From the book: A Family for Tory
By: Margaret Daley
Imprint: Steeple Hill Love Inspired
Publication Date: March 2004
ISBN # 0-373-87255-0
Copyright: 2004
By: Margaret Daley
The edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For more romance information surf to: http://www.eHarlequin.com


Chapter One

Slade Donaldson switched off the engine and glanced toward his eight-year-old daughter. "Ready, Mindy? Are you sure you want to do this? I'll be gone for about an hour."

Mindy nodded, her face brightening with a huge grin. "Tor-ee needs--my--uh--help, Dad-dy."

Every time he heard his daughter struggle to say something,
his heart twisted into a knot that he feared would never unravel. "Then I'd better meet this Tory Alexander." Since his housekeeper had taken Mindy to her physical therapy for the past few months, he'd never met the woman who had brought her pony into the hospital to cheer up the children and captured his daughter's interest.

Mindy pointed toward a petite woman emerging from a barn, leading a horse on a rein. "Th--ere."  Her grin widened, her brown eyes sparkling.

"Then let's go. I need to be at the bank in twenty minutes for my meeting." He thrust open his car door, then hurried around to help his daughter.

"I can--do--this." Mindy pulled herself to a standing position using the door.

The tightness in his chest made his breathing difficult. He
offered his daughter his arm. She clasped it to steady herself, then began to make her way toward the woman by the opening into the barn. Two weeks ago his daughter had declared she didn't want to use her walker anymore. Each day since, Mindy had leaned less and less on him as she'd walked.  Progress, Slade thought, due partly to this woman before him.  She and her pony, Mirabelle, have been the reasons Mindy tolerated her physical therapy at the hospital over the past few months.  He was in Tory Alexander's debt.

Tory saw Mindy approaching and tied the reins to the fence of the riding ring.  Then she strode toward the girl with a smile of greeting.  Slade was surprised by how small the woman was.  The horse she'd been leading was a t least seventeen hands tall, towering over her.  Her long auburn hair was swept back in a ponytail with a few stray strands curling around her oval face.  Freckles sprinkled her turned-up nose and her large brown eyes drew a person to her.  Fringed in dark lashes, Slade felt their pull as she came to a stop only a few feet from Mindy and him.

Tory looked at his daughter.  "I'm so glad you didn't have to cancel, Mindy."  Then she turned those large brown eyes on him.  "I'm sorry to hear about Mrs. Watson's emergency.  Will her niece be okay?"

She just went into labor a little early.  My housekeeper assures me everything will be all right and she'll be back in a week or so."

"That's good to hear.  I know she was excited about her niece's pregnancy.  First in the family."  Tory lifted her arm toward Mindy to take over being her support if she needed.  "Come on, Mindy.  Let's show your father the barn."

"I have a meeting I need to go to."

"Dad-dy, just--" Mindy swallowed several times "--see Bel-le."

Slade stared at his daughter's face, lit with hope and
eagerness, and he couldn't refuse the invitation even though it would make him late. After all, she was the reason he worked fourteen-hour days. He wanted only the best care for Mindy, and that cost money. "Lead the way." Sweeping his arm toward the barn, he followed the pair.

As he entered, surprisingly the only scents to assail him were hay and leather. Scanning the darker interior, he noticed how clean the barn was. A few stalls had horses in them but most were empty.
"Where are your horses?"

"In the pastures."

"How many do you have?"

"Fifteen and one pony, Mirabelle, or, as Mindy loves to call
her, Belle."

"Th-ere," Mindy said, gesturing toward the last stall. She
hurried her pace, her left foot dragging in the dirt.
Mindy stumbled. Slade lurched forward to catch her, but Tory had already steadied her. Mindy continued her fast pace toward Mirabelle, towing Tory behind her.

Tory quickened her step to keep up. "Whoa. Mirabelle isn't
going anywhere."

"Haven't seen--her in--lo-ong time."

Slade scooped Mindy up in his arms and continued toward the stall at the very end of the barn. "It's only been five days, sweetie."

"Too lo-ong."
 

While Tory the stall door open, he went inside with Mindy. She squirmed.

"Dad-dy, put me down."

He settled his daughter in front of Mirabelle and kept his
hands on her shoulders so she wouldn't fall as she found her balance. Even though her surgery had been eight months before, it was still hard for her to keep her equilibrium at times.

She bent forward and threw her arms around the pony's neck. Nuzzling the animal, Mindy giggled. "Isn't she ugly? No--" she shook her head "--pret-ty?"

Slade inspected the pony's golden brown coat and big brown eyes that suddenly reminded him of Mirabelle's owner. "Very pretty."

"You know Mirabelle has been waiting just for you so you could give her a good brushing. No one does it better." Tory produced a curry comb and passed it to Mindy.

Tory helped Mindy position herself so she could start on the pony's left side. With one hand clutching the mane, Mindy began her task. Tory stepped back toward the entrance, motioning for Slade to follow. Outside the stall she paused. Reluctantly Mindy's dad joined her.

"Do you think we should leave her alone like that?" he asked, a frown creasing his brow.

"She'll be fine. She's done that half a dozen times now and
loves to. It's her private time with Mirabelle." A giggle drifted to her, and Tory smiled. "See. I think she tells Belle her secrets."

"What secrets?" panic laced his question.

"All little girls have them. Who's her favorite movie star?
What songs does she like? Who's her best friend at school?"

"She didn't go to school this year. She's being tutored at
home."

"Is she going to attend in the fall?"

Slade opened his mouth to answer, then clamped it shut. He
glanced away. "I don't know. It depends on her therapy and how fast she recovers."

"Mindy's so good with the other children who come for riding lessons. She misses her friends."

Slade straightened, his jaw clenched. "I won't have her go to school and be teased because she talks too slow and walks funny."

"Kids can be very accepting."

"And kids can be very cruel. Mindy's gone through so much this past year because of the car accident that took her mother and caused her epilepsy."

"But didn't the surgery make the epilepsy better?"

"She hasn't had a seizure, but at what cost?" Slade waved his hand toward the stall where his daughter was talking to the pony, frustration in every taut line of his body.

"Do you regret agreeing to the surgery?"

Slade plowed his fingers through his hair. "Yes--no. The
doctors told me this was best for Mindy, that given time she would recover most of her speech and physical abilities. A few years from now we'll hardly know she had part of her brain removed."

"But it doesn't make it any easier right now?"

"No," he clipped out.

"I didn't mean to intrude, but Mindy has become very important to me. I was hoping she could come more often to the stables to help out. She asks me to talk to you about it."

"She did? When?"

"She called me this morning and asked."

"So that's who she was talking to on the phone. I thought it
was one of her girlfriends. When I made that assumption, she didn't correct me."

"She wants to be my assistant and go with me to the hospital when I take Mirabelle next time."

Slade relaxed the tensed set to his shoulders. "It's hard for
me to say no when Mirabelle is the reason my daughter would cheerfully go to the hospital for her physical therapy. Before Mirabelle, Mrs. Watson and I had a horrible time getting Mindy to go. Now with the promise of seeing the pony, she'll do just about anything."

"Animals can be great therapy for people. That's why I started my riding stable for people in need, especially children. So what do you say about Mindy helping me out?"

"Let me think about it. That's asking you to do a lot for
Mindy."

"I don't mind. If I didn't want her to be my helper, I
wouldn't have asked."

"Still..." Slade checked his watch. "I'd better get going. I'm
already late as it is. I'll be back in an hour."

"We'll be in the riding ring."

Slade strode toward his car, feeling the touch of Tory's gaze
on his back. It took a supreme effort not to turn around and look at her. She was an attractive lady who obviously loved animals and children. Very appealing qualities in a woman, he thought, then shook his head. What in the world was he thinking? After this past twenty-two months piecing his life back together, he didn't think he could deal with anything that required his emotions be involved. He had all he could handle with Mindy and her recovery. But first, he had to secure the loan for the second phase of the expansion of his company. 

From the book: When Dreams Come True
By: Margaret Daley
Imprint: Steeple Hill Love Inspired
Publication Date: March 2006
ISBN #
Copyright: 2006

Chapter One--When Dreams Come True
    
     "Mommy!  There's a man here to see ya!"  Mandy Witherspoon yelled.
     With a shake of her head, Zoey Witherspoon dried her hands on a towel. "Mom, I don't know how many times I've told that child never to open the door to a stranger. Will she ever learn to listen?"
     Emma Bradford laughed. "You should have seen you at that age. You want me to see who it is?"
     "No, I will, then have a word with my daughter. It's a good thing we live in a safe, small town."  Already headed toward the kitchen door, Zoey glanced at the clock over the desk and realized how late the hour was. Who would be visiting right before the children's bedtime?
     When Zoey stepped into the foyer and saw a tall, thin man through the screen, she held back the scream that demanded release. She blinked. Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her. But when she focused on the man again, she realized the impossible had occurred.
     The pounding of her heart threatened to squeeze the air from her lungs. Slowly she moved toward the front door, past her daughter. "Mandy, go help your grandmother clean up."
     The sound of her daughter racing toward the kitchen faded, and all Zoey heard was the thundering beat of her heart pulsating in her ears. She opened the screen door to get a better look at the man on her front porch.
     Her eyes slid closed. It can't be Dane.
     Zoey braced herself with a deep, fortifying breath and opened her eyes to stare at the man who had returned from the dead. She took the few steps separating them and laid her hand on his chest to feel the strong beat of his heart against her palm, to assess what she was seeing was real--very real. Then without a word, she threw herself into his embrace.
     He kissed the top of her head, then her forehead and finally her lips. A brief, searing touch of their mouths that left Zoey even more shaken. The warmth of his body emphasized how alive her husband was.
     Finally pulling away and looking up into the face that had haunted her dreams for the past two-and-a-half years, she whispered her husband's name, "Dane."
     "Hello, Zoey."
     "They told me you were dead. I--" No other words came to mind. Releasing the doorknob that she clutched so tightly to keep herself upright, she stepped back to allow him into the house.
     "They were wrong."  One corner of his mouth lifted in a self-mocking grin that didn't stay long.
     Tears welled into her eyes at the sight of him. He was thin, almost gaunt. His face was clean shaven, but she could tell that he'd worn a beard until recently. His black hair was cut short and sprinkled with strands of gray now, even though he was only thirty-eight. Before he left on his last assignment had never, he had any gray. But the most startling difference in her husband was his eyes. When she looked into them, she saw nothing of the man she'd known and loved. For a brief moment she'd glimpsed a vulnerability in his eyes that he would never have allowed to show in the past. A shiver flashed down her spine as she realized he was a stranger to her.
     Standing in the middle of her foyer in her home in Sweetwater, she swallowed several times, feeling as lost as he had been to her. "What happened, Dane?"  she asked, her words thick with the tears she was frantic to keep bottled inside. She'd fallen apart once before when she'd heard the news of his death. It had taken so long to claw her way out of the emotional abyss she'd wallowed in. She swore then she would never put herself in that position again. She had more than herself to think about.
     "As you know, the plane crashed over the Amazon. I was lucky. I was thrown from the plane when it hit the trees. The Xinga tribe saw the fire from the crash, found me unconscious and nursed me back to health."  A shutter dropped over his features. "I didn't know who I was until recently."
     The thought of what he must have gone through threatened to overwhelm her. She again touched his arm, weaved her fingers through his as though that link would solidify her dream of her husband returning to her and the children. He still stood in the foyer. This was no vision, but reality. "You had amnesia?"
     Dane sidestepped away from her touch and turned into the living room. He sought a chair and sat as though he physically couldn't stand any longer. "Yes. For a long time I only had glimpses of my life, but nothing to help me piece together who I was."
     "How about the other two people in the plane?" She sat across from him, her own weariness after a long day at work catching up with her.
     "From what the Xingas told me, because I was thrown from the plane, I was saved. The pilot and Bob Patterson weren't. There was little left of the plane, Ooly bits and pieces that had broken off from the main body before it caught on fire."  He released a heavy sigh. "I know you have a lot of questions, but I'd rather not go into the details right now."
     "But, Dane--"
     "Please,"  he cut in, his blue eyes continuing to convey that vulnerability she never would have associated with her husband. "I realize when I left we were talking about separating, but I hope I can stay here for a while. I need..."  His voice trailed off into silence.
     "Of course," she said to fill the awkwardness that had descended. There would be time later to discuss what had happened between them right before he'd gone on his last assignment, to talk about what he had gone through the past two-and-a-half years. "Blake has grown a lot. He's going to be tall like you. In fact, he's the spitting image of you."
     "Oh, that's too bad,"  Dane said with a lopsided grin that she'd often thought of as cocky, but not now.
     "And Mandy will be so excited when she realizes that it was you in the foyer."  Zoey paused to catch her breath. "She just didn't recognize you. She was so young when you...disappeared."
     A soft expression entered his eyes. "She looks like you. She's beautiful."
     Zoey peered away. There was so much she needed to tell him, so much she needed to understand. "There's something else."
     He straightened, one brow arching.
     "We have another daughter, Tara. She was born seven months after you--"  Zoey paused for a few seconds, having almost said "died,"  "--left."
     "Another daughter?"
     The wonder in his voice tore at Zoey's defenses. Tears burned her eyes. She'd shed so many that first year Dane had been gone. How could there possibly be any left?
     "Yes, that's one of the reason I came back to Sweetwater."  And the fact I hated living in Dallas, lost in the crowd of people with no family there as support. She remembered the struggle to pull herself together after Dane had disappeared. For years her life had revolved around him until she wasn't even sure there had been a Zoey Witherspoon, a person independent from her husband. She didn't want to get tangled up in that kind of pain ever again.
     "So much has changed. I can't believe I have three..."  Silence snatched the rest of his sentence.
     Zoey waited for Dane to continue. She needed him to tell her more, to share with her what he was feeling, thinking. He surged to his feet and began to pace as though he were an animal confined to a small cage and checking out his domain.
     That was the Dane she was used to--the man who shut her out of his life, who kept secrets from her because of his job in the DEA, who was driven by a restless energy. Please, Heavenly Father, help me to be strong.
     Zoey leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees and clasping her hands together. "Does your boss know you're alive?"
     "Yes."
     Shocked by his answer, Zoey asked in a voice laden with budding anger, "Why didn't Carl let me know you were?"
     "I told him not to. I wanted to be the one to tell you face-to-face. I didn't think it was something that should be handled over the phone or by a stranger appearing at your door. Too impersonal."
     "What are your plans, Dane?"
     He stopped his pacing, tension coming off him in waves. "Would you believe I don't have any plans at the moment?"
     That was hard to believe because her husband had always been so focused. "How about your job at the DEA?"
     He raked his hand through his short hair. "I don't know. Carl told me to take some time off and we'd talk when I've fully recovered. He encouraged me to get reacquainted with my family."
     That surprised Zoey. In the past his boss had always demanded one hundred percent from Dane. To Carl, family had always been second, and he'd expected the people who worked for him to feel the same way. Again she was reminded of all the problems they'd had before Dane's disappearance. But that wasn't important right now. Dane's recovery and reappearance was all that counted at the moment.
     "Do you have a spare bed I can use?"
     His question reinforced the barrier that had been slowly building up between them before he'd left for South America. She supposed it was a good idea not to share the same bedroom. He hadn't come right out and said it, but his meaning had been clear. They weren't the same two people as they had been when they had married. It wouldn't be fair to either one to put that kind of strain on their fragile relationship. "I don't have a spare bed, but the couch in the den makes up into a comfortable one."   
     "Thanks. I wasn't looking forward to staying in a motel." He took a step toward her. "I want to get to know you, Blake, Mandy...and Tara all over again. There are still parts of my life that are fuzzy, but I've been told being home will help."
     She rose, the reality of their situation beginning to sink in. So much had happened in the past few years to both of them. The gulf between them at that moment seemed extremely wide. "Let me go talk with the children, tell them you're alive, then I'll bring them in here."
     He peered down at his clothes as though checking to make sure he looked all right. The black pants and gray knit shirt hung off his frame. "Carl had someone buy these for me. He told me I'd fill them out in no time."
     "Are you hungry?" Zoey gestured toward the kitchen. "I can fix you something to eat."
     "Maybe later. I want to see the children."
     Yes, first her children. How was she going to explain Dane's reappearance to them? "I won't be long."
     A wry grin erased the worry in his expression. "I'm not going anywhere."
     She returned his smile. "Are you sure you don't want something to eat? It's no trouble."
     "I don't think I could eat right now."
     Zoey looked at the lean lines of his face, the pallor beneath his tanned features, a tic that twitched in his jawline, and wanted to insist he eat something. He'd never liked her fussing over him in the past. She kept her mouth shut and headed toward the kitchen.
     When she entered the room, her mother glanced up, concern carved into her expression. "Honey, is everything okay?"  She lifted Tara from her high chair.
     "Mandy, why don't you go in the den and watch TV with Blake for a few moments?"
     After her daughter disappeared, Zoey turned to her mother, who held Tara in her arms. Her youngest played with her mother's dangling earring. "Mom, that stranger at the door was Dane."
     Stunned, Emma sucked in a deep breath, her eyes round. "No!"
     Zoey nodded. "He lost his memory when his plane crashed. Some Indians saved him. Until recently he hadn't remembered who he was."
     Her mother shifted Tara to her other arm, burying her face in the toddler's hair. "But the government was sure he had died."
     "The government made a mistake."
     Emma moved toward Zoey. "Oh, honey." She took her into her arms with Tara between them. "What are you going to do?"
     "Pick up the pieces of our marriage and start over. I need to tell Blake and Mandy now that their dad has returned from the dead."
     "Do you want my help?"
     Her mother had supported Zoey through some tough times after Dane had disappeared. Zoey moved back to her hometown because she'd realized she couldn't do it alone. After three months in Dallas trying to support her family financially and emotionally, she'd finally admitted she'd needed help and turned to her family and the Lord. She never regretted that choice. But right now she knew she had to do this alone, as so many things in the past few years.
     "Just take care of Tara."  Zoey lay her hand along her youngest child's jawline, feeling the softness beneath her palm. "At least you, my sweet, will be all right." She kissed Tara's cheek, then went to find her other two children.
     In the den Zoey switched off the television, raising her hand to quiet the protests from Blake and Mandy. "We need to talk and I can't do that with the TV on."  Sitting on the couch, Zoey patted the soft brown leather cushion. "Come here and sit with me."
     Blake sat down next to her without a word while Mandy plopped down on the other side and bounced a few times as though testing the plumpness of the cushion. The whooshing sound permeated the silence. Zoey marveled at how much energy her daughter had after a long day, playing and helping her get dinner ready.
     "Mommy, who was that man?"  Mandy finally settled next to her and looked up at her with her big, brown eyes that reminded Zoey so much of her own.
     She didn't know where to begin. Blake had been nine when his father had left on his last assignment. And her five-year-old daughter hardly remembered the father who had been gone a lot that last year before he'd disappeared.
     "Mom, is something wrong?"  Blake asked, frowning.
     "Mommy, did that man make you sad?" Mandy's mouth turned down in a frown, too, always imitating her older brother.
     Zoey slipped her arms around her children and brought them close to her, savoring their nearness for a few seconds before she had to break the news. Mandy would be all right, but Zoey worried about Blake's reaction. He hadn't taken his father's death well, withdrawing into a shell for months after his father's disappearance. She'd tried to reach her son, but he was a lot like his father. He kept things bottled up inside.
     Realizing she had been frowning herself while trying to find the best way to break the news to her children, Zoey forced a smile to her lips. "No, the man didn't make me sad. Not at all. In fact just the opposite. I have some great news to share with you two."  She drew in a deep breath and held it before releasing it through pursed lips. "The man Mandy is talking about is your father."
     "Dad?" Blake pulled away, confusion knitting his brow. "But--I don't understand."
     "Honey, your father has come home."
     "Are you sure it's him?  He didn't look like the pictures we have." Mandy hopped off the couch and faced Zoey, her face screwed up in a thoughtful expression as though she were picturing the man at the door and trying to reconcile in her mind that person with the photos she had of her father.
     Both of her children peered at her as though she didn't have any idea what she was talking about. "Your father was believed to be dead, but he isn't. He's returned to us."
     "Where was he?  Why did he stay away?  Why didn't he come home?" Blake asked, his voice rising as he bounded to his feet.
     Zoey tried to grasp his hand, to tug him close to her. She wanted--needed--to hold him. Blake shuffled farther back, his scowl firmly in place. She didn't have all the answers for her son. She didn't know what had really happened and, knowing Dane, might never completely. All she could tell her children was what little she knew. "Your father was hurt and couldn't remember who he was until recently. He's in the living room waiting to see you two."
     "Did he bring me a present?" Mandy asked, hurrying toward the door. "Maybe he'll play a game with me or read me a story."
     Zoey didn't have a chance to answer Mandy. She flew out of the room, leaving Zoey alone with her son, who looked as if he wasn't going to budge an inch.
     "Honey, your father didn't choose to be gone for these past few years. As soon as he could, he came back to us."  Drawing on her reserve of strength, Zoey stood and extended her hand toward Blake, noticing the slight tremor in her fingers. "Come talk to him, please."  When her son didn't move, Zoey dropped her hand to her side and walked toward the door. "We'll be in the living room when you're ready."
     For months after his father had disappeared, Blake had cried himself to sleep. He hadn't understood his father being gone for good. He'd wanted his playmate back--the man who rode him around on his shoulders, played ball with him, built sand castles at the beach with him. After the first year Blake had refused to discuss his father with anyone. She'd had the minister at their church and a counselor speak with Blake, but still he wouldn't talk about his father. Finally over time everything seemed to be back to normal. Now she wasn't so sure.
     When she entered the living room, she found Mandy sitting next to Dane on the couch. Dane cradled Tara next to him, his eyes unusually bright as he took in first one daughter, then the other. Her mother had brought her youngest to meet her father.
     Mandy stared at something cupped in her hand, wonder in her expression. She saw Zoey and leaped up, racing to her. "Look what he brought me. Coins from another country. They're different from ours. Look!" Mandy thrust them toward her.
     Zoey picked up one and turned it over. "They're pretty."
     "Yes." Her daughter closed her fingers around the coins and went back to Dane. "Thank ya. I'll put them with my other treasures." She stood in front of him now, not quite sure what to do.
     Zoey came to her side. "Maybe you would like to show your father your treasure box."
     A smile brightened her daughter's face. "I'll go get it."  Mandy ran from the room and pounded up the stairs.
     Zoey stared at the entrance into the living room, wondering if her son would appear. Dear Lord, what should I do about Blake? She chewed on her bottom lip and tried to think of what to tell Dane about their son.
     "Mandy's full of life."
     "That she is. There are days she can run me ragged." Zoey turned back to Dane whose gaze was glued to his youngest daughter, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.
     "She looks just like you, too. I'm glad. I wished I had known. I--"
     The pain in his voice shredded the composure she'd fought hard to maintain for her children's sake. Her heart hammered against her chest, the beat vibrating in her head. Zoey peered at him and saw that glimpse of vulnerability she'd caught in his expression several times earlier. Sensing her regard, he quickly masked his look with a neutral one, something he was very good at doing. This was the Dane she knew--the one who didn't know how to share his feelings, who held a part of himself locked inside, the person her son was so similar to.
     Exhausted from the past hour, Zoey collapsed in the chair next to the couch, wanting as much distance between them as possible in a room that had suddenly become small.
     "Where's Blake?" Dane asked, his gaze fixed on the entrance into the living room.
     "In the den."
     "Is he coming in here?"
     "No, I don't think so."
     Dane tensed, the only indication that her words had affected him. "Why not?"
     "When you...disappeared, Blake didn't take it well."
     "But I'm here now. I know this isn't easy, but--"
     Again that pain laced his voice and stabbed through her heart, through all the defenses she had erected. "But, what?" Tell me what you're thinking, she silently added.
     Pressing Tara to him, he shuttered his look and rose. "I'll go have a word with him."
     "Don't."
 

From The Book--Hearts on the Line

By: Margaret Daley
Imprint: Steeple Hill Love Inspired Suspense
Publication Date: June 2006
ISBN # 0-373-87371-9
Copyright: 2006

Chapter One

     On the path Detective Becca Hilliard paused for a second, taking in her surroundings at the Garden of the Gods Park. As she approached a crime scene, she liked to get her bearings, especially when it was outside.
     The metallic stench of blood laced the cool morning air. A pale blue sky with a few streaks of white stretched out above her. The soaring red rock formations in the park and Pikes Peak jutting upward in the background vied for her attention. The day was beautiful. Too beautiful for a murder, but since being transferred to homicide, she had learned a murder could happen anywhere, anytime.
     A few uniforms stationed around the perimeter of the crime scene and, off to the side, a young couple with her partner, Sam Vance, were the only people in this more isolated area of the park. The man had his arm around the woman, trying to comfort her. Sam spoke to the blond lady whose pale, tear-streaked face brought forth all the churning emotions Becca experienced when viewing a violent crime. She wasn't sure she would ever be able to anesthetize herself completely when seeing a dead body as some of her fellow police officers managed to do.
     Sam gave her a nod and headed toward her. "We gotta stop meeting like this."
     "I wish."
       "It's Dahlia Sainsbury, the curator at the Colorado Springs Impressionist Museum. With all that has happened lately, I can't say that I'm surprised by this murder."
     "Especially since she's suspected of a connection to the drugs that were being distributed from the tunnels under the museum. Alessandro was sure she knew what was going on. He believes that she'd tried to poison Colleen. It would have only been a matter of time before we had a enough evidence to formally charge her."
     "Yeah, she was playing with the big boys, and they don't play fair."
     "Do you think Escalante killed her because of what happened in the tunnels with Alessandro? If so, why?"  Becca gestured toward the face down body of Dahlia, a bullet hole in her back, red fanning out from it. Becca's gaze riveted to the dead woman's left arm stretched out above her head. "It certainly wasn't robbery. That diamond bracelet on her arm has to be worth a small fortune. And her purse is next to her."
     "With everything in it as far as we can tell, it clearly wasn't robbery. She was shot at very close range."
     "Which means she was either surprised or knew the person who shot her and was running away. How long has she been dead?"
     "With lividity and rigor mortis, the medical examiner says between 6-10 hours. He'll know more after he examines the body at the morgue."
     "So what was Dahlia Sainsbury doing in the park after hours?"
     "Meeting someone? We found a set of footprints near the body. A man's, from the size."
     Becca stepped closer to the body and examined it, making sure not to disturb any evidence since the Crime Scene Unit hadn't arrived yet. "It doesn't look like there was much of a struggle.
Who found her? That couple?"
     "Yeah, I've got some uniforms canvassing the area to see if anyone else heard something, but I doubt it with this place's isolation."
     "Let's separate our couple. You take the man. I'll take the woman." Becca made her way toward the pair.
     The blonde raised her head, her teary gaze taking in Becca's approach.
     "Hello, I'm Detective Becca Hilliard. May I have a word with you?" She placed her hand on the woman's arm and directed her to the side away from the young man. Reaching into her jacket pocket of her navy blue pant suit, she retrieved her pad and pen then continued, "I'm so sorry you had to find this. It's never easy, Ms...?"
     "Carrie Young," the woman said with a sniffle, brushing her hand across her cheek.
     "Is that your boyfriend? Husband?"
     Carrie glanced at the man talking to Sam. "Just a good friend. We like to hike together. This was our favorite trail until--"  She hugged her arms to her, her eyelids sliding close for a few seconds while sucking gulps of air into her lungs.
     "Tell me what happened." Even after eight years on the force, Becca had a hard time dealing with the effects that a death caused with the people left behind. Interviewing the person who found a body or a loved one of the victim drained her emotionally.
     "There isn't much to tell. We were walking along the trail. She isn't hard to see. She's--she's--"  Carrie swallowed several times  "--right there two feet from the path." She waved her hand in the direction of the body but didn't look at it, her mouth compressed into a frown.
     "Did you touch her or anything?"
     Carrie's eyes grew round. "Me? No! I couldn't. Bud did, though. He checked for a pulse to see if she was alive."
     "Where?"
     "On her neck. He said she was cold." Carrie shuddered, clasping her arms even tighter to her. "I had my cell phone. I called the police. We waited for them at the trail head. I couldn't wait here." Another tremor shook the woman.
     "Can you think of anything else?"
     "She wasn't dressed for hiking or the outdoors. She looks like she was dressed for a date."
     Becca remembered the spiked blue heels and matching silk dress that Dahlia wore and had to agree with Carrie. Who had she been dating? Becca jotted a note to herself to check into that. Maybe this wasn't connected to the drug gang, Escalante and everything else that had happened in the past few months, starting with the attempted murder of the mayor. First rule of police work: don't assume anything.
     The ring on Becca's cell phone blared "Old McDonald Had a Farm." She unhooked it from her waist and flipped it open. "Hilliard here."
     "A man's threatening to jump off the new building going up at Carson and Quincy."
     "I can be there in fifteen." She clipped the phone back on her belt and said to Carrie, "I have to leave. My partner will take the rest of your statement." She quickly moved to Sam. "Can you finish? That was Sarge. I've got a jumper."
     "Sure," Sam said as she started down the trail at a jog.
     Two minutes later as the Crime Scene Unit pulled into the parking lot, Becca peeled out, siren on, and raced toward the construction site, hoping she made it before the person carried through with his threat. As a member of the negotiation team for the police department, she responded to hostage, suicide or barricade situations when the need arose. Her heart raced with adrenaline pumping into her system as fast as her car sped toward her destination.
     Becca drove to the cordoned off area where the team leader had set up his command post. Beyond the barricade a crowd gathered with their attention glued to the top of the unfinished building. Leaping from her car, she went to her trunk and removed her body armor. The man threatening suicide stood on the top ledge ten stories up. Most likely he didn't have a gun, but she never knew so she always wore protection.    
     "What do we have, Sarge?" Becca asked the team leader, Carl Johnson, as she slipped on her body armor.
     "I just got here myself a few minutes ago. Quinn Montgomery called 911 and is talking to the man right now. He's the man's boss, owns the company putting up this building. The first person on the scene was a uniform. He's up there now with Montgomery."
     "Who's the jumper?"
     "David James. Don't know much yet. Here, put this transmitter on." Sarge handed her a beeper-like device for her to clip at her waist. "And use this earpiece. I'll feed you information on the jumper as I get it."
     She rode the elevator to the top floor and hurried toward the stairs that led to the roof, nodding toward the uniformed officer standing guard at the door. Wind played with stray strands of her ponytail. The sun beat down, heating the concrete. She'd prefer to wear her sunglasses, but it was important for David James to see her eyes and connect with her. Instead, she squinted against the glare and headed toward a large man standing a few feet from the jumper who was poised on the ledge. One step the wrong way and David would go down ten stories.
     "David, I'll help you anyway I can. Just come down from there."
     Montgomery's deep, baritone voice held a calm, soothing tone. Becca was impressed that even his stance didn't convey any irritation or anger. She placed her hand on Montgomery's arm to indicate she was present since his full attention was on his employee. He gave her a slight nod but kept his gaze trained on the jumper.
     David glanced her way. His eyes widened. He took a small step to the side away from her and Montgomery, but didn't say anything.
     "Hello, David. I'm Becca Hilliard. I'm a negotiator with the police. I'd like to help you."
     "Help me?  No one can!"
     Becca moved next to Montgomery, aware that his gaze was now on her. The air sizzled with tension. "You don't think anyone can help you?"
     David's attention darted to Montgomery then back to her. "My wife left me and took the kids. Can you bring her back and make everything like it was before--"  He worked his mouth but no more words came out. Peering away, he clenched his hands at his sides.    
     Montgomery started to take a step toward David. Becca stopped him and shook her head. She mouthed the words,  "Too dangerous."
     David looked at her again. "I want things back the way they were."
     "You sound frustrated."
     "I am! There was no warning. I came home yesterday and she was gone." Anger lining his face, the jumper snapped his fingers, the gesture making him wobble.
     Becca held her breath, knowing if he lost his balance neither she nor Montgomery would be able to reach the man in time. David steadied himself, his eyes growing round as he glimpsed the ground ten stories below. That was a good sign. Perhaps David hadn't thought this suicide attempt completely through. In her earpiece Sarge told her he would see what he could discover about David's wife.
     "Do you plan to commit suicide, David?" she asked, having learned it was important to establish that up front.
     He blinked. Montgomery stiffened beside her.
     "I--I--don't--" David cleared his throat. "--yes, I don't have anything to live for. My family's gone. I have bills I can't pay."
     Becca started to push Montgomery back toward the stairs where it was safer when he interjected, "I'll help you with that, David."
     The jumper's gaze swung to the man next to her. Surprised by the offer, she too wanted to look at Montgomery, but she didn't dare take her eyes off David James. Again she acknowledged the calm power behind Montgomery's words, as though he knew instinctively what to do in a situation like this.
     "You see, there are ways to help you, David. If you come down from there, we can talk about it." Becca concentrated on keeping her voice even, non threatening.
     For a long moment David didn't say anything, then he shook his head as though trying to rid his mind of some image. "Help?  I've tried talking to her. She won't listen."
     "When you tried to talk to your wife, she wouldn't listen?"
     David slowly turned so he could face her, but he remained on the foot wide ledge. "Yes. I left messages at her mother's all evening and this morning for her to call me. She didn't! I was late to work because of her."
     "Maybe she didn't get your messages."
     Surprise flickered across his features. "You might be right!  It would be just like her mother not to tell her about my calls. She hates me."
     "Come down here and we can try again." Becca pulled out her cell phone, dangling it in front of him as though it were a prize he couldn't possibly resist.
     David glanced at the ground to his left, then back at Becca. She held her breath, hoping he would follow her gentle command. Sometimes that worked, especially if he hadn't totally thought through committing suicide.
     David shrugged. "Okay."
     Montgomery released a heavy sigh that mirrored her own feelings as she watched David climb down from the ledge and walk toward her, holding his hand out for the cell phone.
     As he neared her, she began heading toward the stairs to the tenth floor below, saying, "Do you want me to make the call?" She wanted to get him as far away from the ledge as possible.
     "No, I will."
     David came up beside her while Montgomery took the rear. After passing the phone to David, she threw a glance over her shoulder, wishing Montgomery was a police officer in case they ended up in a scuffle. She hated involving civilians. Montgomery smiled and nodded as though he could read her mind and was reassuring her he could take care of himself. From his muscular build no doubt he could, she decided, a connection arcing between her and Montgomery. They were both determined to keep David from jumping.
     "Trish, pick up. This is David. I've got to talk to you. Please!"
     Anger, mixed with frustration, returned to David's face. Becca slowly retrieved her handcuffs from her pocket, prepared if he decided to dash for the ledge again. If she had her way, he wouldn't, now that she had him down from it.
     He snapped the phone closed and cursed. "She's gonna regret not taking my call when--"
     Before David had a chance to finish his sentence, Becca grabbed his arm and twisted first one then the other behind his back and locked the handcuffs on his wrists. David jerked around, obviously intending to head back up to the roof. Montgomery blocked David's path in the stairwell to the tenth floor. From behind several uniformed officers rushed up and whisked the jumper away, screaming his frustration.
     All the emotions and tension she had held at bay during the ordeal flooded Becca the minute she realized David wouldn't be jumping that day, that he might get the help he needed. While the uniformed officers led him away, she sagged against the handrail, squeezing her eyes closed and drawing in cleansing breaths.
     "Thank you."
     Montgomery's deep voice penetrated the place she went in her mind where she tried to regroup after a negotiation. When she opened her eyes, he stood right in front of her, filling her vision, all six feet two inches of him. Now that she had the time to examine him, he took her breath away. Dressed in faded jeans and a short-sleeved blue shirt, he reinforced her earlier impression that he was all muscles and power. His chocolate brown eyes twinkled as the seconds ticked into a full minute and she hadn't said anything. A flush actually colored his cheeks.
     "I'm sorry. I don't usually stare at people unless I think they're going to commit a crime. But after a negotiation, I'm wiped out even when they don't last long like this one."
     The corner of his mouth cocked upward. "I think I know the feeling. I was so glad when you showed up." He plowed both hands through his short russet-colored hair, then scrubbed them down his face as though to wash the past hour from his mind. "I don't know how you do it. Are you called out much?"
     "More than I wish. Usually a few times a month." She extended her hand. "Thank you for your help."
     He took her hand within his and shook it. "I wasn't gonna let David jump."
     His determination underscored her own in situations like this, and the connection she had felt earlier between them crackled again.
     Still grasping her hand, he said, "But you don't have to worry about me applying for your job. One officer of the law in the family is enough for me."
     The firmness and warmth in his touch conveyed the man she had heard about from his brother, Brendan, a former police officer who had until recently worked with her. She'd casually known Quinn Montgomery from afar, but suddenly there seemed nothing casual between them now.
     "I miss Brendan at the CSPD, but he seems to be settling in at the FBI," Becca said, trying to dismiss the feeling of interest hovering below the surface.
     "Yeah, he's a regular Elliot Ness."
     "Not J. Edgar Hoover?" She started down the stairs, realizing that Sarge would be waiting for her.
     "Nah, Brendan's more a hands-on type of guy, like me."
     "Is that why you were here? Isn't Montgomery Construction a big operation?"
     "I like to be involved in all the projects as much as possible, especially with what has happened lately."
     "That's right. Wasn't there a fire at your business a few months back?"
     "Yeah, my carpentry shop and storage barn were destroyed. A lot of things have been happening to the Montgomery family lately. It pays to keep an eye open. What's going to happen to David?" Quinn punched the down button for the elevator.
     "He'll get the help he needs." She slanted a glance toward Quinn Montgomery, trying to remember all that Brendan had told her about his older brother. "Did you mean what you said about helping him with his bills?"
     He nodded. "He'll need it."
     "I've got a feeling David will appreciate it, especially when he straightens out his life." Now she remembered what Brendan had once said about his older brother. He was a man whose word was good as gold. She liked that.
     Stepping onto the elevator, Quinn said, "I'm in your debt for showing up when you did. I didn't know how I was going to get him down from that ledge. I'd run out of ideas."
     "You were doing a pretty good job of keeping him calm. The important thing was David was still there when I showed up."
     That cocky smile reappeared. "I was afraid he could hear my knees knocking and the sound would drive him over the edge."
     She laughed.
     He liked the sound of her laughter, light, musical as if it danced on the air. "Seriously, if I can do anything for you, return the favor in any way, please let me know."
     "I was just doing my job, Mr. Montgomery."
     "Quinn, and that doesn't mean I can't feel indebted to you for your assistance up on the roof, Becca. David was one of my employees, part of my family."
     She turned her head toward him, her ponytail flying to one side with the sudden movement. That drew his attention to her light brown hair, streaked with blond coloring. Her large, hazel eyes focused on him, making him aware of the small confines in the elevator. For a moment his gaze connected with hers, and he became lost in her light brown depths with green specks.
     She blinked, stepping back a pace. "Thank you, but--"
     The elevator doors whooshed open and the noise and activity rushed in to remind Quinn of what had just transpired for the past sixty minutes. What she was about to say to him was lost as a big man in a police uniform approached them.
     "Becca, you did a good job." The man looked toward Quinn. "I'm the team leader, Carl Johnson. We'll need a statement from you, Mr. Montgomery."
     "Fine. I'll come down to the station later today." After shaking Carl's hand, Quinn stepped to the side, seeing his younger brother coming toward him. "Again, thank you, Becca, for your help. If you need anything, let me know." 
     As Quinn walked away, he heard the man say to Becca, "We'll need your report while it's still fresh in your mind. This one ended good."
     Quinn paused to watch Becca leave with her team leader and another police officer. Quinn still could picture her big eyes, full of life even in the midst of such turmoil and possible death. Her look reminded him of Maggie. The memory of the last time he'd seen Maggie pierced his heart. He shook the reflection from his mind. He had moved on. He wouldn't go down that path again.

From The Book--Tidings of Joy

By: Margaret Daley
Imprint: Steeple Hill Love Inspired
Publication Date: October 2006
ISBN # 0-373-81283-3
Copyright: 2006

Chapter One-Tidings of Joy

     Chance Taylor stepped off the bus and surveyed the town which was nothing like where he'd spent the past two years. Yet for a few seconds he fought the overwhelming urge to get back on the bus. Because no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't. Not until he'd paid his debt.
     The bus pulled away from the curb, leaving him behind. No escape now. The beating of his heart kicked up a notch. Chance glanced up and down the street. Sweetwater. It was exactly as Tom Bolton had described it. Quaint stores lined its Main Street. A row of Bradford pear trees down both sides of the road offered shade in the heat of summer. Even though it was the end of September, the hot air caused sweat to pop out on his forehead.
     He closed his eyes to the vivid colors spread out before him--a red sign above a door, yellow pansies about the base of the trees along the street. He'd lived in a world he'd thought of as black and white. Now every hue of the rainbow bombarded him from all sides. Opening his eyes to the new world around him, he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, then grabbed the one duffel bag with all his earthly possessions and strode toward Alice’s Cafe.
     Inside he scanned the diners, all engrossed in their food and conversation. People doing normal, everyday things with no idea how their life could change in a split second. But he knew.
     Drawing in a deep breath, Chance took a moment to compose himself. Again the question flashed across his mind: why had he come to Sweetwater? Surely there was a better place, one he could get lost in. New York City. Chicago. Even Louisville would have been better than this small town, where according to Tom, everyone watched out for each other. He didn't want that. Nosy neighbors had led to his destruction in the past. But Sweetwater was the only place where he could fulfill his promise to himself. He was stuck here for the time being, but once he had paid his debt, he would leave as fast as a bus could take him out of town.
     Chance saw Samuel Morgan in the back booth and headed toward him. Aware of a few glances thrown his way, Chance hurried over, placed his duffel bag on the floor, then slid in across from Samuel, his back to the other diners.
     Samuel grinned. "I didn't think you'd come."
     "I said I would. About the only thing I have left is my word."
     "Tom's death wasn't your fault. He made his choice."
     "I have a chance to return a favor. I intend to. That's the least I can do."
     A waitress with a pencil behind her left ear paused near Samuel and dug into her apron pocket for a pad.
     "Want something to eat?" Samuel asked.
     Chance shook his head, aware of the open curiosity in the older woman's gaze. His stomach tightened. He should be used to people watching him, having spent the past few years with no right to any privacy. But he wasn't. All he wanted when he was through with Sweetwater was to find a quiet corner of the world where he could put his life back together.
     "Alice, I'll take another cup of coffee." Samuel pushed his mug toward the edge of the table.
     "Sure, Reverend. Be right back."
     After Alice refilled Samuel's coffee and left, he said, "Your timing couldn't be better. Tanya Bolton has just converted the space over her garage into an apartment. She's looking for a tenant and you need a place to stay. It's perfect."
     Something in the reverend's expression alerted Chance that there was more to it. "You didn't have anything to do with Tom's wife having an apartment, now would you?"
     Samuel's grin reached deep into his eyes. "I did mention it would be a great way for her to make some extra money. She took the suggestion and ran with it."
     "I can't see the lady renting to an ex-con."
     "You aren't an ex-con. Your conviction was overturned because you were innocent. The police have the right guy in jail now."
     The horror of the past few years threatened to deluge Chance with all the memories he desperately needed to forget. He refused to let them intrude, shoving them back into the dark corner of his mind. He didn't have the emotional strength to return to the past. His wounds ran deep, to his very soul. "It doesn't change the fact that I spent two years in prison. When she finds that out--" He couldn't finish his sentence, the words clogging his throat. The knot in his stomach grew.
     Suddenly he pictured a man he'd thought was a good friend, and his expression when Chance had seen him last week in Louisville. Fear had flitted across his so-called friend's features before he could mask his reaction to seeing Chance. Although in the eyes of the law he had been exonerated, he had seen the doubt in the man's gaze. Did they have the right guy this time?
     Samuel leaned toward Chance and said in a low tone, "I'm not telling Tanya anything about your recent past. I'll leave that for you to tell when you feel ready. But I am going to vouch for you. I know you're a good, honest man, and what you've come to Sweetwater to do is important to you."
     Chance thought about being so near Tom's wife on a daily basis. He wasn't sure he could handle it, the constant reminder that he owed his life to Tom. "Is there anywhere else I can rent a room?"
     "Probably. But not as convenient, that is if you really want to help Tanya. Or are you here to hide?"
     Samuel's question pierced through the layers of protection Chance used to shield himself from others. If he was smart, he would leave and do exactly that.
     "Look you don't have any way of getting around except walking, and Tanya's house is close to downtown so you can get just about any place you'll need to go from that apartment."
     Chance held up his hand. "Okay, Reverend. You've convinced me. I'll see the lady about it."
     Samuel took a long sip of his coffee. "Good. I also have lined up the interview with Nick Blackburn for that job I told you about when we spoke last week on the phone. He's looking for an assistant to help him with the part of his company he's moved to Sweetwater. Still interested?"
     "I need a job while I live here, so yes, I'm still interested. What does Mr. Blackburn know about me?"
     "That you are a friend of mine, that's all."
     "I'll have to tell him where I've been."
     "Yeah, I know, but it needs to come from you. Nick will respect that." Samuel sipped his coffee.
     "When's the interview?"
     "Nine o'clock tomorrow morning. His office is two blocks down on Main. The brand new, seven story tall red brick building. You probably saw it coming into town on the bus."
     "Yeah. He works Saturdays?" Everything was moving so fast. Was he ready to plunge back into the world of big business? Once that had been his life. Once he'd worked long hours to get ahead at his job. Now he wished he had that time back, that he'd spent it with the family he no longer had.
     "Sometimes. Usually he spends his weekends with his family, but he knew you were arriving today and decided to do it tomorrow. He said something about having to be in Chicago early next week."
     "I've heard of Blackburn Industries. I didn't realize he'd moved his corporate offices from Chicago to Sweetwater."
     Samuel shrugged. "Love is a strong motivator. His wife is from here." Samuel finished his cup of coffee. "I'll drive you over to Tanya's."
     "No, I need to do this on my own. You can call her and give her a reference so she'll open the door, but the rest will have to be up to me."
     "Fine, but Chance, you aren't alone in this world. I told you that in prison and I'm telling you that now."
     "I know. I know, Reverend. God is with me. He stood by me while I watched my family taken from me and while I was on trial. He was there with me in prison when I was fighting for my life." Chance saw the disappointment in Samuel's eyes that his sarcastic words had caused.
     "I know how you feel, but you didn't give Him a chance to be with you."
     Chance slipped from the booth. He didn't want to hear it. Samuel knew how he felt about the Lord who had abandoned him in his time of need. They'd even had a discussion about it when Samuel had come to the prison to minister to the inmates. "How do I get to Tanya Bolton's house?"
     Samuel wrote an address on a napkin and handed it to him. "Go three blocks north on Main to Second, then go five blocks east on Second and that's Berryhill Road. Sure you don't want me to at least drop you off?"
     "No, the exercise will be good for me." Chance turned from the booth and headed for the door. The very act of going anywhere he wanted was precious to him. He would never take freedom of movement for granted again.
     Outside he relished the warmth of the sun on his face, the fresh air, laced with newly mowed grass and grilled meat from a barbecue restaurant on the next block. A slender man dressed in a suit passed him on the sidewalk and nodded a greeting. Automatically Chance returned it with his own nod. The sudden realization that for the next few months he would be thrust into the middle of life in a small town sent panic bolting through him. He'd grown up in a small town and knew that little was a secret for long. He didn't want to see the doubt and possibly even fear in the eyes of the residents of Sweetwater when they learned he'd been in prison.
                                                       * * *
     "I've got the sign out in front and I've advertised in the paper. Now all I need is someone to rent the apartment over the garage," Tanya Bolton said as she switched the cordless phone to her other ear.
     "You did such a nice job fixing the place up. I don't think you'll have any trouble finding a tenant."
     "I hope you're right, Zoey, because I need the money. Having a teenage daughter who's growing out of all her clothes is expensive."
     "Will I see you at Alice's Cafe tomorrow?"
     "Of course. I wouldn't miss our Saturday get together." Tanya lowered her voice, cupping the mouthpiece closer to her. "I don't know if I would have made it without you, Darcy, Beth and Jesse. You know I'll be there."
     "See you tomorrow," Zoey Witherspoon said as a beep sounded, indicating another call on the line.
     Tanya pushed a button. "Hello?"
     "This is Samuel. I'm glad you're home, Tanya. I've got a friend coming over right now to see your apartment. He's going to be here for a while and needs a place to stay."
     "A tenant! I was just talking to Zoey about not having shown the apartment to anyone yet."
     "Then this is your lucky day. He'll be a great tenant. His name is Chance Taylor."
     The sound of the doorbell ringing drew Tanya's attention. She walked toward the front door with the cordless phone still in her hand and noticed through the frosted glass a large man on her porch. "Looks like he's here. Thanks, Samuel. I really appreciate the referral." She laid the phone on the table in the small foyer, then hurriedly opened the door.
     Before her stood a man several inches over six feet tall with broad shoulders, a narrow waist and muscular arms. His large presence dwarfed her small porch and blocked her doorway. Her gaze flew to his face, taking in his hard, square jaw, his nose that had been broken once, his vivid blue eyes and his short black hair. All his features came together in a pleasing countenance with just a hint of sadness in it. Surprised by that thought, Tanya wasn't sure where the impression came from.
     His neutral expression evolved into a half grin. "Tanya Bolton?"
     His presence filled her vision. "Yes," she managed to say, stunned by how overpowering Samuel's friend was.
     "I'm Chance Taylor. Samuel was supposed to call you about me. I'd like to rent your apartment."
     The deep, baritone of his voice flowed over her, smooth like a river of honey. Slowly his dark blue eyes lit with a gleam like periwinkles basking in the sunlight. Then his mouth lifted in a full grin, causing dimples to appear in both cheeks.    
     "Is it still for rent?"
     She nodded, for some reason her voice still unable to work properly.
     "How much?"
     She mentally shook herself out of her daze. This was business. "Three hundred a month plus utilities."
     He dug into the front pocket of his black jeans and withdrew a wad of cash. After peeling off three one hundred dollars, crisp and new, he handed them to her.
     She peered at the money, thinking of all the bills she needed to pay. Then common sense prevailed. "I don't want to take your money until you've seen the apartment."
     "I'm not choosy about where I stay."
     "The apartment is open. It's above the detached garage at the side of the house. Why don't you go and take a look at it?  I wouldn't feel right if you didn't do that. I'll be along in a moment."
     After repocketing his money, he tipped his head toward her. "I'll do that, Mrs. Bolton."
     She watched him descend the steps with duffel bag in hand, then head for the garage. When he disappeared from view, she went into the kitchen and grabbed the lease that Beth had insisted she needed a tenant to sign and left the house by the back door.
     Her daughter would be home from school in half an hour, and she hoped to have this all settled by then. After she crossed the driveway, she climbed the stairs to the apartment over the garage at the side of the house. The door stood ajar.
     Inside Chance slowly turned in a full circle, surveying the place, no expression on his face. When he saw her, he stopped, one corner of his mouth hitched in a half grin, dimpling one cheek. She was beginning to wonder if that was his trademark.
     "This is nice."
     His compliment caused a catch in her throat. She'd worked hard on the apartment with some help from her friends and was proud of what she'd accomplished on a limited budget. "Thanks."
     He faced her, his large presence filling the small two room apartment--much like her porch--his shoulders set in a taut line, his arms straight at his sides. His gaze lit upon the paper she held in her hand. "Do you want me to sign a lease?"
     "Yes. This is for six months."
     "I don't know how long I'll be here. I've got an interview with Nick Blackburn about a job, but nothing's definite."
     Tanya glanced at the standard lease and folded it several times. "Then we won't use the lease. Where did you come from?"
     "Louisville."
     "Why did you come to Sweetwater? Because of the possibility of a job with Nick?"
     "No, actually Samuel has always talked so highly of Sweetwater that I decided to come pay him and the town a visit.   He knew I was looking for a job and mentioned the one with Blackburn Industries." Again Chance withdrew the wad of money from his pocket and unrolled it. Covering the short distance between them, he thrust the rent toward her. "Three hundred. Do you require a deposit?"
     Deposit? Tanya bit her lower lip. She hadn't thought about that. Having never been a landlord before, she realized how new this all was to her. "I guess a hundred. That should cover minor damages if there are any." 
     "There won't be."
     "Not from what Samuel says. He basically told me I couldn't go wrong with you being my tenant."
     Chance glanced away for a few seconds as if embarrassed by what Samuel had said. Clearing his throat, he returned his attention to her. "Samuel does have a way about him." He gave her the money for the deposit, then immediately stepped back as though he was uncomfortable getting too near her. He looked toward the kitchen area in one corner with a two burner stove, a sink and a small refrigerator. "Can you give me directions to the nearest grocery store?"
     Tanya thought of the bare kitchen and blurted out, "Why don't you have dinner with me and my daughter tonight?  That's the least I can do for someone new to Sweetwater and a friend of Samuel's."
     Chance plunged his fingers through his black hair, then massaged the back of his neck. "I don't want you to go to any trouble, Mrs. Bolton."
     "My name is Tanya and it isn't any trouble. I have to warn you, though, it won't be anything fancy."
     "I'm not used to fancy."
     The tight edge to his words made her blink in surprise. "Well, then you'll fit right in. Sweetwater's pretty laid back. We only have one expensive restaurant that I've never seen the inside of."
     "What time is dinner?"
     Tanya checked her watch and realized that Crystal would be home from school soon. "Give me a couple of hours. Say six." She backed toward the door, a sudden, awkward silence electrifying the air. "See you then."
     Out on the landing she breathed deeply. Chance Taylor wasn't a chatty person. She would have to quiz Samuel about him. For some reason she didn't think her new tenant would tell her much about himself. The click of the door closing behind her penetrated her thoughts. She couldn't shake the feeling his life hadn't been easy. The sight of the school bus coming down the street sent Tanya hurrying down the stairs.
     Even though Crystal was fifteen now and a freshman in high school, when her job allowed her, Tanya liked to be there when her daughter came home from school, especially lately. Something was bothering Crystal and her daughter wouldn't talk to her about it. Maybe today Crystal would say something that would reveal what was going on. She rounded the side of the garage when the bus stopped and the driver descended the steps to man the lift.
     While Crystal powered her wheelchair up the driveway, the small school bus drove away. If the frown on her daughter's face was any indication, today had not been a good one. Tanya sighed and met Crystal halfway.
     "We have a tenant for the apartment," Tanya said, forcing a light tone into her voice to cover the apprehension her child's expression raised.
     Her daughter didn't say a word. She maneuvered the wheelchair around Tanya and kept going toward the ramp at the back of the house. Tanya followed, trying to decide how to approach Crystal about what was happening at school. This year when she had begun at Sweetwater High, she'd quickly started trying to get out of going, even to the point of making up things that were wrong with her. Tanya had talked with her teachers, but no one knew what was going on. She had seen her usually happy, even tempered child become someone else, someone who was angry and resentful. Was it the typical teenager angst of going through puberty? Or was it something else? Had Crystal's father's death finally manifested itself in her troubled behavior? Tom had died almost five months ago, and their daughter had gone through the usual grief associated with death but had seemed all right as her summer vacation had come to an end. Now Tanya didn't know. Maybe Crystal had suppressed her true feelings.
     In the kitchen Tanya called out to Crystal before she wheeled herself through the doorway into the hall, "Our new tenant is joining us for dinner."
     Crystal continued to remain quiet as she disappeared from view. Perplexed, Tanya stared at the empty doorway, wondering if Zoey, a high school counselor, or Beth Morgan, Crystal's English teacher, knew what was going on with her daughter at school. She made a mental note to call her friends later to see if anything had happened today to warrant this sullen demeanor.
                                                      * * *
     Chance descended the stairs to his apartment over the garage and headed across the yard toward the back door. He noticed the ramp off the deck and remembered Tom talking about his teenage daughter who was in a wheelchair. Until he had seen the ramp, however, he hadn't really thought about the implication of having a child who was physically disabled or the fact that he would be eating with a young girl who would only be a year or two older than the age his own daughter would have been if she had lived.
     He stopped his progress toward the deck, indecision stiffening his body. He'd seen plenty of teenagers since his daughter's...death. Surely he could handle an hour in the same room with Tanya's child. How difficult could it be?
     Chance discovered a few minutes later just how hard it would be when Crystal opened the door to his knock, a smile on her thin face, a black Lab standing beside her. He sucked in a sharp breath and held it. Staring up at him with open interest was a young girl who had dark brown hair and hazel eyes so very reminiscent of his daughter's. She even had a sprinkle of freckles on her small upturned nose like Haley had.
     He cleared away the huge knot in his throat and struggled against the urge to run as far away as he could. His legs refused to move forward into the house even though Tanya's daughter opened the door wider for him.
     "Come in before all the insects do," Tanya said, approaching them.
     He shook off the panic beginning to swell in his chest and shuffled into the kitchen. Turning to shut the back door, he took a few precious seconds to compose his reeling emotions at the sharp reminder of what he'd lost. When he pivoted back toward the pair, his feelings were tamped down beneath all the defensive layers he'd created over the past few years. Under closer inspection of Tom's daughter, he saw no real similarities between Haley and her, other than their coloring. 
     If he was going to repay the debt, he had no choice but to learn to deal with the teenager--and the mother. I can do this, he told himself and forced a smile to his lips. "I'm Chance, the new tenant," he said to Crystal, realizing he was probably stating the obvious.
     The teenager's smile grew. "I'm Crystal. Welcome to Sweetwater."
     "Thanks." He inhaled the aroma of ground beef that peppered the air. "It smells wonderful. What are we having?"
     "As I told you earlier, nothing fancy. Just tacos. I hope you like Mexican food. Crystal and I love it." Tanya gestured toward the counter. "Everyone's going to put their own together."
     "I like anything I don't have to cook." He took another few steps further into the kitchen, committing himself to spending some time with his landlady and her daughter.
     Tanya handed him a plate with big yellow and blue flowers painted on it. "You don't cook then?"
     "Not unless you call heating up a can of spaghetti cooking."
     Crystal giggled, patting her dog. "Even I can do that."
     "My daughter's taking a foods and nutrition class this year. Hopefully she'll learn more than heating up what's in a can."
     Chance noticed the instant school was mentioned that Crystal's cheerful expression vanished and the young girl dropped her head, her attention glued to her lap. Did she struggle with school work? He made a note to find out. Maybe he could help her with her homework, then he would be one step closer to being able to leave Sweetwater, to appeasing his guilt.
     "You go first." Tanya swept her arm across her body, indicating he prepare his tacos.
     Chance took two large empty shells and filled them with the meat sauce, cheese, lettuce and diced tomatoes. His mouth watered in anticipation of his first home home cooked meal in years. After he doused his tacos with chunky salsa, he made his way to the round oak table in the alcove with three, large windows overlooking the deck and backyard.
     He sat at one of the places already set with utensils, a blue linen napkin and a glass with ice in it. When he noticed a pitcher on the table, he poured himself some tea, then doctored it with several scoops of sugar.
     Crystal positioned herself next to him and put her plate on her yellow place mat. "Mom said you're from Louisville. I went there once, when I was nine, and took a riverboat up the Ohio River."
     As Tanya settled into the chair across from him, Chance said to Crystal, "I've never ridden on a riverboat. Did you like it?"
     "Yeah! I'd like to take one all the way to New Orleans. I've never been to New Orleans. I haven't seen very many places."  She glanced down at her wheelchair, then fixed her large hazel eyes on him as though that explained why she didn't go places.
     A tightness constricted his chest. He couldn't imagine being confined to a wheelchair, every little bump in the terrain an obstacle, not free to move about like you wanted. He knew about that and had hated every second of his confinement. "You'll have time," he finally said, feeling a connection between him and Crystal that went beyond her father.
     "That's what Mom says."
     "I promised her a trip when she graduates from high school."  Tanya poured tea for herself and her daughter. "She'll get to pick where, depending on my budget."
     "Mom's got a saving account for the trip at the bank where she works."
     "That's a good plan." After he picked up his taco carefully so as not to make a mess, he took a big bite, relishing the spicy meat sauce. "Mmm. This is good."
     Tanya smiled. "Thanks."
     She and Crystal bowed their heads while Tanya said a prayer.
     When she glanced up at Chance, he'd put his taco back on his plate, a look of unease in his expression. "I don't have the time to cook like I want to, but I do enjoy getting into the kitchen when I can," she said, hoping to make him feel comfortable.
     "I'm glad you invited me." Chance caught her gaze and held it for a long moment. He realized he meant what he had just said. The warmth emanating from both the mother and daughter spoke to a part of him that he thought had died in prison.
     Finally Tanya dropped her regard and ran her finger around the rim of her glass. "What kind of job are you applying for with Nick?"
     "As an assistant for his office in Sweetwater."
     "Nick said something to me about expanding his company's presence in Sweetwater. I guess this must be the beginning. Since he and Jesse got married, I know he doesn't like to travel to Chicago as much as he used to. What have you done before?"
     Tension knifed through Chance. He should have expected questions about his past. That was the last thing he wanted to discuss. "I was a financial advisor."
     "Was? Not anymore?"
     "I'm looking for something different. That's why this assistant's job interest me." That and the fact Samuel paved the way for him with Nick Blackburn. But even with Samuel's reference, the job wasn't a sure thing. He would have to convince Mr. Blackburn he could do the work, definitely a step down from what he'd done in the past where he'd had his own assistant.
     "What happens if you don't get the job?"
     "I'm still staying for a while. I'll just look for another one," he quickly said to ease the worry he heard in her voice.    
He needed the conversation focused on someone else. Angling around toward Crystal, he asked, "Besides Foods and Nutrition, what else are you taking?"
     The teenager downed a swallow of tea. "I'm taking the usual--U. S. history, English, algebra and biology. I'm also in the girls' choir."
     "In high school I was in the show choir. I enjoyed it."  Chance felt Tanya's puzzled gaze on him and shifted in his chair, feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny as though she could see into his heart and soul. Their emptiness wasn't something he wanted expose to the world. He busied himself by taking another bite.
     "I sing in the choir at church. We can always use another man to sing."
     He heard Tanya's words of encouragement and gritted his teeth so hard that pain streaked down his neck. Church. Religion. God wasn't for him. He'd believed once, and his whole life, his family, had been taken away from him. He stuffed the rest of the taco into his mouth and occupied himself with chewing--slowly. Averting his gaze, he stared out the window at the backyard and hoped the woman didn't pursue the topic of conversation.
     "I thought about auditioning for the show choir, but I didn't. I can't dance very well in this thing," Crystal slapped the arm of her wheelchair, "and you have to be able to sing and dance to be in it. If I can't do it right, I don't want to do it at all."
     The teenager's words cut through the tension gripping Chance. He looked back at her and managed to smile, hearing the need in the child's voice that twisted his heart. "Besides singing, what else do you like to do?"
     "I like to draw."
     "Why aren't you taking art in school?"
     "I can't take everything. I'll probably take it next year." Crystal shrugged. "Besides, Mom's teaching me. She's very good."
     Chance swung his attention to Tanya who looked away when his gaze fell on her. "What do you like to draw?"
     A hint of red tinged her cheeks. "People mostly."
     "Portraits?"
     "Nothing formal like that."
     "I'd love to see your work sometime."
     Tanya started to say something when Crystal chimed in, "I'll go get her sketchbook. It's in the dining room." She backed up her wheelchair, made a one hundred eighty degree turn, and headed for the door with her service dog following.
     "I get the impression you don't show many people your drawings."
     She shook her head, swallowing hard. "I'm not very good. I draw for myself."
     When Crystal came back into the kitchen with the sketchbook in her lap, Chance wanted to make Tanya feel at ease so he said, "I don't want to intrude on--"
     "Mom, doesn't think she's good. I do. Here, see for yourself." Crystal opened the book and showed Chance.
     He wasn't sure what to expect after Tanya's reluctant reaction, but what he saw was an exquisite portrait of Crystal sketching something. The drawing captured the teenager's love for art in the detailed expression on her face. The pen and ink picture was as good as any professional artist would have done. "I'm impressed, Tanya. This is beautiful."
     "You think so?"
     All the woman's doubts were evident in her wrinkled forehead, hesitant expression in her eyes, and the hidden hope that he might really be telling her the truth. As before it was important to Chance to make Tanya feel comfortable. "Yes. I'm honored to have seen this. You should show your drawings more often."
     Tanya straightened in her chair, her head cocked. "Samuel tried to get me to have one in the Fourth of July auction this year at church. I told him I would donate my time or something else."
     Chance captured Tanya's regard. "Next year take him up on the offer."
     She slid her gaze away and started gathering up her plate and utensils. "I'll think about it."
     "Which means she won't do it," Crystal interjected and put her dishes in her lap then wheeled herself toward the sink.
     Chance followed them with his place setting. "I hope you'll let me help you clean up after being gracious enough to invite me to dinner. I might not cook very well, but I can rinse and put them in the dishwasher."
     "Yeah, Mom. Let him."
     Tanya laughed. "You're agreeing because you'll get out of your part of cleaning up."
     "I've got homework to do."
     "On Friday night?"
     Crystal lifted her shoulders. "What else is there to do?"
     "Fine." Tanya watched her frowning daughter and the black Lab disappear into the hallway. "Something's bothering her. I wish she would tell me."
     "She's what, fifteen, sixteen?"
     "Fifteen."
     "Did you tell your mother what was going on with you at that age?"
     "Good point. But still we've been through a lot. I..."  Her voice quavering, Tanya twisted away so her face was hidden as she stacked the dishes into the sink and turned on the water.
     Chance heard the thickness lacing each word and wished he could help her. But he was discovering to help her was going to be harder than he'd thought. Actually he'd had no plan in mind other than to assist Tom's family. But how? Maybe he could reach Crystal. He had to try something or he would never be able to get on with his life--what was left of it.
     Tanya handed him the first plate to put in the dishwasher. "You should come hear us sing in the choir at church this Sunday. As I'm sure you're aware Samuel gives great sermons."
     Chance gripped the glass she passed to him. "I'll think about it."

Title: Heart of the Amazon