Autumn was not unhappy.

Many things brought her enjoyment.

Yet it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

She didn’t want to remain alone forever. All her life she’d felt a hunger to belong to someone, to be cherished and loved. To have someone who would never leave her, never desert her.

Autumn wanted that more than life. To give love and give herself to a mate.

She glanced up at Brent. And felt more vulnerable than she had in years.

Her protective wall had been breached. She wanted to freely love Brent and his little boy.

And something in his gaze told her he knew exactly what she wanted….

RUTH SCOFIELD

became serious about writing after she’d raised her children. Until then, she’d concentrated her life on being a June Cleaver-type wife and mother, spent years as a Bible student and teacher for teens and young adults and led a weekly women’s prayer group. When she’d made a final wedding dress and her last child had left the nest, she declared to one and all that it was her turn to activate a dream. Thankfully her husband applauded her decision.

Ruth began school in an old-fashioned rural two-room schoolhouse and grew up in the days before television, giving substance to her notion that she still has one foot in the last century. However, active involvement with six rambunctious grandchildren has her eagerly looking forward to the next millennium. After living on the East Coast for years, Ruth and her husband now live in Missouri.

Whispers of the Heart
Ruth Scofield

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for.

—Hebrews 11:1, 2

Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.

—Hebrews 13:5b

To my sister, Joyce Burke, artist extraordinaire, who brushes every soul she meets with the vivid colors of her own faith and love.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Letter to Reader

Prologue

Brent Hyatt leaned against the door frame of the unfurnished, unfinished loft apartment watching the three women inspect the space. Two, obviously, were sisters; twins, if he didn’t miss his guess, though they didn’t look exactly alike. Young twenties, he thought, pretty and raring to locate where others of the under thirty set hung out. Though the Riverfront Market area wasn’t exactly Westport, it had its growing interest among the younger crowd.

The third woman, midforties, appeared to be a real estate agent.

“I think this has wonderful possibilities, don’t you, Autumn?” one of the sisters said. The other, gazing out the north window, seemed to be in deep contemplation and didn’t reply.

“It’s a great deal,” the real estate person added enthusiastically. “But you’ll have to make up your mind fairly fast. Most of these new loft apartments are rentals, not up for sale like this one, and this particular block is becoming more popular and filling up fast. The building across the street is already half taken, and like this one, the top two floors are residential apartments. You won’t be lacking neighbors.”

Brent glanced at his watch, knowing he’d arrived early for his own appointment to view the place with Laureen Shore, a friend who was also a real estate agent. He planned to keep his word to look at the apartment, but he already knew it wouldn’t do. He wanted a first-floor office for his architecture design firm and probably would take the one across the street.

“You can have everything finished in a month’s time and pretty much to your own specifications.” The Realtor pushed her sales points as she finished speaking, then glanced a question toward the sister who had spoken.

The woman at the window held silent, the long lines of her slender, long-limbed form unmoving. Only a quarter profile showed a tender edge of mouth and chin, a tip of nose.

“Arranging the space to suit your purposes has its appeal, don’t you think, Autumn?” her sister spoke again, a persuasive note in her voice. “And the morning light is excellent.”

The woman unexpectedly turned swiftly, the words, “Yes, Spring. I’ll take it,” tumbling from her mouth before she spotted him lounging in the doorway. Whatever else she was about to say died without a whimper. She simply stared at him. The other two women turned just as Laureen came up behind him.

“Oh, Brent. I’m sorry to be late,” Laureen said. Then spying the other party, she turned her attention their way. “Oh, hello, Eleanor. Didn’t know you were showing the apartment this morning. We don’t mean to intrude.”

“No prob, Laureen,” the other Realtor replied. “You can show the place if you want to, but I believe my client has first claim on it.”

“Hmm…too bad,” Laureen commented, repositioning her black leather purse over her shoulder. “The view is good from here. Come along in, Brent, and take a peek.”

“Hi, ladies.” He smiled in a friendly way, sauntering into the room’s center as he spoke. “Great location for small businesses. What kind of space and visibility are you searching for?”

“No visibility needed,” Spring replied after throwing Autumn a searching glance and apparently deciding once again that Autumn would choose not to answer. “We’re looking…ah, rather, my sister is looking for an apartment to combine with an art studio.”

Yes, the sisters had to be twins, Brent decided. They had the same slender, long-limbed stature, with chestnut hair and wide green eyes; though the shy one seemed a tad vulnerable, while her sister did the talking.

“Nice space here,” he agreed, watching Autumn’s face. He liked the shape of it, almost a perfect oval. unusual, he mused, to find a pretty woman who didn’t leap into conversation the moment an opening allowed. She seemed content to listen rather than offer her own opinion.

“And an improving neighborhood. It’s nice to see it growing in popularity and these old buildings revitalized.” He paused a second, giving her a chance to respond before continuing. “Mixed use, though. Might be a little unsettling at night for a single woman’s residence.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about,” Eleanor interjected quickly. “A nice young couple is moving in on the floor below next week. And the first floor already has an option from a law firm for the whole floor. I think one of those partners plans to live in one of the second-floor apartments.”

“It’s all right, Eleanor.” Autumn spoke decisively, seeming to take his words as a challenge. “I’m not put off by the neighborhood and I like the apartment. It suits me perfectly. In fact, I even like the thought of taking the whole floor, too. That way I can rent the second half or not to suit myself.”

Not totally shy unless she chose to be, he revised his opinion.

“Sis, are you sure?” her twin asked, doubt, concern, and hope evident in her face. “Really sure?”

“Actually, yes I am, Spring. I know you thought I’d never decide, but now I have. This place doesn’t scare me, truly. And if I do take the whole floor there’ll always be a place for you when you decide to come home. Now you can leave for New York as soon as you pack your bags. I’ll be just fine, Spring. Honest.”

He wondered if she was as self-confident as she sounded. A certain tone in her voice suggested a bit more bravado than sincerity. Nevertheless, she held staunchly to her decision.

“Sorry, Brent.” Laureen laughed, and shrugged her shoulders, elegantly clad in a designer raspberry-colored suit. “Looks like you’re out of luck today. But that whittles us down by one more. There’s three other good downtown spots you can choose from that will serve you just as well. Shall we move on to see the next one?”

“That’s not necessary, Laureen,” he murmured, his gaze remaining on Autumn. “I think the first floor across the street will be an ideal location for the firm. And I know what’s been done to the building, since my firm handled the new design.”

“Well, you might have said so before,” Laureen replied, letting a note of irritation show. “Come on, we’ll draw up a lease right away. We needn’t have stopped in here at all. I only thought the view…”

Ignoring Laureen’s hint to leave, he strolled over to the same window Autumn gazed through to take in the vista, smiling casually at her when he arrived. True to his first impression, a shy light shone from her gaze; she let her lashes fall, but she stood her ground at the wide window. He thought her shyness appealing, an old-fashioned art.

“Hmm…” he murmured. “Interesting. Kansas City’s first courthouse would’ve stood right over there,” he said and pointed, hoping to draw her out. “You interested in history?”

She gave him the barest of glances before replying, returning her attention to the view. “I really haven’t given it much thought since school.” Her voice was a tad husky, as though it didn’t get much use. “Except for how it applies to art.”

“You’re an artist, then? What’s your medium?”

“Oh, watercolors. Sculpture.” At his curious glance, she explained. “They’re two opposites, of course, but I love the immediacy of the watercolors and the hands-on, solid thing that sculpture brings.”

“Ah. And do you show your work?”

“Sometimes. But only at private galleries, like Mirror Images,” she said, naming a gallery only three blocks away. “I—I prefer the—the quieter displays rather than anything like the Plaza Art Fair.”

At mention of the Plaza Art Fair, some kind of a shutter came down in Autumn; something in her withdrew. Keenly observant, Brent wondered at it. Held in the fall of each year, the huge, long-standing juried exhibit featured artists from around the nation. Its crowded attendance was legendary. What about it caused her discomfort?

“I’ll look forward to viewing your work. Done anything commercial?”

She moistened her lips before replying. “I have done a few architectural drawings, but, I—I prefer not to if I don’t need the money.”

Of course! Autumn Barbour. He’d seen her work, a series of artist renderings of a proposed housing addition.

“Do you plan to open a gallery of your own then?”

“Oh, no. Nothing like that,” she said. Did he detect a note of panic in her denial? “I couldn’t…”

“Brent, check the time,” Laureen reminded him. Laureen always grew impatient when she thought he talked too long with someone she didn’t feel worth his time. “We really should be going. We’re due at the Shearsons’ at six and we should go over the lease before you sign it.”

“Sure, Laureen. I’ll be right there.” He lowered his voice a notch. “Well, looks like we’ll be something like neighbors. I’ll see you around. Maybe after you move in, we could have coffee together?”

“Well, perhaps…”

Her hesitant response wasn’t all that encouraging for developing a friendship. Not encouraging at all. She’d barely glanced at him as he turned to leave.

At the door he couldn’t resist one backward glance. Autumn remained gazing from her northeast window, her back to the room. Nothing about her stance indicated she had any interest in the others there. Everything about her said she had no care that he’d gone.

Brent got the feeling he’d been talking to a will-o’-the-wisp.

Chapter One

Barefoot, wearing threadbare jeans and a jade-green T-shirt, Autumn Barbour stood silently, one foot resting on her opposite knee, and gazed north from her sixth floor window. From here she caught a glimpse of the Missouri River through the fresh green sproutings of spring.

Below the south-facing windows of her new apartment lay the inner city—including the new Federal Building a few blocks distant, and farther, the old landmark, the Power and Light Building that for many years, though no longer, held the distinction of being the tallest in Kansas City.

She liked this view best. Here only a few tall buildings edged her sight.

Tonight she’d spend her first night in her new home. Tonight she’d be on her own for the first time in her entire life.

Autumn let out a long, releasing sigh. She liked this visage high above the street; it opened up that closed-in feeling she sometimes battled and eased her jitters. This place was home now. It would be her haven.

Only this morning she’d reassured Spring as they said their goodbyes, how convenient she found her new location, how excited she felt at the prospect of living in the heart of Kansas City’s oldest section. It was different from anywhere she’d ever lived.

Close to the Riverfront Market, she could walk to do most of her vegetable and fruit shopping at the fresh food stands or find a meal in one of the restaurants there if she chose not to cook. If she was brave enough to face a restaurant alone.

Also, she could cover the three-block run to Mirror Image, the small art gallery that sometimes showed her work, in five minutes. And the rear of this property held a secured parking lot, a safe place to store her car. If she had to, she’d drive to wherever she needed to go, but she liked the idea of walking. She’d work out her other daily needs as time went on, she’d insisted for Spring’s sake.

She sighed again, already missing her sister dreadfully. Spring had postponed her leaving until Autumn had settled on this place, fretting over leaving her behind. On her own. Alone.

Alone to battle her overwhelming fear of being caught in a crowd of people. Until now, she’d had Spring and Uncle William to help her face the panic that had often reduced her to a cowering, curbing child. Before he’d died, she’d made Uncle William a solemn vow to conquer her fears, and more recently, given Spring her promise that she wouldn’t become a recluse.

Spring worried about her far too much, and in truth, Autumn had to force herself to appear in total control of things before Spring would consent to go. But at twenty-three, Autumn felt it way past time. Not only was it something she felt compelled to do—learn to live alone, efficiently self-contained in spite of her disability—but Spring had to feel free enough to lead her own life. Autumn couldn’t remain a protected child forever, too fearful and too needy of her sister’s confidence.

Now they each had their chance.

She still missed Uncle William, though. Without ever having discussed it, she knew her sister did as well. He’d been their staunchest anchor since their earliest memories. His death nearly four months ago still left her sorrowful. But the money he’d left them had come with instructions to use it to fulfill their dreams.

Lifting her gaze, she studied some far-off clouds. The weather was changing. For both she and Spring, life had changed, and would again, now. But while Autumn was perfectly content to stay in her home environment, Spring wanted to continue her studies in costume clothing design in New York or Paris or Italy. Not only could Autumn not allow Spring to dawdle another year, not even one last month on her account, she’d had to positively push her sister to cut the ties. Being twins didn’t mean they had to live as though joined at the hip, for heaven’s sake.

Tonight would be her reality. Being alone, living alone. The feat wasn’t exactly daunting, but she’d never done so before and thought it a great test of courage. Yet other people lived alone with disabilities, she reminded herself, and surely she could, too.

Shaking off her pensive mood, she moved about the huge loft room, making mental notes of things to do. Touching piece by piece the old living room furniture she’d brought from Uncle William’s house, she felt pleased with how perfect it looked arranged around the new, white, handcrafted wool rug to form her sitting room.

Turning slowly, she stepped around the open-ended, angled corner wall that gave her bedroom some form and privacy. Her white iron bed sat on a raised platform, semienclosed by sheer drapes. A dreamer’s bedroom, to be sure, romantic and soft, with high unadorned windows.

She passed through the other opening to wander back into the main room. The opposite corner held her small kitchen replete with shining new appliances. A small table for only two sat against one large bank of windows; she’d never need dining space for a larger crowd, she’d told the builder. Her entertainment plans extended no further than an occasional visit from a school chum and Spring’s trips home.

A full third of the space lay disorganized and incomplete. This northeast corner would become her studio. Autumn gazed with mixed emotion at the stacks of packed art materials. Eager to delve into them, she yet hesitated. The shelves still needed to be installed. She could wait until they were done.

After that, she would have no excuse to leave it undone any longer; she’d be truly settled. This would be home, there’d be no going back to the safety of the suburban house she’d shared with her sister and uncle, even in her thoughts. She’d have to cook meals alone, eat alone, go out alone, start painting on her own. Without interruption, yes, but without conversation, without exchange of thoughts or plans or—

A loud rapping sounded like sudden thunder. Autumn jumped and whirled, her heart beating rapidly. It came again, and she realized someone was at her door. The builder had bookshelves still to install; it must be he. Taking a deep breath, she went to answer it.

Someone besides the carpenter stood there. She remembered him, of course. How could she not? The man who’d looked at this space when she first came to see it. His tall, solid body suggested he might be good model material, she recalled thinking that day. She’d watched from lowered lids as he’d sauntered into the open room, speculation in his interested ginger-brown eyes as his gaze went from Spring to her.

That ginger-brown gaze had remained on her for a very long time, sending her a little buzz along with it. She’d felt herself respond in spite of herself.

Although a bit disconcerted at the time, Autumn wasn’t really uncomfortable. She merely thought him puzzling. Interesting. Usually men found her sister the more attractive of the two.

Autumn didn’t date much. Rarely alone. Not at all, recently.

His gaze still shone like crystallized ginger.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she found her toes curling under. She should have put on her shoes!

Uncle William used to scold Spring and her for their penchant to throw off their footwear at every chance, with a caution of “you are not flower children” hanging over their heads.

Now she could only think of how childish she must appear as Brent’s gaze swept over her.

“Yes?” she said.

“Hello, I’m Brent Hyatt, remember?” he answered with a confident, inviting smile. A wide smile that dominated and charmed, although his features weren’t classically handsome. “We met a few weeks back when we both looked at this place at the same time.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.” He proffered a handwoven basket filled with kiwis, strawberries and spring daffodils. “I’ve watched the plumbers and carpenters come and go from across the street. I’ve just moved into my new offices myself, you know. I’m not all settled yet, either, but I thought if you need someone to give you a hand with anything…”

“That’s very kind of you,” she said, taking the basket “but I think all the heavy work is done.”

“Okay. Well, here’s my new business card, just in case. Please feel free to give me a call if there’s anything I can do for you. I usually hang around until six or thereabouts on most business days.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s some nice places to eat down the block. Would you like to come out for a cup of coffee or a soda?”

“Thank you again, but…no…I have so much to do.”

“All right. Maybe another time more convenient.”

His ready smile tilted, giving his features that unusual charm. Autumn thought her heart tilted just a bit along with it. Perhaps she should accept. Genuine friendship was a precious commodity, according to Uncle William.

He turned as the elevator hummed downward. Now he’d have to wait for it to return.

“Remember, I’m right across the street. Hyatt Architectural Services.”

“Yes, I’ll remember.” She lifted his card, waving it to let him know she’d keep it.

“I’m even around some Saturdays,” he said as the elevator returned and the doors opened.

Two men, one slight of build and one huge, husky, blond giant stepped off, each carrying a tool chest. Behind them, a dolly held a stack of lumber, precut and stained.

“Hello, Josh. Sam.” Brent greeted them as old acquaintances. “What are you two doing up here in the old center of town?”

“Hiya, Brent,” the husky giant spoke. “Well, you know how it is. We go where the work is. Heard you were moving your offices. You coming into this building?”

“I’m across the street. You men still working for Lenny?”

“Yeah, he’s got us doing the go-backs on all the finishing work,” Josh, the slight, dark-headed one said with some disgust. “You still doing your house renovation?”

“No, it’s complete. Got a couple of new projects I’m doing.”

Autumn cleared her throat. Couldn’t these men chew the rag another time? All she wanted were her bookshelves. She’d already waited all day for them to arrive. Well, most of the afternoon, anyway.

At the sound of her bid for attention, Josh turned her way. “You the lady who wants shelves?”

“Yes, that’s right,” she replied, flashing a slight annoyance Brent’s way. “Won’t you come in? I’d like you to get started.”

“I’ll let you boys go to work.” Brent nodded and stepped into the elevator. “See you around, Autumn. Stop over when you wrap it up, if you’ve a mind, guys. I might have something for you myself.”

“Sure thing, Brent,” Josh agreed.

Autumn retreated into her apartment, the carpenters following. An hour and a half later, she barely heard a light bell over the sound of pounding hammers. Her doorbell?

At least this time she wore her shoes. Brent’s smile, only a tad apologetic, gave her the feeling he might have been born with it in place.

“Sorry. My last time to interrupt you. At least for today.”

“What is it?”

“Sam’s phone isn’t working. His wife is having a baby and he’s needed. Lenny—his boss—called my place. It seemed just as easy to trot across the street as to find a new phone listing.”

“Oh. Well, come in.” She swung the door wider and stepped back. A break in the noise gave her a chance to call over her shoulder. “Sam?”

“Yeah?” Spotting Brent, Sam laid his power drill down and came forward, his blue eyes questioning.

“Lenny’s been trying to reach you,” Brent told him. “Guess your phone’s on the blink and he missed you before you left the truck.”

“Yeah, my two-year-old dunked it in the bathtub last night. What’s up?”

“Your wife called. Lenny says not to worry, her mom’s with her, but Ashley wants you to meet her at the hospital. Seems you’re having a little girl this time?”

“You’re joking me. The baby isn’t due for another month!”

“Don’t know about that, Sam, but this is no joke.”

Near panic in his eyes, Sam turned Autumn’s way. “Can I use your phone, miss?”

“Certainly.” The worry in the young man’s gaze tugged at her heart. She pointed to the slim white cordless phone. “There, on the kitchen table.”

As Sam bumped into an overstuffed chair in his hurry to get to the kitchen side of the room, Josh joined them, his hammer dangling from one hand. “What’s happening?”

Brent explained.

“Oh, man. Ashley’s had nothing but problems with this kid and it ain’t even born yet. Sam’s been chewing nails.”

Sam ended the phone connection, his gaze clouding. “Josh, we have to go. Gotta pick up my truck so I can—”

“Don’t waste time, Sam,” Brent said, taking a key from his ring and tossing it. “Here, take this. My car is the red sedan right behind my building. You’ll recognize it, it’s the same one I had last year when you fellows did that work for me. It has a phone. I’ll find you later.”

“Thanks, Brent,” the blond giant said, catching the key out of the air. “I owe you one, buddy. Josh?”

“Never mind me, man. Brent’s right, just get going. We’ll catch up with you later.”

For a moment the apartment was silent as the three of them listened to the clatter of Sam’s descent down the stairs. He hadn’t waited for the elevator. Slowly, Autumn turned to glance at the two men remaining. The air around her felt like an anticlimax.

“Well…I hope everything turns out all right,” she said. “For the baby and mother.”

“Oh, I’m sure God and His angels are already on the job. Sam talks to Him every day. Never seen nothing like it,” Josh assured, shaking his head in puzzlement. “But Sam believes it.”

“So he should,” Brent replied. “Nothing like firsthand experience to make a believer out of you. He and Ashley had a scare last year when Sam was in a car smash-up,” Brent said for her benefit.

Then he turned to Josh. “Say, let me give you a hand with finishing Miss Barbour’s shelves, here.”

“Uh, that’s very nice, but—” Autumn began.

“Wouldn’t mind your help, Brent,” Josh accepted. “Just another hour should finish it up.”

“Really, perhaps it should wait,” she insisted as the two moved past her into the studio. Against the wall without windows, brass brackets stretched from near the floor to almost the fourteen-foot ceiling.

“Shouldn’t leave ’em half finished if we don’t have to.” Brent glanced at her with friendly determination as he shed his sport jacket and draped it across the back of the sofa. He then turned to study the project. “Hey, this will give you tons of storage, but you’ll need a ladder to get to the top shelves.”

“Yes, I suppose so. It’s intended to hold my supplies.” She gave up her protest as he picked up a prefinished board and blew on it to clear it of dust. Josh continued with the power drill, putting the last of the screws into a bracket.

Autumn didn’t know what to do. Oh, there were things she ought to do—like put away the last of her clothes in her bedroom closet, or arrange the cooking utensils she’d brought from the old house. But she found herself unable to do anything except simply watch Brent concentrate on the job at hand. She had an unfettered view of him.

While Josh checked the oak shelves, Brent climbed Josh’s ladder, the muscles beneath his brown striped golf shirt stretching as he reached above his head to place the shelves. In his effort to get them just right, his jutting chin struck her as purposeful, his relaxed mouth a model of male beauty. She liked his intense energy, and again thought of how to capture the effect of his movements in clay.

That was all it was. Simply a fascination from an artist’s soul who saw beauty in many people. This one man in particular. Was that so unusual?

More than an hour later, the two men stood back to examine their handiwork. Autumn stood beside them. The finished project looked awesome, with more shelves than she’d ever hoped for, or perhaps fill.

“Is this everything you want, Ms. Barbour?” Josh asked.

“Yes, it looks wonderful,” she murmured, glancing at all her boxes. Perhaps she’d fill most of it, after all, but there’d be little wall space for pictures. She picked up an architectural drawing she’d done last year, wondering where it should go.

Brent noticed her tentative move, then glanced at the picture.

“I recognize that,” he said, giving the piece a nod. “Did you do those projected art drawings of the Genesis Project for Lewis and Blake?”

“Yes, I did. Why do you ask?”

“I thought them very well done.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you on payroll there?”

“No, I freelance.” When she had to, she could work commercially. If the circumstances were…right. She never accepted a job unless it met her needs.

“Great!” He leaned one raised palm against her kitchen table, letting his arm take his weight. His smile spread easily across his face, while his ginger gaze held hers in friendly persuasion. “I’m looking for an on-call artist who does quality work. May I ask your fees?”

“Um…I’m not sure I’ll take on any more commercial work for a while. It would have to be something very special.”

“Ah. All right, then.” He seemed disappointed, but straightened, giving ready acceptance to her answer. “Well, stop over and visit our offices sometime. If I’m not there, my top man, John, can show you the kinds of things we do. You might see something that would excite you. And let me know when you’re interested in working again?”

“Okay. Thank you for, um, offering.”

“Sure. Glad to. Well, bye again.”

Chapter Two

Autumn shook the empty milk carton one last time, standing in the opened refrigerator door. Not a drop was there.

She wondered forlornly why she couldn’t have bought more than a quart on her last trip to the grocery store, just before Spring left. She didn’t bother to look into the bare cupboard for breakfast; she’d eaten the last of the crackers and cheese last night.

There was no help for it. She had to go out this morning to buy groceries.

She wouldn’t panic; she couldn’t. She had to have groceries.

A quick trip through a convenience store wouldn’t do it, either. Glancing at the wall clock, she decided if she left this moment, she could be at the nearest grocery store by the time it opened. The crowds weren’t heavy this early in the morning. If she didn’t linger, if she kept her purchases to a minimum, she could be in and out in no time.

She hauled in a deep breath as she found a light sweatshirt to ward off the early spring morning chill. She stiffened her courage as she grabbed her purse and ran down the stairs for the exercise, swung out of the front door and around to the parking lot for her car.

Five days. It had been five days since she moved into her apartment. Spring had called every night, asking if she’d been out yet. She’d fibbed, knowing her sister knew she fibbed, saying she’d been out walking.

Well, tonight when Spring called, Autumn could tell her honestly that she’d bought groceries. Managed to face whatever crowds there were to be faced, and come home unscathed. She could take care of herself.

Her street was yet rather quiet this morning, she gratefully noted. Her small parking lot, too.

Pausing in her drive before entering the traffic, she spotted a red sedan pulling into the lot across the street. The driver rolled down his window and waved. Brent Hyatt. She returned the wave, but didn’t wait long enough to encourage conversation. She must get her errand done as speedily as possible.

In the end, it took her longer than she’d planned. She’d forgotten it was Friday, when the grocery stores would begin their weekend rush.

It was her own fault. She’d waited too long to shop and needed too much. Paper products, canned goods, staples, coconut macaroons. By the time she’d gone through the checkout line, four people were behind her, a mob of shoppers streamed toward her through the doors, and perspiration stood out on her forehead. Her sweatshirt was damp at the neckline and her breathing a little jerky.

Her bottom lip hurt from biting down while waiting to check out.

But it wasn’t a full-scale panic, thank goodness. She wasn’t really shaking; not really. Only a mere tremble shook her hands. And in reality, that mob of shoppers only amounted to a dozen or so people.

In spite of her fears, she’d done it.

She drove home through the morning rush carefully, and parked in front of her building, needing the shortest distance to carry her grocery bags. She sat a moment to breathe deeply before getting out on unsteady legs. The trembling had almost disappeared.

She was fine. Just fine. She’d be even better when she had all the groceries lined up in her cupboards.

Then she got out and walked around to the trunk, eyed the three, filled-to-the-brim bags, and wondered if she dare try carrying all three at once. All she wanted was to get into her apartment and not come out again for a while.

“Don’t be foolish,” she muttered to herself under her breath.

“I agree,” Brent spoke just behind her. “Don’t even think you can make it upstairs alone with all three of those bags at once. They’d spill and leave a trail like Gretel’s crumbs. Here, I’ll give you a hand.”

“Oh!” She brushed her bangs from her eyes as she blinked up at him. Where had he sprung from? How had he known what she was thinking? Only Spring ever did that.

“Oh, I don’t want to bother you. I can take care of it on my own, thanks.” She straightened her spine. “I’ll, uh, make two trips.”

“Come on, it won’t take a minute,” he insisted, grabbing two bags. “I won’t stay.” He flashed his irrepressible grin. “I promise.”

“All right.”

A middle-aged woman came out of the first-floor law offices as they entered the narrow front hall. She didn’t bother to even glance their way. Autumn felt her muscles begin to relax. She had made it through her first outing alone without a problem.

She had her key ready and put it into her front door carefully. As soon as the lock tumbled, she swung the door wide. Just as carefully, as though on soldier’s marching orders, Brent set the two bags he carried on her kitchen counter and turned to leave. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” she called toward his retreating back. “Thanks a lot, Brent. I appreciate your help.”

“You’re very welcome, Autumn.” He continued his route toward the door and elevator. “See you around.”

He’d been very kind, and suddenly, she was loath to see him leave. His was a friendly face, after all.

“Um, a moment?” She ran after him into the hall. “I just wondered…what happened with Sam and his wife? Was the baby all right?”

Brent’s smile broke out in a sunny reflection of joy. “Oh, yeah, that turned out just fine. Touch-and-go for a little while, though. Mother and baby girl Emily are doing fine now. Ashley went home yesterday, and the baby will most likely go home next week, Sam said.”

“Oh, I am so glad. Please tell Sam I’m happy to hear of his good fortune.”

“Blessings, indeed. I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks again.”

“You’re welcome. Better not leave your car where it is for too long though. There’s a spring concert or something at the market this weekend and the Friday lunch crowd will be looking for street parking. It’ll be safer in your parking space.”

“Yes, I’ll come down and move it as soon as I put away the food that needs refrigeration.”

“See you around,” Brent said again, stepping into the elevator.

Autumn put away her groceries, made herself a cup of tea, and went to sit on the high stool she’d placed beneath her favorite window. Time to allow a bit of triumph to flow, she mused. The early-morning crowds hadn’t been so terrible to face, in retrospect, and now that it was out of the way, she must face her next hurdle. Additional shopping.

There was nowhere to set her cup, and she balanced it on her knee. She’d found herself in this spot so often, to think or talk to Spring on the phone, and now she decided it needed more than a stool. She had to do something else, here. Place a bench beneath the window or a more comfortable chair beside it. With a small table to hold her teacup and telephone.

Glancing around her apartment, she let her gaze fall on the many boxes that remained unpacked for lack of a ladder to reach the tallest supply shelves. A building supply store, that’s what she needed.

Catalogs would give her the items she needed, too. Tempting. Too tempting. She could easily make a phone order and have things delivered.

But that was an excuse not to leave her house. She’d promised Spring she wouldn’t allow that to happen—become a total recluse, just because crowds frightened her. And Spring would know. She always did, just as she knew when Spring needed her.

Well, it could wait for tomorrow. She’d had just about enough triumph for one day.

Autumn woke early the next morning, determined to finish the painting of tulips she’d started yesterday afternoon, using the pot she’d bought at the store as a model. The bright blooms cheered her, and replaced the fading jonquils that Brent had given her.

That’s one thing she needed, she decided, pouring herself a glass of milk. She needed more flowers to adorn the apartment. More bright colors.

The open-air market was one of the enticements to this neighborhood, she’d told Spring. She reminded herself of that now. After yesterday’s success, it would be an excellent time to shop. This morning, before the market filled up. She’d find spring flowers in plenty there, and all the fresh fruit and veggies she’d passed by yesterday in favor of getting the staples.

Before she could give herself time to become anxious, she yanked on her favorite faded green sweats and left her building. She sprinted the two and a half blocks to the marketplace, then slowed as she took in the scene, fighting the clutch in her stomach.

True to her hopes, she found some stalls already open for the morning, but only a few shoppers. She could handle this. It wouldn’t be bad at all. She even smiled at the vendors, the ones with the outside tables, while making her choices, careful to buy only what she could carry. She tried not to rush, telling herself to slow down long enough to savor the experience.

One of the stalls had freshly baked bread and rolls. She paused. The fragrance made her mouth water, and she couldn’t resist them.

Now she could go home. She’d taken this expedition in stride.

Leaving the growing bustle of the market, she resisted breaking into a run by sheer determination. By the time she turned her corner, putting the market completely out of sight, she could slow to a stroll.

She wouldn’t admit to the amount of relief she felt. Or the very slight shaking of her knees.

The fragrance of the rolls drifted with enticing demand. Like an eager child, she pulled out a breakfast sweet roll, its center filled with cream cheese and pineapple, and took a bite. She still had her mouth full when she heard Brent’s greeting.

“Good morning, Autumn. Nice morning, isn’t it?”

He stood beside his red sedan, parked in front of his building. He wore jeans today, and a brown T-shirt that matched his eyes.

She nodded and swallowed. “Mm, yes, it’s a lovely morning. I’ve been to the market already,” she couldn’t resist telling him, a childish pride breaking through her usual shyness. Though she knew he had no idea of her disability, it was nice to share this bit of victory anyway. She could hardly wait to tell Spring she’d shopped two days in a row, with people all around her. She wouldn’t tell her about how badly her knees shook.

“Nice time for a walk,” he commented.

Brent watched the quick, lovely smile fade into uncertainty, her lashes dropping to hide her thoughts. He wondered what it would take to keep her talking. He’d watched her come up the hill from the market, having spied her before he pulled into their street. She’d taken long strides at first, as though in a great hurry, then slowed to a stroll as she turned the corner. As if she now felt safe. She hadn’t seemed aware of him until he spoke.

“Yes, it is,” she conceded. Already, she wanted to retreat—he saw it in her eyes.

What was it? What was she afraid of? Why did she so often withdraw, as though she didn’t want him to get too friendly? Was she really that shy, or didn’t she like him? Most people did, and he usually returned the regard, but…Autumn puzzled him.

Maybe she had a boyfriend, though he hadn’t seen anyone visit her—and he thought he might have, since his office desk faced the street window and he often found himself watching the traffic.

Perhaps the truth was more basic than that. Simply put, she just might not be interested in him.

He supposed it could be that, though he’d seldom met a woman who turned him down flat. On the whole, he liked women, even liked them a lot, though it had been a very long time since he’d met a woman who interested him in any personal way. This one did. Why, he hadn’t yet figured out.

Perhaps he was at last ready to find a new woman to love.

Other than casual, friendly dates, he’d lived without a woman in his life, except his mother, since that awful day Felice smashed her car and herself into nothing. Three and a half years ago, next week.

Since then, he’d contented himself in his faith, work and family, and a renewed interest in community service. That was why he’d moved his offices downtown. He wanted to be a big part of the city’s urban renewal.

“Daddy, can I get on your computer now?”

About to turn away, Autumn’s gaze dropped to the small boy who stepped from his father’s shadow. About four, she guessed, the child had the same ginger-colored bright-eyed gaze as Brent.

“This is my son, Tim,” Brent said. “Timmy, this is Miss Barbour.”

The boy stared at her in curiosity for a long moment, then smiled. “You have icing on your mouth.”

“I do?”

“Uh-huh. Have a tissue?”

“Oh, yes, I suppose I do.” She smiled at the boy and fished in her pocket for one. “I just bought some wonderful baked goods down at the market and had to have a sweet roll right away. They’re the best when they’re so fresh, you know.” She thrust the bag toward him. “There’s two chocolate donuts in here. Would you like one?”

Timmy turned to his father. “Can I?”

“Sure, if you recall your manners.”

Autumn held her paper bag out farther. The little boy reached in and helped himself, saying his thank you at the same time his mouth took a huge bite. She offered the bag toward Brent.

“Thanks, think I will. We didn’t take time for breakfast this morning. Say, I have about an hour’s work to take care of here, then Tim and I are going to find a real all-American breakfast. Want to come along?”

“Oh, no…” Autumn thought it time for her to take her leave, sidling toward her door. “Thank you for inviting me, though. I, um, have a project I’m eager to finish.”

“Did you get all your boxes put away?”

“Not exactly. I have to find a ladder.”

“Ah. I’d loan you one, but I haven’t any here at the office.”

“That’s all right. I need to buy one, I guess. You were right when you said I’d never reach the top third of my shelves without one.”

“If you’re going out today, I could help you pick it out and carry it home for you. Those things get pretty heavy.”

“They do? Well,” she glanced down the hill toward the market area. The current festival, a spring flower show, she thought, was getting under way with incoming trucks and cars. Saturdays were busy everywhere merchandise was sold. Saturdays spelled crowds. No, she couldn’t go out again today.

“I don’t think I’ll go today. Perhaps I can get a store to deliver one.”

“If you wish, I can get Sam and Josh to pick up one for you and deliver it right to your door. They’re coming this way one day next week.”

“Oh. Why, that would…that would be very helpful, thank you. Yes, please. I’ll certainly pay them for their time.”

“Let’s worry about that later, shall we? Sam and Josh are good buddies.”

“Daddy, can I get a drink of water?”

Brent and Autumn glanced at the child at the same time. His mouth smeared with chocolate, he looked like a clown.

“Whoa, there, Timmy pal,” Brent said, laughing. “You need a wash along with that drink.”

Autumn felt her own mouth tug into a smile. “Now you need the tissues,” she said, offering one from her pocket. “I’ll bet your mom would scold us both.”

“My mom can’t scold me. She’s in heaven,” Timmy said very casually as he accepted the tissue, swiping at his mouth and upper lip. Smears of chocolate remained on his cheek, on his chin, on his fingers.

Autumn examined the little boy’s face, then Brent’s. The child couldn’t have known his mother very well. His eyes carried no sorrow, only knowledge of a fact. But Brent’s swift gaze told her he still felt a stab of grief.

“I didn’t know that,” she offered slowly. “I’m sorry.”

Brent nodded his acknowledgment of her murmur, then changed the subject.

“That tissue is never going be enough for the job,” he said with a chuckle. He bent to sweep the boy up to sit on his shoulders, the action making Timmy squeal with delight. “He needs a real wash. But thanks for the try. Guess I’d better take this little guy in and clean him up. I’ll call you when I find out what Sam and Josh’s schedule will be.”

“Fine. Bye, Timmy. Nice to meet you.”

“Uh-huh. See you around, Miss Barbour.”

“You can call me Autumn.” She smiled at the boy.

“Okay. See you around.”

Thirty minutes later, Autumn put her favorite music CD on, and a new sheet of paper on her work board and began a sketch. Under her quick hand, a small child evolved, a donut in his hand. Large eyes took the shape of the father’s, and an impish tilt to his mouth indicated he was about to break out into laughter.

Autumn had painted children only a few times, but she felt pleased at how this one came to life under her hand. The childish glee it brought to mind made her want to laugh along with him.

After a long while, she stretched and put aside her materials. From the apartment below, she heard a muffled door slam. She glanced at the clock. Almost noon.

Spring hadn’t called yet this morning, and Autumn’s loneliness crept up unexpectedly, powerful and yearning. She punched in Spring’s temporary number, eager to hear her sister’s voice, but she heard only an answering machine. She left a brief message.

From her south window, slightly opened to catch the air, strains of country music drifted up from the market square. She didn’t need to see any of it to imagine the crush.

Even the imagining caused her a queasy stomach.

Quickly, she banished the thought from her mind. She put an exercise disk into her player, and followed the instructions with vigor.

Later, she showered and dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, wondering what her sister might be doing on this long Saturday afternoon. Or Kim Smithers, a friend from school that she and Spring had occasion to see. But Kim was married; she and Daniel were never home on Saturdays.

What were Brent Hyatt and young Timothy doing this afternoon?

This would never do, she told herself. She had things of her own to take care of. Like call Curtis Jennings, down at the gallery. Her first art teacher, Curtis frequently framed some of her work, and he had two of her paintings on display now. Perhaps he was ready for another one or two.

She punched his number and he answered on the third ring. “Mirror Image.”

“Hi, Curtis, it’s Autumn. Are you swamped with customer overflow from the festival?”

“Well, Autumn, how ya doin’? Wondered when you’d get around to calling after your move. Yeah, the flower people brought in a few customers. No serious buyers, though. We’ll do better next month when we showcase the fine artists. Want to come down and make yourself useful? Don’t have anybody in the store right now.”

“Actually…”

His voice grew quieter at her hesitation. “Most of the crowd will have cleared out by four, Autumn. You wouldn’t run into enough humanity to scare a rabbit. C’mon, from your new place, it’ll take you all of five minutes.”

“All right. Around four. I do have a couple of things I want framed.”

Chapter Three

“Can’t make it, Laureen,” Brent said into the phone the following Wednesday. “Have a lunch date tomorrow with a client. It’ll take up most of the afternoon.”

“Oh, very well,” Laureen murmured. Yet she wasn’t any too happy about his putting her off again.

Laureen had been a friend of Felice’s and, though he appreciated her help after his wife’s death, Laureen had grown far too possessive over the past six months. He had no intention of taking the friendship into anything closer. Lately, he’d taken steps to loosen her clutch. He’d dodged dates with her for weeks.

“Well, at least call the Saxons, will you? They’re new to the Midwest and looking for an architect-builder to build a new house out in Johnson County. I told them you’re the best.”

“Laureen, you know I’d gladly let John handle them,” he mentioned the top designer on his team, “but I’m personally tied up for a couple of months.”

“They don’t want John, Brent. They want you.”

“But my specialty isn’t in personal residences, anymore, Laureen. I’ve—”

“These people have money, Brent, and they can work in your favor when you want backing for some of your projects.”

“Not the kind of projects I want to do out in Johnson County,” he muttered. But he let Laureen run on with her list of why he should take on the new clients she’d found for him. The fact of his work overload mattered little to Laureen. Her philosophy was to take care of the influential and wealthy first; everyone else could be relegated to a back burner. Or someone of lesser importance.

“Do me this favor, Brent,” she begged, using her cajoling tone, low and breathy. “I’ll see to it you won’t lose anything.”

Well, he supposed John could take on another appointment or two for the firm while he met with the Saxons. The extra money he’d make if he took this on would cover some of the expenses for the old church they were refitting. He did need to find an office assistant without delay, though. Work had taken an upswing.

“All right.” He moved things around on his desk, restacking papers with notes of things he’d rather be doing. “But not tomorrow. It’ll have to be on Friday.”

Brent hung up the phone after setting a time with Laureen, and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms high above his head. He’d worked late for the first time in weeks—since his offices had moved to the new location, in fact—trying to wrap up several loose ends. Now hunger gnawed at his middle.

He rose and moved to stand at the front window. Dusk lay the shadows deep over the quiet street. Without the bustling business day, it seemed almost deserted, and he wondered about the fabled residents. Did Autumn really have neighbors at night or was she alone in that building? Alone on the street at night. He hadn’t thought about it too closely before now.

Even as he wondered, a light switched on in her building. Third floor. The working couple of whom the Realtor had boasted, he assumed.

He let out a deep breath, not realizing he’d held it. He didn’t like the idea of Autumn living so much alone. She seemed altogether too vulnerable for his peace of mind.

Wondering where those protective feelings came from, he tipped his head up toward the top floor. Lights streamed from her apartment. She was there—home.

He picked up his phone and punched her number. She answered on the second ring, a quick, almost breathless, “Hello…”

“Hi, Autumn, it’s Brent. Am I disturbing you?”

“Uh, oh, hello, Brent. No, I…I was expecting my sister to call.”

“Should I call back, then?”

“No. It isn’t important. We’ll talk later.”

“Well, then, have you had supper yet?”

“No. Well, I had…yes, I’ve eaten.”

Had she? He wondered if she’d really eaten a meal or merely nibbled at something. People living alone tended to skimp on meals or made do with very little.

He knew that for a fact. After his wife died, during those first awful months, he’d let himself dwindle down two sizes. He’d made sure his son was fed, but he’d barely cooked anything for himself.

“I haven’t and I’m starved. Come out and have a bite with me. I’ve worked until just this minute and—” he glanced at his watch “—no wonder I’m hungry. It’s way after seven and I’m a guy used to eating early.”

“I don’t think—”

“Aw, c’mon, Autumn, take pity on a starving man. I hate eating alone.”

“Where’s Timmy? Don’t you have to go home to your little boy?”

“He’s with my mom for the night. They have something cooked up together about making mobiles for Children’s Mercy Hospital next week.” He changed his tone to a persuasive one. “Just dinner, Autumn. There’s an Italian place a couple of blocks from here that’s not crowded in the middle of the week. I’ll bring you right home.”

Her hesitation seemed like a stone wall. He was gearing himself up for a last firm refusal when she asked almost timidly, “Not crowded, huh. Would you mind making a stop for me while we’re out?”

“Sure, we can do that.”

“All right,” she capitulated. “If you don’t mind. I’ll meet you downstairs in…fifteen minutes?”

He waited in front of her door, leaning on the passenger side of his car. She smiled at him, a tentative offering, but she didn’t glance away. He felt hopeful.

“If you don’t mind, can we stop at Mirror Images first?” She held forth a large, maroon portfolio case. “I have to drop off a couple of additional paintings for framing. It won’t take long.”

“Sure, let’s go.” He held the car door wide for her, then put her case in the trunk and started the motor.

“Where, exactly?” he asked.

She directed him down the hill, and he pulled up in front of the small gallery wedged between an empty corner store and one featuring used clothing. Only a night-light appeared to illuminate the first floor.

“It appears to be closed,” he commented. “Does the gallery usually stay open late?”

“Only during the summer hours, really, but Curtis uses the upstairs for his workroom and classes. He’s often there late. Besides, tonight he’s expecting me. Want to come in?”

“Sure. I’ll get your case.”

Autumn slid from the car and, as he opened the trunk, went to ring the bell. When she retraced her steps to reach for her case, he said, “I’ll get it.”

She hadn’t made up her mind whether to argue with him or not, he noted. While dark eyelashes gave a hint of fluttering uncertainty, she paused a second too long over her decision. He didn’t wait. He swung the case from the trunk, snapping the lid closed, hiding his own smile. It wasn’t the first time he’d realized her shyness. She hadn’t yet acquired the modern woman’s assertiveness.

Above them, a slight, graying man raised the window and called down to them to wait where they were. A moment later, he let them into the gallery. Autumn introduced the two men.

“Brent Hyatt. Don’t I know you?” Curtis’s inquisitive gaze was friendly as he turned on some lights and led the way up the back stairs. “You’re on the mayor’s committee, working toward urban renewal, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Brent answered. “Are you interested in the revitalization going on down here?”

“You know it. Wouldn’t be down here if I didn’t believe in it. I’d have a pricy place down on the Plaza or out in Johnson County,” Curtis said empathically. He cleared a worktable of oak frame pieces and matting, stacking everything neatly in a box.

“But I wouldn’t mind relocating to a larger space in a good renovation if I could afford it.” He glanced up at Brent as he worked. “Anything of a smaller nature going on besides that big project proposal in the papers recently?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of a couple buildings with new owners interested in just your kind of gallery.” Brent set the case on the cleared table as he replied, then stepped back to allow Autumn to attend to business. “Lot of work needed, though. Might take some time. I’ll put you in touch with them if you’d like.”

“Sounds good to me.” Curtis nodded, then turned to Autumn. “Now Autumn, let’s see what you’ve brought me.”

Autumn stepped forward and unzipped her case. Curtis made humming noises as he looked at the five watercolors she pulled out. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Hmm…”

Brent tried hard not to gawk, but he felt agog to see her work. He caught a quick glance of bright splashes of color, of dewy petals and quick rushing water in a streambed. The impressionist style shone with spirit and verve, a style much looser than the architectural renderings she’d done for his competitor.

“This one and this one,” Curtis made up his mind quickly. “And let me keep this one, too. We’ll frame it to match the one that’s up. I have a customer who comes in every week or two who looked at that one. Maybe she’ll take a pair.”

Of the three chosen, two were similar, but from different angles, still lifes of a pot of bright-red tulips sharing the space with a fruit basket of ripe strawberries. The third showed an old black upright piano with a bowl of daffodils sitting on one end, music sheets on its rack.

He liked them. Very much, actually. Autumn had real talent.

Further, he thought his mother, Catherine, would like these, and he knew immediately that he’d purchase the piano painting for her birthday next month. The style would appeal to her. But he wouldn’t do it now, he’d wait until Curtis had them framed and up. Somehow, he felt Autumn might find it embarrassing.

It was well after eight by the time they arrived at the restaurant. The big room held only two other tables of diners, and Autumn, after a hesitant glance around, relaxed considerably. The waiter greeted him by name, a courtesy not lost on Autumn.

“Hi, Frank,” he returned, easily recalling the man’s name. Remembering people’s names and knowing their occupation was a talent of his. He liked knowing people, liked knowing about their families and where their interests and concerns lay. Meeting new groups of people never bothered him. He belonged to a couple of circles active in civic affairs. He’d even had his picture in the newspaper on occasion, once or twice with the current mayor. He didn’t mind admitting to ambitions to serve the city, but he didn’t know about higher political aims, as Laureen sometimes suggested.

He ordered quickly and waited patiently while Autumn made her choice more slowly, taking the opportunity to study her features. She had a tender, wide mouth in an oval face enhanced by shiny dark hair. Her lashes lay against her cheek like feathery swatches as she read the menu.

Later, they lingered over their pasta. She seemed content to let him lead the conversation. He did so with a relaxed approach, touching only on general subjects such as the neighborhood, its history, and the spring weather.

Instinctively, he chose not to push Autumn into confidences she wasn’t ready to give, so he shied away from asking about her dating life. Though he wanted to know. For now, he felt he’d gained a giant leap in meeting Curtis Jennings; he’d detected mere friendship between them, though a long-standing one.

Instead, he let her know a little about himself and Timmy.

“Timmy and I moved into a house in midtown last year. We had a lot of fun doing it over, with Grandma’s help, of course. She helped him pick his favorite colors and wallpaper and such.”

“You must feel very lucky to have an active grandparent to help out with Timmy,” she murmured.

“Yes, we’re very blessed. Timmy never knew his mother, really. He was only six months old when she died in a car accident.”

“Oh, how sad,” she said, her gaze direct and compassionate. “Spring and I lost our parents at a young age, too, only a little older than Tim is now. We were raised by an uncle. Now he’s gone, as well. Does Timmy ask about her much?”

“Not often. He spends a lot of time with his grandmother, you see, which seems to fill the gaps for him. And I haven’t rushed him into a nursery school, preferring to hire a sitter this past year when I’ve needed one. But Mrs. Myers, the sitter, is moving away next month, so we’ll lose her. Anyway, Tim is enrolled next year at a Christian school in a prekindergarten class for four-year-olds. They keep the class size small.”

“Do you think he’ll like it?”

“Yes. Yes, I do. He goes to Bible class on Sunday mornings now and loves it.”

They left the restaurant, and he drove her back to her building through nearly deserted streets. A frown caught him. He really did believe in the renewal projects and knew that it took almost a pioneer spirit to bring prosperity and life back to these sections of the city, but it concerned him a little to leave Autumn there. He insisted on seeing her to her door.

“That really isn’t necessary,” she murmured, flashing him a questioning glance. “Tomorrow’s a working day.”

“Just call me old-fashioned,” he joked. “I should’ve been raised in the fifties, according to my mom. I’ll merely see you to your door. I won’t ask to come in.”

She nodded, and stepped into the elevator. They remained quiet on the way up.

“D’you ever work in oils?” he asked as they stepped off.

“Sometimes.” Her key was out and poised. “And acrylics. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, just a thought.” He let her open her door; the kitchen light had been left on so she could clearly see into the apartment. He glanced past her shoulder. Everything appeared in order.

“Good night, Autumn. See you around.”

“Thanks for dinner,” she murmured. “I appreciate your asking me. I needed the outing.”

Although he’d promised he wouldn’t ask to come in, he realized he wanted to. He wanted to sit and talk with her longer. He wanted to touch her, only just to place his palm against her cheek, to feel its warmth.

But he supposed he’d count himself lucky to have had her company at dinner.

“Good night,” he murmured again.

“Good night,” Autumn returned as she slowly snapped the door closed.

The phone rang insistently as Autumn closed the door behind her. Her sister, she knew. She didn’t have to guess.

“Where were you?” Spring sounded breathless with concern and curiosity.

“Out to dinner,” Autumn answered with pride. “With Brent Hyatt, the man I told you about. Remember, we met him the same day we first looked at this apartment?”

“Oh…him. Well, what’s he like?”

“Nice,” Autumn said without elaboration and changed the subject. She had no intention of indulging Spring’s perpetual curiosity or raising her speculations over someone who merely fit into the category of an acquaintance.

That she found Brent more attractive every time they met had nothing to do with it, or that he appealed to her on more than one level. She didn’t think he was the kind of man who normally lacked female company, or, for that matter, any companionship at all. What would he need her for? She’d seldom seen him completely alone. The few glimpses she had of him from across the street, he’d been in company with other men in business suits or Timmy, and once, with that real estate person.

He’d mentioned the other woman, Laureen Shore, as a business associate during his dinner conversation. Autumn suspected Laureen occupied a big chunk of Brent’s attention and wondered about their friendship. She even recalled how Laureen had wrapped her arm through Brent’s rather intimately that first time they all met. In her mind, the action seemed far more personal than casual.

Did Laureen mean more to Brent than mere business? Why hadn’t he phoned her when he wanted company for dinner?

Maybe he had. Just maybe the other woman hadn’t been available tonight.

Giving it up, Autumn ended her conversation with her sister. After changing into a sleep shirt, she stood beside her south window studying the dark city skyline. She wouldn’t admit to being lonely.

But even if she was, just the tiniest bit, she could do something about it. Inviting company to visit didn’t frighten her. She’d call her friend Kim and invite her for lunch. It wasn’t too late to reach her.

She picked up the phone.

On Friday, just before noon, Autumn waited for Kim outside her building, feeling very brave as she strolled the street. Telling herself she needed the exercise, she couldn’t admit to feeling so excited to have a friend to visit in her new home that she could hardly wait for her arrival.

She turned around at the corner to retrace her steps. A familiar woman drove past her and parked in front of Brent’s building.

“Oh, hello,” the blond woman said, flashing Autumn a curious glance as she exited her car. “We’ve run into each other again. I’m Laureen Shore, remember?”

“Ah, yes, I do remember.” Autumn let herself be drawn into the exchange. They stood on the sidewalk across from the law offices. “You were with Brent the day we viewed my building.”

“I see you really took that apartment,” Laureen said, her mouth pursed. “It was fated to sell quickly, but I wasn’t sure you were serious.”

“Why, yes, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Laureen shrugged, eyeing Autumn as though she didn’t quite fit the usual description of a female. “A woman alone down here… Too quiet, I’d guess, especially at night. I’d think there wouldn’t be enough action for the younger singles crowd.”

“I don’t mind that. I don’t really run with a—a crowd. I prefer quiet, actually.” Autumn spotted her friend’s car and swiftly excused herself, meeting Kim in the side parking lot.

A second later, she noticed Laureen talking with Brent in his doorway. What had Laureen said of her? She knew the other woman had made some remark because Brent suddenly glanced her way in a curious manner.

The distance was too far, she couldn’t see what speculation might lie in his gaze. Shrugging it aside, she led Kim into her building.

But she did wonder.

Chapter Four

A thud sounded against her door late on a Saturday afternoon. Busy preparing a new sheet of paper, she raised her gaze but didn’t immediately respond.

What was it, just another oddity of the old building? She’d seen no one all week and had grown less startled at every little sound she couldn’t identify over the past month. But another knock convinced her someone really stood at her door.

She left her worktable and picked up an old towel to wipe her hands, calling, “Who’s there?”

“Me. Timmy.”

She peeked through the peephole to assure it was Brent and Timmy.

“Well, hello there.” She glanced at the boy before raising her gaze to the father. They hadn’t spoken since he took her to dinner over a week ago. She’d avoided him.

Now she wondered why she had, she was that glad to see him.

Actually, she’d avoided going out at all for days. It felt lonely, out and about on her own. She hadn’t seen another living soul she knew from her old circle since Kim had come to lunch.

She told herself that learning to live alone was good for her. It built character, surely, and she’d never let herself complain to Spring, or her sister would rush home to make sure she wasn’t dying of anything.

Smiling over that, she just knew her sister was having the time of her life in New York. Spring loved a lot of hustle and bustle.

Autumn filled her days with quiet painting and her evenings with music and books. And if she was lonely, she turned on the radio, listening to whatever talk show she could find.

A whimper brought her gaze back to the child’s earnest face, then caught her attention with what he held in his arms. A very small puppy. Silver and dark hair curled close along its tiny body, its stumpy tail wagged a joyful greeting while soulful dark eyes shone at her and floppy ears came forward.

“It’s for you.” Timmy thrust the wiggling animal forward. Instinctively, she held out her hands.

She blinked rapidly, her uncertainty shielding her from the need to return Brent’s too steady gaze. “I beg your pardon?”

“I have her brother,” Timmy said. “She’s a girl dog.”

“But…” Timmy withdrew his hands from the dog. She had no choice but to accept the creature into her own cupped ones. It nestled against her skin and immediately licked her arm, its tongue warm and gently textured.

“Daddy said you need a puppy.”

“He did?” At that, she tackled Brent’s gaze with her own, shyness forgotten. “You think I need a dog?”

Brent raised a brow along with the beginning of a smile. But before he could answer, Timmy continued to explain.

“You don’t have one, do you? This was the last one and Grammy said the lady didn’t want it. It’s a mix-up.”

“A mixed breed,” Brent supplied. “Maltese and terrier.

“Uh-huh. Daddy says it needs a home and we can’t keep two ’cause Grammy is already sneezing, so we thought you could love it for us. Then Samson won’t be sad. See, Samson likes playing with her, but he likes playing with me, too. Now he won’t worry or be sad if he can see her sometimes. And Daddy says you can take her for walks and stuff.”

“Well, I don’t know much about dogs….” She’d never owned a pet. Uncle William hadn’t cared for animals. Until this moment, she’d never thought about having one; she and Spring had always been enough company for each other.

Timmy’s light-brown eyes stared hopefully while Brent’s remained observant. She had the notion he wanted her to take the dog for more reasons than to simply give it a home.

She lifted the little thing higher, staring at her. The puppy gave her a lick on the underside of her chin and wiggled all over.

Her heart was hooked. “But I suppose I can learn. Please come in and tell me how. What do puppies eat?”

Brent let out a long, slow breath as he and Timmy stepped through. He hadn’t been at all sure if Autumn would accept the gift. But since their dinner date, he’d kept a close eye on the comings and goings from her building. He caught a delivery truck parked in front a time or two, but he couldn’t tell if the deliveries were for her or other tenants in the building.

But something Curtis had said led him to think she had few friends, and, without her twin around, she rarely went anywhere. In fact, he thought she seldom left her apartment at all.

Like Tim, she was at the right time, the right stage in her life to handle the care for another living being and a puppy seemed like a good choice.

He hoped it would bring her outside, at the very least. Force her out of her apartment. She’d have to walk the dog, wouldn’t she? Take it for exercise?

“Hang on to her for a bit,” he cautioned. “She’s just learning how to behave.”

“Oh, isn’t she, um, housebroken?” Autumn held the animal gingerly away from her, looking her over with both skepticism and wonder. “What’s its name?”

“It’s a she,” Timmy said. “Not an it. And we didn’t name her yet.”

“Oh, I, um, I’m sorry,” she replied, a corner of her mouth curving.

“I think she’s paper trained,” Brent said. “Though I wouldn’t trust to that totally. It’s a safe bet you’ll need to take her out a couple of times a day.”

“Oh? Well maybe I shouldn’t—”

Brent interrupted her doubtful murmur with a hasty aside. “The breeder was going to let this one go to the animal shelter if we didn’t take it. She breeds purebred Maltese show dogs and she was extremely upset that this mixed breed litter happened.” He shook his head in a sad comment. “And to add insult, this one is the runt of the litter.”

“The pound?” Autumn’s eyes grew rounder as he told the story.

“Yep. The pound.” Brent didn’t mind building on his success. If Autumn had a heart as tender as his son’s, she couldn’t bring herself to refuse the dog no matter what the practicalities were. “Timmy was terrified for the little thing when the woman mentioned the pound.”

He reached out to lay a gentle hand on the puppy’s head, rubbing a small ear, while the back of his fingers brushed against Autumn’s inner arm; she lifted her gaze to his, her mouth softening in compassion as he continued to speak. “I couldn’t let Timmy down by not taking both.”

“Yes, I—I can understand that.”

“But this is my problem. My mom is allergic to dogs and cats. She visits us quite a lot. It’s enough to ask for her to deal with one little dog in our house. So to take two…”

He shook his head again and withdrew his hand, shoving it into his pocket as though to imply he’d done all he could.

“Oh.”

He let her think about it, turning to see what Timmy was doing. The boy stood with his chin against her worktable, looking at a sheet of paper half covered with flashes of color.

“Tim, don’t touch,” he reminded the boy.

“Okay.”

The puppy wiggled and yelped at the sound of Timmy’s voice. Autumn gazed at the tiny body, wonder still lurking in her eyes. “I think she wants you, Timmy.”

“She does?”

“Perhaps you could give her a saucer of milk,” Brent suggested, by way of sidetracking Autumn’s thought. He didn’t want her to think the dog couldn’t live without Timmy or adjust to her.

“Oh, dear. I’m out of milk.”

“How about a bowl of water, then?”

“I can manage that.” She went to her cupboard and one-handedly lifted out a cereal bowl, turning on her sink tap to fill it. The puppy almost jumped out of her arm in excitement, making her laugh.

Brent had never heard her uninhibited laugh until now. It sounded all through him like a bell that reverberated against his bones. Or his heart.

“Do you have any newspapers?” Brent asked, strolling toward her at her kitchen counter.

“No, but I don’t care about this old rug.” She set the bowl down on the rag rug she kept in front of her kitchen sink, then folded herself down alongside it and gently placed the puppy nearby. The dog eagerly lapped a few swallows, then began sniffing and investigating her new terrain.

“Tim, don’t get into anything over there,” Brent reminded again, strolling over to the studio area. He glanced at some of the work she had stacked around.

More still lifes in watercolor, but some were cityscapes, scenes taken from her windows. Shadows played differently against some of the same views, reflecting they were painted at different times of day. But among the smaller sheets against the bookcase, an image of a small boy holding a doughnut, his face smeared with chocolate icing, captured Brent’s attention.

He recalled that morning clearly. Autumn had, too. She’d caught the very essence of a boy’s pleasure in a simple treat.

“This is really nice,” he said, nodding toward the painting. Autumn glanced up, then rose to join him as Timmy lay down on the rug to play with the puppy. He picked up the sheet and studied the composition. “You have an excellent eye for faces. You must sell it to me, please. I wonder…”

“Oh, I couldn’t sell that one,” she said casually, although the pink staining her cheeks told Brent she didn’t exactly feel casual about the work. Or the compliment? “You may have it, though. In exchange for the puppy.”

She didn’t look at him as she shuffled some of her dry, unfinished sheets into a portfolio. She swished a brush in a can of water, and replaced tubes of paint into a compartmentalized case. Behind her, a stepladder, painted with trailing vines, leaned against the bookshelves, additional evidence of what she’d been doing.

“Thank you, I accept,” he said quietly. “My mother will be delighted with it.”

“A fair exchange.” She remained quiet a moment, then asked, “What do you wonder?”

“Hmm…?” He’d been looking at the portrait of his son, his gaze tracing the way she’d captured the very shape of his eyes. He glanced up.

“Oh. I have a new project I’m very excited about. A church building. It’s a hundred-plus-year-old inner-city location that a young minister hopes to revitalize and bring back to life. I don’t know where his financing came from, but he seems to have a free hand and he has big plans for it.”

“That sounds nice. What has it to do with me?”

“I think…I think you should come see it.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I’d rather show you. Why don’t we take a run over there and I’ll tell you about it.”

“Tell me about it now.”

“All right,” he said, letting out a sigh. He wished she’d just trust him a little more. “David—Reverend Collier—and I have had several long talks about the restoration of the building and grounds. Though there isn’t much left to the grounds. And the building was put up in three stages, so what we really have are three buildings connected. There’s a long connecting hall, a corridor, really, one side almost all glass windows. The blank wall is crying out for a mural—”

“Oh, no.” She shook her head, a firm set to her chin. “I don’t think I want to tackle anything of that size.”

“You can’t say no out of hand. You haven’t heard my suggestion.”

“Why can’t I? And I can guess at what you wondered, and the answer is no. I don’t want to take on that much outside work. I don’t like crowds.”

“But Autumn, this is a very special project. I think you’ll be interested once you see it. It’s not your usual request, you have to admit. And what have crowds to do with it?”

She turned to face him, her back against the table. Only her fingers showed a tightness, curved around the table edge. “Churches have crowds. They’re made for bunches of people. Mobs of ’em. Their intention, their very purpose is to draw humanity together.” She pursed her mouth. “Uh-uh. I don’t think so.”

“Autumn…” He leaned a hip against the table at her side, watching her fold her hands tightly in front of her. Her objection struck him as nonsense, but he kept his irritation wrapped tightly and hidden from view by lowering his voice to a persuasive tone.

She couldn’t possibly be serious. Surely she exaggerated her antipathy toward crowds simply as an excuse to say no.

However, he was practiced in dealing with opposite views and stubborn people, having earned that hard-won skill during many a civic meeting. One of his strengths lay in presenting any given scenario or argument in a positive light.

“Don’t say no just yet, please. You haven’t even seen it. This church hasn’t yet regained its crowds, even though that’s what the new minister is hoping to find.

“And you wouldn’t be doing the work during the worship hours, now would you? The church is empty ninety percent of the time except for the building crew, who won’t even be in that part of the building. And David, of course, and a part-time secretary.

“The section you’d be working in was built sometime in the sixties and its structure is fine, so you wouldn’t likely run into the labor crew. But it does need something to make it attractive and David and I discussed using that long hall for a Biblical mural of some kind.”

“I don’t know much about the Bible.”

“Well, that shouldn’t stop you from researching it. And I’m sure David will consult with you.”

He paused long enough to take a breath and deepen his plea. “Autumn, if you could capture Timmy from memory like you did, I know you’d be perfect to do this hall. Why don’t you at least come see what I’m talking about?”

“Well…”

“If not now, then one morning later this week?”

A long moment of silence fell between them before she said, very tentatively, “Early? Before there’s likely to be a lot of people about?”

“As early as you want. At first light, even.”

“All right. I’ll come see the site, but I’m making no promises.”

“It’s a deal,” Brent said, offering his hand. He liked shaking hands on a deal. He felt the old-fashioned way of doing business, the way his grandfather had conducted his own, held a code of honor that covered more than sometimes appeared in mere printed contracts.

Slowly, she placed her hand in his; she had long fingers, which felt softer against his palm than he’d anticipated. He held it a moment before letting go, giving her hand a firm clasp. He had to force himself to let go—he’d wanted to hold on, to brush his thumb across the silky texture. Instead, he briskly set a time for later in the week.

Then, already certain of her answer, said, “Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. Want to come with Tim and me to celebrate?”

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