Читать книгу A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband: A Hopeful Heart - Lois Richer - Страница 8

Once his knee had healed, the pain of embarrassment had passed and he’d purchased a new pair of pants, Mitch asked Melanie out for dinner. Chinese food. They sat across from one another in one of the local cafés without speaking as they waited for their meal of stir-fried Chinese vegetables and the deep-fried shrimp he’d insisted on. He figured Melanie could think of nothing to say—unlike their past encounter. Her fingers rolled the edge of her napkin. She took a sip of water.

“I like your dress.” Mitch’s low voice cut into her thoughts. His magnetic dark eyes gleamed in appreciation at the sweetheart neckline and fitted waist. “Green is certainly your color. That swimsuit was a knockout on you.”

Blushing profusely, Melanie thanked him before hurrying to change the topic. “Have you heard anything from the contest people yet?” she asked.

Once more that wicked grin flashed at her, and once more her pulse started that rat-tatting that Mitchel Stewart always seemed to cause.

“Nope, not a word. Maybe they’ll decide not to award it or to draw again. How did you enter?”

“I don’t know.” She laughed—that light, tinkling sound he had come to associate with her. Shrugging, she confessed, “I don’t even eat the stuff.”

“What?” He gave an exaggerated gasp before he admitted, “Me, neither.” His forehead was furrowed in thought. “How do you suppose they got our names, then?”

Melanie blushed again, and he wondered why. Gazing at her hands, she explained.

“A few months ago I was really down. One of our residents had died unexpectedly, and I…I was sort of depressed.” Her green eyes were filled with sadness as she stared ahead. “Mrs. Peters was so lonely, you see. Her kids never came to see her except on a duty visit at Christmas that lasted all of five minutes. She needed to talk to them and feel that they still cared.” Melanie heard her own voice harden.

“Apparently, all they needed was the check she always handed out. When she died, I phoned them and they were there in thirty minutes. Yet when she had been asking to see them only one week earlier, no one had the time to get away.” Melanie waved across the table as she tried to help him understand.

“I remember the last thing she said to me. She wanted to buy a new dress,” she told him sadly. Mitch’s warm brown hand was wrapped around her clenched fingers. She glanced at him sadly. “She got her dress, but it was too late.”

They sat there quietly eating the delicious food. Mitch had done nothing more than listen, but somehow his quiet strength helped, and after a minute or two she continued.

“Anyway, I was working with Mrs. Rivers by then and she was entering these contests. I thought, why not throw in a few of my own entries. Maybe a windfall of some kind could take some of the sting away and provide at least some of the essential equipment that so many need.” She grinned self-deprecatingly. “That’s been a hobbyhorse of mine for a while now.”

“Why don’t your pals just buy what they need? Surely some have money?”

Mitch’s question was legitimate, and she tried to explain the ways of those greedy families she had become familiar with.

“Well, many of them do have some assets when they enter the residence and they do get the help they need, as well as visits from caring families. But some of these folks are not mobile, and it’s difficult for them to do their banking. Usually the family takes it over, and when they see how expensive it is to look after Grandma or Grandpa, many begin to resent every dime they lose.”

“But the money isn’t theirs,” Mitch protested indignantly.

“I know, but when you begin to think of something as part of your inheritance…” Her voice died away. “Mr. Harcourt is one of those fellows who is quite capable of operating a motorized cart. It would get him out of the residence and to coffee with his friends. He’s not wealthy and his family think it’s a silly, wasteful expenditure, and so he sits, day after day, gradually growing more depressed.”

The conversation had become dull and gloomy, and Melanie suddenly felt guilty for dumping all her problems on him.

“I’m sorry. This isn’t a very happy subject, and I tend to harp.” She smiled at him, trying to lift the tension. “Exactly what kind of law do you practice?”

He knew she was trying to lighten the atmosphere, and he went along with it. “Corporate. Litigations are my preference, although I do agreements for sale, probate wills, boring stuff like that.” He grinned that sexy smile again, and Melanie felt her spirits lift.

“Do you ever practice family law?” Her inquiry was innocent enough, but his reaction was totally unexpected.

“No.” Curt and abrupt, his answer did not encourage speculation.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

His charming smile was once again in place, a facade he hid behind, Melanie suddenly realized.

“I hate that end of the business,” he told her. “Men and women who swore to love each other suddenly become bitter enemies, each trying to outdo the other in nastiness. Pulling children’s lives apart so they can hurt each other.” He shook his dark head. “I won’t be part of that.”

Melanie heard the underlying hurt and suspected that Mitch had been a product of just such a scenario, perhaps as a small child. He wasn’t talking about it.

“Don’t you want to get married yourself? Have a family someday?” She studied him curiously, noting the flush on his high cheekbones.

“No. Well, yeah. Maybe. I’m not really the type.” The words spilled out helter-skelter, and he frowned. “If I ever did, I’d go into it with a no-escape clause. So far I haven’t found anyone I want to be tied up that tightly with. What about you?”

“I always thought love and marriage would just happen, but lately work takes up more and more of my time, and truthfully, I just don’t know how I could fit a family in with that.” She grimaced. “Those residents are important to me. I don’t know if I could give them all up for a mere man.” She grinned teasingly.

“We’re not going into that man thing again, are we?” He groaned. “I already apologized three thousand times.”

“And that’s not nearly enough.” She smiled.

“You should talk! You called me out of shape, remember?”

“And?” She raised one eyebrow meaningfully. “If the shoe fits…”

“Time to go,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Before war breaks out.”

Melanie gratefully picked up her purse and moved to the door. She felt like a liar, because she knew she’d give up her so-called career in a minute for a loving husband and the warmth and comfort of a family of her own.

As they strolled along the street, Mitch took her hand in his and drew it through his arm.

“I think we’ll make good neighbors.” He grinned at her. “The really neighborly thing to do would be to invite me in for coffee.”

The hint was hard to miss, and surprisingly enough, she didn’t want to bid Mitch good-night just yet.

“Well, since you did take me out for dinner, I suppose it is the least I can do.” Melanie deliberately made the invitation as unappealing as possible, pretty sure he would jump at it. She didn’t want to seem too eager, after all!

They sat among the flickering candles on her patio, sipping the rich Colombian brew Melanie favored. In the dark, it seemed easier to talk.

“My mother often let me stay up in the summer and have chocolate milk on the porch. This reminds me of those times.” Her voice was soft and filled with memories, and Mitch seemed loath to break the spell of quiet contentment.

“She probably wished I’d go to bed, but she and Hope and Faith never tried to talk me out of my daydreams. I will always be thankful for their love and care. I guess that’s why I choose to work where I do.” She smiled happily. “Seniors have so much life and love and knowledge to contribute, if only someone would take the time to listen.”

“You were lucky,” he told her. That hard tone had frozen the emotion in his rumbly voice. “Some kids never get the chance to experience any of that.”

“But you had your grandfather. Didn’t you ever come visit?” Melanie searched her mind, trying to remember Mitch from some foggy distant encounter.

“Not very often. We lived too far away, and my parents couldn’t afford it. Gramps came to visit us once or twice a year for a week or so, but that’s all. After I was on my own, I’d come out as often as I could get away. We kind of developed a bond then.”

Melanie could tell the subject was closed, but she longed to ask him about his childhood, his parents, his background. One minute he was so charming and friendly, and the next he had closed up like a clam, cold and hard.

Soft music flowed on the evening air as someone on another patio below them enjoyed the cool evening air.

“Do you dance?” he asked suddenly.

Melanie stuttered over her answer. “Not very well. I, well, it’s been ages, and…”

Tall and dark in his denim shirt and pants, he stood before her. She tipped her head to look at him.

“Don’t tell me you’re uncoordinated, Melanie, or I will be forced to make some remark that will draw the battle lines between us. Again. May I have this dance?” he asked. His eyes glinted in the candlelight. “I have to get my exercise, you know.” And then Mitch tugged her gently from her chair without waiting for a response. “Here, put your arms around me like this.”

Melanie let Mitch push her bare arms around his neck and then stood silent while he wrapped his around her slender waist. She was nervous and sure he knew it.

“No fancy moves,” he reassured her. “Just swaying to the music.”

They swayed gently, moving slowly to the music. As he held, she was aware of his warmth and strength, the spicy scent of his cologne and the momentary brush of his beard-roughened cheek on her own. Her skirt swished around her legs as his foot grazed hers. It was wonderful and exciting, and yet they did nothing but move leisurely around the tiny terrace.

She was relaxed, Mitch knew as he inched one hand a fraction lower on her hip. It felt so good to hold her like this, close but not too close, her soft presence filling the night air. His chin fit perfectly on top of her head, and he could just catch the soft, intriguing scent of her perfume. Against his neck, her silky hair caressed and enticed him. He bent his head and pressed the tiniest kiss to the soft skin of her collarbone.

Melanie Stewart was every inch a woman, soft and curvy, yet caring and concerned. She interested him. No one had ever said the things she had and been allowed to get away with it, and yet this fiery woman continued to hold his attention.

“What did you think of Hope’s problem?” he asked finally, not wanting to break the companionable silence but needing to bring some reality into the evening.

“I don’t know what to think. I’m afraid for her.”

“Afraid?” He frowned. “For heaven’s sake, why?”

Her finger absently played with the hair that just touched his collar as she moved slowly with him. Her touch bothered him, sending electric currents through his blood.

“Melanie?”

“She’s waited so long. She’d almost let herself forget him. Did you know Hope has gone out with your grandfather a few times?”

Mitch jerked backward, staring at her in surprise. Suddenly, the little scene at Charity’s made sense.

“You mean she’s falling in love with him?” He frowned.

“I don’t know, but something was happening between them. She was finally beginning to let go of the past and consider the future.” Melanie heaved a sigh. “And now this.”

“Makes you wonder who’s in control of the universe, doesn’t it?” he laughed.

“Oh, I know that God’s in control,” she told him seriously. “And whatever He has planned is more wonderful than anything we could ever imagine. It’s just hard to understand right now.”

“I never thought of God as personally interested in our lives,” Mitch murmured. “I always think of Him as some far-off entity. In heaven, I guess.” He shrugged.

Melanie smiled knowingly. “Well, I’m certain He’s there, but He’s also here with us, guiding us through our daily lives. I just have to keep praying that Hope won’t be too badly hurt by all this.”

She snuggled her head against his shoulder, and Mitch stared at the stars. Melanie Stewart made him think of all those things he wanted but could never have. Things like a wife, a home of his own, a family. Things he had no business dreaming about.

Pulling her a little closer, he guided her carefully across the patio as the music died away. His left hand settled on her waist, and he tortured himself with the dream of someday holding someone who was special to him in just this way. In his ear there was a soft whisper.

“What?” he asked, missing the soft words.

“You move that hand any lower and you are in trouble.”

Privately, Mitch thought he was in trouble anyway, but he decided to change strategies. His mouth touched hers softly in a whisper of a kiss that was over before it began. When she kissed him back, he followed the curve of her jaw with a tiny, feather-light brush of his mouth. His nose nuzzled the sensitive spot under one ear. That brought a tiny sigh from her. Then she edged away, pressing her palms gently against his chest.

“Thank you for a very nice evening.” Her soft voice was primly correct, and he almost burst out laughing.

Nice? Talk about a nonresponse.

“You’re more than welcome. And thank you for coming to dinner.” He grinned at her, unabashed at the color flooding her face.

Bending, he pressed a kiss to her soft, pink mouth and one on a tiny freckle just below her eye. Then he whispered in her ear, “I enjoyed it. All of it.”

When her face colored again, he grinned smugly. “You do blush a lot,” he teased her. Then, lest he hurt her feelings, he told her the truth. “I like it on you.”

They walked to the door side by side, saying nothing, both feeling the tension of the moment. At the door Mitch took her oval face in his hands and rubbed his thumb along her lips.

“Can we share dinner again?”

Waves of feeling swamped her, and Melanie was unable to think straight. A noncommittal answer, that was the best.

“Maybe,” she temporized, unsure of anything but her surging heartbeat. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to afford it if I don’t win that contest. You eat a lot.”

He grinned. “Save your allowance then, because I’m going to hold you to it,” he promised. Mitch pressed one last kiss to her mouth. Then, sighing, he dragged himself away.

“Good night,” he whispered, and pulled the door closed behind his tall figure.

“Good night,” Melanie answered to no one at all. One slim hand touched her lips in wonder.

In a trance she moved through her nightly rituals, half dazed. Mitchel Stewart didn’t seem nearly as irritating as he had two weeks ago. Nor as angry.

What Melanie recalled was the way his bad-boy looks had made her heart thump. And the black lock of hair that tumbled across his forehead. And his lazy blue eyes with their hidden flames. And the soft, caring touch of his hands.

Yawning widely, Melanie plumped her pillow and promptly fell asleep dreaming of Mitchel Stewart.

“You think this fellow is this Jean guy? The same one that Hope Langford was engaged to?” Mitch stared at his grandfather in dismay.

“Not only do I think he is the one, I’m pretty sure he plans to marry someone else. I’ve had someone looking into things for me. On the Q. T. of course.” Harry Conroy rubbed his hand wearily across his stubbled cheek. “I’m stumped, laddie. I dursn’t tell Hope about this. She’s got her heart set on a reunion, and if this guy is what he seems, that isn’t going to happen.”

“What’s his name?” Mitch asked curiously, flipping through the reports covering his grandfather’s desk. “And where’s he been for the past thirty years? Why didn’t he let her know he was alive so she could move on?”

“I don’t know, son. Those are all good questions that I’d like to ask the man myself. You don’t go abandoning a woman like Hope without a darned good reason. Leave those papers be!” Harry sounded furious, and Mitch studied him with new eyes.

“You’re pretty fond of Miss Langford, aren’t you, Gramps?” he asked quietly.

“Fond of her? I’ve spent longer than I care to think about trying to get close to the woman. But she has this barrier she always puts up. Won’t let people get too close. Leastways, not me.” He frowned.

Harry Conroy peered at his grandson. Over the years he’d gained a pretty good knowledge of human nature, and he used it to good advantage now.

“I think you’re interested in Charity’s daughter, too. Aren’t you, boy?” The faded gray eyes sparkled with hidden knowledge. “I was afraid it would never happen,” he declared happily.

“It hasn’t,” Mitch assured him quietly. “I’m not looking to get married, Gramps. You know that. Neither is she. Sure, I like Melanie. She’s sharp and witty.”

“Not too hard to look at, either,” his grandfather added.

“No, she isn’t,” Mitch agreed with a grin. “But she’s dedicated to her career as much as I am to mine.”

Harry snorted. “Hogwash,” he bellowed with disgust. “You’re still thinking about your parents, aren’t you, Mitch?” He shook his head. “Those two didn’t have a marriage, they had a battle zone. That’s not the way it’s supposed to work, boy.”

“From what I saw at Mercer, Lloyd and Jones, that’s the way it usually works,” Mitch told him soberly.

“I knew you didn’t like Chicago, Mitch, but I always thought you liked your work.”

“I hated my work there,” Mitch said hoarsely. “Bottom man on the pole wasn’t the problem. I had to take whatever they assigned, and it was always family court.” He shuddered at the memory. “I still see the looks in the kids’ eyes, Gramps. So tired. And scared.”

“Well, I’m proud of you for getting yourself out of there, son.” Harry wiped a tear away. “It’s a sad thing to see a family torn apart, that’s for sure. But it doesn’t have to happen to you. All marriages aren’t bad. Your gran and I shared some pretty happy years.” Harry stared across his desk, his eyes focused on some memory Mitch couldn’t share.

“You never knew her, Mitch, but she was the kindest, gentlest woman God ever created.”

“Sort of like Hope, you mean?” Mitch watched, stunned, as his grandfather’s head reared back and his round belly shook with laughter.

“Good heavens, no! Hope is nothing like your grandmother. If she thinks I deserve it, she can tear a strip off me. Most times, it serves me right.” He chuckled.

“Mom must have taken after your Anna, then.” When Harry frowned, Mitch rushed to make his meaning clear. “You know what Dad was like, Gramps. He never had a decent word to say to anyone, Mom included. Most of the time he was screaming vile things at her. And she took it all without telling him off. Not once as long as I hung around can I remember a time when she would retaliate.”

“No, she wouldn’t have,” Harry whispered sadly. “That was our fault. Anna and I knew your ma saw the court cases come and go, and we were afraid she would learn that retribution often paid. So we taught her that fighting back never solved anything.” He stared at the picture of the young laughing girl on his desk. “I regret that now.”

“There’s no point in regrets, Gramps.” Mitch smiled bitterly. “We can only learn from the past, and what I learned from my old man and his successors is that marriage tears people up.”

“I’m sorry ‘bout that, too, my boy,” Harry whispered as the door slammed behind his grandson. “Because I think marriage is the best darn institution God ever invented.”

He sat staring at his oak-lined office for a long moment before rousing himself to action.

“I wonder,” he murmured, shrugging into his black robes for the last session of the day. He pressed the newfangled speed dial his secretary had shown him how to use.

“Hello, Hope? I need to talk to you about something.” He waited for her response, a smile curving his lips. “I thought maybe we could go for a picnic. Haven’t had one of those in years.”

When she started to protest he cut her off.

“I’m due in court now, my dear. Let’s just plan to leave around six. I’ll pick you up. Wear pants.” Harry hung up the phone with a huge smile on his round face.

Yes, siree, this was going to be an interesting date!

“Jessica, I cannot afford to reprimand you again. This is the last time.” Melanie watched as the young woman’s face turned sullen.

“But, Melanie, Mrs. Lindstrom was—”

“I cannot condone your actions regardless of what our residents do or say.” She cut her trainee off. “Your treatment of Mrs. Lindstrom was callous and disrespectful, and we do not allow that here.” She searched Jessica’s pretty face for some sign of remorse. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“I guess so.” The voice was petulant.

Melanie refused to allow herself any softening. The bullying tactics she had just witnessed were unforgivable.

“I’ll make it perfectly clear, then, so that we both understand the way things go at Sunset.” She waited until Jessica’s sullen blue gaze met hers and then she laid down the law.

“This is your last warning, Jessica. Our residents are seniors, yes, and sometimes they need help. But force will not be used on anyone unless he or she is a danger to themselves or someone else. Okay?”

“But she was pulling my hair! Don’t I have any rights?”

Melanie sighed, knowing the teenager would have to be relocated.

“Jessica, please. You were forcing her into the bath. She hates water. She’s afraid.”

“Well, how was I s’posed to know that?” The young woman had shifted from cranky to defiant, her lip curling with disgust. Suddenly, Melanie was tired of the whole thing.

“I guess you would actually have to talk to her, like a real person, and then let her talk back to find it out,” she answered acidly, unwilling to go over the same material again.

Melanie knew she was venting some of her foul mood on the trainee, but Jessica deserved it. She would have dumped on Mitchel Stewart, too, if he had been around. He had been at the bottom of a lot of her problems lately!

She waved Jessica away tiredly as she raked a hand through her disheveled curls. Her secretary walked in with a cup of coffee and a commiserating smile.

“What happened to decency and courtesy, Bridget?” She sipped a mouthful of the refreshing brew and closed her eyes. When there was no response, Melanie opened them again. The woman just kept watching her. What now? she wondered.

“I’m sorry, Mel, but Mr. Northrup is slipping away fast. Hospital phoned to say you should come over if you want to talk to him once more.”

Melanie got up immediately and moved to the door. Jonathan Northrup had been at Sunset even longer than she had. He had been her inspiration and hope for so long. It would be hard to say goodbye. The only consolation was that they both knew they’d meet again in heaven. Still, it would be tough. She straightened her backbone and strode down the hall, not really hearing Bridget’s voice as she gathered her thoughts.

“Mel, there’s some fellow from Papa John’s Peanut Butter wants to see you immediately. He’s at the front desk.”

The last few words were hollered at Melanie’s disappearing figure. She need not have bothered, Bridget thought. She knew Melanie Stewart had her priorities straight. And Jonathan Northrup was certainly more important than some silly contest!

Half an hour later, Melanie closed the big hospital door. He was gone. Serene to the end, Jonathan had given her his final bit of advice.

“You have to get out and live, my dear. Old folks are selfish and depressing sometimes, and much as we enjoy all your efforts, you have to look after yourself. One day you’ll find a man who, if you let him, can give you so much.” He had stopped for a painful, wheezing breath. “Make sure you have enough left of yourself to give back. That’s all I ask.” His frail, veined hand had clasped hers one last time.

“Enjoy your life, my dear. You’ve given me so much happiness. See you in heaven.”

“Yes, in heaven.” A tear rolled down her cheek, but Melanie dashed it away angrily. She would not cry. Jonathan wouldn’t have wanted it.

A deep voice spoke from behind her left shoulder.

“Are you all right, Melanie?”

Turning, Melanie found Mitch’s tall, elegantly dressed figure behind her. He looked very handsome in his navy blue pinstriped suit, but it was his eyes that drew her. Dark and searching, they probed deep within, sharing her sorrow.

“He was someone special, wasn’t he?” he asked softly as his arm moved across her shoulder. His hand was gently soothing on her back, and suddenly Melanie gave way.

Turning into his arms, she put her head on his shoulder and bawled like a baby.

“Oh, Mitch. He was my best friend.”

He let her cry out her loss and feelings without saying anything. And as she cried, Melanie felt the stress and sadness slowly drain away.

“Thanks,” she murmured, accepting the snowy white handkerchief he pulled from his pocket to wipe her eyes. She knew she had smudged her mascara, and her eyes must look like a raccoon’s, but Mitch never said a word. Gently, he took the fabric from her and completed the cleanup himself before stuffing the square into his pocket.

Then he tipped her face to look at his.

“Have you time for a coffee?” he asked. “I need to talk to you.”

His voice was so serious that Melanie stared at him for a minute before nodding.

“I suppose I can. I’ll just tell Bridget I’ll be in the cafeteria.”

“Actually, I thought maybe we could go outside for some privacy.” He pointed to a carafe and two cups. “And she already knows.”

Shrugging, Melanie accepted his outstretched hand and walked to the patio that nestled on a tiny bit of green lawn between the hospital and the nursing home. There were lounge chairs spread around, and she sank gratefully into one in the sun. She needed the warm sunshine and light to banish her gloomy feelings.

When Mitch handed her the steaming cup, his fingers brushed hers, and Melanie felt the sparks his touch always caused in her body. She watched as his intelligent blue eyes studied her face carefully before he sank into a chair.

“Okay,” he began, dark eyes probing hers. “I know my timing stinks, but I guess the best way to tell you this is to just get it over with.”

Melanie watched his chest expand as he sucked in a lungful of air. A wave of foreboding hung over her. What now, she wondered.

He began.

“A rep from Papa John’s was in to the office to see me today.” His blue eyes bored into her. “From what I understand, they were also here to see you,” he told her sourly. “Apparently they have come to some decision regarding their grand prize.” Mitch’s face was flushed, and he fidgeted in his chair uncomfortably.

“Say it,” she ordered, gripping the armrests. When he didn’t speak, she answered for herself. “I don’t win, do I?”

“Melanie, just listen to me for—”

She ignored his pleading. All her grand ideas, all her plans. She felt her dreams dissolving around her.

“I thought it was probably too good to be true. After all, I don’t even use their product. How could I possibly endorse it?” She turned to him, eyes glittering. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Melanie, can you be quiet for once?” The usually calm, deep voice was hard and strident. “Just let me speak, would you?”

Pursing her lips, Melanie leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. Her soft curls flopped across her cheek, but she was too angry to notice.

Mitch, however, noticed. He noticed only too well.

Thoughts of their evening together flooded his mind until he could almost feel her in his arms, feel her silky hair against his cheek, taste her soft mouth.

Shaking his head sharply, Mitch ignored the heat that was building in his brain and forced himself to concentrate on getting this right. It would not be easy.

“Melanie, they have both our entries now. And the home address you put on yours seems to be my apartment. Number 108. The winner lives at number 108.” He waited for her to assimilate the information. When she said nothing, he tried again.

“I said—”

She stopped him immediately.

“I’m not a child, Mitch. I know what it means. It means I don’t win, right?”

Her reddish gold head was tilted to the sun. As he watched, a single tear trickled from the corner of her eye.

“Not exactly,” he told her.

She studied him curiously, intrigued by his mysterious manner. When he said nothing, she punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Explain.” She gave the command with all the imperious demands of royalty. He smiled at her dictatorial tone.

“I, er, I kind of told them that we lived in the same building. That, uh, we were roommates. Well, almost.”

Mitchel Stewart had never seen anyone move that fast. In microseconds she was standing over him, hands on her hips as she glared at him.

“You…you fibber! You cheat! You liar!” Then she stopped. Her huge green eyes blinked twice before crinkling in puzzlement. “Why?”

“It seems that my contest entry has no apartment number on it. My name, however, is on the lease for apartment 108.”

“And?” Melanie was completely puzzled by his strange attitude.

“Well, your name does not appear on any lease. Just Shawna’s.” He met her glittering gaze squarely. “And there is no phone number listed in your name.”

“I know that. I only moved in after another of her roommates was married. We share the phone bill.” It was clear to Mitch that Melanie didn’t understand what he was telling her.

“But your entry says you live in my apartment. If you are not in fact living in apartment 108, your entry is null and void because you have misrepresented yourself.”

He watched her absorb the information. Her small hands rested idly on his shoulders as she thought.

“How do you know this?” she demanded.

“I’m a lawyer, remember? Corporate law. Well,” he said smugly, “I asked this rep guy for a copy of their contest rules.”

He waited for her approval. In vain. Melanie merely glared at him. “And?”

“They must award the prize if we can both be shown to be living in apartment 108.” As dismay flooded her beautiful face, Mitch quickly changed his wording. “That is, if you and I are both living in apartment 108.”

He was triumphantly pleased with himself. Mitchel had made it his business to find out about Melanie Stewart in the past few days, and he could understand how badly she needed that money. Sunset Retirement Home was an under-funded, overworked nursing home that was following the patterns of business all over the world by cutting back.

Several of his golfing buddies had relayed horror stories about the place before Melanie had taken over, and Mitchel found out she was well respected in her field. The simple, humanitarian changes she had wrought in her tenure as director of care had resulted in Sunset becoming one of the choice locations for those requiring the services they provided.

At the same time, he had watched her surreptitiously with a number of her clients. Melanie was unfailingly polite and courteous with everyone, but her seniors seemed her closest friends. Even Mrs. Strange had spoken glowingly of Melanie’s special interest in each resident’s needs.

“Don’t you see?” he demanded, anxious for her to understand his contribution in all this. “If you move some of your stuff to my spare room and stay there for a few nights, they’ll know you’re living there, and you’ll get your share of the money.”

She looked as if he had hit her with a Mack truck, Mitch decided. The color was coming back to her face, but he didn’t think that was a good sign. Mostly due to the sharp fingernails digging into his shoulder blades.

He lifted her hands away, careful to keep the lethal pink nails far from his eyes. She looked steamed, and with her temper, she would probably scratch his eyes out.

“Let go of me, you lecherous, manipulating, overbearing…” As the stream of vitriolic descriptives flowed from her soft peach lips, Mitch twisted her arms behind her back.

He disliked using force, but he wanted to preserve the skin on his face, as well. He let her blow off steam, but when she had not stopped a few moments later, his temper peaked.

Using the method he most favored, Mitch pulled her stiff, unyielding body close and pressed his lips against hers, stemming the tide of outrage. And he kept kissing her even when she stopped fighting him. Only when she finally started kissing him back did he pull away.

Women! Why didn’t he smarten up? Surely after Sam’s dirty tricks, he should be prepared for the way they operated.

“Listen, Ms. Stewart. I don’t need a roommate so badly that I would go to these extremes. I’ve told you before, I don’t intend to get married. Not now. Maybe not ever.”

Mitch let go of her arms and stood back, furious that he had allowed himself to become so involved in someone else’s affairs. That’s what he got for trying to help!

“You know,” he added, upset with himself for the stupid idea that had streaked into his head an hour ago, “I can use twenty-five grand for a few little schemes of my own. You’re not the only person who has things to do, people you want to help out. And if you back out now, they will redraw the names.” Mitch’s dark eyes glared at her accusingly. “I’ll lose out altogether because of your mistake.” He told himself to calm down. Useless.

“I know how much you want that money. So do I. And this is the only way I could think of for you to share in it.” Turning, he strode away, stopping only to add, “Sorry I interfered in your life,” before yanking the door open and walking through it.

Melanie sank into the deck chair, her knees rubbery. Shocked, confused, dazed. Life was a perplexing whirl, and she wasn’t sure of anything anymore. He had been trying to help, in a strange, rather unusual way. He wanted her to have the money, or at least some of it. But there was no way she was moving in with the guy. Get real!

“You’re still there, directing me, aren’t You, Lord?” she murmured brokenly. “Please give a sign. You know how much we need that money.”

Glancing at her watch, Melanie decided that nothing made sense anymore and got up to return to work. As she gathered the cups and thermos, she permitted a tiny smile to tilt the corners of her mouth. Actually, Mitchel Stewart was kind of sweet. In a bossy, rude sort of way.

“He invited her to move in with him?” Hope fumed. Her eyes were wide open. “What a horrible young man!”

“He’s not horrible at all,” Charity murmured, threading the wool through her knitting machine. “Dear Mitchel was just trying to help. In a bizarre, unorthodox sort of way.” She slid the carriage back and forth a few times experimentally and then began an even, steady rhythm that soon produced a width of white lacy fabric.

“Melanie was so hurt when her mother abandoned her. It took ages, remember, to get her to open up. That terrible childhood should have toughened her up, but instead she became more withdrawn.” Charity smiled in remembrance. “My Melanie was the child who always needed an extra hug or a few extra words of praise.”

“I remember,” Hope murmured. “She’d work so hard in school, doing far more than was necessary for any project I assigned.” Her eyes stared into the past. “She was always the one who lent a helping hand, stuck up for the little kid being bullied.”

Charity nodded. “It was almost as if she was too insecure and afraid to believe in the love that Peter and I offered. When he died, I think she felt it was her fault for leaning on him so much.”

“Well, I want her to be happy,” Hope added stoutly. “But I don’t want her to be hurt. And Mitchel will do that. He’s had a terrible childhood, you know. Harry told me some of it.” She filled them in on the few details she knew. “Melanie needs someone strong with a solid background. Someone she can lean on. Not somebody with problems of his own!”

“I don’t know why you’re so concerned, Hope.” Charity smiled as she started another color. “Melanie is a good girl. She wouldn’t allow anything untoward to happen. And they would only be sharing the kitchen.”

Hopes eyes were huge with disbelief.

“You mean you condone this crazy idea?” She gasped. “But you’re her mother.”

“I know that, dear. And I’m not saying I condone anything. I have only her good at heart. But Melanie is too self-contained. She’s always pushing everyone but her seniors away. She’s missing out on the best parts of life, and I want her to find happiness with someone her own age.” She shrugged. “Maybe if she and Mitch do share an apartment, she’ll realize the world is full of more than grumpy old men. It does have two bedrooms, you know.” Charity’s warm brown eyes twinkled. She delighted in her friend’s shocked look.

“Oh, my,” Faith breathed, her emerald green eyes glowing with excitement. “And wouldn’t it be romantic. Why, they could have a candlelight dinner without the whole town knowing about it.” She stared into space, lost in a daydream.

“Well,” Hope said, “I’m ashamed of you, Charity Flowerday. And there’s no way I’m going to allow Melanie’s good reputation to be soiled by such a tawdry situation. I’m going to do my duty by the girl.” She picked up her purse and swept regally through the front door, the light of battle gleaming in the depths of her blue eyes. “We’ll just see about this…arrangement,” she muttered furiously.

When Judge Harry Conroy showed up promptly at six o’clock, Hope was ready for him. She wore a pair of navy slacks and a white blouse with a navy and white cardigan over her shoulders. She could barely control her temper as she waited for Harry to open her car door and her greeting wasn’t as welcoming as it could have been.

“Is something the matter, Hope?” he asked at last. He started the car and pulled away from her house, then glanced at her curiously. “I mean, have you heard more about Jean or something?”

“Good heavenly days, no,” she snapped irritably. “I hadn’t even thought about that. Don’t have time.” She turned to face him angrily. “Charity is set on sending her daughter traveling down the path of destruction, and I intend to see that she doesn’t do it.”

“Charity is?” the judge murmured, puzzled. “But I thought…well, never mind that. What’s Charity done now?”

“It’s all because of that awful grandson of yours,” Hope complained. “He flies into town, all handsome and debonair, and sweeps the girl off her feet.”

“So you think he’s handsome, do you?” Judge Conroy’s eyes twinkled.

“Of course he’s handsome,” Hope spluttered. “You know very well he takes after you, Harry, and you were a heartbreaker at that age. You still are.”

“Do tell,” Harry murmured with a smile of appreciation, allowing himself to preen.

“But you had some scruples. You would never have up and asked a woman to live with you so cold-bloodedly.”

Judge Conroy absently turned down the dirt road that led to the park beside the river where he’d courted his wife years ago. It wasn’t much of a river now, of course. And he wasn’t as young as he once was. But oh, my, things did sound promising!

“Mitch has asked someone to live with him?” he repeated softly. “That’s strange. I didn’t think the boy had any intention of getting married.”

“He doesn’t,” Hope shrieked in exasperation. “He wants her to live in sin with him.”

The judge stared at her as if she’d lost her marbles, sending Hope’s blood pressure soaring.

“I hardly think Mitch would suggest—”

“Oh, yes, he would,” she contradicted him. “I was visiting Nettie Rivers. We were sitting in her room, right by the window, and I distinctly heard him ask Melanie to move in with him.” She slammed the door of the car and stomped to a clearing beside a tiny waterfall. “Well, I’m not having it,” she spluttered, sinking down onto the blanket Harry spread. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes, dear,” he murmured, trying to understand. It didn’t sound at all like Mitch, but then the boy did have a mind of his own. “I’ll talk to him,” he promised, patting her hand commiseratingly.

“It won’t do any good,” Hope murmured, squeezing his hand gently. “But thank you. No, Charity’s determined to go along with it all. She thinks Melanie needs to see what she’s missing, working with old people all the time.”

“Perhaps she’s right about that, Hope. She is the girl’s mother, after all. Charity wants to see Melanie happily married with her own children. So do I, for that matter.” He stared at her. “Let’s pray about it, dear. God can do anything. He can certainly handle this.”

They bowed their heads, and Judge Conroy murmured a short petition, asking for guidance and help for their friends and relatives.

“Do you feel better now, dear?” he asked, after they’d finished the low-fat potato salad, cold sliced chicken sandwiches with tomato, lettuce and spicy mustard. For dessert, there was fruit salad and hot, fragrant herbal tea.

“A little,” Hope conceded. She stared into the woods. “I think I shall keep my eye on that situation. Perhaps I can be of help.”

“But won’t you be busy contacting the authorities about Jean?” he asked softly, knowing it wouldn’t hurt her to discuss her past love. To the judge’s immense surprise, Hope shook her head.

“No,” she told him firmly. “I’ve decided to turn that over to the Lord. Jean has been gone for a long time. It’s very doubtful that he’s survived at all, but if, for some strange reason, he turns up alive, I’ll be happy and I’ll learn to deal with it. Somehow.”

“What are you going to do?” Harry asked with a frown.

“Exactly what I’ve been doing for the past twenty-five years,” Hope told him with a smile. “Take each day as it comes and plan on making it the best yet.”

“Good,” he agreed after a moment. “And I’ll be here to share them with you.”

“You have been for a long time now,” she murmured, staring at his bald head as if she hadn’t noticed it before. “We’ve had some good times, haven’t we, Harry? You and Anna and I. She was my very best friend, you know. I always felt as if she was my sister.”

Harry frowned.

“Well, I don’t feel like your brother,” he muttered. To his delight she giggled, leaning nearer to kiss him on one cheek.

“You don’t look like him, either,” she assured him, laughing. She jumped to her feet and tugged his arm. “Come on, lazybones. I let you feed me all that delicious food. The least you can do is help me walk it off.”

“All right,” he agreed meekly. “But I carefully planned a low-fat meal, just as you prefer. You know that. As long as we just walk. I’m too old for anything else.”

Hope’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Really?” she asked. “That’s too bad.”

Harry let her lead him down the path, resisting an urge to kiss her then and there. But no, he decided. He’d bide his time. They were just beginning to get closer, and she was only starting to come to terms with the possibility of Jean’s reappearance. Everything looked positive, but he’d keep mentioning things to the Lord, just the same. A little heavenly guidance couldn’t hurt, he decided, hearing Hope’s sudden burst of laughter.