Missionary Daddy
Linda Goodnight

Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to

Linda Goodnight for her contribution to the

A TINY BLESSINGS TALE miniseries.

Contents

Acknowledgments

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Acknowledgments

A special thanks to my daughter, Sundy,

for sharing her experiences as a missionary

to Africa as well as her counseling expertise

with those suffering from anorexia and bulimia.

Also to fellow writer and former model

Terri Reed, and to another writing buddy,

Shirley Jump, whose years in the television

industry provided the finishing touches.

And as always, to the children of the world

who wait. I’m praying for you.

Chapter One

One year ago, Africa

“I’m going. Either with you or alone, but I’m going.”

A determined Samantha Harcourt ignored her driver’s coming protest and slipped into the back seat of the tiny European car. After three days on the South African coast, she’d seen nothing but the posh resort hotels along the ruggedly beautiful beaches. The real Africa was out there somewhere and she aimed to see it. Today.

Alfred, the ebony-faced driver, had driven her and the other models around the private beach areas rented by Sports Stuff Magazine for their annual swimsuit edition, but no one else had requested to go beyond the tourist areas. Even now, with the modeling shoot about to wrap and go back to America, the other models lounged on the white sand beaches, uninterested in the rest of the country.

“I may only be here once, Alfred. Please. I want to see the real Africa.”

The man sat like a stone at the wheel.

“I was instructed not to take you there,” he said, his accent an interesting mix of African dialect and clipped British tones.

Sam sighed and peeled off a hundred-rand note, offering it without further comment.

Alfred shook his head but took the money and cranked the engine.

Satisfied, Samantha sat back to enjoy the scenery, digital camera at ready. She wasn’t sure what to expect. Her life as a fashion model had taken her around the world and to many diverse places, but this was her first trip to Africa.

“Do you know a market where I can buy a ceremonial mask?” She collected masks of all kinds and would love one from this continent.

Alfred’s dark eyes flashed in the mirror. “I will get you a mask. The markets aren’t safe for tourists.”

Sam figured that was the best she could hope for. “I’d appreciate that, Alfred. Thank you.”

“We go back now. Yeah.”

She’d been warned that the crime rate was high in some areas, but…

“I want to see where the everyday people of Africa live.”

Alfred’s wrinkled brow deepened to cornrows, but he drove on.

Within ten minutes, she understood his reluctance. Wealthy mansions gave way to shanties—makeshift dwellings patched together with cardboard, tin, bricks and a hodgepodge of found materials.

Poverty, astonishing and terrible, spread out in a wide swath. Bony children played in the unending dirt with sticks and rocks. Adolescent girls carried water from muddy ponds while women hung meager laundry across strips of bowing rope or string. It was a scene of inexpressible squalor.

A deep sense of shame shifted over Sam, so profound that her stomach rolled. All she’d ever done was pose for a camera and look pretty. In her entire life, she’d done nothing that mattered. Yet she had so much, and these people had so little.

“We go back now? Yeah,” Alfred said again.

Sam turned horrified eyes to him. “No. Keep driving.”

Something inside her was stirring, some innate longing. Turning back now was out of the question.

In the distance, a ways from the bulk of the desolate township, she spotted activity of a different kind. Someone was constructing a building.

Leaning forward, Sam squinted toward the structure. Habitat for Humanity, perhaps? Did they work in foreign lands?

She pointed. “Take me there.”

“The American missionary.” Alfred nodded, this time approving her idea. “He is building a fine, new orphanage for the little ones.”

An orphanage. Children without families. Sam gripped the edge of the window; the inner churning grew worse by the minute. Her family hadn’t been that supportive, but she’d grown up with every material advantage. She could barely conceive of children with nothing to depend upon but the kindness of strangers.

She glanced down at her acrylic nails, safari shorts and designer top. A pair of gold bracelets—twenty-four carat speckled with costly gems—jangled at her wrist. Matching earrings dangled from her ears. Her tiny bag was Gucci, her sandals Prada. Her clothes and jewelry would probably pay for building that small orphanage. This morning the attire had been perfection, a reflection of the persona she cultivated. Now, the shallow trappings of a pampered life brought only shame.

Eric Pellegrino thought the African sun had finally gotten to him. Standing with a brick in one hand and a trowel in the other, he stared at the tall blond apparition stepping out of the tiny car. Dust swirled up around her, making the scene even more surreal. A mirage. That was what she had to be. Not the team leader who’d been felled by traveling sickness.

“Eric, Eric.” Amani, the six-year-old orphan boy who had long since won his heart, came running around the side of the building. His little brother, Matunde, only three, ran behind him. Amani pointed to the car. “Company. More workers.”

Both boys clapped their hands with glee and rushed the vehicle.

Eric figured he should close his gaping mouth and go rescue the woman before Matunde and Amani scared her off. Missions’ teams arrived every summer to help the orphanage on a short-term basis, mostly youth groups with little knowledge but great enthusiasm. This year they were adding on to the tiny, overcrowded orphanage.

One thing he’d learned after nearly six years in Africa, never turn down a gift or an offer of help. If she was here, she must be feeling better.

He was the one suffering from a sudden attack of breathlessness.

He handed the mudded brick to one of the teens and went to greet the newcomer. The orphans, always fascinated by a vehicle or company, swarmed the car. When several children wrapped around her legs, the woman bent low and hugged them. Eric’s heart bumped. Anyone who cared about the kids was automatically on his happy list.

His newest helper was tall and tan and willowy, pale blond hair slicked back from a clean, natural face into a thick ponytail. Elegantly groomed eyebrows arched above a pair of stunning silver-blue eyes that gazed at him with undisguised interest. With her delicate beauty and her fancy clothes, she looked as out of place as a princess at a mud-wrestling contest.

He, who’d learned the hard way not to be misled by exterior appearances, couldn’t stop staring.

Sure, she was beautiful, but the instant connection was more than that. It was as if he knew her already, as if he knew the things that would make her laugh…and cry, as if he looked into the face of his future.

With a shake of his head, he dispelled the odd sensation and stepped forward.

“I’m Eric,” he said. “Director here. These are my kids. Or rather the orphanage charges. I call them my kids.”

Smiling down at the children, the mirage untangled herself and offered a well-groomed hand. “I’m Sam.”

Her skin felt the way he’d known it would. Soft and pampered, but under-girded with steel, even if those fingernails wouldn’t last ten minutes. “Welcome to Ithemba House. Feeling better?”

She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”

Matunde and Amani already had her hands, tugging toward the structure.

“The mission’s director called. Said you were under the weather. International travel does that to a lot of people.”

“Oh. Right. Sure. I—” She looked around at the driver and then back at Eric. A strange expression, almost of decision, came and went. Eric understood. She wouldn’t be the first who was scared off by the sheer enormity of the problems he faced every day. But Eric hoped she would stay for more reasons than he could articulate.

Finally, she let the boys pull her forward. “So where do I start?”

Eric jerked his head toward the building. Even seriously overdressed for the task, the woman had grit. He liked her attitude. Ah, who was he kidding? Sam intrigued and attracted him. There was something very special about her. “Some of the other girls are around back mixing mud for the bricks.”

As much as he’d like to forget work today and spend it getting to know her better, they had a job to do. He figured a job away from him was the best place for lovely Sam.

“Okay,” she said. “Just a second.” With the boys in tow, she went back to the car and spoke to the driver. From the man’s expression, he wasn’t happy with his passenger, but he nodded and drove away.

Led by the adorable little boys, Sam joined the group of laughing, sweating teens at the far end of the orphanage. Though she’d never done construction work, neither had any of the other girls. And she was a master at faking it. With no regard to her clothes or her jewelry, she set to work. The workers were chatty, and quickly filled her in on their African adventure. Having only just arrived, they were from a church in Texas that supported the orphanage on a regular basis.

When she brought the topic around to the missionary, a couple of the girls giggled. One said, “Cute, huh?”

Sam only smiled but she had to agree. Eric was not only darkly handsome, he radiated a contagious charm and energy. She thought it was funny that he had mistaken her for one of these kids, considering she was nearly twenty-seven and they were all teenagers. But she let the misunderstanding ride, embarrassed to admit what she did for a living. He’d probably sneer if she told him. Compared to his work, hers was meaningless.

Stirring a bucket of a substance resembling white concrete, she glanced Eric’s way. At any one time, several small children swarmed around him, pulling on his legs and arms. Over and over, with infinite patience, he stopped whatever he was doing to acknowledge them. And she’d never seen anyone work so hard and laugh so much.

Eric was a very interesting man. And she wanted to know him better, if for no other reason than to understand more about the mission.

As he struggled to lift an oversized window into place, Sam saw her chance and hurried over to help him hoist one side.

“Looks like you could use an extra hand.”

“Thanks,” he grunted as together they shoved the framed glass into the open wall. “This window is bigger than usual but electricity here is iffy. We need the sunlight for the kids’ studies.”

“The kids go to school here?”

“Yep. No place else to go.”

Sam leaned her body weight against the window frame while Eric made adjustments. “How many kids live here?”

“Ten.” He used his fist to pound a corner into the tight space. “But as soon as these new rooms are ready we can take in twenty more plus two caregivers.”

She was horrified. “Are there that many orphans?”

“Not even a drop in the bucket to the number out there with no place to go.” He motioned with his chin. “Hand me that bag of nails, will you?”

Sam complied and found herself assisting him as he hammered the window into the wall. Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the idea of so many children alone.

“How do you do this? I mean, there’s so much need.”

“It’s tough sometimes, but I love what I do.” He wiped a muscled forearm across a face damp with hard work and summer heat. “Africa has taught me to trust God. Really trust Him. When we need something, He always comes through.”

Well, what had she expected? The man was a missionary. Sam, who wasn’t sure what she believed, had never been a religious person, had never been around any to speak of, though her sister Ashley had become a Christian after the birth of her son a couple of years ago. Sam was still curious about that turn of events.

“How long have you been here?”

“Nearly six years.”

“All that time.” She was amazed. Years without microwaves or hot showers or air-conditioning.

She took the extra hammer and tried to drive a nail. It bent double. “Do you ever go home?”

“I furlough at least once a year. Lately—” His face clouded for a second as if he wanted to share something worrisome. But instead he shook his head and laughed. “I see you’ve done a lot of carpentry work.”

Sam grinned. “Tons. Can’t you tell by my finesse?”

Eyes twinkling, the charming missionary flipped his hammer around to the claw end and extracted the nail with one fluid twitch of a powerful wrist.

“I know you’re a master craftsman and all,” he said, still grinning, “but let me show you the way we poor African missionaries hammer a nail.”

“I’m all ears,” she answered, extending the hammer. “Or maybe I should say all thumbs?”

Eric made a huffing noise in appreciation of her humor. Sam’s mood spiraled upward. She liked this guy.

“Strike with your arm, not your wrist. You’ll get more power that way,” he was saying as he leaned in from behind to demonstrate the correct way to hold a hammer.

“Where are you from, Sam?” Eric asked as they worked.

“Chicago. Virginia, originally. Why?”

He tilted his head. “You don’t exactly look like the missions type. What do you do back in Chicago?”

A frisson of embarrassment kept her from telling him. Her work was so superficial. “Just a job. Nothing special.”

But what Eric did was special. The most special work she’d ever witnessed. This man and his team of helpers were making a difference in human lives every single day.

Together they finished securing the window. A couple of teenage boys came around the building to inquire about lunch.

“The food bus arrives at noon,” Eric told them. “They should be here any minute.”

“Don’t you have food here?”

“Sure, but we’ll eat later. The food van is for the others.”

Sam didn’t recall seeing any others, but she didn’t argue on a day filled with interesting occurrences.

The sun was high in the sky and the heat scorching, much hotter than along the beach. Even though she was an exercise fiend, Sam doubted if she’d ever perspired quite this much. She pulled her damp cotton shirt away from her body, letting cool air rush in. She should be exhausted and ready to escape. Instead she felt an energy rush and deep satisfaction.

A white van chugged down the road, horn blaring in a jolly rhythm. Suddenly, the landscape erupted with humanity, mostly children. They came running from all directions, feet bare, clothes in pitiful condition, smiles wide, carrying containers of every sort from a regular bowl to a discarded lid.

The teenagers appeared as startled as Sam. Eric clapped his hands and motioned toward the awning being erected by staff members. The chattering children crowded in to sit on the hard-packed ground.

During the next few minutes, Eric, with children in his lap and hanging over his back, spoke to the group about Jesus’s love for them. The simple, sweet, spiritual message brought a lump to Sam’s throat. She hoped it was true. These precious babies needed someone big and strong to love them.

Two of the teenagers from the mission team presented a children’s song, urging the sea of faces to sing and clap. Laughter and energy rippled through the clearing. For all the despair, these people could still find joy, something sorely missing in her life most of the time.

A child no more than three had chosen Sam’s lap and cuddled close to play with her shining bracelets. Flies swarmed, the sun scorched and dirt was everywhere. But Sam was oddly content.

When the brief Bible lesson ended, a makeshift table was loaded with an enormous pot of porridge-looking stuff.

“Can you handle this?” Eric asked, offering the ladle to Sam.

“I may not be able to hammer but I can dip,” she said and was rewarded with his wide grin.

“I knew you were a talented woman. Today the dipper. Tomorrow the roof.”

Tomorrow. She didn’t know how to tell him there would be no tomorrow.

A sea of thin, hungry faces swarmed the table, bowls upraised, amazingly considerate of one another. Though clearly in need of food, no one pushed the other out of the way. Most even took their meager rations and headed home to share with other family members. When Sam heard that, she almost cried.

The rest of the group handed out slices of white bread while she filled containers. Eric worked beside the orphan children, quietly directing them to be of service to the others. Not a one argued or insisted on eating first.

Sam dipped until the pot emptied. Still the children came.

“We need more,” she said.

The van driver shrugged. “There is no more.”

With a sinking feeling, she scraped the remains into one final cup and watched with heavy heart as the latecomers trudged away empty-handed but uncomplaining. The message was clear: such was the way of life in Africa.

Eric appeared at her side and draped an arm comfortingly over her shoulders. He brought with him the pleasant scent of healthy, hardworking male. “You can’t let it get to you.”

Hot and sticky and sad, she stared bleakly at the last child ambling down the dusty road, empty container dangling from his fingertips. “Some went away hungry.”

“But many didn’t. You have to look at the good you’ve done instead of what you can’t do. That’s Africa.”

“Can’t we get more food out here?” She had money. She could buy whatever they needed.

“The town missionaries bring what they can every day, but they have people inside the city to feed, as well.”

She had to find a way to help. To make a difference in these precious lives. Maybe she couldn’t change things today, but some day…

“Come on,” Eric said. “Zola has lunch for the rest of us inside.”

Food held no appeal for Samantha. These children needed to eat far more than she did. She pinched the skin on her upper arm, dismayed to find a fleshy strip of triceps. The negative voices started up inside her head. Too fat. Ugly. Worthless.

With the skills she’d developed over several years of coping, she pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on feeding the orphans. According to the doctors, her weight was finally at a semi-healthy level, whether she believed it or not.

Along toward sunset, a van rattled down the road to take the teenagers back to their base camp inside the city.

Sam didn’t go with them.

“The driver who brought me is coming back later,” she said.

That was fine with Eric. He could use her help getting the kids washed, read to and down for the night. And he enjoyed the prospect of spending a little one-on-one time with the sweet and lovely Samantha. Broken fingernails aside, she’d proven herself to be a real trooper all day.

“I’ve never seen anything quite so brave and wonderful as these children,” Sam said later as they settled outside in the evening with bottles of clean water. Even the water struck her as more significant than ever before. Here, water was at a premium all the time.

Eric angled toward her in the semidarkness, water bottle dangling from one hand. “They were fascinated with your hair. I doubt they’d ever seen so much long, straight, white hair. It was nice of you to let them touch it.”

Her ponytail had long since pulled loose on the sides and Eric was as tempted as the children to get his hands on the flowing blond silk.

She brushed the strands back with both hands. “I didn’t mind. The kids are adorable.”

“So what do you think of Africa so far?”

The easy smile disappeared. “The people are gentle and friendly, but the poverty is unbelievable. And the orphans…”

Eric knew exactly what she meant. Sometimes the conditions overwhelmed. If God hadn’t called him here, he would have given up a long time ago. But the Lord and his heart wouldn’t let him.

“Every day the problem grows worse. More parents die of AIDS or malaria. More children left alone. The African people take care of one another when they can, but most barely survive. How can they take in an orphaned child?”

He shook his head, aware that the worry he hid from the kids had seeped through.

Sam’s smooth, soft hand touched his. “Your work here is wonderful, Eric. You’re doing all you possibly can.”

But it wasn’t enough.

Sweet Sam was trying to encourage him and the thought both moved and amused Eric. He was generally the comforter, the strong one. But he was grateful that God had sent this particular missions’ worker halfway across the world just when he needed encouragement.

“If only those with the financial means would do more,” he muttered. But in his experience, the rich just got richer. Africa was proof of that. “You drove through the townships to get here. You saw the line between the haves and have-nots—a mansion on one side of the road and hovels on the other.”

“It’s shocking, isn’t it?”

Resentment burned the back of his throat like acid. “There are people in this country wealthy enough to solve the hunger problem, yet they won’t even cross the road to offer a loaf of bread to a needy family.”

It was the regular working folks, grandmas on fixed incomes, people of modest means who supported the fatherless. They were the ones with compassion. The wealthy of the world were too busy blessing themselves.

“The Bible said it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter heaven. All you have to do is look around to understand that.”

Sam had grown very quiet and Eric regretted his outburst. He bumped her hand with his water bottle. “Sorry. I didn’t need to dump my worries on you.”

“It’s okay.” But her soft voice held a sadness he couldn’t interpret.

For the past few months he’d been contemplating a decision about his work here. He’d prayed and studied the Bible, asked for opinions from the missions’ board and the African consulate. Still, he hadn’t decided how best to help the orphans he loved so much. Sometimes the frustration with people who could give and didn’t built up until he said too much.

“The orphanage meets the basic needs,” he said. “We teach them about Jesus, love them all we can, but children need more. They need families.”

“Matunde and Amani seem to think you are their family.”

He chuckled softly. “I guess I am. They’ve been with me since their mother died when Matunde was born. Afterward, I won their father to the Lord. When he got sick, too, he brought baby Matunde and his big brother here.”

“And you took them in.”

He took a swig from his water bottle, remembering the desperately ill man, weak and gaunt, who’d walked miles to ensure his children would be cared for. “It was their father’s last request. I couldn’t refuse, even though we normally refer infants to a baby hospital. In fact, Matunde was the first and only baby we’ve had here.”

“That’s why he’s crazy about you. You probably diapered the little guy.”

“I did. Clumsy as an ox, but he and I muddled through until Zola came along to help.”

Perhaps that was the reason he was so attached to the two brothers. He was the only parent they remembered. The thought of leaving them behind tore at him like tiger’s claws. The boys were part of his indecision.

“What you do is amazing. A true gift. I wish—” She let the thought trail away, saying instead, “How much longer until the construction is complete?”

“A week maybe. Mission teams generally work fast. All of you are doing a great job.”

She held up her bruised thumb. “You call this great?”

“Sure,” he said, bumping her with his shoulder. “A regular, bang-up job.”

She rolled her silvery eyes, but they both chuckled softly at the joke.

“Why do you call the orphanage Ithemba House?”

“Ithemba means hope in several African languages. Sometimes hope is all I can give them.”

“Hope is everything, Eric,” she said in a soft voice. “Absolutely everything.”

And he knew that Sam understood what so many others didn’t about missionary work. Without the hope that God had a plan and purpose even for the lowliest, humankind was lost.

Night sounds closed in around them. The symphony of a dozen frog species. The clear, pure trill of night birds. The calls and cries of nocturnal creatures on the move. Noises as familiar to Eric as the lilting cadence of the many African dialects.

A scream ripped the darkness. Sam yipped and clutched his arm. “What was that?”

The eerie howl and piercing scream came again.

Sam had moved so close, Eric was reluctant to answer. But in fairness, he admitted, “A jackal. No harm to us.”

He felt her relax, but she didn’t scoot away and he was glad. They sat close, her hand on his arm.

“The stars look so near,” she whispered. “I feel as if I can reach out and touch them.”

“Want me to get one for you?”

She turned her head the slightest bit, bringing her face close. Her full, bowed lips lifted in a soft smile.

“Would you?”

He was a missionary, a man not given to impulse, a man very careful not to overstep his bounds, but he wanted to kiss the lovely Sam.

He shifted around toward her, lifting one hand to brush a stray lock behind her ear. As he’d expected, her hair was silk. In the moonlight, their eyes met and held.

Then the sweep of car lights found them and Eric moved away, both thankful and sorry for the interruption.

“There’s my ride,” Sam said. Eric leaped to his feet and helped her up. Her skin, even after a hard day’s work, was as silky as her hair. Regretfully, that would change by the time her mission team left Africa.

They walked to the car, still holding hands.

“Thanks for your help today.”

She shook her head. “No. Thank you. I learned so much. I never—” Her voice choked. Eric moved closer, but Sam backed away and reached for the car door. “Bye, Eric. Today was wonderful.”

As the car pulled out, Eric raised a hand. “See you tomorrow.”

But he didn’t. In fact, Samantha never returned to the orphanage again. Eric was not only disappointed, he was bewildered to learn that Sam was not a part of the missions’ team. The team didn’t know her any more than he did.

No one could figure exactly what had happened. One thing for certain, she’d made an impression on him.

Eric spent a couple of days talking to God about the incident. Because for that one, beautiful day, he had almost believed in love at first sight.

And he didn’t even know her last name.

Chapter Two

Present day, Chestnut Grove, Virginia

His dream was coming true.

Eric Pellegrino sat at the desk inside the offices of Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency reading the home study of a prospective adoptive family.

Last year, after much prayer and counsel, he’d resigned his work in Africa to take the job as assistant director in charge of developing an international adoption program for Tiny Blessings. Now that the director, Kelly Van Zandt was pregnant and had cut back on her hours, he was heavily involved in all aspects of the agency, but his dream of finding permanent families for the orphans of Africa never left his thoughts.

Matunde and Amani were waiting. And the paperwork to make them his official children now awaited approval from the South African government. If all went well, other orphans would also soon be crossing the waters to loving families.

He completed his notes on the prospective parents and slid their information into a file. They, too, were interested in adopting from Africa.

As much as he missed the children, he liked his job here, although he sometimes chafed at wearing a suit and living by an alarm clock.

The Tiny Blessings agency was a good one, committed to doing Christ’s work, though an ugly scandal had rocked the place over the last couple of years. Kelly, with her meticulous organizational skills had nearly killed herself to set things right. Or rather someone had tried to kill her to keep things quiet.

Thank God, the insane woman had been caught and dealt with. Kelly, Pilar and all the other staff members worked diligently, not only to move new adoptions forward, but to right the wrongs of the past.

But every time they doused one firestorm of trouble, another seemed to flame up. Someone still didn’t want Kelly’s husband, Ross, to investigate the old falsified adoption records and had recently sent a threatening letter to the agency.

As a newcomer, Eric often had trouble keeping up with events that had happened before he’d arrived. But he’d been blessed with a great new church and new friends, and was knee-deep in fund-raising efforts for his African projects. Life was good. Different but good.

Anne Williams, the agency’s bookkeeper, appeared from the back of the long, narrow building. Eric liked the shy gentle woman, and he was glad she had married an old missionary acquaintance of his, Caleb Williams. In fact, Caleb, now a youth pastor, was the man who had recommended Eric for his current position.

A newspaper tucked beneath her arm, Anne said, “Andrew Noble called while you were conferencing with that new family.”

Eric reached for the telephone. “Should I call him back?”

Anne shook her head. “He only wanted to thank you again for chairing the youth-group committee for the upcoming fund-raiser.”

Every year the Noble Foundation held a picnic to raise funds for charitable groups. Eric was thrilled because this year the fund-raiser was earmarked for orphanages in Africa.

“Considering it’s a project close to my heart, I’m glad to do it. And the kids at the youth center are full of ideas. A good bunch, too.” He already knew most of them from his Sunday school class at the Chestnut Grove Community Church. Grabbing a pen, he scribbled a note to get snacks for tonight’s meeting. Teens worked better when food was part of the deal. “Did Andrew mention if he or Rachel had found a cochair?”

The new international adoption program was taking a lot of his time. Add his already busy schedule, church and an occasional night out, and Eric wasn’t sure he could swing the full responsibility of organizing the youth’s portion of the fund-raiser. He hoped that Andrew and his cousin Rachel would soon pick a cochair for the event.

“Andrew says Rachel has someone terrific in mind and is awaiting a call back.” Even though the pregnant Rachel was on bed rest, she remained involved with foundation work by telephone and computer.

“Did he say who?” Not that it mattered. Eric would work with anyone who desired to help his kids.

“You’re going to like this.” Anne placed the newspaper on the desk in front of him and tapped a picture. “If Rachel can convince her, this is your cochair.”

Eric looked down at the newspaper photo. All the air whooshed out of his lungs.

Samantha Harcourt. The woman he couldn’t forget even if he wanted to. The woman who disturbed his dreams and whose memory sent waves of humiliation flowing over him. He’d nearly made a fool of himself in Africa. Had actually prayed for God to send her back after that first amazing day. Had spent many late nights standing outside the orphanage, listening to the call of the jackal, and wishing he could forget her.

But how could he?

Now that he was back in the States, he found her picture was literally everywhere. Billboards, magazines. Sam Harcourt, ad model for Style Fashions, the hottest trend in America.

As a man who’d lived most of his adult life in Third World countries, he’d had no idea the sweet missions’ worker was a top fashion model.

Once he’d discovered her identity, he’d felt like a total idiot. He’d also understood why she’d never returned to the orphanage. She wasn’t a missions’ worker at all. Like celebrities everywhere, she loved publicity and what better press than to say she’d worked among the poor, starving orphans of Africa?

Wasn’t this photo proof enough? He remembered when she’d asked one of the kids to take it. She had both arms wrapped full of children, Matunde and Amani in her lap. The unfinished orphanage served as background.

A souvenir, she’d claimed. Yeah, right. Publicity, plain and simple.

He hissed in a slow, anxious breath.

Sam Harcourt was back in town.

Lord forgive him, but he prayed Sam would be too involved with herself to serve as his cochair.

Eric faked to the left, then bounded down the court, dribbling past two boys, both determined to slay him in their weekly game of Eric and the girls against the guys. Tonight was the first meeting of the picnic committee, but important things like basketball had to come first. He was ready to go up for the short jumper when the girls on his team suddenly gasped and stopped playing.

“It’s her,” Gina squeaked. “It’s Samantha Harcourt.”

Eric’s heart stumbled. So did his feet. Sam was here.

He hoped that didn’t mean what he thought it meant.

“Walk!” Caleb Williams blew his whistle, clapping his hands for the ball, but Eric forgot all about the game.

He stared at the entrance of the Youth Center. A tall, gorgeous blonde had come into the room, accompanied by her sister, a young mother Eric knew from church.

“I didn’t know she was back in town,” Gina gushed, eyes sparkling with admiration. Every teenager in the place was staring, drop-mouthed. Eric worked hard not to do the same.

Get it together, Pellegrino. You know what she really is. Another rich girl gone slumming.

Wasn’t that what everyone back in his college days had said about Katrina before she’d dumped him for the country-club set? The same warning applied here.

“Is she going to help out in the center?” Nikki, another of the youth group, asked with that same sound of adulation.

Eric’s lip curled, even while his traitorous heart slammed against his rib cage. “I think she’s here for the meeting.”

“No way,” one of the kids said in hopeful disbelief.

“Way,” he admitted, trying not to show his reluctance. “Rachel Cavanaugh asked her to work as my cochair.”

He was not too happy about it, but he knew better than to say anything negative in front of a bunch of teenagers. In truth, he was ashamed of his negative reaction, but he’d been burned before. With Sam, he’d had no warning and she’d left her mark on him.

Gina, the shy, quiet one of the bunch, stared at Eric. “You know her?”

Though the rest of them were sweating like pigs, the slender teen wore a baggy sweater.

“Know her?” He shook his head. “Not really.”

Which was perfectly true. The beautiful, compassionate woman he’d met in Africa clearly did not exist, and he felt like an idiot for building up this fantasy that she was his one and only, sent by God. Man, what a joke.

“If she helps with the fund-raiser, maybe we can get her to stick around here and help with other things.” As youth director, Caleb was always on the lookout for more adult volunteers.

Eric stifled a protest. More time with Sam was the last thing he wanted. If he wasn’t so committed to the work in Africa, he’d drop out of this fund-raiser himself.

“Maybe she’ll start a fitness class,” Gina said hopefully. “Models are usually great at staying in shape, and some of us need to work out more.”

Eric found the remark amusing. Gina didn’t have an ounce of fat on her.

“Whoa baby!” seventeen-year-old Jeremy murmured. “If Sam starts a class, I’m joining.”

To everyone’s amusement, Gina elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs.

When the nonsense died down, Caleb nudged Eric. “Are you going to welcome your helper?”

“Do I have to?” he asked and instantly regretted the reflexive response.

His friend shot him a strange look. Eric flushed, embarrassed to have Caleb see him so discombobulated. He needed to lope out the side door and get his head together.

“Eric,” Sam called, the perfect smile lighting her face as she crossed the distance between them. “It really is you. I couldn’t believe it when Rachel said we’d be working together again.”

Eric’s stomach sank to his toes. So, it was true. She had agreed to cochair. Dandy.

“Hello, Sam,” he said coolly, mouth tight. “How’s the modeling business?”

Samantha’s smile faltered. She felt the chill of Eric’s greeting clear to her bones. Disdain, cold and condemning filled his dark chocolate eyes, eyes that had followed her all over the world. But those same eyes that had once admired and welcomed her had grown icy. Her fear in Africa had been justified. Now that he knew who she was and what she did for a living, he didn’t approve. She wasn’t surprised, but she was disappointed.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to say goodbye in Africa. Our shoot wrapped early and we had to catch a plane.”

Her reasons, apparently, didn’t impress him much. She tried again. “I’ve thought a lot about Africa since then.”

“I’ll bet you have.”

Now what did he mean by that?

After one life-changing day at the orphanage with Eric, she’d thought of little else. She even dreamed about the profound despair and the selfless missionary with the teasing smile and the handsome face. Her life since that day had seemed empty and unfulfilling. Most people would think she was crazy, but with her career at its zenith, she’d come home to rethink her future. What did she want to do with the rest of her life?

“I’m on hiatus,” she said, straightening her smile so that only she knew it was no longer real. Obviously, Eric wasn’t as pleased to see her as she was to see him.

“That’s nice.” Eric glanced toward the clutch of gathered teenagers and motioned toward an open door. “Head for the meeting room, guys. Time to start planning.”

And then he turned his back on her and walked away.

The next two hours were both miserable and wonderful for Sam. She liked the kids in the youth group. At first, they seemed intimidated or awed by her, something she hated. But after a bit, they opened up and began tossing out ideas in earnest, no longer focused on the celebrity in their midst.

Scribbling the latest brainstorm on a yellow pad, she glanced at Eric from the corner of her eye. He had not warmed up in the least. With the kids, he was friendly and funny just as he had been in Africa, but with her he was as cold as Antarctica. What had she done, other than be who she was, to warrant his unfriendliness?

“Let’s see, we have nominations for a concession stand, a space walk and pony rides. Does anyone know where we could get ponies?” Eric pointed a pencil at Caleb, who’d sat in on the meeting. “You know most of the townsfolk better than I do. Any ideas?”

“I’ll ask around and get back to you.”

“We have to choose something simple that can be put together easily but will still make plenty of money,” Sam said.

“The concession sounds easiest to me,” Eric answered. “We could make a schedule, work shifts, assign different ones to collect the supplies.” He looked around the table. “What do the rest of you think?”

“Sounds cool to me,” Nikki answered. Of all the teens, Goth girl Nikki was the most outspoken. “I’ll make the schedule of workers.”

Several of the others groaned. Nikki was a tough taskmaster.

“Is there any reason why we can’t run two activities?” Sam asked as an idea hit.

All eyes turned to her, including Eric’s dark chocolate ones. “What do you have in mind?”

“How about a dunk tank?”

“Yes!” Jeremy said and punctuated his approval with a fist in the air. “I can think of a million people I’d pay to dunk. Starting with the school principal.”

A chorus of excited voices pitched in, adding opinions. Sam wrote them down as quickly as possible, feeling pretty good to have come up with a popular possibility. When she glanced at Eric, he was watching her. She smiled. He didn’t return it.

This voluntary position was going to be harder than she’d imagined.

After they had hashed out the initial ideas and responsibilities, Eric announced the next meeting date, then leaned back to gaze around the table. A cute smile danced at the corner of his lips. “Anybody hungry? I brought food.”

With rumbles of approval and a clatter of chairs, the teenagers rushed the pile of snacks like a swarm of hungry locusts. Potato chips and cookies flew off the table while Eric handed out sodas from an ice chest. The man understood the language of kids, whether they were American or African.

“Thanks, Eric.”

“Yeah, thanks, man.”

The kids adjourned to the TV room and plopped down to eat. Sam found a diet soda and settled onto the floor beside the girl named Gina.

“Cold?” she asked.

Gina nodded and pulled a sweater closer to her narrow body.

“She’s always cold,” Jeremy answered as he slid down beside his girlfriend, paper plate piled high with food. Though he was tall and lanky, the brown-haired boy showed the muscular promise of coming manhood. He plunked a cookie and napkin in front of Gina. “Eat.”

“I had supper.”

“You did not.” He waved the cookie under her nose. “I ate. You watched.”

Gina turned her head away from the tempting chocolate sandwich. “My stomach’s a little off today.”

With a shrug, Jeremy placed the cookie on her knee and concentrated on demolishing his own plateful. Gina picked off a tiny corner of the cookie, then placed the remainder on her boyfriend’s plate.

As Sam observed the exchange, a suspicion niggled at the back of her mind. After a bit, she shrugged it off. She didn’t know these kids yet. Her concerns were likely the result of her own long struggle with food.

She sat quietly, getting to know the group by listening to their chatter. The lively talk reminded her of the days in junior high before food had taken control of her life. Other than Eric’s odd behavior, tonight was fun and relaxing, a welcome respite from her hectic life.

Freckle-faced Tiffany obviously had a crush on Billy, but the shaggy-haired boy was clueless. Sam hid a smile when Tiffany took Billy’s empty plate and Coke can, asking if he wanted anything else. Nikki, the Goth girl with kohl-rimmed eyes and black clothes, was the obvious leader. Young Dylan stayed on the perimeter, watchful and quiet.

Samantha wanted so badly to talk to Eric the way she had in Africa. How was he? Why was he here in Virginia? How were the boys, Matunde and Amani? She still treasured the single photo of them. She’d even had it blown up and framed to sit on her dresser—if the suite of rooms being remodeled at Harcourt Mansion was ever finished.

Soda can empty, she went to find a trash can.

“In the kitchen,” Nikki called, guessing her intent.

The Youth Center had been built during Sam’s long absence from Chestnut Grove and she was unfamiliar with the layout.

Rounding a corner, she slammed into the back of a broad-shouldered man. Eric.

He turned, his ready smile fading as soon as he recognized her. With a curt nod, he said, “Excuse me,” and turned away again.

Sam caught his arm. The muscle beneath her hand tensed, rock hard.

“Eric, wait.”

Reluctance hanging on him like a baggy shirt, he complied.

“Have I offended you in some way?” she asked quietly.

“Of course not. You’ve only just arrived.”

“Then why the cold shoulder?”

Indecision came and went. Sam suspected he wanted to blow her off and escape. The honest man she’d met in Africa couldn’t do that. “You should have told me who you were. It was a pretty big shock to come home to.”

“Did it matter? Would you have treated me any differently?”

She saw the truth in his eyes. He would have. She would have been a fashion model, an object on display, instead of a person.

“You don’t have to serve as cochair of this committee,” he said. “I can find someone else or handle the job alone.”

The words hurt. He neither needed nor wanted her. “You’d like me to quit?”

He hitched a shoulder. “I figure you’re too busy for something like this. How did Rachel rope you into it?”

Sam didn’t want to tell him, but she might as well. He’d find out soon enough. “She thought my involvement might be helpful.”

“Helpful? In what way?”

Sam knew the minute he figured it out.

“Oh,” he said. “I get it. People will come to see the famous model.”

Trying not to bristle at the slight note of condescension, she squared her shoulders. “If using my name helps the kids, I’m willing to do it.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “You’re all about the kids, aren’t you?”

His words weren’t cruel but they cut just the same. And Sam knew as well as she knew the number of calories in a slice of bread that Eric didn’t trust her goodwill one little bit.

Chapter Three

Sitting cross-legged on Ashley’s pink duvet cover, Sam watched her sister gobble down three slices of thick pan double-cheese pizza and mentally calculated the calories and fat grams. To tell the truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d tasted pizza but the smell was tantalizing. For most of her life, smelling pizza was as close as she dared come.

Following an afternoon around the family’s magnificent backyard pool, she, Ashley and two-year-old Gabriel had come upstairs to Ashley’s large bedroom suite to eat and talk, a sisterly act they hadn’t embraced during their growing-up years. Funny how maturity and a little baby could change one’s attitude.

Maturity had other effects, too. Or perhaps she could blame the perspective change on Africa. Her sister’s living quarters included a private bathroom and balcony, as much space as the entire bedroom facility in Eric’s orphanage.

In fact, the spectacular Harcourt Mansion, with seven bedrooms and nine bathrooms, was considerably larger than the space where thirty African children lived, slept and attended school.

The comparison made her feel guilty. Worse yet, her parents were renovating a huge area into a private apartment every bit as elegant as the best hotel, just for her.

“Have some pizza, Sam.” Ashley pushed the opened box toward her.

Sam patted her empty stomach. “Not hungry.”

Baby Gabriel, sitting on Sam’s lap, reached for a slice. Ashley gently pushed his hand away and made a face. “I’ve been with you all day and you haven’t eaten a bite. Eat. You’re not going to lose your skinny-model body over a single piece of pizza.”

Sam blinked, stunned. No wonder the pizza smell was killing her. She really hadn’t eaten anything all day. Six years ago the monster of anorexia had sent her to the hospital, malnourished and dehydrated. Nobody, not even Ashley knew about her secret shame.

Since that frightening wake-up call and the subsequent months of treatment, she was regimented about her eating, making sure she took in sufficient nutrition every day. Somehow she’d gotten off schedule since coming back to Chestnut Grove.

With every ounce of willpower she possessed, Sam reached for a pizza slice. “Smells awesome.”

Ashley chowed into a fourth slice. “Tastes even better.”

Sam forced the pizza to her lips and took a bite. “Mmm. Delish.”

The food lodged in the back of her throat. She grabbed her diet soda can and swigged, forcing the pizza down. During times like this, times of high stress or emotional unbalance, the anorexia tried to rear its murderous head. She’d done enough damage to her body already. Damage that might never heal. She couldn’t allow the disorder to take control again. Next time, it might kill her.

“Why don’t you come to church with us tomorrow, Sam?” Ashley asked as she handed LEGO blocks to her son with one hand and stuffed away pizza with the other.

“Chris is coming down after service.”

Ashley’s face glowed when she mentioned her fiancé, Chris Sullivan who pastored a church in Williamsburg. Some Sundays she and Gabriel drove up to spend the day with him. On others, he drove down to spend the afternoon with them. He was a great guy who’d helped Ashley forgive herself for past mistakes, and Sam was glad to finally see her sister so happy.

“The whole church thing seems weird to me.”

“There’s nothing weird about being a Christian.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Since coming home, Sam had noticed a radical change in her family. Once cold and distant, her parents suddenly wanted to be close, to make up for lost time. They’d started attending church with Ashley and Gabriel and wanted Sam to do the same.

“I wish Mom and Dad had been this enthused about family when you and I were kids.”

Gabriel threw a block onto the floor and laughed.

“Me, too, but if I learned anything through the ordeal with losing Gabriel and trying to get him back again, it’s that we can’t change the past. We have to move on, and try to do better in the future.”

Ashley’s teenage pregnancy had been a pivotal event for all of the Harcourts. Too afraid and ashamed to tell anyone, she’d given Gabriel up at first. When Sam had found out, she’d rushed home to help her sister regain custody of the baby. She couldn’t imagine not having this precious boy in their lives.

Since then, Ashley was working hard to complete a degree in fashion design and looking forward to a future as Christopher’s wife. She’d been lucky to find a man who not only didn’t hold her past against her, but who loved her son as his own.

“I’m glad you found your path in life, sis. Really, I am. But church is so foreign to us Harcourts. All we’ve ever needed was money.”

“Look what that got us.” Ashley ripped off a piece of pizza, blew on it, then slid it into Gabriel’s open mouth. Though the little guy had been well fed before the pizza had arrived, he responded with a toothy grin.

“Yeah. Reporters calling day and night to ask what we know about the adoption scandals. The whole town acts as if we personally stole babies and still have them hidden in the attic thirty years later.”

They both laughed at the silliness. Gabriel patted the side of Sam’s face with Bob the Builder. She caught his hand and kissed it, drawing in his clean baby smell as a powerful love welled up inside.

“I don’t know why Grandfather falsified adoption papers and birth certificates. I wish I could understand. He hurt a lot of people.”

“Money, Sam. Barnaby Harcourt was all about making money. That’s all I remember about him. He looked like a kindly grandfather but he spent every waking moment getting richer.”

“He could have made money by adopting out children honestly.”

To the deep embarrassment of all the Harcourt family, Barnaby had extorted money from people who had given up their babies and then had spent years blackmailing them. Even the town mayor had fallen victim.

“Life has been insane around here since the construction workers found those papers in your wall,” Ashley said.

“The Cavanaughs are nice people. Ben didn’t deserve to find out about his birth parents that way.”

Ironically, one of Ben’s construction-company employees, Jonah Fraser, had discovered the hidden files. Since then, reporters had been hounding the Harcourt family, trying to blame them for Barnaby’s misdeeds.

Hammering issued from the other end of the house.

“Funder,” Gabriel said, eyes wide. For some reason, he’d developed a fear of thunder and lightning. Even though the hammering had continued off and on for weeks now, the toddler considered every sudden noise to be an ensuing storm.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Sam crooned, raising the sturdy two-year-old body up to her shoulder. “Someday they will actually finish those rooms and stop hammering.”

Ashley chuckled. “And about the time they have the entire suite just the way you want it, you’ll run back to Chicago.”

“I don’t think so. I’m thinking of renting out my condo.”

“Are you serious?” Ashley’s face registered disbelief. “Why?”

“I’m not sure I want to go back to modeling.” Even while she was on hiatus, the pressure never stopped. Only today her agent had called, urging her to get back to Chicago. “Not full-time anyway.”

The idea horrified her sister. “Are you crazy? Why wouldn’t anyone want your life?”

“Africa,” she said simply.

Ashley titled her head, puzzled. “Now that makes perfect sense. Care to elaborate?”

Sam shrugged. “Africa did something to me, Ash. Poverty like I can’t even express and yet the people have this joy, this strength about them.”

“Excuse me if I have no clue what this has to do with your amazing career.”

“Everything.” Gabriel wiggled to be let down, so Sam turned him loose. He scooted toward the edge of the bed. “I want my life to matter more. I want to make a difference. Standing in front of a camera in pretty clothes seems so empty after what I saw there.”

“Well, half the female population would take your place in a heartbeat if they could.”

Sam knew it was true. She also knew a lot of things about the business her sister didn’t. Sure, hers was a great job, but money and success in modeling came with a high price. A price she wouldn’t share with anyone, even her baby sister.

She fiddled with the edge of the pizza box, tempted to have another slice. “What do you think of Eric Pellegrino?”

“He’s a hunk and a half. Almost as cute as my Chris. A nice guy, too. Everyone at church seems to like him.” Ashley poked a finger at Sam’s knee. “Why? What does Eric have to do with our conversation?”

“We met in Africa.”

Ashley’s mouth formed an O. “No kidding?”

Gabriel turned onto his belly and started to slide off the high bed feetfirst. Without breaking the line of conversation, Ashley helped him safely down. He toddled to his push pony and climbed aboard, saying, “Horsey, go.”

“I worked at Eric’s orphanage for a day,” Sam said. “It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I found myself wishing I could stay there forever.”

“You? In an African orphanage? With dirt and flies and poverty? And no beauty salon?”

Sam gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Yes. How weird is that?”

She told her sister the rest, about the children, the lack of food, the despair. Most of all, she talked about Eric.

When she finished, Ashley’s soft brown eyes danced with speculation. “Are you in love with this guy?”

Sam made a face to quell a sudden invasion of nervous butterflies. “I barely know him. And now that we’ve met again, I think he hates me.”

“Oh, come on, Sam. There is not a red-blooded male in this country who hates you.”

“Then let’s say he doesn’t like me much. He holds me at an arm’s length and when I try to talk to him, he’s as cool as a Frappuccino.”

Ashley grinned. Having found her own true love, Ashley saw romance everywhere. “I think you’re way off base. Maybe the guy likes you a lot. And maybe he’s intimidated because you’re famous and he’s just a missionary.”

“Eric Pellegrino is not just a missionary. Nor is he intimidated by anything. He seems to despise what I do. And maybe he should. He’s dedicated to a noble cause. I’m dedicated to shopping and accessorizing.”

“Yes, but you’re so good at it!”

They both laughed, but Sam wasn’t joking. Along with her desire to change her own life, she wanted to change Eric’s opinion of her. She just didn’t know how.

When Eric walked into the Youth Center arts-and-crafts room, the first person he spotted was Samantha. Like radar, he seemed to find her. It was maddening. Yesterday, he’d spotted her going into the Noble Foundation. The day before, he’d driven past the mall and amidst all the cars and people, he’d seen Sam.

Now, here he was, that funny feeling in his gut, watching her with the teens. She and the girls, plus Anne Williams, were hub deep in conversation about hairstyles of all things. The boys sat at the table, chins on hands, looking bored to the point of coma.

Tiffany had brought a fashion magazine and was pointing to a picture. Sam placed a finger on each of the girl’s cheekbones, indicated the shape of her face and said something that made the slightly pudgy girl smile.

Eric had to give Sam that much. She was kind to the kids although they still treated her with a star-struck adulation that set his teeth on edge. She was only a person. No better than the rest of them.

He felt in the back pocket of his jeans for the letter that had arrived today.

“Hey, guys,” he called to the dying-of-boredom boys. They whirled as if he’d saved them from a fate worse than death. Chuckling, he understood all too well. To a guy, discussing girls’ hairstyles was pretty deadly.

“What’s up, Eric?” Lanky Jeremy scraped a chair out from the table to make room for their leader.

“Got some news today.” He unfolded the letter and placed it on the table. “From Africa.”

Sam, who had been describing some bizarre thing called shine serum, stopped in mid-sentence and looked up at him. He hadn’t intended to notice her at all tonight and yet, here he was soaking in the way sprigs of blond hair framed her face and brought out the beauty in her gray eyes.

“Africa?” she asked, tone eager. “From your orphanage?”

Technically it wasn’t his orphanage anymore though he’d founded and built the place. The missions’ board was in charge. “From the boys I’m trying to adopt.”

Three of the teenagers in the group had been adopted. Those three always wanted up-to-the-minute details on Eric’s process to adopt Matunde and Amani. They huddled around his back, staring down at the letter. Telephone or Internet contact with the new director was spotty at best, so every time he received a letter from the boys, he was pumped for days.

To his surprise, Sam rose, too, and came around to his side of the table. “Matunde and Amani?”

His surprise doubled. “You remember them?”

“Of course I do. I have a picture of them that I treasure.”

“Oh, right.” The photo she used for publicity. That was why she remembered his boys.

Sam pressed in beside him, leaning onto the table to read the letter along with the others. Right at his elbow, she brought with her the luscious scent of some perfume that probably cost enough to fund the orphanage for a year. And as annoyed as he tried to be about that, his senses couldn’t help appreciating the warm, feminine fragrance or the way her slender arm grazed the side of his.

“Did you say you’re adopting them?” Sam asked, turning her head so that their faces were only inches apart.

A hitch in his chest, Eric was trapped between Sam, the table and a huddle of kids. He couldn’t escape if he wanted to—and he most definitely wanted to. Yes, indeed. He needed to get far away from Miss Rich and Famous.

“Trying to. International adoptions are long and complex. The rules change constantly.”

“So what are the rules saying right now? Can you or can you not bring the boys to America?”

She seemed genuinely interested, just as she had in Africa. Why was it that the Sam he talked to was not the Sam he knew her to be?

“The government officials who will make the decision know me, at least by reputation. They’re the same people I’m working with to develop the new African adoption program for Tiny Blessings.”

“So, when are the boys coming?”

“I don’t know. These things take time.”

“But why? They’re orphans, alone in the world. You love them. They should just get on an airplane and come.” She dragged out the chair beside him and sat down, turning to prop a fist on her beautiful cheekbone.

His pulse, already misbehaving, skittered dangerously.

Eric looked around and realized that the kids had moved away. A clutch of girls shot sly glances at him. One giggled when he caught her staring.

What was that all about?

Bewildered, he returned his attention to Sam’s question. “If all goes well, I’m shooting for Christmas.”

“Nothing will go wrong. You’ll get them. You and the boys are going to have the best Christmas ever.”

He wanted that with all his heart. Nothing could go wrong. He’d promised their father to care for them. He loved them. They loved him. Everything would work out. It had to.

“You’ll be a wonderful father, Eric.” Sam spontaneously pressed a hand over the top of his. Little jolts of electricity shot all the way up to his shoulder. “I saw you with them. You already are.”

Eric tried to remember why Sam Harcourt turned him cold, but with her sweet eyes looking at him this way and their hands touching, his mind was blitzed.

“Hey, you two. Any chance we can have a meeting tonight? Or is this a private party?” Caleb Williams ambled toward them, his wife Anne at his side. Their smiles had Eric wondering. Did they think there was something going on between him and Sam?

Man, were they ever confused.

“Time to get started, I guess.” By sheer force of will he got up and moved to the head of the table, leaving Sam where she was. Instantly, his vacant chair was filled by one of the girls and the chitchat began about Nikki’s haircut. Should she get a skunk stripe or not?

Eric was hard-pressed not to laugh but he noticed Sam took the question with complete seriousness.

He called the meeting to order and was pleased that the kids had followed through with their assignments. Very quickly, he collected price lists, tentative work schedules, booth ideas and a host of other details the kids had come up with on their own.

“We’ll need a full workday before the picnic,” he said. “To set up booths, put up signs, decorate.”

“What about the day before?”

“Can’t,” he said. “My calendar is full. I have to work.”

“I don’t,” Sam said. “The kids and I can handle it.”

With school still weeks away, most of the kids were at loose ends. So was Sam. Eric’s lip curled. She was on hiatus, a word the rest of the world barely understood.

“All right. Sounds good to me. I’ll leave the particulars up to you.”

Gina, usually quiet as a mouse, piped up. “Maybe the two of you should get together that night and go over everything. I mean, Eric can’t be there Friday. Sam needs to fill him in on the plans.”

“Great idea,” Nikki added. “Don’t you think, guys?” She gave the other teens a look that said they’d better agree and do it fast.

“Yeah. Sure. Eric, you don’t want to be in the dark. No telling what we might do without your input. You can’t trust a bunch of teenagers, you know. You and Sam should definitely get together that last Friday night before the picnic.”

Why were the kids behaving so strangely? He glanced at Sam, saw a flush on the crest of her cheekbones. He looked at Caleb and then at Anne. They both grinned like African hyenas.

What was up with this?

“All right. Sure. Whatever.” He looked at Sam. “Is that okay with you?”

She nodded mutely, an unusual turn of events, and Eric adjourned the meeting to the dining room.

As he pushed back from the table, Caleb came toward him, that annoying grin still on his face. “Might as well give up.”

“What are you talking about?” All these undercurrents were making him grumpy.

“The kids. They did it to Anne and me.”

Eric got a bad feeling. “Did what?”

“Played matchmaker.”

“And?”

“And now they have their sights set on you and Sam.”

“Me? Sam?” His blood pressure shot up. “You’re losing it, brother.”

At Caleb’s soft chuckle, Eric’s belly went south. He was having enough trouble with his own head on the subject of Samantha Harcourt. If this bunch of teenagers started in, he’d have no peace at all. Samantha was not the kind of woman he wanted to be interested in. Women like her aimed for the kneecaps and left you alone and bleeding.

At the sound of giggling, Eric glanced toward the dining-room doorway. Three pairs of teenaged eyes gleamed at him with speculation.

He was in trouble here. Serious trouble.

Chapter Four

Sam gazed around at the group of kids once again gathered in the Youth Center. They worked in small groups, sipping Cokes and munching on the tray of melon she had provided. A few lettered signs and glittered banners while others organized lists of volunteers and donations for the various booths. They were a good team with minimal arguments. Although a few heated discussions had cropped up in their days of working together, the problems were easily resolved.

Thank goodness this was one of the last committee meetings before the picnic. Not that she didn’t like the kids or enjoy the work. It wasn’t that at all. In fact, she’d taken on the task of helping Andrew Noble with some of the advance publicity for the event and found a certain satisfaction in both tasks. If her agent would stop calling every hour she’d almost be content.

The problem with the youth group was Eric. Or rather, the teens’ matchmaking attempts between Eric and her. Just when he’d begun to warm up a little, the kids had come up with this ridiculously obvious scheme and made them both uncomfortable.

From her spot next to Gina, she slid a look in Eric’s direction. He, Caleb, Jeremy and a couple of the other boys hammered together the wooden frame for the concession booth.

The muscles in his athletic shoulders flexed with each hammer strike, reminding her of that day in Africa. Even in ordinary jeans and a yellow T-shirt that darkened his skin to bronze, Eric was by far the best-looking guy in Chestnut Grove. At least from her viewpoint.

He was nothing like most men of her acquaintance, but that was a good thing. Deep inside, Sam remained a small-town girl who admired a man with the common sense to change his own tires and wield a hammer. A man’s man. Masculine, strong, steady.

Gina’s voice interrupted her ruminations. “He’s cute for an older guy.”

Great, she’d been caught staring. “When are all of you going to give this up? Neither Eric nor I are interested.”

“Really?” Nikki asked, popping a square of juicy watermelon past her black-lined lips. She clearly didn’t believe Sam’s protest.

“Really. Now can we talk about something else?”

“Well, we do have another idea,” Gina said.

“Oh, good.” Sam rolled her eyes heavenward. “Now I’m really worried.”

“We want to know how you keep in shape.”

That question she could handle. She sprinkled glitter around a block letter and said, “I have a daily exercise regime, which I never skip.” Style would fire her in a New York minute unless she looked perfect in their clothes. “Why?”

She worked like crazy to stay in shape and worried constantly. Between the need to properly handle her eating disorder and the need to stay in perfect condition, she often felt as though she would never be enough. Not good enough. Not pretty enough. Not thin enough.

That feeling was part of the vicious cycle that had caused the disorder in the first place.

“We want you to start a workout program here at the center for us.” Gina pushed her paper plate of melon to one side. After cutting a single slice of cantaloupe into a dozen tiny bites, she’d left it mostly uneaten. A warning bell, one that had rung every time she’d been with Gina, went off in Sam’s head.

“You don’t need an exercise program,” Sam said earnestly.

“Gina doesn’t. She has great willpower, but the rest of us can’t stay away from the French fries. Won’t exercise offset the calories?” Tiffany asked hopefully.

“That all depends, but exercise helps. You need exercise anyway,” Sam said. “The most important thing is maintaining good health.”

“You sound like my mom,” Tiffany said.

“Sorry. But your mom is right. Your health is everything.” Sam had learned that the hard way. Some things lost could never be regained.

“So will you do it?” Nikki pressed. “Will you start a class?”

She worked out anyway. Why not encourage the girls to stay fit in the process? Exercising with them would be a lot more fun than doing it alone. “I could ask Scott if the church would mind. It’s easy to set up a combination Jazzercise/aerobics regime. It might even be fun.”

And in the process she could discuss healthy eating with the girls and get better acquainted with Gina. The girl worried her.

“We could meet here.” Tiffany’s round face was excited. A green marker in hand, she pointed around the Youth Center. “There’s plenty of room. And I would so love to go back to school this fall with a new, slimmer body.”

“Well, I’m a slave driver, let me warn you.”

Nikki grinned, the black lipstick a startling contrast to her white teeth. “We’re tough. We can take it.”

“Okay, then,” Sam replied, shaking loose glitter onto a clean piece of paper. “I’ll check with Caleb to be sure it’s okay. Maybe I could help you get started before I return to work.”

“Planning on leaving soon?” a masculine voice asked. Eric popped open a cold Coke and took a long drink, his eyes watching her over the rim.

“Sam’s going to start an aerobics class for us,” Nikki said. She slid another bite of melon into her mouth and smiled around it.

“Maybe.” Sam softened the reminder with a smile. “I said I’d check into it.”

“Nice of you, but if you’re headed back to Chicago, how can you do that?”

Sam shrugged. “I don’t have any set agenda at the moment except for a few things I can fly to and be back in a couple of days.”

Never mind that the agency was hounding her to do more public appearances for Style. But even the gig to hand out an award at some Hollywood awards program couldn’t tempt her to leave Chestnut Grove right now. Maybe she was burned out.

Eric scraped a chair away from the table and straddled it, leaning both arms on the back. The Coke can dangled from his strong, masculine fingertips. “Eventually, though, you’ll go back to Chicago.”

He seemed almost insistent.

“I haven’t decided yet exactly what I’m going to do.”

“What do you want to do?”

The question, much like something he would have said in Africa, surprised her.

“I’m reevaluating.” She wasn’t sure how much to tell him. Sometimes when they talked, he seemed genuinely interested. At others, he appeared to be judging every word and finding her unworthy.

“What’s to reevaluate? You have a great career that pays well. You get to travel all over the world. People know your face.”

“Sometimes that’s not a good thing.”

“Poor little rich girl?” he asked.

She studied his expression to see if he was making fun of her. He wasn’t.

“It’s not that. It’s having people make assumptions about me because of what I do for a living.”

The answer caught him off guard. He waited two beats before smile lines crinkled around his eyes. “I think you just took me down a notch.”

“Not intentionally. I’m an average person, Eric. Not a face. Not a celebrity. Just a person.” She capped the red glitter with a snap and reached for the blue. “How’s the booth coming?”

“Almost finished.” He motioned toward the structure with his Coke can. “Do you think we should paint it or leave it raw?”

Sam looked toward the girls for their opinion. “What do you think, ladies? Paint or not?”

The girls exchanged looks and Sam tried not to sigh in exasperation. Every time she and Eric spoke, the teens started up again. Before anyone could answer, a scrawny, hawk-nosed man entered the room.

Sam tensed. Her interior decorator. Why was he here? She thought they had everything settled with remodeling her suite.

“Miss Harcourt.” In his usual fit of hyperactivity, the man rushed to her. “I need your opinion.”

“At this time of night? Really, Dennis, you work too hard. You should go home and relax.”

“It simply cannot wait until tomorrow. I’ll be up all night fretting if we wait. When you left this afternoon, I was all aflutter, worrying what to do.”

Sam stifled a sigh. The decorator with his finicky ways and temperamental demands was wearing thin. Trying her best to remain positive and polite, she asked, “What’s wrong this time?”

Drawing up in a stiff, pigeon-chested stance, Dennis sniffed. “You know, of course, that I’ve designed rooms for other well-known clients. When I did the Manhattan suite for JLo, she gave me complete carte blanche.”

Sam longed to crawl under the table. The last thing she wanted was for Dennis to name drop in front of Eric and the kids. Her parents had hired the decorator as a gift to her, but sometimes she wished she had done the job herself. More than that, she wished she could cancel the entire renovation. She hadn’t wanted or needed the expensive work.

Dennis tossed his hands into the air. “I can’t work under these conditions.”

Sam glanced around at the group of fascinated teens and then at Eric. He seemed to be studying his sweating Coke can with unusual interest.

“Exactly what can I help you with, Dennis?”

“Your carpenter, that Jonah Fraser fellow, painted the east wall of the sitting room today. It’s blue. Robin’s-egg blue, a shade that simply will not work behind your mask collection.”

Oh, please.

Sam counted to ten before answering. In her business she worked with finicky people all the time. A people pleaser, she wanted to make all of them happy.

“I know you want perfection, Dennis, and the rooms are coming together beautifully, but the paint Jonah used is the color you and I chose last week.”

“It doesn’t work. We have to get something else. You’ll hate it and my reputation will be ruined. Ruined, I say.”

Sam rose from her chair and gently guided Dennis toward the exit. She could feel Eric’s gaze on her back.

“Everything will be fine, Dennis. I’m sure with your exceptional creative talent, you’ll think of a way to make all the elements blend together. That’s why we hired you. Your reputation for turning the ordinary into the magnificent is impeccable.”

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