To Heal A Heart (Love Inspired) Page 3
She shrugged, lifting a hand in farewell, turned her gaze resolutely forward and hurried on, thinking how odd it was that the one person in this city whose name she actually knew should work just a couple blocks down the street from her. She didn’t quite know whether she should be pleased or worried about that. After all, Mitch Sayer was just a guy she’d met on an airplane. What did she really know about him? He could turn out to be some kind of crazed stalker or something.
God, she thought, don’t let this be some sort of problem. Don’t let me… The prayer died in her mind.
She didn’t even know what to ask for, what to worry about. Every concern seemed trivial and useless now, and she’d had a lot of trouble talking to God lately. She wasn’t sure what that was about, but she realized that she really ought to be looking for a church soon. Surely that would rectify the situation. It was just a matter of time, then, time and adjustment.
Stifling a sigh, she lifted her chin and lengthened her stride, determined afresh to make this decision work, to build a new life for herself away from the pain of the past. As far as she could see, she really had no other option.
Mitch watched Piper Wynne’s compact form making its way down the busy sidewalk. Wearing serviceable pumps, a neat, navy blue skirt and short plaid jacket, she practically marched at double time toward her place of employment. Either she liked the job, was worried about her performance, or really wanted to get away from him. He hoped it wasn’t the latter, because he absolutely hoped to see her again, to get to know her a little better.
It had been so long since he’d pursued such a course that he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it, but he figured he could probably muddle his way through, given the opportunity. He didn’t really expect much to come of it. They might not have anything in common, might not like each other at all if they got better acquainted, but it was time to move forward again in his life. He might as well start with the pretty little strawberry blonde who’d sparked his interest for the first time in a very long while.
He turned, finally, and moved toward his own building, thinking how pleased his parents would be when he told them that he’d seen her again. He’d been too busy to stop by their place lately, but he was going to drop in soon to show them the letter and get their take on it. On the other hand, they might read too much into what had actually been a very brief meeting. Maybe he should just wait and see what happened before he mentioned encountering Piper Wynne on the street.
He couldn’t help thinking, though, that it was some coincidence that in a city of this size they should wind up working right down the street from each other—not that he actually believed in coincidences. To his mind, it was no accident that he’d run into her again, just as it was no accident that he’d come across that letter that day. Accidents and coincidence were for those who didn’t know the Lord or trust in His ways.
Mitch wholeheartedly believed that God controlled the events of a life yielded to Him, so if he were meant to get to know Piper Wynne better, the opportunity to do so would come when the time was right. Likewise, if he were meant to find the owner of that letter, God would show him how to do it and why. Meanwhile, he had clients waiting.
He practically skipped into the building, ready to face the day.
Vernon Sayer laid aside the single, creased sheet of notepaper and reached for his pipe, removing it from his mouth in a prelude to speech. First, however, he cleared his throat. The poignancy of the letter had affected him as much as it had his wife.
“They’ve obviously lost someone dear to them, perhaps a son or even a father.”
“It’s so sad,” Marian added, shaking her head to emphasize the words.
“And you may be right that there is a higher purpose here,” Vernon went on, shifting his large, blocky body, “but I don’t think you can really blame yourself for not acting sooner, Mitch. What could you have done? Stood up in the middle of the flight and announced you’d found a letter suggesting that someone was running away from grief?” He shook his head sagely. “No, this has to play out another way or not at all.”
Mitch sat forward on the comfortable overstuffed couch that matched his father’s easy chair and clasped his hands, forearms braced upon his knees. He was well aware of the physical traits that he shared with his father. To Mitch, looking at Vernon was like looking at his own future face. He found comfort in the character that he saw there, the laugh lines that fanned out from the corners of his intelligent eyes and carved deep grooves of his dimples. Even the leathery, beard-coarsened cheeks spoke of masculine strength, a natural counterpart to his mother’s feminine softness, both physically and emotionally. With her comfortable roundness, the thick, gray coil of her hair and naturally enthusiastic concern, Marian was the epitome of everyone’s favorite teacher.
“What would you suggest?” he asked of them both. “Where is there to go from here?”
“We will certainly pray about it,” Marian put in, but Vernon always took the more pragmatic approach.
“Why don’t I run this by Craig Adler? He’s just been promoted to some sort of vice presidency at the airline. He might have some ideas.”
Mitch straightened in surprise. “Is Mr. Adler still working? I thought he retired some time ago.”
Vernon chuckled and stuck his pipe into the corner of his mouth, speaking around it. “They’ll have to blast old Craig out of his chair and take him straight from there to the morgue.” Narrowing his eyes, he added, “Craig doesn’t have any reason to want to stay home and take it easy.”
Mitch ducked his head smiling at the not-so-subtle hint. Craig Adler’s wife had divorced him nearly twenty years ago, and the experience had so soured him on marriage that he’d remained single. Apparently he’d devoted his life to work ever since. The implication, of course, was that Mitch, too, was in danger of making that same mistake. Obviously he was right to keep mum about meeting Piper again, Mitch deduced. No telling what they’d make of that.
Mitch got his sudden smile under control, looked his dad in the eye and said, “Can’t hurt to run it by him, and meanwhile I’ll follow Mom’s advice.” Since she was sitting right next to him, he patted her on the knee.
“Your father didn’t mean anything by that last remark,” she assured him.
“Yes, I did,” Vernon instantly refuted. “Mitch works too much. If he’s really interested in finding someone to spend his life with, then he’s going to have to cut back on his hours. You said it yourself.”
“I also said we should keep our opinions to ourselves,” she scolded benignly, shaking a finger at him.
He gave her a droll look over the bowl of his pipe. ‘You’ve been married to me long enough to know better than that.”
She rolled her eyes, saw that Mitch was trying not to laugh and threw up her hands. “So I have, you meddling old mother hen.”
Vernon clamped the pipe stem between his teeth, looked at his son and quipped, “Ah, the joys of married life.”
Mitch laughed at them both. His father grinned unrepentantly while Marian folded her arms in a mock huff. “If it makes you feel any better,” he heard himself saying, “I saw her again.” So much for keeping quiet.
“Her?” Vernon echoed, forehead beetling.
Marian clasped her hands together. “The girl on the plane! The one with the pretty name.”
“Piper Wynne,” Mitch confirmed. “Turns out she works just down the street from me, but that’s all I know about her. And that’s all I have to say on the subject.”
“For now,” Vernon qualified with a flourish of his pipe. “Well, well,” he mused, inserting the stem between his lips again.
Well, well, indeed, Mitch thought, looking at his mother’s shining eyes. He couldn’t help wondering how long they had kept silent, waiting for him to be ready to love again. It was to be expected from his mother, but his father had shown great restraint and respect. Thinking of his garrulous, take-charge father biting his tongue for only God knew how long stunned Mitch.
Vernon removed the pipe from his mouth, smiled and looked down, brushing at imaginary lint on his thigh. Marian’s hand closed tenderly over Mitch’s forearm.
“It’s always good to hear,” she said softly.
Mitch sat back and lightened the moment by asking, “What’s for dinner?”
His mother hopped up and headed to the kitchen, answering him over her shoulder, “Your favorite, of course—chicken potpie.”
Vernon waited until she was out of earshot before confiding, “When I asked, she told me leftovers.” He stuck the pipe between his teeth and winked. “Glad you came over.”
Mitch just smiled.
Piper bit off a chunk of sandwich and momentarily turned her face up to the sun, eyes closed. The air felt like silk today, thanks to unusually mild temperatures and a steady breeze that blew the pollution southward. Chewing rapidly, she looked down at the folded newspaper in her lap, her gaze skimming an article on the so-called megachurches in the area. Suddenly a shadow fell across the newsprint. When it failed to move on, she glanced up.
Mitch Sayer stood in front of her, smiling, a hot dog cradled in a waxed wrapper in one hand, his suit coat draped through the crook of his other arm.
She lowered the newspaper to her lap. “Hello again.”
“Hello.” He lifted his eyebrows as if for permission to snoop. She nodded slightly, and he tilted his head to get a look at what she was reading. “Looking for a church?”
She thought of it more as preparing to look. “Starting to.”
“I’d be delighted if you’d try mine.”
She made no reply to that beyond a tight smile, but somehow she wasn’t surprised to find that he was a practicing Christian.
“May I sit?” He indicated the stone bench that she was occupying.
She pulled her nylon lunch bag a little closer. “Sure.”
Mitch tossed his coat over the end of the bench and sat, biting into the hot dog. She saw that he took it covered in chili, cheese and jalapeño peppers.
“You really do like the spicy stuff, don’t you?”
He looked over his meal and said, “This one’s mild. I forgo the onions when I have a meeting too soon after lunch.”
She grinned. “Considerate of you.”
“Even murderers and thugs can smell,” he quipped. Seeing her shock, he apologized. “Sorry. Little jailhouse humor. I forget it’s not always appropriate.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s all right. You said you were a lawyer. I just didn’t think…”
“Criminal law,” he supplied, and she nodded.
“I figured corporate something or other.”
“I’m a defense attorney,” he told her forthrightly. “Dirty job, but someone’s got to do it—someone who actually cares about justice, preferably.” He bit off a huge chunk of the chili dog.
“And that would be you,” she hazarded.
He nodded, chewing, and swallowed. “I do, actually.” He waved a hand. “I consider it more of a calling than a profession, which is not to say that I don’t find it exciting at times.”
“I can imagine.” The emergency room had often been an exciting place to work, too, until… She pushed that thought away. “So, do you have any high-profile clients at the moment?”
“A couple,” he answered matter-of-factly, shifting on the hard bench. “You heard about a case where a couple of kids took to playing practical jokes on one another and one of them went wrong, put out the eye of an eleven-year-old?”
She shook her head. “No, I live, er, lived in Houston until recently.”
“Well,” he said, “my client is the kid who rigged his buddy’s lunch box with a small explosion. It wasn’t a bomb—it was just supposed to make a popping sound. Unfortunately, his buddy’s little brother took the wrong lunch box to school that morning, and he happened to be holding a fork in his fist when he opened it. You can guess what happened.”
“Oh, that’s awful.”
“Sure is, and with school violence on everyone’s mind lately, my client found himself looking at an attempted murder charge. A Houston lady who just happened to be visiting her granddaughter for lunch that day saw the whole thing. If she hadn’t remembered seeing a name written on the box top in ink marker, my client would still be looking at an attempted murder charge. Seems he was not exactly a fan of his buddy’s little brother, and the D.A. was taking a hard line until my witness remembered seeing that. She’s the reason I was on that plane, by the way. How about you?”
“It was the cheapest airfare,” she told him honestly.
He chuckled. “Yeah. It’s bare bones on those daily shuttle flights, but that’s not what I meant. I was wondering what it is exactly that you do for a living.”
“Oh. I thought I told you.”
“You told me that you work for an insurance company,” he said before taking another bite of his lunch.
She lifted her sandwich and nibbled at it. “That’s right. Case review. You know, that’s where a rejected claim is appealed, so it goes for review, and I either have to justify the refusal to pay or offer some settlement.” She wrinkled her nose, thinking how often she’d complained about some asinine bureaucrat dictating treatment to facilities like the one where she used to be employed. “Like you said, somebody’s got to do it.”
“Okay. Gotcha. Go on.”
“That’s about it,” she said.
“What about family?”
“Everyone has family,” she answered evasively. “Even you, I assume.”
He nodded. “My parents live in the White Rock Lake area to the east of here. What about yours?”
“Oh, they’re in Houston.”
“So that’s where you grew up?”
“No, actually, we lived overseas.”
“Really? Whereabouts?”
“Thailand.”
“Ah, the sandpipers.”
“That’s right.”
“Must’ve been interesting.”
“Well, I’ll tell you, it was quite a culture shock when I came to the States in, like, seventh grade to attend boarding school in Tulsa.”
He polished off the chili dog and wiped his mouth and fingers with a napkin that he plucked from the folded wrapper, careful not to get anything on his pristine white shirt or dark tie. “So what you’re telling me is that your parents stayed in Thailand?”
“For forty-two years.”
He cocked his head. “What business was your father in?”
She looked at her sandwich. “They were missionaries.”
She felt it the instant he figured it out. It was as if something popped.
“Your father is Ransome Wynne.”
“You’ve heard of him,” she said mildly, a little disappointed.
“Oh, my goodness. Heard of him? Ransome and Charlotte Wynne are giants in the mission field. I heard him speak once, a long time ago. His faith just astounded me.”
Piper nodded and tried to smile, but an ache had started in her chest. She fought it desperately. Her companion seemed not to notice.
“Ransome Wynne,” he murmured. “Imagine that.”
Piper stuffed her sandwich back into her bag and hastily rose, glancing blindly at her watch. “Look at the time. I have to get back.” She turned away, automatically adding over her shoulder, “Nice to see you again.”
“Wait a minute,” he insisted. “You forgot this.” Pivoting on her heel, she found him right behind her, the folded newspaper in one hand, his suit coat carried once more in the crook of his arm, as if it just naturally gravitated there. He tapped the paper with a forefinger. “This is it,” he said.
“What?”
“My church.” He lifted the paper a little higher so she could read the small ad tucked in among so many others in the church directory section. “Maybe I’ll see you on Sunday.”
She actually recognized the address as being in he
r neighborhood, but she didn’t say so. “I’m not sure yet about Sunday.”
“You’d be most welcome.”
She met his gaze then, confirming the interest that his tone had seemed to suggest—personal interest. She took the paper from him and tucked it beneath her arm.
“Thank you,” she said a trifle breathlessly. “I have to get back.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He snagged the collar of his suit coat with the curve of his forefinger, tossing it over his shoulder. She started off again.
“Bye.”
“See you,” he called after her, and it sounded as if he might have added under his breath, “Soon,” but she couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t look back. She didn’t dare. Something about him brought her raw emotions too close to the surface and made her heart beat just a little too fast. That somehow seemed threatening, since she often wondered if her heart had ceased to function entirely.
Chapter Three
Mitchell was astounded. The most interesting, attractive woman he’d met in years was Ransome and Charlotte Wynne’s daughter! How amazing was that? The Wynnes were personal heroes of his. He could only shake his head at the thought of it. His parents would be as blown away as he was—if he told them. When he told them, he amended mentally, because of course he would tell them. Eventually.
They might jump to all kinds of unwarranted conclusions if he let that particular cat out of the bag too soon, so he had to think carefully about the timing of it. He didn’t want to disappoint them, to get them thinking that he’d found the woman God intended for him, only to come to the conclusion later that such was not the case. Better to see how things developed first.
Eager for that, he wondered when he’d see Piper again, and then realized that he’d let her get away without asking for her telephone number or offering his own. Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, he bemoaned his own thoughtlessness, but then he chuckled. He’d see her again if he was supposed to, maybe as soon as Sunday.