by Arlene James
She knew that she was going to agree before she even finished her shower and got dressed for work, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of trepidation. All day long she kept trying to find excuses for refusing to meet Scott’s friend. In the end, however, she couldn’t make herself be that dishonest. No good reason existed for not meeting this Nate. She decided to tell Scott at dinner that she would be pleased to meet his friend.
After the bus let her off in front of the apartment house, she hobbled straight to the mailbox in the common area and unlocked her cubby, as was her custom. Most of what she received consisted of circulars and advertisements, but when she came across a letter from the airline upon which she’d flown from Houston, she decided to check it out, although it was probably just a credit card offer or some such thing. Carefully inserting a fingernail beneath the flap, she tore open the envelope and unfolded the single page within.
To her surprise it wasn’t some advertising gimmick. Instead it was a note from the office of the vice president saying that a personal article of no real monetary value had been recovered by a third party interested only in returning it to its owner. Anyone having lost such a personal item was instructed to call a local telephone number or write to a local post office box. Piper shook her head. She hadn’t lost anything that she knew of—at least nothing that could be returned to her. She dropped the letter into the trash can along with the other junk and headed for her apartment as swiftly as her sore, tight muscles would allow.
By Tuesday of the following week, Mitch had received three replies to the airline mailing—two phone calls from Dallas-area residents and a letter from Houston. The letter writer claimed to have lost a valuable family heirloom in the form of a large diamond ring, despite the airline’s specific wording of the notice. Mitch shot off a letter stating, once again, that the item recovered was of no monetary value and definitely not a ring. He suggested that the writer submit a properly documented claim to the airline, while privately doubting that the ring had ever existed.
The telephone calls were no more helpful. One call came from a nervous newlywed whose private honeymoon video had probably never made it on the airplane in the first place. The other came from a wary older gentleman who wouldn’t say what he’d lost or give Mitch his full name or address, so Mitch suggested that they meet in a public place.
The man chose a popular Greenville Avenue restaurant, and they set a time for early Friday evening. Mitch felt cautiously optimistic, but it turned out that the fellow had lost his Social Security card and didn’t want his daughter to know.
“She thinks I’m the next thing to senile as it is,” the grandfatherly man explained.
Mitch advised him to contact the local police and the Social Security Administration immediately, as well as all three national credit reporting agencies and the administrator of his pension checks.
“It’s a hassle, but it’s the only way to protect yourself, identity theft being such a problem these days. And if you find out someone’s been using your information to make purchases or apply for credit cards, let me know right away. I’ll go with you to file a report and help you clear your name and credit.”
He gave the man his business card, brushed aside his expressions of gratitude and asked if he had seen anyone drop a piece of paper while boarding the plane. Like the newlywed, the gentleman answered in the negative, but he suggested that Mitch ask a friend who had accompanied him on the flight. Mitch jotted down the name and telephone number that was supplied, then insisted on buying the fellow a glass of iced tea and an appetizer. He politely refused Mitch’s offer of dinner, so Mitch dined alone, disappointed that he was no closer to finding the owner of the letter, though it was early days yet.
Chapter Four
The restaurant had filled up by the time Mitch was ready to leave—not at all surprising, since the lower Greenville area was a popular nightspot on the weekends. However, Mitch had hardly noticed as he’d sat brooding over his dinner. Only when he looked up to signal the waiter for his check did Mitch realize that the place was alive with movement and conversation. He glanced around him in some surprise, and his gaze snagged on a head as bright as a shiny new copper penny.
She wore her hair down and loose, the sides tucked behind her ears, rather than braided as before, and had applied just a touch of makeup, darkening her lashes and adding sheen to her full lips, but there was no mistaking that face with its wide, almond-shaped eyes, pert nose and slightly pointed chin. She was sitting with three other people, a couple holding hands on top of the table and a man, obviously her date. Mitch felt his stomach muscles clench.
After she hadn’t shown up at church that Sunday, he’d thought about looking her up at work, but he’d told himself he would see her again when he was meant to and that he should concentrate on returning the letter. He had looked for her a couple times in the square where they’d bumped into each other before, but she was evidently taking her lunch elsewhere these days. And now she was seeing someone else. He gulped and passed a hand over his eyes, surprised by the depth of his disappointment.
God knew that she didn’t owe him anything or he her, but he couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that it was supposed to be different. When the waiter returned with his credit card and receipt, Mitch added a generous tip to the total, signed his name and slipped the card back into his wallet. Rising, he pocketed the whole and prepared to take the long way around the room to the door, but just as he pushed his chair up under the table, Piper turned her head and looked straight at him.
Her amber eyes lit with recognition, and then a small, helpless smile touched her lips. Mitch straightened his tie and began making his way toward her before he even realized that he was going to do so.
Piper glanced at the man beside her. Talking loudly to Scott about some soccer game, he failed to notice either her or the big man approaching them. Nate Tatum was loads of fun, all right—the loud, abrasive type who yammered constantly. He hadn’t shut up all evening, going on and on about one thing or another. It wasn’t that he ignored her so much as that she wasn’t pushy enough to interject herself into his monologue. Melissa kept looking at her apologetically, while Scott worked not to notice how self-involved and boorish his friend was outside the office. Nate was Scott’s boss, so what else could Scott do?
Piper sighed inwardly, then admonished herself to lighten up. So Nate was not the man of her dreams—so much not that she never intended to see him again—but she could still enjoy herself. She and Melissa had put their heads together earlier and giggled about a pair of elaborately coiffed standard poodles being walked by a couple in matching sweaters. Later she’d watched one of the few children in the place smear melted cheese in his hair while his oblivious parents perused the menu at length, and now here came Mitch Sayer.
Her heart sped up a bit. Telling herself that she had no reason to be either embarrassed or pleased, she smiled up at him as he drew near.
“Piper.”
“Hello, Mitch. Fancy meeting you here.”
“Enjoying your dinner, I hope. Mine was excellent.”
“We do manage to run into each other with surprising regularity, don’t we?”
His dark blue eyes danced with an invitation to share secrets, and she felt her smile widen.
Melissa shifted inquisitively, reminding Piper to make introductions. She literally waved a hand in front of Nate’s face to get his attention.
“These are my friends and neighbors, Melissa and Scott Ninever, and their friend, Nate Tatum.” Their friend. Had she really said “their friend”? Nate didn’t even seem to notice. “Guys, this is Mitchell Sayer, the very first person I met in Dallas.”
“Technically, it was even before that,” he pointed out with a grin.
“Right. On the way to Dallas, I should say.”
Mitch nodded at Melissa and shook hands with Scott and Nate, who momentarily dammed the flow of his speech in order to acknowledge the newcomer. Mitch turned his smile right back to Piper.
“So how have you been?”
“Fine, thanks.” She glanced at Melissa and coyly added, “Fine but sore, since Melissa here has me hauling myself out at the crack of dawn every morning for laps around the block.”
Mitch split a look between them. “Neither of you looks like you deserve that kind of punishment. Now me, if I don’t get in at least three miles a day, I start looking like something that came in with the circus, something with a trunk.”
Piper laughed, but it was Scott who said, “Hey, man, you must do some weight training, too.”
Mitch nodded. “About three times a week, schedule permitting.”
“Weights, now that’s my deal,” Nate announced. “Back in high school I could bench…”
Piper automatically tuned him out. Mitch listened politely for a moment, then he placed one big hand on the edge of the table and the other on the back of her chair as he bent forward, dipping slightly to bring his face close to hers.
“Haven’t seen you around lately,” he said softly, and her heart skipped a beat at the notion that he had actually been looking for her. She reminded herself that the genie was already out of the bottle where he was concerned.
“As I learn the ropes, they’re putting more on me at work,” she said. It was the absolute truth—and had nothing whatsoever to do with why she’d avoided returning to the downtown park. She hadn’t wanted to run into him, wouldn’t allow herself to be pulled back into the trap of other people’s expectations of Ransome and Charlotte Wynne’s daughter.
“I hope I’ll see you again sometime,” Mitch told her, holding her gaze with his.
She replied dryly, “Given our track record, it seems likely.”
Mitch smiled at that. Then Scott burst out laughing at something Nate said, and Mitch straightened. He nodded around the table, smiled at Piper and said, “Enjoy your evening.”
“Thanks. You, too,” Piper said as he moved away.
She watched him make for the door and exit onto the sidewalk, alone. Interesting. When she turned back to the table, Nate was chattering on about some new subject. Scott’s expression of interest was beginning to look a little strained; Melissa’s, however, was rapt, but not for Nate. She lifted both eyebrows at Piper.
Leaning forward, Piper said into her ear, “Just someone I met on the plane from Houston.”
Melissa pursed her mouth speculatively, and Piper knew they were going to discuss Mitch Sayer in detail at the first opportunity. To her surprise, she was looking forward to it.
Had he been a betting man, Mitch would have bet his bottom dollar that Piper would be in the park on Monday. He’d have been wrong. She wasn’t there on Monday or Tuesday or the day after that. On Thursday it rained—the kind of chill, gloomy rain that warned that winter was truly on its way. When Friday dawned bright with the warm, sweet sunshine that was Texas at its best, Mitch knew he had to get outdoors before it was too late. The rest of the city seemed to feel the same way—everyone but Piper Wynne.
He had a long talk with God about that. If she were part of God’s plan for him, then Mitch wished heartily that it be made plain. If not, then he was in need of acceptance and maybe a little patience, not to mention the wisdom to recognize the woman God did have in store for him when she finally came along. Later he remembered one of his father’s favorite sayings: Acquiring patience requires patience. Everyone had it, Vernon liked to note, but none liked to exercise it. Mitch discovered that he was no exception.
In the end, what salvaged the week for him were the replies that he got from the airline mailing. He made or received at least one phone call every day, but with no positive results other than a couple leads to follow—names of other passengers given him by the respondents. At least, he told himself, he was doing something positive. The rest was in God’s hands.
On Sunday after church, when his parents suggested he accompany them to one of the remaining concerts of the season at the arboretum, he readily agreed. He preferred a concert to a day indoors in front of the television set.
Piper let the bell-like tones of the harp flow over her and turned a page of the paperback novel she was reading. One elbow was braced comfortably upon the back of the bench where she sat beneath an enormous magnolia tree. White Rock Lake shimmered at the foot of the grassy slope before her, reflecting the clear, breathtaking blue of the sky. To her left stood the Spanish Colonial DeGolyer mansion, a structure of gleaming white stucco and red slate that was now park property. Air as soft as silk brushed her skin, and golden sunlight playfully dappled the ground at her feet, sieved through the big waxy leaves whispering softly overhead.
It was a perfect day, the sort that they must have enjoyed in the garden of Eden, exactly the kind of Sunday made for resting from the rigors of a busy week, and it suited her needs perfectly. Since her first visit here with the Ninevers, Piper had made the arboretum her Sunday sanctuary. It was here that she most felt able to commune with God lately.
Someone sat down on the bench next to her, rather closer than she found comfortable. Determined not to allow her peace to be disturbed, she shifted forward slightly, not enough to be rude but enough to create a boundary of sorts. A throat cleared. She ignored it. The next instant her book was plucked neatly from her hands. Aghast, she turned her head sharply to the side—and encountered the smiling face of Mitchell Sayer.
For one second she dangled between outrage and an unexpected pleasure so piercing that it caught her completely off guard. The next moment she was laughing.
“Hello. Again,” he said, handing the book back to her.
She earmarked the page and closed it. “Hello yourself.”
“I’ve been wanting to see you,” he said baldly.
Some unidentifiable emotion shimmered through her, making her look away. “Have you?”
“Umm-hmm, very much. I keep hoping that you’ll take me up on my invitation.”
That got her to turn back again. “Invitation?”
“To visit my church.”
“Oh.” She shrugged and gazed off across the lake to hide the fact that she was flustered. “Right now this is my church. I’ve found God again in this place.”
He cocked his head at that. “Again?”
She blinked. Had she said that?
After a moment he waved a hand in a gesture that included their surroundings. “It’s true,” he agreed. “God is here.” He fixed his gaze on her face, adding softly, “God is everywhere and always available.”
Piper shifted uneasily. The conversation was about to wander into areas that she’d rather not visit. She put on a bright smile and changed the subject.
“Are you here for the concert?”
He balanced one ankle atop the opposite knee. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. My mother has a true love of the harp. I think she harbored a secret dream that she might raise a harpist, but all she got was me and these.” He held out his big, thick hands, smiling. “I always found them more suited to the bass fiddle than the harp.”
“Do you actually play the bass fiddle?”
“I do. On occasion. Not particularly well, I’m afraid. What about you? Play any musical instruments?”
Piper wrinkled her nose. “I played flute in high school, but I didn’t stick with it.”
“Ever thought of taking it up again?”
She shook her head. “No, not really.”
“Maybe you should.”
“Maybe I will.”
A smile stretched his mouth wide, and the effect was just mesmerizing, especially when his gaze touched her lips and lingered there for a moment. She forgot how to breathe until he looked away again and said something about flutes being made for chamber music and the bass fiddle for jazz.
“At least the way I play it,” he qualified. “Do you like jazz?”
She shrugged, searching for an answer that should have been right on the tip of her tongue. “Uh.”
“It’s an acquired taste,” he went on easily, “but I find most things
are, don’t you? Like jalapeños.”
“Or coffee.”
“Exactly, but really, is there anything better than a good cup of coffee? Especially on a day like this one.”
She laughed, feeling that she’d gotten her feet under her again. “When you do what I do, you want the stuff intravenously,” she said, then, seeing his look of confusion, she realized what she’d said. Do. Not did. Before he questioned her, she hurried on. “Now, for pure pleasure I really enjoy a cup of hot tea.”
“You and my mother,” he said, rolling his eyes. “That’s one taste I haven’t acquired.”
“You should try it sometime.”
“Oh, I’ve tried it plenty,” he confessed, leaning sideways slightly. “Mom thinks I love the stuff.”
Piper lifted an eyebrow. “Thinks?”
“It’s a special thing for her, you know? Once in a while we sit down together over a cup of tea, just the two of us.”
“You must love her a great deal,” Piper said softly, feeling it like a knife in her heart.
He smiled, nodding. “My folks are really great.”
Piper gulped and said, “Mine, too.” Suddenly she wanted to cry. Her parents were great. She was the disappointment, the failure. She swallowed the tears and stared at the lake, blinking. Mitchell’s arm slid around her, his hand cupping the knob of her shoulder heavily.
“You must miss them.”
She didn’t. How could she when she couldn’t bear to face them? She pulled in a deep breath, letting him think what he would and forcing the dark feelings back below the surface.
“So where do you play this jazz that you’ve acquired a taste for?”
Once more he accepted the change of subject with equanimity, his hand falling away from her shoulder. “Here and there. Mostly in the coffeehouse in the basement of our church.”
