“Are you leaving?” André asked.
“Minette is meeting me at the airport.”
André came off the table he was sitting on and offered his hand. “It was great meeting you, and I really enjoyed your show.”
Jerome laughed at that. “You barely saw it. Your eyes were on Susan.”
André looked away, then back. “They were,” he said. But he didn’t reveal that since that night, life had reached its height and then plummeted to the basement. He’d probably never see Susan again.
“I came to give you something.”
Jerome handed him a piece of paper. He glanced at it, seeing a printed-out photo from a newspaper.
“What’s this?” André asked.
“It will answer all your questions.” That was all Jerome said. He picked up his suitcase and walked out of the park.
André sat back down and looked at the clipping. Photos in the papers were often grainy, making it hard to identify details. This photo was of someone in a Halloween costume. He read the caption, “Lottery winner arrives incognito.” André frowned. What did this mean? He couldn’t see who the winner was. The costume was of a life-size bunny. The only thing that came to mind was an old black-and-white film about a six-foot rabbit called Harvey.
André checked the entire piece of paper for more information. There was nothing else there—no date, no name, not even the newspaper that had printed it. After pulling out his phone, André used the scan feature to load the photo. Then, using an internet program, he searched for where the photo could be found.
When the Mountainview Packet came up as an option, he immediately clicked on it. Naturally, the photo wasn’t there. The current issue of the newspaper appeared on the screen of his phone. He typed in the caption and the news story appeared. He read rapidly.
“Damn,” he cursed as he stood up. Marcia Atherton was a fifteen-million-dollar lottery winner. When he clicked on images to see if there were any photos of her, pages of them came up. Most were from her high school days. A graduation photo with her family caught his attention, and he read the article associated with it. Perry Dewhurst was her stepfather’s name, and he owned a small restaurant. Dewhurst. André read it again. He was in no doubt that Marcia Atherton and Susan Dewhurst were the same person.
André could kick himself. He’d accused her of being a gold digger when her net worth was impressive. He was part of a rich family, but she held her own. She wasn’t after his money, just as she had said.
He couldn’t go to her now. What would she think? He’d been an idiot. He’d thrown away the only woman he really loved. He wouldn’t blame her if she never spoke to him again.
André stuffed the phone and paper into his pocket and started for the exit. He stopped short when he saw Susan. She had no camera hanging from her neck and no cell phone in her hand. She wasn’t here for images. André’s heart raced. Was she here to see him, to berate him for the things he’d said and thought about her.
They met in the middle of the path.
“My name was Marcia,” she said. “I won the lottery in Montana. After that I was bombarded with letters and calls from phony financial managers and strangers asking for money.”
“You don’t have to explain,” André said.
“I want to. I want you to know everything.” She looked into his eyes. “To protect myself and my family, I had to change my name and leave the country. My stepfather adopted me. I took a new name and my old records were sealed. Then I went to Europe and stayed for a while. I became known there as Susan and began a new life there. Then I came back to New York and met you. I didn’t know you, didn’t know we’d have a relationship. That’s why I didn’t tell you my former name. And I was truly going to tell you that day, but you were so angry.”
“How could you ever trust me?” André asked.
“I love you,” she said.
André moved faster than he ever had. He hauled her into his arms and kissed her. He didn’t care that they were in a park, with people milling around them. He only cared that the woman he loved was in his arms.
“I love you too,” André said. His voice was unrecognizable to his own ears. “I want you with me forever. Marry me?”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“I will,” she said.
André kissed her again. He wanted her with him always. And he would never let her go.
* * *
Cherish My Heart
Janice Sims
Petra wrapped her arms around herself as she stood at the window in C’s apartment peering out at the city’s lights. Why had she made up an excuse to stay? Dessert? Psychologically, as her sister Desiree would say, she knew what dessert meant.
It meant that kiss had been too good to not wonder what more of the same would be like. C was delicious. She was undeniably attracted to him. She’d been curious about him at the bar. He’d made her laugh, and truthfully, when a man could make her laugh, that was 50 percent of the attraction right there. He was also intelligent, and now, after seeing where he lived and what he thought was important enough to be on his walls, she also felt he was good inside.
He returned wearing jeans and a T-shirt, his feet in a pair of slides. When he was standing before her, she looked down at his feet. He had neatly manicured nails on his immaculate toes.
She smiled. “Nice feet.”
In fact, all of him was nice. Great pectorals and biceps were evident underneath that T-shirt, and his muscular thighs filled out those jeans quite well.
Janice Sims is the author of over thirty titles ranging from romance and romantic suspense to speculative fiction. She won an Emma Award for Favorite Heroine for her novel Desert Heat. She has also been nominated for a Career Achievement Award by RT Book Reviews, and her novel Temptation’s Song was nominated for Best Kimani Romance Series in 2010 by RT Book Reviews. She lives in central Florida with her family.
Books by Janice Sims
Harlequin Kimani Romance
A Little Holiday Temptation
Escape with Me
This Winter Night
Safe in My Arms
Thief of My Heart
Unconditionally
Cherish My Heart
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
This book is dedicated to Miss Pat Roberts, my favorite English teacher in high school. Miss Roberts always had a ready smile and knew how to hold her students’ attention in class. She was the first adult to tell me I had a way with words. Thank you!
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my editor, Glenda Howard, and the rest of the staff at Harlequin who make sure the book you’re reading is an enjoyable experience for you. I write the stories, but they fine-tune my work. I’m grateful to be working with such professionals.
Dear Reader,
Sometimes I feel like a matchmaker for the couples I write about. I saved Petra’s story for last because I felt she would be a hard sell. Petra, as you know if you’ve read any of the other books in the Gaines Sisters series, doesn’t believe in marriage. Therefore, what kind of man will it take to get her to change her mind? A magnificent man! Chance Youngblood fits the bill.
My next book, His Christmas Gift, will be in stores November 2019. The heroine is Chance’s sister, Alia Joie Youngblood, who falls for a brilliant scientist, Adam Brathwaite. Their love story gets complicated when he’s kidnapped by terrorists. Wait until you see how that’s resolved! Look me up on Facebook to get updates on my work and feel free to write me the old-fashioned way at: PO Box 811, Mascotte, Florida 34753.
Blessings,
Janice
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 1
It was midday in the jungle of the Democratic Republic of the Congo. It had just stopped raining, the sun was out again, and zoologist/anthropologist Petra Gaines lowered the hood of her water-repellent safari jacket and resumed filming two subjects that she had followed for the past six months: a mother chimpanzee and her male offspring. In her notes, Petra had named them Francesca and Joey. Sitting on a branch high up in the canopy, their fur sparkled in the sunlight, and seemed to have natural water-wicking capabilities. Mother and child appeared to have taken the downpour in stride.
On the other hand, Petra and her assistant, Paul Olomide, were thrilled the rain had stopped. It was difficult to record good footage in the middle of a rainstorm.
They communicated without speaking, using hand signals they’d developed over the years they’d been working together. Silence was necessary so as not to startle the subjects. Plus, nests of this size had male adults who patrolled the perimeter looking for interlopers who would be severely dealt with if found.
Petra didn’t relish the thought of being the victim of a chimpanzee assault. They were a long way from a hospital.
She signaled to Paul to pull back. She was wrapping up the final shoot of the day. Six-month-old Joey began playfully bouncing on the branch supporting him and his mother. Francesca grabbed him, tossed him onto her back and leaped to an adjacent branch with Joey clinging to her neck. From there, Francesca made her way down to a banana tree just below the red cedar tree they had been perched in. She plucked a banana, tore it open with her strong teeth and gave it to Joey. Joey eagerly took it and munched on it with abandon, his enjoyment of the delicious treat apparent in his big brown eyes.
Petra caught it all on film and thought it a fitting ending to the many months she’d spent trailing this nest of chimpanzees. This was her life’s work. She fervently believed that without these creatures, the forests would not thrive. They were important seed dispersers. In the jungle, sunlight, essential for growth, reached the forest floor only one to one and a half percent of the time. The great apes (which chimpanzees, along with gorillas and bonobos, were classified as) helped spread seeds simply by living in the forest, foraging from its trees. The seeds sprang up as new growth. And trees provided oxygen. To Petra it was a symbiotic relationship. The great apes did their part by helping to keep the forests alive and well, and people should in turn help keep them alive and well.
She and Paul quickly packed up what little equipment they had brought with them from camp and swiftly walked away from the nest. They didn’t say anything to each other until they were well out of earshot of the chimpanzees.
“When do you think you’ll be back?” Paul asked in his Congolese-inflected English. Born in the Congo, Paul was dark skinned, with brown eyes and a shaved head. He was medium sized and of medium height and wore a khaki cap, shirt, slacks and hiking boots, his normal attire when going into the jungle.
“I’m not sure,” Petra said. “I have a meeting with the research organization that funds my work when I get back to the States. I’ll stay in touch. You’re graduating from college soon and have that wonderful job offer. You’ve learned everything you need to from me.” Petra, African American, was petite with golden-brown skin and long wavy black hair that normally fell down her back but was now in a twist underneath her wide brim khaki hat. Her clothing was similar to Paul’s, except she wore a safari jacket and she reeked of eucalyptus oil, a natural insect repellent.
She knew Paul considered her a role model, and sometimes that turned into hero worship. But the fact was, Paul had a brilliant mind and lacked only self-confidence. He was twenty-two and about to graduate from The Catholic University of Kinshasa with a degree in anthropology. His goal was to save the great ape population in his country. In Petra’s eyes, he was a noble man.
“I don’t know,” said Paul. “One can always learn something new.”
Petra loved his Congolese accent. When they’d first started working together, she’d insisted that he speak French, the official language in the Congo, with her because she needed to practice her college-learned French. But soon they were speaking only English together because he wanted to practice his English. He’d offered to teach her Lingala, a Bantu language spoken in the northwestern portion of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, but she’d politely turned him down. French was difficult enough.
The lush jungle was thick with trees and plants, wet and glistening, and the air was redolent with smells of the many species of flowers and herbs and broad-leafed trees like the African oak, red cedar and mahogany, some of them growing to forty feet above the ground. Sounds of birds singing and the screech of apes were all around them. The jungle made Petra think of being in a huge cathedral with the tallest ceiling in the world. Looking up made her feel close to heaven.
“We may not be the same when you get back,” Paul lamented. He often talked about politics and the state of his country. The Democratic Republic of the Congo had been in tumult for many years with infighting. If one regime didn’t like another, the argument often ended in bloodshed. Over ten million people had been killed in the past twenty years. It was a dangerous place to live. Petra was constantly amazed by the optimism of the people of the Congo. They were positive even in light of the chaos around them. They’d had to rebuild time and time again, yet their spirits were not broken. They looked forward to a better future. She felt the people of the Congo deserved so much more from their leaders.
She spoke with optimism now. “Everything will be all right, Paul.” She gestured to their surroundings. “You live in paradise!”
“It would be, if not for certain serpents,” Paul said with a smile. His brown eyes were lit with laughter. He grinned, showing perfect white teeth in his good-looking face. “You must come to dinner tonight. Noella told me not to tell you, but we’re giving you a going-away party. So act surprised.”
Petra laughed delightedly. “You two are so sweet. Still on your honeymoon and inviting someone into your love nest. That’s so generous,” she teased.
Paul blushed. “Just you and a few colleagues from the university.”
“I’ll be there,” Petra said with a smile.
* * *
“Poulet à la Moambé. I could eat this every day if I could get it,” Petra said happily as she took the last bite of the delicious chicken in a moambe sauce over rice. The dish was spicy and made with cassava leaves, peanuts, hot pepper sauce, chicken, bananas and palm nuts. She swallowed and washed it down with a local dark beer.
Noella Olomide, a beautiful, petite twenty-one-year-old woman with reddish-brown skin, black dreadlocks that fell to her waist and dark brown eyes, smiled broadly at Petra. “I’ll write down the recipe so you can.”
“One of these days I’m going to take the time to learn to cook,” Petra said.
The eight people around the table all groaned at hearing that statement, knowing she had no interest in learning to cook. Which made Petra laugh.
“It’s not my fault that Kinshasa has so many Nganda restaurants. What do you want me to do, put all those hardworking women out of work?” She often frequented the Nganda restaurants, street restaurants around the capital city of Kinshasa which were mostly set up by women who earned a living by selling cuisine inspired by recipes from all over the Congo.
“I’m sure they’re going to miss you when you’re gone,” Paul said sympathetically. But she could tell he was laughing at her, too.
“All right, all right,” Petra said, when she had her own laughter under control. “I’m probably never going to learn how to co
ok. No wonder I’m still single at thirty-three. Some people are born to be geniuses in the kitchen, and others are born to enjoy their efforts. That’s me! I’m always happy to wash dishes, though.”
She stood and raised her glass. “A toast to our hosts. Thank you for a sublime meal and for the loving spirit you two possess in abundance. I’m going to miss you.”
Everyone raised their glasses in response, smiles on their faces, eyes twinkling with good humor.
“To our hosts,” they all said, and drank deeply from their glasses of beer.
She looked around the table at the people she worked with at the university where she taught a course in anthropology. Most of them were native Congolese, but there was also a Lebanese gentleman and a woman from China in their group. Kinshasa was a multicultural city.
“I’m going to miss all of you,” she said sincerely and felt she might cry.
Then Dr. Koffi Botende, the head of the anthropology department at the university, saved her by standing up and saying, “If I had known you were going to be such a thorn in my side, I never would have hired you.”
The others at the table gasped in astonishment. Dr. Botende was usually such a kind, patient man. He sternly regarded Petra, his bushy white eyebrows raised in consternation. His white afro was also bushy, and he reminded Petra of a black Albert Einstein. She could not look at him without smiling.
Which she was doing now. “I know you love me,” she said confidently. “Even if I am a pain in the ass.”
Dr. Botende let out a loud guffaw and hugged Petra. “I love you like a daughter. And I will miss you, ma petite. Although, I think you’ll be a lot safer in America where you won’t run into any armed poachers.”
“It was only one time,” Petra said in her defense. “And it ended well.”
Love in New York ; Cherish My Heart Page 15
