Authors: Kathleen Y'Barbo
Coffee Scoop
Better is one day in your courts than a thousand elsewhere;
I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God
than dwell in the tents of the wicked.
Psalm 84:10
CHAPTER ONE
“Now
this
is flying.”
Carrie Collins snapped her seat belt into place and settled back into the broad, comfortable expanse of her first class seat. The four hour wait and the promise of flying home to Austin in style had almost been worth being bumped from her noon flight.
Wouldn’t Millie be surprised when she heard? Tomorrow at work Carrie knew she would be giving her best friend all the details of her rare ride at the front of the plane. But then Millie lived for the details.
After all, she
was
a fact checker.
The book she’d begun in the airport beckoned, and she retrieved it from her carry-on.. As she sipped her orange juice and prepared to be transported back to 1878 Texas, Carrie smiled. How often did a small-time reporter for the
Austin Times
end up in this sort of luxury?
Never, actually, but then she’d all but given up her dreams of the jet-set lifestyle of a real hard news reporter. God obviously had other plans for her.
The fact that she’d been able to fly to California at all was a testament to the fact that God had some sort of plan for her life that involved writing. She’d never expected to get a scholarship to the prestigious Christian writer’s retreat in the mountains north of San Jose. That in itself was a blessing, but when her boss told her she could consider the trip an assignment as long as she came back with an article for the religion section of the
Times
, she felt doubly blessed.
A girl with only one week of vacation didn’t take that sort of concession lightly.
Carrie folded the book shut and stared out the window at the flurry of activity going on out on the tarmac. Above the fray, the brilliant orange sun touched the topmost peaks of the distant mountains, reminding her of the serene place she’d spent the past five days.
While at the retreat, she’d had time to think and pray about what God wanted from her, and she’d had time to gain a healthy respect for His sovereign control over her life. She came away refreshed, energized, and more importantly, knowing that she needed to do something big for God.
Something that would make a difference for Him.
Something like a becoming a serious writer whose feature stories were respected in both Christian and secular circles.
While Mr. Scott was kind enough to concede to the out-of-state assignment, Carrie knew he didn’t believe she had the ability to break into feature writing.
“That’s okay,” she whispered as she returned her attention to her novel, “I’ve got a plan.”
The constant stream of passengers filing through the first class cabin had become a mere trickle by the time Carrie finished the chapter. “Please stow your bag, ma’am.”
Carrie looked up to see a fresh-faced flight attendant. “Yes, of course.” She stuffed the book into the seat pocket then tried to force the ever-so-trendy bag she’d brought aboard under the seat ahead of her. Two attempts later, the silver-haired businessman in the row ahead of her rose to give her a most ungentlemanly look.
“I’m terribly sorry for all the bumping,” she said.
Rather than respond, he pointed to the storage bin over her head then sank into his seat with a shake of his head. “All right. The overhead compartment it is.” Unfortunately, the bag was stuck.
She tugged and pulled, all the while apologizing to the gentleman sitting above the battle. Finally, she felt the bag come loose, just in time to send her reeling backwards into her seat. The offending carry-on in hand, she stood.
Now to somehow lift the beast into the overhead compartment.
“May I help you, Miss?”
A pair of arms covered in starched denim reached around her to easily place the bag in the last remaining spot in the overhead compartment. Carrie ducked beneath the arms to fall into her seat and get a better look at the man standing in the aisle.
He wore denim and khaki and, other than the interesting multicolored tie and the set of matching dimples, he might have been any other contemporary male at the local overpriced coffee shop. Dark hair cut in a fashionably messy style complemented tanned skin, giving him the look of a man who spent more time outdoors than in the boardroom.
The briefcase he held said otherwise, however.
It was black and made of leather, one of those expensive numbers that screamed quality and a high price tag. Just beneath the handle, two initials were discreetly place in gold letters.
R.B.
“Ryan Baxter. 2B”
“Excuse me?” She swung her gaze from the brief case to its owner, who had settled in the seat beside her. “Oh, 2B. I thought you were quoting Shakespeare. You know, ‘To be or not to be’?” His blank stare told her he mostly likely thought her certifiable. “Never mind,” she said as she snatched up her book and tried to find her place.
Obviously the first class crowd had a difference sense of humor.
“So you’re a fan of Shakespeare?”
. “Yes, actually, I am.” Carrie gave her companion a sideways glance. “Why?”
Mr. Baxter closed the overhead compartment and took his seat beside her. “Then maybe you can tell me which of Shakespeare’s characters killed the most chickens and ducks.”
Carrie laughed despite herself. “What?”
“Birds. You know. Chickens and ducks. Which character killed the most?” His face grew serious. “Does that mean you don’t know the answer?”
She shook her head.
Casting a glance about the cabin, her seatmate leaned toward her. “Hamlet’s uncle, Claudius.”
“Hamlet’s uncle?” She folded her book closed and turned in her seat to face him. “I don’t understand.”
“He did murder most foul,” he quoted in a perfect imitation of a British accent.
She groaned then, as her gaze met his, burst into a fit of giggles. The flight attendant looked up from her recitation of the safety instructions to glare in their direction.
“Oh, that’s terrible,” Carrie whispered.
“It is, isn’t it?” He snapped his seatbelt closed and settled the briefcase into place then thrust his hand toward her. “Ryan Baxter. Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Carrie,” she said as she shook his hand. “Carrie Collins. Thanks for helping me with my bag.”
“My pleasure, Miss Collins.” “I haven’t been to the gym in almost a week. The weightlifting did me good.”
“Now I’m really embarrassed,” she said as the captain began his pre-flight announcements.
Her seat partner offered a dazzling smile. “Don’t be.”
By the time the plane leveled off to its cruising altitude and the seatbelt sign went off, Carrie had learned that Ryan Baxter, a seminary graduate with a Harvard MBA, was the head of a nonprofit organization that used the proceeds from the sale of coffee grown on their Central American premises to fund improvements among the local poor. Headquartered in a small village on the edge of the Costa Rican rainforest, Heavenly Beans was in its third year in existence and already making a tidy sum.
Mr. Baxter claimed that, due to sound investment and numerous sources of funding back in the States, one hundred percent of the profits were being reinvested in the company or distributed to an orphanage called
Casa de Dios.
This fact combined with the obvious incongruity of the man’s style of dress, quality of briefcase, and choice of seating on the nearly-empty plane led Carrie to one conclusion. This man was a feature story waiting to happen.
Possibly even the scoop that made her boss reconsider his decision not to promote her to feature writer.
Carrie smiled and leaned back into the soft cushions as she made mental notes of the answers Ryan Baxter gave to her questions. Yes, indeed. If her reporter’s instincts were correct, Carrie Collins was about to get the scoop of the decade.
The coffee scoop.
In her experience, big money plus high profile ministry generally equaled fraud and deception on some level. A feature on bilking the brethren was long overdue.
The last time the
Times
had gone after a ministry like this the author had been awarded a Pulitzer Prize for journalism. While she did not aspire to that level of greatness, she could at least hope to get another crook off the streets.
Funny, but some sort of instinct deep in her reporter’s gut told her Ryan Baxter was not that sort of creep. She ignored it.
Just because his dimples set her toes tingling and his passion for the ministry seemed genuine, that didn’t mean the company was legitimate. Heavenly Beans could very well be a front for bilking big money out of innocent Christians instead of the means for showing orphans the love of Christ.
If only she could figure out a way to keep him talking well past the end of the flight. An interview in the airport would be rushed and probably wouldn’t result in the depth of questioning she desired.
Did she dare ask him outright to submit to an interview? She cast a glance at her seatmate and noticed the restless look he now wore. Perhaps now was not the time.
Before she could blink, the seatbelt sign above her flashed red and the captain began to give the weather conditions in Austin. Suddenly there
was
no better time.
Think, Carrie. How can I get this interview?
CHAPTER TWO
Think, Baxter. How can I get her to interview me about the company?
Ryan Baxter had begun to fidget well before the fasten seatbelt sign went on. Now that he could feel the nose of the plane dipping toward Austin, he’d all but begun to feel a real panic.
Carrie Collins was a delight, one of those rare young women with intelligence, classic beauty, and a sense of humor. She had also professed a love for the Lord and a desire to serve Him as a journalist.
A challenge she seemed well equipped to handle, since the newspaperwoman had certainly matched wits with him and come out the victor. Not that he claimed some great genius.
After all, if he had half a brain he would have already seized the chance to try and extend their conversation beyond the airport. Coffee somewhere or, ideally, dinner could very well get an interview that might garner Heavenly Beans and the precious ones it supported some much-needed publicity.
Ryan did many things for the company under silent protest, including this trip. While his body called on potential benefactors to the cause, his heart was back in Costa Rica where the real work of the Lord took place. A few hours with Carrie Collins, however, would be a welcome change from the rest of his stay here, namely his visit tomorrow with the head of Camex Incorporated, a likely source of revenue and distribution.
George Renfro, the international shipping and food service company CEO, lived on a ranch just west of Austin. This wasn’t his first meeting with the corporate executive, but it would be the first time he sat across a table with him and discussed Heavenly Beans.
A Camex representative would be meeting Ryan at the airport to whisk him away to a downtown hotel where he had a breakfast meeting with Mr. Renfro himself before boarding a plane back home to Costa Rica tomorrow night. A whirlwind visit, to be sure, but one he hoped would make a large dent in the costs associated with running a coffee company and funding multiple ministries.
Just this morning the prospect of joining forces with Camex had made his mind spin and his heart race. Funny, but now the newspaperwoman to his left seemed to be having the same effect on him.
Somehow the plane landed and he’d trudged all the way to the baggage claim area with her two-ton bag slung over his shoulder – at his insistence - without having found the courage to speak his mind. All the way there he’d tried to convince himself that dinner with Carrie Collins would be all about getting the word out regarding Heavenly Beans.
As he swung her bag off the conveyor and carried it to a cart then dumped her carry-on atop it, he had to admit there was a bit more to it. Something about the auburn-haired journalist had him wanting to do an investigation of his own.
Just ahead the line of dark-suited drivers holding signs beckoned. One of them surely bore his name. It was now or never.
Ryan gripped his briefcase and closed his eyes.
Don’t be ridiculous, Baxter. It’s not like you’re asking her out on a date.
Heart pumping, he breathed out slowly.
This is for the company. For the ministry. For the kids at Casa de Dios.
