Missionary Daddy (6 page)

So it was an individual, not a corporation. One single person with money had stepped up to the plate. “Tell him, he’s my new hero. I’ve prayed for something like this for years.”

“Well, my friend.” Rachel’s smile became Cheshire-like. “Sometimes God works in mysterious ways.”

Eric was so thrilled with the donation that he didn’t wonder about Rachel’s cryptic remark until much later.

Samantha strapped her baby nephew Gabriel into a high chair at the Starlight Diner and pulled it against the table’s edge to wait for Eric.

Ever since she could remember, she’d liked the old-fashioned ambience of the 1950s-style diner. With its retro soda fountain, vintage jukebox and nostalgic memorabilia of Elvis and James Dean, the Starlight was pure Southern comfort.

Sam, who’d dined in upscale restaurants and artsy cafés worldwide, soaked in the relaxed atmosphere. Funny how the simple things here in Chestnut Grove had so much more meaning lately. But then, after Africa, everything had taken on more significance.

“Tham, Tham.” Her nephew pounded chubby palms on the high chair’s plastic tray. “Dink.”

“Okay, buddy, coming right up.”

She kissed the two-year-old’s baby-scented hair, the familiar ache of loss and love filling her throat. She wanted so much for Gabriel that had been missing in her own life. In lieu of love, she’d had glamorous parties, constant travel and designer clothes, a lifestyle that bespoke success. But here was real success—in the bubbling laughter of a child.

Eric understood that. She was only beginning to, now that it was probably too late.

Sam waved the waitress over and ordered juice for the little one and coffee for herself. Sandra Lange, the diner’s owner, noticed Gabriel and hurried over.

“Hello, little man,” Sandra said. “I think you need a cookie.” She looked to Sam for permission and when Sam nodded, Sandra produced a package of animal crackers from the pocket of a pink ruffled apron. Sam couldn’t help noticing the pink breast-cancer bracelet sliding up and down the woman’s right wrist, a reminder that other people had far more serious problems than she did.

“How are you doing, Sandra?” According to Sam’s mother, the café owner had battled breast cancer a couple of years ago while searching for the child that had been taken from her at birth. That child had turned out to be Kelly Van Zandt. Just one more of the terrible heartaches Sam’s grandfather had caused.

“Couldn’t be better.” With a fingernail, Sandra ripped open the package and handed an animal cracker to Gabriel.

“Cookie,” he said and rewarded her with his toothy smile.

“I’m sorry for my family’s part in all that’s happened to you,” Sam said.

“Honey, none of that has anything to do with you. You don’t need to apologize.” Sandra stepped aside when the waitress brought the drinks, then said, “I’m thankful the Lord allowed me to live long enough to have a relationship with my daughter. That’s all that matters to me.”

“I’m glad, too.” And she meant it. Sometimes she was so ashamed of the Harcourt name. “Kelly’s a terrific person.”

Sandra patted her arm. “So are you, hon.”

The statement took Sam aback. Could Sandra, with her world-wise eyes, see that Sam’s totally together persona was nothing but a facade? And that on the inside she was a tangle of uncertainties, not even sure what she wanted out of life?

Unsettled, she busied herself by stirring the hot black coffee. Without sugar or cream the action was useless, but it gave her something to do with her hands.

“Can we get anything else for you, Sam?” Sandra asked.

“No, thank you. I’m meeting someone.” As if waiting for his cue, the bell over the diner door jingled and Eric entered. The little tingle of awareness Sam experienced every time he appeared shimmied down her back.

“Good evening, Eric,” Sandra said as he slid into the booth across from Sam. “Tea?”

Eric nodded. “Sweet and cold.”

With her usual cheery smile, Sandra went off to fill the order.

“I see you brought company.” Eric shook Gabriel’s reaching hand and was rewarded with a glop of soggy cookie.

Mortified, Sam jumped up and grabbed for the napkins. “I am so sorry.”

Eric laughed, teeth white and even in his dark face. “Not a problem. I worked in an orphanage, remember? I happen to like kids and their gooey messes.”

Without thinking, Sam took his hand and carefully wiped the mess away. Instantly, she flashed to Africa, remembering the strength of that hand and how good his warm, calloused skin had felt against hers.

Samantha, the model, had schmoozed with princes and movie stars, but the touch of a missionary’s hand had her blushing like a teenager. She released his fingers and sat back. When she looked up, Eric’s expression was thoughtful as though he, too, remembered that time as special.

Thankful for the diversion Gabriel provided, Sam dug in the small diaper bag for Wet Wipes, using them to wash her nephew’s hands and face. “My sister, Ashley, had a late class. I promised to babysit.”

“That’s what sisters are for, I guess.”

“I’m glad to do it. Gabriel’s an angel.”

“He was an angel in the Bible, too.”

“Really?”

“Yep. The angel who announced the birth of Christ.”

“I didn’t know that.” Truthfully, she didn’t know anything about the Bible, but Ashley had been talking about it a lot lately. Her sister was different, as were her parents since accepting the Lord. And after spending time with Eric and the kids from the youth group, Samantha was curious to know more.

Before she could ask, the waitress brought Eric’s iced tea and refilled Sam’s coffee cup.

Eric took a drink and let out a refreshed, masculine-sounding sigh of relief. “The heat out there today reminds me of Africa.” The skin around his eyes crinkled. “Without the jackals, of course.”

“I loved Africa,” she said.

“Did you?” His dark eyes were serious above the tea glass.

“For the little time I was there, yes. It changed me. Made me think about things in a new way. I hope to go back someday.”

“Me, too. Soon.”

“For the boys?”

“And for the program. In order to get international adoptions going, I’ll have to make frequent trips to meet the kids and the orphanage directors. I also got some great news from the Noble Foundation today.”

Sam went very still, every nerve ending alert to his reaction. Now she understood why Eric was so upbeat tonight and hadn’t even mentioned their disagreement over Gina. “What kind of news?”

As he explained the donation that had been made, Sam could sense his excitement. Rachel hadn’t called to let her know, but from what Eric said, everything would go just as she had hoped. Most importantly, Eric would be in charge. He would do the right thing with the funds. She was certain of it.

“That’s wonderful.” Unsure how Eric would react if he discovered that she was the donor, Sam didn’t want to pursue the topic too far. She was happy knowing that the wheels had been set into motion.

The salary she’d earned on the swimsuit shoot in Africa had gone into the fund. A ridiculous amount of money for cavorting on a beautiful, pristine beach. During her few hours at the orphanage, she’d made up her mind to donate the money, but after she’d returned to the States and landed the Style campaign, she could afford to be even more generous.

Gabriel, tired of being ignored by the adults, reached for Eric’s tea. With uncanny reflexes, Eric caught the little hand, righted the tumbling glass and scooted sideways all in one quick movement. Tea and ice splashed out over the table.

Sam hopped up and began sopping the liquid with paper napkins. “Eric, I am terribly sorry. Gabriel seems intent on getting your attention tonight.”

Sandra noticed the commotion and brought a large sponge. When the mess was cleared away and Eric’s glass replaced, Sam said, “Maybe we should discuss the picnic committee before Gabriel starts in on the rest of the café.”

“Ah, the little guy is bored. Hey, Gabriel,” he said to the baby and then took a clean napkin from the holder, using it to play a game of peekaboo. Gabriel’s sweet, gurgling giggle had both adults laughing aloud.

“He’s so adorable. I wish…” Sam caught herself. Wishes were useless. She already knew that. Nothing could change what the pursuit of perfection had done to her body, but remembering always cut like a dull blade. She fished in the diaper bag and came out with a toy to occupy her nephew, a set of colorful plastic keys to fit various slots in a ball.

Seeing the baby occupied, Eric wadded the napkin into a ball and tossed it on the table. “What’s left to do for tomorrow?”

“The kids have everything ready. Nikki and I made a master list of all supplies, decorations, etcetera. This afternoon we borrowed a pickup truck to haul everything to the Noble Estate.”

“Then the concession stand is already set up?” He lifted one of her manicured hands and teased. “Don’t tell me you were on the business end of a hammer again?”

Warmth suffused Sam. She smiled into Eric’s dancing eyes. He could be so charming most of the time. It felt good to be back on joking terms after he’d hurt her feelings over Gina. Maybe she had overreacted to the girl’s upset stomach, but with her history, who wouldn’t?

“Even though I am an experienced carpenter, as you well know.” She wiggled her fingers beneath his. “The boys insisted on playing macho and finishing the job themselves.”

“Too bad. A few bent nails would give the thing character.”

“Careful, Pellegrino.” She nodded toward Gabriel. “I have a secret weapon with me who could, at any moment, do something else unpleasant to you.”

Eric eyed the baby with such mock terror that Sam laughed. “If you don’t stop being silly we’ll never get finished here.”

“Worse things could happen.”

Sam studied his expression. Was he saying he actually enjoyed her company again?

“Here’s the duty schedule,” she said, pulling a sheet from her purse. “Nikki and Gina worked this out and I haven’t had time to check it over for accuracy.”

“I can check it later. Did you make copies?”

“The girls did that, too. They’ve worked hard on this.”

“I hope their hard work translates into a successful fund-raiser.”

“Do you think the heat will keep people away?”

“You know this place better than I do, but I wouldn’t think so. The estate is covered with big shade trees and there are plenty of drink stands.”

“And don’t forget the dunk tank,” Sam said with a smile.

Eric laughed. “Yeah. People may be fighting to get dunked instead of the other way around.”

Happiness bubbled up inside Samantha. She leaned back against the slick vinyl booth and pushed her hands up through the back of her hair, a gesture she used in modeling so often that it had become habit.

A young couple at a nearby table caught her eye. Staring at Samantha, the woman leaned forward and said something to the man, her expression animated. Hoping to avoid unwanted attention, Sam averted her face and sipped at her coffee.

Most of the time here in her hometown, she wasn’t bothered, but not always. Chestnut Grove attracted a number of tourists, too, taking in the area history.

As the waitress dashed over to refill the cup, the pair got up and came toward Sam’s booth. The woman carried something in one hand.

“Aren’t you Samantha Harcourt? The model for Style jeans?”

So much for hoping they wouldn’t say anything. With a polite, plastic smile, she answered, “Yes. I’m Sam.”

“See, I told you it was her,” the man said to his companion. “Go on. Ask her. She won’t care.”

The woman laid a magazine on the table. Sam’s image filled the entire page. “Would you mind autographing this for me?”

The man whipped a pen from his pocket.

Eric grew quiet. Sam’s heart sank to her pink French pedicure. Negative thoughts pushed into her head. Every time she and Eric found common ground, something happened to remind them both of the vast differences. He rescued orphans from lives of despair. She signed autographs for strangers. Boy, wasn’t she special.

T
his year’s Noble Foundation Picnic, under the guidance of Andrew Noble, had morphed into the biggest fund-raiser ever. The expansive, manicured lawn of the Noble Estate was dotted with various types of games, concessions and other forms of entertainment. In the past the picnic had been an invitation-only affair. This year, the estate’s massive electronic gates stood open to anyone willing to pay the price to enter the grounds.

A radio station broadcast from one side of the estate while a popular local television show,
Afternoons with Douglas Matthews,
filmed a segment near the green hedge maze. The Youth Center concession sat outside the maze opposite the film crew.

“They did it to us again, didn’t they?”

With a wry shake of his head, Eric tacked the work schedule to a board inside the concession stand. Nikki and Gina had scheduled him and Sam to work the stand together all day.

“Yes, and at least two of them will be jammed inside this booth throughout the day to keep an eye on us.”

“And report back to the others.” Though Eric doubted they’d have anything exciting to tell. His friendship with Samantha Harcourt was tentative at best.

Sam’s perfect smile flashed, not the fake smile she’d used with the autograph seekers last night, but a smile that lit her from the inside out. She looked especially beautiful today in a lacy tank top and soft fitted jeans with just the right jewelry. Not that he was a fashion guru, but any man alive would notice Sam. Even casually dressed, she still looked like a glamorous model, a cut above every other woman in town.

As Rachel and Andrew had both intended, Samantha Harcourt would draw a crowd.

“Speaking of the connivers, here come Gina and Jeremy,” she said.

Eric balanced a sleeve of paper cups onto the counter near the soft-drink machine and yelled, “Hi, guys. Where’s the rest of the gang?”

“They’ll be here,” Jeremy said, ducking below the wooden frame to enter the booth. “Billy doesn’t ever get out of bed before noon.”

“That’s why we put him on the second shift at the dunk tank.” Gina followed her boyfriend inside. For once the girl wasn’t wearing a sweater. In jeans and T-shirt, she was stick-thin, thinner even than Samantha.

Ever since Sam had shared her concern that Gina had an eating disorder, Eric had been watching. He hadn’t admitted as much to Sam yet, but he, too, had begun to wonder if something was wrong. Gina was the perfect kid, a straight-A student, never any trouble to her parents and quiet as a mouse most of the time, but something didn’t feel right.

Gina’s gaze flicked to Sam and then away. Had Sam said something else to the girl? Later, when he and Sam were alone, he’d ask.

The thought brought him up short. Being alone with Sam sounded better than it should. Last night at the diner, they’d been having a great time until the couple had asked for her autograph. That reminder of the gulf between them had brought him down to earth. Samantha Harcourt, nearing supermodel status, was not in his league at all.

Now to convince the youth group of that.

“May I have a Coke, please?”

Eric turned his attention to their first customer. “One Coke coming up. Would you like some cotton candy, too? Fresh made by two of the
sweetest
teenagers in town.”

Gina and Jeremy groaned at his silly pun but quickly joined the fun of tempting customers to buy more than they’d come for. After all, this was a fund-raiser.

As the temperature climbed, the concession hopped with thirsty customers. People swarmed the grounds of the plantation. The wholesome, relaxed atmosphere brought out families and children to enjoy the myriad activities for a good cause. Hamburgers and barbecue scented the air. Laughter drifted through the enormous trees. Rachel’s concerns about the heat proved unwarranted.

Eric was squirting mustard on a hot dog when he heard a customer say, “Miss Harcourt, would you mind taking a picture with me?”

Sam, busy scooping ice into cups, stiffened. If he hadn’t been standing next to her, her sweet perfume mesmerizing him, Eric would never have been aware of her reaction. Her million-dollar smile beamed at the admirer.

“I’d love to have a picture with you.” She dried her hands. “But this is a fund-raising event, you know. Everything has a price.”

Eric bit back a bark of surprised laughter. Now, that was one smart lady.

For a second, the fan was taken aback but then she handed her camera to her husband. “What a great idea.”

“In fact, why don’t we get both of you in this? Eric can snap the photo.” Sam ducked outside the booth and stood between the couple while Eric pressed the shutter and collected the money. Sam promised to autograph the developed photo.

When the couple left, someone else appeared. “Are you taking pictures with your fans?”

“For a price.” Mischief danced in Sam’s eyes.

Within moments, the grounds were buzzing with word that Samantha Harcourt was taking photos with anyone willing to pay the fee. A line formed outside the concession.

“You’ve created a monster,” Eric said as he fielded cameras while Sam posed and the kids hawked sodas and hot dogs.

Ben and Leah Cavanaugh strolled by, pushing baby Joseph in a stroller. When their daughter, Olivia, saw what was happening, she insisted on a photo, too. Sam knelt beside the little girl and hugged her. Olivia, lively and bright, was thrilled.

“Wait till I tell Daniel,” she squealed, mentioning Andrew and Miranda Jones’s young son. “He’ll be so jealous.”

Sam patted Olivia’s back. “Tell him to come on over and have a picture with us.”

“You and me both?”

“Sure. Why not?” She beamed a smile at the Cavanaughs. “What do you say, Mom and Dad?”

Ben laughed. “I think you’re a master at raising money.”

“Good. The kids are worth it.”

As Eric watched Sam work her charm on the gathering, his admiration notched upward. From her initial reaction, she didn’t particularly enjoy this, but she was generous enough to use her celebrity for something worthwhile.

Generous, smart, kind, hardworking. Adjectives he’d never expected to use with Sam. His conscience poked at him. He’d thought all those things about her in Africa, so what had happened? Was his ego so fragile that he was still smarting about the identity mix-up? Or had his bad attitude toward the rich caused him to misjudge her?

In his younger days, he’d sometimes been jealous of the wealthy. Growing up in a large family that pinched pennies had marked him, and getting dumped by a socialite in college hadn’t helped. But he thought he’d outgrown the poor-boy chip on his shoulder. Maybe not.

He rubbed at his chest, aware of the hollowness there, a sure sign he and the Lord needed to have a conversation.

A burst of laughter brought his attention back to the moment. Gina and Samantha were bent double, laughing at Jeremy who preened and posed in imitation of Sam. The long line of customers had dwindled away, at least for the time being.

“Oh, Miss Harcourt,” Jeremy said in a falsetto voice. “May I please have that paper cup you drank from? I’ll cherish it forever.”

Gina and Sam giggled again, but Eric detected a note of embarrassment in Sam’s laughter.

“Hey,” he said, gesturing to Gina and Jeremy. “You two get over here and let Sam take your picture for a change.”

“Do you have a camera?”

“Sure. Got my digital. We need pictures for the church newsletter anyway.”

Jeremy hopped out of the concession stand and flexed a bicep. “Gotta love this, huh, Gina?”

Gina rolled her eyes. “Don’t encourage him, Eric. He’s already conceited enough.”

But, using an ancient oak trunk as background, the young couple mugged for the camera. Sam took several shots and then waved to Eric.

“Get over there with them.”

Joining the fun, he let her take his picture, first with Gina and then with Jeremy, both males behaving in typical macho manner.

A customer arrived and Gina scuttled back into the stand to take care of business. Sam turned, ready to join her, when Eric caught a lock of her pale hair and gave a gentle tug. She looked over her shoulder, silvery eyes questioning, perfect lips curved upward.

As if he’d jumped out of an airplane, Eric’s belly dipped.

“Don’t I get a picture with the famous lady?”

Face alight with humor, she wheeled around and stuck out a palm. “What’s it worth to ya, big boy?”

A lot more than he wanted to admit.

“A big spender like me? Let’s see…” Keeping it light, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty. “How’s this?”

With finger and thumb, she snapped the bill from his hand. “Since it’s your camera, I guess a mere twenty will do.”

Eric handed the camera to Jeremy. “Take the picture, Jer, before the price goes up. Inflation, you know.”

Still playing around, Eric looped an arm across Sam’s shoulders to strike a pose. Her spicy scent enveloped him. He went light-headed, all the silliness draining away. The women at work wore perfumes that smelled great. Why did Sam’s have this effect on him?

To his pleasure and discomfort, Sam slid an arm around his waist and tilted her head onto his shoulder. The action was innocent and intentionally flirty, just a pose for the camera. This was something Samantha did all the time, and yet Eric’s pulse kicked up a notch.

Catapulted back in time, Eric recalled a hot, starry night in Africa when, for a brief space in time, he’d imagined Sam to be the woman he’d been praying for.

His head whirled with a startling question: What would it feel like to hold Sam in his arms for real? To follow the dream that had begun on a faraway continent?

Sam didn’t want to move. She longed to stand right here under the old shade tree with Eric’s side pressed to hers and her head on his strong, muscled shoulder. He smelled wonderful, like laundry soap and cotton candy with a tantalizing dollop of something entirely Eric.

What had begun as a joke had taken on new meaning.

The camera flashed, and Eric stepped away. Sam felt the loss bone deep.

When Eric seemed unaffected, Sam decided she was full of nonsense today. Taking care of Gabriel had made her feel domestic, needy, as though her biological clock were ticking.

Yeah, right. Her biological clock.

She shook away the bitter regret. A busy mind had no time to dwell on what could never be. With a vengeance, she began reorganizing the wares inside the booth.

“Is it okay if Jeremy and I go check out the rest of the picnic now?” Gina asked.

“Go ahead. You’ve earned a break,” Eric said. “Just remember to come back and tell us if we’re missing anything great.”

“Take a hot dog with you.” Sam quickly slapped together two dogs and pushed them toward the teens. “You’ve worked hard. You must be starved by now.”

“Hey, cool.” Jeremy took both hot dogs in one long hand. “Thanks, Sam.”

As the kids walked away, Jeremy offered one to Gina, who shook her head.

The warning bells in Sam’s mind grew louder. Though she’d tried talking to Gina again, the result had been exactly zero. She’d considered calling the teen’s parents but they only knew Sam as a member of the notorious Harcourt family. And if she was wrong, everyone, including Eric, would be upset with her.

But a nagging voice inside asked,
What if you’re right?

“You’re still worried about Gina, aren’t you?” Eric asked softly.

She turned to find him watching her, brown eyes thoughtful.

“Very. I know there’s a problem, even if you don’t believe me.”

“Maybe I do.”

She blinked, surprised. “But you said—”

“I know what I said, but you’re not the hysterical type. You must have a legitimate reason for your suspicions.”

She wondered when he’d decided that, but didn’t ask. Hearing the admission was enough—for now.

“I’ve seen this kind of thing too many times in the modeling industry. Gina’s in trouble.”

“What can we do?”

“I don’t know at this point. She needs professional help, at least counseling and maybe even a treatment facility. I wish I knew her family.”

“I know them. The Sharpes are good people.”

“Would you consider talking to them about the situation?”

He backed against the counter and crossed his arms, eyebrows dipped in thought. “You know more about this stuff than I do. I wouldn’t know what to say.”

Sam sighed and stared up into the rustling leaves of the giant oak. A squirrel stared back and she couldn’t even muster a smile. Gina was killing herself and Sam was helpless to stop her.

“Hey, don’t look so glum.” Eric gave her elbow a gentle shake. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t talk to the Sharpes. But I’d need help. Would you be there with me?”

A weight lifted off Sam’s shoulders.

“I’ll do anything to keep another girl from going through what I—” She stopped, bit down on her bottom lip, afraid she’d said too much.

She had. Eric was far too smart and intuitive to miss the clues.

His dark chocolate eyes searched her face, as understanding dawned. “You’ve been there, haven’t you? You’re coming at this from personal experience.”

The lively noise of the picnic faded away as Sam considered how to answer. Across the way, a clown sold colorful helium balloons to a little girl with red ribbons in her hair. One of the balloons escaped and rose high into the sky. Sam looked up, following its ascent.

Like the balloon, she could escape with a lot of hot air or she could trust a man who had dedicated his life to helping people. She’d carried the burden alone for a long time, and she was tired. But she was also ashamed and embarrassed. Eric’s opinion of her was important, although she wasn’t sure why. Only in recent days had he begun to be less prickly in her company. Would he think less of her if he knew the whole truth?

“Sam?” he questioned gently. “That’s why you’re so worried about Gina, isn’t it?”

She brought her gaze back to his and locked on. He was a missionary, or had been. He must care about people all the way down to his soul. Behind the laughter and wit was a steadfastness, a strength that encouraged confidence. But could she trust Eric Pellegrino with her ugly secret?