“God can heal a broken heart, you know,” Ellie told Asher gently.

“Yes, of course, but—”

“But you must allow Him to do it. You must be willing. Because He surely has some lucky woman picked out for you.”

Asher lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, really?”

Ellie nodded. “She’ll admire all your sterling qualities.”

“What exactly is a sterling quality?”

“Well, in your case, confidence, kindness, intelligence. Plus, you obviously value family. And, of course, you’re handsome.”

“Handsome,” he repeated.

Then she ducked her head and confessed, “You have gorgeous eyes.”

His world tilted, leaving him clinging to the very edge of reason. What on earth was going on? He couldn’t be attracted to Ellie Monroe. She was too impulsive, too talkative, too…everything!

Especially too pretty.

From now on, he would be on his guard—stern, disciplined, wise—just as a man in his position ought to be.

But something told him that being on his guard might not be enough to combat the charms of Ellie Monroe.

ARLENE JAMES

says, “Camp meetings, mission work and church attendance permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He has blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”

The author of more than seventy novels, Arlene James now resides outside Dallas, Texas, with her beloved husband. Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade. She loves to hear from readers, and can be reached via her website at www.arlenejames.com.

An Unlikely Match
Arlene James

www.millsandboon.co.uk

You have granted him the desire of his heart and have not withheld the request of his lips.

—Psalms 21:2

For Faith Itai Manase, adventuress, world traveler, nurse, friend, daughter of my heart.

I am so proud of you!

Love always,

DAR

Contents

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

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Attorney Asher Chatam recognized a summons when he received one, though he could not imagine what legal advice his aunties needed so urgently that it would require his immediate presence. He shrugged out of his camel hair overcoat and surveyed the front parlor of Chatam House, the antebellum mansion where Chatams had resided for generations, including his maiden aunts, triplets in their seventies who had lived in the great house for their entire lives.

As always, Odelia first captured the eye. Wearing royal blue, she had anchored a crown of matching feathers in her fluffy white hair. Speckled, light blue beads the size of robin’s eggs dangled by golden chains from her earlobes, completing the theme of her costume. Hypatia, her sister’s polar opposite, in expensive bronze silk and a neat silver chignon, placed her delicate Limoges teacup on its matching saucer and graced him with a smile from her customary wingback chair. Meanwhile, Magnolia—known to her many nieces and nephews as Aunt Mags—garbed in her usual frumpy cardigan and shirtwaist dress, her iron-gray braid hanging over one shoulder, beamed her frank enjoyment of his surprise at the room’s occupants.

Kent Monroe, a pharmacist well past the usual age of retirement, was Odelia’s erstwhile fiancé from at least half a century ago. A barrel chest had long since given way to a serious paunch, now bisected by gray suspenders and shielded with a pale blue shirt, topped with a jaunty red bow tie that sat atop his jugular like a strangled cherry crowning a generous scoop of blueberry ice cream. After his failed romance with Odelia, it was generally assumed that Kent Monroe would forever keep a cordial, mannerly distance. And he most likely would have, in the normal course of events. But the normal course of events had been greatly altered.

Asher narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his baby sister. At twenty-three, a full fifteen years his junior, Dallas was as impulsive as her short, frothy hair was red. An inveterate romantic, she had sighed over Odelia’s failed engagement since girlhood, even going so far as to strike up a friendship with Ellen Monroe, Kent’s granddaughter.

“Dallas, I’m surprised to see you here.” If he had been called in on a legal matter, then why was his baby sister here?

“It’s Chatam House, Ash,” she retorted. “They’re my aunts, too.”

“Of course we are, dear,” Magnolia cooed in a placating fashion.

“And Ellie’s my best friend,” Dallas went on in a tone that a five-year-old would have punctuated by sticking out her tongue.

Ellie was the greatest surprise of all. Granted, he had last seen her on graduation day some two or three years earlier, but the pudgy, dark-haired baby doll of his memory had morphed into an astonishing beauty in that relatively short period of time. Next to his coltish sister, in her black jeans and white, long-sleeve T-shirt, Ellie looked lush in a simple, navy blue sheath belted at the waist. Her chin-length hair curled and waved about her Kewpie doll face and violet eyes. Everything about her, even her smile, seemed luxuriant.

Abruptly aware of the streaks of gray in his own chestnut-brown hair and the subtle lines that creased his forehead, Asher felt suddenly self-conscious. He had previously thought those streaks entirely suitable for a successful attorney approaching forty years of age. He’d noticed the faint wrinkles without concern only days earlier. Now, suddenly, they seemed ominous declarations of the fact that he was aging. His aching knee called attention to itself at that moment, and he very nearly turned and walked out, mentally fabricating excuses for his aunts.

He did no such thing, of course. At thirty-eight, he was still in his prime. Plus, he was a Chatam, after all, as well as a very busy attorney, too busy to pay attention to old aches and pains. His sudden weariness could be attributed to this being Friday, the end of a long week, the third in the too-short, often dreary month of February.

“Asher, dear.”

The sound of his aunt’s voice recalled him to his duty. Dropping his coat over the seat of an armless side chair, he strode forward to leave a kiss against her soft cheek.

“Aunt Hypatia. It’s good to see you. Is there an emergency?”

He could surely be excused for assuming such was the case. Though the aunties were a bit outdated in their mannerisms and sensibilities—Asher’s father, Murdock, insisted that his older sisters had been born a hundred years too late—Asher had never before received a message from them. This one had arrived, written on ivory vellum and hand-delivered by the aunts’ middle-aged factotum, Chester, only an hour earlier, requesting his presence at Chatam House as soon after five o’clock in the afternoon as possible. Naturally he had rearranged his schedule and appeared, as summoned, at barely a quarter past the appointed hour.

“Not an emergency, per se,” Hypatia answered carefully.

“There is, however, a problem,” Mags added, summoning him to her side. He craned around the piecrust table and bussed her leathery cheek, then repeated the process with Odelia’s plump one.

For once, Odelia, who was seated next to Mags on the settee, did not giggle. In fact, she barely smiled, nor had she yet spoken. Lovingly referred to by her nieces and nephews as Auntie Od, the woman was usually effusive to the point of silliness, which made this uncharacteristic solemnity seem ominous at best.

“What’s wrong?” Asher asked.

“It’s the Monroes, dear,” Hypatia informed him kindly, signaling the elder Monroe with a regal wave of her hand.

“Well, you see—” Kent Monroe began.

“Our house caught fire,” Ellie interjected quickly.

Some things, Asher noted wryly, had not changed. Ellie had always exhibited an unfortunate tendency to interrupt. He raised his brows at her, as he always used to do, in silent rebuke—only to tumble headlong into her wide, violet eyes. Surprised, he forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

“It’s not a total loss by any means,” she was going on blithely. “The smell is the worst of it, really, but that should prove no real problem. It’s amazing how they have products now that can just take odors out of the air, isn’t it?” She continued on about air fresheners and the unreasonable strictures of the fire department.

For an instant, Asher felt himself once more being pulled under by those dark-lashed eyes, and he realized that he was staring. He retreated swiftly to the fireplace. Parking himself there, he paused to take stock of the gathering in the huge, gilt-framed mirror above the mantle.

The first face to jump out at him from that group reflection was, of course, Ellie’s. Rounded and apple-cheeked, her face seemed made of sweetness, a disturbingly adult sweetness. Her unusual coloring—pale pink skin, dark hair and sparkling violet eyes—added a sense of the ethereal to a face that could only be described as…enchanting.

He felt a strange sense of alarm. This was Ellie, for goodness’ sake, little Ellie Monroe, his baby sister’s best friend.

She turned sideways on the edge of her seat, watching him with a wide, troubled gaze. He felt a sudden urge to bolt from the room. Instead, he turned and folded his arms, targeting Kent Monroe with a penetrating gaze.

“I’m sorry for your trouble. What exactly does this all mean?”

“The house is structurally sound but uninhabitable,” Mr. Monroe said, glancing at Ellie apologetically.

“Which is why they are here,” Magnolia put in.

Asher smiled. The aunties seemed to be making a habit of taking in strays. Over the past several months, they’d taken in no fewer than half a dozen needy souls, but he knew exactly who would be responsible for this particular state of affairs. He gave his sister a pointed, accusing glare, to which she immediately took exception.

“Don’t look at me like that, Ash. Where else could they go?” She lifted her chin defiantly, tossing her short, red curls. Like him and all the Chatams, she had a cleft in that proud little chin. Hers was nothing more than a gentle dip in the center; his was more pronounced.

“And, of course, they are most welcome,” Hypatia hastily said, “but I’m sure that they would like the insurance matter settled sooner rather than later.”

Kent inclined his round head, saying in a gravelly voice, “You are too kind, dear lady, you and your sisters. Believe me, we want nothing more than to go home as quickly as possible and would not impose a moment longer that necessary, but the insurance company—”

“—is so impersonal,” Ellie finished for him, rushing on. “You know how they are. They don’t return your phone calls when you think they should, let alone write the checks. It’s infuriating for him, especially after all these years of paying premiums, which is why I’ve taken over the whole thing.” She spread her hands as if to say that the matter was settled.

Asher looked to her grandfather. “I assume that you are the policyholder.” Kent nodded. “Confidentiality rules would prevent the insurance company from discussing the matter with anyone but you or—”

“I’m sure they’ll settle eventually,” Ellie interrupted. “These things never move as swiftly as we’d like.”

“—your appointed legal representative,” Asher finished doggedly.

“Ah,” Magnolia said in a voice of deep satisfaction. “I knew you would agree.”

Agree? Asher noted at once the look of smug approval on his aunt’s face and felt a jolt. All these years of avoiding legal pitfalls, and he’d been led into a trap by a trio of little old ladies with sweet smiles and teacups. And it was a very neatly sprung trap, too.

Arguments against the Monroes taking on legal counsel, his in particular, immediately formed. Legal representation could sometimes gum up the works when it came to routine claims, and an attorney too busy to devote adequate time to the issue could well delay, rather than expedite, matters. On the other hand, well-phrased and well-timed inquiries from a legal source could work wonders.

Asher glanced at Odelia, recognizing her shaky relief, and knew he would do what he could, if only for Auntie Od. Odelia, God bless her, seemed far less comfortable than Dallas at having the Monroes as guests at Chatam House. That alone was reason enough to help settle the insurance claim.

Besides, why spend time and energy on escape when compliance would free him sooner? In fact, if he hurried, he might still be able to make his meeting.

It was a routine matter, really, the usual gathering of regional youth soccer commissioners at the beginning of a new season. He had intended to argue, once again and most likely without results, for the formal training of volunteer coaches at every level of the system. But he didn’t care if he lost the argument. Soccer was his great, overriding passion. It was his buffer against a crazy world. He couldn’t wait to get the season started.

He checked his watch, pushing back his French cuff. If he hurried, he could make the last few minutes of the meeting and still press his point.

“I’ll look into it,” he announced, smiling as he stepped away from the fireplace. “Call my secretary Monday morning with the particulars,” he instructed Mr. Monroe.

Ellie sat up straight. “Oh, but—”

“I’ll get back to you in a few days,” he went on, walking toward the door.

“Can’t you stay long enough for tea?” his sister asked pointedly.

“Sorry. I have a meeting.”

He didn’t quite make it across the impressive foyer before the quick tap of footsteps on marble warned him of pursuit. Dallas, no doubt. Slinging on his coat, Asher cast a glance upward issuing a brief, silent plea for patience.

Of his three siblings, his baby sister had always tried him most, so naturally she had been the one to follow him from the family home in Waco to Buffalo Creek, where she had earned a teaching degree at Buffalo Creek Bible College and remained to teach second grade. Intending to make short work of any confrontation, he whirled—and nearly bowled over Ellen Monroe.

She bounced off him, pinwheeling her arms to keep from falling over backward. Instinctively, he reached out to grasp her forearms and steady her. A bright smile suddenly lit her face, and electricity shot up his arms. Jolted, he snatched his hands back.

“Sorry.”

“No problem,” she said, smoothing her skirt. “I—I just wanted to…uh, thank you.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he pointed out, frowning.

“No, but you’re going to,” she said, “and I’m beyond grateful. But I hate for you to put yourself out over this. I know how busy you must be, and…” With a forced chuckle, she held out her arms in a broad shrug. “Well, I’m sure God will work it all out in His own good time.”

Asher blinked, irritated by his odd response to Ellie, a response he couldn’t quite characterize. “Is it not possible that God could use me to work it out?”

“Oh!” She clapped her hands to her chest just below her delicate collarbones. “I didn’t mean—”

“Because I assure you that the insurance company will seek every means to mitigate their damages,” he interrupted, “even if it’s only delaying payment as long as possi—”

“But Dallas is always saying how busy you are, and I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He sighed. “You’re not imposing. You’re taking on legal representation.” The attorney in him forced out a disclaimer. “Though, of course, I cannot guarantee that you and your grandfather will be entirely happy with the results of my actions.”

Ellie flattened her lips as if disappointed. “I’ve found people are just about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”

Life brought all sort of disappointments, as Asher knew well, unhappy and tragic things, like death and divorce, injury, malfeasance, house fires… The list, in fact, seemed endless. But perhaps she was too young to understand the harsh realities of this life, while Asher, on the other hand, had seen far too much tragedy, animosity and downright dishonesty in the course of his practice to be so sanguine.

Recently, his cousin Chandler had been cheated of his investment in a ranch. Thankfully, all had turned out well. In short order, Chandler had married, become a father and purchased another ranch near Stephenville to the west. It had all happened, Asher mused, while Chandler and his now wife, Bethany, had been living in this very house.

Come to think of it, his cousins Kaylie and Reeves had also met their spouses while one or the other of them lived here, a fact which must surely have influenced his starry-eyed little sister to seek shelter for the Monroes in this place. Was Dallas trying to get Kent and Odelia together? And was Ellen also a part of that?

If so, shame on them.

Until a person had been disappointed in love, that person could not understand the depth of pain that accompanied such disappointment. Dallas and Ellie were still too young for that kind of experience.

Feeling sadly world-weary to the point of, well, old, Asher could have used a bit of Ellie Monroe’s youthful naïveté and enthusiasm just then. Instead, he smiled and brought the conversation to an abrupt end.

“Have a good evening, Ellie.”

He left her there, looking like the little girl she had been not so long ago, the little girl whom he, on some level that he definitely did not wish to examine too closely, needed her still to be. He pushed the image of her lovely violet eyes aside. He had no interest in romance. His one spectacular failure in that area had cured him permanently of any desire to meet, or date—let alone marry again.

Ellie sighed as the door closed behind Asher Chatam’s back. She had always sighed upon first seeing him, and today had been no exception. For as long as she’d known his sister Dallas, some six or so years now, Ellie had thought the tall, lean attorney the finest-looking man she’d ever seen. Slim-hipped and broad-shouldered, with the build of an athlete, he seemed the very epitome of the successful barrister. She had always imagined him as a champion of the downtrodden and wrongly accused, but she knew little about his business. She adored the distinguished streaks of off-white at his temples, the warm amber of his eyes and the cleft in his strong chin.

Unfortunately, when he was around, she couldn’t seem to think as clearly as usual. He made her nervous, and when she was nervous she blurted out things better left unsaid, interrupted others and often embarrassed herself. She had no reason to worry, though. He had never seemed to notice. Sadly, so far as she could tell, the man barely realized that she was alive. She was just his little sister’s best friend, after all, a kindergarten teacher of limited experience. He, no doubt, fended off much more sophisticated women on a daily basis.

Nevertheless, Ellie found this turn of events intriguing. A dedicated attorney such as Ash Chatam would pay close attention to his clients, and she yearned for him to play close attention to her. But, she reminded herself, close attention could be disastrous. She had actually pleaded with the Chatam triplets not to impose on their nephew, but her entreaties had gone unheeded. In fact, the more she’d begged them not to involve Ash, the more determined they had seemed to do so, until finally they had dispatched Chester to enlist Asher’s aid.

“He’s definitely taking the case then?”

Ellie turned to find Dallas lounging against the staircase banister. Her friend’s nonchalant pose and tone did not fool Ellie. Dallas was as concerned as Ellie herself. “Did you think he wouldn’t?”

A small sigh escaped Dallas before she made a dramatic shrug. “I told you, if the aunties ask it, you might as well consider it done.”

Ellie took a seat on the third step, smoothing her skirt neatly about her thighs. “Tell me again why you don’t want Ash involved in this,” she suggested as mildly as she could manage.

“You know perfectly well why,” Dallas said, dropping down beside Ellie so she could pitch her voice low. “He’ll have you and your grandfather out of Chatam House in no time, and the longer you’re here, the more likely it is that your grandfather and Aunt Odelia will get back together.”

“And that’s the only reason?” Ellie pressed softly.

Dallas shifted her gaze away, springing to her feet. “Of course. What other reason could there be?” Dallas could never sit still, but Ellie suspected her restlessness had less to do with habit and more with…something else just now.

Ellie looked down at the marble floor.

“Gotta go, kiddo,” Dallas said abruptly. She patted Ellie’s shoulder and whirled away to poke her head into the parlor and call out a farewell before setting off.

Ellie watched her go with a heavy heart. Frankly, she missed her friend. The two of them usually spent hours a day talking or just hanging out, but since the fire a distance had grown between them. The fire had left so many questions in Ellie’s mind, questions for which Ash Chatam would surely demand answers.

“You’re looking very pensive,” her grandfather noted, as he trundled through the parlor doorway and across the foyer.

“Am I? Well, it’s been a busy day.”

“Keep you hopping, do they, all those five-and six-year-olds?”

“Do they ever!”

“You adore them, every one,” he remarked.

Ellie smiled. “They’re such fun.”

“Have fun with what you’re doing—” Kent began.

“—and you’ll never want to do anything else,” Ellie finished for him.

Ruffling her curls as he had done since she’d had curls to ruffle, he started up the steps, but then he paused, his gaze going back toward the parlor. Bending, he quietly asked, “Have you noticed how subdued she is?”

Ellie didn’t have to ask which “she” he meant. “Um-hm. But I wouldn’t read too much into it.”

Sighing, he straightened and began the long climb, muttering to himself, “A subdued Odelia is not the real Odelia.”

Ellie pretended not to hear, her gaze on the bright yellow door that led out onto the front porch of the mansion, where Chatams had lived, according to Dallas, since the last brick had been laid. Even Asher had lived here for a short time long ago while his house was being built on the north side of town. She closed her eyes in dismay, once more seeking spiritual comfort.

Oh, if only the Chatam sisters had not called Ash into this mess!

It couldn’t end well for any of them, not for Dallas, not for her grandfather, not even for the Chatam sisters, who had been so very kind, and certainly not for herself.

Broken hearts, she very much feared, were soon going to be the rule rather than the exception—her own among them.

Chapter Two

Shifting in her customary seat on the antique settee, Odelia stifled a sigh. The room seemed strangely vacant now that Kent had excused himself. He’d stayed only long enough to be polite after Asher had gone, but then, Kent never lingered in her presence for a moment longer than necessary. She couldn’t blame him.

Who would have imagined that her former fiancé would one day take sanctuary here at Chatam House? Odelia certainly would not have, not after what she’d done to him. Perhaps time had diminished the hurt she’d dealt him, but she was only too glad to provide him a kindness now or anytime. When Dallas had first explained the situation nearly two weeks ago, the first reaction of Odelia’s sisters had been to gently refuse, but Odelia herself had argued fiercely that God had His reasons for bringing the Monroes to their doorstep, and she still believed that. She just hadn’t counted on how having Kent in the house would affect her.

How could it be that after all these years, some small vestige of her original feelings for the man would still be rattling around inside this old heart of hers? Now, she longed continually for his company and, though he avoided her, dreaded the day when the Monroes would move back into their house. Why, oh, why had Hypatia and Magnolia insisted on calling in Asher? Their nephew was bound to get to the bottom of things and come to terms with the insurance company in short order, and then, before she knew it, Kent would be gone again. Well, perhaps it was for the best at that.

Blanching, she looked down at her hands, ringed fingers twining together anxiously. Once, she had wanted very much to marry Kent Monroe, and had nearly done so. Only at the last moment had she realized that she could never be happy living apart from her dear sisters. But when she had suggested to Kent that they live with her family, he hadn’t taken it very well, claiming that a “real man” would make his own home. She had understood that perfectly, but it had still hurt.

The aftermath of the breakup had been quite difficult for her, but she had never regretted her decision not to marry. Kent had truly been the only man who had ever tempted her to do so. When Kent had married Deirdre Billups, Odelia had put away her secret longings, and she had been more than content over the years. She had actually been quite happy and genuinely glad for Kent and Deirdre when, after years of marriage, their son had been born. Likewise, she had grieved for Kent and Deirdre when their son had died in an accident at the age of forty-one and then again, over a decade ago now, for Kent when Deirdre had succumbed to an aneurysm.

Since that time, she and Kent had gradually renewed their friendship, always keeping a polite distance. She had found that arrangement very satisfactory and had imagined that they would end their lives as casual friends with their shared past unremarked but unforgotten, at least between the two of them. Instead, in thirteen short days she had somehow reverted to her old foolish self, longing for the kind of relationship that she had long since determined was not for her. How could she, at her age, feel such nonsensical, girlish emotions? She was simply astounded.

“Dearest, are you all right?” Hypatia asked, calling Odelia from her reverie.

Odelia looked up, glancing from one sister to the other. Both watched her with concern etched upon their faces.

“Who, me?”

“Certainly she means you,” Magnolia said with a snort. “Who else? I certainly wasn’t engaged to Kent Monroe.”

Odelia forced herself to laugh brightly, hoping that it didn’t sound as stilted as she feared. “I’m fine! Why wouldn’t I be? It’s not our house that caught fire.”

“You just seem…not yourself lately,” Hypatia observed gently.

“Not yourself,” Magnolia agreed.

“If having Kent Monroe here is disturbing to you—” Hypatia began.

“It could be dyspepsia,” Magnolia pointed out brusquely. “You remember how Mother suffered with dyspepsia. It put her all out of sorts.”

“—we could always offer to put them up in a hotel,” Hypatia went on, sending Magnolia a speaking glance.

“I’m not dyspeptic!” Odelia insisted, turning on Magnolia. “I’ve never had digestive difficulties in my life.” As her waistline must surely demonstrate, she thought morosely.

“Well, of all of us, you’re most like Mother,” Magnolia argued defensively.

Plump, she means, Odelia thought. Perhaps she ought to pay a bit more attention to what she ate, she decided, mumbling, “My digestion is fine.”

“It’s certainly not unrequited love,” Magnolia commented, chuckling. “Not at our age.”

Odelia frowned and batted her eyelashes against a sudden welling of tears. She might be past the age of romance, but surely she should not be past the age of caring about her weight, if only as a matter of health. Abruptly, she wondered what Kent thought about her rounded figure. He had once declared her the very model of slender femininity, but what did he think now? Had age and indulgence robbed her of all appeal?

Closing her eyes, she told herself not to bring Kent into this, not even mentally. Obviously, to her shame, she needed to pray much more diligently about her personal lapses, and so she would. Meanwhile, she’d be boiled and peeled before she’d give in to this nonsensical emotional confusion.

Mentally centering herself, she heard Hypatia say, “I understand that new hotel out on the highway is quite comfortable and even offers kitchenettes. If we phrased it delicately and prepaid, say, a month’s rent, I doubt that either Kent or Ellie would take offense. We could always—”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Hypatia!” Odelia snapped, popping open her eyes. “There is no polite way to turn someone out of your home when you have already offered them shelter and have more than ample accommodations for them.”

Horrified at this uncharacteristic harshness, Hypatia drew back, her eyes wide.

Beside Odelia on the settee, Magnolia drawled, “I think she should see a doctor.”

Embarrassed, Odelia considered placating her sisters by agreeing, but then she thought of Brooks Leland, the family physician, and knew that he was far too astute not to see that her problem was emotional and spiritual rather than physical.

Fighting for an even, melodic tone, she said, “I don’t need a doctor. I just need…” she looked to the windows at the front of the long, rectangular room “…sunshine.” Rising to her feet, she continued, “I need sunshine. And fresh air. Spring. I’m so very tired of winter. I need a dose of spring.” Making a beeline for the foyer, she decided that she would take an overcoat from the cloakroom and let herself out the sunroom door. “If you need me, I’ll be in the greenhouse,” she told her sisters. Praying, she added silently.

Perhaps then she could put aside these ridiculous longings and dreams, for such foolishness should be the purview of the young. What need had she of love at this late date, after all? It wasn’t as if they had time for children or growing old together. They were already old, she and Kent.

Too old.

Nothing promised such new possibilities as a Monday morning. At least, Ellie had always thought so. She loved the early-morning tranquility and neatness of her classroom, the moment of sublime peace before the children began to arrive, bringing their happy chaos with them, but Monday mornings were the best. As such, they always seemed ripe for prayer, but especially this particular Monday morning.

She’d mulled the problem of Asher Chatam all weekend without finding a solution, and now, as she read over her morning’s devotional, she wondered why she had not simply taken the matter to God. As the author of the devotional reminded her, God knew everything to be known about the whole situation anyway, even more than she did. He was just waiting for her to ask Him for the solution. Really, she could be so foolish sometimes. It was a wonder, a testament to God’s patience, that He didn’t drop stones out of Heaven onto her head at such moments.

Spreading her hands over the pages of her devotional book, she closed her eyes and began as she always did, whispering the words in her mind.

Holy Father, make me Your instrument this day. Help me to love and teach my students, to see and meet their needs as You would have me do. And, Lord, please show me how to deal with this mess I’ve gotten myself into. My grandfather deserves to be happy, really happy. He is the very soul of cheerful forbearance, as You know, and I know that Odelia would make him happy. I’m as convinced of it as Dallas is, only I would never have…

She bit her lip, unwilling even to put into words what she feared. It wasn’t as if she had any proof, after all. Besides, who was she to judge? And if Dallas had done something foolish to bring her aunt and Ellie’s grandfather together, well, what sense did it make to waste an opportunity like this? Just because she wouldn’t have done what she feared Dallas had done didn’t mean that God couldn’t use the situation for good. Did it?

If only the Chatam sisters hadn’t brought Asher into it! He could be a tad severe, and Dallas had always painted him as somewhat stodgy, but even she admitted that he was a very fine attorney, extremely intelligent and he could be trusted implicitly. Sadly, while Ellie admired those traits, they meant that he was bound to have the insurance company settling up in no time. Or worse yet, he might discover the truth of the fire—whatever that was—and then where would they be?

Would the insurance company even pay if the fire had been deliberately set? And what would happen to her dearest friend if… She turned off that line of thought, concentrating instead on her grandfather’s happiness.

Please, Lord, couldn’t You intercede here, just delay things a bit, maybe? I mean, Ash is bound to be busy. He has that prosperous look about him that busy attorneys who make lots of money often—

Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop. Money. That was the answer! All she had to do was tell Ash that she and her grandfather could not afford to pay him. Surely, that would put the brakes on things.

“Thank You,” she said brightly.

“For what?” asked a child’s voice.

Ellie’s eyes popped open. Her gently arched brows shot upward as she took in the two former pupils who stood with their bellies pressed to the front of her desk. Students often did that, especially when they wanted something. One of their mothers, a woman by the name of Ilene Riddle, stood behind them at a short distance.

“Hello,” Ellie said.

“Hello, Miss Monroe,” the two girls replied in sync.

“We didn’t want to disturb you,” put in the mother, moving forward a step. “You seemed to be meditating.”

An attractive platinum blonde with white-tipped nails and dark eye makeup, she had just been divorced for the second time when her daughter, Angie, had entered Ellie’s kindergarten class about a year ago now. Angie and Shawna, the second girl, had quickly become best friends and apparently still were. Ellie noticed that in contrast to her mother’s neat stylishness, Angie still looked as if she’d slept in her clothes, her short, dark blond hair sticking out at odd angles.

“I like to start my day with a prayer,” Ellie said, smiling. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“Please, Miss Monroe,” Shawna pleaded, tilting her dark, sleek head, “we don’t get a coach, and we ’membered that you can play.”

“You played with us all those times at recess,” Angie put in eagerly.

“Play?” Ellie echoed, puzzled. “Play what?”

“Soccer,” Ms. Riddle clarified. “The girls have signed up for the spring soccer season, but there aren’t enough coaches to go around. Unless we can find someone to help out, the girls won’t get to play.”

“Oh, dear,” Ellie said, rising to her feet, her hands still planted atop the book on her desk.

“I’ve volunteered as team mother,” Ilene went on, “but I know nothing at all about the sport. I mean, I can organize everything, but I just don’t have any of the skills needed to teach the kids about the game, and the commissioner is apparently pretty strict about who is allowed to coach. We thought—hoped—you might be willing to help us.”

Ellie stood speechless for a moment. She had never coached a sport in her life, but she did know the game, having played all through high school. Straightening, she folded her arms thoughtfully, one forefinger tapping her rounded chin.

“How many kids would I work with?”

“Nine is the minimum,” Ilene answered. “We actually have seven right now and could use a few more. Twelve is the max at this age.”

Twelve at most. Ellie looked around the room. She routinely corralled twenty-two in this small space and flattered herself that she actually taught them something worthwhile in the process. Twelve kids on an open field would be a piece of cake by comparison.

“How much time are we talking about?”

“It’s nine games and twenty practices in ten weeks, so roughly twenty-five hours.”

That was little more than a full day in total, spread out over more than two months. Besides, she’d always enjoyed soccer and could use the exercise. And hadn’t she just asked God to show her the needs of her pupils and how to meet them?

“Sounds like fun,” she decided. “Count me in.”

The girls hurrahed, bouncing up and down on their toes. Ilene Riddle reached past them to clasp Ellie’s hands with hers, silver bracelets jangling.

“Thank you so much. I’ll help every way I can, I promise. First practice is Wednesday afternoon at five-fifteen. Do you know where the field is?”

“I think so. Across the creek from the park, right?”

“Right. I’ll bring all the supplies. You just bring the expertise.”

“Deal,” Ellie said, smiling broadly.

As the trio took their leave, Ellie dropped down onto her desk chair once more. Well, it looked like she had her work cut out for her, starting tomorrow afternoon. She’d have to brush up on coaching tactics this evening. Thankfully, with all the information online, that shouldn’t be too difficult. She’d see to it tonight.

That left this afternoon to convince Asher Chatam to drop her grandfather’s case and turn his attention elsewhere.

Ellie smiled. Mondays really were her favorite day of the week.

Dropping the telephone receiver into its cradle, Asher stared at the leather-trimmed blotter on his desk. He hated Mondays. Just once, he wanted to get through a Monday without some unpleasant surprise. What, he wondered, had the aunties—and, by extension, he—gotten into? So much for settling this “routine” insurance matter and getting on with his life.

Unanswered questions about the fire at the Monroe house abounded, and Ellie Monroe had apparently done everything in her power to make certain that they remained that way. According to the adjuster, Ellie’s cell phone number was the only contact information that the company now had, and she’d come up with every excuse imaginable to prevent the adjuster from speaking with her grandfather. Most troubling of all, the Monroes had recently increased their coverage and moved their most precious belongings into storage. The adjuster had even hinted at a financial incentive. Something smelled, and it wasn’t smoke.

Asher was making notes on his computer when his secretary buzzed him. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he hit the intercom button.

“You heading home, Barb?” A fifty-something grandmother raising a grandson, Barbara was adamant about leaving the office by five.

“In a minute. There’s an Ellen Monroe here. She says it’s important that she see you but promises she’ll only take a few minutes of your time.”

Asher sat back in his chair. Well, well. Ventured right into the lion’s den, had she? Reaching forward, he shut down the computer and monitor.

“Send her in. Then get out of here and have a good evening.”

“Will do. See you tomorrow.”

He tightened the knot in his gold-striped tie, spun his tan leather chair to face the door and waited, hands folded. As the sound of footsteps on the polished oak floor in the hallway grew louder, Asher’s heartbeat sped up. He told himself that it was his normal reaction, the old fire-in-the-belly response to a challenge. The instant Ellie appeared in the doorway, however, he knew that he was kidding himself.

Wearing a dark purple pantsuit over a rose-pink blouse, she looked absolutely lovely. She also looked distinctly uncomfortable. Intending to use that discomfort to his advantage, he found a smile and rose.

“Just who I wanted to see.”

“Oh?” she said in surprise, her face lighting.

Nodding, he waved her over then watched as she folded down neatly into one of the chairs before his desk. She tucked a small handbag into the space beside her.

“Why did you want to see me?” she asked.

Sitting, he regarded her steadily. “Tell me why you’re here fir—”

“You should know that we can’t pay you,” she blurted, suddenly looking hopeful and somber at the same time.

Asher paused, concerned. He didn’t like to think it, but this information could support the idea that the Monroes had a financial motive for setting fire to their house.

She sighed, gulped and sucked in a deep breath, all telltale signs of a less-than-truthful client. Which, he reminded himself, she technically was not; rather, her grandfather was his client.

“Even with the insurance money,” she said, “I can’t imagine how we’ll pay for the repairs to the house. Granddad had already sunk every penny of his savings into the renovations before the fire. I don’t know what we’ll do now.” She went on to list numerous expenses that must evidently come before his fee.

It might be true that the Monroes were strapped for cash, but he knew a convenient dodge when he saw one, and his curiosity was now piqued. Ellie Monroe was actively attempting to derail the insurance settlement, and he meant to find out why.

“My aunts have essentially asked this of me,” he told her mildly, “and when I work for family I never take—”

“But we’re not family,” Ellie protested, “and you can’t go around working for nothing! It wouldn’t be fair. You have your own bills to pay, after all. I understand that.” She bowed her head, the very picture of stoic acceptance. He didn’t buy it for an instant.

Frowning, Asher leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the edge of his desk. “There’s no need for you to worry about my bills, Ellie.”

“So you’re going to do this pro bono?” she demanded, sounding miffed. “Isn’t that for charities and such?”

“Not necessarily.”

While she sputtered about fairness and good faith and half a dozen other things he didn’t follow, he mulled his options. He could throw her out—she wasn’t his client and therefore had no say in his employment. On the other hand, her reasons for derailing the settlement could range from merely misguided to serious malfeasance. And, because she was not his client, he had no way to protect her in either case. He decided he would do his best to keep her out of trouble. She was his sister’s friend and a tenant at Chatam House, which meant that he had represented her as well as her grandfather.

His decision made, he pulled open a side drawer, took out a receipt pad and flipped it open. “If it will make you feel better,” he interrupted, “then by all means, pay me.”

“But I just told you that—”

“How much cash do you have on you?”

For a long moment, she said nothing. Asher sat back in his chair, enjoying the moment. For once, he had reduced Ellie Monroe to speechlessness.

“What?” she finally squawked.

“How much cash do you have on you?” he repeated slowly.

Frowning, she pulled her purse into her lap. “Seven or eight dollars, maybe.”

“Let’s make it a buck, then,” he said, leaning forward to scribble out the receipt. “No, two. One for you, one for your grandfather.” He made certain to write both of their names on the correct line. After tearing the receipt out of the book, he tossed the pad back into the drawer and nudged it closed.

“You can’t mean to represent us for two dollars.”

“It’s that or nothing,” he retorted with a shrug. “You’re the one who wanted to pay me. Call it a retainer, if it makes you feel better.”

Frowning, she reluctantly laid two crumpled dollar bills on the desk. He swiftly traded the receipt for them and slipped them into his shirt pocket. “That takes care of that.”

She made a face. “Look, even if your aunts did drag you into this, I don’t expect you to knock yourself out settling our little insurance claim, not for two bucks.”

He smiled. “I have a question for you.” He folded his arms atop his desk blotter. “Why are you trying to get me off this case?”

Shock flashed across her face, followed swiftly by guilt. “I—I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tell me what you’re hiding.”

“What makes you think I’m h-hiding something?” she hedged, averting her gaze.

“This isn’t my first day on the job,” he pointed out, hardening himself against those suddenly woeful eyes. “And you’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying!”

“You’re stalling the insurance company,” he accused in his most lawyerly voice. “Why?”

Biting her lip, she shook her head. “You don’t understand.”

“I’m trying to, because I can’t help you if I don’t know why you’re doing this!” He leaned toward her. “Is it your goal to remain at Chatam House indefinitely?”

She broke, blurting, “I only want my grandfather and your aunt to have a chance to get together!” She quickly clapped her hand over her mouth.

“I knew it!” Asher cried, smacking a hand against the desktop. The lawyer in him crowed, even while the annoyed nephew was exasperated.

But Asher Chatam, who had known Ellie for quite some time, was worried.

He now had at least a part of the truth.

He wasn’t at all sure, though, that he wanted the rest of it. Because he wasn’t sure that he could protect her—not if her foolishness was as great as he feared.

Chapter Three

She had told him! She had told Asher of her deepest hope, despite Dallas having warned her that he would be appalled, even offended, at the very suggestion of Odelia and Kent rekindling their romance. Ellie suddenly feared what else she might tell him if he pressed hard enough.

“I need to know everything about the fire, Ellie,” he said in a soothing voice that she dared not trust, not after the grilling she’d just endured. “Tell me about that night.”

Dismay filled her, followed quickly by irritation that she’d let herself be cornered like that. She shifted in her seat, crossed her legs and hemmed and hawed before finally telling the story.

She and her grandfather had moved a quantity of furniture into storage to make room for the workmen who were renovating their seventy-year-old house. As the work progressed, they had replaced one room’s furnishings with that of the next, swapping out contents as the necessary renovations were completed.

“They did the roof first, then moved inside, starting upstairs,” she told him. “They were ready to move downstairs to the bedroom that had been my grandmother’s, so we took her antique French Empire bed suite to storage that night. It’s easily worth more than everything else in the house put together, and Grandpa takes good care of it, calls it part of my legacy.”

Asher’s brown eyes regarded her intensely. “Go on.”

Ellie took a deep breath and explained that she and her grandfather were still trying to fit the bed suite into the rented space without damaging it when Dallas had arrived. Asher’s brows rose as she repeated the story that Dallas had told her. Out jogging that evening, Dallas had stopped by the Monroe house on impulse to discuss a date Ellie had gone on the previous night. Dallas had ostensibly seen the fire through the front window. She waved down a passerby, who happened to be Garrett Willows, the gardener at Chatam House, as he drove down the street on his motorcycle.

Willows had called 911. The Fire Department had arrived within moments and put out the fire a short while later. That was apparently when Dallas remembered that Ellie and her grandfather were moving furniture into storage that night. Willows had offered to take her there so she could break the news in person. That was also when she’d called her aunts, who had immediately offered sanctuary.

“And that’s all there is to it,” Ellie said, not quite meeting his gaze.

“And how did the fire start?”

She gulped, then made herself look at him, noticing that as she did so his gaze dropped to her lips. “Apparently a can of paint remover spilled, then a hot lamp tipped over, the one we always left on when we were away from the house at night.” She shrugged and looked down at her hands. “I don’t know how it happened in an empty house. Someone said there was a loud noise, like a car backfiring nearby.”

“And you think something like that could have knocked over a can of paint remover and a lamp?” he asked skeptically.

“There could have been a collision at the track yard,” she insisted. “The switching lane is just a few hundred yards from the house. It isn’t used much, but when it is, we can feel it, almost like the ground is moving.”

“But if your theory is correct,” he mused, “then the paint remover had to be open when it tipped.”

“The workmen sometimes just set the cap on the neck and didn’t screw it down until they were done,” she told him. “They warned me about an open can more than once when I came into the room where they were.”

Asher leaned back in his chair. “Plausible,” he admitted, but his tone implied that he found it just barely so.

He stroked a fingertip over the cleft in his chin. “You, ah, mentioned going on a date the previous evening.”

Ellie blinked at the change in subject. “What about it?”

“Just wondering if you’ve broken anyone’s heart lately.”

She scoffed, laughing. “Hardly.”

“There hasn’t been anyone special then?”

“I wish,” she quipped. “What there have been are a lot of first dates, emphasis on the word first, as in not many second dates.” She wrinkled her nose. “I just don’t seem to find any keepers, if you take my meaning. Dallas says I’m too picky, but I notice that she doesn’t have a steady boyfriend, either.”

He smiled then abruptly sobered again. “By any chance, might one of those first dates have been with Garrett Willows?” he asked carefully.

Ellie blinked and frowned, shaking her head. “I never met him before that night. Why?”

“I’m just trying to understand the overall situation.”

“But I’ve told you what happened.”

“You put forward a supposition,” he pointed out, “but you’ve as good as said that you don’t really know what happened.”

She slid to the edge of her seat and laid a hand on his desktop beseechingly. “Look, however it happened, it wasn’t malicious.”

Asher beetled his brow. “And how do you—”

“It just stands to reason,” she said too quickly. “I mean, it’s not as if we have enemies.”

“Then who set the fire, Ellie?”

“I don’t know!” she shot back. And she didn’t. Not for sure. “No one! It was an accident.”

“Did you arrange that fire to promote a romance between our relatives?” he demanded.

She gasped. He suspected her? Here she was trying to protect his beloved but harebrained sister, and he would put the blame on her? Indignant, she rose to place both hands on his desk. Leaning forward, she brought her face close to his, so close that she could smell the minty freshness of his breath. “I had absolutely nothing to do with that fire!”

“Nothing?” he asked skeptically.

“Zip,” she declared flatly, punctuating her denial with taps of her forefinger against his blotter. “Nada. Nil. Zero. Zilch. I didn’t set it! I didn’t cause it! I didn’t have anyone else do it! I didn’t know it was going to happen. I still can’t believe that it has!”

After a very long moment, Asher relaxed back in his chair. “I had to ask,” he said, as if that excused all.

Sighing, Ellie dropped her head. He believed her. He believed that she had nothing to do with the fire, and in that moment, fool that she was, that was all that mattered.

Asher still had serious questions, but he felt sure that whatever had happened, Ellie had not purposefully caused the fire at the Monroe house. Deeply relieved, he smiled. She blinked and smiled back. For a long moment he couldn’t look away. Then another thought came to mind. Though she might not have been responsible for the fire, she was certainly guilty of meddling in other people’s lives.

“So you didn’t start the fire, but you’re not above using it for your own purposes,” he accused, frowning.

She dropped down onto the edge of the chair again. “My grandfather taught me that God doesn’t let anything into the lives of His children without a reason, and getting together two people who care about each other seems like a pretty good one to me.”

“Please,” Asher scoffed. “Odelia and your grandfather haven’t had feelings for each other in fifty years.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Even if they did have feelings for each another, I would discourage them from entering into a relationship at this late date. It isn’t sensible.”

Ellie gasped. “You can’t be that cold!”

That, surprisingly, stung. Coldness was what his ex-wife, Samantha, had accused him of when her tears had not moved him. Perhaps if she had not employed them after making angry demands, he would have been more amenable. Perhaps she wouldn’t have left him then. Perhaps his wouldn’t have been the first divorce in his family. He blocked further thoughts on the matter.

“I’m simply pragmatic,” he refuted, keeping his voice level. “Two people the age of your grandfather and my aunt ought not become entangled romantically. It’s just not wise, fiscally, emotionally or in any other way.”

Ellie narrowed her wide, violet eyes at him. “Just because they’re older, you think they don’t deserve to be happy? How hard-hearted can you be?”

Asher felt his temper begin to spike. “I never said they don’t deserve to be happy.”

“Just that they should ignore their feelings for each other!” Ellie exclaimed.

“You don’t know that they have feelings for each other any more than I know they don’t!” he pointed out.

“Well, we won’t know whether they do or not if we don’t give them a chance to find out, will we?”

“What difference does it make at this point?” he demanded. “They’re past the point of contemplating children or building a financial future together.”

“Love and marriage are about more than children and finances! It’s about companionship and emotional support.”

“Oh, please! It’s not as if either of them is living a lonely, barren existence. Aunt Odelia has her sisters. Your grandfather has you.”

“But what about tenderness, satisfaction, the fulfillment of a heart’s desire?”

Asher rolled his eyes. “Believe me, it is entirely possible to live without those things. In some ways, it is even preferable.”

Ellie fell back into her chair, staring at him with those breathtaking eyes. To his horror, tears welled up. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” she told him in a soft, trembling voice.

He gaped at her, his chest tightening, and felt the urge to rush around the desk, slip an arm about her shoulders and apologize. Then he realized that she’d manipulated him exactly as Samantha had always done. His anger abruptly turned outward again, though he did his best to subdue it with reason.

“Sad?” he echoed. “But that’s just what I’m trying to tell you. Life without romance is not necessarily unhappy. In fact, it can be infinitely more comfortable. Believe me, I know.”

“You poor thing,” she whispered, her expression melting into compassion. “Who was she? Who was it who broke your heart?”

Asher’s jaw dropped as his ex-wife’s face flashed before his mind’s eye. He saw her on their wedding day, resplendent in her white dress, even then, impatience and disappointment stamped on her face. He had ignored that, knowing that he had been less engaged in the planning and process of the wedding than she would have liked. He’d told himself that once he finished law school and passed the bar, things would settle down, but he’d soon realized that she expected more than he could ever deliver, more time, more attention, more emotion. He remembered the contempt on her face the day that she’d declared him hopeless and asked him to leave their apartment.

Quickly banishing the memories, Asher told himself yet again that the divorce had been the best thing. The marriage had been the mistake. At least he and Samantha had seen the error of their ways before they’d brought children into it. God had taught him a valuable lesson with the failure of his marriage—that his career and personality would leave him neither the time nor the inclination for love and romance.

He had since come to find that such things were not necessary. In fact, given all the acrimonious divorces that he’d seen, Asher did not understand why any mature person entertained notions of romance.

“You misunderstand,” he began, reclaiming his composure, only to have Ellie interrupt.

“God can heal a broken heart, you know,” she told him gently.

“Yes, of course, but—”

“But you must allow Him to do it,” she counseled. “You must be willing.”

Exasperated, Asher muttered, “It’s not a matter of—”

“Because He surely has some lucky woman picked out for you,” Ellie plowed on, not allowing him to complete so much as a sentence. “She’s waiting right now, the one woman in the world who will treasure everything about you.”

He lifted his eyebrows at that. “Oh, really?” he quipped with equal parts intrigue and ridicule.

She nodded, smiling. “She’ll admire all your sterling qualities.”

“Sterling,” he mimicked, amused now. She was beginning to sound like his aunts. Obviously, the old girls were rubbing off on her. “I’ve always wondered. What exactly is a ‘sterling quality’?”

She sat back in her chair as if surprised that he had to ask. “Well, in your case, confidence, kindness—”

“You told me I was hard-hearted a moment ago,” he pointed out drily.

“I was wrong,” she admitted with ease. “I said that without thinking, before I knew you’d been hurt.”

He opened his mouth to tell her that he had not been hurt but he found he couldn’t quite make the words come out.

“A hard-hearted man would not take on a case just because his aunts asked him to. Plus, you’re intelligent and good at what you do, successful, respected, honest and you obviously value family. That’s all very important to women, you know. And, of course, you’re handsome.”

“Handsome,” he repeated, realizing only belatedly that he was starting to sound like a parrot.

“The graying at the temples is very distinguished,” she went on, tilting her head. “Though it’s not really gray, is it? It’s more of a champagne color, I think. Very unique.”

He suddenly couldn’t think of anything sensible to say. “I, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Um…thank you.”

She beamed so brightly that her whole being seemed to shine. His lungs locked, refusing to allow air in or out. Then she ducked her head and confessed, “You have gorgeous eyes.”

The reality of the situation slapped him fully in the face. She was flirting with him! His world tilted, leaving him clinging to the very edge of reason. Abruptly, he saw himself falling into that sanity-stealing violet gaze, and his every instinct demanded that he flee to safety. He was halfway to his feet when she bounced up, declaring that her grandfather was waiting for her at the pharmacy across the street.

“Ah.” Not exactly an intelligent observation, but it would have to do. He threw an arm toward the door, wordlessly inviting Ellie to take her leave.

She rose smoothly and walked toward the door. He hung back, snatching his jacket from the rack and throwing it on. His overcoat followed that, yet he somehow managed to catch up with her in the doorway.

Pausing there, she turned and lifted a dainty hand to brush across his striped tie. “Just think about what I said,” she whispered before moving off down the hallway.

Asher stared at her retreating figure for a long moment before he shut his eyes. No, no, he must not think about her…uh, about what she’d said. What had she said?

The door in the waiting area opened and closed, signaling that she had left the premises. He sagged against the door frame, shaking his head and sucking in huge drafts of air.

What on earth was going on? He had sworn off the fairer sex, and he’d been perfectly happy in his solitary existence. Besides, he couldn’t be attracted to Ellie Monroe. Not only was she now officially a client, she was twenty-three, too impulsive, too talkative, too…everything!

Especially too pretty.

Why, the woman was downright dangerous. Oh, she might look as innocent as lambs and sweet enough to decay teeth, but that woman was poisonous to the male population, and henceforth, he told himself sternly, he would not forget that fact. He would be on his guard—stern, disciplined, wise—just as a man in his position ought to be.

But something told him that being on his guard might not be enough to combat the charms of Ellie Monroe.

Mentally kicking herself with every step, Ellie descended the stairs outside Asher’s office to the ground floor below. She loved these old art deco buildings, but she saw nothing of her surroundings as recriminations piled on, crowding out everything else.

Could she have made a bigger fool of herself? She should have realized that Asher was not handling this case for the money. He was doing a favor for his aunts. Most likely, he would not have taken on the situation at all except at their behest. Informing him of her and her grandfather’s limited means to pay had probably even insulted Asher, and that was the last thing she’d wanted.

To make matters even worse, she had shown her hand. He knew that she wanted him to drop or stall the settlement and why—or partly why. Hopefully, he would be satisfied with that.

The saddest revelation of all, though, had to do with Ash himself. The very idea that he had given up on romance broke her heart, for him and for all the women out there who begged God on their knees for such a man, herself included. As a Chatam, he would be a responsible, fiercely loyal and faithful Christian husband, much like her beloved grandfather. Ellie liked to think that her own father would have been such a man, too, but Chart Monroe had died in a helicopter crash while on a training mission with his military unit when she was only ten years old. His death had driven Ellie’s unhappy grandmother into bitterness and her spoiled mother into paroxysms of self-pity.

Ellie had soon learned that just as she could not depend on her mother or grandmother to help her through her father’s loss, neither could she make up for his absence, so she had clung to her good-natured grandfather. Not yet thirteen when her querulous grandmother had suddenly died, Ellie had naturally turned to him for support and comfort during their mutual time of grief, and that, her mother had declared before packing up and disappearing, was just where she belonged.

Her mother’s abandonment had hurt, but leaving Ellie with her grandfather was perhaps the greatest kindness that Sonia had ever given her daughter. Ellie owed so much to that wonderful old man. For years, he had bravely smiled in the face of criticism and coldness from his wife. He had been as devastated as she by their son’s passing, perhaps more so, but somewhere along the way, Kent Monroe had learned to make his own happiness. He had taught Ellie to do the same. Just once, though, Ellie wanted her grandfather to actually have his heart’s desire, and she wasn’t about to apologize for that, not even to Ash, who had obviously allowed his own disappointment to warp his judgment about such things.

Pushing through a heavy glass door, Ellie stepped out onto the sidewalk of the downtown square that framed the Buffalo Creek courthouse. Pausing to toss on her jacket, she spied Lance Ripley coming toward her.

She had done her best to avoid Lance after their date on Valentine’s Day. It was not an easy task. As coworkers, they taught in the same building, but while she loved teaching and enjoyed children, Lance, she had discovered, despised both. He had told her bluntly that he would continue to teach only until one of his unlikely inventions sold, the latest of which was a backpack containing an air bag. Ellie shuddered at the idea of school hallways filled with exploding air bags as children did what came naturally, bumping, shoving and jabbing each other.

Lance called out to her even as she quickly turned in the opposite direction. “Ellie!”

Sighing inwardly, she resigned herself and put on a smile before slowly facing him. He strode up to her, hunching inside his rumpled trench coat. His tall frame seemed to fold in upon itself as if unable to support the shock of wheat-blond hair that sprouted from his scalp, too thick to part or comb down without a proper styling. One of those men who could have been truly handsome with just a bit of attention to the details of grooming, he had once struck her as a bundle of possibilities. Now, he represented every dating disappointment she’d ever experienced.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” The pale blue eyes that pinned her from beneath the line of a shaggy unibrow seemed oddly calculating, but she forced a tight smile anyway.

“Hello, Lance. I’ve been, um, busy.”

“Not too busy for me, though, I’m sure,” he insisted, sliding an arm across her shoulders.

Ellie stepped aside, frowning at his familiarity. They’d shared a single date, for pity’s sake, and she’d regretted it long before their dinners had arrived. He’d asked her out a full week in advance, and she’d been happy to accept. She’d dressed carefully, twisting up her hair and donning one of her favorite dresses, only to find that he hadn’t even bothered to make reservations. After driving all over town, they’d wound up eating burgers in a joint frequented primarily by loud teenagers while he droned on and on about his invention. She’d avoided his good-night kiss after that and his calls ever since.

“Actually,” she told him, “this is not a good time. I’ve got to run. Sorry.” She attempted to step away, but his hand shot out and fastened around her arm.

“Now, hang on,” he said, frowning.

Ellie glanced around meaningfully, but Lance seemed not to realize that they were on the verge of a very public scene. “Please let go of me.”

“You’ve been avoiding me for the past week or more,” he accused, as if she had not realized that fact, “and I want to talk.”

“Lance, I don’t have time for this,” she began firmly, but he cut her off.

“Those old ladies you live with, the Chatams, they might be interested in investing in my safety pack. I didn’t get a chance to meet them last time, so I thought I could come by sometime soon and do that.”

He’d picked her up at Chatam House for their date. Thankfully, the Chatam sisters had been out at the time; otherwise, he might have hit them up for investment funds right then and there! Alarmed to think that he would try to use their tenuous connection to importune the Chatams, Ellie glared up at him.

“Absolutely not! My grandfather and I are just guests at Chatam House. We’ve only been here for a couple of weeks. I wouldn’t feel comfortable having my own company come over.”

“Huh,” he said, as if the niceties of such things had never occurred to him. “But I’m not really company. We’re dating.”

“No, Lance, we’re not,” she stated flatly, drawing herself up straight. “And I really have to go.”

Scowling, he gave her arm a shake. At that precise moment, Asher pushed through the door of the building and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Barely glancing at Lance Ripley, he walked over, calmly took Ellie’s arm in his, breaking Lance’s grasp, and turned her toward her grandfather’s pharmacy.

“Excuse us,” he said over his shoulder, propelling her down the sidewalk. “Mr. Monroe is waiting.”

Stunned, Ellie glanced back at Lance. He brought his hands to his hips and glowered but did not seem inclined to follow. “I’ll phone you,” he called, as if that alone would prompt her to take his calls when she had not done so thus far.

“You can try,” she muttered, swinging her smile up at Asher. She couldn’t help a tiny thrill of appreciation. It really was rather gallant, the way he had swooped in and swept her away.

My hero, she thought with a melodramatic, inward sigh. If only she could believe he’d meant something personal by it. But of course, given his feelings about romance, that was out of the question. Entirely.

Chapter Four

Of all the stupid, ill-advised things to do! Asher scolded himself sternly, all but shoving Ellie Monroe along at his side. He glanced down at her worshipful gaze and inwardly groaned. If he was not mistaken, the girl had a crush on him already, and he had just added fuel to that fire. Nothing could come of it, of course. He was old enough to be…well, fifteen years her senior.

A decade and a half.

Good grief, he’d been learning to drive when she was born! But did that stop him from riding to her rescue like a knight of old? Nooo.

Yet, what else could he have done? He had come down the stairs intending to turn to the back of the building and walk right out into the alley where, as usual, he had parked his SUV. Then he’d caught sight of Ellie and that man through the front glass. Within moments, Asher had realized that the idiot had put his hands on her and that she was not particularly welcoming the familiarity. He hadn’t really thought at all after that. Before he’d even known what he intended to do, he was doing it.

“One of your ‘first dates,’ I assume?” Asher muttered.

“A first and only date,” she answered.

“He seemed anxious for a repeat performance.”

“But not for the reason you may think.”

“Oh?”

“He wants your aunts to invest in one of his inventions.”

Asher stopped short of the corner and looked down at her. “Inventions?”

“A backpack with an air bag.” He blinked slowly at that. She made an expression somewhere between a grimace and a grin. “To guard against pedestrian accidents.”

“Pedestrian accidents,” he muttered, shaking his head. Glancing back over his shoulder, he ushered her forward once more. “Doesn’t exactly take a hint, does he?”

“He’s still there?”

“Afraid so.”

Thankfully, the light changed before they reached the corner. Asher all but pushed her across the street, and they wound up in front of the door to her grandfather’s pharmacy. The lettering on the front window read, “Monroe’s Modern Pharmacy and Old-Fashioned Soda Fountain.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Nodding, he glanced back down the street, frowning. “Maybe I’d better have a word with our inventor.”

She caught him by the arm before he could turn away. “Uh, why don’t I treat you to a root beer float, instead. He’ll leave after we go inside.”

Asher lifted his eyebrows. “A root beer float? I haven’t had a root beer float since…actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a root beer float.”

“Well, it’s about time you did, then,” she told him, pulling him through the door with her.

He went along because, really, what else was he going to do? Dig in his heels like a recalcitrant four-year-old?

Redolent of peppermint, the shop spread out in a straightforward manner, with a single cash register and short counter at the front perpendicular to the door. Rows of products ran horizontally through the center of the store, providing a clear line of vision from the glassed-in prescription counter at the back.

“Hey, sugar! Be with you in a minute,” Kent Monroe’s gravelly voice called out.

“It’s okay, Grandpa,” Ellie answered, tugging Asher toward the candy-striped counter along the far wall. “We’re going to have a treat.”

“Help yourselves.”

It had been ages since Asher had parked himself on one of those small, round stools at the soda bar. He usually visited one of the specialty coffee shops on the square these days. Something about those red vinyl-covered seats edged in chrome and fixed atop a stationary metal pole made him feel silly. Still, he sat when Ellie motioned him to it. She rounded the corner and slid behind the counter.

“Now, let’s see,” she said, looking around her, “maybe you’d prefer something other than a float. Say, a cream fizz or a sarsaparilla?”

“Really?” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter. “A sarsaparilla? No, I don’t think so.”

“Well, then?”

“Maybe you’d better choose.”

She smiled. “A float it is, but a very special one.”

He watched doubtfully as she squirted a measure of dark syrup into a tall metal cup, added a firm scoop of vanilla ice cream, blended the ingredients and then divided the resulting sludge between two tall, fluted goblets. She flooded the goblets with cola from one of the fountain taps, forming an impressive lather on each. Plucking two straws from a container, she shoved them into the goblets and carried both around the counter, where she took a seat next to Asher, facing backward.

“A cappuccino root beer float,” she announced, plunking his down in front of him. Hanging her elbow on the counter, she took a long pull on her straw then drawled in a thick, syrupy voice, “For the sophisticated palate.”

Asher didn’t know whether to be amused or wary. He took a careful sip and arched his eyebrows, surprised by the rich flavor. “Mmm, that’s good.”

“It is,” she agreed, spinning around on the stool so that they faced the same direction, “and terribly addicting. I limit myself strictly to five a week.”

He sputtered a chuckle around his straw. “You’re kidding.”

“I couldn’t get through that door back there if I had five of these a week. A girl can dream, though, can’t she?”

“Is that what you dream of?” Asher asked offhandedly, helping himself to a napkin from a dispenser.

“No, not really,” she answered, suddenly serious. She stirred the drink with her straw, drawing languid circles in the thick foam. “I dream of what every woman dreams of. Husband, home, children. Romance.”

“Romance,” he echoed sourly, with a shake of his head. “Romance will wreck the other three, if you’re not careful.”

“Is that what happened to your marriage?” she asked softly. “She wanted romance to go along with the home and husband?”

That came surprisingly close to the truth—so close, in fact, that Asher heard himself say, “Life is not romance. It’s a lot of hard work and, if you’re very blessed, part pleasure.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s all I’ve ever had time for.”

“But what about other things, like children?”

“We didn’t get that far,” he said tersely, “but I can’t imagine that adding kids to the mix would make room for romance.”

“I think your definition of romance is too narrow,” she told him. “You’re talking about grand gestures of the flowers-and-mood-music sort. Sometimes romance is just knowing that you’ll be together at the end of the day. It’s wanting to be together even when the demands of life necessarily separate you.”

“According to her, the ‘demands of life,’ as you put it, was the only part that I was any good at.”

“Maybe she wasn’t any good at some of her parts, either.”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, shooting Ellie a surprised look. “She seems to have done okay the second time around.”

“Maybe she has more in common with her husband this time, or maybe he doesn’t have to work as hard as most. A wife has to be supportive of a hardworking husband.”

“Even if it means giving up what she wants and needs?”

“Why would it?”

“Maybe he just doesn’t have time for her. What then?”

“Then he doesn’t really care for her.”

He stared at Ellie, his worst fear laid bare.

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