Laughter came easily to Piper, Mitch noticed, despite the deep well of dark emotion that he had glimpsed behind that pretty face earlier. A quick smile and an impish sense of humor were second nature to Piper Wynne, but they did not disguise her pain.

She was harboring some sort of secret; yet when her amber eyes lit with that personal sense of the absurd, Mitch couldn’t help smiling. Something in her spoke to him.

After dinner she insisted on helping his mother clean up. He could hear the women chatting as he rose to follow his father into the den. He’d have stayed were he was and eavesdropped on the conversation if he could have—not because he particularly wanted to know what they were talking about, but just to hear their voices. Listening to the two of them talking together made him feel peaceful and cozy.

Why had he waited so long to start looking for someone with whom to share his life?

ARLENE JAMES

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

The author of over sixty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Dallas, Texas, with her husband. Arlene says, “The rewards of motherhood have indeed been extraordinary for me. Yet I’ve looked forward to this new stage of my life.” Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade!

To Heal a Heart
Arlene James

MILLS & BOON

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Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for Thou art with me. Thou dost prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; Thou has anointed my head with oil; my cup overflows.

—Psalms 23:4–5

Dear Reader,

The Twenty-Third Psalm is a familiar passage of Scripture beloved by generations. Like many, I memorized that eloquent Old Testament chapter as a child but had difficulty relating to it. I couldn’t conceive of death, let alone the “valley of the shadow of death,” and I had no enemies. Even taken allegorically, neither term seemed applicable to anyone I knew. Thankfully, I reached adulthood before I came to a personal understanding of the concepts involved. When I got to that point, this Psalm (along with other precious Scriptures) helped me remember the sufficiency and intention of God’s love for us.

Some find the concept of a loving God who can and will allow tragedy into our lives for reasons that we cannot always comprehend to be an impossible contradiction, and yet every successful parent knows what strength, wisdom and love are required to allow a child to learn by suffering. Of course, we do everything in our power to minimize our children’s pain, but some very necessary lessons, like learning how to deal with loss, can only be accomplished via experience.

Thankfully God loves us enough, as Mitch and Piper’s story demonstrates, to supply our every need, and that includes joy. He wants the very best for us, and, remember, sweet is best when it follows sour. I hope I’ve given you a taste of each and that you always have more of the sweet!

God Bless,

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

The first day of September was shaping up to be one for the record books, Mitch thought wryly, jogging down the airport causeway, briefcase containing his laptop computer in one hand.

First he’d overslept, unaware that the electricity had been off for several hours during the night due to an industrial accident that had taken out a transformer. As a result, he’d missed the early flight to Houston. To make matters worse, in his haste he’d grabbed a pair of mismatched socks and hadn’t realized it until he’d looked down while retrieving a dropped pen during a witness deposition. The witness, a prim and proper middle-aged woman, had already been irritated because Mitch had shown up more than an hour late for their appointment. One look at his black-and-blue-sock combination and she’d become convinced that he was a “low-budget shyster,” to be exact, and had terminated the interview.

As if that weren’t bad enough, he’d been caught in one of Houston’s infamous traffic jams and was in danger of missing his return flight to Dallas. Thank God for cell phones and understanding shuttle bus drivers. They’d sped all the way from the rental car agency to the terminal, taking turns without an inch to spare and gunning through a yellow light along the way. The worst part was that he hadn’t gotten the information he needed to prevent his client from receiving a stiff sentence for what had essentially been a foolish prank.

Maybe God was trying to tell him something. It wasn’t the first time Mitch had thought about slowing down, maybe lightening his case load a little, but work had been his focus for so long now, he wasn’t sure what he’d be slowing down for. If he did manage to make the flight, maybe he could find time later that evening to think about some important personal issues, like his priorities and his future.

He rounded a column and jogged into the waiting area of Gate 27 just as the ticket agent was about to close the boarding-ramp door.

“Wait!”

The agent, a stocky Hispanic male, turned, smiled and inquired, “Mr. Sayer?”

Nodding, Mitch came to a stop and bent forward slightly, gasping, “Did I make it?”

“Barely,” he answered as Mitch set down his briefcase and batted back the side of his suit coat to fish his ID from the front pocket of his pants. “If you hadn’t called ahead, I’d have given away your seat and already released the plane.”

“Thanks for waiting,” Mitch said, lifting his briefcase from the floor.

The man checked his identification, nodded and stepped back. “Have a nice day.”

Mitch smiled and flipped his wallet closed, slipping past the barrier tape to the door beyond, briefcase in hand. He heard the ticket agent radio the flight attendant to reopen the hatch as he trotted down the enclosed ramp.

Just as Mitch rounded a sharp turn, he spotted a folded sheet of paper on the floor. Small and lined, it looked to be filled on both sides with handwriting. Thinking that someone who had boarded the plane before him might have dropped some important notes, he scooped up the paper. The hatch slid open just then, and an attractive brunette female flight attendant smiled at him.

“Find a seat quickly,” she instructed as he twisted past her. “We’ve got an immediate departure window.”

Mitch meant to hand her the sheet of paper he’d found, but she hurried away the instant the hatch was secured. Not wanting to hold things up a second longer, Mitch shrugged and slipped the paper into his suit coat pocket as he made his way down the narrow aisle between the seats. Spying an open place about halfway down, he made for it quickly.

The passenger in the aisle seat looked up as he neared. Warm amber eyes regarded him politely. A small but plump mouth curved into a rosy smile. He noted the bright, healthy sheen of light coppery-blond hair smoothed neatly over her head and culminating in a long, thick braid that draped across one shoulder. He forgot all about the sheet of paper in his pocket.

“Excuse me,” he said, aware that his voice had deepened. “May I slip in?”

She tilted her pretty head, looking him over quickly. Her high, wide cheekbones, pert nose and slightly pointed chin gave her face a gamine appearance that he found utterly charming.

“It’ll be easier if I move over,” she said, releasing her safety belt.

She lifted the arm that separated the seats and slid to the center space, next to a gaunt adolescent girl too interested in her fashion magazine to notice much of anything else.

Mitch stuffed his briefcase into an overhead bin and dropped into the aisle seat just as the flight attendant approached to secure the storage locker. He reached for his safety belt as the plane began to creep backward from the bay. Mitch snapped his belt, and the attendant went on her way. Immediately he offered his hand to the pretty strawberry blonde, a little surprised at himself.

“Mitchell Sayer.”

She placed her small, cool hand in his. Her nails, he noticed, were short and bare of polish.

“Piper Wynne.”

“That’s an unusual name,” he heard himself saying, “but a lovely one.” It also seemed oddly familiar, but he couldn’t imagine why.

She laughed and took back her hand, which he realized only then that he’d held too long. “Thank you, and no, I wasn’t named after an airplane. It was a bird, actually.”

“I’m guessing that would be the sandpiper.”

She cocked her head. “Yes. How did you know?”

He folded his arms, not lamenting the close confines for once. “Seemed a logical conclusion.”

“You’re a birder then, are you?”

“No, not particularly, but I always read the nature magazines we get at the office.”

“Office,” she mused, tapping her chin with the tip of one forefinger. “And if you’re getting magazines by subscription, then you must have people waiting to see you. So what are you? Doctor, dentist…”

“Attorney,” he supplied.

“Ah.”

“And the magazines are usually for the people who sometimes accompany my clients. I have a thing about keeping people waiting.”

“A prompt attorney?” she quizzed with mock skepticism.

He laughed. “Evidence notwithstanding.”

She smiled and tugged at the hem of her moss-green straight knit skirt as she crossed her legs. A small woman with small feet and hands, the latter happily devoid of rings, she cut a trim figure in the knit top and tailored jacket that matched her skirt. Mitch looked away, a little embarrassed that he had noticed both her ring finger and her shape, but then he looked back again, too interested to let the connection drop.

“Tell me about this sandpiper association,” he said, settling back to listen.

She laughed and began relating her mother’s fascination with the quick, darting shorebirds that migrated yearly to the Far East. Again something tugged at his memory, some note of familiarity, but he was quite certain that he had never met the captivating Miss Piper Wynne. She was so captivating that only when the flight attendant returned to offer them a drink did Mitch even realize that they were in the air.

Piper waited several seconds for Mitchell Sayer to give the attendant his drink order, but she realized that he was waiting for her to do the same thing. Only after she had expressed a preference for water and the girl next to her had requested a diet cola did he ask the flight attendant for tomato juice, confiding offhandedly, “My mother’s a big believer in vitamin C.”

“Maybe you’d prefer orange juice,” the flight attendant suggested, but Mitchell shook his head.

“I would like some hot sauce or pepper, though.”

The attendant searched the cart for pepper packets even as she poured diet cola into a plastic cup of ice. Seat trays came down, tiny napkins were dispensed and the drinks were passed. Piper noticed that Mitchell didn’t so much as open a pepper packet until she and the girl next to her had tasted their drinks.

She smiled over the rim of her cup. He was a real gentleman and a very attractive one. Big and ruggedly handsome, with dark, slightly wavy hair and wide, deep blue eyes, he possessed an air of quiet confidence coupled with a boyish charm that eased into a quick, dimpled smile. Piper took the smile as a sign that her new life was getting off to a promising start.

Instantly her brother’s face flashed before her mind’s eye. Startled by the doubt that lanced through her, she gulped water and fixed her attention on the man at her side. Having stirred several packets of pepper into his tomato juice with a swizzle stick, he was sipping the bright red brew experimentally.

“How is it?” she asked.

He shrugged and said, “Too salty. I prefer to make my own, and lace it with hot sauce.”

“A purist,” she pronounced, smiling at him, “with a taste for spicy foods.”

He chuckled, his velvet-blue eyes crinkling at the edges. She wondered if he was married. He took another drink, then lifted his arm to check the time on his wristwatch. She noticed that he wore no wedding ring—so, it wouldn’t hurt to flirt a little. Would it?

She didn’t for an instant think anything would come of this chance encounter, but it seemed an important omen somehow—not that she actually had doubts about this move. She was determined to enjoy every moment life had to offer from here on out. No more crisis management with roller-coaster emotions for her. She was finished with risk assessments and double shifts, second-guessing every move made in the heat of the moment and those soul-tearing life-and-death decisions. Especially the latter.

Exhaustion, guilt and heartbreak had all been left behind in Houston with the emergency-room nursing position that had engendered them. Piper was determined to find relief and happiness in Dallas, beginning now—and who knew? One day she might even meet a special man. Twenty-six certainly wasn’t too young to be thinking about marriage and family. Twisting in her seat, she pasted on a bright smile and caught herself literally fluttering her eyelashes.

“I bet your favorite food is Mexican,” she said.

“My favorite food is edible,” he quipped. Then he admitted, “I do love a good tamale, though…and blackened steak, Indian curry, Italian diavolo, Szechuan Chinese, anything spicy. My mother says that if you put enough peppers on old shoes, I’d eat them.”

Piper laughed, ignoring an underlying and all-too-familiar pang. Firmly she told herself that all the tears and grief and self-flagellation in the world would not change anything. Why not laugh? After all, she was just trying to follow her father’s advice. He was so fond of saying, “God expects His people to face life’s difficulties with smiles and cheer rather than tears and recrimination.” That’s all she was trying to do—find some smiles and cheer with which to face the rest of her life.

She forced herself to think of a clever rejoinder to the handsome attorney’s banter, and pretended that the world was a bright and sunny place. The warm smile and pithy remarks of the man beside her coaxed her to think she had made the right decision in pulling up stakes and starting a brand-new life. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself so much.

By the time the airplane touched down at Dallas Love Field, she was congratulating herself on the wisdom of this move. Everything was going to work out fine. It was just a pity that Mitchell Sayer would play such a small part in it all, but she didn’t fool herself that his interest was more than momentary. A handsome, successful man like him would never seriously pursue a confused, worn-out ex-nurse. Entertaining conversation was one thing; real life was something else, and that was all she was hoping for—something else. It couldn’t be worse than what she’d left behind.

Standing back to let a lady exit in front of him was as natural to Mitchell Sayer as breathing. He didn’t think twice about stepping into the aisle and blocking the flow of traffic while Piper and their teenaged seat-mate slipped out into the narrow aisle and began making their way forward. The usual rush to deplane was in full swing by that time, of course, so those seated ahead of them naturally took advantage of the short pause to pop up and fall in behind the two females. Then, of course, the woman seated across the aisle from him must naturally be accorded the same civility as the other women in his immediate vicinity, and before he knew what was happening, half the people on the plane were between him and that bright, quickly receding head.

A momentary sense of loss seized him, but then reason returned, the product of a long-held and carefully nurtured faith. Without even thinking it, without the words forming in his mind, he reminded himself that God was in control of his life. What was truly his would return to him; what was vital to his well-being God would supply. Long ago Mitch had intentionally yielded his life and heart to a loving God. That did not mean, of course, that he didn’t hope Piper would be waiting for him when he reached the gate area.

He stepped into the busy airport expectantly, and when he did not immediately spot that shiny pale copper hair, he sidestepped the traffic and took a good look around. Piper Wynne was nowhere to be seen, and he felt a pronounced disappointment.

He had seen his last of that gamine smile and those mysterious amber eyes, behind which he had sensed deep wells of emotion. They had not even said goodbye. Well, at the very least she had given him a wakeup call.

Since the death of his wife, Anne, Mitch had wondered if God meant him to live the rest of his life alone. His parents and his friends all said not, that if ever a man were meant to be a husband and father, it was him. Eventually, and for some time, he had actively dated—a lot. Yet as the years had passed, he’d begun to wonder. His work was important, requiring great dedication and much time, and his personal ministry brought him untold satisfaction and fulfillment. Perhaps that should be enough.

For a long time it had been enough, but lately something had changed. He’d started wondering if he hadn’t filled his life with work instead of people. Now he knew of one bright young lady for whom he’d like to find a place in his life.

Just how had that happened?

He’d spent not quite three-quarters of an hour with a sunny, fetching woman, and suddenly the part of his heart that had been dormant was awakened. A need that he had believed dead suddenly lived and breathed inside him. And why not? He was only thirty-eight as of August 11 just past. He was still young enough to find love, marry and start a family, and he realized suddenly that he still wanted to do that, wanted all, in fact, that manhood could afford him—things he hadn’t felt able to face in a long time.

A sense of quiet wonder rose inside him. He had trusted God to set the course of his life, and the journey obviously still had some surprising twists and turns ahead. Maybe Miss Piper Wynne was not a part of it, but she was certainly a signpost on the path that he might take, and a very pretty signpost at that. He smiled to himself, adjusted his grip on the handle of his briefcase and set off, content to let God unfold the pathway as He would.

Ten minutes later he slid behind the wheel of his luxury sedan and glanced at the time readout in the dashboard. He still had time to change into jeans before arriving at his parents’ house for dinner. As he drove through the city to his University Park home, he thought about how invigorated and hopeful he suddenly felt, as if God had tapped him on the shoulder and whispered a delightful secret in his ear.

He left the car in the drive and let himself into the house through the front door. Walking straight past the seldom-used living room, he went through the open French doors into the study and punched the button on the answering machine on a corner of the cluttered desk. He turned up the volume so he could listen to his messages as he changed clothes in the next room.

As he was unbuttoning his shirt, the rustle of paper in the front pocket of his coat reminded him again of the notes he had found. He hoped they weren’t important, because it was too late now to do anything about returning the sheet to its owner. Might as well just toss it. Before he could follow that thought with action, however, the answering machine beeped and the familiar voice of a local assistant district attorney reached his ears. The woman whom Mitch had gone to Houston to interview had called the D.A.’s office. She’d remembered something after he’d left, and while he’d been fighting traffic she’d called the district attorney with the information.

Mitch tossed aside the jacket and rushed back into the study to take notes. He wasn’t surprised that she had called the D.A. instead of him. Most witnesses considered the district attorney to be an ally and the defense attorney an unprincipled enemy out to free criminals to pillage and plunder at will. Few realized that all exculpatory evidence must be shared, by law, with the defense. Few stopped to consider who might champion their cause if they should find themselves facing unexpected criminal charges.

By the time Mitch had the details on paper, he was elated to think that his client, a teenager, would be spared the horrors of prison. Mitch didn’t delude himself that the young man was blameless, but the mitigating factors that had come to light had induced the district attorney to offer probation and a fine. Eager to tell the boy’s parents, he made a phone call. They were relieved, but still laboring under the disappointment of their son’s poor judgment and its results. Mitch figured that the kid would think twice before he pulled another “prank” that could end in injury to an innocent third party.

Eager to see his own parents, Mitch hurriedly popped out the tape, locked it in a fireproof file cabinet until it could be formally transcribed and finished changing his clothes. All the while, he kept thinking that God had definitely moved this day in awesome and definite ways.

Marian Sayer pressed her hands together in a typical expression of delight, her elbows braced against the dark wood of the kitchen table, where the family had dined. Though retired from the classroom for several years now, she had never lost her “teacher” mannerisms, the slightly exaggerated gestures and articulations that so easily captivated the attention of children.

“Why, that’s wonderful, Mitchell!” she was saying. “What a lovely ending to a difficult day. I’m happy for your client.”

Vernon nodded sagely. “Sometimes God lets us think we’ve blown it just so He can remind us that we’re not the ones in charge.”

“Don’t I know it,” Mitch said, grinning again.

“Your cases don’t usually put that sparkle in your eye, though,” Vernon noted astutely.

Mitch felt his grin grow even wider. His father knew him too well. “Let’s just say that I had another ‘interview’ of sorts today, and it let me know that I’m ready to make some changes in my life.”

“How so?” his mother asked expectantly.

He shrugged, trying to keep the conversation casual as he related how he’d met Piper Wynne.

“What did you say her name is?” his mother asked after he’d told as much as he intended to.

“Her name’s Piper Wynne,” he answered, taking a sip of iced tea so as to savor the taste on his tongue. “But that’s not important, Mom. I’ll probably never see her again. The point is, I realized today how very much I want to have someone in my life again. I think God’s been trying to tell me for some time that it is a possibility.”

Vernon Sayer removed the stem of his unlit pipe from his mouth. Typically, removal of the pipe weighted whatever words followed with significance. His father hadn’t actually smoked that pipe in years, but he often sucked on it just as if he did. It was part of his dignified lawyer persona, and it had stayed with him even after retirement and the doctor had made him understand how harmful tobacco was to his health. Half a decade later Vernon still hadn’t given up the pipe. The tobacco, yes; the pipe, no.

“You’re finally ready for a wife and family,” Vernon announced.

“Let’s just say that I’m ready whenever God is,” Mitch clarified, then lifted an eyebrow at the dramatic flourish Vernon employed as he waved the pipe through the air.

“Well, it’s about time. Your mother’s not getting any younger, you know, and you’re her only hope of having a brood of rowdy rug rats scampering around here one of these days.”

Mitch laughed outright. His dad was an endless source of dry witticisms and pure delight for him. His mother, on the other hand, was patience and acceptance personified. They were wonderful parents, and they deserved to be grandparents. Perhaps they would be. Surely God was about to bring someone special into his life.

Their joy at the prospect humbled him. For so long he had rejected the very idea of marrying again. He wondered now if he hadn’t let his grief over Anne cheat his parents of a grandchild. Though he’d always been keenly aware that, as an only child, he was a major supplier of his parents’ happiness, Mitch had never felt pressured to fulfill some parent-defined role of the good son. Goodness, consideration and integrity were expected of him—yes, even presumed—but he had always felt free to be his own person, to live by his own rules and expectations. Now he wondered if he hadn’t been selfish—and he’d always thought of himself as such a loving son.

Oh, he had fought the usual adolescent battles, demanding more freedom than he was entitled to or able to handle, but eventually he had come to understand and appreciate what wonderful parents God had given him. They trusted the man he had become. They trusted his faith and abilities, and he trusted their judgment, wisdom and love implicitly, so he pretty much told them everything—had since reaching adulthood. That had helped him in unexpected ways after Anne.

Maybe he didn’t call his parents every day anymore, but he did try to get over for dinner once a week, and he never hesitated to pick up the phone and ask for advice if he needed it. For the first time, that didn’t seem enough. He owed them more than simple thoughtfulness.

They sat at the kitchen table for a while longer, talking over the day’s events. Mitch was as comfortable in this house as in his own home. He’d grown up here, after all. Yet this was his parents’ place, a part of him but not his. Oddly, he had never felt the distinction before. It was as if he now stood, quite unexpectedly, at a crossroads in his life, a vantage point from which he could clearly see much that had before been obscure.

When his dad began to yawn, Mitch rose to leave. As usual, his parents got up and the three of them walked through the house together.

“Glad you could come, son,” Vernon said, “and I’m glad that everything worked out as it should. Your client’s blessed, and I hope he knows it.”

“I think he will,” Mitch told him. “Before we part company, I intend to make sure that he realizes God’s had His hand on him.”

“I rather expect he’ll live his life a little differently from now on,” Marian said.

“No one walks away from the touch of God unchanged,” Mitch observed.

“And that includes you,” Vernon said, shaking his pipe at him. “I expect the right little gal will come waltzing into your arms any day now.”

Mitch chuckled, kissed his mother and hugged his dad. “From your lips to God’s ear,” he said, pulling away.

He went out the door and down the walk feeling happy and loved. It had been a good day after all. Perhaps knowing what God had in store for you or why life sometimes unfolded the way it did was impossible, but Mitchell had learned, at very dear cost, that God never did anything without the best interests of His children at heart.

Chapter Two

Mitch next remembered the folded sheet of paper on Thursday when he dropped off his suit at the cleaners and performed one last, hurried search of his pockets. He’d learned the hard way that laundering often rendered writing indecipherable. When he came up with the paper again, he thought about tossing it, but a quick glance at the words revealed the phrasing of a personal letter, not just a bunch of meaningless notes. He pocketed the thing again, instinctively protecting the privacy of the writer and the receiver of the letter.

Later, in his office high above the streets of downtown Dallas, he thought about shredding the sheet, but when he removed it from his pocket, he felt compelled to take another look. It was clearly one of several pages, for it began in the middle of a sentence. Mitch noticed for the first time that the ink was tear-stained. His heart wrenched as he began to read the eloquent, carefully penned words.

“…of him will surely never subside,” he read, “and will one day be, not a cross to bear, but a cherished joy. His memory will sustain us until that time, and that’s why it is so important that we not forget. The pain makes us want, in its depth and rawness, to do just that, but to forget our dear boy would be to rob us of all the delights he brought into our lives.

“Hold on to that, dear heart. Don’t let him go, for if you do, you also let me go, and how can I bear that? To lose you as well as him is more, surely, than God can allow, so I beg you, please don’t leave. I need you. We all need you. How he would hate it if he thought that his loss would tear this family apart!

“Whatever you do, please know that I love you. I don’t blame you in any way. You will always be my treasured…”

The page ended as it had begun, in the middle of a sentence. Mitch turned it over in his hand once more, as if the rest of it might miraculously appear. He stared for a long time at the blotches near the bottom of the page and felt the heartbreak of their loss.

It seemed to be a letter written from one spouse to another, lamenting the loss of their son and desperately trying to prevent the destruction of the union, but he couldn’t be sure of that. He couldn’t even tell if it had been written by a man or a woman. All he knew was that God had dropped this into his path for a purpose. Why else would he, an experienced grief counselor, have been the one to find it?

A sense of failure swamped him. Mitch smoothed out the letter on his desk blotter and bent his head over it, confessing his error. He should have looked at the paper the moment he was on the plane. Perhaps its owner could have been found then. Perhaps he could have said the right words to send that person home again to a desperate and loving family.

He thought of the pain of losing Anne so unexpectedly, of the anger, even hatred, that he’d felt for the drunk driver who had so unthinkingly snuffed out her life, and he prayed that God would bring these two back together. He prayed for abatement of their pain, for healing, because it was like having a limb ripped off or your heart torn apart when a loved one died. He prayed for the nourishment of new joy and the balm of sweet memories, for the assurance of salvation and the strength of faith. Finally he prayed—for his own peace of mind as well as that of this family in torment—that the recipient of this letter had been returning home and not running away from it.

Perhaps he would never know the facts, but by the time he lifted his head again, he knew that his involvement with the letter wasn’t over yet. Either God had a deeper purpose here than making him aware of his failure or he had not yet correctly divined the depth of it. One thing was for certain: the letter would not be destroyed.

Very carefully he folded the piece of paper, and this time slipped it into his shirt pocket. He would carry it there, over his heart, until he understood why it had fallen into his path. He wondered if he should share this with the group that met on Thursday nights and decided, sensitive as he was to the privacy rights of others, that he would seek the advice of his parents first.

Meanwhile, the business of the day was at hand. He heard voices in his secretary’s office and realized that his first appointment had arrived. The door opened, and he came to his feet, handshake at the ready, a weight on his heart. Part mystery, part failure, part ministry, part his own painful experience, it was a burden that he would embrace, welcome, bear with—until God Himself removed it.

Piper stepped down off the bus and turned to the right. In just the space of a single week the route had become familiar, and she was beginning to get a handle on her job as a case reviewer at a health insurance company. The amount of paperwork involved staggered the mind, but she preferred staying busy. If life felt a little flat this morning, well, that was only to be expected after her former frenetic pace. Activity in a big-city emergency room had always bordered on panic. She just needed time to adjust.

The apartment she had rented on Gaston Avenue still felt strange, and she couldn’t help wondering if she’d made a mistake selling everything before the move. Maybe if she had her old things around her, it would seem more like home. Then again, how could she start a new life if she surrounded herself with the past? No, it was better this way. The strangeness would wear off.

Besides, the new apartment was too small to accommodate all her old junk. She could manage with rented furnishings for a while. By the time she could buy new, she’d have a better idea what style she really wanted, and instead of the hodgepodge collected over her twenty-six years she’d have a well-coordinated home.

Someone jostled her on the busy downtown street. Murmuring a brief apology, Piper looked up to make eye contact, but the woman strode on ahead without so much as acknowledging her. Piper shrugged and let her gaze slide forward again, only to halt at the sight of a familiar face. The man owning it stopped, too, a smile stretching his mouth as pedestrians darted around him. Piper smiled back, searching for a name.

“Mitch…”

“Sayer,” he supplied, angling his broad shoulders as he crossed the busy sidewalk. “Hello, Piper. It’s great to see you again.”

The man from the airplane. She could hardly believe it.

“Don’t tell me your office is around here.”

“Right there.” He gestured toward the black marble front of a nearby high-rise. “What about you? What brings you downtown?”

“The Medical Specialist Insurance Company,” she answered, glancing down the street in that direction. “Went to work there the day after I hit town.”

His smile widened even further. “That’s wonderful! Good for you.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at the clock mounted atop a pole on the corner, then at her wristwatch, which was running four minutes ahead. Uncertain which was correct, she knew that she had to move along. “Listen, I’ve got to get to work. Wouldn’t do to be late just a week to the day after I started.”

“Right. Okay, but could I ask you something real quick? You boarded the airplane ahead of me. Did you see anyone drop a small, folded sheet of paper—just around that little curve in the ramp?”

She considered a moment, but she really hadn’t been watching anyone else that day. Shaking her head, she answered him, “No, sorry, I didn’t.”

He nodded, huffing with disappointment, and slid his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I see. You wouldn’t know the names of anyone else on that flight, would you? I’d like to ask around, see if I can return this paper to the one who lost it.”

Again Piper shook her head. “I didn’t know a soul on that flight and didn’t really meet anyone but you.”

He smiled again. “Well, at least there’s that, huh?”

“Yes.” She returned his smile and started off down the street, knowing that she had to get moving again. “I’ve really got to go.”

“Sure.” He pivoted on his heel, watching her move away from him. “Maybe we’ll bump into one another again sometime,” he called after her.

She shrugged, lifting a hand in farewell, turned her gaze resolutely forward and hurried on, thinking how odd it was that the one person in this city whose name she actually knew should work just a couple blocks down the street from her. She didn’t quite know whether she should be pleased or worried about that. After all, Mitch Sayer was just a guy she’d met on an airplane. What did she really know about him? He could turn out to be some kind of crazed stalker or something.

God, she thought, don’t let this be some sort of problem. Don’t let me… The prayer died in her mind.

She didn’t even know what to ask for, what to worry about. Every concern seemed trivial and useless now, and she’d had a lot of trouble talking to God lately. She wasn’t sure what that was about, but she realized that she really ought to be looking for a church soon. Surely that would rectify the situation. It was just a matter of time, then, time and adjustment.

Stifling a sigh, she lifted her chin and lengthened her stride, determined afresh to make this decision work, to build a new life for herself away from the pain of the past. As far as she could see, she really had no other option.

Mitch watched Piper Wynne’s compact form making its way down the busy sidewalk. Wearing serviceable pumps, a neat, navy blue skirt and short plaid jacket, she practically marched at double time toward her place of employment. Either she liked the job, was worried about her performance, or really wanted to get away from him. He hoped it wasn’t the latter, because he absolutely hoped to see her again, to get to know her a little better.

It had been so long since he’d pursued such a course that he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, but he figured he could probably muddle his way through, given the opportunity. He didn’t really expect much to come of it. They might not have anything in common, might not like each other at all if they got better acquainted, but it was time to move forward again in his life. He might as well start with the pretty little strawberry blonde who’d sparked his interest for the first time in a very long while.

He turned, finally, and moved toward his own building, thinking how pleased his parents would be when he told them that he’d seen her again. He’d been too busy to stop by their place lately, but he was going to drop in soon to show them the letter and get their take on it. On the other hand, they might read too much into what had actually been a very brief meeting. Maybe he should just wait and see what happened before he mentioned encountering Piper Wynne on the street.

He couldn’t help thinking, though, that it was some coincidence that in a city of this size they should wind up working right down the street from each other—not that he actually believed in coincidences. To his mind, it was no accident that he’d run into her again, just as it was no accident that he’d come across that letter that day. Accidents and coincidence were for those who didn’t know the Lord or trust in His ways.

Mitch wholeheartedly believed that God controlled the events of a life yielded to Him, so if he were meant to get to know Piper Wynne better, the opportunity to do so would come when the time was right. Likewise, if he were meant to find the owner of that letter, God would show him how to do it and why. Meanwhile, he had clients waiting.

He practically skipped into the building, ready to face the day.

Vernon Sayer laid aside the single, creased sheet of notepaper and reached for his pipe, removing it from his mouth in a prelude to speech. First, however, he cleared his throat. The poignancy of the letter had affected him as much as it had his wife.

“They’ve obviously lost someone dear to them, perhaps a son or even a father.”

“It’s so sad,” Marian added, shaking her head to emphasize the words.

“And you may be right that there is a higher purpose here,” Vernon went on, shifting his large, blocky body, “but I don’t think you can really blame yourself for not acting sooner, Mitch. What could you have done? Stood up in the middle of the flight and announced you’d found a letter suggesting that someone was running away from grief?” He shook his head sagely. “No, this has to play out another way or not at all.”

Mitch sat forward on the comfortable overstuffed couch that matched his father’s easy chair and clasped his hands, forearms braced upon his knees. He was well aware of the physical traits that he shared with his father. To Mitch, looking at Vernon was like looking at his own future face. He found comfort in the character that he saw there, the laugh lines that fanned out from the corners of his intelligent eyes and carved deep grooves of his dimples. Even the leathery, beard-coarsened cheeks spoke of masculine strength, a natural counterpart to his mother’s feminine softness, both physically and emotionally. With her comfortable roundness, the thick, gray coil of her hair and naturally enthusiastic concern, Marian was the epitome of everyone’s favorite teacher.

“What would you suggest?” he asked of them both. “Where is there to go from here?”

“We will certainly pray about it,” Marian put in, but Vernon always took the more pragmatic approach.

“Why don’t I run this by Craig Adler? He’s just been promoted to some sort of vice presidency at the airline. He might have some ideas.”

Mitch straightened in surprise. “Is Mr. Adler still working? I thought he retired some time ago.”

Vernon chuckled and stuck his pipe into the corner of his mouth, speaking around it. “They’ll have to blast old Craig out of his chair and take him straight from there to the morgue.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “Craig doesn’t have any reason to want to stay home and take it easy.”

Mitch ducked his head smiling at the not-so-subtle hint. Craig Adler’s wife had divorced him nearly twenty years ago, and the experience had so soured him on marriage that he’d remained single. Apparently he’d devoted his life to work ever since. The implication, of course, was that Mitch, too, was in danger of making that same mistake. Obviously he was right to keep mum about meeting Piper again, Mitch deduced. No telling what they’d make of that.

Mitch got his sudden smile under control, looked his dad in the eye and said, “Can’t hurt to run it by him, and meanwhile I’ll follow Mom’s advice.” Since she was sitting right next to him, he patted her on the knee.

“Your father didn’t mean anything by that last remark,” she assured him.

“Yes, I did,” Vernon instantly refuted. “Mitch works too much. If he’s really interested in finding someone to spend his life with, then he’s going to have to cut back on his hours. You said it yourself.”

“I also said we should keep our opinions to ourselves,” she scolded benignly, shaking a finger at him.

He gave her a droll look over the bowl of his pipe. ‘You’ve been married to me long enough to know better than that.”

She rolled her eyes, saw that Mitch was trying not to laugh and threw up her hands. “So I have, you meddling old mother hen.”

Vernon clamped the pipe stem between his teeth, looked at his son and quipped, “Ah, the joys of married life.”

Mitch laughed at them both. His father grinned unrepentantly while Marian folded her arms in a mock huff. “If it makes you feel any better,” he heard himself saying, “I saw her again.” So much for keeping quiet.

“Her?” Vernon echoed, forehead beetling.

Marian clasped her hands together. “The girl on the plane! The one with the pretty name.”

“Piper Wynne,” Mitch confirmed. “Turns out she works just down the street from me, but that’s all I know about her. And that’s all I have to say on the subject.”

“For now,” Vernon qualified with a flourish of his pipe. “Well, well,” he mused, inserting the stem between his lips again.

Well, well, indeed, Mitch thought, looking at his mother’s shining eyes. He couldn’t help wondering how long they had kept silent, waiting for him to be ready to love again. It was to be expected from his mother, but his father had shown great restraint and respect. Thinking of his garrulous, take-charge father biting his tongue for only God knew how long stunned Mitch.

He cleared his throat and softly asked, “Have I told you two lately how much I love you?”

Vernon removed the pipe from his mouth, smiled and looked down, brushing at imaginary lint on his thigh. Marian’s hand closed tenderly over Mitch’s forearm.

“It’s always good to hear,” she said softly.

Mitch sat back and lightened the moment by asking, “What’s for dinner?”

His mother hopped up and headed to the kitchen, answering him over her shoulder, “Your favorite, of course—chicken potpie.”

Vernon waited until she was out of earshot before confiding, “When I asked, she told me leftovers.” He stuck the pipe between his teeth and winked. “Glad you came over.”

Mitch just smiled.

Piper bit off a chunk of sandwich and momentarily turned her face up to the sun, eyes closed. The air felt like silk today, thanks to unusually mild temperatures and a steady breeze that blew the pollution southward. Chewing rapidly, she looked down at the folded newspaper in her lap, her gaze skimming an article on the so-called megachurches in the area. Suddenly a shadow fell across the newsprint. When it failed to move on, she glanced up.

Mitch Sayer stood in front of her, smiling, a hot dog cradled in a waxed wrapper in one hand, his suit coat draped through the crook of his other arm.

She lowered the newspaper to her lap. “Hello again.”

“Hello.” He lifted his eyebrows as if for permission to snoop. She nodded slightly, and he tilted his head to get a look at what she was reading. “Looking for a church?”

She thought of it more as preparing to look. “Starting to.”

“I’d be delighted if you’d try mine.”

She made no reply to that beyond a tight smile, but somehow she wasn’t surprised to find that he was a practicing Christian.

“May I sit?” He indicated the stone bench that she was occupying.

She pulled her nylon lunch bag a little closer. “Sure.”

Mitch tossed his coat over the end of the bench and sat, biting into the hot dog. She saw that he took it covered in chili, cheese and jalapeño peppers.

“You really do like the spicy stuff, don’t you?”

He looked over his meal and said, “This one’s mild. I forgo the onions when I have a meeting too soon after lunch.”

She grinned. “Considerate of you.”

“Even murderers and thugs can smell,” he quipped. Seeing her shock, he apologized. “Sorry. Little jailhouse humor. I forget it’s not always appropriate.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s all right. You said you were a lawyer. I just didn’t think…”

“Criminal law,” he supplied, and she nodded.

“I figured corporate something or other.”

“I’m a defense attorney,” he told her forthrightly. “Dirty job, but someone’s got to do it—someone who actually cares about justice, preferably.” He bit off a huge chunk of the chili dog.

“And that would be you,” she hazarded.

He nodded, chewing, and swallowed. “I do, actually.” He waved a hand. “I consider it more of a calling than a profession, which is not to say that I don’t find it exciting at times.”

“I can imagine.” The emergency room had often been an exciting place to work, too, until… She pushed that thought away. “So, do you have any high-profile clients at the moment?”

“A couple,” he answered matter-of-factly, shifting on the hard bench. “You heard about a case where a couple of kids took to playing practical jokes on one another and one of them went wrong, put out the eye of an eleven-year-old?”

She shook her head. “No, I live, er, lived in Houston until recently.”

“Well,” he said, “my client is the kid who rigged his buddy’s lunch box with a small explosion. It wasn’t a bomb—it was just supposed to make a popping sound. Unfortunately, his buddy’s little brother took the wrong lunch box to school that morning, and he happened to be holding a fork in his fist when he opened it. You can guess what happened.”

“Oh, that’s awful.”

“Sure is, and with school violence on everyone’s mind lately, my client found himself looking at an attempted murder charge. A Houston lady who just happened to be visiting her granddaughter for lunch that day saw the whole thing. If she hadn’t remembered seeing a name written on the box top in ink marker, my client would still be looking at an attempted murder charge. Seems he was not exactly a fan of his buddy’s little brother, and the D.A. was taking a hard line until my witness remembered seeing that. She’s the reason I was on that plane, by the way. How about you?”

“It was the cheapest airfare,” she told him honestly.

He chuckled. “Yeah. It’s bare bones on those daily shuttle flights, but that’s not what I meant. I was wondering what it is exactly that you do for a living.”

“Oh. I thought I told you.”

“You told me that you work for an insurance company,” he said before taking another bite of his lunch.

She lifted her sandwich and nibbled at it. “That’s right. Case review. You know, that’s where a rejected claim is appealed, so it goes for review, and I either have to justify the refusal to pay or offer some settlement.” She wrinkled her nose, thinking how often she’d complained about some asinine bureaucrat dictating treatment to facilities like the one where she used to be employed. “Like you said, somebody’s got to do it.”

“Okay. Gotcha. Go on.”

“That’s about it,” she said.

“What about family?”

“Everyone has family,” she answered evasively. “Even you, I assume.”

He nodded. “My parents live in the White Rock Lake area to the east of here. What about yours?”

“Oh, they’re in Houston.”

“So that’s where you grew up?”

“No, actually, we lived overseas.”

“Really? Whereabouts?”

“Thailand.”

“Ah, the sandpipers.”

“That’s right.”

“Must’ve been interesting.”

“Well, I’ll tell you, it was quite a culture shock when I came to the States in, like, seventh grade to attend boarding school in Tulsa.”

He polished off the chili dog and wiped his mouth and fingers with a napkin that he plucked from the folded wrapper, careful not to get anything on his pristine white shirt or dark tie. “So what you’re telling me is that your parents stayed in Thailand?”

“For forty-two years.”

He cocked his head. “What business was your father in?”

She looked at her sandwich. “They were missionaries.”

She felt it the instant he figured it out. It was as if something popped.

“Your father is Ransome Wynne.”

“You’ve heard of him,” she said mildly, a little disappointed.

“Oh, my goodness. Heard of him? Ransome and Charlotte Wynne are giants in the mission field. I heard him speak once, a long time ago. His faith just astounded me.”

Piper nodded and tried to smile, but an ache had started in her chest. She fought it desperately. Her companion seemed not to notice.

“Ransome Wynne,” he murmured. “Imagine that.”

Piper stuffed her sandwich back into her bag and hastily rose, glancing blindly at her watch. “Look at the time. I have to get back.” She turned away, automatically adding over her shoulder, “Nice to see you again.”

“Wait a minute,” he insisted. “You forgot this.” Pivoting on her heel, she found him right behind her, the folded newspaper in one hand, his suit coat carried once more in the crook of his arm, as if it just naturally gravitated there. He tapped the paper with a forefinger. “This is it,” he said.

“What?”

“My church.” He lifted the paper a little higher so she could read the small ad tucked in among so many others in the church directory section. “Maybe I’ll see you on Sunday.”

She actually recognized the address as being in her neighborhood, but she didn’t say so. “I’m not sure yet about Sunday.”

“You’d be most welcome.”

She met his gaze then, confirming the interest that his tone had seemed to suggest—personal interest. She took the paper from him and tucked it beneath her arm.

“Thank you,” she said a trifle breathlessly. “I have to get back.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He snagged the collar of his suit coat with the curve of his forefinger, tossing it over his shoulder. She started off again.

“Bye.”

“See you,” he called after her, and it sounded as if he might have added under his breath, “Soon,” but she couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t look back. She didn’t dare. Something about him brought her raw emotions too close to the surface and made her heart beat just a little too fast. That somehow seemed threatening, since she often wondered if her heart had ceased to function entirely.

Chapter Three

Mitchell was astounded. The most interesting, attractive woman he’d met in years was Ransome and Charlotte Wynne’s daughter! How amazing was that? The Wynnes were personal heroes of his. He could only shake his head at the thought of it. His parents would be as blown away as he was—if he told them. When he told them, he amended mentally, because of course he would tell them. Eventually.

They might jump to all kinds of unwarranted conclusions if he let that particular cat out of the bag too soon, so he had to think carefully about the timing of it. He didn’t want to disappoint them, to get them thinking that he’d found the woman God intended for him, only to come to the conclusion later that such was not the case. Better to see how things developed first.

Eager for that, he wondered when he’d see Piper again, and then realized that he’d let her get away without asking for her telephone number or offering his own. Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, he bemoaned his own thoughtlessness, but then he chuckled. He’d see her again if he was supposed to, maybe as soon as Sunday.

He decided that if she showed up at church he’d introduce her to his parents as the daughter of Ransome and Charlotte Wynne. If she didn’t, he’d wait to impart this interesting tidbit until after the next development, provided there was another development. Surely there would be. Surely.

Maybe not romantic developments, though. He sensed a skittishness in her, an uncertainty, as if she weren’t quite sure if she liked him. Then again, even if she did like him, that was no guarantee she’d be attracted to him, let alone fall in love. With so much thinking ahead, he felt a little deflated.

Maybe he’d wait to see if she came to church before talking about her again to his parents.

A car horn blared. Feeling a little disoriented, he glanced around him, then lifted his arm to check his watch. He had time to stroll back to the office, but instead he found himself hurrying, as if he could make the day go faster and Sunday come sooner.

Piper sighed as she punched in the code that allowed her access to her apartment. A feeling of oppression enveloped her; it wasn’t even relieved when she reached shelter. Leaden skies threatened to release their burden of rain any moment. Piper refused to think the oppression might be guilt. She was absolutely determined to be finished with guilt. Why should she feel guilty just because she’d decided to attend a church other than Mitchell Sayer’s?

Frankly, it hadn’t been a very uplifting experience, even though the people there had seemed friendly. The music had been familiar, and she couldn’t quibble with the pastor’s sermon or delivery, but she hadn’t felt any “connection.” So what? she asked herself. At least she could scratch that particular church off her figurative list. Besides, she didn’t owe Mitch Sayer anything. As a matter of fact, she didn’t owe anyone anything, not anymore. She was a free agent. Completely free. She didn’t have to go to church at all if she didn’t want to.

Piper trudged past the stairwell leading to the second floor of the small, recently refurbished apartment house and moved into the open courtyard beyond. She’d rented here because she’d been able to view the apartment over the Internet and because she’d imagined that the waterfall at one end of the swimming pool would provide constant, calming background noise. Not today, however. The soft plinking sounds were more from the gloomy rainfall than the fountain.

She dashed to her front door, keys in hand, and wrestled with the lock. By the time she got the door open and swept inside, she was thoroughly misted with rain. Closing the door firmly behind her, she put her back to it and let out a deep sigh.

Silence surrounded her, accenting the emptiness she felt. She shrugged out of her sweater, hung it on the doorknob and plopped down on the rented sofa. Recriminations pummeled her. She should have gone to Mitch’s church. She should have gone where she knew someone, but she hadn’t because he knew who her parents were, and she was so tired of trying to live up to everyone’s ideal of who she should be. Being the brave and saintly Wynnes’ daughter was more than she could manage just now, perhaps more than she could ever manage again. She wished Mitchell Sayer didn’t know, wished she could be just anyone’s daughter and sister. She wished it for her parents’ and brother’s sakes as well as her own.

It was impossible to change who she was, though, so the best she could do was to change her life. That much she could, would manage. She sat up a little straighter, remembering that one of her neighbors had invited her over for dinner this evening to meet her husband.

Melissa Ninever was a few years younger than Piper, maybe twenty-three or -four, and newly married—a tall, slender young woman with an engaging smile and streaky, light brown hair in a short, trendy cut. Melissa had gone out of her way to make Piper’s acquaintance. Her husband, Scott, apparently worked a lot of overtime as a shipping scheduler. Melissa herself worked as a clerk at a rental agency just a few miles up the road and seemed to find herself at loose ends quite a lot. She seemed to need a friend as much as Piper did—and she had no idea that Ransome and Charlotte Wynne were revered the world over for their missionary service.

It was Day Thirteen of her new life, and already Piper had made a friend. That was a good beginning—enough for now. The rest would come, surely. Otherwise, why would she have so easily found a job and an apartment via the Internet even before she had set foot in Dallas? They were confirmation, in her mind, that she had made the right decision. For whatever reason, God wanted her out of Houston. Perhaps if she had listened more closely and been more sensitive to His urgings, she and her family could have been spared the pain of these past weeks and months.

Perhaps she would not have made such unforgivable mistakes.

She bowed her head, but confusion swirled through her, blocking any coherent thought that she might have lifted in prayer, so she got up, walked into the small, single bedroom and began changing into casual clothes, pondering how to fill the next few hours. Lunch had to be prepared, of course, and then cleaned up. For the life of her, though, she couldn’t think of any other way to fill the time until she was expected at the Ninevers’ upstairs apartment.

The afternoon suddenly seemed as bleak as the weather, but she busied herself flipping channels on the rented television and choosing from her meager wardrobe the next week’s outfits. She didn’t want to show up for work week after week in the same few articles of clothing. Finally she brushed out her thick, wavy hair, slid a bright blue elastic band over her forehead to hold it in place, put on a matching shirt with her jeans and stepped into her loafers.

Melissa had said to come casual, but Piper wanted to make a good impression on her friend’s husband, so she added a pair of simple gold hoop earrings and a bangle bracelet, as well as mascara and a touch of pale coral lipstick. Taking along an umbrella this time, she climbed the corner stairs and followed the landing to the Ninevers’ door. Melissa greeted her with a bright smile, and Piper allowed herself to be pulled into the colorful apartment strewn with lava lamps, beaded curtains and tie-dyed fabrics straight out of the early 1970s.

Scott Ninever might have been a year or so older than his young wife, but his sideburns, pale shaggy hair and baggy clothes made him seem younger, as did the inch or so in height that Melissa obviously had on him. His friendly, open manner and kooky sense of humor soon put Piper at ease, and she found him every bit as accepting and intelligent as his wife.

Dinner proved to be nothing more than frozen lasagna and prepackaged salad, which they ate sitting cross-legged on the floor around a large, square coffee table in the living area. Modern rock emanated from a wall-sized stereo system. The dining nook was occupied by a desk and an impressive array of computer equipment that looked right at home with the seventies memorabilia and minimalist metal furniture.

An uncomfortable moment came when the dinner lay spread out on the unconventional dining table and the three of them had arranged themselves comfortably around it. From sheer habit, Piper bowed her head in expectation of a blessing. At least a couple seconds ticked by before she realized that her new friends were carrying on with filling plates and pouring drinks. Realizing her assumptions were erroneous, she quickly picked up her napkin and spread it in her lap, keeping her head down until the burn of color in her cheeks cooled somewhat.

If the Ninevers even noticed, they were too polite to let it be known, and she was soon laughing as Scott lip-synced to the music and played air guitar with his fork while somehow managing to eat his dinner. After the meal, Melissa and Scott quickly cleaned up, working as smoothly together as if they’d been doing so for decades, while Piper sat at the counter separating kitchen from dining-cum-office area and admired Melissa’s display of hand-painted tin plates. Next they coaxed her into a silly game of dominoes, again to the accompaniment of rock music and Scott’s gyrations.

Reluctantly Piper rose to leave just before ten, warmed when first Melissa then Scott kissed her cheek. She was almost out the door when Melissa stopped her, saying, “Hey, why don’t you come with us to the arboretum next Sunday?”

“Hey, yeah, bet you haven’t been out there yet,” Scott added.

“It’s really neat,” Melissa told her. “Of course, it’s prettiest in the spring, but there’s still lots to see.”

“It’s, like, serene, you know,” Scott put in, “and they do concerts on the lawn—classical mostly, some folky stuff, too. You really ought to see it.”

“Bring a book,” Melissa suggested. “We’ll just veg out.”

“Guaranteed to relieve stress,” Scott said enticingly.

Piper smiled. What could it hurt? It wasn’t as if anyone would miss her if she didn’t attend church somewhere. Besides, it was just one Sunday. She nodded. “I’d like that.”

Melissa gave a little hop and clapped her hands together, which made Scott smile.

“Oh, you’re going to love it,” Melissa promised. “We’ll hook up later and fix what time to meet, okay?”

“Sure. Thanks for the invitation, and for a great evening.” Piper started toward the stairs, adding, “Next time, my place.”

“Right on,” Scott called heartily. “Have a good one!”

“You, too.”

She went down the steps feeling pleased. She had made two friends. Life was improving already.

“Mr. Adler, you don’t know how much I appreciate this,” Mitch said, shaking the older man’s hand across the gleaming expanse of a very vice-presidential desk.

“Must be some letter you found,” Craig Adler said as he dropped into a sumptuous tan leather chair, exposing a large bald spot in the thinning gray hair on top of his head. “Your father says that you wish to retain possession of it until the owner is found.” He waved Mitch into one of three matching leather chairs arranged in a slight arc in front of his desk. Mitch folded himself into the nearest one.

“That’s correct. I haven’t shared the letter with anyone other than my parents, and I don’t intend to. It’s a privacy issue, you understand.”

Adler smiled. “Spoken like a true lawyer, and frankly, the privacy issue is a real concern to us.”

Mitch nodded. “I’m aware that you can’t just turn over the flight manifest to me.”

“I’m glad you understand that.”

“And I also realize that you have no vested interest in seeing the letter go back to its original owner,” Mitch added.

“You’re right. Even if we wanted to, we couldn’t reunite every lost item that we find with its owner. Just holding items of value for claim is a real financial burden, so the less the airline has to do with this the better. But I don’t see any real reason not to send out a notice informing everyone on the manifest that a personal item of no actual monetary value has been recovered and is being held for the owner by you. Provided we can agree on the ground rules.”

Mitch smiled. It was more than he’d dared hope for, really. “You just tell me how it has to play. We can even spell it out in writing, if you like.”

“I’ll send you a memo when we’re done here,” Adler said, making a note on a legal pad. “And I have to tell you that I wouldn’t do this for just anyone. Even with assurance that nothing in this letter you’ve found could be construed as a legal risk for the airline, I wouldn’t normally go against company practice like this, not even for a personal friend, but I know your father, and he says this is important.”

“I’m very grateful, sir, and I’d like to add my reassurance to Dad’s. This won’t come back to bite you, I promise. My sole intent is to return the letter to its owner. Anything beyond that is strictly up to that individual.”

“Meaning?”

Mitch shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t want to give away too much, but he realized that Adler was sticking his neck out here. Choosing his words carefully, he said, “Criminal law is not my only area of expertise. After Anne died, I got involved in a counseling program that has become something of a personal ministry for me. I think this person might benefit from that.”

Craig Adler tapped a finger on the corner of his desk consideringly before nodding. “All right. Fair enough. But what happens if the person who contacts you isn’t the owner of the letter?”

“It seems to me permissible to ask if a contact saw someone else drop a folded sheet of paper on the loading ramp and, if so, who. I might get at least a description that way.”

Adler nodded. “All right.”

Mitch shifted forward. “Would it be okay, do you think, if I asked for the names of anyone traveling with the contact so I could perhaps interview them?”

“Hmm, I suppose, but at no time may you represent yourself as connected to the airline per se.”

“Absolutely not. And I promise to document every contact.”

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that some folks may refuse to speak to you, and you have to respect that.”

“Of course. It goes without saying.”

“Then we understand each other.”

“Yes, sir, I believe we do.”

“Then I’ll have my secretary send the notifications out early next week.”

“Thank you, sir.” Mitch rose, aware that he’d infringed on this busy man’s time, and again offered his hand. Adler didn’t bother getting up, just leaned forward and briefly clasped Mitch’s hand again.

“If you don’t mind me saying so,” Adler began, sitting back again, “you don’t fit my stereotype of a criminal defense attorney.”

Mitch smiled thinly. “I can swim with the sharks when it’s necessary.”

“Your track record tells me that. All the more reason for my surprise. You seem a very compassionate sort.”

“Let me ask you a question,” Mitch proposed. “If you were in legal trouble, guilt or innocence aside, wouldn’t you want a caring, passionate advocate in your corner?”

Adler’s mouth crooked up. “Point taken.”

“Thank you again, sir, and if I can ever return the favor, I will, God forbid.”

Adler chuckled. “Just let me know how it turns out, will you?”

“As best I can,” Mitch promised.

Adler inclined his head. “Always the lawyer. Good enough. Tell that lazy old man of yours that I’m still waiting for that golf game he promised me. And be sure to leave your address and phone number with my secretary on your way out.”

“Will do,” Mitch promised, and went out the door.

He dropped a business card with the attractive young secretary at the desk in the outer office, wished her a nice day and pushed through heavy glass doors to the private elevator just outside. As the elegant, cherry-paneled car whisked toward the ground below, he thanked God for making this possible. He had to believe that he would soon be looking into the eyes of someone who might really need him right now.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Piper gasped, bending forward at the hip, her hands on her knees. Straightening, she reached behind her to pull up a toe and loosen her hamstring.

“I can’t believe you kept up so well,” Melissa said between gulps of air.

“Oh, please.” Piper brought her hands to her hips, feeling the springy fabric of workout tights beneath her fingertips. “You were running slower than usual.”

Melissa shook her head. “No way. Well, maybe at first, but only at first.”

Pleased, Piper lifted an arm over her head and bent sideways from the waist, stretching tight muscles. “I am going to be so sore tomorrow!”

“Just stretch out again before you go to bed tonight,” Melissa advised, bending and grabbing her ankles. “A little time in the pool wouldn’t hurt, either.”

“Before or after dinner?”

“Before. I’ll have Scott grill us some burgers while we loll.”

“Only if I can bring the buns and fixings.”

“Deal.”

Piper linked her hands behind her and lifted them as high as she could. Melissa straightened and eyed her enviously. “Honestly, I’d kill for that figure.”

Piper dropped her arms and looked down at herself. “This figure is why I let you browbeat me into getting up at the crack of dawn to pound the pavement.”

“It’s about health, not looks,” Melissa reminded her. “Not that there’s a vain bone in your body.”

“Or yours,” Piper returned. “Besides, why would you want to be anything other than what you are when Scott thinks you’re perfect?”

Melissa grinned. “Why do you think I married him? Hey, how come you’re not with anyone?”

Piper shrugged. “I never really had the time to meet guys before, and now I wouldn’t have the slightest idea where to look, frankly.”

Melissa cut her a sideways glance and mopped her face with the tail of her T-shirt. “Then what would you think about meeting a friend of Scott’s?”

Piper instantly pictured a goateed, beatnik type. “Oh, I don’t know.”

“Actually,” Melissa went on, “Nate is Scott’s boss. He’s almost thirty, real outgoing, kind of a conservative dresser, never been married, makes good money, not bad looking, either, if you like them big and beefy.”

For some reason the picture in Piper’s mind dissolved and reformed into the image of Mitchell Sayer. Now, where had that come from? She shook her head. Melissa took it for refusal.

“Aw, come on. What’ve you got to lose?”

“I’ll think about it,” Piper promised, heading for her apartment door. “See you later. Provided I can still move.”

“Burgers right here by the pool,” Melissa reminded her. “And he really is a good guy!”

“I said I’ll think about it.” Piper tossed the words over her shoulder. But what was there to think about really?

Melissa and Scott were her only friends. Oh, she’d eaten lunch with some of the women at work this week, but no one seemed inclined to socialize outside the office. She enjoyed the time she spent with the Ninevers. The arboretum had proven very enjoyable indeed. Surely she could trust their judgment when it came to this Nate fellow, and she really did want to meet someone special, even though she seldom let herself think about it. She cringed at the thought of a blind date, but she really ought to be more open to the possibilities. After all, what was the point in starting a new life if she kept holding on to the same old attitudes?

She knew that she was going to agree before she even finished her shower and got dressed for work, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of trepidation. All day long she kept trying to find excuses for refusing to meet Scott’s friend. In the end, however, she couldn’t make herself be that dishonest. No good reason existed for not meeting this Nate. She decided to tell Scott at dinner that she would be pleased to meet his friend.

After the bus let her off in front of the apartment house, she hobbled straight to the mailbox in the common area and unlocked her cubby, as was her custom. Most of what she received consisted of circulars and advertisements, but when she came across a letter from the airline upon which she’d flown from Houston, she decided to check it out, although it was probably just a credit card offer or some such thing. Carefully inserting a fingernail beneath the flap, she tore open the envelope and unfolded the single page within.

To her surprise it wasn’t some advertising gimmick. Instead it was a note from the office of the vice president saying that a personal article of no real monetary value had been recovered by a third party interested only in returning it to its owner. Anyone having lost such a personal item was instructed to call a local telephone number or write to a local post office box. Piper shook her head. She hadn’t lost anything that she knew of—at least nothing that could be returned to her. She dropped the letter into the trash can along with the other junk and headed for her apartment as swiftly as her sore, tight muscles would allow.

By Tuesday of the following week, Mitch had received three replies to the airline mailing—two phone calls from Dallas-area residents and a letter from Houston. The letter writer claimed to have lost a valuable family heirloom in the form of a large diamond ring, despite the airline’s specific wording of the notice. Mitch shot off a letter stating, once again, that the item recovered was of no monetary value and definitely not a ring. He suggested that the writer submit a properly documented claim to the airline, while privately doubting that the ring had ever existed.

The telephone calls were no more helpful. One call came from a nervous newlywed whose private honeymoon video had probably never made it on the airplane in the first place. The other came from a wary older gentleman who wouldn’t say what he’d lost or give Mitch his full name or address, so Mitch suggested that they meet in a public place.

The man chose a popular Greenville Avenue restaurant, and they set a time for early Friday evening. Mitch felt cautiously optimistic, but it turned out that the fellow had lost his Social Security card and didn’t want his daughter to know.

“She thinks I’m the next thing to senile as it is,” the grandfatherly man explained.

Mitch advised him to contact the local police and the Social Security Administration immediately, as well as all three national credit reporting agencies and the administrator of his pension checks.

“It’s a hassle, but it’s the only way to protect yourself, identity theft being such a problem these days. And if you find out someone’s been using your information to make purchases or apply for credit cards, let me know right away. I’ll go with you to file a report and help you clear your name and credit.”

He gave the man his business card, brushed aside his expressions of gratitude and asked if he had seen anyone drop a piece of paper while boarding the plane. Like the newlywed, the gentleman answered in the negative, but he suggested that Mitch ask a friend who had accompanied him on the flight. Mitch jotted down the name and telephone number that was supplied, then insisted on buying the fellow a glass of iced tea and an appetizer. He politely refused Mitch’s offer of dinner, so Mitch dined alone, disappointed that he was no closer to finding the owner of the letter, though it was early days yet.

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