have you tell me all about him yourself.”

“What can I say?” Jenny murmured, surprised to discover she didn’t want to discuss Trey with her best friend.

She’d never missed home more than she did right at that moment. She longed to gaze into a night sky where the stars weren’t obliterated by city lights. She wanted to close her eyes and smell the scent of fresh hay. Home was cattle and mud and frustration. Home was love. Home was Trey.

“He’s hasn’t written you before, has he?” Michelle pressed.

“No.”

“Why now?”

Jenny shrugged. “I don’t know. He owns the spread next to ours,” she volunteered, hoping her friend would help her reason it out. A smile touched the edges of her mouth. “He’s a cowboy from head to foot. Full of grit and mettle. Stubborn and determined, with skin as tan as leather and a constitution of iron.”

“Did you date him?”

“No . . . he’s older than me by several years.” Eight years had made a world of difference when she was in high school, but it didn’t seem all that important now. “He’s probably one of the most decent, hardworking men I’ve ever known.”

“It’s obvious he wants you to come home.”

Jenny set aside the card and exhaled a long, slow breath. “Well, I can’t, so there’s no use sitting around here stewing about it.”

“It seems a shame, after him writing and all.”

“I can’t go home,” Jenny said forcefully. “You can’t, either, because the both of us are going to have plum roles in the new Lehman musical, and we’ll be in the thick of rehearsals.”

“You’re right,” Michelle said as if this were something she hadn’t considered.

“We’ll be stars.”

“Stars,” Michelle repeated. “Our names will light up the marquee.”

“Bright lights, and bright futures.” But even as she said the words, they rang false in her ears.

“Goodness.” Gabriel was furious. Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy had ignored him at every turn, and he wasn’t putting up with it this year. His schedule was busy enough without those three meddling in matters that were none of their concern.

“You called?” The three shot up to heaven, looking as innocent as newborn lambs. Their feathery wings were tucked firmly in place, and their expressions were filled with guileless innocence.

“Shirley,” he roared. “Did I or did I not tell you to stay away from Brynn Cassidy?” He didn’t give her a chance to reply. “Might I ask what you were doing in her classroom this afternoon? This is your assignment,” he said, handing her a slip of paper. “Now I expect you to help Craig Houle. If I see you anywhere close to Manhattan High School again, it will be cause for disciplinary action.”

The three gasped.

Gabriel refused to allow these prayer ambassadors to manipulate him any further.

“Goodness, what did I tell you about Hannah? You don’t think I know that you had a hand in Joshua Shadduck running into her this afternoon? Well, I’m on to your games. You will keep your fingers out of her life, is that understood?”

Goodness nodded.

“As for you, Mercy . . .” He looked down over his notes and, flustered, ran a hand over his face. He glanced up at the third angel. “Oh my, you’re going to need all the help you can get.”

Five

“Gabriel handed you an assignment on a piece of paper.” Goodness was offended on Shirley’s behalf, and rightly so. Never in their two-year history of working the Christmas holiday prayer rush had they been treated so shabbily. It was downright degrading.

“It might not be so bad,” Mercy suggested, gathering close to her friend’s side. The third angel was the peacemaker of the group. “The least we can do is give Gabriel the benefit of the doubt.”

Shirley peeled open the folded sheet. Goodness and Mercy crowded close in an effort to read over her shoulder.

“The prayer request is from Craig Houle,” the angel told them. “He’s ten and has asked God for a chess set for Christmas.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Mercy flapped her wings in a display of disgust. “A chess set for a ten-year-old boy. Why, that’s an insult to our good names.”

“We have a tradition to uphold.”

Goodness couldn’t stay in one spot, not when she was this angry. “It’s a matter of pride. If anyone could help Brynn Cassidy with those high schoolers, it’s Shirley. This other stuff is child’s play.”

“Exactly!” Shirley declared. “We have something to prove, so let’s do it.”

Indignant, the three returned to earth, their feathers in a dither, swirling down on the unsuspecting city like the Horsemen due from the Apocalypse.

“Exactly where does this Craig Houle live?” Goodness demanded as the three hovered over the Queensboro Bridge. Gabriel should count his blessings. There was a time, not so long past, when Goodness would have taken delight in dallying with streetlights and rerouting New York City traffic.

“According to this, Craig lives on Roosevelt Island,” Shirley answered, reading over the request form. “At this time of day, he’s most likely in school.”

“Yes, but it’s his parents we need to influence, right?” Mercy asked, thinking on her feet—er, wings.

“Right,” the other two agreed.

“Then all we need do is convince his mother or father to do a little pre-Christmas shopping.”

Goodness made a tsk-tsk sound. “I think it’s time we taught Gabriel a lesson on just how good we are.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been more offended,” Shirley said as the three briskly headed toward Roosevelt Island.

Peggy Houle walked down the quiet hospital corridor and sat at the nurses’ station. Her rubber soles barely made a sound on the polished tile floor.

She started to make a notation in one of her patient’s charts when she noticed a newspaper spread open across the top of the counter.

“That’s odd,” she mumbled to herself, and scooted the paper aside.

She looked around, wondering who’d left it. One thing was certain: none of the nurses were accorded the luxury of sitting down and reading. Not while on duty, at any rate. The hospital was short-staffed as it was, and breaks, even the ones allotted them in the terms of their contract, were often few and far between.

“My dogs are barking.” Ellen Freeman, another nurse, joined Peggy. She slipped off her shoe and rubbed her sore toes. “This is what I get for not breaking in these new shoes first.” She reached for the newspaper. “Who left this?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t here five minutes ago.”

“Look,” Ellen said, pointing to the printed page. “There’s a gigantic toy sale going on for the next couple of days. I haven’t even started my Christmas shopping.”

“I was finished last week,” Peggy said, feeling almost smug. She’d hit the stores her first day off following Thanksgiving and finished it all in one fell swoop—wrapping paper, new decorations, tinsel, the whole nine yards.

There wasn’t a reason on this earth good enough for her to voluntarily step inside a store again in the whole month of December. Not when it seemed the entire city had gone crazy. At the end of her shift all Peggy wanted to do was head home.

“I’ve been thinking I’d buy the kids educational gifts this year,” Ellen murmured. “Something that will stir their minds instead of those brainless television games. I can’t tell you how sick I am of them sitting like zombies holding on to their joysticks.”

“A chess set?” Peggy said, and snapped her head back, startled.

“A chess set,” Ellen repeated, oblivious of her friend’s chagrin. “Now that I think about it, you’re right. A chess set is an excellent idea.”

“What did I just say?”

“A chess set.” Ellen looked up, surprised. “Is something wrong?”

“No . . . the funniest thing just happened.” Peggy slapped the side of her head, hoping that would help.

“What?” Ellen was curious now.

“The words a chess set echoed in my ear. Three times, and each time I swear I was hearing a different voice.”

“I still think it’s an excellent idea,” Ellen said, and replaced her shoe. “Are you sure you won’t come to the toy store with me?”

“Ah . . .” Peggy hesitated, then found herself agreeing. “Sure,” she mumbled, “why not?” For the life of her, she couldn’t imagine why she was doing such a thing. “Who knows, maybe Craig would be interested in learning how to play chess himself,” she said to justify her actions. After all, it was a good idea. Her son would enjoy learning the game.

Peggy leaned back on her chair. Abruptly she shook her head, then repeatedly slapped her hand against her ear. “It happened again,” she said incredulously.

“You heard the words a chess set?”

“No,” Peggy said, and shook her head like a dog fresh out of the water. “It was the same three voices, only this time they said . . .”

“Yes,” Ellen prodded.

“You aren’t going to believe this.” Peggy wasn’t entirely sure she believed it herself. “Piece of cake,” she mumbled, and shrugged, completely baffled.

“Oh, my,” Shirley said, pointing into the distance. “Brynn Cassidy’s in trouble.” It was just what she’d expected would happen.

“Trouble?” Mercy repeated. “What’s wrong?”

Cocky with their success, Goodness brushed the grit from her hands. “Trouble’s our middle name. Brynn doesn’t have a thing to worry about.”

“Brynn might not, but we do,” Mercy said, looking skeptical. “Gabriel isn’t going to like this one bit. Not after the warning he gave us to stay away from her.”

“Brynn’s car won’t start,” Shirley informed her friends, her voice growing more concerned. “And I don’t like the looks of those men, either.” Clad in black leather jackets, two men stood on the other side of the chain-link fence, watching Brynn.

Brynn climbed out of her car and opened the hood. She cast a wary eye toward the men.

“If ever I’ve seen anyone with evil intentions, it’s those two,” Shirley informed her friends.

“They’ve got knives,” Mercy said, tugging on Goodness’s sleeve.

“We’ve got to do something,” Shirley cried, hoping to hide her panic.

“You don’t dare,” Goodness insisted, gripping Shirley by the arm and stopping her. “Mercy’s right. If Gabriel finds out, it’d be just the excuse he’s looking for to stick us with guard duty.”

“Then I’ll take matters into my own hands,” Shirley insisted.

“Talk to Gabriel,” Mercy suggested. “Goodness and I can keep those two thugs occupied while you reason this out with him.”

“Did I hear someone mention my name?” Gabriel appeared just then, startling the three angels.

“Gabriel,” Shirley said boldly, “we need to talk.”

“Indeed we do. What’s this I hear about Peggy Houle experiencing hearing problems?”

Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy clammed up so fast their teeth made clicking sounds when their jaws closed.

“I strongly suspect a bit of . . . intercession.”

“I have a question of my own.” Shirley stepped forward and bravely confronted the archangel. “Exactly whom have you assigned to work with Brynn Cassidy?”

Gabriel hesitated. “As a matter of course, I hadn’t gotten around to choosing anyone just yet.”

This was all Shirley needed to hear. “It’s exactly as I suspected,” she turned to inform her two friends with an indignant huff. “In the meantime Brynn Cassidy flounders, while heaven looks on unconcerned.”

When she dared, Shirley chanced a look in his direction. “I want in,” she informed Gabriel, her hand braced against her hip.

“What makes you think you can handle this case?” Gabriel’s intense eyes burned holes straight into her.

“I can’t,” Shirley admitted. “At least not alone, but I have two friends who can help. In addition to . . .”

“Yes,” Gabriel prodded.

“In addition to my friends, there’s you.”

“Me?”

“And a host of heavenly assistance that’s always on call.”

Gabriel sighed. “You just might need it.”

Shirley opened her mouth to further her argument, then realized what the archangel had said. “You mean to say you’re willing to give me the assignment?” The winds of indignity that had ruffled her sails fell slack. “Really?”

From the tight set of his mouth, the archangel looked as if he already regretted this. “One condition. You must agree to call for help when you need it.”

“I promise,” Shirley said solemnly, and smiled at her two friends.

“Just remember we can accomplish all things with the power of God.”

“All things,” Shirley, Goodness, and Mercy repeated.

“We’ll start right now,” Gabriel suggested. “I’ll let you take care of the problem of those two malcontents.”

“Sure thing,” Shirley said, eager to get started on the assignment now that it was officially hers. She eyed the two men watching Brynn, and almost felt sorry for them. It seemed to her they were prime candidates for a bit of intervention. Perhaps they should meet up with an old friend, one they weren’t eager to see. Like their parole officer. Angel Shirley in disguise.

“I sincerely hope you know a good mechanic.” Gabriel cast his gaze over to the disabled vehicle; then without a sound, without a clue, he disappeared.

“We do know a good mechanic, don’t we?” Shirley asked, looking to her friends.

Goodness and Mercy stared back blankly.

“No,” said Mercy to Shirley. “We thought you did.”

It was barely after four and already the sky was growing dark. Within a half hour night would settle over the city like a black velvet quilt.

Brynn Cassidy had long since given up the idea of seeing her dentist. Missing the appointment to have her teeth cleaned was a minor inconvenience compared to the hassles of dealing with car troubles.

She couldn’t leave her Ford Escort here overnight, that much she knew. In this high-crime area, she’d be fortunate to find the shell of her vehicle left by morning. Nor did she know of a good garage, especially one close by. She cast a look across the street, surprised and grateful that the two men lingering there moments earlier had disappeared.

“Are you having trouble, Miss Cassidy?” Emilio walked up to her, a basketball tucked under one arm.

Brynn was so grateful that someone had asked that it was all she could do to keep from blurting out her troubles. “It won’t start, and I haven’t got a clue what could be wrong.”

Emilio walked around her vehicle as though inspecting it. “I know a little bit about engines.”

“Do you think you might look at it?”

“Sure thing.” Emilio slid halfway inside the driver’s seat. One foot remained on the asphalt parking lot while he turned the ignition key. He pumped the gas pedal a couple of times while her car made a sick grinding sound.

“Do you know what’s wrong?” Brynn asked expectantly.

“You sure it isn’t your battery?” Emilio asked.

“Good grief, I wouldn’t know.”

The teenager seemed to find her answer amusing. “You know all them fancy words, Teach, but you aren’t so smart when it comes to cars, are you?”

Brynn was more than willing to admit it. “Is it serious?” she asked.

Emilio shrugged. “I haven’t got a clue.”

“I thought you said you knew something about cars.”

“I do, but I ain’t no Mr. Goodwrench.”

“Thanks anyway, Emilio. I appreciate your help.” He’d done a lot more than her fellow teachers. Most had walked right past her.

Brynn closed the hood and locked up the car. She didn’t want to leave it, but she didn’t have any choice. Its hood shut with a bang that echoed through the darkening afternoon. She swung the strap of her purse over her shoulder, and with her back stiff, not knowing where to turn, she started out of the parking lot.

“Where you going?” Emilio asked, bouncing the basketball and weaving it in and out of his legs as he walked alongside her.

“I’d better get a tow truck.”

“My brother can do that.”

Brynn paused. “Your brother?”

“Roberto. He’s owns a mechanic shop. If you want, I’ll take you there. He’ll know what to do.”

Frankly, Brynn wished Emilio had said something about his brother sooner. “That would be great.”

“Yeah, well, remember how much I helped you the next time you’re tempted to have me suspended.”

The three-block walk took only a matter of minutes. Brynn spied Roberto’s shop when they turned the corner. It looked as if the garage had once been a neighborhood gas station. The corners of the cement building were chipped and the entire structure was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint.

Emilio opened the glass front door and walked inside. “Roberto!” he shouted.

His brother’s reply was muffled.

“He’s in the garage,” Emilio said, gesturing to the narrow doorway that led to a large open area that served as the repair shop. Brynn followed her student inside.

“I drummed up some business for you,” Emilio announced proudly, and motioned toward Brynn.

Roberto Alcantara slowly unfolded from a quarter panel of the blue Metro and reached for the pink rag tucked inside his coveralls pocket.

“Hello, Mr. Alcantara.”

“Call him Roberto,” Emilio insisted. “This is Miss Cassidy,” he continued, looking well pleased with himself. “She’s the teacher I was telling you about.”

“Hello.”

Roberto nodded and wiped his hands. His face remained emotionless.

“Ms. Cassidy’s having car troubles.”

“My car won’t start,” she elaborated. “I doubt that it’s the battery. It ran perfectly fine this morning . . . at least I thought it did.”

“She doesn’t know anything about cars,” Emilio inserted. “Her specialty is dangling particles.”

“Participles,” Brynn corrected.

Emilio chuckled. “See what I mean?”

“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Cassidy,” Roberto said coolly, and tossed the rag onto his tool bench.

“I left my car in the school parking lot.” She twisted her arm around and pointed in the direction of the school, which was completely unnecessary. Roberto Alcantara knew very well where the high school was.

Roberto said something to Emilio in Spanish. Emilio nodded quickly, then turned abruptly and hurried out of the garage. Within a matter of a minute she heard the youth talking on the phone, again in Spanish. Before he left, he collected her car keys.

“I’ve had Emilio call for a tow truck,” Roberto informed her. “He’ll meet the driver over at the school.”

“Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.”

Roberto said nothing.

Without being obvious, Brynn studied Emilio’s brother. Roberto was tall and lean. His skin was the color of warm honey, his eyes and hair as dark a shade of brown as she’d ever seen. She guessed him to be around her own age, perhaps a year or two older. He wasn’t openly hostile, but he did nothing to put her at ease. Every attempt at conversation was dead-ended.

As the minutes passed, the silence became more and more strained. Brynn wondered what she could have done to earn his disapproval, then realized it must be the incident with Emilio in the hall the first day she was at the school.

“I imagine you’re upset with me because I was the one responsible for Emilio’s suspension,” she tried again. She wouldn’t apologize, but she was prepared to state her side of the case. If he was willing to listen, that was.

“I’m not the least bit upset,” he surprised her by answering. “Emilio knows the rules. He deserved what he got.” He returned to working on the Metro and ignored her.

The next time he straightened, Brynn asked, “You don’t like me, do you?” Normally she wouldn’t be so confrontational, but it had been one of those days. If she’d done something to offend him, she wanted to know about it.

“That’s right,” he concurred.

“Do you mind telling me why?”

Apparently this was just the doorway he’d been waiting to walk through. Roberto met her look brazenly and continued. “Because you’re filling my brother’s head with nonsense.”

“How do you mean?” Brynn struggled not to sound defensive and doubted that she’d succeeded.

He flung his arm in the air. “All your talk about the importance of an education. A high school diploma isn’t going to help Emilio any more than it did me. Tell me, Miss Cassidy, exactly how is the history of World War Two going to feed a family? Will reading about Anne Frank get him a decent job?”

“Yes . . . well, not directly,” she faltered. “Education is the answer for Emilio.” She couldn’t believe Roberto would say such a thing.

“Emilio would be better off if he dropped out of school now and learned a trade.” He turned his back on her and appeared to be looking for something on his tool bench. He carelessly tossed aside a wrench and reached for another.

“I soundly disagree,” Brynn said.

“That’s your right.”

In all her years, Brynn had never heard anyone discourage someone from an education. “Don’t tell me you actually want your brother to quit school. Surely your parents object to that.”

“I’m the only family Emilio’s got,” Roberto announced.

“I’m sorry to hear that, especially if you think he shouldn’t complete his education.”

“I nearly had him convinced to come work with me here in the garage, but then you arrived and all of a sudden he’s talking about goals and dreams and other such nonsense.”

“It isn’t nonsense,” she argued.

Roberto threw down a rag and shook his head. “No matter what happens, my brother and I will live and die in this neighborhood. All your talk isn’t going to change one damn thing.”

Hannah knew it was coming. The minute Carl arrived with his parents, following synagogue, she knew. He’d come to ask her to be his wife. Come to stake his claim. She didn’t know why he’d chosen now; then again, perhaps she did. Hannah knew that Carl had experienced pressure from his own family. They had dated several months now, and it was time to make a decision. He taught at the local Hebrew academy, and his position there was secure, despite his differences with the headmaster.

Together with her mother and father, Hannah led Carl’s family into the compact living room. An expectant silence settled over the group as the two sets of parents exchanged happy glances.

Carl looked to Hannah, and she read the apology in his eyes. He hadn’t wanted it to be like this, either. He would have preferred for them to speak privately first, but like her, he was caught in the trap of obligation and family tradition.

“Carl.” The rabbi looked to his son.

Carl cleared his throat. “Hannah and I have been seeing each other exclusively now for several months,” he began. His hands were clasped in his lap, and he seemed to be as uncomfortable with this as Hannah was. “It should come as no surprise that I have deep feelings for your daughter.”

David and Ruth smiled and nodded.

Hannah read the delight in their eyes. This was their dream for her, what they’d been anxiously waiting to happen for weeks. If anything, they seemed surprised it had taken this long.

“Our Hannah has deep feelings for Carl as well,” her father assured the rabbi and his wife. He looked to his daughter for confirmation.

Hannah had no option but to agree, and really, it wasn’t a stretch of the truth. She did care for Carl. He had been both generous and considerate.

“I have a good job and make a respectable income,” Carl said.

Her father nodded.

“I can afford to care for Hannah.”

Again her father confirmed his approval with a quick nod.

The room went silent as everyone waited with breathless anticipation for what was to come next.

“With your permission, David and Ruth,” Carl continued, his voice low and firm, “I would like to ask Hannah to be my wife.”

Hannah watched as her sensible mother dissolved into tears of happiness and, perhaps, relief. Her father’s face beamed with love and pride.

David cleared his throat as if to say his words were those of importance. “We couldn’t ask for a better man for our only child. You have our permission and our heartfelt approval. May God deeply bless you both.”

“Hannah?” Carl turned his attention to her.

Five people looked to her. She held their dreams in the palm of her hand. With everything in her she wanted to ask Carl to give her time before she decided. But to do so now would embarrass him and deeply disappoint their families.

“Hannah?” her mother asked softly.

Hannah glanced toward her parents. All her life she’d done as they wanted. She’d been a good daughter, an obedient child.

“Oh, Carl,” she whispered.

Her mother dabbed at her eyes. Carl’s mother sniffled.

“I couldn’t be more honored than to be your wife.”

The tension in the room evaporated as Carl’s and her parents leapt to their feet and hugged each other. The only two not embracing were Carl and Hannah.

Carl moved to her side and knelt on the floor next to her chair. His eyes held hers captive. “I’ll make you a good husband, Hannah.”

She lowered her gaze. “And I’ll be a good wife.”

Joshua glanced at his watch and was surprised at the time. He’d been held up in court earlier that morning and been playing catch-up the rest of the day. Earlier he’d decided to stop off at the deli and be sure Hannah had received his gift. Frankly he’d been surprised not to hear from her before now.

It came as something of a surprise the way Hannah had filled his mind and his heart. For too many years he’d been whizzing down the fast lane of life, building his career and making a name for himself.

Then one morning, out of the blue, he’d woken with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. This feeling, this emptiness, was something his grandmother’s cooking wasn’t going to satisfy.

It was then Joshua realized that what he was missing was a wife and family. He knew his mother had been wanting him to marry for a good long while. Only he had a certain type of woman in mind, and he didn’t know if such a woman existed in this modern age.

First and foremost he sought a woman who shared his faith. One who would stand devotedly at his side through the years. A woman who would make his dreams hers and allow him to be part of hers. One who was kind and gentle. Loving and tender. Sensible.

He’d searched for months for this paragon of virtue, until he was convinced a woman such as this no longer existed.

Then he’d met Hannah.

After their first afternoon together, he’d realized she was exactly the type of woman he’d been longing to meet. To think all this time she’d been right under his nose. The local deli owner’s daughter.

Joshua reached for his coat, and after telling his secretary where he’d be, he headed toward what many in New York considered to be the best deli in town.

When he was less than a block away from the deli, Joshua spied Hannah. She was walking with an older woman, whom he assumed must be her mother. It was hard not to raise his arm and attract her attention the way he had at their previous meeting. But since she was advancing toward him, there didn’t seem to be much point.

Joshua frowned when he noticed Hannah wasn’t wearing the gloves he’d had delivered. Then he noticed her eyes. How easy she was to read. Whatever she was doing didn’t please her. Even from this distance he felt her resistance.

Just then she looked up, and he caught her gaze. Briefly her eyes widened with alarm and she gnawed on her lower lip as though she weren’t sure what to do.

Without her saying a word, Joshua received her message. She didn’t want him to greet her. Silently she pleaded with him to walk on past. It offended him, but he didn’t question her request.

Without a word they strolled past each other like total strangers. Three steps on the other side of Hannah, Joshua turned, hoping for some telltale sign that would clue him to what was wrong.

She glanced over her shoulder, and in that briefest of seconds, Joshua read her eyes. She was grateful. Later, when she could, she promised silently, she would explain everything.

It probably had something to do with what she’d told him the day of the parade. Her parents had been involved in a frivolous lawsuit. The fact that her family didn’t take kindly to attorneys wouldn’t dissuade him. He was very much interested in knowing Hannah better. Once her family had an opportunity to know him, they’d be willing to overlook the fact that he was an attorney. Joshua smiled to himself.

He would be patient, because Hannah Morganstern was well worth the effort. After all, he’d been looking for her most of his adult life.

“This must be old home week,” Michelle said as she walked into the apartment and tossed the mail on the kitchen table. “There’s another letter with a postmark from Custer, Montana.”

“There is?” Dressed in her slip and standing in front of the ironing board, Jenny set aside the iron and walked over to the table. She reached for the envelope and read the return address. “It’s from my mother.”

“At least you hear from your mother,” Michelle complained as she shucked off her coat and scarf. “It’s been three months since my mother last wrote me.”

“But she calls once a week.”

“True.”

But Jenny understood what her friend was saying. It was a relief to get something in the mail other than bills.

She opened the envelope and withdrew the letter. It was exactly what she expected. Her mother had broken her silence and joined Trey to ask her to come home for the holidays.

It hurt more than words could voice, having to explain that she couldn’t leave New York. Jenny had long since run out of money, out of excuses, and, worse yet, out of ideas.

“What’d she say?” Michelle asked. Her roommate stood in front of the open refrigerator and stared at its meager contents. Rather than explain, Jenny handed the single sheet of stationery to her friend. Michelle scanned the page, then raised her eyes to Jenny.

“Your mother wants you to come home for Christmas.”

Jenny sank onto the sofa and tucked her feet beneath her. “Christmas has always been so special with our family. I don’t think I’ve met anyone who could put on a spread the way Mom does. She makes this incredible sage dressing for the turkey, and the scent of it fills the house.” She closed her eyes, and the memory was so powerful, she could almost smell the pungent herbs right then.

“Maybe there’s a way you could manage to make it home,” Michelle said sympathetically.

“There isn’t,” Jenny said, unwilling even to listen to suggestions. No one needed to tell her that she’d done this to herself.

Christmas with her mom and dad and little brother. A lump formed in her throat.

Christmas on the range. Snow glistening in the moonlight, sleigh rides every December. Decorating the tree together had long been a family tradition. Her father would set a pot of wassail to warm over the fireplace, and they’d sing carols while they strung the lights and added the tinsel. The ranch hands and neighbors would stop over for a cup of her father’s special brew. Trey came every year.

“Jenny?”

Her eyes popped open. “Sorry. I guess I got carried away there for a moment.”

“Why hasn’t your family come to see you?”

“Mom and Dad?” Jenny supposed she should have considered that a long time ago, but try as she might she couldn’t picture her parents in New York. To the best of her knowledge they’d never been more than three hundred miles away from the ranch. Their lives revolved around the care and feeding of a thousand head of cattle. It would be unheard-of for her father to leave the ranch unattended.

There’d been a time when Jenny hated the mere mention of the word beef. How eager she’d been to escape to the big city and find her way in the world. How eager she’d been to disassociate herself from the Flying L Ranch.

“Did you hear anything from Peterman?” she asked Michelle, needing to change the subject before she became downright maudlin.

“Not a word. Rumor has it he’s looking for a particular kind of girl.”

“Oh?” Jenny feigned interest. It went without saying that whatever character type the famous director sought wasn’t likely to be Jenny. She had lost count of the number of times she’d auditioned for John Peterman. He hadn’t chosen her yet, and she doubted he would this time.

She didn’t know when she’d started all this stinking thinking. About the time she’d told the first lie to her parents. Negative thoughts had crowded her mind ever since.

“I can’t shake the feeling you’re going to be offered one of the major roles,” Michelle said. “Mark my words, Jenny Lancaster. We’re both headed for Broadway.”

“This is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen,” Mercy told her two friends. “Jenny wants nothing more than to go home for the holidays, and can’t.”

“Surely there’s a way we can help her.”

“I’m convinced there is.” Goodness spoke with utter confidence. “All we may need to do is pull a few strings. That shouldn’t be so difficult.”

Mercy smiled. “We’ve been doing that for years, haven’t we?”

“Maybe we should make it impossible for Jenny to refuse her mother.”

Mercy looked to the former guardian angel. “What do you mean?”

Shirley pointed to the Thanksgiving card tucked in Jenny’s bedroom mirror. “Perhaps all we really need to do is give her a good enough excuse to head home.”

Six

Jenny didn’t want to do it. Her heart ached every time she thought about refusing her mother’s plea. The list of fabricated excuses was as long as her arm.

She waited until she had the apartment to herself and then sat down at the table. She bolstered herself with a cup of hot chocolate and a plate of butter cookies. With pen in hand, she wrote.

Dearest Mom and Dad,

You don’t know how it pains me to tell you I won’t make it home for the holidays. I love you both more than words can say. I think of you every day. Know that my heart will be with you, but this is the price of success. . . .

Jenny wadded up the letter and unceremoniously tossed it into the garbage. She tried again, and after six or seven lines the second sheet followed the path of the first.

A half hour later, the table was nearly obliterated with discarded attempts. It hadn’t been this difficult to answer Trey’s card. Her brief note to her former neighbor had been cheerful and witty when she’d sent along her regrets.

Anyone who knew her well might have been able to read between the lines of her lighthearted message. But not Trey, she decided. Her witty note would amuse him.

In the end, Jenny penned three short lines to her parents and left it at that. She couldn’t come. She was sorry, and she’d miss them terribly.

Not once did she mention the Off Broadway production she’d told them she was in. Jenny refused to perpetrate the lie any further than she had already.

By the time Michelle returned from her errands, Jenny was in a real funk. Depressed and miserable, she battled off a case of the blues, determined not to get caught in the trap of feeling sorry for herself.

“You know what we need?” her friend said.

“What?”

“A little fun. It’s the season of joy, and yet here we are, moping around waiting for the phone to ring.” Their agent hadn’t called, and Jenny didn’t care what people said. No news was not good news. No news was no news. And this time the waiting had never seemed more interminable.

“What if we had a party?” Michelle asked.

“A Christmas party,” Jenny added, warming to the idea. “That’s perfect.” Then reality set in. “But how would we possibly feed all our friends?” It was difficult enough to scrounge up meals for the two of them.

“We’ll make it a potluck,” Michelle suggested. “All we need supply are the drinks, plus plates and silverware. Between us we could manage that, couldn’t we?”

“Sure we could.” Jenny’s nod was eager. Her spirits lifted just thinking about the celebration. She needed this, needed something to take her mind off how much she would miss Montana. “We can make the invitations ourselves.”

“Let’s hand them out. That way we could save on postage,” Michelle said, offering another money-saving idea.

“Who should we invite?”

“Bill and Susan,” Michelle suggested.

The couple had met in drama school and had married that summer. Jenny and Michelle had been bridesmaids. Jenny had joked about how the two of them always seemed to end up as bridesmaids.

“What about Cliff?” Jenny asked.

“Abby, too.”

The list continued until they were afraid they’d forget, so they decided to write them all down.

Michelle sat at the table and reached for a pen. “Good grief, what happened here? It looks like a paper massacre.”

The tightness gripped Jenny’s throat. “I finally wrote my parents and told them I wouldn’t be home.” Just saying the words aloud increased the ache.

“Next year you’ll be with your family,” Michelle said with confidence.

“You’re right,” Jenny said, forcing herself to think positive thoughts. Surely living in the same city in which Norman Vincent Peale had preached his philosophy of positive thinking should teach her something. Yet here she was doing it again: stinking thinking.

“Bill and Susan,” Michelle mumbled as she repeated the names of their mutual friends. “Abby. Cliff. John.”

The phone pealed and they froze.

Michelle looked to Jenny.

Jenny to Michelle.

“You answer it,” her roommate instructed.

“You,” Jenny insisted, shaking her head. It had been like this all week. The instant the phone jingled they hoped, prayed, it was Irene, their agent. If it wasn’t Irene, then perhaps it was the casting director and maybe even the great and mighty John Peterman himself. It wasn’t likely, but they could dream.

“It’s probably some schmuck wanting to sell us aluminum siding,” Michelle joked.

“Or someone doing a survey on cat food.”

But Jenny noticed that neither one of them took their eyes away from the kitchen telephone.

Michelle edged herself from the chair on the third ring and reached the phone. “Hello, this is Jenny and Michelle’s place,” she said cheerfully in a perfect rendition of the efficient secretary.

Jenny studied her friend. Afraid to hope. Afraid to care.

“It’s for you,” Michelle stated, and handed her the receiver. Then she mouthed, “It’s a man.”

Jenny pointed her finger at her heart, wondering if she’d misunderstood. “For me?”

Michelle nodded.

She took the phone and said in a friendly but professional-sounding voice, “This is Jenny Lancaster.”

“Hello, Jenny.”

Trey.

Jenny couldn’t have been more shocked if it’d been Andrew Lloyd Webber himself, wanting her to star in his next musical.

“Trey!” she said, barely managing to hide her shock.

“I got your note,” he announced.

“It was a surprise to get your Thanksgiving card,” she said, holding the receiver with both hands. She felt lightheaded and wasn’t sure if it was the shock of Trey’s call or the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day.

“You aren’t coming home for the holidays.”

Trey, her family. Everyone seemed to be pressuring her. It felt as if the walls were closing in around her. “I can’t come,” she told him, unable to disguise her own bitter disappointment. “I want to be there. More than anything, but I can’t.”

“That’s what your note said. So the bright lights of the city have blinded you?”

“No.” She longed to tell him how she hungered for the peace and solitude of Montana. New York City held its own excitement, its own energy. So often she’d walked down the crowded avenues and felt a rhythm, a cadence, that all but sang up from the asphalt. For three years she’d marched to that beat and hummed its special brand of music.

Yet the lone cry in the barren hills of home played longingly to her soul, its melody haunting her.

“Your family misses you,” Trey said, tightening the screws of her regrets.

Jenny bit into her lower lip.

“I miss you,” Trey added.

Jenny’s eyes flew open. Trey, the man who’d invaded her dreams for weeks, admitted to missing her. He’d as much as said he wanted her home.

Regrets clamored against her chest, their fists sharp and pain-filled. “I can’t come,” she whispered miserably.

Her words were met with silence.

“Can’t or won’t?” he asked starkly.

Brynn Cassidy crossed the street in front of Manhattan High and St. Philip’s Cathedral. She found Father Grady, the gray-haired priest who’d become her friend, in the vestibule.

“Hello, Father,” she said.

“Brynn, it’s good to see you, my girl.” His green Irish eyes lit up with warm delight.

“I got your message. You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Come over to the rectory and I’ll have Mrs. Houghton brew us a pot of tea.”

Brynn glanced at her watch. She enjoyed visiting with Father Grady, but the older priest liked to talk and she didn’t have time that afternoon.

Father Grady’s eyes followed hers. “Do you have an appointment?”

“I have to stop off at Roberto Alcantara’s this afternoon and pick up my car.”

“I know Roberto well,” Father Grady said, and motioned for her to precede him out of the church. “He’s a fine young man.” He paused to glance her way, and it seemed to Brynn that the priest was looking for her to elaborate. She didn’t.

“Emilio’s in my class.”

“Ah, yes, Emilio. Roberto’s done his best to keep his brother out of trouble. There haven’t been problems with Emilio, have there?”

“No, no,” Brynn was quick to tell him.

Father Grady’s face relaxed.

Brynn lowered her gaze. It wasn’t Emilio she’d clashed with, but Roberto. “I’m afraid Roberto doesn’t think much of me.”

Father Grady opened the door to the rectory. “I’m sure you’re mistaken.”

Brynn followed him inside. She preferred not to tell him about their brief confrontation. It rankled still. Roberto Alcantara had been both rude and unreasonable. But more than that, he’d been wrong.

“I’m not sure I have time for tea,” she reiterated when she realized that Father Grady fully intended for her to stay and chat anyway.

“Nonsense.” He escorted Brynn into the parlor and left her while he went in search of Mrs. Houghton, the elderly housekeeper who cared for Father Grady and the bishop when he was in residence.

Father Grady returned shortly with a tray and two cups. “I was hoping you’d be able to stop over this afternoon,” he said as he set the tray on the coffee table. He handed Brynn a delicate china cup and took one himself before sitting across from her on the velvet settee. “The church is sponsoring a dance this Friday evening for the youth group.”

Brynn had seen the posters. “I’ve heard several of the kids mention it.”

“We generally have a good turnout.”

Brynn was sure that was true.

“I was wondering,” Father Grady said, studying her above the china cup, “if you’d agree to be one of the chaperones.”

The request took Brynn by surprise, although in retrospect she supposed it shouldn’t.

“The children are quite fond of you,” he added as if he felt flattering her would be necessary. “Modesto Diaz mentioned your name the other day. He said . . .” Father Grady paused, and his eyes sparkled with humor.

“Yes?” Brynn prodded.

“Well, Modesto did say you were a little weird, but that he liked you anyway.”

Brynn was sure her students didn’t quite know what to make of her teaching methods.

“I realize it’s an imposition asking you at this late date,” Father Grady continued. “I’d consider it a personal favor if you could come.”

“I’ll be happy to chaperone the dance,” Brynn murmured.

“Now,” Father Grady said, and set down his teacup. “Tell me what happened between you and Roberto Alcantara.”

“It’s nothing,” she said, preferring to make light of their differences. “Actually Roberto’s been most helpful. My car broke down and he’s fixing it for me.”

Father Grady said nothing.

“I was on my way to pick it up now.”

“Roberto’s been through some difficult times,” the priest told her. “I’m not at liberty to tell you all the circumstances, but . . .”

“Oh, please, no. I wouldn’t want you to break a confidence. It’s nothing, really.”

“If Roberto offended you . . .”

“He didn’t. We had a difference of opinion.”

Father Grady seemed relieved. “I’m glad to hear that. If you do find him disagreeable, all I ask is that you give him a bit of slack. He’s a good man. I’d vouch for him any day.”

“I’m sure what you say is true.” Brynn stood and set the teacup back on the tray. “Now I really must be going.”

Father Grady escorted her to the front door. “I’ll see you Friday evening, then, around seven?”

Brynn nodded. “I’ll be here.”

The priest’s eyes brightened with a smile. “Thank you, Brynn, I promise you won’t regret this.”

Brynn briskly walked the few blocks to Roberto Alcantara’s garage. Earlier that afternoon, Emilio had personally delivered the message that her car was ready for her. The youth made sure the entire class heard him, as though the two of them had a personal business arrangement. Brynn had been forced to conceal her irritation.

As the afternoon progressed, she discovered she wasn’t looking forward to another encounter with Emilio’s older brother. The man was way off base. It was impossible to reason with anyone who regarded education as a waste of time. The fact that he’d actually urged his younger brother to drop out of school was nothing short of criminal.

“Yo, Miss Cassidy.” Emilio, Modesto, and a few more of the boys from her class drove past her slowly and waved.

Brynn returned the gesture automatically. It wasn’t until they’d turned the corner that she realized the boys were joyriding in her car.

Brynn bristled and hurried the last block to Roberto’s. When she reached the garage, she stormed in the door. “Emilio’s driving around in my car.”

Roberto, who was working on another car, straightened. “Yes, I know.”

She blinked. “You know.”

“Yes, I gave him the keys myself.”

The man had a way of flustering her unlike anyone she’d ever encountered. “Well, I want it back.”

“You’ll get it.” He returned to the truck he was working on, disappearing behind the hood.

“Do you generally allow Emilio to ride around in your customers’ cars?”

“No.” His answer was clipped and didn’t invite further inquiries.

His attitude—in fact, everything about Roberto—irritated Brynn. “I want my car returned,” she insisted, her voice raised and tight. No matter what Father Grady claimed, it was plain to her that this man didn’t have one shred of responsibility.

“And you’ll have it.”

Brynn crossed her arms and started to pace. Twice she made a show of looking at her watch.

“Emilio will be back any moment,” Roberto said, continuing to work on another vehicle.

Bent over the engine as he was, Brynn couldn’t see his face, but she had the distinct impression the mechanic was smiling. Her irritation amused him. That infuriated Brynn all the more.

“I want you to know that I don’t appreciate being kept waiting.”

Roberto straightened and reached for an oil rag; his dark, intense eyes meshed with hers. “I’m not one of your students, Miss Cassidy, so there’s no need to yell.”

“I was not yelling.” She realized she was and lowered her voice immediately.

Roberto grinned broadly. “I suppose you’d like to send me to the principal.”

“Aha!” Her arm flew out and she pointed at him with her index finger, wagging it while she gathered her thoughts. “I thought as much. You blame me because your brother was suspended.”

“On the contrary. Emilio knows not to fight on school grounds. What is it the law enforcement people are so fond of quoting? Do the crime, pay the time. My brother deserved what he got.”

“But you blame me?”

“No, I just wish you’d quit filling my brother’s head with garbage.”

Brynn clenched her jaw in an effort not to argue. This was the same mine-riddled ground they’d covered earlier. Brynn had no desire to do battle with Roberto a second time.

From the corner of her eye, she saw her car pull into an empty parking slot in front of the garage.

“Yo, Miss Cassidy,” Emilio called out. “Your car’s running like a dream.”

Despite her misgivings, Brynn managed a smile. “If I could please have my bill,” she said with stiff politeness.

Roberto gestured toward his brother. “Emilio will take care of that.”

Brynn hesitated before leaving the garage for the small outer office where Emilio stood. Although Roberto had been deliberately rude, she felt obligated to him. “I want you to know I appreciate your help.”

Involved once again with another vehicle, Roberto didn’t bother to answer. It was almost as if he were ignoring her. His lack of a response to her peace offering offended her pride. Swallowing the small hurt, Brynn brushed the hair from her face.

“Your car runs like new,” Emilio told her as he stepped behind the cash register. “Roberto asked me to test-drive it around the block. I hope you don’t mind that I let a couple of my posse join me.”

“Four is more than a couple,” she informed him primly.

“I know,” the youth said with a flash of pearly white teeth. “But it isn’t every day that we can say we rode in a teacher’s car.”

Brynn decided it was best to not comment.

Emilio located the work order for her vehicle and scanned its contents. Brynn had been waiting for this moment, praying that the expense wouldn’t wipe out the meager remainder of her budget for the month. The Escort had well over two hundred thousand miles on it and thus far had been relatively problem free. With the dread building up inside her, she opened her purse and took out her checkbook.

Something didn’t appear to be right, because Emilio looked up from the bill. “I need to ask Roberto something,” he said, and walked around from behind the counter. In the other room, the two brothers talked in hushed tones.

Emilio returned, wearing a wide grin. “It’s on the house,” he announced.

Brynn wasn’t sure she understood. “What do you mean?”

Pride gleamed in the youth’s dark eyes. “You don’t owe us anything.”

“But I can’t let you do that. . . .”

“Roberto insists.”

Still Brynn argued. “That wouldn’t be right.”

“It’s a gift, Miss Cassidy,” Emilio said with a deep sigh of frustration. “Didn’t you ever learn you’re not supposed to question someone when they give you a gift? Some lady with manners wrote it up in a book. You read all the time . . . you must have read that.”

Brynn was uncertain. “Let me at least pay for any parts.”

“No way.” The teenager held up both hands as though she were holding him up.

“But carburetors can be expensive.” She didn’t want Roberto absorbing the cost of this.

“Roberto says he found another carburetor at the junkyard and got it for next to nothing. Besides, he let me do most of the work myself.” His dark eyes pleaded with her to accept this small gift.

“Emilio, I don’t know how to thank you.”

His face erupted in a wide smile. “I’ll think of something.”

Roberto shouted from the other room, and Emilio’s smart smile disappeared. “Think nothing of it, Miss Cassidy.”

“Thank you both again.” Brynn felt like a fool for having made such an issue of Emilio driving her vehicle. She glanced toward the garage, but Roberto was bent over the side of the truck, busy at work. “Tell your brother that I’m grateful.”

“I will.” Emilio followed her outside and held open her car door for her.

When she couldn’t find her car keys, she eyed the youth. A desperate look came over him, and he slapped his hands over his shirt and pants pockets, then laughed and withdrew them from his hip pocket. “I had you worried there, didn’t I?”

Brynn rolled her eyes, then started the engine. As Emilio had said earlier, it purred like new. Her car sounded better than it had in years. She backed out of the driveway. It was as she started down the street that she noticed Roberto Alcantara watching her from inside the building.

* * *

He owed her an apology, Roberto reasoned. He’d been angry and frustrated the day they’d met, and he’d taken his irritation out on her. True, he believed the things he’d said, but generally he kept his opinions to himself. It had helped relieve his irritation to sound off at Emilio’s teacher; but it hadn’t been fair.

An hour before he’d met Brynn, Roberto had learned his offer to lease a building in another neighborhood had been rejected. It hadn’t been the first time a landlord had refused to rent to him. Naturally he’d been given some flimsy excuse, but Roberto had learned long ago the real reason. No one wanted a Hispanic taking up residence nearby.

Brynn Cassidy was everything Emilio had said. Bright. Intelligent. Pretty. Roberto feared his younger brother was half in love with her himself. But this spunky teacher was off-limits to the both of them, and Roberto knew it. It would be best if he never saw her again.

Funny how a woman could be so dangerous; but Roberto had recognized it from the first moment they’d met. Brynn Cassidy just might teach him to dream, too.

Friday evening Brynn arrived at the gymnasium behind St. Philip’s. She walked into the gaily decorated room and stopped to admire the decorations. Red and green streamers were looped across the ceiling from one end of the room to the other. A refreshment table was set up alongside the folded bleachers.

“Hello, Miss Cassidy.” The first one to greet her was Suzie Chang, who looked exceptionally pretty in a dark blue silk pants suit.

“Oh, Suzie, you look so nice.”

The Chinese girl lowered her head and blushed. “So do you.”

Brynn hadn’t been exactly sure what to wear and had opted for a blouse and skirt and patent-leather flats. Although she’d attended a number of school dances at St. Mary’s, she’d never actually served as a chaperone. Generally the girls’ school relied on parents and members of the PTA.

“Miss Cassidy,” Emilio called. He helped himself to a handful of cookies. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a chaperone.”

“Hey, that’s cool. So’s my brother.”

Brynn hadn’t recognized Roberto without his coveralls. She hadn’t given Roberto much notice before, but now . . . caught by his piercing dark eyes, Brynn found it difficult to look away.

“Hello, Roberto.”

“Miss Cassidy.” He nodded politely in her direction.

The music started. It came from a sound system with large speakers that blared from the front of the stage. No one seemed to want to be the first one on the dance floor.

“Hey, you two,” Emilio said. “Shouldn’t you start the dancing or something?”

Hannah needed to talk to Joshua. It was important that she return the gloves as soon as possible. It was wrong of her to have kept them this long. Then to walk past him on the street and pretend that she didn’t know him was a terrible insult. She’d witnessed for herself the surprise and confusion in his gaze. Yet she was forever grateful that he’d read her silent message and hadn’t greeted her. Hannah didn’t know how she would explain knowing him to her mother.

For herself, Hannah was both bewildered and guilty, and she felt like a coward. It was unfair to Joshua to lead him to believe that she was free to care for him. Unfair to Carl, who’d courted her faithfully these many months. She’d juggled with her conscience until she couldn’t think straight any longer.

“I do wish we weren’t doing this,” Hannah said to her mother.

“Doing what?” Ruth questioned. “Buying my daughter a trousseau? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We haven’t set the wedding date yet.”

“You will soon enough.” In the eyes of her parents she was all but married to Carl Rabinsky.

“Your father and I have patiently waited all these years for a man who was worthy of you.”

A lifetime of accepting what her parents felt was right was what helped Hannah hold her tongue.

“Such a wedding you’ll have,” Ruth promised, her eyes alight with excitement.

Hannah found she couldn’t look at her mother.

“Your father’s already talking about the food for the reception. I promise you it will be one that people will talk about for years to come. You are our only child. God’s gift to us. Our joy.”

“Mama, what if I don’t love Carl?”

Her mother hesitated, but for only a moment. “Nonsense. I know you, Hannah, you wouldn’t have agreed to be his wife if you didn’t love him. Carl will make you a good husband. Every girl has doubts when it comes time to pledge her heart to one man.”

“What if I’d met another man?”

“Who?” her mother demanded as if this were impossible.

“Someone I liked very much and would like to know better.”

Her mother frowned and shook her head. “You won’t. But if you do, then talk to Carl. Tell him your thoughts.”

“I will,” Hannah promised, but she had the feeling that it would be even more difficult to discuss this matter with Carl than with her mother.

“Now come along, we have lots to buy.”

Hannah shuffled along beside her mother. Never had she dreamed that she would dread a shopping expedition the way she did this one.

It was in Saks Fifth Avenue that her mother stopped. “Shall we look at wedding dresses?” Ruth asked, her eyes warm and gentle.

“Don’t you think that would be premature?” Already Hannah’s arms were burdened with packages. “I’m tired, Mama, can we go home?”

Ruth released a low sigh. “Yes, perhaps that would be for the best.”

Outside once more, Hannah felt invigorated as the cold hit against her cheeks. She matched her steps with those of her mother, who walked along, humming softly to herself. It took Hannah a moment to realize where the melody was coming from.

“You’re singing,” Hannah commented.

Ruth laughed and nodded. “So I am. I do when I’m especially happy.” As they stopped for traffic, Ruth placed her hands against Hannah’s pink cheeks. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride in all of New York. Mark my words, Hannah Morganstern. I get excited every time I think about planning your wedding.”

Once they were back at the deli, Hannah escaped to her room. As soon as she could, she made an excuse to go out. Almost always she told her parents where she was going, but not this time.

When she arrived at Joshua’s office the receptionist recognized her.

“Is Mr. Shadduck available?” she asked.

The woman looked down at the schedule. “He left no more than a minute ago.”

“Oh.” She wasn’t able to hide her frustration.

“You might be able to catch him.”

“Thank you.” Hannah rushed out of the office and hurried into the first available elevator. Her heart felt as though it would explode as she made her way to the front of the office building. On the sidewalk, she looked both ways and sighed with relief when she spied Joshua walking away from her, carrying a briefcase.

“Joshua,” she called.

He turned at the sound of her voice, and his face lit up with pleasure. “Hannah.” He started toward her.

“I’m so sorry,” she said in a breathless rush. She planted her hand over her heart in an effort to regain her breath.

Joshua wrapped his arm around her shoulders and steered her out of the heavy foot traffic. “Don’t worry about it,” he said gently.

“But . . .” She’d been unforgivably rude.

“Let’s sit down a minute and talk this out,” he suggested.

Hannah knew his idea was much better than her handing him back his gift in the middle of a New York sidewalk. At the same time, she feared that spending time with Joshua, even a short amount, would make it all the more difficult to do what she knew she must.

They strolled until Joshua pointed across the street to a five-star hotel famous for its afternoon teas.

Hannah wanted to protest that a cafe would serve just as well, but she wasn’t given the opportunity. Before she could suggest some place else, Joshua had taken her by the arm. Together they raced across the street.

The hotel lobby was filled with polished crystal. Enormous chandeliers gleamed from above, their glittering lights transforming the entire area.

Huge floral wreaths decorated in gold lamé bows hung from marble columns. The registration desk was checkered with poinsettias. Light music swirled about them like a cool autumn mist. Before Hannah had a chance to comment, she was led into a private dining room.

Before Joshua could give the man instructions, the waiter handed them a gold-tasseled menu. Joshua ordered the tea, and the other man quietly slipped away.

Joshua smiled at her. “You said there was something you wanted to tell me?”

Seven

This meeting with Joshua was so much more difficult than Hannah thought it would be. But there was no help for it. She had to tell him she was engaged to Carl. To delay any longer would be a grave disservice to them both. As they sat in the elegant hotel restaurant waiting for the tea to be served, Hannah struggled to find the words.

“Joshua,” she said, dragging a deep breath through her lungs, her heart heavy.

“You received the gloves?”

“Yes, thank you, but I can’t accept—”

“Joshua Shadduck?”

Hannah was cut off midsentence by a well-dressed middle-aged woman who stopped at their table. Her gaze drifted from Joshua to Hannah, and her eyes were marked with warm approval.

“Gloria.” Joshua stood and enthusiastically hugged the white-haired woman. He turned to Hannah. “Hannah Morganstern, meet Judge Fowler.”

Impressed to meet a judge, Hannah smiled and said, “I’m honored.”

“I’ve been meaning to get in touch with you all week,” Gloria said. Her gaze connected briefly with Hannah’s once again. “But I can see that now isn’t a good time. I promise I’ll call you soon.”

“I’ll look forward to hearing from you,” Joshua returned. Before he could reseat himself, the judge whispered something in his ear, then turned away.

Joshua grinned broadly, then explained to Hannah. “She approves.”

“Approves?”

“Of you. She told me it was high time I . . . well, never mind.”

“Joshua.” A stout figure of a man approached their table next. “By George, it’s good to see you,” he said, sounding genuinely pleased.

“Hello, Tom.” Although Hannah didn’t know Joshua well, she could hear the frustration in his voice.

The other man studied Hannah with barely disguised admiration. His blue eyes twinkled. Before Joshua could introduce him properly, he stretched his hand across the table. “Tom Colfax,” he said.

“Hannah Morganstern,” she replied, and they exchanged brief handshakes.

Tom’s admiration was straightforward. “I know this sounds like a worn-out line, but have we met?”

“I don’t think so,” Hannah replied.

Tom rubbed the side of his jaw, then shook his head as if to say he was certain he’d seen her someplace before.

The two men exchanged information, then Tom drifted away. He continued to wear a puzzled look and glanced over his shoulder once.

Joshua exhaled sharply. “This isn’t going to work,” he muttered.

That was what Hannah had been struggling to tell him since they’d met, but she hadn’t been able to put it into words.

Joshua set the linen napkin on the table. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Hannah’s first instinct was to argue, but she wasn’t given the chance as she followed Joshua through the elegantly decorated lobby to the street outside. “Where are we going?” she asked, a little breathless.

He turned as though he hadn’t given the matter a second thought. “I don’t know. My apartment is a short walk from here.”

“I can’t,” she said, her heart in her throat. “I have to be back shortly.”

Joshua’s gaze narrowed as if to suggest he didn’t believe her. “Already?”

“Yes.” She should have told him earlier and been done with it, but each time she shared his company it became more difficult. Now she found herself frantic to say what she must.

“Joshua, please listen to me.” She hardly sounded like herself. Her voice was tight with emotion as she brushed the hair from her cheek. She opened her purse and handed him the soft deerskin gloves. “I can’t keep these. They’re a lovely, thoughtful gift, but I can’t accept them.”

He took the gloves, but his eyes revealed his disappointment. “Why not?”

People wove their way around them, and her throat tightened with regret. “I’m so sorry, Joshua, so very sorry, but I’m . . . There’s someone else.” That sounded much better than announcing she was engaged.

Joshua’s face revealed nothing. “The man you were with at the parade?”

“Yes.”

“The one who abandoned you?” His feelings for Carl were more than clear.

“Carl didn’t abandon me, we simply lost each other.” Carl hadn’t deserted her, not on purpose, and she found it important that Joshua know that. Carl might have his faults, but nearly everyone was flawed in one way or another. He’d gotten separated from her on Thanksgiving Day, and with so many people crowding the sidewalks, watching the parade, it had been impossible for him to find her again.

For a long time Joshua said nothing. Then, “Are you going to marry him?”

A definitive answer was her only recourse. Joshua deserved the truth. To hedge now might give him reason to believe there was a chance for them.

“We’re engaged.”

“That wasn’t my question. I asked if you were going to marry him.”

“Yes . . . of course.” But she sounded unsure even to her own ears.

He hesitated, but only for a moment. “I see.”

Now was the time to turn away. To end any kind of relationship before it began. One thing was certain: she shouldn’t have paused. But she did. “I like you, Joshua.” More than she should. More than she wanted to. “I misled you, and I regret that.”

“Carl isn’t right for you.” His words were stark and cool, his gaze intense.

“You don’t know that,” she argued. “You’ve never even met Carl.”

“I know you.”

She lowered her eyes because meeting his gaze had become impossible. Her throat felt as if it were about to close up on her. “I have to go.”

“Not yet,” he said, stopping her. He backed her into the shadows until her shoulders butted against the side of the brick structure. Instinctively she clenched the lapels of his overcoat. Even when she realized he intended to kiss her, she couldn’t find the words to object. Being inherently honest, Hannah realized this was exactly what she’d wanted for a long time.

Slowly, as though he expected her to protest, Joshua lowered his mouth to hers. She assumed his kiss would be hard and demanding, a penance required for having misled him. A penalty to be paid.

But she was wrong.

He pressed his lips gently over hers in the lightest, the tenderest, of contacts. So sweet. So smooth. The pressure increased, so gradual at first that she didn’t notice. His lips worked over hers, sliding, then deepening, encouraging her to open to him.

With him as her tutor, Hannah eased open her mouth and moaned. This was nothing like the quick pecks and almost apologetic exchanges she’d experienced with Carl. Nothing like anything she’d experienced with anyone. Her nails dug into his coat, and she responded with a lifetime of pent-up longings.

It seemed to require a great deal of effort for Joshua to break off the kiss. Even then he seemed to ease himself away from her with a series of short but equally potent kisses.

He held her against him, and she stayed, the ragged edge of his breathing echoing in her ear. Her own breathing was just as unstable. Wrapped in the warm cocoon of his arms, Hannah never wanted to leave.

“Please . . . my family is waiting. They don’t know where I am.” It was pointless to continue. Pointless to torture themselves.

His arms tightened before he released her. “Meet me,” he whispered against her cheek. “Monday evening at eight at the skating rink at Rockefeller Center.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t.”

“Be there, Hannah,” he pleaded. “I need time to think. We both do. You don’t love Carl.”

“Joshua . . .”

“You don’t love him,” he returned with conviction, “otherwise you’d never have allowed me to kiss you like that.” With that he turned away.

Hannah wanted to run after him and explain that she wouldn’t show. She had no intention of continuing this charade. That was why she’d told him about Carl. It was too late for them. Much too late.

“Joshua,” she called.

He ignored her, and because she was forced into it, she raced after him. She was out of breath by the time she reached him.

“I won’t be there,” she cried. “I won’t.”

He turned, and for the first time since she’d told him about her commitment to Carl, he smiled, saying without words that he believed otherwise.

“You’ll be wasting your time,” she argued heatedly.

Joshua said nothing, then wrapped his arm around her waist and dragged her to him. His kiss was short but thorough. When he finished, he exhaled slowly. “You’ll be there,” he said with supreme confidence. “You won’t be able to stay away.”

“Will Hannah meet Joshua?” Shirley asked Goodness. The two had parked themselves atop a light fixture in the Morgansterns’ deli. Hannah’s father was locking the doors while her mother was upstairs preparing the evening meal.

“What do you think?” Goodness was downright gleeful.

“What do I think?” Shirley repeated. “I think you’re headed for serious trouble with Gabriel, that’s what I think.”

Goodness couldn’t have disagreed more. “Gabriel knew exactly what was going to happen,” she insisted. “He might think Carl Rabinsky is the cat’s meow, but you and I both know he isn’t the right man for Hannah.”

Shirley’s look was skeptical. “Why isn’t he?”

“It’s clear to me that Carl’s as confused about all this as Hannah. The poor boy’s parents had more to do with the engagement than he did. They pushed him into it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t,” Goodness confessed reluctantly, “but I’d wager a good deal that was the case.”

“What you’re wagering,” Shirley seemed to feel obliged to tell her, “is our futures. You’ve done this before, you know. My heaven,” she continued, wringing her hands. “I can’t get involved in your prayer request, not when I’ve got troubles of my own.”

“Oh?”

“It’s Brynn and Roberto. This is simply not the time for her to walk around with her head in the clouds. She needs her wits about her. I’m afraid something serious is about to happen, and I can’t be constantly fretting about what you’re getting into.”

“Me?” If she didn’t know better, Goodness would be insulted.

“Yes, you. I beg of you, Goodness, kindly leave matters be with Carl and Hannah.”

Goodness considered it seriously, but not for long. She didn’t mean to be a rabble-rouser, but there were some matters that one couldn’t ignore. Unfortunately this was one of those times.

“I can’t.”

Shirley groaned, and her head slumped forward. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”

“I’m sorry, really I am. But I asked myself exactly why Gabriel would assign this particular prayer request to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it,” Goodness said, crossing her arms. “Ruth Morganstern prayed that Hannah would make a good marriage.”

“Yes,” Shirley agreed impatiently.

“It was as clear as the feathers in our wings that Carl was about to ask for Hannah’s hand in marriage. Both Hannah’s parents are nuts about Carl, and his family about her.”

“So?”

Goodness had a hard time believing that her fellow prayer ambassador could be so thickheaded. “Don’t you see?”

“Obviously not.”

“Well,” Goodness said with a sorry lack of patience, “Gabriel assumed the assignment would be a snap. An engagement to Carl was in the cards already. Really all that was required was for me to stand back and let it happen. Once Hannah was formally engaged to Carl I was supposed to pretend it was all my doing and promptly return to heaven, the assignment complete.”

“Hannah is formally engaged to Carl,” Shirley reminded her.

Shirley was missing her point entirely. “That’s true, but Gabriel doesn’t know that.”

“In other words,” Shirley said, walking circles around Goodness as she mulled over the situation, “you think this job is another one of Gabriel’s little token assignments.”

Goodness folded her arms and nodded with a good deal of ceremony. “I do indeed, and frankly I’m insulted.”

“You mean like the chess set for Craig?”

Goodness nodded. “Exactly.”

This information seemed to fluster her friend. “My oh my, I don’t know what to think.”

“Well, I do,” Goodness returned with a hint of self-righteousness. “It was clear to me from the first that Carl Rabinsky isn’t the right husband for Hannah. In good conscience I can’t idly stand by and let her marry the wrong man.”

“What are you going to do?” Shirley asked, and then crunched up her face as if she were afraid of the answer.

Goodness relaxed and smiled. “I’m not sure yet, but I do know one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s not going to marry Carl.”

Sunday morning Brynn quietly slipped inside the pew at St. Philip’s, crossed herself, and knelt on the padded kneeler. She closed her eyes and bowed her head, fully intending to pray. But it wasn’t thoughts of God that filled her mind. Instead she found herself mulling over the night before with the church youth group and Roberto Alcantara.

Every time Brynn remembered the dance in which they’d shared the duty as chaperones, a warm, expectant feeling stole over her. It had all started innocently enough when they’d first danced together. No one seemed to want to be the first couple on the floor, so Roberto, stiffly, had asked her. She knew from the way his lips tightened that he wasn’t keen on being her partner. Taking it personally, she’d glared back at him, letting it be known that she didn’t relish his company, either.

Yet from that shaky beginning, something fragile and exciting had blossomed. As the music started, Roberto had held her awkwardly in his arms, his body rigid, as if to avoid touching her.

Then gradually, as they’d warmed to the rhythm of the music, he’d relaxed. Because he had, she had too. Slowly, almost without being aware of what was happening, she’d found herself tucked securely in Roberto’s arms. It amazed her how well they performed together, how easy his steps were to follow. Anyone looking at them would have assumed they were longtime partners. Halfway through the dance Roberto had smiled, and she’d shyly returned the gesture. Then he’d tucked his head close to hers, and they’d continued to sway gracefully across the polished gym floor.

From that point forward in the evening, Brynn had looked for an excuse to dance with Roberto a second time. Unfortunately their duties had prevented them from spending any more time together. The teenage dance had gone on until almost midnight, and the high schoolers couldn’t have kept them apart more had they plotted to do so.

From the silent messages Roberto had sent her way, from the quick exchanges of eye contact, she’d realized that he was as eager to be with her as she was with him.

After the dance, Roberto had walked her to her car. At first they’d been shy with each other, not knowing what to say. But gradually that had changed, and they’d chatted freely. Brynn was certain Roberto had meant to ask her for a date, but before he’d had a chance, a fight had broken out between two boys. In his frustration, Roberto had closed his eyes and forcefully released his breath. Brynn had felt the regret in him as he’d turned away and hurried toward the scuffle.

Long after she was home, Brynn had found it impossible to sleep. Again and again her mind had reviewed the one dance she’d shared with Roberto. The memory had left her hungering to learn what would have happened had they been free to enjoy one another’s company.

The more she thought about Roberto, the more she admired his accomplishments. He worked hard and seemed determined to make his business a successful enterprise. He genuinely cared about his brother’s welfare and took an active role in the community. Father Grady, whom Brynn considered to be an excellent judge of character, couldn’t say enough good about Roberto.

True, they’d started off on the wrong foot, but Brynn was eager to make up for that and start again. If she did have God’s attention, then what she sought was for Roberto to be at church this morning.

Giving up the pretense of praying, Brynn opened her eyes and sat on the hard wooden pew. She didn’t see Roberto and couldn’t swivel around to look without being obvious.

Triumphant organ music announced the beginning of mass, which Father Grady celebrated. Not until Brynn stood to follow the others to the altar for communion did she spy Roberto. Instantly her heart gladdened.

He saw her too, because she watched as a brief smile touched his eyes.

After mass Roberto was waiting on the top of the church steps for her. Following the throng of the faithful out of the large double-wide doors, Brynn saw Roberto almost immediately and waved.

“So we meet again,” she said. She hated the breathless quality to her voice, but she couldn’t hide how pleased she was to see him.

He acknowledged her with a short nod.

“Did the boys give you any trouble last night?” she asked, wanting to learn the outcome of the fight.

He shrugged as though to say it wasn’t anything serious. “I separated them and had Emilio take Modesto with him.”

“I’m glad.”

Once again Brynn noted what a fine figure of a man Roberto made. She didn’t know what had blinded her earlier.

“So it was Modesto,” she murmured. That didn’t surprise her.

“Mike and Modesto were going at it until—”

“Mike?” Brynn interrupted. “Not Mike Glasser?”

“That’s the name.”

Brynn hadn’t seen the morose young man all evening. But then it would be characteristic of Mike to conceal himself in the shadows. If he had come to the dance, then perhaps some girl had caught his eye. Brynn hoped that was the case. She genuinely liked Mike and wished she knew how to reach him.

“It surprises me that Mike would fight anyone, especially Modesto.” Although she said the words aloud, she didn’t expect Roberto to comment. Mike wasn’t a fighter. Modesto was much more savvy when it came to such matters. The Hispanic youth would have dropped Mike in record time.

“Whatever plagued him was a hot issue,” Roberto commented. “From what the others told me, Mike went after Modesto without provocation. The funny thing is, I don’t think Modesto really wanted to fight him.”

“But you were able to break it up before anyone was hurt?” she asked, unable to hide her concern.

Roberto nodded, and a hint of a smile turned up the edges of his mouth. “No problem.”

Brynn relaxed.

Roberto was about to say something when Emilio strolled past casually and stopped as though surprised to find his older brother spending time with his teacher. “Mornin’, Miss Cassidy.”

“Morning, Emilio.”

The teenager turned to his brother. “Have you asked her yet?”

Roberto answered in Spanish, his voice low and threatening.

Emilio ignored him. “He’s going to invite you over to the apartment for breakfast. I’m supposed to make myself scarce.” He grinned boyishly and added in a low voice, “I’d be careful if I were you, ’cause it looks to me like my big brother intends to put the make on you.”

Brynn couldn’t keep from laughing, but Roberto wasn’t amused. He spoke again, and his tone was clear. He wanted his brother to shut up and leave them alone.

If Emilio felt the least bit threatened by his brother, he didn’t let it show. If anything, the younger Alcantara couldn’t have looked more pleased.

“You should have seen Roberto this morning,” he continued undaunted. His smile was full and cocky. “He was up at the crack of dawn, shaving and splashing on that fancy cologne he likes so well.”

“Emilio.” Again Roberto threatened him.

“He likes you, Teach, big time.”

Brynn knew smiling was probably the worst thing she could do, but she couldn’t make herself stop. Emilio was telling her everything she wanted to hear.

Disgruntled, Roberto pulled his wallet from his hip pocket and jerked out a twenty-dollar bill. “Get lost for a couple of hours,” he instructed.

A wide grin split Emilio’s face. “I’m outta here.” He looked to Brynn and winked. “Have fun, you two.” With that he was gone.

“I apologize for my brother,” Roberto said flatly.

Brynn arched one brow. “Was what Emilio said true? Do you intend to put the make on me?”

His intensely dark eyes didn’t waver from hers. “That depends.”

“On what?”

“Several matters,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Mostly on if you feel the same way about me as I do you.” He reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers. “I’d be honored if you’d join me for breakfast.”

“Does that mean you’re volunteering to cook?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then I accept.”

Hand in hand they strolled down the sidewalk.

“We have nothing in common.” It was as though he felt obligated to remind her of that.

“I certainly don’t agree with your views on education,” she added. If he was looking for reasons they shouldn’t see each other, she had a list of her own.

Roberto’s chest deflated as he released a pent-up breath. “You’re Irish, I’m Hispanic. I have no business bringing you home with me.”

“But you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said, as though admitting to a fault.

“Why?” Perhaps she should leave matters as they are and not ask.

“Because I had to know.” His voice was gruff with impatience, but Brynn understood. She was equally curious. Equally fascinated with him.

“I needed to know, too,” she admitted softly.

Roberto’s hand squeezed hers, and when she looked up, he smiled.

He brought her to the apartment he shared with his brother. The compact unit was decorated with large overstuffed pieces of furniture. The royal blue material had several crocheted doilies flattened across the back.

“My mother made those,” Roberto explained when Brynn ran her finger over the delicately crafted cotton threads.

“They’re lovely.”

“So are you.”

Before Brynn could comment, Roberto turned her in his arms. She came willingly, without a qualm, eager for his kiss. He didn’t disappoint her. Soon his mouth settled firmly over hers. His kiss was both hot and compelling. Brynn’s breath caught in her throat as he wrappped her securely in his arms. She buried her face in the hollow of his neck and breathed in the warm, spicy rum scent of him. The bay cologne reminded her of what Emilio had said, and she smiled softly and pressed her lips against his smoothly shaven skin.

“I meant to wait to kiss you,” he confessed, his lips in her hair. “At least until after breakfast.”

“I didn’t want to wait.”

He continued to caress her back. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, and stepped up onto the tips of her toes to kiss him again. The world dissolved, melting away any resistance that might have remained. “We’re both crazy.”

“The world is crazy,” Roberto agreed, “but I haven’t the strength to resist you.”

Brynn closed her eyes and pressed her head against the solid strength of his shoulder. She was content to stay as they were, but she wasn’t blind to their differences. What Roberto said was true. They had little in common other than the fact that they were crazy about each other.

Jenny was convinced she was coming down with a cold. Her throat ached, and she alternated between hot flashes and the chills. And she swore every bone in her body ached. A cold complicated by the flu.

She managed to sing her way through the two production numbers she was involved in from South Pacific. She smiled as if she hadn’t a care in the world, delivered the dinners to her customers, and counted the minutes until she’d finished her shift.

When she returned to the apartment the first thing she did was take a long, hot shower. Even with the comfort of warm water raining down on her, she developed a hacking cough.

“You don’t sound so good,” Michelle called from the other side of the bathroom.

“I’m miserable.”

“Do you want me to get you some aspirin?” her roommate offered.

“No thanks,” Jenny said as she opened the door. “I took some when I got home.” Dressed in a thick terry-cloth robe, she ambled into the living room and buried herself under the wool afghan her mother had mailed her last Christmas.

“I bet a nice hot bowl of chicken soup would help you to feel better.”

“I’m fine, Nurse Michelle,” Jenny teased.

“You need something,” her roommate insisted.

What she needed, Jenny realized, wasn’t to be easily found. More than at any other time since her arrival in New York, Jenny needed her family.

Jenny could feel a sneeze coming on, and she reached for a tissue and nearly blew a hole through it with the force of her misery.

“My goodness.” Michelle laughed.

“What about the Christmas party?” Jenny asked, wanting to take her mind off her woes. She needed to divert Michelle before she whipped out a thermometer and dispensed massive doses of TLC. Struggling as she was against bouts of self-pity, Jenny preferred to suffer alone.

“Oh, my goodness, the party! I nearly forgot.” Michelle walked over to her purse and took out a list. “I talked to Paul. You remember Paul Fredricks, don’t you?”

Jenny nodded, although she hadn’t a clue who Paul was. She’d figure it out in a moment.

“Anyway, Paul says the fifth would work out great.”

“The fifth is fine with me.” For the life of her, Jenny couldn’t figure out why they would need to clear the date with Paul Fredricks, but again that was something she would leave to reason out later.

“Do you agree?”

“Sure.” One day was as good as any other as far as she was concerned. “I’ll make sure I have the fifth off.”

“Good. I added Paul’s name to the list while I was at it. You don’t object, do you?”

“Of course he can come. The more the merrier.” Paul Fredricks, of course. He was the actor who’d captured Michelle’s attention and her heart after one short meeting. Her roommate seemed to think no one had noticed. Perhaps no one else had, but Jenny wasn’t as easily fooled.

“Look,” Michelle said, standing inside the kitchen. “The message machine is blinking.”

“I forgot to check,” Jenny admitted. The first order of business when she’d returned home was aspirin and a hot shower. “Who called?”

“I don’t know.” Michelle pushed down the button and reached for a pad and pen.

“It’s Irene,” Michelle cried.

It would be just like their agent to leave the most important news of their careers on the answering machine.

“I don’t know where you girls are,” Irene’s elevated voice said, “but I sincerely hope you’ll be home soon. Now listen up! I talked to John Peterman this afternoon, and he wants you both back for a second audition first thing in the morning. I repeat, he wants to see you both again.”

Michelle looked to Jenny.

Jenny looked to Michelle.

Michelle threw open her arms and screamed.

Her cold forgotten, Jenny tossed aside the quilt and raced over to her friend’s open arms. Together they danced around the living room, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Then Jenny started to cough again.

Eight

“Suzie, can I see you after class?” Brynn asked the Chinese girl. Of all her students, Brynn found real encouragement in watching this particular teenager’s progress. Suzie’s written essays revealed a quick, analytical mind and a thirst for knowledge. Brynn hadn’t said anything to Suzie, but she’d taken it upon herself to inquire about the possibility of a full-ride scholarship for the girl.

Suzie glanced up from her desk and blinked. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” Brynn quickly assured her. She patted Suzie’s shoulder, and the girl returned to her writing assignment.

“Do you want to see me, too?” Malcolm called from the back of the classroom, disrupting the calm. That was Malcolm’s specialty.

“Not today,” she said.

Malcolm folded his muscular arms and leaned back on his desk chair until his shoulders were braced against the wall. His eyes were round with irritation. “I heard you stopped by my place yesterday and asked to speak to my mother. If you got something to say to her, you can say it to me first.” He lifted his chin an inch in open defiance.

It was clear Malcolm didn’t trust her. Brynn doubted that many of her students did, although she’d worked hard to gain their confidence. Again and again she butted her head against the thick walls of doubt and suspicion. To the best of her knowledge she hadn’t gone against her word once, yet her students acted as if they were waiting for her to knife them in the back. Certainly the incident with Emilio that first day hadn’t helped matters any.

“My stepdad said you stopped by my place, too.” This was from Yolanda.

“Are you looking to make trouble for us?” It was Malcolm again.

“What’d you want with my mom?”

“Yeah. You ain’t got no right to talk about me behind my back.”

Brynn could see that she’d best explain the purpose of those after-school visits. She’d hoped meeting her students’ families would be a positive experience; instead she’d incurred the mistrust and ire of her class.

Emilio sat up and looked over his shoulder. “Miss Cassidy comes to my apartment most every afternoon, and I ain’t making no fuss about it.”

His remark was followed by several boos and hisses. Emilio just smiled. He reveled in the fact that Brynn had been seeing a good deal of Roberto. What he said, however, wasn’t true.

“All right, all right,” Brynn said, holding up her hands. “It looks like I owe you an explanation.”

“You’re damn right you do.”

Brynn looked into a sea of angry faces. “Malcolm, you’re right. I did stop off at your place yesterday afternoon. I wanted to tell your mother it was a pleasure to have you in my class and report to her that your progress in the last few weeks has been nothing short of amazing.”

Malcolm’s mouth snapped closed. He looked confused, then relieved. “You wanted to tell her good things about me?”

“Is that why you came to my house?” Yolanda asked.

“Yes. I’d hoped to visit everyone’s family by the end of the quarter. Yolanda, I couldn’t be more pleased with how well you’re doing. You’ve maintained a B average, and I wanted your family to know how hard you’ve been working.”

“You won’t be able to say that about me.”

Denzil was right about that. His grades had been dismal, and he gave little if any thought or effort to his assignments. His contributions to the class were limited to disruptions and arguments.

“Well,” she said, thinking on her feet. “I thought I’d tell your parents how I’ve noticed your ability to argue an issue from any point. That’s the quality of a good attorney. If you were the least bit interested, you could make a career learning the law.”

“An attorney?” Denzil sat up straighter on his chair. “Me, an attorney?” He laughed under his breath. “I’ve had lots of experience with the law, and I’ve met some of those fast-talkin’ lawyers, too. Only they were looking to toss my butt in jail.”

“There are other kinds of attorneys,” Brynn told him.

“I could wear one of those fancy silk suits, couldn’t I?”

“Of course. Listen, Denzil,” she said, her convictions causing her voice to grow strong and sure, “this is exactly what I’ve been telling you all quarter. You can be anything you want. The power is right here inside you.” She held her clenched fist against her breast. “All you’ve got to do is want it bad enough.”

“I ain’t never had anyone tell my mother good things about me,” Yolanda said. “The only time a teacher ever came to my house was because she thought I took something out of her stinking purse.” Looking away, she sighed loudly. “I did it, too, because that teacher was a real jerk. She wasn’t even fair.”

“You got any good things to tell Roberto about me?” Emilio asked, and draped his elbows over the back of his seat. He was sitting proud.

“I have plenty to tell Roberto about you,” Brynn teased as she rubbed the chalk dust from the palms of her hands.

The class laughed, just as Brynn intended they should.

“Now that I’ve answered your questions, please return to your writing assignment.” Generally, when she directed her students’ attention back to a written task, a grumble of discontent would spread across the room. Not this time.

After the bell rang, dismissing the class, Suzie Chang made her way to Brynn’s desk. The shy girl clenched her books tightly. “You wanted to talk to me, Miss Cassidy?”

“Yes,” Brynn said, scooting the chair back. “Suzie, you’re an excellent student. This last paper you wrote about Anne Frank is as good as anything I’ve read on the subject. You revealed both insight and sensitivity to the Jewish girl’s plight.”

Uncomfortable with the praise, the teenager lowered her gaze. “Thank you.”

“I’d like to know if you plan on attending college next year.”

“College.” The girl’s eyes lit up briefly, then she sobered and slowly shook her head. “I can’t.”

“But Suzie, you’re exactly the kind of student who should continue their education. I can feel the hunger in you, the desire to learn. There’s a way, I promise you. I can help you if you want.”

The girl shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She kept her head lowered and refused to meet Brynn’s eyes. “I can’t, Miss Cassidy.”

“Suzie, didn’t you hear what I said to Denzil earlier? Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Now if you’re worried about the money, there are scholarships. I’ll help you fill out the applications, and . . .”

Suzie’s head snapped up, and Brynn noticed that the teenager’s face was streaked with tears. “A scholarship isn’t going to help me, Miss Cassidy. Nothing will.” Having said that, Suzie turned and raced out of the classroom.

Stunned, Brynn sat at her desk for several moments, pondering Suzie’s words. Nothing would help her? That made no sense.

Feeling as though she’d somehow failed her brightest student, Brynn left the building, determined to try again to meet Denzil’s and Malcolm’s parents. Perhaps she’d have more success now that the word was out that she wanted to compliment the teens instead of complain.

A block away from the school the streets were dirty, filled with litter and broken glass. A discarded davenport was turned upside down and garbage dumped in the ripped undercarriage. The smells of rotting food were potent enough to cause Brynn to turn her head away.

Dusk settled over the city. The streetlights that weren’t broken blinked on, casting a clouded yellow glow to the filth on the sidewalk.

From the distance, Brynn watched as a man approached her. She stiffened, then reminded herself she had nothing to fear. This was a violent neighborhood, but like Father Grady, Brynn had faith in the goodwill of those who occupied the tenements.

As the figure of the man grew near, Brynn recognized Roberto. When he realized it was she, his steps became quick and filled with purpose. The tension drained from her, and Brynn relaxed. They’d met twice in the last week, swift snatches of time they’d stolen in an effort to be together. Five minutes. Ten. Just long enough to convey that they wished it could be longer.

“Roberto.” She didn’t bother to disguise her happiness.

Roberto was frowning. “It’s true, then,” he said, sounding none too pleased.

“What is?” she asked, surprised by his attitude.

“Emilio stopped off at the garage to tell me you were parading around these streets after school visiting families.”

“I wanted—”

“Don’t you realize it’s dark now by four-thirty?” he barked. He jerked off his baseball cap and slapped it against his knee in a display of disgust.

“Roberto, what’s wrong?”

“Are you crazy, woman?” He said something in Spanish, and from his tone, it was just as well she didn’t understand. “You’re inviting trouble. I thought you had more sense than this.”

“Roberto, if you’d only listen.”

“To what? Don’t you realize this is New York City? You’re targeting yourself to be the next crime victim. You’re inviting trouble. I can’t follow you around and protect you.”

She didn’t appreciate his attitude, but she didn’t want to argue, not when they’d come so far. She stiffened her shoulders and glared right back at him. The cold wind whipped about her face as she struggled with her composure. “I know what I’m doing.”

“You haven’t got a clue,” Roberto snapped. “What could possibly be so important for you to risk your life?”

She tried to tell herself that he was so angry because he cared, but his attitude stung. The people in this neighborhood knew her. She couldn’t go more than a few houses before she met someone she recognized from either the school or the church.

“Don’t you understand?” Roberto said, gripping her by the shoulders. “You can’t change the world on your own.”

“But I can help these kids.”

“Brynn, oh, my darling fool.” Briefly he closed his eyes, struggling to hold on to his temper. “You can do nothing. You can change nothing. Denzil, Malcolm, and all the rest will live and die in this neighborhood the same way Emilio and I will.”

“That’s not true,” she argued. She could make a difference. She believed that with all her heart. That was the reason she was here.

“Grow up,” he said, his fingers biting deep into her coat. “You’ve got to step out of this dream world you’re living in. Look around you. Can’t you see?”

Brynn refused to believe what he said. “We have a difference of opinion, Roberto, but that’s no reason to treat me like a child.”

He seemed to be struggling within himself. After a moment, he dropped his hands and his features hardened. “Go home, Brynn. For the love of God, go home where you belong. You don’t fit in here. Just go!” he shouted, and gave her a light push.

She blanched. “You don’t mean that.”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Pack your bags and head back to Rhode Island or wherever it was you came from before you get yourself killed. Please, Brynn.” This last part came on a rush of emotion.

The pain his words produced sucked the breath from her lungs. At first she could barely think, and when she spoke her voice betrayed her pain. “You want me to leave?”

He held himself stiffly away from her and didn’t answer for several moments. Then something broke within him, and he expelled his breath forcefully. Before her heart beat again, before she could take another breath, Roberto brought her into his arms. “No, I don’t want you to go.”

Her arms circled his waist, and he relaxed. Nothing had ever felt more right than to be in Roberto’s arms.

“Promise me, if you’re so anxious to go out nights, you’ll let either me or Emilio accompany you.”

She remembered his words about not having the time to be her bodyguard and knew he’d said those hurtful things only because he was worried for her.

“Promise?” he demanded.

She nodded, and he kissed the top of her head.

Beneath the warm, golden glow of the streetlight, the man who’d shouted at her only moments earlier now bent his head to kiss her. “What am I going to do with you?” he said.

Brynn smiled to herself, content in his arms. In time he’d realize she could make a difference. If it was only to be in one life, then so be it, but she wouldn’t walk away from her students, nor would she leave this neighborhood, no matter what Roberto thought.

Jenny stood on stage, dressed in her tights and dancing shoes. Five others stood with her, including Michelle. All triple threats. Each one accomplished in singing, dancing, and acting. Each one eager to be John Peterman’s latest Broadway discovery. Each one pleading silently to be chosen for this role. Any role. A chance.

Bright lights blinded her, but Jenny was accustomed to not being able to view her audience. Her throat was raw and her head throbbed, but she ignored the cold and flu symptoms as best she could.

“Miss Lancaster.”

The man with the booming voice called her name. Jenny stepped forward and shaded her eyes with her hand. “Yes.”

“You sang ‘Don’t Cry for Me, Argentina’ in the first audition, is that correct?”

“Yes.” Her voice quivered with the strain of answering his questions.

“Did you bring your sheet music with you?”

“Yes.” She looked to the man sitting at the piano.

“What will you be singing this time?”

With her cold and her throat feeling the way it did, Jenny knew her voice wouldn’t carry any musical number with more than a two-octave range. Normally her voice was able to scale four octaves, something that had amazed and thrilled her music teachers in Custer, Montana. But such versatility wasn’t uncommon here in New York.

“I’ll be singing ‘Rainy Days and Mondays,’ “ Jenny told the faceless voice. The first piano notes broke into the silence. She was forced to clear her throat, which had tightened up on her to where she could barely speak, let alone sing.

The piano player looked at her when she didn’t come in on cue and played the introduction a second time. She opened her mouth and nothing came out. She tried again, and what sound did escape wasn’t anywhere close to being considered musical.

Miserable, Jenny raised her hand and stopped the piano player. There was no use continuing. Not now. She couldn’t do it.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, wavered, and reached out blindly, afraid she was about to collapse.

Michelle gripped her hand. “Jenny’s sick . . . she shouldn’t even be here.”

Her roommate placed her arm around Jenny’s shoulders, and she slumped against Michelle, needing her friend’s support to remain upright.

“She has a fever of a hundred and two,” Michelle informed the casting director.

“And you are?” the loud voice boomed.

Michelle stiffened. “Her roommate. I realize this is none of my business, but I’m afraid Jenny’s sick. If you want to hear her sing, our agent can supply you with any number of tapes. Come on, Jenny,” Michelle said, steering her off the stage. “I’m taking you home.”

“No,” Jenny protested. It was bad enough that her best chance of ever appearing on Broadway was being taken away, but she wouldn’t allow her own misfortune to ruin Michelle’s chances, too. “You stay here.”

“But—”

“I insist. Don’t argue with me. This is your chance.”

“But, Jenny—”

“Michelle Jordan!” the voice shouted.

Michelle wavered and looked over her shoulder.

“Are you staying or going?” the voice asked.

“Staying,” Jenny answered for her. She’d meant to shout. She’d put all her effort into making herself heard, but what remained of her voice was shockingly weak.

“Oh, Jenny, are you sure you’ll be all right?”

“Of course. All I need is a little rest.” She managed to put on a bright smile, which depleted what little energy remained. “I’ll get a taxi,” she promised a second time. A real luxury, considering her finances.

“You promise?”

“Yes. Now break a leg, kid,” she said in her best Humphrey Bogart imitation. “You’ll have to make it for both of us.” She felt like weeping but managed to keep the tears at bay until she was outside the theater.

It was snowing. Wouldn’t you know it? Every man, woman, and child in New York would be looking for a cab. Jenny stepped halfway out into the street and raised her arm in an effort to hail a taxi. The cold snow was a welcome coolant as it drifted onto her upturned face.

“You’re going to help her, aren’t you?” Goodness asked Mercy. “That poor girl’s sick and miserable.”

“Of course I’m going to help her.” Mercy was indignant that her friend would believe otherwise. “It’s just that this is the worst time imaginable for her to find an empty taxi.”

“Well, do something.”

“What would you suggest?” Mercy snapped, impatient herself.

“Stop traffic.”

Mercy grinned. Why hadn’t she thought of that herself? It wouldn’t be so difficult to create a distraction. Not with Goodness there to help her. Naturally it would work; she just hoped Gabriel didn’t find out about this.

“Come on,” she said, sharing a gleeful smile with her friend.

“Where are we going?”

“Times Square,” Mercy answered.

“Yes, but . . .”

Even Goodness looked surprised, and Mercy grinned sheepishly. “Don’t worry, Gabriel will never hear of it.” Well, at least she hoped that was the case.

“Look.” Someone near Jenny stretched out an arm and pointed toward the huge electronic billboard above Times Square. “What in heaven’s name is going on?”

Jenny looked up and did a double take. The sign that had flashed a huge Santa drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola only minutes earlier had disappeared. In its stead stood a picture of her own face, with the words flashing “Jenny needs a cab. Help Jenny.”

She blinked, certain she was seeing things. Her fever must be higher than she realized for her to hallucinate this way. Obviously she’d stepped over the edge of reality.

Cars slowed to a crawl. Any number of people paused and pointed to the sign.

“Are you Jenny?” a bag lady who was nearly bent in half asked her. She wore a ragged wool coat. A worn shopping bag was draped over her forearm.

“Yes,” Jenny whispered.

“I’m here to help you,” the old woman proclaimed. “I’ll get you that cab, now don’t you worry none.”

“I’m sick,” Jenny whispered.

“Yes, I know, dear, now don’t you fret. You’ll be home soon enough.” Holding Jenny by the arm, the old woman marched her out into the middle of midtown traffic and stood in front of the first yellow cab she spied.

The cabdriver stuck his head out the window and shouted angrily. Apparently he hadn’t been in the country long, because his accent was so thick that it was nearly impossible to understand him.

“This is Jenny.” The bag lady opened the cab door and stuck her head inside. “She’s sick and needs to get home.”

“I don’t care if she’s the president,” the man inside the cab muttered, clenching his briefcase as if he expected the woman to snatch it from him. “I’m not giving up this cab. Driver,” he instructed, “do something.”

The driver twisted around and placed his hands over his ears. “Only been in America one day.”

The passenger said something under his breath.

Undeterred, the bag lady tried a second time. “That sign up there says this woman needs help. Now get out.”

The dignified-looking businessman bristled. “What sign?”

“Look at the billboard!” she shouted. “Now do as I say.”

Jenny remained in a daze, barely able to decipher what was happening around her. Horns blared. People stopped and stared. Traffic snarled even worse than it normally did. No one moved.

“You’re Jenny?” the businessman leaned halfway out of the cab to ask her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Oh, all right,” he muttered, and with that he hopped out of the cab.

Jenny turned to thank the bag lady who’d helped her, but she’d disappeared into the crowd. Safe and warm, Jenny climbed inside the cab, laid back her head, and closed her eyes. The next thing she knew the driver pulled up in front of her apartment complex. She couldn’t remember giving him her address.

“How’d you know where I lived?” she asked as she pulled out her limited cash reserve to pay him.

“The old lady told me.”

“But . . .” Jenny shook her head, hoping to clear her thoughts. She’d never seen that woman before in her life. How could the bag lady have known where she lived?

“Good job,” Goodness said, standing under the blinking lights of Times Square.

Mercy was downright proud of herself. She’d pulled off the role of the bag lady with the finesse that had done all angels proud. “Jenny never even guessed she was dealing with an angel,” she bragged to her friend.

“I see you had a bit of a problem with that businessman, though. He didn’t seem willing to give up his seat.”

“A nonbeliever,” Mercy explained. “He prefers to take care of matters himself. Poor fellow. He doesn’t know what he’s missing.”

“It looks to me like he’s missing his cab.” Goodness chuckled and pointed to the street below. The man stood with his shoulders hunched against the cold, his arm raised in a desperate effort to hail a taxi.

Joshua was about to give up hope that Hannah would show. He’d waited a half hour and was tempted to admit he’d been wrong. His face stung with cold and his fingers were numb. He might have left if it hadn’t been for the skaters gliding over the ice and all the bright lights on the fifty-foot-tall Christmas tree. Both held his attention and kept him from dwelling on his disappointment.

This was the first day of Hanukkah, the Jewish holiday that observed the freedom of religion. These few days in December celebrated the hope for peace. This night Jewish families around the world lit the first candle of the menorah, commemorating the Jewish recapture of the Temple in Jerusalem from the Hellenic Syrians in 164 b.c. It was the holiday honoring “the miracle of the oil.”

If Joshua remembered his history correctly, only one small jar of undefiled oil could be found for the Temple’s menorah. It should have been enough for only one day, but the jar lasted eight days, until a fresh supply could be delivered.

Joshua had never considered himself a particularly religious man. He preferred to think of himself as a man of faith. In the darkness of winter, his people celebrated the return of light.

That was the way Joshua thought of Hannah. She was a ray of sunshine in a world that had been filled with dark ambition. A ray of hope. He hated placing Hannah in the awkward position of having to choose between him and Carl, but he was confident she didn’t love the other man. He would have staked his career on that.

This evening would be telling. What he’d said to Hannah earlier about her not being able to stay away was true. If she truly cared for him the way he suspected, she’d find a means of meeting him.

Rockefeller Center was big, but somehow, some way, they’d connect. Joshua checked his watch one last time: 8:40.

His disappointment was keen. He’d wanted her to come. Willed her there. But it was apparent now that he’d been wrong. He had no option but to release her; she’d made her choice. He’d found her too late.

He’d turned away from the ice-skating rink when out of the blue he saw her. In that moment, it was as though the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders and his heart sang.

Hannah saw him, too, but her beautiful blue eyes were devoid of emotion. She hurried toward him, and he held out his hands to greet her.

By the time she’d gripped his fingers with her own, she was breathless and barely able to talk. Her eyes were bright with questions. With doubts and confusion. Without speaking, she told him everything he needed to know. She hadn’t wanted to come. Had decided to stay away . . . and found she couldn’t.

“You were right,” she said with a sadness that was nearly his undoing. “I had to come. A hundred times I told myself the best thing for both of us was if I stayed away. What have you done to me, Joshua? What have you done?”

It was difficult not to pull her into his arms and comfort her. It was what he wanted. His heart was full, spilling over. The fact that his love brought her unhappiness wasn’t lost on him. In time he’d make up for the unpleasantness he’d caused her. If only she would be patient, he’d prove to her she’d made the right decision.

“I think we should talk this out,” she suggested. She seemed to harbor the hope that they could sit across from each other and reason away their mutual attraction. It wasn’t as simple as that, but she’d need to reach that realization herself.

“All right.” He sought nothing more than to be with her. It wouldn’t have mattered what they did. In many ways, he felt he was already fully acquainted with Hannah. He knew he loved her. He knew he wanted her to be his wife and the mother of his children.

How or when he’d come to realize all this, he couldn’t answer. He was a man who dealt with facts, who argued cases. A man who generally was uncomfortable defining feelings. But when it came to Hannah Morganstern, Joshua found he was an expert on identifying his emotions.

“Come on,” he said, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm. “I’ll buy us a cup of hot chocolate.”

A fragile, tentative smile touched her mouth. Her beautiful, kissable mouth.

“I’m beginning to think we’re both a little nuts,” she said.

“I couldn’t agree with you more, but it’s a good kind of crazy. Being with you makes me happy, Hannah. You’re beautiful and generous and loving.”

She lowered her head, uneasy with compliments.

Joshua found a table, and after she was seated, he walked over to the refreshment booth and bought two steaming cups of hot chocolate.

When he returned, she glanced up at him shyly. “The most amazing thing happened this evening.”

“Oh?” He sipped from the edge of the paper cup, the steam wafting upward.

“When I told you I couldn’t meet you, it wasn’t because I didn’t want to. Carl had asked me to attend the candle-lighting ceremony with him. It’s the first day of Hanukkah,” she told him unnecessarily.

“I know.”

“I knew there wasn’t any way I could possibly break our date. Then at the last minute Carl phoned. He came down with the flu.”

That explained why Hannah was late. She’d been at the synagogue with her family and then rushed from there to Rockefeller Center.

“When I left in such a hurry, I’m sure my parents thought I was going to see Carl . . . instead I’m meeting another man.” Sadness coated her words. It was clear she hated deceiving those she loved.

“I’m sure that given time, your family will learn to like me as much as they do Carl,” he assured her gently. He regretted bringing the other man into the conversation. It seemed they spent half their precious time together discussing the rabbi’s son.

Hannah’s gaze drifted to the ice skaters and then back to him. “I hardly know you myself.”

“Ask me anything you like,” he invited her.

“You’ve never married?”

“No. I’ve been waiting for you, Hannah Morganstern.” By the way the color drained from her face, Joshua realized he’d said the wrong thing. He didn’t mean to rush Hannah. Because he was confident didn’t mean he had to get cocky.

“I’m engaged to Carl,” she whispered. “Doesn’t that matter to you?”

“It matters a great deal.” He wasn’t going to lie. When she’d told him, he’d been both frustrated and angry. Later he’d realized just how fortunate it was that they’d met before the wedding. “I figure I found you just in time.”

He didn’t ask her if she felt the same way. Didn’t bombard her with questions. That wasn’t necessary. He already knew. She felt everything he did, only for her, it wasn’t so simple. Tied up with her feelings for him was a lifetime of adhering to her parents’ wishes.

“I’ll go to your family,” Joshua offered, “and explain.”

“Explain what?” she asked miserably. “There’s nothing to tell them, Joshua. I haven’t changed my mind about anything.”

Nine

Hannah had no intention of staying with Joshua. Her only purpose in meeting him was to explain once and for all that a relationship between them was impossible. It was too late for them. She was engaged to Carl now, and they’d soon be planning their wedding.

That had been the reason she’d decided to meet Joshua: so he’d know. Yet the moment she’d found him, her heart had been filled with a yearning, a wonder, that she couldn’t reason away.

She couldn’t look at him, she feared, and not reveal what was in her heart, so she focused her attention on the ice skaters. As a child she’d loved it when her mother had taken her to this very rink. Although she’d struggled to remain upright, Hannah had enjoyed the simple pleasure of gliding freely over the ice. When she’d tired, she’d sat and watched others, admiring the skillful athletes as they’d leapt and spun their way across the rink. In her child’s mind, she’d dreamed about someday being as graceful and talented.

“Come,” Joshua said, and reached for her hand. He’d been silent since she’d announced that she fully intended to marry Carl. Hannah hoped he would accept her decision graciously and let matters drop between them. It was as difficult for him as it was for her, but she couldn’t tell him that. She willed him to leave because she hadn’t the strength to do it herself.

“Where are we going?”

His eyes revealed nothing, then he smiled in that gentle way of his. “Ice skating.”

“But, Joshua, it’s been years. I’m not sure I even remember how.”

“It’s been years for me, too.”

“I can’t,” she insisted. “Really. I should get back before Mama asks questions. I can’t lie.”

Joshua stiffened. Surely he understood that she’d intended never to see him again. Surely he realized that she’d come this evening only because Carl had canceled at the last moment. Even now that surprised her.

“I’m not asking you to lie,” Joshua explained, his hand clasping hers firmly. “All I want is for you to skate with me.”

Hannah gazed longingly toward the ice. She was tempted. Oh, heaven, she was tempted. It wasn’t so much to ask, she decided, not when she wanted this so badly herself.

“All right,” she agreed. “But for only a short time.”

“Agreed.”

Joshua left her briefly, after checking her shoe size, and returned a few moments later with two pairs of ice skates. After lacing up his own, he knelt in front of her to be sure her skates were tied properly.

“You may well regret this,” she said, linking her arm through his. Her legs wobbled when they stepped onto the ice, but Joshua’s grip about her waist was firm.

Her first few steps were tentative and awkward. If not for Joshua, she was sure she would have fallen. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into doing this,” she said, concentrating on staying on her feet.

“You’re doing just fine.”

He was being kind, and she said so. Their first whirl around the rink was marked with her clumsy attempts to remain upright. Even with Joshua holding on to her, Hannah’s arms flailed out in front of her a number of times in an effort to maintain her balance.

Before long she found a certain rhythm and glided over the smooth surface. Gaining confidence, she relaxed her grip on Joshua’s arm, and he gradually released her. Skating backward in front of her, he smiled and praised her skill.

“Do you think anyone from the Ice Capades is watching?” she joked.

Joshua chuckled.

Thinking herself clever, Hannah decided to speed past Joshua. Unfortunately, in her effort to impress him, she lost her footing. Her feet slipped out from under her so quickly that she didn’t have time to react. Arms flailing, she landed butt first on the hard, cold ice.

Joshua nearly fell on top of her, trying to keep her from losing her balance. By some minor miracle he managed to remain on his feet. Smiling broadly, he skated wide circles around her.

“You think this is funny, do you?” she asked, her dignity sadly bruised.

“Hilarious.”

Hannah’s rear end was getting wet and cold from the ice. She stretched out her arm, silently seeking his assistance. Joshua ignored her hand. Bracing his fists against his hips, his skates perpendicular to each other, he circled her.

“Joshua,” she pleaded.

Chuckling, he helped her to her feet.

They skated for more than an hour, and then afterward, because she was unbelievably hungry, they ate huge hot dogs. Mustard dripped onto Hannah’s forearm, and Joshua dabbed it away with a paper napkin, teasing her about being so messy.

Time seemed to drift away from them. Never could Hannah remember enjoying anyone’s company more. It had been like this from the first moment they’d met.

“I have to go,” she said sadly when she noticed the time. It seemed she was always saying that to him.

He hailed a taxi and sat next to her on the seat. When they arrived outside her parents’ deli, Joshua paid the driver and climbed out of the cab with her.

On the abandoned sidewalk, Hannah stood with her head bowed, her heart thudding hard and heavy with dread against her chest.

“I can’t see you again.” The best way was to say it flat out and leave no room for speculation. It was difficult, but necessary.

“Hannah . . .”

“I’m engaged to another man,” she said as firmly as she could manage, afraid her voice would catch with emotion. “I can’t string you along. It isn’t fair to you. Please, Joshua, try to understand.”

“Can’t do this to me?” he repeated, and it seemed to her that he found encouragement in her words.

She didn’t want to argue with him. She glanced longingly toward the door, wanting this last farewell to be over as quickly as possible. Not wanting to dwell on the unpleasantness of hurting him.

“Good-bye, Joshua.”

He caught her by the shoulders and brought her into his arms. She didn’t resist him. Hadn’t the strength. His kiss was more potent than Irish whiskey. More heady than fine wine.

“Don’t you think you should be more worried about hurting Carl than me?” he asked, his lips against her hair. “You said you couldn’t do this to me.”

“I can’t do this to Carl, either,” she said in a rush, her words dwindling to a mere whisper. She squeezed her eyes closed, realizing her mistake. Her first thought had been of Joshua, not Carl.

“You don’t love him,” Joshua insisted.

Hannah backed away from him. “Please accept this, Joshua. I can’t . . . I won’t see you again.”

He opened his mouth, then snapped it closed as if biting off an argument. “It isn’t in me to make you miserable, Hannah. Nor can I force you into a relationship against your will. I’m here night or day, whenever you need me.” He pulled a business card from his wallet, then wrote something on the back of it. “Here’s my address and phone number. You can reach me twenty-four hours a day. Call me when you’re ready.”

“I won’t call.”

“Take the card anyway.”

He opened her hand and planted it in her palm, then folded her fingers over it.

Having done that, he kissed her again until her knees felt as though they would give out on her. She could barely manage to breathe when he lifted his head from hers. He reached up and tenderly slid his index finger down the side of her face.

“Call me,” he whispered, his voice low and seductive.

Pride demanded that she tell him she wouldn’t be making that phone call, but his kiss had stolen her breath away. By the time her lungs had recovered, he’d turned and walked away.

Realizing she was still clutching the business card, she buried it in her coat pocket and as silently as possible unlocked the door to the deli.

Soundlessly she made her way up the backstairs to the family apartment. All the lights were out, and Hannah sighed with relief. Her parents had gone to bed.

Guided by what little moonlight was available, she crept toward her bedroom. Just when she thought she was home free, her father spoke from behind her.

“Hannah?”

She swallowed tightly.

“For the love of heaven, where have you been? Don’t you have a clue what time it is? Your mother and I have been half sick worrying about you.”

All through the afternoon, Brynn noticed that Suzie Chang’s eyes avoided hers. Although the teenager didn’t contribute freely to class discussions, if Brynn called upon her, Suzie would willingly share her thoughts.

Often Brynn had been grateful for Suzie’s contributions. Her other students tended to get sidetracked easily. Brynn had come to rely on Suzie to subtly steer the topic back on course. Reading the teenager generally wasn’t difficult, and Brynn knew from the way Suzie’s eyes brightened when she had something she wanted to say.

It wasn’t that way this afternoon, however. Suzie seemed to be trapped in a world all her own. Knowing the girl was miserable nearly broke Brynn’s heart.

Brynn blamed herself. It had been wrong for her to look into scholarship possibilities without first discussing the idea with Suzie. Her intentions had been good, but in the process she’d somehow managed to hurt the girl.

The bell rang, and Brynn stopped Suzie on her way out the door.

“Could I speak to you for a few moments?” Brynn asked, hoping her voice didn’t betray her worries.

“I can’t this afternoon, Miss Cassidy,” the teenager mumbled, her head bowed.

“It’ll only take a moment, Suzie.”

The room emptied, and Suzie stood just inside the classroom, her gaze fastened to the floor. She trembled like a frightened rabbit.

“It’s about our discussion from the other day,” Brynn began. “Remember I asked you if you had any plans for higher education.”

“I can’t go to college, Miss Cassidy.”

“Suzie, if I said something to offend you, then I’m truly sorry.”

The teenager bit into her lower lip, then slowly lifted her head. She offered Brynn a weak smile. “You didn’t offend me. I was honored that you felt I . . .” She paused, and her dark eyes filled with tears.

“Suzie?”

The girl turned away and would have rushed from the room, Brynn suspected, if she hadn’t stopped her.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Brynn asked gently.

Suzie trembled as she ran the back of her hand under each eye. “I don’t want to trouble you with my problems.”

“It’s no trouble,” Brynn assured her gently. “I’ll do anything I can to help you.”

“You can’t help me, Miss Cassidy. No one can.”

“I can try.” With her arm around Suzie’s shoulder, Brynn steered the girl to her desk and handed her a tissue.

Suzie’s thin shoulders shook with repressed sobs. “Oh, Miss Cassidy, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“The first thing is to dry your eyes. There isn’t anything so terrible that you can’t tell me.”

Suzie looked up and studied Brynn as though to gauge her sincerity. Brynn met her look without flinching. She hadn’t a clue why Suzie was so unhappy. Naturally she had her suspicions, but she hoped it wasn’t as traumatic as the girl seemed to feel.

“I can’t go to college,” Suzie announced on a wobbly, emotion-laden breath. “I don’t even know if I’ll be able to graduate from high school.”

Brynn waited, giving the teenager the freedom to continue without the interruption of questions.

Suzie stiffened and looked away, as if meeting her eyes were more than she could manage. “I haven’t told anyone.” The words were low and filled with trepidation.

Brynn gripped the younger girl’s hand, and Suzie squeezed her fingers hard enough to cause her pain.

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered.

The news shouldn’t have surprised Brynn, but it did. Suzie didn’t have a boyfriend at school—in fact, to the best of Brynn’s knowledge, the only social activity Suzie had ever participated in had been the dance at the church.

“How far along are you?”

“Almost six months.”

“Six months!” Brynn couldn’t disguise her surprise.

“I realize I barely show. . . . I’ve lost weight because I didn’t want anyone to know. I was afraid if my father found out, he’d make me have an abortion,” she said in a rush, her voice barely audible. “I don’t want to kill my baby.”

“Of course you don’t.”

“I want this baby, Miss Cassidy. I love him so much already. When I first realized I was pregnant, I thought I would die; then later, after I felt him move . . . it was such an incredible feeling.”

“The father?” Brynn didn’t want to pry, but surely the baby’s father should be helping Suzie with some of these difficult decisions. Surely he could stand with her when she told her parents.

“I . . . haven’t told him either.” This was admitted with the same downcast look Suzie had worn earlier.

“But, Suzie . . .”

“He’s got his own troubles, and I don’t want to burden him with my news.”

“Burden him?” Brynn couldn’t keep the irritation out of her voice. “Suzie, this child is his responsibility, too. You shouldn’t have to deal with this alone. There are decisions to be made. For one thing, you won’t be able to hide your condition much longer.”

“I know, but I don’t want him to worry about me. He can’t help, and . . . and if I told him about the baby, it would only make him feel worse. He loves me. I know he does.” She buried her face in her hands, and her shoulders shook with silent tears.

Brynn patted Suzie’s back gently.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Miss Cassidy. I don’t know what will happen when my family learns about the baby.”

“You’re going to have to tell your parents.”

Suzie wiped the tears from her face. “I’m afraid my father will make me leave home, and I won’t have anywhere to live. I want to finish high school, and what you said about me getting a scholarship for college, well, I never thought I could do anything like that.”

“But of course you can. Your grades are excellent, but more than that, you have a clear desire to learn. Did you take the SAT test?”

Suzie shook her head.

“But before you consider college, you’re going to need to make a decision about your future, yours and the baby’s. I can’t help you with that, but I do know that the school counselor can help guide you. Will you talk with her?”

Suzie hesitated, then nodded. “I like Mrs. Christian.”

Brynn walked down to the office with her and waited while Suzie made an appointment with the school counselor for the next day.

“If there’s anything more I can do, let me know, okay?” Brynn asked when Suzie had finished.

The teenage girl started to cry once more, and Brynn hugged her close and whispered reassurances. “Everything will work out, Suzie, don’t worry.”

The teenager sniffled and left the school. Silently Brynn returned to her classroom and sagged onto her seat, her heart heavy with Suzie’s news.

Suzie was pregnant. The girl was little more than a child herself. So tiny and delicate, it was a wonder she’d been able to disguise her pregnancy this long. The fact that she’d gone without prenatal care hadn’t escaped Brynn’s notice, either.

The desire to wrap her arms around the teenage girl and protect her from the harsh reality of being a single mother nearly overwhelmed Brynn. More than one of her students was a mother. Brynn had been surprised to learn Yolanda had a two-year-old son. The boy stayed with Yolanda’s mother while Yolanda attended classes to complete her education. Denzil had bragged to her about fathering three children. He’d done so in an effort to shock her. The fact that he was sexually active didn’t astound her, but his attitude toward the number of children he’d fathered with different girls did.

By the time Brynn left the school, she felt as though she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders. It seemed only natural to seek out Father Grady, but the parish priest was gone for the afternoon.

Mrs. Houghton, his housekeeper, seemed to sense Brynn had come for more than their usual friendly chat. “Do you want me to try to reach Father Grady?” the kindly older woman asked.

Brynn stood outside on the rectory steps. She shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll talk to him later.”

“Are you all right, dearie?”

“I’m fine,” Brynn assured her, but she wasn’t.

Blindly she made her way toward the subway station, but as she neared the entrance, she hesitated. The thought of returning to an empty apartment held no appeal. With no clear destination in mind, she turned back, her shoulders slumped and her steps slow.

Roberto. She needed him. Although she trusted Roberto, she couldn’t tell him about Suzie’s condition. That would be breaking the teenager’s confidence.

By the time she arrived at his garage, her eyes burned with unshed tears. The tight knot in her throat made it difficult to speak.

Roberto was bent over the hood of a car, and when she walked into the shop, he glanced up. He knew immediately that something wasn’t right.

“Brynn, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied. “Would you mind holding me for a little bit?” she asked, and her voice cracked.

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t question her, but simply did as she requested. Gently he laid aside his tools and brought her into the wide circle of his arms. “I’m greasy,” be advised with regret, his touch light and tender.

Brynn burrowed deeper, needing his comfort. “I don’t care.”

His arms came fully around her then as he brought her against his solid strength. The hurt and fear, the disappointment and doubt, produced a hard, bitter tightness in her chest, and she clung to him.

“Brynn,” Roberto whispered against her hair, stroking it away from her face, “can you tell me what’s upset you so?”

She shook her head. The dream she’d had for her students seemed to have crumbled at her feet. Suzie had shown such promise, and Brynn had wanted so much for her. An unplanned pregnancy wasn’t the end of the world, but Brynn didn’t want Suzie caught in the trap like so many others. The teenager loved and wanted this child, enough to hide her pregnancy past the time she could have had an abortion. Enough to stand up against the wrath of her family.

As best she could, Brynn swallowed the emotion. “It was just one of those days,” she said, drawing in a quick, stabilizing breath.

“It was more than that.” He led her to a stool next to his work bench, and when she was seated, he paced the floor in front of her. “It’s this neighborhood, isn’t it?” His voice was gruff with anger. “You don’t belong here. I told you that before and you refused to listen.” He continued muttering in Spanish, knowing full well she couldn’t understand him.

“Roberto.” She reached out to him, but he ignored her. “Stop talking like that. Nothing you say is going to convince me to leave.”

He rubbed his hands clean on a pink flannel rag and then burrowed his splayed fingers through his thick hair, leaving deep indentations.

“If I’d known this would upset you, I wouldn’t have come.” Brynn felt bad about that now. “I’m fine, really. There’s nothing you can do except . . .”

“Yes?” he prodded.

She hesitated and held her arms open to him. “Could you please kiss me?” The world felt right when Roberto held her and loved her.

The beginnings of a smile edged up the fringes of his mouth. He walked over to where she sat and captured her upturned face between his callused hands. Her own hands found the curves of his shoulders. He felt stable and strong, and she needed that security. Someone to hold on to while trapped in one of life’s storms.

“Roberto.” His name came as soft as mist across a Scottish moor.

He closed his eyes as if struggling against her. She felt his breath against her face and touched his lip with the pad of her index finger. His mouth was moist and warm.

The simple action was all he seemed to need. Roberto bent forward and claimed her mouth in a long, leisurely kiss. Since the night of the dance, he’d kissed her any number of times. Each episode taught her something more about this man. He’d enthralled her from the first. He felt strongly about his younger brother, accepting responsibility for Emilio’s welfare. At the same time, Roberto cared deeply about the neighborhood, confronting injustice, prejudice, and hatred. Every time she met Father Grady, the priest sang Roberto’s praises. Already she was half in love with him herself.

She knew a part of Roberto wanted her to quit teaching at Manhattan High. He didn’t want her to deal with the squalor and misery he confronted day in and day out. He’d rather she returned to teaching at the prim and proper girls’ school. Yet at the same time, he was learning, just as she was, that they had a good deal in common. The barriers that had kept them apart seemed to shrink a bit more each time they were together.

“I hope you’ll listen to reason this time.” His lips were less than an inch from her own.

Brynn linked her arms around his neck and bounced her mouth against his. “Just being with you makes everything seem better. Thank you.”

His face tightened. “Brynn, for the love of—”

She stopped him cold with a long, lingering kiss. When she regained her voice, she whispered, “I’m falling in love with you, Roberto Alcantara.”

He reacted as if she’d pulled out a gun and fired at him. He groaned and rubbed his hand down his face. “That’s the last thing I wanted to happen.” He edged away from her until his backside collided with the side panel of the car on which he’d been working moments earlier.

“Roberto . . .”

“Don’t you know not to tell a man that?” he asked gruffly. Then he whirled around and walked out of the shop as if she’d deeply insulted him.

* * *

The fever felt as if it were about to take the top of her head off as Jenny struggled out of her clothes and into her pajamas. The fever or the bitter pill of disappointment, she didn’t know which.

Someone knocked against the apartment door.

“Michelle, can you get that?” Jenny called out before she remembered that her roommate was still at the audition with John Peterman and company.

Struggling out of bed, Jenny reached for her robe. She’d never looked or felt worse in her life and was in no mood to deal with a door-to-door salesman.

The knock came a second time, sharp and impatient.

Grumbling under her breath, she tied the sash loosely around her waist and then unlatched the door lock without checking the peephole first. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.”

The words left her mouth and collided with a solid male chest. Jenny frowned and slowly looked up.

If she hadn’t been feeling lightheaded earlier, she felt that way now.

“Trey,” she whispered, so shocked there was no sound in her voice. He stood bold as life directly in front of her, all six feet four of him. With his Stetson adding another couple of inches to his height, he made for an intimidating figure.

“Jenny?”

Another woman might have fainted then and there, but by this point Jenny had endured so much that another shock barely fazed her.

“I’ve been sick.”

“It certainly looks that way. Can I come inside?”

She nodded, too numb and too confused to find an excuse to refuse him. Not that she wanted to. He was a hundred times more compelling than she remembered. A hundred times more devastating. He didn’t seem to realize that in New York a man this good-looking generally appeared in fashion magazines.

“You should be in bed,” he commented as he walked inside the tiny apartment. He glanced around, and his gaze narrowed as if to say he found it impossible to understand why anyone would choose to live in a place this small. A man who rode the wide-open range would have to feel claustrophobic in New York City, Jenny reflected.

Despite her shock at seeing him, she maintained her wits. It would serve him right if she told him that she had been in bed and had been forced out of it in order to answer the door.

“What are you doing in town?” she asked. She gestured toward the sofa.

Gingerly he sat on the edge of the thin cushion and held on to his cowboy hat with both hands between his parted knees. “What am I doing in New York?” he said. “What else would someone like me come to this crazy town for? I came to see you, Jenny Lancaster.”

“See me?” Now that the excitement had started to fade, Jenny felt the dread take over.

“You wrote and said you wouldn’t be home for Christmas, remember? I thought about that, then decided if you wouldn’t come to me, there was no option but for me to visit you.”

She lowered her head, and her hair, stringy and damp from the snow, fell forward. “I can’t go home, Trey, I just can’t.” The dread was replaced with a heavy sadness.

He didn’t say anything for several tense minutes. “Your parents were terribly disappointed.”

The pain tightened her chest. “I know.”

“I was disappointed, too.”

Slowly she lifted her gaze until their eyes met and held. A woman could get lost and wish never to be found in eyes that dark. Funny she’d never noticed that when she was growing up.

He continued to hold her look for several breathless moments. “I’ve missed you, Jenny.”

She bit into her lower lip.

Trey had never been a man for a lot of words. And the years apart hadn’t improved the situation, Jenny noticed. He rotated the brim of his hat in his hands.

“When you first left Custer I thought you’d come to New York and get this singing and dancing craze out of your head. Then when you became so successful, it seemed this was your destiny. But I always counted on seeing you again.”

She couldn’t bear to listen to him repeat the lies she’d fed her family and friends. She bent forward and buried her face in her hands.

“Jenny?” he asked gently, his tender concern ripping at her heart. “Do you need a doctor?”

She shook her head. What she really needed was a priest. Someone who could absolve her from the guilt. Someone who could help her repair the damage she’d done to herself and her family. Someone to show her what to do now.

He moved from the sofa and knelt on the thin carpet in front of her. As though he weren’t sure what to do next, he placed his hand on her back. “Jenny, are you crying?”

She didn’t answer him, although there wasn’t any use trying to hide it.

He hesitated, stood, and then reached down and gathered her in his arms. Then, as if she weighed next to nothing, he lifted her from the chair. One moment she was doubled over, struggling to hold back the giant sobs, and the next thing she knew she was being carried.

“Trey, what are you doing?” she demanded.

“Taking care of you.” He sat back down on the sofa, holding her in his lap, his arms around her. “I never was much good at dealing with a woman’s tears. Holding you just seemed the right thing to do.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. For the longest time he did nothing but hold her, and she did nothing but let him.

“Tell me about Charlie,” she begged, wanting to hear everything he could say about her family. Her brother wrote the least of anyone.

Trey chuckled and rubbed his hand down the side of his lean jaw. “I suspect you’ve heard he’s sweet on Mary Lou.”

Jenny’s head came off Trey’s chest. “Mary Lou Perkins?” That seemed impossible. First off, Mary Lou had been engaged to Brad Harper when Jenny had left Custer. Then she’d learned that the wedding had been called off at the last minute—word was Brad had gotten cold feet. But Jenny had assumed that the two would eventually marry.

Trey grinned. “Charlie’s right sweet on her, and after three years Brad may just have lost his girl.”

“It serves Brad Harper right. He had his chance,” she said, siding with her brother.

She felt Trey’s smile against her hair. “Last I heard, Charlie and Mary Lou had decided to announce their engagement to the community on Christmas Day.”

“Oh.” She wouldn’t be there. One more nail in the coffin of her guilt.

“If you won’t be there for Christmas, Jenny, will you come home for your brother’s wedding?”

Ten

“Aren’t you going to help Jenny?” Goodness asked. The three crowded in the corner of the tiny living room, hovering over Trey and Jenny.

Mercy knew that her friend had a soft heart. In fact, it was Goodness’s tender nature plus her weakness for electronic devices that had been the main source of their difficulties over the last couple of years. To be fair, Goodness had matured. Either that or she’d become accustomed to such things as fifty-two-inch television screens. Not once in the past two Christmases had Goodness appeared on pay-per-view. Mercy was downright proud of her friend’s progress.

“Mercy,” Goodness snapped. “I asked you something important.”

The warm thoughts Mercy had entertained about her fellow prayer ambassador vanished. “I brought Trey LaRue to New York, didn’t I?”

“You did that?” Shirley joined them and sounded downright impressed. Mercy’s evaluation of the third angel rose by several degrees.

Mercy was proud of her efforts and grateful someone had noticed. She tucked her thumbs in her waistband and rocked back on her heels. “You’re darn tootin’ I brought Trey LaRue to town.”

“She’s been hanging around cowpokes again,” Goodness whispered out of the side of her mouth. “She’s starting to talk just like one of ’em. The next thing we know she’ll be wearing a buckle as big as a chastity belt and bragging about her rat-chasing dog.”

“Not me,” Mercy contradicted. “I’ve been too busy arranging Trey’s trip east. I found he isn’t as susceptible to suggestion as some humans are, especially schoolteachers and young Jewish women—if you catch my drift. I had my work cut out just getting him to New York. Must’ve taken three or four people suggesting he visit Jenny for him to take the hint.”

Goodness frowned and apparently didn’t take Mercy’s words kindly.

“But look what happened to Jenny while you were away,” Shirley commented glumly. “She’s sick. My goodness, the poor girl looks wretched.”

“That couldn’t be helped.” There was only so much one angel could do, and no one seemed to appreciate Mercy’s efforts on this assignment. Least of all her two best friends.

“Has Jenny told him the truth yet?” Goodness asked, making herself comfortable. She usually preferred to dangle from light fixtures, but not in these tight quarters. “She isn’t going to be able to keep it from him, is she?”

“Not now,” Mercy agreed. It wouldn’t do any good to remind her companions that she could lead a horse to water, but she couldn’t make him saddle himself. She paused. Was that how the saying went? She’d heard some smart-talkin’ fellow in Montana say something along those lines, and at the time it had made perfect sense.

“What’s this I heard about Jenny’s brother?” Shirley asked impatiently. “Is he really getting engaged?”

“That’s another thing.” Mercy flung herself across the back of a living room chair and supported her head with the palm of her hand. “Does anyone here understand what I had to go through to arrange this last-minute romance between Charles Lancaster and Mary Lou Perkins?”

“You did that?” Shirley asked, amazed.

“Well, not entirely,” Mercy admitted with some reluctance, although she’d be willing to accept a certain amount of credit. “All Charlie really needed was a little encouragement.”

“And you supplied that?”

Mercy shrugged. “Some.”

Goodness beamed her approval. “Good thinking.”

“What about poor Jenny?” Shirley asked, studying the down-and-out actress.

“I don’t know,” Mercy admitted. “What she does and doesn’t tell Trey is up to her.”

“How long will Trey be in town?”

Mercy didn’t have the answer to that, either. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“He’ll be here for the party, won’t he?” Goodness wanted to know.

It took Mercy a moment to remember the Christmas potluck Jenny and Michelle were holding. She hadn’t a clue where the two young actresses intended on putting everyone, but they seemed to think they could manage.

“I don’t know what Trey’s plans are,” she muttered. It seemed her friends insisted upon asking her questions she couldn’t answer. “All I know is that however long he stays, it’ll be long enough.”

Her words were followed by a short silence. “Are you saying you know something we don’t?” Shirley inquired.

Mercy’s smug smile was all the answer she intended to give them.

* * *

Brynn stood in front of her class, and her gaze rested on Suzie Chang’s empty desk in the middle of the room. It seemed as if the space were magnified until it appeared to crowd everyone against the walls.

The lessons that day involved the history of the Second World War, and although Brynn was prepared to discuss the Battle of the Bulge, her mind was elsewhere.

All she could think about was Suzie.

“This afternoon,” Brynn said, forcing her attention back to the history lesson, “we are going to be talking about . . . sex.” The word raced out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

Modesto cheered and sat up straighter on his desk chair. “Hey, Miss Cassidy, I bet I could teach you more than you could teach me.” He laughed, thinking himself downright comical.

“Not if my brother hears about it,” Emilio warned, his eyes narrowing. “Miss Cassidy is his woman.”

“I’m no one’s woman,” Brynn corrected evenly.

“No one owns another person,” Pearl Washington insisted righteously. To the best of Brynn’s knowledge, this was the first time the young black girl had freely contributed to any class discussion. “A woman’s body is her own, just the way a boy’s body is his own.”

“You’re right, sister.”

“I didn’t plan this talk,” Brynn admitted, wondering if she was treading over a minefield. “But this is a subject that’s been on my mind lately, and I’d like us to have an open discussion. I’ll share my thoughts with you, and you can share your feelings with me.”

“Ask me anything you want,” Emilio said proudly.

“In other words, you’ve got all the answers?”

“Sure.” Emilio glanced over his shoulder to be sure he had his friends’ support. “Most of us in class do. Come on, Miss Cassidy, we been around, you know?”

“Yeah, I do know. But making love isn’t like sampling chocolates. It’s much more involved than that. There are responsibilities and consequences.”

“Yeah. I’m raising one of those consequences right now,” Yolanda volunteered, “and it ain’t easy.”

“Hey, sister, don’t look at me. I wasn’t the one who got you knocked up.” Denzil raised both hands in a gesture of innocence.

“Shut up, Denzil.”

“I want to talk about accountability,” Brynn said, ignoring the two. “About being mature enough to accept the responsibility for our actions.”

“Are you going to lecture us, Teach?”

“No. I’m going to share with you at least fifteen different ways of making love without doing it.”

Several of the boys glanced back and forth at each other as if she’d suddenly turned into someone they didn’t know.

“I have the feeling I’m not going to like any of those ways,” Malcolm muttered.

Pearl stood at her desk and pointed a finger at her chest. “Why is it a guy thinks that because he spends a little money on me, it entitles him to a piece of my soul?”

“Some girls expect it,” Malcolm argued just as heatedly. “Half the time the girls are all over me asking for it.”

“Yeah,” Emilio agreed. “There are plenty of times I’d prefer not to . . . you know, and if I don’t ask, then the girl’s feelings are all hurt. It ain’t just us men, you know.”

“Men?” Yolanda challenged. “I notice you call us girls, but you’re men. Why doesn’t the man who fathered Jason kindly step forward?” With her fists braced against her sides, Yolanda looked around slowly, then released a sigh of disgust. “That’s what I thought.”

“Enough,” Brynn said, putting an end to the argument before it escalated into a shouting match. She could talk until she was ready to faint, and she doubted it would do any good, but she had to try. One thing was clear: her students were as opinionated over the topic as she was herself.

While she had their attention, she spoke from the heart, listing the reasons she felt it was important to wait to experiment with lovemaking until after marriage. The intensity of her feelings must have reached her class because there was a respectful silence when she finished.

“Miss Cassidy,” Emilio said when she’d concluded, “I don’t mean to be discourteous or anything, but you’re living in a dream world if you believe a man’s going to wait to make love to his woman.”

“Don’t be so sure, Emilio. Teenagers across the world are making pledges to keep themselves pure.”

“There ain’t nothing pure in this neighborhood,” someone else told her. “Not even the water.”

“But it has to start somewhere,” Brynn said, and walked over to the chipped blackboard. In large bold-faced letters, she wrote i will abstain from premarital sex. “I say let it start with me.” She signed her name below.

Holding up the piece of chalk, she asked, “Anyone else?”

A tense moment passed before Yolanda slid from her seat. With her head held high, the teenager walked up and took the chalk out of Brynn’s hand. She wrote her name in huge letters below Brynn’s.

Turning around to face the class, she said, “A boy will tell you anything you want to hear until you give him what he wants. Then he’ll forget he ever knew you. A man will make you his wife first.”

Pearl Washington walked up and wrote her name down next. She turned around and glared at Denzil. Then, one hand braced against her hip, Pearl returned to her desk. On the walk back to the end of the row, she continued to glare at Denzil.

“I think you just got cut off, man,” Malcolm whispered loudly enough for everyone in the class to hear.

“You keep saying how much you love me,” Pearl mocked him. “If you love me so much, prove it.”

“I ain’t adding my name to that list,” Denzil shouted angrily.

Pearl blinked several times but said nothing.

“Don’t you worry, Pearl, Denzil is nothing but a boy,” Yolanda said to comfort the other girl.

When she least expected it, Mike rose from his seat and walked forward. With a bit of flare he added his name to the list, the first boy in class to do so.

“Oh sure, Mike,” Malcolm called sarcastically. “You should be so lucky to get laid.”

Why the others chose to taunt Mike, Brynn didn’t understand. She liked Mike and appreciated the courage it had taken for him to step forward. The desire to defend him was strong, but she realized that would only make matters worse for the youth.

“Mike’s more of a man than you are,” Pearl insisted. “A hell of a lot more than Denzil will ever be.”

Emilio sat on his seat, frowning. After a couple of moments he stood and trekked the short distance to the blackboard.

“Emilio, are you nuts, man?” Modesto asked.

Emilio turned around and faced his friends. “You know what? Miss Cassidy is right. My brother’s always talking about what it means to be responsible, and really that’s all Miss Cassidy is saying, too. I ain’t no priest, but the way I figure it, women will respect me if they know I ain’t after nothing.”

After Emilio listed his name, three other male students added their promise.

When they’d finished, Brynn took the chalk, stepped to the blackboard, and wrote i will practice safe sex. Then she drew a line beneath the words and waited.

“Next we’re going to discuss protection,” she said.

Later that afternoon, after her class had been dismissed for the day, Brynn felt good about the spontaneous way in which they’d discussed the subject of sex. It might have gone differently had she planned it. Instead the students themselves had contributed their feelings and insights, and because she’d listened to them, they had been willing to hear her out as well.

She studied each name on the two lists and prayed that their talk would make a difference in how they chose to live their lives.

“Miss Cassidy.”

Brynn looked up to find Suzie standing in the doorway. “Am I disturbing you?”

“No, of course not.” Brynn stood. “How did your session go with Mrs. Christian?”

“All right, I guess. She made an appointment for me at the health clinic.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

“My baby’s healthy,” Suzie said with a shy smile. “I feel him kick and move all the time now.” The teenager’s gaze moved to the blackboard. “I . . . I heard about what you did. It’s all over the school. You talked about birth control and responsible sex because of me, didn’t you?”

Brynn couldn’t very well deny it. “I didn’t break your confidence, Suzie. No one knows what you told me.” She felt it was important to assure Suzie of that.

“I knew you wouldn’t say anything.” Suzie studied the list. “Emilio signed his name.” Although it was a statement, the surprise in her voice made it a question.

“Several of the young men in class did.”

“Do you think I could add my name?” she asked, diverting her eyes from Brynn’s. “Or is it too late?”

“I’d be proud if you did,” Brynn told her.

Suzie walked up and added her name to the first list. “I’m going to talk to my mother this afternoon. She’ll be angry with me and she’ll want me to tell her who the father is, but I won’t.”

“You can’t protect him forever,” Brynn said gently.

“I know. Mom will be angry, but not nearly as much as my father.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Brynn asked.

Suzie considered the offer, then shook her head. “No, but thank you for volunteering.”

No sooner had Suzie left than Brynn was asked to come down to the office. It was the first time she’d received such a request. She wasn’t left to wonder at the reason.

She knew.

If what Suzie said was true, then Mr. Whalen, the principal, had heard what she’d done.

Allen Whalen invited her into his office, and after she’d stepped inside, he closed the door firmly. The sound of it clicking alerted her to the fact that this wasn’t going to be a friendly chat.

Brynn respected Allen Whalen. He was a big, no-nonsense man and a fair disciplinarian. He had zero tolerance for drugs and alcohol and didn’t shy away from confrontations, often suspending students for fighting or other disruptions. Emilio could testify to that.

“Sit down, Brynn,” Allen said, and motioned for her to take a seat on the other side of his desk. More than likely this was the identical chair in which Emilio had sat the first day of the quarter following his fight with Grover.

“First off,” Allen said, leaning forward, “I want you to know I’ve heard good things about you. The kids seem to feel kindly toward you, and that’s a plus. I understand you’ve made a point to visit the families of your students.”

“Yes, I—”

“While your efforts are commendable,” Allen interrupted, “I don’t feel it’s a good idea for you to become emotionally involved with your students.”

Brynn opened her mouth to explain her purpose, but once again she wasn’t allowed to continue.

“You’re young, and idealistic. Perhaps a little too young to deal with the reality of our situation here.”

“Mr. Whalen, if you’d allow me to explain . . .”

He gestured with his hand, indicating that he wasn’t finished. “I had my doubts about this government project. As far as I’m concerned, the less the federal government has to do with the school system, the better. I would never have agreed to this program had I realized . . .” He paused and leaned forward, pressing his elbows against the top of his cluttered desk. “I don’t want to get sidetracked here. The reason I asked you to my office has nothing to do with the government or why you’re at Manhattan High.”

“Yes?” She sat straight, her back as stiff as a steel pipe.

“I received a phone call from two mothers this afternoon,” he prefaced, his face growing tight with displeasure. “Don’t tell me, Miss Cassidy, that you actually discussed birth control methods with your history class.”

Rather than hedge, Brynn answered him in a straightforward manner. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

Allen Whalen’s eyes drifted closed momentarily. “In your history class, Miss Cassidy?”

“It needed to be said.”

“And you felt you were the most qualified to advise a classroom full of young adults? I take it you’ve attended the course the district requires before teaching sex education?”

“No. The discussion was spontaneous. I certainly didn’t plan to spend the afternoon discussing the benefits of condoms.”

“In other words, you just decided this needed to be said and you were the one to do it?”

“If you put it like that, then I have no option but to say yes.” She had no defense and didn’t think it would help her case if she had.

Mr. Whalen mulled over her answers. “In case you weren’t aware of it, this community is largely Catholic.”

Brynn folded her hands on her lap. “I’m Catholic myself.”

“That is no excuse,” he said, then stopped abruptly. “You’re Catholic?”

“My name is Cassidy and my hair is red.” She didn’t mean to be sarcastic, but it should have been obvious.

“Then you must be aware of the church’s standing on the subject of birth control.”

“I am indeed.” She didn’t blink. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t doubt for an instant that he was furious with her.

“I’m afraid, Miss Cassidy, that in light of this admission, I have no choice but to place a letter of reprimand in your file.”

Brynn swallowed tightly. “I’ve always known you to be a fair man. If you feel I deserve to be formally reprimanded for my actions, then I can only assume that you’re right.”

“You’re a history and English teacher. In the future please remember that.” He reached for a piece of paper and started writing.

Brynn sat where she was for several awkward moments.

After a while, he glanced up. “You may leave.”

When Brynn walked out of the office, she found three secretaries staring at her. Their looks were sympathetic as she whisked past. The whispers started the moment she was around the corner.

“Hello, Hannah.”

Hannah looked up from the novel she was reading. “Carl,” she said, unable to hide her surprise and her guilt. No one had told her he planned to stop by that evening. “How are you feeling?” She hadn’t spoken to him since his bout with the flu.

Her fiancé claimed the recliner across from her. “Much better, thank you.”

Hannah noted that her heart didn’t leap with excitement the way it did whenever she saw Joshua. Nor did she experience a twinge of pleasure just because they were together. Carl was Carl. Dedicated, devout, determined. But soon, if everything went as their mothers had planned, he would be more than an unexpected guest. He would be her husband.

“My mother stopped by to talk to your mother,” he explained with a wry grin. “They’re discussing the details of the wedding.”

Hannah’s gaze fell back to the pages of the novel. “My mother wants to hire a wedding coordinator,” she told him. “I heard her discussing the matter over the phone.”

“She must have been talking to my mother, because I heard her say something about it as well.”

Hannah smiled and looked away. She noticed with regret that they didn’t seem to have a whole lot to say to each other.

“I thought we should set a time to shop for the engagement ring,” Carl suggested, almost as if he were grateful for something to discuss.

“That would be nice.”

“How about after the first of the year?” he proposed.

“Great.” The further into the future, the better.

A disjointed silence followed, as though there were nothing left to say.

“Carl.” Her father’s face lit up with delight as he walked into the living room. “Ruth didn’t mention that you were coming.”

Carl stood, and the two men exchanged hearty handshakes. David Morganstern slapped Hannah’s fiancé across the back. “By heaven, it’s good to see you. You’ve been making yourself scarce around here these last few days.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Ruth said you’d come down with a twenty-four-hour bug the other night.”

“I’m fine now.”

Hannah watched as the transformation took place in the man who was to be her husband. It seemed his face brightened as soon as her father walked into the room.

Soon the two entered into a lively debate over some political matter that didn’t interest Hannah. While they chatted, Hannah went into the kitchen, brewed tea, and served that along with freshly baked sugar cookies.

Helen Rabinsky and Hannah’s mother were engrossed in their own conversation and seemed unaware of her. As she expected, the women were debating the pros and cons of hiring a wedding coordinator.

After a time, Hannah escaped to her bedroom and closed the door. She doubted anyone would miss her.

Sitting on top of her bed, her knees bent, Hannah closed her eyes and remembered her time with Joshua at the skating rink. It wasn’t right that she should be thinking of another man. Not with Carl on the other side of the door.

Joshua’s business card remained inside her coat pocket, but she didn’t need to retrieve it to find the number. In the last two days, she’d stared at that card so often, she’d committed the phone number to memory.

When she feared she might be missed, Hannah returned to the living room. Carl glanced her way and smiled affectionately.

“Carl,” she said, “would you like to go for a walk, or something?”

“A walk?” he repeated with a decided lack of enthusiasm. “It’s below freezing.”

“How about if we went ice skating?” she suggested next.

“Tonight?”

“I don’t know what’s gotten into that daughter of mine,” her father commented, and chuckled. “Two nights ago she walks over to Rockefeller Center and goes ice skating.”

“I don’t skate,” Carl said with a touch of sadness.

“I could teach you,” she offered expectantly. “It isn’t difficult, and we could have a lot of fun.”

Carl looked from Hannah to her father and then back again. “Would you mind if we stayed here?”

“Remember your young man’s just getting over the flu, Hannah,” her father reminded her gently. “Carl will take you ice skating another time.”

She tried to hide her disappointment and must have succeeded. An hour later, Helen Rabinsky announced it was time to leave. Carl stood, and for no reason Hannah could fathom the two of them were left alone. It didn’t take her long to realize her family was giving her and Carl a private moment together.

“Thanks for stopping by, Carl,” she said.

“It was good to see you again, Hannah.” He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. It was a gentle kiss, but passionless. It was unfair to compare the kisses she’d shared with Joshua to the quick exchanges between her and Carl. But Hannah couldn’t help it.

Joshua’s kisses made her feel as though she’d been hit by a freight train. The emotional impact left her reeling long afterward. She knew that her kisses affected him in the same magical, exciting way. Joshua made her feel like a sensual, alluring woman.

“I’ll be calling you soon,” Carl promised.

Hannah nodded, afraid to speak for fear of what she’d say. Intuitively she realized she couldn’t marry Carl. He didn’t love her any more than she loved him. He was as miserable about this arrangement as she was, but they were both caught in the trap. One of them had to break it.

As soon as Hannah and her parents were alone, her mother turned and clapped her hands gleefully. “Helen agrees that we should hire a wedding coordinator. I couldn’t be more pleased. She suggested we talk to Wanda Thorndike.” She hugged Hannah briefly. “I’ll make an appointment with Wanda first thing in the morning.”

Hannah wanted to object, to explain that she felt they were rushing matters, but she wasn’t given the opportunity.

“I overheard Carl suggest that he and Hannah pick out engagement rings right after the first of the year.”

“David,” her mother said, sighing, “you can’t imagine everything we need to consider for a large wedding.”

“We haven’t picked a date yet,” Hannah reminded her family, dread weighing down her words.

“My dear, you’re as naive as Helen and I were about all this. The wedding coordinator will be the one to choose that. She’ll know what’s available and when. Personally I’d prefer a June wedding. You should be a traditional June bride, but that’s barely six months away, and I don’t know if we could manage it in that time. One thing I’m going to have to insist we do right away, and that’s shop for your dress.”

“Mom—”

“Helen was telling me it sometimes takes as long as six months to have a dress made and delivered.”

“But—”

“I know, darling, we’re throwing a lot at you. Just be patient.” Humming happily to herself, Ruth Morganstern returned to the kitchen and the wedding brochures she’d pored over only moments earlier.

Hannah’s father chuckled. “I don’t know when I’ve last seen your mother so pleased. This wedding has given her a renewed lease on life.”

Hannah couldn’t find it in her heart to disappoint them. Not then. Later, she promised herself. She’d sit down with them both and explain that she didn’t love Carl.

By noon the following day the deli was filled with the usual lunch crowd. Her father hand-sliced pastrami into thick wedges while Hannah and her mother assembled the sandwiches.

Runners delivered orders as fast as they could be packed.

The routine was one in which Hannah had worked most of her life. She never questioned that she would help in the deli; it was assumed.

Around two, the heavy lunch crowd had begun to thin out. Her mother returned to the kitchen to make up a fresh batch of potato salad. Her father was preoccupied with ordering supplies when Hannah looked up to discover Joshua standing on the other side of the counter.

“Joshua,” she whispered in a low rush of air. Just seeing him again had knocked the breath out of her. She couldn’t disguise her delight. Her heart went into second gear as she glanced over her shoulder to be sure no one was paying them any mind. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a whisper.

“I came for lunch.”

Of course. She reached for a pencil, prepared to take his order.

He read the printed menu that hung on the wall behind her. “I’ll have a pastrami on rye and a cup of coffee.”

She wrote down his order with trembling hands.

“Are you going to make it for me yourself?”

She nodded, avoiding eye contact. She wouldn’t be able to hide how pleased she was to see him again if she looked up.

“You didn’t phone,” he whispered just loudly enough for her to hear.

“Potato is the soup of the day,” she said.

“Hannah, look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

She closed her eyes and braced herself “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“You don’t want my business?”

He was making this difficult.

“You’ve thought about contacting me, haven’t you?”

Again she didn’t answer. “Would you care for a bowl of soup with your sandwich?”

He didn’t respond for a number of seconds, and then, “The only thing I want is you, Hannah.”

“If you’ll take a number, I’ll have your lunch delivered.”

“Will you bring it?” he asked.

Her nod was nearly imperceptible. She saw the tension leave him and couldn’t keep from glancing up and offering him a quick smile. It took only a moment or more to finish compiling his sandwich. She carried that and a cup of coffee to his table and was pleased to note he sat as far away from the counter as possible.

“Thank you, Hannah,” he said when she placed the plate on the table. “Would you care to join me?”

“I can’t.” Her hands folded over the back of the chair across from him. She glanced over her shoulder, fearing her father would notice the two of them together.

“Is that your father?” Joshua asked, looking around her.

“Yes. Mom’s in the kitchen.”

“He doesn’t look like the kind of man who would force his daughter into a loveless marriage.”

“Joshua, please.”

He picked up the sandwich, and once again, Hannah looked back to make sure no one was watching her. “I sometimes walk by the pond in Central Park,” she whispered.

Joshua went still. “When?”

“I was thinking of taking a stroll there this afternoon.”

“In an hour?”

“Yes.”

Joshua’s handsome face broke into a wide grin. “I’ve always favored walking as an excellent form of exercise.”

Eleven

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Trey asked Jenny for the third time since they’d boarded the ferry headed for Ellis Island.

“I wouldn’t have suggested sight-seeing if I wasn’t feeling better,” Jenny insisted. They stood and watched as the New York skyline began to fade into the distance. “I want you to visit Ellis Island,” she continued. “It’s an emotional experience, at least it was for me the first time I made the trip. I found my great-grandfather’s name there.”

“Your great-grandfather? How?”

“I looked his name up on the computer. It showed me the year he arrived from Germany and his age at the time. I felt as though I’d stumbled upon an open treasure chest, only this one contained a part of my heritage.”

“This was your mother’s grandfather?”

Jenny answered him with a quick nod. “Can you imagine packing everything you own in this world in a single suitcase?” she asked, awed by the raw courage and grit her great-grandfather had shown when he was little more than a teenager. “He came to America with nothing but his dreams and the desire for a new life.”

“Is that so unusual?” Trey asked.

“Of course it is,” she answered, feeling slightly offended that Trey didn’t recognize the fortitude and faith her great-grandfather had demonstrated. “He didn’t have an easy life here, you know. First off he didn’t speak the language, and although he was well educated he was forced into taking a menial job. For years he and my great-grandmother struggled to make a decent life for themselves and their family. I can’t tell you how much I admire them for that.”

“What you did, leaving Montana for a chance on Broadway, wasn’t all that different.”

“Me?” Jenny didn’t see the correlation. Of course there was the obvious one, but her great-grandfather had come to America friendless and without the loving support of his family.

“As I recall, when you left Custer you went with a solitary suitcase. You came to the Big Apple without a job, with little money, and with only your dreams to feed you.”

“True,” she admitted reluctantly, not wanting Trey to continue comparing her with her great-grandfather. Not when she fell so far short.

Trey placed his hand on her shoulder. “It hasn’t been easy for you, has it?” he asked gently.

He didn’t know the half of it. Jenny turned her face into the wind and let the breeze off the Hudson River buffet against her. The thickness in her throat tightened to painful proportions, and she knew she dared not try to talk. Trey had tried to paint her as some kind of heroine, seeking her way in a new world. In retrospect, Jenny wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing to leave Montana. She wasn’t sure she was cut out for life in the city. In three years she’d never managed to feel at home in New York.

Jenny didn’t see herself as any modern-day champion.

“Jenny?”

Trey’s face had knit into a worried frown.

“I’m doing great,” she told him quickly, perhaps too quickly, because she felt his close scrutiny. Smiling, just then, would have been impossible.

Trey moved closer to her by the railing. The wind hit against him. His arm came loosely around her shoulder, and, needing him, she pressed her head against his solid strength.

“There’s something you should know,” she said after dragging a deep breath through her lungs. She closed her eyes, unwilling to continue the pretense any longer. “I’m not what you think.”

“Jenny—”

“No, please, let me finish.” This was so much more difficult than she’d thought it would be. Trey had come all this way from Montana thinking she was a Broadway star. Either she told him herself or he’d learn it on his own.

A dozen times since his arrival she’d been tempted to blurt out the truth. It had held her prisoner, tortured her, and she couldn’t stand the pressure any longer.

“I’m not starring in an Off Broadway production of South Pacific. I’m a waitress, a singing waitress. I lied, and I want you to know how very sorry I am.” Her voice pitched and heaved with emotion as she hurried to get all the words out at once for fear she’d break down and weep.

The pressure of his arm around her increased slightly. “I realized that right away.”

He knew and hadn’t said anything.

“The first place I headed when I arrived in New York was the theater. I wanted to see you perform.”

Jenny’s throat constricted. “I’m so ashamed to have lied, but I had to tell my family something. It’s been so long, and . . . you’ve got to believe I gave it my best shot, and now, well, now it seems I’m buried neck deep in the lie. Mom and Dad are so proud of me, and they’ve told everyone, and—”

“Come home, Jenny.”

“No.” Her response was automatic and sharp.

The brightness in Trey’s eyes dimmed, and she turned away, unable to meet his gaze. It sounded as if he were eager to hear she’d failed. Glad of it. Well, she wasn’t through yet. She was close, so close she could taste it. If John Peterman didn’t want her for this play, then there were other parts, other producers. She wouldn’t give up. She refused to turn her back when she was this close. Not even Trey could convince her to do that.

“I may not be the star I led everyone to believe,” she told him stiffly, “but I’m an actress, and a damn talented one. I realize I’ve probably disappointed you, and I’m sorry for that, but I’m not willing to throw in the towel yet.”

Trey didn’t answer her, and the air between them was strained and tight.

“I shouldn’t have asked it of you,” he said as the boat neared Ellis Island.

It was as close to an apology as she was likely to get from Trey. She stepped away from him, letting the breeze whip against her face while she mulled over his words.

Trey stepped back, and she noticed the attention he generated with his tall, lean good looks. He was obviously out of place with his scuffed snakeskin boots and weather-beaten Stetson, yet he’d dressed in the height of fashion. Jenny knew more than one male model who would have given anything for that rawboned, natural look.

“Jenny,” Trey said, coming to stand next to her, “I don’t really think what you did was so terrible. Sure you stretched the truth a bit, but under the circumstances that’s understandable.”

“But hardly commendable.”

Trey didn’t agree or disagree. “What you did was burden yourself. It seems to me these New York theater people must have holes in their heads not to realize how talented you are.”

This was what Jenny loved about home the most. When it came to talent, the good folks in Custer believed none had more than Jenny Lancaster.

“Those responsible for the theater in New York meet lots of talented men and women with big dreams and a lot of ambition. That was a difficult lesson for me to learn, and I suspect that in some ways I haven’t completely accepted it. I’m good, Trey, and I know it, but there are any number of equally talented people just waiting for their big break, the same way as me.”

The ferry docked and the passengers disembarked onto the island. Most everyone headed directly for the Ellis Island Immigration Museum.

“There’s something I want you to see first,” Jenny said, leading Trey toward the flagpole. A brass railing-like border ran the circumference of the island. Embossed in the polished metal were hundreds of names, a small representation of the thousands of immigrants who’d made their way to America between 1892 and 1924. The first time Jenny had visited, she’d walked around the entire island until she’d found what she was looking for.

“My great-grandfather’s name is listed here,” she told him excitedly. Her fingertips ran over the raised letters. Anton Hellmich. A sense of pride moved her to know that this man’s blood ran through her veins. “You can’t imagine how excited I was when I discovered this. I called my mother that very night.” She doubted that Trey understood what a rare thing it was for her to phone home. With her finances so tight, Jenny usually wrote letters and made up excuses why it was difficult for her to phone. Talking to her mother, hearing her father’s gruff, loving voice, increased her longing for home and her family all the more.

“Anton Hellmich,” Trey repeated slowly. He placed his callused hand on top of hers and laced their fingers together. His skin was rough and hard from the long hours he worked his spread. Her skin was silky smooth.

Once again Trey ran the thick pad of his index finger over the raised letters with her. His touch, so warm and caring, so gentle, was like a healing balm to her wounded pride.

Barely realizing what she was doing, Jenny turned so that she faced him. Before another moment passed, before her heart could beat again, Trey’s arms were clasped around her as he brought her into his arms.

She watched the transformation come over him, as if he were caught in some winless battle. The muscles in his jaw clenched. Then, moving slowly, as though hypnotized, he lowered his mouth to hers. His lips over hers, moist and warm, were as gentle as lambskin.

Jenny closed her eyes as tightly as she could, seeking to blot out the world and everything around them. Everything but Trey. For the first time since her arrival she didn’t want to be subjected to the sights and sounds of the New York waterfront. She didn’t want to hear the buzz of aircraft overhead. For this one moment she wanted to be as far away from other people as she could get.

Trey’s kiss was everything Jenny had ever dreamed, everything she could have anticipated. She trembled in his arms, needing his strength, his comfort, more than she’d ever needed anything in her life. She clung to him, not wanting him to let her go. Not ever.

Snuggling closer, she stood on the tips of her toes. Her breasts nuzzled his chest, and a new brand of sensations shot through her. Trey recognized the difference, and his tongue went in search of hers as the kiss deepened. By the time they broke apart, Jenny’s knees were weak. It didn’t seem possible that anything would feel this wonderful.

Jenny had been kissed before, plenty of times. She wasn’t a novice to the art, but with Trey all things became new. Everything changed.

When they broke apart, Jenny could feel the heat invade her cheeks. She was actually blushing, which was something that hadn’t happened since she was in junior high.

“Trey?” she whispered, pleading with him to explain what was happening to them. She was at a loss to understand, let alone explain.

He answered by kissing her again, this time deeper and with such intensity that her senses spun out of control. When he’d finished, he held her close and whispered, but his words were low and filled with emotion.

“I’ve waited so long to hold you like this.”

“Oh, Trey, I’ve missed you so much.”

His fingers were in her hair, and he angled her head to kiss her again and again. His breathing was harsh with excitement and need.

“Come home, Jenny,” he pleaded. “For the love of God, give up on this madness and come back home where you belong.”

The pond near Cherry Hill fountain had always been one of Hannah’s favorite spots in Central Park. Because she was late, she feared Joshua would have given up waiting for her. Barely taking time to look both ways, she raced across Fifty-ninth Street. Her heart pounded in her throat as she approached the pond. Excitement filled her when she spied Joshua standing along the edge of the water, feeding the goldfish. Hannah half ran to meet him.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said breathlessly when she joined him. “It took me much longer to get away than I thought it would.”

Joshua glanced at her and enfolded her with a warm smile of welcome. “I was feeding the fish, and didn’t notice.” He handed her a fistful of stale bread crumbs for her to toss onto the water’s still surface. Huge goldfish, some marked with black-and-white blotches, battled for the crumbs, stirring up the water’s smooth surface.

“This has always been one of my favorite places,” Joshua said.

“Mine too,” she admitted. It didn’t surprise her that Joshua felt the same way about this place as she did. They appreciated many of the same things.

They stood side by side, content without speaking, satisfied simply to be in each other’s company.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” Hannah said once she’d regained her breath and her equilibrium. Being with Joshua always seemed to pull her off center.

Joshua hesitated, and his eyes sparkled. “Am I going to need to sit down to hear it?”

“No. At least I don’t think so.” She thought about what she had to say and realized he was the last person she should be telling instead of the first. “I’ve decided not to marry Carl.”

“I know.” Joshua tossed the last of the bread crumbs into the pond with a flourish.

Of all the reactions Hannah had expected from Joshua, she’d never anticipated this calm acceptance. She frowned. “What did you say?”

“I said, I knew you weren’t going to marry Carl.”

“And how could you be so confident of that?” she asked. She hadn’t realized it herself until the night before. Once she’d admitted that she couldn’t go through with the wedding, she’d felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her heart. It hadn’t been an easy decision, and she didn’t want him to think she’d made it flippantly.

“I knew you weren’t going to be marrying Carl, my sweet, adorable Hannah, for one simple reason. I fully intend for you to marry me.”

Hannah blinked back her surprise.

“And yes, if you’re wondering, that’s a marriage proposal.”

“But I’m already engaged to Carl,” she argued, saying the first thing that came to mind. He’d shocked her so thoroughly that she wasn’t sure how to respond. The second thing that came to mind was that she would have liked nothing better than to be Joshua’s wife. She was forced into biting her lips to keep from blurting it out.

He warmed her with another of his bone-melting smiles. “You see, I realized something the very first time we met.”

“You did?”

“It’s simple, really,” he said with the calm reasoning of an attorney. “I realized you and I were meant to be together.”

“But what about Carl?” she pleaded. “I was already engaged to him when we met.” While that wasn’t technically true, for all intents and purposes she might as well have been betrothed to the rabbi’s son. In the eyes of both families, all that needed to be decided was if they should or shouldn’t hire a wedding coordinator.

“I suppose I sound overly confident of myself,” Joshua said, and reached inside his coat pocket for his leather gloves. “I wasn’t sure about any of this until recently, though. The night at Rockefeller Center, to be exact. I gave you my business card, remember?”

“I didn’t phone you.”

“True,” he was gracious enough to agree, “and I’ll admit I haven’t been sleeping well because I fully expected you to contact me long before now.” He reached for her hand and raised it to his lips, brushing her knuckles with his mouth. “You and I share something very special, Hannah. I don’t know what I would have done had you decided to go ahead with the wedding with Carl.”

Hannah dipped her head. “I haven’t said anything to him yet.” It was far easier to tell Joshua of her decision first. She realized she was behaving like a coward, but she sincerely felt that Carl would experience a deep sense of relief once she asked him to release her from the engagement. She was certain he shared her feelings. They were both eager to please their parents and had allowed themselves unwittingly to be drawn into a self-made trap.

Joshua loved her. The knowledge shook her because she didn’t understand how anyone as powerful and intelligent as Joshua could care for someone like her. “I’ve treated you terribly. I’ve ignored you, pretended I didn’t know you, and shunned you.”

“When something is of high value, then it’s worth a few inconveniences,” Joshua said, and gently bounced his mouth over hers. “In many ways I’m grateful to you.”

“Me?”

“I’d almost given up thinking about God until I met you. My life was full and busy, but I felt an aching loneliness. I prayed, but I felt as if my prayers floated away to nothingness. Until the morning of the Thanksgiving Day parade, I was convinced God didn’t listen to prayers any longer.”

“But He does,” Hannah insisted.

“I know. He sent you into my life.” Joshua ran his finger down the side of her face. “You’ll be talking to Carl soon?”

She nodded. It wasn’t a task she relished, but it was one she couldn’t delay. To wait for the right moment would only make it more difficult. “I thought I’d discuss it with him first, and then the two of us could explain it to our parents together.”

Joshua’s gaze narrowed briefly, and she knew he wasn’t keen on this part of her plan.

“Carl and I need to present a united front,” she explained. “Otherwise I’m afraid they’ll manipulate us individually to change our minds.”

Joshua considered her words, then asked, “Could they change your mind, Hannah?”

His question fell into a weighted silence. Hannah considered her answer for several thought-provoking moments. “Carl’s a good man, and he’ll make some woman an excellent husband, but that woman won’t be me,” she admitted, then added, “Nothing’s going to change the way I feel about you, Joshua. Nothing.”

“You’ll tell him soon, then?”

She nodded. “The sooner the better.” She didn’t relish this task, but she couldn’t put it off, either.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Joshua volunteered.

“No.” That would only make matters worse, Hannah realized. Her news would be difficult enough for Carl without adding the complication of her feelings for another man.

Joshua looked at his watch. “I have to get back to the office.”

It was easy to forget that Joshua was an important man. If she ever doubted his feelings for her, all she’d need to do was remember the time he took out of his busy schedule to be with her.

“One thing before you go?” she asked, reaching out and gripping hold of his forearm.

“Anything.”

She felt foolish asking this of him. “Would you mind very much if we kissed again?”

The warm light that invaded his eyes was all the answer she needed. Joshua wrapped her in his embrace and drugged her with a number of long, slow kisses.

“Is that enough?” he asked.

She couldn’t manage anything more than a slight groan.

Joshua closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Unfortunately I feel the same way myself. I promise you the day will come when we won’t stop with the kissing, Hannah. Frankly the sooner that day arrives, the better.”

Joshua left her to return to his office. The warm glow of his kisses carried Hannah all the way to Carl’s apartment building. He should be home, seeing that school had been out for several hours. Hannah had been to his place only twice. Carl was an orderly man who kept his quarters meticulously clean. Hannah had never known anyone more gifted in the area of organization than Carl Rabinsky.

Not once on the long walk did Hannah doubt that she was doing the right thing. Only when she arrived at his building did she hesitate. Gathering her courage about her, she squared her shoulders and pressed the doorbell.

Carl’s low voice came over the intercom. “Who is it?”

“Hannah,” she said, standing on her tiptoes and speaking directly into the intercom to make sure he could hear her.

“Hannah? My goodness, what are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you. Could I come up?”

“Of course.”

A couple of seconds later a buzzer rang and the lock on the front door released, allowing Hannah inside the building. More nervous now than ever, she took the elevator up to Carl’s apartment. By the time she arrived outside his door, she was convinced her heart was ready to pound straight through her chest.

“This is a surprise,” Carl said, leading her into the living room. The area was nothing like she remembered. Books and papers littered the table. Unopened mail was scattered across the coffee table. This wasn’t like Carl. Not once in all the time she’d known him had he displayed any signs of sloppiness.

“Is something wrong?” Hannah asked, watching him.

“I don’t think there’s any reason to try to hide it any longer,” he said, sinking into the chair and covering his face with both hands. “I should have told you sooner.”

Hannah didn’t know what to think. “Told me what?” she asked gently. She’d never seen Carl like this.

He raised his head slowly, his look tortured. “But then I haven’t found the courage to tell anyone.”

Hannah waited, knowing Carl would get around to explaining himself eventually. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and refused to look at her.

“I lost my position with the school,” he blurted out, then squeezed his eyes closed. “I couldn’t take it any longer, and I got into an argument with Hiram. Since he’s the headmaster and I’m nothing more than a teacher, he fired me.” Carl raised his head and squared his shoulders. “If you want to call off the wedding, I’ll understand. I don’t deserve a good woman like you.”

Brynn didn’t tell anyone about the formal reprimand that Mr. Whalen had placed inside her employment file. There didn’t seem to be any need. Everything he’d said was true. She had stepped over the line, but try as she would, Brynn couldn’t make herself regret the impromptu discussion with her students. If she’d managed to reach just one member of her class, then it had been worth the trouble.

Her thoughts were heavy as she made her way home that afternoon. Dinner was simmering on top of the stove when her telephone rang. She reached for it automatically.

“Hello,” she said.

“It’s Roberto.”

Brynn closed her eyes. The sound of his voice, with his soft, lilting accent, was like sinking neck deep into a warm bath in the dead of winter.

“I heard you’re teaching sex education now, too.” He sounded more amused than angry with her, which was a welcome change.

“I really stuck my foot in it this time,” she told him.

“Although he probably wouldn’t come out and say as much, I think Emilio was grateful to have someone talk frankly about the subject. Girls can be pushy these days. As pushy as the boys.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” After some of the things she’d seen in the last few weeks, there was little that would shock Brynn anymore.

“Although if you cared to get pushy with me, we might strike some agreement.”

Brynn laughed. “Keep dreaming, Roberto.”

The mechanic’s chuckle slowly faded. “You do that to me,” he said, his voice low and serious. “You make me want to dream, but then I wonder . . . Never mind. I didn’t call you to talk about dreams.”

“Oh?”

“I want to take you to dinner.” His voice grew so serious that she wondered if there were some hidden significance behind his request.

“When?” she asked, not that it would have mattered to her. He could have suggested next June and she would have agreed readily.

“Is Friday all right?”

“Yes,” she said automatically.

“I’ll pick you up at six-thirty.” How formal he sounded, as though he were unsure of himself.

“That’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“Me, too.” The smile was back in his voice, as if to say now that the awkward part was over, he could go back to being himself. “Thank you, Brynn.”

“Whatever for?” She was thinking his appreciation had something to do with what Emilio had told him about the class discussion.

“For agreeing to be my date.”

Not until Brynn was talking to Father Grady did she realize the significance in Roberto’s having asked her to dinner.

She met the parish priest after school, responding to a message he’d sent asking to speak with her. She guessed correctly that Father Grady had heard about her talk with her students.

“Are you going to lecture me about the error of my ways?” she asked him directly. They were walking toward the rectory. Father Grady’s hands were folded behind his back, and he avoided meeting her eyes.

“No,” he said slowly, “although I fully suspect you know the church’s teachings in the area of birth control.”

“I know, I just don’t happen to agree.”

Father Grady released a long, slow breath. “I’m not going to say anything about this again, but I’m disappointed in you, Brynn. I don’t know what happened for you to decide it was your duty to discuss this particular subject with your class, but my guess is this entire matter was spontaneous on your part.

“I strongly suspect one of the girls is pregnant. Well, it isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last. These things happen.”

“Birth control—”

“Promotes promiscuity,” the priest argued.

“It would be better if we agreed to disagree,” Brynn said evenly. She didn’t want to get into a verbal battle with the one person she considered her friend.

They didn’t speak for several moments.

“Roberto asked me to dinner Friday night,” Brynn said, wanting to break the tension between them.

Father Grady’s face broke into a wide smile. “He asked you, did he?”

“Is there something important about this dinner date I don’t know about?”

“Not particularly,” the priest informed her, “only that it’s probably the first time Roberto’s dated in the last four or five years.”

“You’re joking!”

“No. While he was in high school, he held down two part-time jobs in an effort to earn enough money for his mother to travel to the United States. Every penny went toward that goal. There wasn’t time for dances or anything else a normal teenager enjoys.”

“But he’s an excellent dancer.” Being in his arms had seemed as right as rain, as the saying went.

“He comes by that talent naturally,” Father Grady explained. “But he’s never taken the opportunity to indulge in the small pleasures in life. He sacrificed his youth for the sake of his mother.”

“I’ve never met her.”

“You won’t,” Father Grady said sadly. “She died before Roberto had saved enough money.”

Brynn felt Roberto’s frustration. “I’m so sorry.”

“Roberto blamed himself.”

“But how could he?” She hated the thought of his taking on blame when he’d already sacrificed so much.

“He seemed to think that he’d failed her.”

“Surely he understands that isn’t the case.”

“Intellectually I believe he does, but not emotionally, although I have hope now that he’s taken such a keen interest in you.” Father looked well pleased with himself, as though he were the one responsible for bringing her and Roberto together. “You’ve been good for that young man, but by the same token Roberto has been good for you.”

“I like him so much,” she whispered. Sometimes it frightened her how deeply she cared for Roberto. He wasn’t like any other man she’d dated. He was deep and intense, intelligent and generous.

“I suspected you did.”

“Not at first,” she countered. “Roberto and I rubbed each other the wrong way in the beginning.” Even now they were at different poles on the subject of education. No matter how hard she tried to persuade him, Roberto refused to listen to reason.

Then it dawned on her why Roberto was so opinionated. Father Grady had unraveled the mystery. Roberto had stayed in school and worked, saving his money in order to bring his mother from Mexico. She’d died before he had been able to save enough. If Roberto had been working full-time instead of trying to balance two part-time jobs with his schooling, he might have been able to help his mother. Because he’d stayed in high school the help he had to offer her had come too late.

Twelve

Emilio followed Roberto around the apartment like a lost puppy, offering him unwanted advice for his dinner date with Brynn.

“First you’ve got to tell Miss Cassidy how beautiful she looks,” Emilio instructed, “then gently take her in your arms and kiss her, but only lightly. Remember that, because it’s important. You don’t want to start something too soon. Women don’t like a guy coming on heavy first thing. They want to be wined and dined first.”

“Emilio,” Roberto warned under his breath as he tightened the knot in his tie in front of the bedroom mirror, “I can handle this on my own.”

“But I know Miss Cassidy better than you do. Don’t forget I see her practically every day.”

But his brother didn’t view her as Roberto did. To Emilio she was his teacher, the first one he’d liked well enough to mention. To Roberto Brynn was a warm, desirable, generous woman. When they kissed the electricity between them was as powerful as Hoover Dam.

In the beginning he’d attempted to ignore the way the air sizzled every time they were together. A touch of antagonism had proved to be his best defense, and it had worked until Father Grady had manipulated them into chaperoning the dance at the church hall. Before he knew what had happened to him, Brynn was in his arms and life hadn’t been the same since.

“Where are you taking her to dinner?” Emilio asked, following him across the bedroom.

Roberto splashed on a touch of spice-scented cologne. “I haven’t decided yet.” Actually he had, but he didn’t want his brother dropping by unexpectedly with some phony excuse.

Emilio frowned with disapproval. “That’s not going to work, bro, you’ve got to plan these things well in advance. You should have made reservations for a classy woman like Miss Cassidy.”

If the truth be known, Emilio’s attitude toward Brynn amused him. The way Emilio talked about her, one would think his brother was half in love with her himself.

“You can’t just walk into any restaurant and expect a decent table to be waiting for you.”

Roberto reached for his wool jacket. He hoped Brynn didn’t recognize it as the same one from the dance. He owned only one suit, and he wasn’t about to go out and purchase another just because of a silly dinner date.

“How do you know all this?” Roberto probed.

“I been around,” Emilio answered with a hint of defiance.

That might be true, but Roberto didn’t think Emilio had ever taken a girl out on a fancy dinner date.

“You got her flowers, didn’t you?”

Roberto hadn’t thought of that. “No.”

“Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head, “you’re going to blow this.”

“I’ll pick some up on the way.”

Emilio’s face relaxed. “Good idea.”

Roberto headed for the door, then stopped for his overcoat and gloves. The leather gloves were new and necessary to hide the car grease he couldn’t remove from around his nails.

Once more Emilio followed him. “I know the perfect restaurant,” he said excitedly, and snapped his fingers. “It’s perfect. Call Mama Celeste’s and make a reservation. The food’s great and they think you walk on water ever since you repaired their van.”

“Good idea.” Unfortunately that was exactly where Roberto had already planned to take Brynn. He turned and met his brother, eye to eye. He couldn’t remember when Emilio had grown so tall. Nearly ten years separated them, and Roberto had become accustomed to being the older, wiser, bigger brother. He wasn’t taller by much, and that surprised him.

“I’ve already made arrangements to take Brynn to Mama Celeste’s,” he admitted. “And I don’t want you making any excuses to stop by there this evening. Do I make myself clear?”

One corner of Emilio’s mouth lifted with a cocky half smile. “What’s it worth to you?”

Roberto eyes narrowed into a dark scowl, and Emilio laughed. “Hey, I was just kidding, bro.”

Roberto opened the front door. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Are you kidding, man? This is one night I’m going to want to hear about.”

Brynn had been less nervous for her first high school prom. She checked her appearance a dozen or more times before the doorbell rang. Her inclination was to rush across the room and throw open the door, but she forced herself to remain calm and collected.

Roberto stood on the other side of the door, so handsome her breath locked in her lungs. It reminded her of the night of the church dance. He’d knocked her senses for a loop then, too.

Looking away, she stepped aside to allow him into her apartment. “Hello, Roberto.”

He inclined his head slightly. “You look lovely.” Smiling, he stepped into her apartment and tenderly pressed his lips to her cheek.

Surprised and delighted, Brynn raised her hand to her face, her fingers investigating the spot where he’d kissed her.

Next he presented her with a small bouquet of flowers.

“Roberto, how sweet. Thank you.” She led the way into the kitchen, where she placed the bouquet of pink carnations and miniature purple irises in a tall crystal vase.

“I didn’t think to buy any wine,” she said, regretting now that she hadn’t thought of that beforehand.

“We’ll have wine later,” he said.

“I’ll only be a minute,” she said, and gestured self-consciously toward the bedroom. “I need to get my coat.”

The ride to the restaurant, an Italian one from the looks of it, took several minutes. Roberto, the perfect gentleman, helped her out of the car and then escorted her inside.

The moment she walked through the door, Brynn was greeted with the scents of basil and simmering tomato. Garlic permeated the air, and she inhaled deeply, the smell alone enough to make her hungry. No one needed to tell her how good the food would be.

Roberto apparently knew the owners, and standing with his arm tucked around her waist, he introduced her.

“Brynn Cassidy, meet Stefano and Celeste Seti.”

She shook hands with the white-haired gentleman who was smiling broadly. His wife, Mama Celeste herself, planted her hands on her face and mumbled something in Italian to her husband. Brynn couldn’t understand a word. Whatever it was appeared to please the grandmotherly woman. With a wide smile she kissed Roberto on both cheeks and promised them, in heavily accented English, the best dinner of their lives.

Soon they were seated at a table. Before Brynn had a chance to smooth the linen napkin on her lap, she was served red wine, thick slices of bread, and a large block of cheese.

The food never seemed to stop coming. Brynn sampled one fabulous dish after another. There must have been three or four different appetizers—shrimp, eggplant, tiny meatballs—before a huge Caesar salad arrived. When Brynn was convinced she couldn’t eat another bite, the pasta was brought to their table by Stefano, who insisted she would break Celeste’s heart if she didn’t take a large portion of the specialty of the house. From the envious looks being sent her way, Brynn had the feeling if she couldn’t finish the clam spaghetti, any number of volunteers would gladly step in for her.

“More wine, more wine,” Stefano insisted, replenishing their glasses when she’d finished the best pasta she’d ever tasted. Brynn wasn’t given a chance to refuse the wine. Stefano filled her glass and carried away their empty plates.

“I’ve never had such good food in my life,” she murmured, and scooted back her chair. She planted her hands on her stomach. “But if I don’t stop eating now, I won’t be able to walk.”

“No dessert?” Roberto teased.

They finished with a cup of dark coffee. Stefano and Celeste visited their table before they left, and this time it was Brynn who was hugged and kissed. Mama’s eyes watered, and she dabbed at their corners with the hem of her apron.

Once they were outside, Roberto headed for the car.

“Would you mind very much if we walked awhile?” Brynn asked. Physical movement would help ease the stuffed feeling. Besides, she didn’t want the evening to end so soon.

“By all means, let’s walk,” Roberto agreed. He reached for her hand and set a slow, easy pace. The night was crisp and cold.

“It looks like it might snow.”

Roberto glanced skyward. “Wishful thinking on your part,” he murmured. “There’s barely a cloud in the sky.”

He was right. The image of them walking together, hand in hand through lightly falling snow, appealed to her.

Although she’d enjoyed their dinner, her one regret was that with all the food being served, and Stefano checking to be sure everything was to their liking, there hadn’t been much of a chance for the two of them to talk.

“Thank you, Roberto, for a wonderful meal.”

He released her hand and slipped his arm around her waist. “Thank you for coming with me.”

Brynn pressed her head against his shoulder. “What made you decide to ask me out?” She wasn’t sure what prompted the question, but she was curious.

“I wanted everything to be right for you.”

“Be right?”

He exhaled slowly as though he weren’t sure how to explain himself. “You aren’t like other women I’ve known.”

Brynn smiled to herself. “Is that a compliment?”

Roberto was taken aback by her question. “I meant it to be. Have I insulted you?”

“No,” she assured him.

“You’re special, Brynn. Not only to me, but to Emilio and his friends, too. They think a lot of you. I’ve heard the teens talk about you, and when they do, well, it’s with respect. It takes a lot to impress kids these days.”

“And how do you feel about me?” she asked. It would be far easier for her if Roberto came right out and told her. She’d never been so bold with a man, but this wasn’t a normal relationship.

“Me?” He hesitated, taking some time to formulate his thoughts. “You’re stubborn and strong-willed.”

Brynn wouldn’t deny it. “If you think I’m stubborn, you should meet my mother.” She bit down on her lip when she realized what she’d said. Reminding him of the mother he’d lost was the last thing she wanted.

“So you inherited the trait.” He sounded amused, and Brynn was relieved.

“I care for you, Roberto,” she told him softly. “More than I care for anyone other than my family.” If he wasn’t willing to acknowledge his feelings for her, then she’d be the first one to say it. “Knowing you has blessed my life. When I have a problem, you’re the person I want to share it with. When something good happens, you’re the one I want to tell. I find myself thinking about you a lot, probably more than I should.”

His arm tightened around her middle. “I feel the same way about you. I want very much to kiss you, Brynn,” he said with a deep sigh that revealed his longing for her, “but I don’t want to do it in public. Not again. I’ll wait until we get back to your apartment.”

Brynn’s heart swelled with emotion as she looked to him. “We could leave now, don’t you think?”

Roberto chuckled, and together they raced across the street and back to Mama Celeste’s, where Roberto’s car was parked.

As they neared Brynn’s apartment their amusement ebbed, replaced with a growing anticipation. Brynn’s hand shook slightly as she unlocked the front door, knowing that soon she would be in Roberto’s arms.

Together they walked into her apartment. Brynn didn’t bother to turn on the lights. Once the door was closed, she lifted her arms and reached for Roberto.

With a deep-seated groan, he backed her against the door and kissed her.

The kiss was like fire, a spontaneous combustion of desire and need. Once wasn’t near enough to satisfy either of them, and Roberto kissed her again and again. He surprised her with his tongue, and she gasped as he thrust it deep inside her mouth, stroking and teasing her. Gradually her gasp became a whimper that trembled from her lips.

When she was sure they were both about to faint with the intensity of their lovemaking, Roberto pulled away. She noted that his chest was heaving; hers was, too. In the dim light he looked down on her, and she met his look recklessly, unafraid for him to see all the love and longing in her eyes. Her fingers clung to the lapels of his suit as she studied him.

She waited, needing to know he’d experienced the same wonder she had. He closed his eyes momentarily, his breath deep and harsh, as though he needed to separate himself from her, if not physically, then emotionally.

Brynn might have been offended if he hadn’t continued to hold her close and with such tender care. She pressed her head to his chest and listened to the strong, fast-paced beat of his heart.

“I don’t dare touch you again,” he whispered thickly.

“Why not?”

“You make me lose my head.”

“That’s bad?” she asked.

She felt his smile against her cheek. “Not exactly. It would be very easy to take you into that bedroom and make love to you, but I won’t.”

“You won’t?” She couldn’t believe she was asking him this.

“I can’t allow that to happen. Once would never be enough with you. I would want you again and again, and that would only lead to—”

A loud knock sounded against the door, startling them both. Roberto’s eyes met hers in the faded light. “You’re expecting someone?”

She shook her head.

“Who is it?” she asked, struggling to make her voice strong enough to be heard.

Roberto turned on the light switch.

“Emilio,” Roberto’s brother shouted from the other side.

Roberto stiffened with irritation and opened the front door.

“It’s Modesto,” Emilio cried as he stumbled into the apartment. His eyes were wide with panic and fear. The teenager slumped onto the sofa and covered his face with both hands. “Modesto’s been shot.”

Jammed inside Jenny and Michelle’s dinky apartment for the potluck Christmas party, everyone seemed to be talking at once. Trey felt as out of place as a bull moose at one of those fancy dog shows, the ones with dolled-up poodles with painted toenails.

Jenny’s acting friends were certainly a mixed breed. There were everyday people, the kind he would have been hard-pressed to guess were show people, and then there were the others. The others, he noted, tended to be flamboyant attention seekers.

It made for an interesting evening, he would admit that much. Holding his drink, he found a quiet corner and played the role of casual observer.

A couple of times Jenny drifted his way, but she wasn’t able to stay for long. Trey understood. Since she shared hostessing duties with her roommate, she couldn’t very well give him all her attention. Though to be honest, that was what Trey would have preferred.

He sipped the wine, a fruity-flavored one he wouldn’t normally drink, but was all the market had offered. He found himself watching Jenny, mesmerized by her. She was as beautiful as he remembered, more so. Yet he couldn’t look at her without his gut twisting up in a knot. This had been his lot when she was growing up. Loving her from afar.

Next to burying his parents, the most difficult thing Trey had ever done was to let Jenny Lancaster leave Custer, Montana, without telling her how much he loved her. He hadn’t felt particularly self-sacrificing and noble at the time. He didn’t feel that way now. It was just that he had some decisions to make, damned important ones, and they involved Jenny.

He loved her, and although he’d tried to forget her in the last three years, he couldn’t. Countless times he’d attempted to convince himself to look for greener pastures.

It hadn’t worked.

He’d spent the better part of ten years in love with Jenny, and it didn’t appear that time or distance was going to change the way he felt.

She’d been little more than fifteen when he’d first recognized her as a woman. Until then she’d been a pesky kid. Living next door, so to speak, Trey had dealt mostly with Dillon, Jenny’s father.

He remembered the day he’d realized she was a woman. He’d driven over to talk to her father about one thing or another and gone into the barn. Jenny had been there, grooming her filly and practicing her lines for a school play, when he’d stumbled upon her by accident. Without missing a beat, she’d continued with a flawless delivery. She’d ended her soliloquy by dramatically throwing herself into his arms, then leaning back and planting the back of her hand against her forehead. Less than a second passed before she’d recovered from her death, leaped upright, and asked him what he’d thought of her performance.

What he’d saw, Trey realized now, was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Until that moment Trey had thought of Jenny as a kid. But it hadn’t been a child he’d held in those few moments.

Trey had scowled and muttered something about needing to talk to Dillon. Then for the next several years he’d waited impatiently for Jenny to grow up so he could court her. Three long, torturous years. It hadn’t been easy watching her date one young buck after another. Nor had he liked her riding over to tell him about her dates and seeking his advice.

Trey suspected Jenny’s parents knew how he felt about their daughter. But if they did, neither one said anything to him, and for that he was grateful.

By the time Jenny entered community college, she was dating one particular young man, and it looked for a time as if the two of them might be growing serious. More than once Trey had thought to go to her with his heart on his sleeve and tell her the way he felt.

This happened shortly after his parents had died, one after the other, within a nine-month period, and he was struggling financially. Dealing with his family’s estate had drained his ready cash. Unfortunately this was about the same time that beef prices had plummeted. While he was fighting off the banks and barely holding his head above water financially wasn’t the time to be asking a woman to be his wife.

By the time he felt he had something to offer Jenny, she’d made the decision to leave Montana for New York.

Trey remembered that Jenny’s family had thrown a big going-away party for her. Trey couldn’t force himself to attend. He knew if he let her leave, there was a good chance he’d never see her again, at least not the Jenny he knew. New York would change her. New York would make her into one of those sophisticated women who carried their dogs under their arms while they went clothes shopping.

Letting Jenny leave Montana was a testament of how much he loved her. His love couldn’t compete with her dreams. The bright lights of Broadway was her destiny. He was a cattle rancher with damn little to offer someone as talented as Jenny Lancaster.

At the last minute, Trey had stopped by the ranch and managed to wish her his very best. He remembered he’d said something corny about her breaking her leg in New York. Then he’d stood with her family and waved good-bye.

She’d driven off with her friends and taken his heart with her.

Afterward, Trey had gone home and gotten soundly drunk.

The first year after she’d left had been the worst. He’d made a dozen or more excuses to visit the Lancasters and ask about her. He’d been tempted to write her but had promised himself he wouldn’t. She was out of his life now and would soon be a big shot on Broadway.

Only it hadn’t happened quite like that. By the second Christmas she was away, he’d been semisuccessful in pushing the memory of her to the back of his mind. He still asked about her occasionally and was surprised to learn that her name wasn’t lighting up any marquees. It was then that he’d begun to hope Jenny would throw in the towel and move home to lick her wounds.

It was the small quiver in her voice when he’d phoned that had first alerted Trey to the fact that something was wrong. He hadn’t been able to put his finger on it. After all this time, he didn’t expect Jenny to be the same person she’d been when she’d left Custer. He wasn’t sure now what he had expected. Instead of sounding happy, she’d seemed sad, and he’d sensed in her a deep pain she couldn’t hide.

He’d mulled that over for a number of days, and then it seemed everyone he knew on God’s green earth started talking about New York. Before he could question the wisdom of his actions, he’d booked the flight to New York and subsequently learned the truth. He wasn’t relieved or glad at her lack of success. His first reaction had been anger that those fancy, worldly men had been blind to her talents.

Trey wanted to take Jenny back to Montana. He wanted to love her, comfort her, and take care of her. More than that, he wanted to wipe away the frustration and disappointment.

He hadn’t meant to ask her to come home so abruptly, but the words had refused to remain unsaid. The first time he’d asked, her response had been quick and sharp.

No.

That had been before he’d kissed her. When he’d asked a second time, she hadn’t answered.

Someone slipped a tape inside the cassette player, and a fresh batch of Christmas music filled the room. Several started to sing, and soon Trey heard three distinct parts, blending in perfect harmony.

Within a few moments everyone had stopped chatting to sing along. Jenny drifted over to Trey’s side. He’d never tire of hearing her sing. This, he decided, was what angels must sound like. Her voice conjured up that image for him.

The old Christmas carols were his personal favorites, and when the first introductory notes of “Silent Night” played, Trey sang along himself. It surprised him how well his deep voice blended with Jenny’s.

Pleasure lit up her eyes when she turned to smile at him.

He returned the gesture and draped his arm around her shoulder. A couple of the men in the group glanced his way and frowned. Trey didn’t blame them for being jealous. He had battled down the affliction every time Jenny so much as glanced at another man. In the beginning it had damn near eaten him alive, but time and effort had helped him master his feelings.

Soon the music faded, taken over with small talk. The crowd was beginning to get to him, so he decided to step outside for some fresh air. To his surprise, Jenny grabbed her coat and followed him.

“Come with me,” she said, and led him to the fire escape. She sat down and patted the space next to her. “I used to sit out here in the hottest nights of summer,” she said. Her breath produced clouded puffs in the cold night air. “Out here with the sky bright with stars was as close as I could get to feeling like I was in Montana again,” she admitted.

It was hard for Trey to hold his tongue. He’d already asked her twice to come back to Custer with him. He wouldn’t do it again.

“I wondered if you ever thought about home,” he said.

“Every day.”

“Did you think about me, Jenny?” He braced himself, fearing he wouldn’t like her answer. He had never said a solitary word about his feelings for her.

When she looked up at him, Trey noticed that her eyes were bright with unshed tears. “I thought about you a lot, Trey. I don’t know why, but in the last six months it seemed you were on my mind nearly every day.”

“You never wrote me,” he reminded her.

Her smile was weak at best. “You didn’t write me, either.”

That he couldn’t argue with.

“Did you . . . did you think about me, Trey?”

“Every damn minute of every damn day you’ve been away,” he admitted huskily. He kissed her then, simply because he needed her so badly. He’d loved her for so long, he didn’t know what it was not to love her.

Her ready response left him lightheaded. The kiss went on and on until they were both desperate to breathe.

“Oh, Trey,” she whispered, and buried her face against his neck.

It was heaven to hold her and the purest form of torture he had ever experienced. Heaven and hell.

The door abruptly opened behind them, and a couple stumbled out, giggling.

“Sorry!” the male voice charged. “We haven’t interrupted anything, have we?”

“Modesto’s been shot.” Shirley landed on the fire escape with such an urgency that she nearly unseated Mercy.

“My goodness,” Mercy said, gasping.

“Did someone call for me?” Goodness asked, joining her two friends.

“Modesto’s in the hospital,” Shirley blurted out in a dither. “It was a gang shooting . . . someone he didn’t even know. We’ve got to get there.”

“What about Brynn?” Mercy asked, following her friend.

“She’s already at New York General with Roberto and his brother. Emilio’s in a bad way.”

“Oh my.”

Together the three of them left Jenny and headed across town. They soon descended into the hospital waiting room where the situation was tense.

Emilio sat in the corner of the room, bent forward, his elbows braced against his knees. Shirley couldn’t remember ever seeing the teenager look more stricken. Roberto sat next to his brother, and Brynn couldn’t seem to hold still. She paced from one side of the room to the other.

Modesto’s mother was weeping softly. His older sister had her arm around their mother, but she looked as though she were about to break into tears herself.

“They’ve been waiting two hours,” Shirley informed her friends.

“What’s taking so long?”

“Modesto’s in surgery.”

“How did something like this happen?” Mercy asked. In all the time they’d been working together, they’d never been a part of this kind of tragedy.

“I don’t know what to do for them.” Shirley turned to face her two friends. Always before she’d been the one with the most experience and the one the other two had looked up to for help. She looked desperately to Goodness for help.

“This is just terrible,” Mercy murmured, wringing her hands. “Just terrible. Poor Modesto.”

“Poor Brynn.” Shirley stood near the young teacher and watched her pace. “She’s nearly beside herself with worry.”

“Stand with her,” Goodness urged. “Give her your strength.”

“Mine?” Shirley was beside herself. Never had she felt more inadequate. “Gabriel was right. I don’t have nearly enough experience to help Brynn the way I should. She needs me and I’ve failed her.”

Brynn collapsed into a chair, and Shirley sat next to her and folded her wing protectively over the young woman.

“Stay with her,” Goodness suggested. “I’m going to find out what I can about Modesto’s condition.”

“I’ll go with you,” Mercy said, joining Goodness. “Don’t you worry about a thing,” she said, looking back at Shirley. “I’m sure everything’s under control.”

The last thing Shirley wanted was to be left alone. She ached the same way Brynn did, worried the same way Brynn did. She shared her charge’s feelings of inadequacy. If ever Gabriel was right, it was now.

“Shirley.”

Just thinking about him seemed to have conjured up the archangel.

“Gabriel,” she said, leaping to attention.

“How are things going?” His presence seemed to fill up the hospital waiting room.

Shirley thought briefly of bluffing her way out of this, then figured Gabriel would be able to see through her in less time than it took for a heart to beat.

“It’s about Modesto,” she explained, distraught and near tears herself.

“I know all about the boy.”

“Can you tell me what’s going to happen to him?”

Gabriel inclined his head slightly. “He’ll recover in time.”

Shirley sighed with heartfelt relief. “Thank God.”

“I’ll mention it the next time we talk,” Gabriel assured her.

Sheepishly Shirley looked to the mighty archangel. “You were right,” she admitted sadly.

“That’s always nice to know, but exactly what am I right about this time?”

“Me helping Brynn. She’s falling in love with Roberto.”

“So I understand.”

Shirley waited for Gabriel to voice his disapproval, but he didn’t.

“Mr. Whalen placed a formal reprimand in her file.”

“I heard about that as well.”

“Suzie’s pregnant.”

“Yes.”

“Everything’s one giant mess, and it’s all my fault.” She hung her head, not wanting to view the disappointment in Gabriel’s eyes.

“Your fault?” Gabriel echoed, then chuckled softly. “You’ve got it all wrong.” Gently he placed his wings around Shirley’s burdened shoulders. “I couldn’t be more proud had I trained you myself.” He paused and sighed deeply. “Come to think of it, I have.”

Thirteen

Hannah returned home fr