Autumn Dreams (27 page)

And don’t forget
, she reminded herself.
He will be leaving sometime in the not-too-distant future. He has never indicated in any way that Seaside, SeaSong, or Cass Merton is perceived as anything more than a temporary part of his life
.

Well, she had lived forty years without him. She could live without him for forty more. The Lord was enough.

So why did she suddenly feel like crying?

Clooney started rolling up his window. “I know it’s probably nothing, but I feel better for telling you about the guy.”

Again he spoke to Dan, but Cass responded. “Thanks.” She forced herself to be upbeat as the truck rolled slowly down the street.

As she and Dan walked the last block home, Dan was quiet. She might still be trying to understand his distress on the boardwalk earlier, but she knew exactly what he was thinking now. He was worrying about the strange man on the beach.

What was it with men and their protective instincts?

Cass sighed. A man with a strange ponytail didn’t spell trouble. Bad hair maybe, but not trouble. Trouble was Derrick Smith. Just thinking of him made Cass sweat. A sudden thought struck her and she grinned. Thinking of Dan made her sweat too, but with pleasure, not fear.

They reached the corner where SeaSong held sway at the same time that Mike’s car pulled up to the curb, and Brenna climbed out. She blew him a kiss and waved him on his way, but when she turned, Cass saw the dark circles under her eyes and the lost look in them.

“Good morning, Brenna,” she called, wondering once again what she could do to help the girl. “How are you today?”

Brenna wore jeans, a UCLA sweatshirt, and a pair of ratty sneakers. Her shiny brown hair was pulled behind her ears and allowed to hang free behind a denim headband. She was such a pretty girl, even with her haunted eyes.

Brenna gave a little wave as she walked toward Cass and Dan. She forced out a small smile. “Did the Patchetts’ room survive the weekend?”

“As far as I know,” Cass said. “When we start cleaning, I’ll do that room with you just to check that everything’s to my satisfaction.”

Brenna nodded. “How would you ever fly anywhere if you were that big?” she asked apropos of nothing. “I’ve been thinking about that all weekend for some reason. Even first class seats aren’t that big.”

Cass grinned but made no comment. She didn’t like to talk about her guests unless necessary for business, and airplane seats were hardly crucial to the running of SeaSong. “About tomorrow night, Brenna. Do you want the third-floor turret?”

“A guest room?” Her face lit up.

“Why not? I certainly can’t ask you to sleep in that closet under the stairs.”

“Sure you could. It’s only for one night. And you sleep there.”

“Only for the duration. Then back to my decent-sized room.”

Brenna spread her arms wide and turned in a circle, her eyes to the sky. “I love this place,” she announced to the trail of cirrus clouds gliding by. “There is not a better place in all the world to be.”

“Seaside or SeaSong?” Cass asked as she watched Brenna twirl. In truth she thought Brenna’s comments were strange in light of the girl’s sorrow. Of course, it was possible to like a spot geographically even if you were unhappy over something while you were there.

“Both,” Brenna said. “Definitely both.”

Grinning at the girl’s diplomacy, Cass stepped aside to make room for a man with a bushy brown mustache as he jogged by. The man kept his eyes fixed on the sidewalk as he passed, intent on some private world of his thoughts.

Cass smiled slightly as she watched Dan follow the man’s
progress. Even though he didn’t wear a funny ponytail, the man was an unknown and therefore suspicious, at least to Dan. Cass shook her head at the absurdity, but it was nice to know Dan cared.

When the man turned up the neighboring walk and knocked at the front door of the derelict house, Cass blinked. She and Dan exchanged glances and watched with interest, waiting for Mr. Carmichael to send the caller packing in no uncertain terms.

The front door opened, Mr. Carmichael peeked out, and the man began to talk. In the blink of an eye, Mr. Carmichael nodded and held the door open. The man with the mustache walked right in.

“Did you see that?” Cass demanded.

Brenna stopped her twirl and turned startled eyes to her. “What?”

“He let him in!”

“Who let who in?” Brenna looked at her with that alert, questioning interest that signaled that there was more to Brenna than met the eye.

“Mr. Carmichael let some man in next door.” Dan waved at the now shut front door.

Brenna turned to the neighboring house. “But he never lets anyone in.”

“Tell me about it.” Cass felt as though she’d been betrayed, strange as that seemed. As long as the old man was uniformly hateful to people, she didn’t have to take his nastiness too personally, and she could hold out hope that he’d change his mind about selling to her. But if he started being nice now and then, she’d have to acknowledge that his antagonism was personal, and the danger existed that someone might charm the house from him just because he felt spiteful toward her. The thought was enough to make her feel ill.

“You don’t suppose he’s going to sell to that guy, do you?” Her voice was small and sad.

Dan narrowed his eyes as he studied the house. Then he turned to her with a big smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring but was as phony as a telemarketer’s happy talk. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions, Cass.” He patted her shoulder. “Your dream house is safe. I’d bet the farm on it.”

“Easy for you to say.” Cass eyed the house next door with yearning. “You don’t have a farm.”

Dan laughed as they went inside. He didn’t know another woman like Cass. Humor, looks, a good and godly heart, and a penchant for fixing up broken-down things. With a wry smile aimed at himself, he acknowledged that he was probably just the kind of project she loved—a lost cause, a foundering ship, a wheel-less car up on concrete blocks, an athlete up for trade with no team to take him, a company whose stock had tanked. An ex-CEO. An ex-vet.

It struck him suddenly and hard that he didn’t want her to think of him as a broken-down anything any more than he wanted her to think of him as her guest. He wasn’t a loser. He was just a man in search of a new path. There was a huge difference. Surely she was intelligent enough to appreciate that fact. Still, the idea that she looked on him much as she looked at Mr. Carmichael’s derelict house continued to niggle, eating away his peace of mind.

After they finished breakfast and he helped her clean up the kitchen, he took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. He glanced around to make sure Brenna wasn’t in sight. The kids were at school, so he knew he need not worry about them.

“I’m not a loser, you know,” he said, looking into her beautiful hazel eyes.

Cass stared back at him like he was several million sand granules short of a beach. “Of course you’re not.”

“I’m just waiting on the Lord.”

She nodded. “I know, and I think it’s wonderful.”

“I’m not a rudderless drifter.” He noticed with satisfaction that her hands had found their way to his waist.

“You’re anything but.”

Her calm manner made him think he wasn’t getting the depth of his concern across to her. He gave her shoulders a little shake in frustration.

In response she dug her fingers into his waist, making him jump. She smiled. “Ticklish, are we?”

“Cass!” She didn’t understand.

“Shh,” she soothed as she rubbed her hands up and down his sides. “It’s that guy thing about the lost feeling you get when you
don’t have a job to identify yourself by, isn’t it? If you’re not Dan Harmon of the Harmon Group, then who are you? How do people perceive you?” She paused. “How do I perceive you?”

He just stared at her, emotions tumbling. She did understand.

“Four brothers,” she said by way of explanation. “And no one in her right mind would ever see you as a loser or a drifter.” She smiled shyly. “I certainly don’t and never did.”

Relief rolled through him. He pulled her close, wrapping her in his embrace. He was delighted to feel her arms slide to his back and tighten. He rested his cheek on her hair and wondered at the confusion she could rouse in him without trying and the benediction she could pronounce that set all his fears to rest. He leaned to kiss her.

“Cass!” Brenna’s voice drifted from upstairs. “I’m ready to tackle the Patchetts’ room.”

Cass jumped and stepped away. “I’m coming!”

As she started toward the swinging door, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She looked up in surprise, and he kissed her before she could escape again. She blushed and smiled and hurried through the door. He followed slowly, enjoying once again her rear view.

He was still smiling when he reached his room, already cleaned and tidied by Brenna. He sat in the chair in the turret and pulled out his Bible and his laptop. On his Bible software he typed in
wait patiently
and watched the references scroll up.

With a sigh he noted that none of the verses had magic answers for how long the wait was to be. He thought of the Old Testament story of Elijah waiting three years by the stream, fed by ravens.

Three years, Lord?

He hoped not, but at least Cass didn’t think him a shirker. And he had time for his brother’s problems. He glanced at his watch. Time to call Go and Tell International.

Within minutes, Adam Streeter, the director of GTI, was on the phone.

“The precarious financial position and organizational chaos of the mission were surprises to me,” he told Dan. “When I interviewed for the position of director, everyone was very careful to keep the desperate situation from me because they wanted me so
much. They knew what I had done for the college, and they wanted me to do the same thing for the mission.” He sighed. “At least when I went to the college, I knew what I was getting into.”

“And now that you’ve found out the truth about GTI, are you going to stay with the job?” Dan asked.

“I’ll admit that I was ready to resign at first. I felt duped. But I had a strong sense of God’s call when I originally said I’d accept the job. Just because things were in lousy shape didn’t mean God’s call was any less. I’m staying. If the mission goes down, we go down together.”

Dan liked the crisp, authoritative way the man spoke, the way he was committed to taking on a huge challenge. It was always a pleasure to work with someone used to taking charge, willing to take the risks required to lead.

“Adam, I have some questions for you, and I want you to think about them carefully.”

“Shoot.”

“First, what is
your
dream for the mission? What difference do
you
want to make? I went on-line and read what’s there on the web site. That’s Dr. Newmeyer’s program and position. I want to know what you think.”

“Got it. What else?”

“What do you see as the three greatest roadblocks to fulfilling your dreams?”

Streeter laughed. “That’s easy. Money, people, and the time to accomplish all I want to.”

“In broad strokes, that’s typical,” Dan said. “Let’s shoot for GTI specifics. How much money? Which people? What’s eating up your time that you can drop or delegate?”

“Okay. Be specific.” The sound of computer keys being pressed came down the wire.

“I also want you to help me understand your board. What kind of men and women are they? Are they there because they’re friends of Dr. Newmeyer or because they’re qualified to advise a ten-million dollar operation? Is the guy that asks all the questions simply a detail man or an obstructionist? Things like that.”

“Whew, you don’t ask much, do you?”

“Wait. I’ve got more. If things are tight financially, it’s important to raise money. Wisdom tells us that it’s easier to raise money
from large donors than small. It takes much less time, and they have more discretionary monies. I want you to develop a wish list of what you would do with a gift of five thousand dollars, ten thousand, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, etc. When you and I—and Dr. Newmeyer if he’s willing—go visit potential donors, you’ll need that list to prove to these people that you’ll use their hard earned and carefully tended money wisely.”

“I can do that,” Streeter said. “We had a great financial development guy at the college. I learned a lot from him.”

“Don’t hesitate to call him for advice,” Dan said. “Take advantage of everyone you know who might be able to help you out.”

“GTI doesn’t have a wills and annuities program. Should we think about starting one? A couple of the men on the board are pushing for it, and the college benefited greatly from its program.”

“I don’t think it’s a wise idea to go after that right away. Maybe down the road two or three years. It takes thirteen years on average before you see any real benefit from wills and annuities. What you need are three things that can be done in the next ninety days that will make a 50 percent difference for the mission.”

“Whoa,” Streeter said, his frustration evident even through the phone. “I’m suffering from option overload here. I’ll never sort it all out.”

“Sure you will. I’ll help. If you don’t mind, I’d like to meet with you sometime soon.”

“You do understand that we can’t pay you?” Streeter’s voice was apologetic. “I’m not even sure we can pay our office workers next week.”

Dan felt sorry for the man, forced to admit to a problem he hadn’t created. “I’m not expecting payment. I’m doing this for Andy.”

“Well, then come anytime,” Streeter said, clearly wanting him there in the next five minutes.

Dan laughed. “I think it would be a wise idea to give you time to answer your questions before I come. How about next Monday?”

“I’ll be expecting you.”

Dan hung up and punched the air with excitement. What a great call. He had to find Cass and tell her all about it. Oh, and write to Andy too.

W
ELL, HI, MOM,”
Cass said in surprise as Charlotte Merton walked into the kitchen that evening, carrying a woven basket in her hand. Cass was paring potatoes for dinner, the peels forming a small mountain where they fell in the near corner of the sink.