by JoAnn Durgin
Sipping a cup of tea an hour later, Winnie noted the time. Dottie was bringing Chloe home around seven. The Lord would bless that kindhearted woman for being such a saint, offering to keep Chloe most of the day and giving her supper. That should give her plenty of time throughout the afternoon to chop the vegetables for the salad, make the four types of quiche appetizers and finish the fruit tarts. At least the Red Hat Society ladies specified what foods they preferred and which ones they did not want for their event. Made her job that much easier.
Buzz. Buzz. Staring at the phone, she sighed. Buzz. Buzz. “Okay, okay. You caught me in a moment of weakness.” Moving over to the counter, leaning against it, she opened her phone. Not recognizing the number, she considered not answering. Still, it could be a potential client. “Doyle-Clarke Catering,” she said, employing her most professional voice—polite but noncommittal.
“I’m looking for Winnie Doyle.” The voice was deep. Male. Smooth Cajun accent. Familiar.
Deep shivers ran from her hairline down to her ballet flats. An urge to close the phone seized her, but she managed to hold it against her ear in spite of her trembling fingers. She stopped her tapping foot and closed her eyes. “This is Winnie.” Silence. When more seconds passed, her eyes flew open and she snapped the phone shut, tossing it on the counter as if it was shooting flames. “Sorry. You had your chance.”
A stab of guilt rushed through her but she ignored it. Other than her daughter and co-teaching the Sunday school class, the catering partnership with Lexa was the most important thing in her life. She didn’t have time to be distracted by people who couldn’t make their point in ten seconds or less. If he wanted to talk with her, it would be on her terms, when she had more time. For now, she needed to get back to her task. As it was, her pulse worked overtime.
As she pulled ingredients from the refrigerator, she couldn’t stop the thoughts swirling in her mind. A new pink, heart-shaped note caught her eye and gave her pause. Mommy: kiss Butterfinger. No doubt Dottie helped her write it but the big, rudimentary letters made her smile. With a deep sigh, she headed toward Chloe’s bedroom. The kitten was in her customary position—curled in a ball, snoozing in the middle of the bed. Putting her fingers to her lips, Winnie blew the slumbering creature an air kiss. It was a kiss, and she’d kept the promise. That was the most important thing.
In between rounds of appetizer preparation a few minutes later, she paused while chopping vegetables. She stared at her cell phone on the counter, not dwelling on the reasons why she hadn’t turned it off earlier. He’d been persistent, she’d give him that much. Wiping her hands on her apron, she took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Only one man in Baton Rouge—only one man in the entire state of Louisiana—could possibly have access to her private cell phone number. That distinctive voice made her weak at the thought. She’d know it anywhere.
He’s back.
Chapter 2
Bennie nodded toward Sam’s office. “Go on in. Sam rarely locks it. I’ll wait until he gets here, then I’m off to lunch.” That statement brought an odd comfort. Heaven forbid a grown woman should hear or see him blubber like an idiot, something he might very well do when he faced Sam for the first time in over four years.
“Thanks.” Josh closed his cell phone. He’d blown it with that call, but he’d keep trying. Hearing Winnie’s voice again tied up his tongue like a sailor’s knot. Water would be good. Spying a cooler along one wall, he poured a cup of the ice cold liquid. Downing it before his shaking fingers could spill the contents on the carpet, Josh crumpled the paper cup, aimed and tossed it in the nearby wastebasket. “Another three-pointer and he scores,” he said under his breath. Hearing soft laughter, he turned around to face a smiling Bennie.
“My son does the same thing, and no, his name isn’t Ben. Were you a basketball player?”
Josh’s twisted nerves relaxed and the corners of his lips upturned. “Baseball.”
“Ah, the thinking man’s sport. Where’d you play?”
“LSU. Born and raised in a small town outside Baton Rouge.”
He’d seen that familiar gleam in a mother’s eyes before. “You don’t say? My youngest daughter, Amanda, lives near there.” The way she sized him up, Bennie might have some matchmaking in mind. “What’s your line of work, if I may ask?”
“I’m a corporate mergers and acquisitions attorney.” Somehow, that statement didn’t infuse him with the pride he thought it would.
His answer might please her—and it did, judging by that unmistakable sparkle in her eyes—but now was the time to end the questions. Before he could change the subject, Bennie waved her hand. “Don’t mind me. Do me a favor and don’t tell my boss his assistant’s an old busybody.”
Her tone half-teased, but Josh hastened to reassure her. “I wouldn’t think of it. I’m actually here in Houston on personal business.” Maybe that would push any blind-date-with-the-daughter ideas to the back burner. If this wonderful Christian woman knew his background, she’d keep her daughter far away.
“Well,” she said, replacing her glasses and turning back to her work, “enjoy your reunion with Sam, and I hope I’ll see you again sometime.”
“Thanks. Likewise.” Turning the knob to the inner sanctum, Josh left the door ajar as he walked across the room and sat in one of the two maroon armchairs facing Sam’s desk. After three minutes of fiddling and fidgeting, he felt like one of his sister’s students with ADHD who’d forgotten his meds. Lord, keep me calm and give me the right words.
Rotating the picture on Sam’s desk, he smiled when he saw Sam and Lexa’s smiling, flushed faces at the San Antonio work camp staring back at him. Lexa was as blonde and petite as Sam was dark-haired and tall, an inch taller than his own six-foot-four. The best thing to come from that eventful work camp was the love that developed between these two people from different backgrounds and perspectives of faith, like his parents, who had one of the most solid marriages he’d ever known. He pulled another photo toward him, staring at the face of a smiling infant. No doubt about it, this was Joseph Lewis. Only a few months old, the resemblance to Sam was undeniable with his dark hair and facial structure. Josh ran a finger over the photo.
Hearing voices, he replaced the photo on the desk with shaking fingers, almost knocking it over. No mistaking that deep, Texas drawl as Sam greeted Bennie. He stared at the wall behind Sam’s desk, an immovable lump lodged in his throat. This is it. Closing his eyes, he didn’t need to look over his shoulder to know the TeamWork director had entered the office and stood behind him.
One large palm clamped on his left shoulder and a black Stetson—classic Sam Lewis—flew past him, landing on the desk. “It’s about time, brother.” Coming to the side of the chair and hauling Josh to his feet, Sam embraced him in the bear hug of his life. “You’ve been missed. Welcome home.” His voice was hoarse with emotion as he slapped him on the back a couple of times.
Josh blinked back tears and returned the hug. Pulling away, he grunted and averted his gaze. “Aw, man, why’d you have to go and say that?” He swiped at the wetness beneath his eyes, powerless to stop the tears in the midst of attempting a grin.
The familiar smile lines deepened. “Calling you brother or the missing you part?”
“The welcome home part pretty much did it.” Josh waved his hand. “All of it, but it’s all good.” Squaring his shoulders, he met those piercing blue eyes. How he’d missed this man but didn’t fully understand how much until now. “I’m sorry, Sam.” It was a struggle, but he managed to get out the words. “Sorry for everything, and sorry it’s taken me this long to tell you. I only hope you can forgive me. I was selfish and misguided, and hurt a lot of people I care about.” He shook his head and tried to lighten the mood. “In case you missed it, you’re one of those people.”
Sam handed him a tissue from a box on a nearby table and pulled one out for himself. He shrugged out of his suit coat and wiped his eyes before dropping into the chair beside him. “I knew you’d come
back when you were ready. You’re too good a man not to come back, and you were forgiven a long time ago.”
“Thanks for saying that,” Josh said, balling the soaked tissue in his hands. “You’d better give me another one of those or I’m going to ruin this overpriced tie Beck gave me.”
“Take the whole box.” Sam pushed it across the desk. “Your sister tells me you’re doing well at the law firm.” He shot him a wry grin. “Not bad for a guy who graduated at the top of his class. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.” Sam was proud of him? After all I’ve done. “It’s what I’ve always wanted to do. Besides, racking up billable hours keeps me busy to the point of exhaustion and helps me sleep better at night.”
“What brought you back, Josh?”
Josh raised his head. “Marc Thompson. September eleventh.” Noting Sam’s stricken expression, he blew out a breath. “I can’t even imagine. Things like that tend to wake you up.”
Sam looked away, the muscles in his jaws flexing. “Shook us all up. But, once again, the Lord proved His sovereignty. I thank Him every day for sparing Marc and making it clear He wants him around a while longer. Of course, Marc claims he’s sticking around for the express purpose of harassing me.” He allowed the hint of a smile. “I don’t doubt it for a minute.”
“For Natalie and little Gracie’s sake, I’m thankful he got off that plane. We both know the Almighty orchestrated that one, but I don’t know much else about what happened. What I know is I owe the man a whopping debt of gratitude for pulling my sister out of that creek on your TeamWork jaunt to Montana. I hope I get a chance to thank him in person someday.”
Sam shifted his position. “You will. I know Marc will embrace the opportunity to get to know you. As far as what happened, you probably know he owns a successful sports advertising agency in Boston. When he married Natalie, he cut back on the traveling but he was flying out to L.A. that morning to sign one of the Lakers. It was a major coup for his agency, a huge deal that warranted the boss making the trip. He forgot to turn off his cell phone, and Natalie called after he boarded to tell him his mother had a stroke. Nothing serious, but after Natalie’s fall and losing her memory—everything they went through—Marc doesn’t take chances when it comes to his family. This is where divine intervention comes into play. Flight Eleven was delayed fourteen minutes leaving Logan. He’s a persistent man, and they finally relented. To hear him tell it, they practically pushed him off the plane.”
“And then the plane took off”—Josh hesitated, catching his breath—“and slammed into the North Tower within the hour.” He met Sam’s gaze. “For once, words fail me.”
Sam pushed his fist against the firm line of his lips, not speaking for a moment. He shifted his position and cleared his throat. “Marc’s gone through a lot, similar to what returning soldiers face. He saw the hijackers, talked to a number of the crew, obviously, but also some of the passengers while waiting to board the flight. He’s strong, and he’ll get through it. Marc’s doing a lot of good work, organizing inner-city neighborhood projects in Boston, Philly and New York. They’re pairing up kids with celebrity athletes, putting together basketball camps in his dad’s memory.” Noticing Josh’s raised brow, he added, “Jumpin’ Phil Thompson.”
Josh whistled under his breath. “No kidding? The Celtics legend? I knew Marc played for the Pawtucket Red Sox for a few years, but I had no idea there was a connection between the two. So, are these basketball camps a new TeamWork ministry?”
The corners of Sam’s mouth upturned. “Not yet but there’s definite potential.” His smile sobered as he leaned closer, elbows resting on his thighs, fixing him with one of his signature, soul-searching looks. “The most important thing here is whether or not you’re straight with the Lord and forgiven yourself.”
Josh looked away. “It’s difficult. Hearing about Marc jumpstarted me, but it’s taken six months to get to the point where I could make this trip. I’ve confessed it all and asked the Lord for forgiveness, but I need time to feel forgiven. I’m the one who knows better than anyone the people I’ve hurt. I can’t take back my past actions, can’t erase my past. I’m not proud of my behavior a few years ago, but I think the rumors ran a little rampant to the point of the absurd.”
“I don’t need to know, and neither does anyone else,” Sam said. “People talk. Nothing we can do about it. Keep your eyes on the Lord. Confess it to Him, and you’ll find your peace. He’ll let you know if and when you need to ask forgiveness from anyone else.”
“It’s really about redemption, Sam.”
“I know. Allow Him to work in your heart. Look at some of the characters in the Bible we view as heroes. Many of their personal histories aren’t pretty, yet look how God used them to do His work. I have no doubt He’ll do the same in you but the key is allowing Him to work.”
“I fear your faith in me is displaced.” Josh’s eyes grew moist. “I’d advise against it if you don’t want to be disappointed.”
“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, my friend. It’s not faith in you. It’s faith that God can take your deepest sin and turn it into your greatest blessing. That’s where you find your redemption.”
He’d need to consider those words. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a personal check payable to TeamWork Missions and handed it to Sam. “This is something else I should have taken care of a long time ago.”
The TeamWork director barely glanced at it. Shaking his head, he folded the check in half and laid it on the desk. “You owe me nothing.”
“I know I don’t owe you the money personally, but I took the money from the TeamWork safe in San Antonio to help Sheila. I fully intended to put that money back before you ever knew it was missing. This should be more than enough to cover what was taken. Plus interest for five years.”
“Sheila was desperate to get away from an abusive relationship. I’ve known all along you never would have taken the money without good reason.” Sam’s eyes were kind. “That debt was paid a long time ago. Keep your money.”
“Fine. Then consider it a donation.”
Rising to his feet, Sam walked around the desk and sat in the black leather chair. Opening the middle drawer, he retrieved the check and put it inside. “Fair enough. On behalf of TeamWork, thank you. I’ll make sure you get a receipt for tax purposes.” A hint of a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
An overwhelming burst of emotion threatened to overwhelm him. “Sam, I sinned with Shelby. Your Shelby. And then I wanted Lexa and made a play for her when I thought your relationship with her was over. How can you forgive me?”
Sam turned in his chair, toward the wall behind his desk. Moving his gaze upward, Josh focused on the rustic, hand-carved wooden cross—beautiful and meaningful in its simplicity. He nodded, blinking hard, his lashes wet on his cheeks as he released a shuddering breath.
Sam grabbed his jacket and Stetson. “Come on. Let’s get out of here. I’m on my way to meet Lexa for lunch, and you’re coming with us.”
His heartbeat increased tenfold, and he swallowed hard. “Are you sure she’ll be okay with that?”
That big hand landed on his shoulder again. “Josh, I live with the woman, and I pray with her. Trust me when I say you’re an answer to a long-held prayer. She’ll be thankful to see you.”
“Lead the way,” Josh said, the words raspy as he followed Sam out of his office.
“How long are you in town?”
“A few days. I need to be back in Baton Rouge early next week.”
Sam paused while writing a note to Bennie. “Got a place to lay your head?”
“My secretary booked a room for me at a hotel a few blocks from here.”
“Tell you what,” Sam said, “you’re welcome to stay at the house, provided you don’t mind occasional crying in the middle of the night.”
That one made him laugh. “I trust you’re talking about the pint-sized version of you. Congratulations. I saw the photo.”
>
The smile lines deepened. “None other. My boy’s got some healthy lungs.”
“That’s great of you to offer, but let’s make sure it’s fine with Lexa. A lot of women don’t like the element of surprise.”
Sam grunted. “True enough. To humor you, I’ll ask her at lunch but don’t be surprised if she suggests it first. We’re meeting her four blocks from here, so let’s walk and catch up on the way.”
Time to ask the second biggest question of the hour. “Sam, I need to see Winnie while I’m here in Houston. Beck tells me she and Lexa started a catering business together. I was hoping you could tell me where she lives.”
Sam hesitated only a second before ushering him through the door and locking it behind them. “I’ll do you one better,” he said as they headed to the elevator. “The ladies have a catering event tomorrow night, which means Winnie will be at the house in the morning, and probably most of the day.” Although Sam didn’t ask any questions, he shot him an indefinable look as they stepped inside the elevator together. “Hard to believe it’s been almost five years, but I think you’ll find that San Antonio TeamWork camp was more eventful than you realized.”
They rode to the ground floor in silence.
This time he didn’t ask, and Sam wasn’t talking.
Chapter 3
Monday, Early Evening
“Hi, Mommy!”
“Come see me, Buttercup.” Winnie opened her arms as Chloe ran from the front door to the sofa, wrapping her arms around Winnie’s waist. A mass of pretty blonde curls splayed across her blouse as Chloe nestled against her, close enough to smell the fresh scent of baby shampoo. “Thanks for taking such good care of her today and bringing her home, Dottie.” Winnie twirled a curl around one finger and gave a gentle tug as Chloe giggled. Raising her face, the child planted a sloppy kiss on Winnie’s cheek. How she wished these moments would last forever.
