Hannah tapped the keys, the rhythmic motion helped with her flow...
Kahlea closed her eyes and silently moved her lips.
Rory walked around and sat beside her. “What are you doing?”
Startled, she jumped. “Praying.”
“Sorry, no one is going to save you.”
She batted her thick lashes. “Who said I was praying to be rescued? I am thanking the Lord for a blessed day of travel, no more, no less.”
Then he said, he said…
“What does he say?” Hannah drummed the desk. What was wrong with her?
The rumbling of the storm had woken her early. When she sat at the computer, she’d known exactly what to say, and now it was just gone. Poof, just like that.
Pacing the room, she tapped her finger to her chin. Rory needed a witty comeback. Something witty, a special phrase only he would use. What was it?
What would the real Rory say?
Chapter Two
“Monsieur Rory? Monsieur? Are you up?” A timid voice floated through the cracked door.
Rory rolled over in the small bed, shifting the thin mattress. The banging continued for several minutes. If he covered his head with the thin blanket, would it block out the noise?
Unfortunately, it didn’t. Sighing, he pushed up on the bed and grunted. “I wasn’t, but I guess I am now.”
The door opened further and a nervous child entered. “Good. My name is Simon. Father Thomas needs your help in the garden.”
“At this hour?” he questioned, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Oh, yes.”
“But the sun is barely up,” said Rory in amazement. What could the old man possibly need from him?
“Yes, yes, best time to work in the garden. Not as hot.” Arrayed in a long, flowing, brown cassock robe, Simon walked away. It was a mystery to Rory how the child did so without falling flat on his face.
Swinging his leg off the side of the bed, he sat upright. Rory moved his neck from side-to-side and listened to the popping noises. “I don’t know if penance is worth this,” he mumbled.
“Excuse me, I didn’t hear you,” said Simon, moving his head around the door facing.
Rory pulled on the sock and felt for the snap. The prosthetic leg slipped on the end and snapped in place. Rory stood using one hand to balance himself against the wall. “No worries, just direct me to where I need to go.”
Simon nodded. “Oh, yes. Follow me.”
South Africa was vast and beautiful but poor and dangerous. Many children lived on the streets or in orphanages, often starving. Some were lucky enough to be taken in by the church. The joy which resided within this boy was such a rarity. Rory wished he had a way to bottle it and sell it. Then everyone in the country would have a chance at happiness.
Rory’s gait was awkward, but the longer he walked, the more comfortable he became. Ignoring the strange feel of the prosthetic as it settled against his skin, he pushed himself to keep up.
The garden, on the southern side of the monastery compound, provided not only food for the residents but also pleasure. On this fine morning, several elderly men stood around a tree. Their fingers tapped their chins in thought.
Rory stopped beside Father Thomas and mimicked their pose. When they neglected to notice, he dropped his hands to his side and asked, “What is so important you need me right now?”
Without glancing at Rory, Father Thomas said, “We must move this tree.”
Rory arched his brow. “Move this tree?”
“Yes, this tree.”
“Why?”
“Because the shade it creates is blocking my roses.”
“Well, of course, we can’t have that, now can we?” muttered Rory.
Father Thomas frowned. Rory cringed. Perhaps he wasn’t getting off to the best start. He really did wish to atone for his sins.
“Sorry, Father. I’ll be glad to move the tree. Do you have the tools to cut it down?” he asked.
“No, no, Rory. You misunderstand. I do not wish for you to destroy the tree. I wish for my rosebushes to have more sun.”
“So you want more sun on the bushes but I can’t destroy the tree?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Do you want me to trim the limbs?”
“Oh, no. You mustn’t do that.”
“Then you want me to move a twenty-foot tree?”
“If that is what it takes, then yes.”
Rory threw his hands into the air. “That is impossible.”
“All things are possible—”
“Not moving this tree. You ask too much.”
****
Thomas watched as Rory stalked away. Moaning and groaning about the assigned task floated back on the nonexistent breeze.
“Is he always so thickheaded?” asked Brother James.
Father Thomas nodded. “I’m afraid so. He is determined to work off his sins.”
“You have explained…”
“Of course, I have explained. He refuses to believe it is a gift. He is determined to earn his own way.”
The two brothers walked together, their hands encased in the folds of their robes. Brother James clucked his tongue. Thomas understood the sentiment. Maybe one day Rory would understand as well.
Chapter Three
The pages shot one at a time from the printer.
Hannah skimmed the words. Angrily she wadded them into a ball and threw it in the wastebasket. Distancing herself from the desk, she paced the room and ranted out loud.
“The agent will send this back in a heartbeat.” Her voice deepened with mimicry. “It is a good story but where are the ‘ayes’ and ‘nays’? When is your time period? Where are your commas? You need to try again, Hannah.” Back to her normal tone, she continued, “I’ve had successes. Why can’t I do it again? Why does it have to be so hard every time?”
Sighing, she looked out the window. Beads of water formed a line on the screen. “Maybe Rory falls in love with the non-complaining Kahlea and they marry, and he stays with her and they have tons of babies.” She threw her arms skyward. “This is hopeless.”
Hannah picked up the phone, held it to her ear, and listened to the dial tone. Courage to take the next step finally found her as she dialed the number.
On the other end a man answered. “Hello?”
“Hi, Mike. Is Tonya there?”
Michael Thomson, or Mike, worked for the government. Sometimes she fantasized about his job…
Ropes dangled from tall trees as he swung from limb to limb. Feet landing securely on a branch, he would wrap his arms around Tonya, whisper in her ear and whisk her away to his house in the trees.
At other times, Mike was surrounded by beautiful women swathed in glamorous ballgowns. A black ear piece shoved in his ear, thick plastic glasses concealed a camera, as he sought out an enemy to place them behind bars. Or maybe he—
“Yeah, I think she is putting Mikey to bed. Let me get her.”
Noting the time, she felt like kicking herself. She tried to get out the words I’ll call back, but Mike had already left. She was in trouble now, she had promised not to call so late.
Tonya Thomson had been her best friend for years. Whenever something was on her mind or worrying her, Hannah called her. Recently, however, they’d made an agreement, and at this moment, she was breaking it.
Tonya arrived on the line huffing and puffing. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong. Why does something have to be wrong?”
“Well,” she said, drawing out the word. “You did promise not to call this late unless you had a problem.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll call you back tomorrow.”
“No, let’s talk now.”
“Are you okay?” Hannah asked, twirling a strand of hair around her finger in a nervous gesture.
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
“You’re breathing hard.”
Tonya released a pent-up breath. “If you must know, when Mike said you were on the line
, I became concerned and I ran downstairs to the phone.”
“You shouldn’t have done that. You could have tripped and hurt the baby.” Hannah waited for a response.
“Hannah, please just tell me why you called.” Tonya’s frustration radiated over the line. Touted with having the patience of Job, Tonya could only be pushed so far.
“It seems silly now.”
“Hannah Grace Baker, you have scared me, almost made me fall down the stairs and caused me to risk my neck, and now it’s silly!”
Tears burned behind her eyes, and she sniffed.
“Are you crying?” came Tonya’s incredulous voice.
“No.” Sniff, sniff.
“Please tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t do it anymore.”
Tonya sighed. “What can’t you do?”
“I can’t be a writer.”
The line was silent. Exasperated, Tonya said, “Hannah, we’ve been through this. You’re already a writer. Your other books are selling well. Remember it takes time to make a name for yourself. Everyone told you that this is a marathon not a race. Besides, the publisher loved the first story in your new series.”
“I bet you’re thinking about giving Melanie a piece of your mind,” Hannah said off-handedly as she stood in the hallway and studied herself in the mirror.
“What?” asked Tonya.
“Well, this was Melanie’s idea.”
“Can you please stay focused?”
“Of course. What I meant was Melanie was the one who introduced us years ago, and I think you have suffered ever since. So you might want to give her a piece of your mind.”
“Hannah, listen, not to be mean, but I can hear Mikey crying. So if you need to talk, then let’s talk.”
Great. Now she felt like a total heel. She walked to the living room and plopped into a plush recliner. “Okay. Here it is. This book is driving me crazy! Yeah, they want it but every time I give it to them they come at me with a new set of instructions and, well, you’re the only one who knows I am writing. I have to go to the coffeehouse and work every day just to make ends meet. I have to smile like my life is all hunky-dory. Then I come home and write novels, but I don’t tell anyone because I’m too embarrassed.
“And what’s wrong with these people? Do they not pay attention? Where is their curiosity? My picture is all over the cover. I’m just so frustrated with my entire life! And to top everything off, now I’m getting to the place where I hate even looking at this book.”
The sound of a chair scraping meant Tonya had sat down. If Hannah closed her eyes, she could see Tonya sitting in her foyer, playing with her hair, rolling her eyes skyward.
Tonya asked, “Did you do what we discussed?”
“Give it over to God? Yeah, at least I thought I did. But the waiting is so hard.”
“Remember you have to be patient.”
“Yeah, patience, patience. How can I possibly be patient? I wait. They send it back for more revisions. Then I send it back and I wait. Then they send it to me again. Waiting is all I do! The coffeehouse job can’t support me, and my inheritance is going to run out before I’m able to dot all my I’s and cross all my T’s and find all my stinking commas!” By the time she finished, she was shouting.
“Hannah, maybe you need to get away.”
Rising from the chair, her blood pumped faster and faster, becoming a loud roar between her ears. “I can’t afford to. Besides, the editor called today. He wants the revised version of the story in just a couple of hours.”
“But I thought you said you finished the revisions.”
“Oh, I did.”
“Then what does he want now?”
“Didn’t I tell you? He wants the revisions of the revision! I don’t know how much more I can take.”
“Let me ask you a question.”
“Okay.”
“Do you like to write?”
“Yes, you know I do.”
“Then just keep writing. They haven’t said no. They just want to see some changes.”
“No, but they haven’t said yes, either. What if I’m never able to satisfy their requirements? What if I just can’t do what they ask of me? What if I never find a catchphrase for Rory?”
Tonya sighed so heavily Hannah could feel it. “What do you want me to say?”
Hannah cried. “Good question. I guess there is nothing you can say, nothing you can do. We all have problems, right? That’s what makes the world go around. I need to just get over it and move on.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I know, but it is what you want to say, right? It’s okay. I understand. I feel petty, but I guess I have no one to share with and…”
“Hannah, what was that?”
“Someone knocked.”
“Well, don’t open it. It is too late for people to be knocking on your door.”
“Just let me look through the peephole.”
“No, don’t. Haven’t you seen any of those movies where they stab a screwdriver through the hole right into your eyeball?”
“Goodness, Tonya! You’re watching way too much television.”
Before Tonya could comment farther, Hannah opened her apartment door. No one was there but a large white envelope lay on the floor. “What this?”
“What’s what?”
“It’s an envelope.”
“Do you see white powder?”
“What?”
“You know, like anthrax.”
“What!” Hannah exclaimed.
“Maybe someone sent you a letter full of the stuff because they don’t like your books.”
Hannah shook her head. “Are you kidding? You think a romance story about medieval knights warrants an anthrax attack?”
“You could have offended someone.”
Hannah fought the urge to laugh. Since Tonya had become a mother, her worry meter had gone off the charts. But just in case Tonya wasn’t completely crazy, she studied the package. “Mpumalanga, South Africa,” she muttered.
“What? Did you say something? Girl, you better tell me what is happening, or Mike is bringing me over there right now.”
“It’s from a province in South Africa, postmarked over two years ago,” Hannah replied, turning the package over in her hands.
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would you get a letter that old? I say you don’t open it,” Tonya said, worry lacing her tone.
“But what if it is from Melanie?”
“Melanie is in the Sudan. Not South Africa.”
“Maybe they moved.”
“Then why didn’t she call and tell us?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to open this and I’ll call you back tomorrow.”
“Oh no, you don’t. I want to know what it is right now. I won’t sleep a wink if I have to wait.”
“But it’s late.”
“Hannah, don’t toy with me.”
“All right give me fifteen minutes and I’ll call you back.”
“I’m timing you.”
“I figured you were.”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“Yep, fifteen minutes.”
Chapter Four
Rory Chance, ex-British military, daredevil, leader, and multimillionaire, groaned as morning sunlight filtered into his tiny room. His head ached as if his brain bounced around inside his skull.
Alertness overwhelmed him as he woke enough to recognize someone pounding on his door for the second day in a row. Don’t these people ever rest? Must the pious rise before the sun?
“Sir, sir! You must come,” Simon’s urgent voice insisted through the thin wood.
Rory rolled to his side and glared. This better be an emergency. If they were waking him up to talk about the tree again, he might lose it. If only he had the power to shoot laser beams from his eyes, then he would incinerate the door and all that lay behind it.
Why did they insist on bothering him? Okay, he’d come to them for help. And it was true he’d confid
ed in the father he wanted to change his life. But, why did he need to change it before breakfast? And why was so much noise required?
“Sir?” The banging continued. “Are you awake?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the kid to go away and leave him alone. But if anyone should leave, it should be him, Rory — Black-Hearted — Chance.
“Sir?” The desperate voice drew out the quiet word.
Grumbling he replied, “I’m coming.”
Sitting up on the side of the bed, he looked down. Words from the army psychologist flowed through his mind…
“You shouldn’t feel guilty. But of course you do. All men in your position feel guilty.”
“And what position is that?” he’d haughtily replied.
“You were only able to save one,” he whispered.
Even though Rory understood the psychologist’s reasoning of sadness and loss, he still shouted. “And what would you know about how I feel!”
“Well I’ve been tr—”
“Yeah, you’ve been trained. So have I. I’ve been trained to watch people get blown to bits then come back home and be happy because part of them still remains.”
“I believe John and his family are happy for your training.”
“Sure. He’s home. Well, at least most of him. But you know as well as I do, he’s going to resent me forever because he’ll never be whole.”
“I heard that Mr. Nelson wanted to present your award. He has made peace with his situation. Why can’t you?”
Yeah, why can’t I?
Rory waited for Simon to bang on the door again. He hadn’t bothered to learn anything about the child. Why would he? He was here to work for absolution, not to make friends with stray children.
By the time he returned home, the unfounded hero worship should have settled down. Stupid reporters tailing him everywhere, reporting on his every move, was not something he wanted to return to.
The gossip mongers had shared everything from his accident to the news of his break up with his fiancée. Monica Tavers, the woman he was to spend the rest of his life with, had accused him of leaking the story to make her look bad. He’d calmly informed her nothing was needed to make her look bad, that she was more than capable of accomplishing that all on her own.
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