# The Reluctant Bride

Kathryn Alexander

UNWILLING TO WEDWith her generous heart and dazzling smile, beautiful Micah Shepherd was Rob Granston's dream come true. The handsome attorney knew that Micah felt drawn to him, too. But why did she avoid him at every turn? Micah hinted at a tragedy that had torn her family apart. But Rob suspected untold secrets remained hidden in her heart.Despite her strong faith, Micah seemed to be searching for a deeper peace. With his own faith faltering, Rob wondered if he could help her overcome the past. Yet he couldn't imagine the future without Micah as his wife…

## Table of Contents

Cover Page

About the Author

Title Page

Epigraph

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Copyright

## KATHRYN ALEXANDER

loves to write, and the publication of her first book, The Reluctant Bride, is the realization of a dream, an answer to a prayer and proof that a book can be written piecemeal, in small portions of time.

She writes inspirational romance because, having been a Christian for many years, incorporating the element of faith in the Lord into a romantic story line seemed like a lovely and appropriate idea. After all, in a society where love for a lifetime is difficult to find, imagine discovering it, unexpectedly, as a gift sent from God.

Married to Kelly, her own personal love of a lifetime, Kathryn and her husband have one son, John, who is the proud owner of the family's two housepests (not a typo), Herbie the cat and Copper the dog.

Kathryn and her family have been members of their church for nearly five years, where she co-teaches a Sunday school class of active two-year-olds. She is now a stay-at-home mom who writes between carpooling, baby-sitting and applying bandages, when necessary.

## The Reluctant Bride. Kathryn Alexander


www.millsandboon.co.uk

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

-Psalms 23:1

To my husband, Kelly, who continues to give me

the happiest years of my life (may there be many

more!), and to our son, John, for his many hours of

playing cars on the library floor close to the word

processor while I typed my first book.

## Chapter One

“I thought you said Michael Shepherd was here.” The dark-haired attorney directed his half statement, half question to the receptionist, but his eyes lingered on the only person seated in the lobby: a young, pretty woman with auburn curls pushed casually over her shoulder, and her nose buried in a magazine. She looked up at the mention of the name.

“And this,” the lawyer stated matter-of-factly, “is definitely not a Michael.”

“It's Micah Shepherd,” she explained, returning the magazine to the coffee table and rising from her chair. “M-I-C-A-H.”

A darkening gaze surveyed her briefly. “Witness to the Winslow accident?”

“Yes,” Micah responded. “I received a letter asking me to come in to answer a few questions.”

“Yes, I sent the letter. I'm Rob Granston.” He smiled as he shook the slender hand Micah extended toward him.

Rob Granston appeared much like Micah's friend Carole had described. Tall, yes, just as Micah needed to match her own height of five-eight, and his eyes were the gentle blue Carole had mentioned. His hair, coal black, looked soft and fine, but it was that wide, welcoming smile that his mouth curved into so easily that concerned Micah the most. Micah had come to the law offices today only because she felt it was her duty as a citizen. She had no intention of falling for this guy, no matter how “right” her friend claimed he would be for her.

“My client and I appreciate your taking the time to come in. Not everyone agrees to be interviewed when they're named as a witness to an automobile accident,” Rob stated.

“I think it's my responsibility to tell you what I know about it. Will Mrs. Winslow be here this afternoon?” Micah asked.

“No, she's been hospitalized with back injuries,” he responded as he directed her down a hallway. “First door to your left,” he instructed, and they entered a large office decorated in deep, almost oppressive hues of brown and rust, with bulky furniture strategically placed throughout the room. Accustomed to the brightly colored, open spaces of a classroom, Micah found her surroundings slightly overwhelming.

“I apologize for the mix-up about your name. I believe the letter I sent was mistakenly addressed to ‘Michael’ Shepherd,” Rob noted. “When Mrs. Winslow gave us the information, there was obviously some misunderstanding.”

“It's all right,” Micah replied. “When you have an unusual name like mine, you get used to that.”

“I do need to ask a few questions. Please, have a seat, Miss Shepherd. It is ‘Miss’?” Rob watched her sit down in the leather chair nearest the desk.

“Yes,” Micah said with slight hesitation. “It is.” She placed her small canvas handbag on the floor and silently prayed this meeting would not last long.

Rob took a seat behind his desk and from the clutter off to the side, he pulled a legal pad, the Winslow file and a pen. Looking up, he found Micah staring out the window.

“Twentieth floor,” she commented.

“Yes.” Rob glanced toward the window that had captured Micah's attention. “The view is the best thing about this office.”

“The skyline is beautiful,” she remarked, “but this room is so—” She stopped and looked toward his curious gaze. How did she manage to make such blunders?

“Dark? Dreary?” he suggested.

“Well, yes, but—”

“That's okay,” he interrupted, the corners of his mouth lifting in genuine amusement. “I've thought the same thing many times. We're planning to redecorate soon.”

Micah smiled, too, a smile of relief.

“Go ahead. Take a look.” Rob nodded toward the glass and leaned back in his chair.

She rose from her seat and approached the window where she scanned the scenery below. It was a beautiful spring day the view encompassed—a view of the capital city in which she had lived for the past two winters, gray and icy, and two pleasant springs, summers and autumns. Surveying the variety of structures on the other side of the glass, she commented, “This would make a great painting.”

“Are you an artist?”

“Yes,” Micah said, “but it's my substitute teaching that pays the bills.” She paused. “I've been in high-rise buildings in downtown Columbus, but I've never seen a lovelier view than this.”

“Neither have I,” came Rob's response, low and disturbing.

Micah turned, her green eyes colliding with a warm, interested blue gaze that had not been focused on the Ohio skyline. Clearing her throat nervously, she returned to her chair. “I guess we have an accident to discuss.”

“There's no hurry,” Rob replied, studying the faintly freckled face of the woman seated across from him. “You're my last appointment for the day.”

“I really don't think I'll be much help to you,” Micah began. “I'm sure you'd like to have a good witness for a P.I. case like this, but—”

“You said ‘P.I.’ You're familiar with personal injury cases?”

“A little.” Micah hesitated. Two blunders in five minutes. Maybe she could break her own foolish record. All she longed for now was the conclusion of this interview and an open door. “I told Mrs. Winslow when she took my name and number the night of the accident that I wouldn't be a good witness.”

Turning a pen over and over in his hands, Rob asked, ‘What makes you less than a good witness?” Then he smiled. Almost.

“A witness has to actually see something to be called a witness, and I didn't see anything.” Micah looked down at her off-white cotton slacks and the multicolored striped shirt of neutral shades. Carole was right, she realized. This outfit was all wrong. With this guy she needed sweats and a good pair of running shoes.

“Mrs. Winslow seems to think you saw everything.”

“You see, I was pulling out of the supermarket parking lot when I saw that big yellow car of Mrs. Winslow's going west on the street in front of the store. There was another car coming—”

“Going east?”

“Yes, and just as they approached each other, I sneezed.” Micah shrugged. “Of course, my eyes shut for a moment, and when I looked up, the two cars had already crashed.”

Rob's mouth curved into that smile Micah liked far more than she wanted to admit. He scribbled something on the legal pad in front of him. “Sneezing would have closed your eyes for only a second. Surely you saw something that—”

“But it happened several times. I'd purchased a mixed bouquet in the store's floral shop that night, and I guess I was allergic to some of the flowers.”

“What kind?”

“Carnations, daisies…I don't recall exactly.” Micah frowned. “Why?”

“Just curious,” Rob responded quietly. “You did speak with Mrs. Winslow that night. Did you explain any of this to her?”

“I tried to tell her. I usually shop for groceries on Thursday evenings and so does Mrs. Winslow. I didn't even know her name until the night of the wreck, but I would recognize her big yellow car anywhere. I always get out of her way.”

Rob leaned back in his chair. “Get out of her way?” The humor vanished.

“Yes,” Micah replied. “She drives like a maniac. That's why I wanted to come in for this appoint ment, to tell you how dangerous her driving is.”

Rob folded his bands together. “I'm beginning to see why you are less than a good witness.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Granston. It would highly surprise me to find out that the accident was not Mrs. Winslow's fault. Anyone who drives as badly as she does should have their license revoked. Maybe you could do something about—”

“Miss Shepherd,” Rob said, “my client is in the hospital with back injuries that may prove to be serious. We're not here to discuss the revocation of her driver's license.”

But Micah persisted. Mrs. Winslow's driving ability, or the lack thereof, was mainly what had prompted her to make this appointment today. That, and her own curiosity. What made this stranger the perfect man for her, as her friend had proclaimed at least a dozen times? “But you're in a position to do something about this,” she insisted. “Trying to win a case against the other driver, undoubtedly the victim here, isn't fair. Now that you know how badly Mrs. Winslow drives, maybe you could talk to her.”

Rob stood up, bringing Micah's plea to an abrupt end. She was being dismissed, and she knew it.

“Thank you for coming, Miss Shepherd. I do appreciate your time and your honesty.”

“I am being honest. Mrs. Winslow is dangerous behind the wheel of a car, and you'd be doing the public a great service by keeping her off the road.”

“I'll take your comments into consideration,” he said calmly.

Micah did not like attorneys. None of them. And she wondered now why she had ever agreed to meet with this one. The clock on the wall behind her chimed, and Micah glanced down at her watch.

“My bus,” she said. “I must go or I'll miss it.”

Rob opened the door for her, and ushered her out of the office and down the hallway. An uncomfortable silence loomed between them as Micah rummaged through her purse in search of change while walking toward the exit.

“Do you ride the bus often?” he asked.

“Only when I'm having car trouble,” she replied and paused, looking up at his serious expression. “So I guess the answer is yes.”

“If you're too late for your bus, I could call a taxi--”

“No, thank you,” she said quickly, a little too quickly. Micah did not have money for cab fare, and she was not going to let this irritating young attorney offer to pay.

“It's too bad Mrs. Winslow isn't here. Perhaps she would have offered you a ride home,” he suggested with the mischievous slant of his mouth brightening his otherwise dark features.

“I'd rather walk,” Micah responded. The tone she had intended to be sharp somehow softened as she stared into his eyes.

“Yes, I suspect you would,” Rob remarked with a quiet laugh. “I'll be leaving soon. If you'd care to take a chance on my driving, Spring Blossom Avenue is not far out of my way.”

Spring Blossom Avenue. Her street. “How—”

“It's in your file,” he answered. “I dictated the letter to ‘Michael.’ Remember?”

“Thanks, anyway, but I can catch the bus.” She started to leave. Part of her wanted to rush away from this situation, but her feet seemed firmly planted in the doorway, reluctant to move. “I'm sorry I couldn't help with your case.”

Rob shrugged as if it was of no consequence. “You were honest,” he commented as that smile slowly faded. “I have a feeling that's all you ever could be.”

Honest. That's all she dared to be. The past had been difficult enough to put to rest. Micah had no plans to complicate her future. She stepped through the exit, letting the door fall shut behind her, and hurried away from the suite of offices and the young attorney she would not soon forget.

“Well? What did you think?” Carole asked the moment Micah opened the front door of her apartment to let her best friend enter. “Did you talk to him?”

“Yes. He's nice enough. Come to the kitchen, and I'll get you some lemonade.”

“And good-looking? Didn't you think he was adorable?”

“Adorable, no. But he has a nice smile.” Too nice, Micah thought

“Come on, Micah. Lighten up! Rob Granston is the man for you, and I've known it since the day I met him. He did such a great job of handling the purchase of my tanning and hair salon—”

“I know, I know,” Micah stated with a laugh. “I think you've mentioned that a time or two.”

“And he's handsome and intelligent and funny and successful—”

“Okay, what is this? A commercial?”

“He's nearly perfect, Micah. I'd be interested in him myself if I didn't think of you every time I saw him. I'd feel like I was trying to take something away from you,” Carole explained. “And think of what a strange chain of events has brought you two together! Maybe this is God's plan for your life. Isn't that what you're always looking for?”

“Really, Carole,” Micah began as she pulled a pitcher from the refrigerator. “I think I can figure out God's plan for me, and I don't think it will be revealed through car accidents and appointments with attorneys. Be serious.”

“I am. I mean, who would have thought that ‘Old Yeller’ would finally crash into some poor, unsuspecting soul, and you're the only witness!”

“I really wasn't a witness,” she said as she retrieved two glasses from the cupboard. “I saw very little. I told Mrs. Winslow that very thing the night of the accident when she asked for my name and address, and I told the same thing to Mr. Granston this afternoon.” She dropped several ice cubes into each glass.

“Mr. Granston? Come on, Micah. His name is Rob.”

“And her name is Mrs. Winslow, not Old Yeller.” Micah reminded her friend as she handed her a glass of lemonade.

“Don't get self-righteous on me. You've called her Old Yeller plenty of times yourself when you've seen her coming.”

“That was before I found out her name and before she ended up in the hospital with an injured back. She's no longer just the terrible driver of that big yellow car. She's a real person with real aches and pains and real problems—”

“And a real cute lawyer,” Carole added before taking a sip of her drink.

Micah sat down at the kitchen table and tasted the lemonade she had poured for herself. “Anyway, I told Mr. Granston—”

“Rob. His name is Rob.”

“We didn't get that friendly,” Micah insisted. “You're the one who's dated him.”

“A very casual luncheon date. Nothing to be jealous of.”

“Jealous!” Micah exclaimed. “I'm not—”

“Listen, I've gotta go,” Carole interrupted. “I've gotta be back at the shop for a seven-o'clock shampoo and set.” She grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “Thanks for the lemonade. I'm sorry you and Rob didn't get off to a better start.”

“There's nothing to start, Carole. I made an appointment like the letter requested, I answered his questions and left his office. End of story.”

“That's what you think,” Carole responded emphatically as she waved a quick goodbye before adding, “if I have my way, this is only the beginning.”

## Chapter Two

“Meet me there at noon.”

“Carole, I have a ton of work to do. Are you sure we can be in and out of that place in an hour?” Micah held the telephone receiver between her shoulder and ear, wiping flour-covered hands on a dishcloth as she spoke to her friend.

“Positive,” came Carole's quick response. “It's a good restaurant. Great food, fast service.”

“Okay,” Micah answered. Baking needed to be done and her neglected painting stared at her from the corner of the workshop, but she was getting hungry. “We'll need to hurry.”

“No problem. Everyone in there will probably be in a hurry. Lots of business and professional people from downtown eat their lunches there. Lots of them.”

“You're late,” Carole observed aloud as Micah rushed into the crowded restaurant lobby over an hour later.

“I know, I know.” Micah adjusted her skirt and blouse quickly. “I had to wait for the pies to come out of the oven.”

“Pies?”

“Shepherd?” The hostess summoned them. “Party of two?”

“Yes,” they replied simultaneously.

“You gave my name?” Micah asked.

“I always do when I make reservations for us. Shepherd is easier to spell than Zabotrowski.”

They followed the hostess, weaving their way around tables, small and large, toward a booth along the wall. They slid into their seats and each received a menu.

“Would you like something from the bar?” the hostess inquired.

“No, I don't drink,” Micah answered.

Carole shook her head. She did not care for anything, either.

They were assured their waitress would be along in a moment to take their orders and were left to review the menu.

“All you need to say is, ‘No thanks,’ Micah. You don't need to tell every hostess in central Ohio that you don't drink,” Carole muttered. “Surely God doesn't expect that from you. I mean, it's not even one of the Ten Commandments. Now, tell me, why were you baking pies?”

“For the school bake sale tomorrow. The kids are trying to raise money for a trip to Washington, D.C.”

“Everyone? The whole school?”

“Just the fourth and fifth grades will be going. That is, if they can raise the money.” Micah closed the menu. “I think I'll have a salad and a bowl of vegetable soup.”

“Well, I'm starving so I'm going to have the turkey-bacon club, a side salad and… what kind of pies did you bake?”

“Apple, but they're for the school,” Micah reminded her friend.

“Then I suppose I'll order some dessert.”

“Unless you want to buy one for a donation. Of course, I don't know how good they'll be. I haven't baked since last year—”

“Christmas, maybe? Remember? You baked two pumpkin pies at the cabin that weekend?”

“Oh, those.” Micah covered her face with a hand. “Don't remind me.”

“They weren't that bad. We ate them.”

“We had to. It was either that or no dessert,” Micah recalled.

“Well they might have been better if you had used the frozen crusts like I suggested.” Carole placed her menu on the table.

“I really wanted to bake my own pies, Carole. Taking something out of the freezer and putting it into the oven, it just doesn't seem right calling it your own.”

“Why not? I do it every evening. Out of the freezer and into the microwave. Beef Stroganoff, chipped beef, chicken A la king…”

“That's different.”

“So how much for a pie? I mean, even if it's not great, at least it's a pie. There won't be anything that vaguely resembles one of those coming out of my oven in the foreseeable future. How much do you want?”

“Six dollars?” Micah asked more than stated.

“Sold,” was Carole's reply as the waitress approached the booth.

With their orders placed, Micah glanced at her thin gold wristwatch. Grateful it was Friday and she had no teaching assignment today, Micah planned to spend the afternoon working on the painting she had started months ago: a little church in the country. Her long, slender fingers tucked a stray wisp of auburn hair behind her ear.

“Do you think ‘living right’ has anything to do with having great hair?” Carole asked, her words slicing into Micah's thoughts.

“What are you talking about?”

“You have the natural curls I've always wanted. Is it a gift from God for being good or something like that?”

“If I thought it would get you into church on Sunday, I'd be tempted to say ‘yes.’”

“And tell a lie?” Carole quipped. “Surely not.”

Several people walked past their booth, but Micah paid little attention to them. She had just picked up a bread stick from the basket on the table when she heard Carole's greeting.

“Hello, Rob! What a pleasant surprise!”

Rob. Micah quickly placed the bread stick on a saucer and picked up her napkin to wipe her fingers.

“Carole? It's been a long time since I've seen you,” the distinctly male voice responded.

“Yes, it has. You know Micah Shepherd, don't you?” Carole's words bubbled with enthusiasm as she motioned toward Micah.

“Yes,” he replied, the slightest hint of a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. She noticed Rob's eyebrows lift as his gaze met and held hers. “We've met. How are you, Miss Shepherd?”

Micah smiled in response. “Fine, thank you.” In some unexplainable way, she was both pleased and not pleased to see him again. So why was her heart pounding so loudly in her ears?

“I didn't realize that you and Miss Shepherd were friends.” He spoke to Miss Zabotrowski, but his eyes remained firmly fixed upon her auburn-haired companion.

“Would you care to join us?” Carole offered.

Rob glanced at a nearby table. “Thank you, but I'm meeting someone for lunch, and I'm running late, as it is.”

Micah exhaled a quiet sigh of relief before asking, “How is Mrs. Winslow?”

“About the same.” Rob's piercing blue gaze burned through her as though silently questioning the motive for her inquiry and forcing Micah to look away. “It was nice to see you again, Carole, and you, too, Miss Shepherd.”

Miss Shepherd. His formality iritated her, exactly the way he'd meant it to. Micah watched him turn and walk away, but not too far. He sat down at a table close by with an attractive brunette. Micah crunched into the bread stick.

“What's with you two? Just because you're not a good witness for Old Yeller doesn't mean you and Rob can't be friendly,” Carole snapped.

“We're not friends,” Micah replied, staring into the bowl of soup that the waitress set before her. “Mr. Granston is an attorney, I was a witness—a poor one—and that is the sum of our relationship.”

Carole poured extra dressing over her salad. “Are you kidding? Did you see the way he looked at you? He couldn't take his eyes off you.”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“It's true.” Carole lowered her voice to a healthy whisper. “It was absolutely intense.”

“Eat your salad and mind your own business, Carole,” Micah warned softly before taking a drink from her water glass. He had looked surprised to see her again. Surprised, that was all. Wasn't it? She glanced toward the nearby table. The brunette was involved in some animated conversation, and Rob was being appropriately attentive.

“I'm just glad he's here today, even if he is with that dark-haired beauty. When I made the reservations, I was afraid I might have been wasting my time.”

“This was intentional?” Micah placed her spoon on the table. “You assumed Rob would be here?”

“Rob?” Carole smiled. “I thought it was Mr. Granston?”

“Don't change the subject. You did this on purpose.” Suddenly the meal didn't seem quite so inviting. “What if he knows why we're here?”

“Now you're the one who's being ridiculous. He's a lawyer, Micah, not a psychic. How could he possibly know my reason for inviting you here?”

Carole was right. He really couldn't know, Micah reasoned. “Is this where you had lunch with him?”

“Yes, but it was a business luncheon. I've told you that—”

“I'd really like to go home, Carole. My appetite seems to have disappeared.”

“Leave without eating? What would he think if he saw us running out of here without having our lunch?”

Micah hesitated. “All right, you win. Let's eat and then go right away.”

They gradually worked their way through their meals, Carole a little more happily than Micah because Micah had trouble keeping her eyes from straying to the table that Rob and the brunette occupied. The last time she glanced up, the woman had disappeared—to the ladies’ room, Micah supposed—and Rob's eyes rested directly on her. She smiled, a feeble little smile, in response, and looked back into her half-empty salad plate. The sooner she could get out of here, the better.

“I'm finished,” Carole finally announced as she placed her napkin on the table, pulled her wallet from her purse and summoned their waitress to the table. “We'd like our checks now, please.”

“They have already been taken care of, miss,” the waitress stated.

“But we haven't seen them yet,” Micah interjected.

Carole added, “There must be some mistake.”

“There's no mistake. The gentleman you spoke with earlier paid the bills.”

They both turned, but Rob was gone.

“Well, well, well,” Carole mused aloud as they walked out of the dimly lit restaurant into the sunshine, warm and bright. “So that's the sum of your relationship.”

“He obviously bought lunch for you,” Micah insisted while walking toward Carole's car. “You know him and—”

“And I think he was buying for the pretty redhead seated at my table.” Carole pulled open her car door, laughing. “If he caught a glimpse of your car on the way into the restaurant, he probably took pity on you, assuming that you couldn't afford to eat in a place this nice.”

Micah shielded her eyes from the glare of the sun with one hand. “There's nothing wrong with my old station wagon,” Micah replied, though she knew only too well that there was plenty wrong with it

“No, nothing other than the fact that it's old and it's a station wagon.” Carole glanced around the parking lot. “Where did you leave it?”

“I had trouble trying to start it,” Micah admitted, “and I decided to walk. So Rob couldn't see my car even if he wanted to. Obviously, the lunch was for you.”

“Do you want a ride home, or do you prefer standing in this hot sun arguing?”

The air felt sticky, and Micah was anxious to get home. The ride sounded good.

“I have a pie to pick up, remember?” Carole added.

The bake sale and the entire weekend flew by in a blur. So much so that Micah barely thought of her encounter with Rob Granston. Except for once or twice, late at night, just before she fell asleep. Deciding against calling to thank him for lunch, she left that task to Carole. After all, he was Carole's friend. Calling would seem presumptuous, as if she was assuming he'd picked up the check with her in mind when, certainly, that had not been the case, she reminded herself.

Micah ran a brush slowly through her long curls and applied a touch of peach lipstick to finish her morning routine. Another rainy Monday. What an unpredictable spring, rainy sometimes, hot and humid others. But today Micah returned to a familiar school, and that brightened her spirits regardless of the weather. When two years of substitute teaching wore thin, she had gladly agreed to finish out the school year at Wellspring Elementary as a replacement for a teacher on maternity leave. It surprised Micah to discover how much she enjoyed greeting the same young faces each day. Maybe she would consider looking for a full-time position soon. Maybe something permanent was what she needed in her life. She had already lived here for two years, longer than she had stayed in any other city since her eighteenth birthday. Columbus suited her, especially the German Village location of her apartment with its brick-lined streets and quaint buildings, and as long as the thought of leaving saddened her, she stayed.

Meow…meow…. Micah laughed lightly as she hurried toward the door and the pitiful noise.

“Poor baby.” She opened the door a few inches, enough to allow a multicolored cat to enter. “Mrs. Poe puts you outside every morning, rain or shine, doesn't she, Patches? How about some milk?”

Micah poured the liquid into a saucer, and then set it on the kitchen floor. Stroking the cat's damp fur, she heard that familiar purring begin. “There you go, babe. That should make you a little happier, but you're going to get fat having two breakfasts every morning. I know Mrs. Poe feeds you well.”

The morning paper cluttered the table where Micah had been reading it and eating toast, but one glance at the clock told her that the mess would have to wait to be straightened up until evening.

“Hurry, Patches.” Gathering her umbrella and books, Micah started for the door with her landlady's cat scurrying after her. It paused to rub against Micah's ankles and nearly knocked her down in the process. “Out the door, Patches.” She gave the cat a gentle shove with her foot, forcing the feline into the steady spring shower. “Sorry to rush you, but I've got to go,” she said and turned the key in the lock, twisting the knob to be certain it had locked securely.

“See you later, kitty.” Unexpected sadness rained down on her as surely as the light drops. She was twenty-eight years old, and all she had to come home to every evening was Patches…a cat that didn't even belong to her. Surely there must be something, someone more for her out there. Why didn't the Lord show her His plan for her life? she wondered again as she had done many times. She already knew what she couldn't do, but the whole city wasn't filled with attorneys, was it? Why couldn't she meet a pastor, a math teacher or a truck driver…?

Micah stacked her books on the front seat. Or why couldn't she be happy alone? She had been content with her life until recently. When had that changed? She leaned into the car, her eyes coming to rest on a painting placed there earlier. The little country church with a backdrop of a summer-blue sky—the same gentle blue of Rob Granston's eyes.

Suddenly, she knew when the contentment had vanished.

## Chapter Three

“This job fair is a wonderful idea, Angela,” Micah said to the young, dark-haired woman who taught in the next classroom.

“It's an annual event. I know the kids are rather young to absorb much about the different careers, but it's never too early for them to start considering the possibilities for their future.”

They walked toward the gymnasium. The children had been ushered into the gym immediately following their lunch period to view the Career Day displays set up there. Posters, pamphlets, booths with displays and even a miniature firehouse filled the area. Several firefighters, military personnel, a chef with baked goods to sample, a secretary with modern business equipment to demonstrate, a nurse and an airplane pilot were present, along with a martial arts expert who was practicing on mats in the middle of the floor. Numerous other occupations were represented, as well.

“I have three children,” Angela stated as they entered the crowded gym. “And they all, as young as they are, know what they want to be when they grow up. Nathan, my ten-year-old wants to be a doctor, David, my middle child, loves airplanes, so he's going to be a pilot, and Heather, well, she wants to be a teacher like her mommy.”

Micah was about to ask Angela a few questions about her children, when she noticed him. At school. In the gym. Smiling and walking toward her. She could hardly believe her eyes. But after reaching her, he leaned over and kissed the other teacher on the cheek.

“Hi, Rob. Thanks for coming,” Angela greeted him.

Micah stood speechless. How many times would she encounter this man? And what was he doing kissing Angela?

“Glad to help out, little sister,” Rob said as he studied Micah's confused expression. “So we meet again, Miss Shepherd.”

“Yes…I…” She remained at a loss for words, and he was looking at her as if it didn't matter.

“I am the official representative of the legal profession today. My sister couldn't con a judge into coming, so she settled for me.”

“Now don't tell lies, Robert. You know you were my first choice,” Angela commented as the three of them started walking through the tables and displays. “I'm surprised you and Micah know each other.”

“Yes, it seems rather strange to keep running into each other. Are you sure you haven't been following me, Miss Shepherd?”

“I could accuse you of exactly the same thing, Mr. Granston,” Micah quickly remarked.

“Perhaps, rightfully so,” he answered quietly, his disturbing gaze never wavering.

“So, tell me, Robert. How do you plan to compete with martial arts demonstrations and samples of the chefs cooking?” Angela inquired.

“Speaking of cooking,” Micah interrupted, “thank you for buying lunch the other day. It was very kind of you.”

“You're welcome,” he replied and then turned his attention to his sister's question. “I've set up a courtroom.” They moved to Rob's area of the floor and viewed what appeared to be a mock trial in progress. “We've selected twelve impartial jurors, after explaining the words impartial and juror to them. And we have a judge, a prosecutor and a defense attorney. I put everything on hold until I could find you. I thought you'd like this.”

Angela was beaming. Obviously she did like it very much.

“What's the judge's name?” Rob asked the small, blond boy in the judge's seat.

“Sam Oleson.”

“The Honorable Sam Oleson presiding over this trial,” Rob announced. “And, ladies, we need an alleged criminal. Would either of you care to do the honors?”

Rob looked only at Micah as he spoke, and Angela laughed at the lack of attention. “I guess you're it, Micah.”

“No, thanks,” she replied, stepping back. “I have some other exhibits to attend to. I don't have time to be tried and convicted.”

The children responded enthusiastically. “C'mon, Miss Shepherd. Be the bad guy!”

“The ‘alleged’ bad guy,” Rob clarified as he reached for Micah's hand.

“No,” she stated quickly as she moved away from Rob and the “judge's” bench. “Angela will make a better bad guy for you.”

“Thanks a lot!” came Angela's response. “What a compliment.”

“We want Miss Shepherd! We want Miss Shepherd!” the children chanted.

“Hold it down, guys.” Rob said as he raised his hand to quiet down his group. “Miss Shepherd looks a little too honest to play a criminal.”

“I'll do it,” Angela intervened, apparently sensing Micah's nervousness. “I just hope I don't become a victim of type-casting.”

“Guilty! Guilty!” cried the young participants.

“What kind of jury are you?” Rob asked before laughing at the children's reaction to his sister.

Micah edged away from the scene, hoping to slip out unnoticed. Rob organized the children into the arrangement he wanted, but not without glancing up curiously at Micah as she walked from the circle of activity.

Micah rubbed her arms briskly as she fought the invading chill. Years had passed since she had been part of a courtroom setting. Time changes things, or so she had heard; but she was under the growing conviction that time did not change anything but pages on the calendar.

There were colorful displays and some rather plain exhibits, but they all received adequate attention from curious children in no hurry to get back to the classroom.

The martial arts expert drew the largest gathering of children. Oohs and aahs filled that portion of the gymnasium as the youngsters freely expressed how impressed they were with the performances. Micah watched for a few minutes, wondering how martial arts qualified for a Career Day exhibit. Not exactly a nine-to-five job, she considered. But then, neither was painting. She stopped at the small concession stand and bought a soda.

The elderly lady who had come for her family-owned bakery was a major attraction, and it only took a taste of one of the woman's hundreds of thumbprint cookies filled with strawberry jam to understand her popularity. But Micah ate a second, just to confirm her theory.

The afternoon slipped away, and soon the children were herded back to their classrooms by Angela, Micah and the other teachers for school dismissal. The bell soon rang and the children were “free.” At least that was the impression they gave as they burst from the confines of the long brick building and filled the sidewalks with skipping feet, endless chatter and an occasional word of profanity.

“Children,” Micah said quietly to herself. So few of them were the sweet, innocent kids they deserved to be at their tender ages. Many knew far more of the world's harsh ways and heartaches than their teachers, who had grown up in gentler decades. Micah closed the classroom window with a thud.

“Micah?” Angela stuck her head around the corner of the doorway, peering into the classroom. “Everyone is in a hurry to get out of here this afternoon. Are you ready?”

“Almost.” Micah rearranged a few books and flipped off the light switch. “What's the rush?”

“We all have to be back here at seven o'clock for a special meeting regarding funding cuts.” Angela's smile seemed a bit mischievous as she offered, “You're invited to attend.”

“No, thanks. Not attending that kind of meeting is one of the fringe benefits of being a sub.” She exited the classroom and walked down the hallway with Angela. “The gym is a mess. Will it be straightened out in time for your meeting?”

“Didn't I tell you? The meeting will be held in the cafeteria. They're leaving the displays in the gym until tomorrow afternoon. Career Day was such a success with the kids that the principal arranged for most of the volunteers to return tomorrow for a couple of hours.” They neared the front door.

“Rob is one of the only ones who can't come back,” Angela explained, disappointment obvious in her tone. “He has a hearing first thing in the morning.”

“That's too bad,” Micah said. “For the kids, I mean.”

“Uh-huh,” Angela said in agreement. “I didn't know that you and Rob knew each other. He's never mentioned you.”

“We met because of a car accident,” Micah told her. “He represents the injured driver, and I was supposedly a witness, but I didn't really see much.” Abruptly, Micah changed the subject “So Career Day was quite a hit with the kids.”

“Too much so,” was Angela's sharp reply. “Remember, I told you that my son Nathan wanted to be a doctor?”

“Wanted? Past tense?” Micah responded.

“He's giving up medicine for a career in karate.”

Micah laughed.

“This had better be just a phase he's going through,” Angela said. “I'm going to have his father discuss potential gross income with him tonight.”

Micah laughed heartily. “He's only ten years old, Angela. Give him time. How much could he understand about potential gross income anyway?”

“He'll know plenty about it by bedtime this evening. His future wife, wherever the poor child may be, should be out there somewhere praying that I can talk some sense into him.” Angela pushed open the door.

“See you tomorrow. Good luck with Nathan.”

“Thanks,” Angela responded as she left Micah standing in the doorway.

“You'll have to let your kids choose their own careers, Angela.”

“Not when they're eight and ten, I don't,” She waved as she neared her car. “Well, the kids are waiting for me, and I have a lot of 'steering in the right direction’ to do tonight…and for the next decade or so. See you!”

Micah pulled the door shut tightly, remaining in the building. Turning to her right, she walked down the hallway toward the gym and the side exit that led to the parking lot where she had parked her car. The building had cleared out quickly, and she hastened her pace a little as she continued down the long, empty corridor. Then she heard the comforting sounds of someone else in the building. Probably a janitor, she assumed. They worked later than everyone else normally did so they could lock up the school. Metal chairs that were being folded and returned to their rack made clanking, banging noises that reverberated through the gymnasium. She walked past the bakery display and the unattended office equipment of the secretarial exhibit toward the noise and the side door leading to the parking lot.

“Hello, again.”

Micah gasped at the unexpected voice.

“I didn't mean to frighten you,” Rob said as he folded the last chair.

Micah's hand was on her chest, feeling the rapid pounding of her heart. “What are you doing here? I thought everyone but the janitor had gone.”

Rob motioned toward the vacant floor space where his mock courtroom drama had played out. “I'm putting away the chairs and tables that I used today since I can't come back tomorrow.”

“Angela said you had a hearing in the morning.” She pushed her hair away from her face and adjusted the books that were shifting in her arms. “The kids really liked your presentation.”

Rob smiled, a lazy kind of smile. Micah noticed her heart continued to pound too quickly. And she was no longer frightened.

“Some of them seemed to get caught up in it. I think Wellspring Elementary School has several potential attorneys in it.”

He stopped talking, and Micah knew she should respond, but she had barely heard his comment, having been too busy studying the contrast between his black hair and blue eyes. The soft pastel of his pale blue shirt seemed to enhance the clear color of his gaze. After all, Micah reasoned, artists notice things like that. Don't they?

“You don't care much for courtroom drama, do you?” Rob asked.

“No,” she replied flatly. “I don't”

He was no longer smiling as he considered her serious expression, and he did not respond. Micah suspected he was waiting for her to elaborate, and since she had no intention of doing that, she repeated what she'd said earlier.

“You had a nice presentation, and the kids really did enjoy it. It's a shame you can't come back tomorrow and give more of them a chance to be part of the trial.”

“Maybe next year we'll try again,” he replied. “Maybe by then I can convince you to participate.”

“Hello,” came a voice from the other side of the military display. An elderly janitor stepped away from the booth out into full view. “How did Career Day go?”

“Very well,” Micah answered. “It's to be continued tomorrow, so at least you don't have to tear down the displays tonight.”

“It's a good thing, too, ‘cause I don't feel like doing much of anything.” He wiped beads of perspiration from his forehead with a handkerchief. “Too much lunch, I guess. Feels like a bad case of indigestion.”

“Let's get a seat for you,” Rob was saying as he reached for a folding chair. “You look pale.”

“Are you okay?” Micah extended a hand to grab the man's arm as he wobbled and then slumped to the floor.

“Are you all right? Can you hear me?” Micah knelt down, frantically shaking the man's shoulder.

Working quickly, Rob loosened the janitor's shirt and tilted the head back. He leaned near, watching the chest area that failed to rise and fall. Pressing his fingers against the man's neck, he searched for a heartbeat. “No pulse, no breathing,” he said. “Get his arm out of the way,” he ordered, and Micah complied. “He needs to be lying flat”

Micah's own heart raced wildly. Did people really die like this? In gymnasiums on warm Monday afternoons?

“Find a phone, Micah. Call for help,” he instructed then began the required breaths before starting compressions. Micah had taken CPR classes, too, but that had been six months ago. Maybe longer.

“Now, Micah, call,” Rob demanded. “One and two and three and…”

Micah heard Rob count as she ran across the gym toward a phone that she thought she remembered seeing in the kitchen. Grabbing the receiver, she dialed 911. The operator answered after the first ring. Confirm the location? There had been so many different schools she had subbed in this year. “Oh, Lord, help me remember…Wellspring Elementary Schooll Yes, that's it. It's on the corner of Oak and…something…I'm not sure…yes…it's a heart attack, we think…right, no pulse, no breathing… yes, CPR… Please hurry!” she added before ending the conversation. Running back to the south side of the huge gymnasium, her footsteps echoed off the walls in hollow sounds.

“Five minutes,” she said as she knelt beside Rob. “The emergency squad is on its way.”

After the next series of compressions, Rob stopped to check the janitor's pulse. “Still nothing.”

“I can help. I think I remember the two-man compressions,” Micah offered.

Rob nodded, and Micah leaned forward to give the next series of breaths. Less than five minutes later, help arrived. The counting and compressions continued until Rob and Micah were relieved by the rescue team and a pulse was reestablished.

Everyone acted promptly and precisely, and it took only a brief time to transport the man into the waiting emergency vehicle. Soon the squad pulled away, lights flashing, sirens blaring.

“We did it,” Micah said softly in near disbelief as tears filled her eyes. They stood, alone, on the steps outside the school building.

“Don't cry, Micah,” Rob offered as he placed an arm around her shoulders. “We did it. He's still alive.”

“Yes.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I can't believe I actually remembered what I was supposed to do, and did it!”

Rob smiled. “That's what the training is all about.”

“And you…you seemed so calm.”

Rob shook his head. “No, I'm just a good actor. I was as scared as you were.”

They turned and Rob moved his arm away from her as they walked into the gym.

“Have you used CPR before?” Micah inquired.

“No, but the senior partner at the law firm I'm with has a heart problem. He requires all staff members to participate in CPR classes every year. I think he's afraid of dying,” Rob commented with a wry smile while bending over to help pick up the papers and books Micah had dropped when the crisis began. “Some people are, you know.” He looked over at her. “You really did a good job today.”

“Thank you. I think I'll call the hospital tonight to find out how he's doing.”

After all of her belongings had been retrieved, they walked out the side door and entered the gravel parking lot. A sudden gust of wind caught Micah's hair and blew it around her face. “The station wagon is mine.” She pointed to her car while pushing back her hair.

He walked her to the old, well-worn wagon and opened the door for her. “May I ask you a personal question?”

Micah climbed into the driver's seat and looked up at him. “We just saved a man's life together. I guess that entitles you to one personal question.” She smiled.

“You have no husband or children…right?”

“Right.”

“So what does a young, pretty woman like yourself need with a vehicle that seats ten people?”

Micah turned around and pulled back a sheet that covered some of her art supplies. “People aren't what I'm transporting. I need room to haul these supplies and my paintings back and forth to the different art classes I teach and to the festivals where I work in the summer and fall.”

“Festivals? You travel around to festivals?”

“Yes,” she answered, and she draped the sheet back over her frames and other paraphernalia. “Windmill Days, Fourth of July carnivals, Scarecrow Festival…I've sold quite a few paintings that way, and I make some extra money on caricatures.”

“You're an interesting woman, Micah Shepherd,” Rob commented as he closed the car door for her.

“Thank you…I think,” she replied as she picked up her sunglasses from the dashboard and pushed a handful of auburn curls over her shoulder. He was interesting, too. Good manners, thoughtful, caring…

“Could I convince you to have dinner with me?” he asked.

His words might or might not, but those blue eyes definitely could. Sliding her sunglasses into place, the effect of his gaze was not quite as shattering. “I still think Mrs. Winslow drives likes a maniac.”

He smiled. “You're entitled to your opinion. Seven o'clock?”

Seven o'clock. After all, Micah reasoned, he had agreed to come to the job fair because his sister needed him there. He seemed harmless enough. What kind of man was this she was nearly ready to refuse? For heaven's sake, the guy even knew CPR.

“What do you like? Seafood? Steak? Chinese?” he asked.

“Pancakes,” she answered. They could have dinner. Just dinner.

“Pancakes?” Rob repeated with a frown darkening his expression. “That's what you want?”

“That's what I was going to have at home tonight. Pancakes and orange juice. I already owe you a meal for lunch at the restaurant. So will you join me tonight for pancakes?”

“Sounds good,” Rob responded.

“Seven o'clock?” she said.

“I'll see you then.” He waved, and then turned to walk away.

“You'll need my address,” she called after him.

“It's 793 Spring Blossom Avenue. The Winslow file. I have a good memory,” he replied.

Micah drove from the lot and watched his medium-size maroon car follow her a few blocks or so until he turned off on a path of his own. Micah thought briefly of the symbolism. Ultimately, they would go their separate ways. They had to; the choice was not theirs to make. But one dinner with her could not hurt his career or break her heart. Could it?

Micah turned onto a brick street leading through the Village and drove past the numerous shops, restaurants and offices that lined the familiar route to her apartment. Usually she enjoyed looking at the well-kept homes and remodeled brick buildings, but tonight her mind was on her nearly empty refrigerator and cluttered apartment. She hoped he really did like pancakes and orange juice because, except for a possible package of sausages and a bowl of tossed salad, pancake ingredients were virtually all she had on hand.

Her large station wagon took up enough space for two smaller cars, she thought as she pulled up to the curb. She shut off the engine and moved her parking permit from the dashboard to its place on the rearview mirror. Then she hurried from the car, through the iron gate and into her small but immaculate courtyard.

Her apartment was in the rear of the complex and quite secluded. Micah appreciated the privacy and quiet when she worked on her paintings. Sliding the key into the lock, she pushed open the door, hoping she hadn't left too big of a mess that morning. Reaching into the straw basket mounted just outside the doorway, she pulled several items of mail from the wicker container.

“Good evening, Patches,” she said to the cat who ran down the sidewalk to greet her. The pet rubbed around her ankles and had to be held back to be kept from entering the apartment.

A sigh of relief escaped her as she saw that the place was fairly neat. She placed the mail and her books on the end table beside her small floral-print sofa in the living room then went to the kitchen to gather up sections of the morning newspaper strewn over the table. Grabbing the coffee cup and saucer left from breakfast, she plunked them into the dishpan, and after checking the refrigerator for the items she needed and finding a package of sausage that she had hoped was there, she headed for the bathroom to shower and change. Then, right on time, the doorbell rang.

“Hello, again,” Rob said as she opened the door.

“Hi. Tulips?” she commented, admiring the bouquet he handed to her. “Thank you. They're beautiful, Rob, but a pancake dinner hardly justifies flowers.”

“We worked well together this afternoon, Micah. We have reason to celebrate. I hope I selected a kind you are not allergic to.” He paused. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Her soft casual dress had swirls of pastel colors making up its design. She knew it was lovely. That's why she wore it, even after a tenminute argument with herself about her choice. “The flowers are perfect Please, come in.”

Rob stepped into the living room. “Your apartment wasn't easy to find, tucked away in this little courtyard.”

“It is secluded. That's one of the reasons I like it.”

“I checked with the hospital,” Rob said as she closed the front door. “The janitor is doing better. He's in ICU, and his name is Donald Lacey.”

“And he's still alive. That's wonderful!” Micah exclaimed, so excited by the report that she nearly hugged Rob. But she caught herself in time and kept her feet firmly planted where they were. Suddenly, she felt awkward, standing there with him. “I'll start the pancakes. The sausage is nearly ready.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, thanks. The table is set, and the batter is made. Just make yourself comfortable.” Micah motioned toward the sofa, offering him a seat Then she disappeared into the kitchen. Pulling a large white vase from the cabinet below the sink, she filled it with water and the fresh-cut flowers and set it on the table.

Micah listened to the sound of several books being pulled from her oak bookcase and then, after a moment, being returned one by one.

“You have a nice apartment”

She looked up at the nearness of his voice. Rob stood in the doorway of the kitchen, watching her pour pancake batter onto the hot griddle.

“Thanks. It's small but I like it.” She pulled a spatula from the silverware drawer.

“Yellow must be your favorite color,” he commented as he glanced around the narrow white room accented with yellow curtains, yellow canisters and various other brightly colored kitchen accessories, including the yellow flowers she had stenciled across the top of the walls.

“Favorite color in general, but not a favorite in clothing.” She turned the pancakes. “All this red hair and yellow just don't mix.”

“I've yet to see a color that you wouldn't look lovely in,” Rob stated.

Micah's green eyes widened in surprise at his statement She looked over at him, meeting his steady gaze. “Thank you,” she offered quietly.

“No need to thank me,” he replied. “It's just a statement of fact.”

Micah returned her gaze to the browning sausage rather than look into his eyes. No one had ever said anything like that to her. At least, no one over the age of eight.

“I'll bet you've broken the hearts of quite a few little guys in your classes.”

Micah glanced up, and smiled. “One or two, I'm afraid.” She turned down the burner under the meat. “It seems easy for them to develop a crush on a substitute teacher.”

“I can understand that,” he commented.

Micah continued, “Anyway, it can sometimes be awkward.” Just as awkward as this moment in her kitchen with Robert Granston. “I'm usually left wondering if I handled the situation well.” When she stacked the first pile of pancakes onto a small plate, Micah accidently knocked the empty measuring cup from the counter and both she and Rob reached for it. But she was closer and quicker.

“I've got it,” she said quietly as they leaned together momentarily. They were so close, Micah felt his breath flow across her cheek, and for an instant she wondered if he was about to kiss her. But he only touched the softness of her hair that swung freely around her shoulders. Then he stood up, moving away from her.

“Dinner is almost ready,” Micah commented and returned to the job at hand.

Within a few minutes they sat down at the kitchen table. Then came the moment Micah knew would be difficult. It always was. Even after a decade of dealing with it. She bowed her head and offered a brief prayer, in front of this man she hardly knew. When finished, she looked up to meet his gaze and found nothing questioning or negative in his eyes. Only acceptance, and maybe approval, which was more than she expected. Micah smiled and passed the syrup, and they shared a late-evening breakfast.

“So, how long have you been a Christian?” Rob asked.

“Ten years. That obvious, huh?” she replied between sips of orange juice.

Rob smiled. “Well, you quietly prayed your way through Mr. Lacey's heart attack, and you audibly thanked God for our dinner, not knowing what my reaction would be. That's pretty strong evidence.”

“And just what is your reaction?” Micah asked.

“One of respect,” he responded as something cold—no, sad—flickered through the blue eyes that held her gaze too easily. His smile slowly faded.

“To give your life to God or not, it's a choice we all eventually make, Rob.”

“I've tried it, Micah. It didn't work for me.” Rob turned his attention to the coffee cup in his hand.

“What went wrong?”

He shook his head. “It would take less time to tell you what didn't go wrong.” His smile returned. “And I don't want to spend this evening talking about something unpleasant that happened years ago.”

So Micah left the subject alone, hoping… knowing that sometime they'd come back to it. In the meantime, Micah's school stories and Rob's tales of unusual cases kept conversation and laughter flowing freely throughout the meal.

“So when she asked me to come to the job fair, I couldn't refuse. I have a hard time saying no to my little sister,” Rob said as Micah poured a third, or maybe it was the fourth, round of coffee. She had lost count.

“It must be nice,” Micah said and took a sip from the cup she cradled in her hand.

“Having a sister to talk you into things?”

“Having a sister, period.”

Rob looked at her silently for a moment. “You don't have any brothers or sisters?”

“No. My parents weren't young when they had me, so I am their only child.”

“Then you must be very close to your parents,” he commented,

“Dad and I were close for a long time.” Her fingers moved instinctively to the heart locket that hung loosely around her neck today and most days, and Rob's eyes followed her movements. “But now…” she began, and then hesitated.

Rob studied her wary gaze and waited.

“…we're not,” she concluded with a half-hearted smile.

Rob started to respond, but then apparently changed his mind and returned his attention to the piece of gold jewelry Micah touched so lovingly.

“That's a beautiful locket. I think you've worn it every time I've seen you,” he remarked. “Was it a gift from him?”

“Yes, from years ago.” She cleared her throat nervously and attempted to move on. “Being an only child wasn't so bad really. I had lots of friends around when I was very young. But if I ever have any children of my own—”

“‘If’ you have children? You're a teacher. You must love kids. I'd think you'd want a whole houseful,” Rob remarked.

Micah stared at her empty plate. Now they were venturing into territory better left alone. Why did it have to happen so soon?

“I do enjoy children, but I don't know how I feel about a whole houseful of them.” She stood up and began gathering up the dishes.

“I'll help you,” he offered as he rose from his chair.

“There's no need.”

“You did the cooking. The least I can do is wash the dishes.”

“A compromise?” Micah smiled. “I'll wash, you dry.”

“Fair enough.”

Soon they stood side by side at the kitchen sink, working together for the second time in one day.

“I probably should tell you what happened with Mrs. Winslow and her maniacal driving,” Rob offered as he placed a cup in the dish rack.

“Something good, I hope. Not another accident?”

“No more accidents,” he stated. “She voluntarily gave up her driving privileges. You were only the first in a long line of people to express concern about Mrs. Winslow remaining behind the wheel of any vehicle. So, thanks for your honesty.”

“You're welcome,” she replied and handed him a clean plate. The conversation returned to brothers and sisters, and Rob didn't mind talking about his.

“That didn't take long,” Micah remarked while rinsing the empty dishpan. Then she switched off the light and they exited the small kitchen, moving into the more comfortable, but not much larger, living room.

“I haven't eaten pancakes since I had breakfast with my sister and her kids a couple of Saturdays ago.”

“I don't know Angela very well, but she's been very friendly to me.”

“She's great even if she does talk me into job fairs,” he conceded. “Is this your work?” Rob motioned toward a set of four small paintings hanging above the sofa. Each picture depicted the same covered bridge flanked on both sides by wooded areas, but each scene brought to life the heart of a different season. From windswept spring to the frigid blast of a winter snowstorm.

In answer to his question, she nodded.

“Micah, these are beautiful.” Rob studied the pieces. “It looks to me like you should teach art. To adults, I mean.”

Micah smiled. “I do. At the tech school some evenings.”

“Could I see more?”

“If you like.” Micah led him back through the kitchen to the rear door. Opening it, they entered a tiny workroom enclosed in glass. Micah switched on the light “This is another reason I keep this apartment. It's my favorite room.”

Rob glanced around the room, surveying the work on the canvases Micah had stored there. A ballerina in midair in soft pastels, a brightly colored hot-air balloon amid a shimmering blue sky, children laughing and playing on a merry-go-round, and several others including ocean and seashore scenes and some small, delicate works of flowers and birds. “These are wonderful…”

“Thank you.” Micah caught her lower lip between her teeth, restricting her smile.

“The kids in the playground and the ballerina…they look like they could walk right out of the pictures…and the ocean…it seems…restless.” He glanced at her with surprise evident in his eyes. “It all looks so real.”

“Thank you,” she said with a light laugh. “It's supposed to.”

“But these are all finished,” he commented. “What are you working on now?”

“An oil painting of an old white church that I discovered one day while I was driving through the country.”

Rob scanned the contents of the room, and not seeing the piece she'd referred to, he glanced up in question.

“I ran out of room in here. The painting is in the back room. I'll show it to you when it's finished,” Micah replied, instantly regreting the insinuation of a future for them. There could be none, and she thought she must be losing her mind even to consider it. She needed a change of subject, a change of mind.

“Do you go to church anywhere?” she asked.

“Not anymore,” Rob answered. “I accepted Christ when I was thirteen, Micah. I was active with the youth group, all the kinds of things you'd expect. Everything seemed great until my best friend, Nick, died. Then…it didn't seem so real anymore. I stopped going.”

“How did he die?” Micah asked hesitantly, not knowing if she should pursue this subject

“Car accident on a rainy night.” Rob checked the clock on the wall over Micah's easel. “It's nearly midnight. I had no idea it was that late.”

Neither had Micah, and she looked toward the timepiece. Midnight. So that's when it ended. Now she knew how Cinderella must have felt. This had to end. Now. Because the more she knew of Rob, the more she wanted to know. The longer they talked, the longer she wanted to talk. And this man, standing in the middle of Micah's paintings, was a man she could love. Easily. Maybe eternally.

“We both have to get up early in the morning. I should be going.”

Yes, Micah thought, you should. But she said nothing as she turned to walk with him to the front door. How could it be so late? Where had the evening gone? Micah swallowed hard, fighting back the words that threatened to flow from her.

They reached the entryway in silence, and when Micah reached for the doorknob, so did Rob. It could have been an awkward moment, but it was not. Rob's strong hand closed over Micah's as naturally as if he had planned it, his fingers linking through hers, warmth against warmth. Micah bit her lower lip gently as she stood facing Rob in the narrow entryway, wanting him to stay longer, wanting him to go. Dinner together. That's all it was supposed to be. Just pancakes and orange juice.

“Micah…” The tenderness with which he spoke her name calmed the rambling argument running through her head. “I want to see you again. You know that, don't you?”

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She knew. And if she knew, then he must know the attraction was mutual. And strong. And crazy.

“Rob, I don't think—”

“Dinner, tomorrow night?” he offered, overruling her objections. “I could pick you up around six-thirty?”

Dinner. It could never be just dinner again. Not with them. “No, I don't think…” What could she say? Micah had never been good at hiding her feelings and she respected honesty too much to really try. “Rob, it just wouldn't be a good idea.”

“I'll take you out for pancakes if you like.” He smiled. Just the way she knew he would.

“No.” She smiled back. “I've reached my quota of maple syrup for the week.”

“Then how about steak and a salad?” He squeezed, then released her hand and Micah wished he hadn't.

“Rob, you don't understand—”

“So, explain it to me.” He stepped out into the courtyard. “Tomorrow. Six-thirty.”

“It won't work. Let's not start—”

“We've already started, Micah. Let's see where it goes.”

Down a dead-end street. That's where it would lead them. But with this man, Micah suspected, it would be an interesting journey.

“You're the one who will regret this,” she offered quietly, truthfully.

“Tomorrow night We'll discuss this reluctance of yours over a meal. Then we'll decide whether or not it's valid. Fair enough?”

“You're a hard man to argue with,” Micah agreed with mixed emotions.

“I chose the right profession, didn't I?” Rob stated more than asked.

Micah cringed. Could he have possibly said anything worse?

Rob hesitated for a moment, standing just outside her door. “Thank you for tonight.”

Micah smiled and nodded. He was welcome, and he knew it.

Then he offered only a quiet “Good night,” and Micah watched him walk through the moonlit courtyard.

“You had dinner with him last night and you're going out again tonight?” Carole shrieked, and Micah held the telephone receiver away from her ear until Carole quieted down.

“Don't get too excited. We're going out to dinner and then we're going to discuss why we can't see each other anymore,” Micah said as she stared into the mirror above the telephone and applied blush to her cheekbones. “I've got to finish getting ready, Carole. He'll be here by six-thirty and I'm not ready. Could I call you later?”

“You'll be too busy to call me.” Carole giggled. “Forget that nonsense about not seeing him anymore. Hang on to this guy, Micah.”

“Carole—”

“What is it with you and lawyers, anyway?”

Micah froze, makeup brush in her hand. “Why do you say that?”

“That's it, isn't it? There's no other reason not to be crazy about him,” Carole responded sharply. “I know you don't like to talk about your past, but it's ridiculous to let Rob slip away because of something that happened years ago.”

“Carole, if you—”

“So you've been hurt by someone. Big deal! Who hasn't?”

“That was a long time ago, and it's not the only reason.”

“Was the other guy a lawyer, too? Do you not trust any attorneys?”

Micah remained silent for a few seconds, remembering. “He was a college student.” Her voice softened as she spoke, and she studied her frowning expression in the mirror. “I really don't want to get into this.”

“Maybe you need to talk about it. If not with me, with someone. I remember what happened when you dated Scott. Remember him?”

The government teacher. They dated for several weeks, until he was accepted to law school.

“The minute he started taking night classes, you stopped seeing him. And now Rob, how could you not like him…but you won't let it happen!”

Micah's grip tightened on the receiver, Saying goodbye to Scott had been easy, even after several weeks of dating. But Rob… She had spent only a few hours with him, and yet…

“Nothing is going to happen if you don't let me get ready for my date.” Micah attempted to speak in a lighthearted manner.

“Okay, okay. I'll shut up, but think about what you're doing. Think about Rob. About the present, the future, not the past!”

“I'll call you later,” Micah replied before replacing the receiver. And she wondered… Today… tomorrow… Could they be separated from yesterday?

## Chapter Four

“I'm really not hungry enough for a steak,” Micah commented as she reviewed the menu. “I think I'll have a salad with the sourdough bread.”

“That's all?” Rob closed his menu.

“That's plenty,” she replied. She wouldn't mention how much she had snacked during the afternoon.

“All right, Miss Shepherd.” He studied her, looking at her that same way he had in his office the first time they met. As if he wanted to say something but wasn't certain it should be said.

“Have we taken a step backward in time that I'm not aware of and returned to the days of ‘Miss Shepherd’ and ‘Mr. Granston’?”

“No, but you've barely said a word since I picked you up, and you're dressed rather businesslike,” he answered from across the table, glancing at what was visible of the bittersweet-red suit and blouse of oyster white.

It had been a deliberate choice. Micah wanted to have a nice evening, but not too nice.

“You don't like what I'm wearing?” she asked, looking down at her clothes.

“Your outfit accomplishes its purpose,” he stated with the firm line of his mouth curving into a smile.

“So you don't like it?”

“Oh, but I do,” he responded. “It's very professional. If you're ever called upon to represent someone in court, I suggest you wear it.”

Micah's eyes sparked at the sound of his stinging words.

“Then I think it would be appropriate for a meeting with an attorney.”

“This is not a meeting with an attorney,” he replied quietly. “This is a date…a date with a man who is very much interested in you.” He looked away, toward the waiter who approached their table, before returning his gaze to her. “I'm wondering whether your distrust is of me personally or of all men in general.”

“Would the lady care for something from the bar, Mr. Granston?” The question from the waiter sliced into their discussion.

“No,” Rob answered without asking Micah. “Thank you, anyway, Henry.”

The waiter nodded and left them alone again.

“How did you know that I don't drink? You didn't ask.”

“You don't, do you?” Rob responded. “It wouldn't fit with your Christian view of things.”

“That's true, but why didn't the waiter offer to bring something for you? You've given up your Christianity.” Micah's words sounded harsher than she had meant them to.

“I'm in here a lot, and Henry knows I never order anything from the bar for myself,” Rob explained. “I have a brother-in-law who's an alcoholic, and, well, it's not a pretty picture, Micah.”

“Angela's husband?” she asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” he answered and smiled. “It seems I couldn't save my little sister from all of life's heartaches.”

“It was never your responsibility to do that in the first place,” Micah commented.

“Spoken like an only child,” he said quietly.

Rob's remark hurt more than Micah would admit. She slid her menu over to him, and he picked it up, putting it with his as their waiter approached to take their order.