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“Hi, April, this is—”
“Tess McClellan.” Tess extended her hand.
“Tess has come to visit with us and maybe join our group,” Cassie said, adding to the introduction.
“April Emerson. How nice to meet you.”
“April’s our president. This is her fifth year. We all love her so much, we won’t let her step down.”
April’s shoulders relaxed and the smile she directed at Cassie seemed genuine. She handed Cassie a crisp twenty-dollar bill. “It smells wonderful, Cassie. Did you order the chicken amandine?”
“With asparagus and those seasoned potatoes you like.” She handed April her change, along with a ticket-like receipt.
April glanced around at the tables of chattering women. “Looks like almost everyone’s here. We should start soon. I think I’ll go get my food and sit.”
“We’re missing Terry. I want to introduce her to Tess, so we can get her signed up. We haven’t had a new member in a long while.”
April’s gaze again swept over Tess. “No, we haven’t.” Turning abruptly, she addressed Cassie. “Why don’t you finish up, then get your own food? I’d like to get started on time for a change.”
Cassie frowned. “Sure. I guess I’m pretty hungry. If Terry comes, she can find me.”
April left and Cassie shook her head. “She’s normally more friendly. She’s just going through a rough time right now.”
“Oh. Here—” Tess pulled her wallet from her bag. “I need to pay. There will be enough food, right?”
“Don’t worry about that. We always order a few extra meals for guests or speakers.” Cassie took Tess’s money, then handed her a receipt.
“Speakers? Who do you usually have?”
“Let’s see, last month a couple of women from the Garden Society did a nice talk on indoor gardens. And today we possibly have someone from Project Mentor. They’re on the schedule, but there’s a chance they might not show.” She shrugged. “It’s a new nonprofit organization, run entirely by volunteers. They take the big brother-big sister thing a little further— Look at me running on. We should grab our food. April will start before we get through our entrées.”
Closing the money box, Cassie motioned Tess toward several banquet tables laden with fresh bread, salads and serving dishes steeped in tempting aromas that made Tess’s stomach growl.
The food tasted as heavenly as it smelled, almost as good as one of Ramon’s creations. Tess swallowed a savory mouthful of the chicken and smiled as Cassie nodded in her direction. Her new acquaintance had led her to a table not far from the front, where a podium stood.
The women at her table had acknowledged her with cursory nods as Cassie had left to find a vacant seat nearby. Tess did her best to blend in as the women chatted to one another. She waited patiently for an opening in the conversation where she might add something witty or entertaining.
“Kevin is teething and he drools nonstop. Everything goes straight into his mouth and he soaks his little T-shirts right through, even though I keep a bib on him.” The brunette to her left leaned toward the woman beside her.
Not much Tess could add there. Frowning, she focused on the plump redhead to her right. “Then Daddy said he had corns on top of his corns and he would not walk another step. I thought Mama was going to skin him, right there. I have never seen her so angry.”
“Mmm, this asparagus is to die for,” Tess commented to no one in particular.
The others continued discussing teething babies and parents with foot problems. How could she jump in on any of these conversations? They were all talking about families—normal families.
What did Tess know about that?
In near desperation, she glanced across the table to where two women sat in deep conversation. “And he hates school. Doesn’t care for his teacher at all. It’s a battle to make him go every day. He complains about everything. He won’t do his homework. We have a teacher’s conference scheduled this week and I just dread it.”
Who was Tess kidding? She had nothing in common with these women. She could no more relate to their issues than they could relate to hers.
You see, I have this problem. I tend to collect men, first as lovers, whom I heal through sexual encounters, then as friends who stay on long after the loving. My sisters fondly call them my minions, because they do everything for me. I so much as hint at a need and it’s filled. But they can’t fill one of my most pressing needs—the need for female companionship. And though some may say that I do them all a great service in healing them, I feel I can do more to help my community. This is where you ladies come in.
Right, that would go over like a lead balloon. Why had she come? What made her think she could do this? Tess shook her head and looked over at Cassie. She waved and Tess relaxed a little. She’d made at least one connection, and that was better than she’d done all through high school and college combined. Maybe there was hope.
Cassie’s gaze swung to the door, and her smile faded. A sudden taut silence filled the air and Tess turned to see April glaring toward the back of the room. Tess followed the glare to a dark-haired man, standing just inside the door.
He was solid, with a strong build and virile presence that rolled over Tess in waves. Her gaze traveled up his length to lock with his. His eyes and hair were a nondescript brown and his features more angular than she preferred, but still she was entranced and surprised at her own reaction. Certainly, catching a man’s attention had never been a problem for her, but never before had she experienced this inexplicable draw. She braced her hands on the table and fought the urge to go to him.
Still, he held her transfixed and it took all her concentration to turn toward the front of the room. Her back ramrod straight, April moved to the podium, her expression heavy with censure as she glanced at Tess. A sense of bewilderment stole over Tess. What had angered April? Tess took a deep breath and struggled not to look at the man whose presence spiked the tension in the room.
The microphone came to life as April tapped it. “Excuse me everyone, I hope you’ve all had enough of this delicious meal. If not, please feel free to help yourselves to seconds. There’s plenty.”
She paused, but everyone remained seated, either with sated appetites, or apprehension over the obvious discord now present. She resumed speaking. “It seems we have a speaker who has arrived ahead of schedule, so I suggest we commence with that part of our program and leave the reading of the minutes and the business portion until later.”
A murmur of assent rippled through the crowd. The redhead beside Tess raised her hand. “I move we save the minutes and business part of our meeting until after our speaker.”
April smiled sweetly at the woman. “Thank you, Jen. Always nice to have you keeping us on track.” She addressed the group. “Are there any seconds?”
Someone seconded the motion, then it passed with a unanimous vote. April cleared her throat. “So, with no further ado, here’s Dr. Mason Davies to discuss his Project Mentor.”
She walked stiffly to her seat as Dr. Davies strode up the aisle. He moved with a forceful grace, even though tension radiated from the tight set of his jaw and shoulders. He paused when he passed April’s table. “Thank you.”
April stared at him evenly, but made no comment as he continued to the podium. He adjusted the microphone, then let his gaze scan the room. “I’d like to thank you all for having me here today. I appreciate your time and consideration—especially your consideration. I won’t beat around the bush. I’ve come here to ask for your help.”
The low timbre of his voice vibrated through Tess, filling her with surprising swirls of awareness. His gaze again scanned the crowd, before coming to rest on her. Heat rose in her face as, spellbound, she couldn’t look away.
Who was this man?
“For those of you who aren’t familiar with Project Mentor, it’s a program of volunteers working to help atrisk teens and children who have been exposed to drug abuse and/or HIV in their families. It’s a nonprofit organization sponsoring workshops and other events designed not only to help relieve some of the immediate burdens these kids face, but also to help them plan for their futures.
“These kids are the unfortunate victims who fall between the cracks at school and in our communities. They struggle with issues no child should have to deal with, yet they live it. Some of these kids don’t know what it’s like to eat three square meals a day, have proper medical and dental care, or attend school on a regular basis. Many of them have given up by the time they reach us.”
He paused. His passion for this project reached out to Tess and empathy swelled through her—for the children, for this man who cared enough that he faced this roomful of less-than-welcoming women. He and April certainly had some issues to work out. The pressure between the two of them was nearly a physical thing.
“What exactly is it that you’re asking of us, Dr. Davies?” The question came from one of the women at April’s table.
“That’s an excellent question. Our hope is that you’ll lend us a hand with some fund-raising.”
“What kind of fund-raising?” another of April’s group asked.
“That would ultimately be for you to decide, but at Project Mentor we had talked about a big gala or ball where the proceeds would go toward creating a youth center. We would, of course, welcome all youths, but our focus is on the ones we find through the free clinic we established two years ago in downtown Miami.
“Even though that clinic has experienced great success, we have seen more and more patients strung out on drugs and with HIV. When children are involved, our choice in the past has been to help the parents as best we could, then send them back to deal with their families as best they could. Unfortunately, they often don’t deal well with the added pressure of raising children, especially teens.
“Though we have a mentoring program in place for these kids, we’re finding it isn’t enough. There’s a real need to provide a feeling of community for them, a sense that they belong somewhere. If we don’t supply that connection, they find it in gangs or other unfavorable settings. A youth center would help prevent that.”
Tess glanced around expectantly, subduing the urge to jump to her feet and volunteer the group. She hadn’t yet officially joined their ranks. So it wasn’t her place to say anything. Surely, these women would put aside their differences for this higher purpose.
April straightened in her seat, though she remained closed off, her arms folded across her chest. “Why can’t your group arrange this ball on its own?”
“You ladies are known for your fund-raising abilities. We could make an effort, but all of us have careers in addition to our volunteering with the project. We simply don’t have the resources or connections you do. The gala is guaranteed success if the Dade County Women’s Club is associated with it.”
Silence reigned over the room. April uncrossed her arms and sat forward. “I don’t see how we would have the time to help you. We have several other projects we’re currently tied up with and our own gala event not far around the corner.”
Disbelief flashed through Dr. Davies’s eyes. “But that’s nearly nine months away. Surely you’d have time to handle this event.”
April rose, her eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so. There’s a lot that goes into planning any event as you so clearly point out, but I can’t speak for the entire group.” She gestured to the tables around her. “What do you think? Can we help Dr. Davies with his project?”
Tess stiffened at the note of warning in her voice. She held her breath as not a soul offered an opinion. How could these women just sit there? Did April swing so much clout that she could cow everyone into not helping?
Fisting her hands in her lap, Tess fought the urge to offer her services. She didn’t even know these women. Why would they listen to her? Acting against April would most likely cost Tess any chance at making friends. And so much for service work with the group.
She glanced up to find his gaze on her and froze.
His dark eyes beseeched her. What could she do? Surely one of the other women would say something.
“I see.” The defeat in his voice cut deep. “Then I won’t be taking any more of your time.”
Tess took another deep breath as he exited, but it did little to ease the knot of regret forming in her stomach. She stared at the empty doorway. The man had left. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now. Besides, chances were another group would come to his aid. If he was a doctor, he must have all kinds of connections.
The women’s club seemed to have other charities it was involved in. Surely she’d find another project she’d feel good about helping with. And there was the added bonus of making women friends. She’d come here to get away from men. She sipped her water and tried to relax. With the good doctor gone, now maybe she could get on with building some kind of relationship with her own kind.
2
SHE WASN’T THEIR KIND. Everything about the redhead at the women’s club told Mason Davies that she was cut from a different cloth. He closed his eyes against the image of the memorable woman who’d captured his attention. Though she’d sat in their midst, she was as different from those women as he was.
He’d seen the emotion shining in her blue eyes when he talked about the project. She’d understood the need—the fact that this event was worthwhile. Somehow, he had felt her dismay at the lack of support.
Yet, she’d sat silently as he’d left in defeat. He couldn’t believe she was so like them. Something about her—maybe her bearing—seemed to say she’d made up her own mind about things, even though she’d held her tongue.
He shook his head. He needed to forget the redhead and focus on a new plan. She certainly wasn’t giving his project—or him—any second thoughts.
Plastering a smile on his face, he continued down the hospital corridor to his next patient’s room. Vases of flowers topped the dresser and nightstand. Peggy Williams was fortunate. Her husband had barely left her side since her arrival yesterday and it looked as though more family members had arrived today.
She smiled at him, only half her mouth lifting. He moved to the side of the bed. “Good morning, Peggy. How are you?”
She nodded slightly. “Um…ah…” She shook her head, frowning in frustration.
He glanced over her chart. “I see you ate better today. No problem swallowing?”
“Ah…um…no.”
“Good.” He paused to take her pulse.
“She ate a good bit of her lunch, though she had some trouble with the soup. Her hand was a little shaky and she kept spilling. I wanted to help her, but the nurse said that it was best to let her try on her own,” Brad Williams explained.
“Soup?” Mason glanced at the lunch tray that had been pushed to one side. “That’s great.”
“This is our daughter, Paige, and her two girls, Leslie and Sarah.” Brad gestured to the worried-looking brunette standing next to him and the two youngsters clinging to her sides.
“It’s a pleasure.” Mason smiled at the girls. A vibrancy and innocence that he saw in far too few children these days radiated from them. “I think it’s helped your grandmother’s spirits to have her family near. It’s wonderful she has you to cheer her up.”
He straightened and addressed both Brad and Paige. “The nurses were quite concerned yesterday that she seemed depressed. That can be tough on recovery. Having this kind of support can make all the difference to a patient.”
“So what can you tell us, Doc? Will she recover?” Paige smoothed her daughter’s hair.
“It’s difficult to say. I don’t want to give you any false hope, but the stroke was mild and it helped that your father brought her in right away. She’s weak and recovery will take time. I’m referring her to a physical therapist as well as a speech therapist for her aphasia.”
“Aphasia,” Mr. Williams repeated. “That’s her difficulty with her speech?”
“Yes.”
“Is that why she can’t tell us stories?” The smaller of the girls stared at him, wide-eyed.
“The language center of her brain was damaged, which isn’t unusual in these cases. Your grandmother is as smart as she ever was, but it may take a little time before her brain rewires itself and she can tell you stories again.”
“She has to learn to speak all over again?” Mr. Williams squeezed his wife’s hand.
“Yes, more or less. The brain is a remarkable tool, though.”
“She said ‘hi’ when we came in,” the older girl said.
Her mother smiled at her, then turned to Mason. “When can we take her home?”
Mason glanced at his watch. Much of the day had already passed. “Let me see if I can get the speech and physical therapists in to check her out. We also need the social worker to see her and talk to all of you.”
Mr. Williams glanced up. “Social worker?”
“It’s standard. We need to be sure Peggy has all the support she’ll require while she recuperates. We have to determine what kind of in-home care we need to supply. Once she’s home she’ll have a nurse checking on her—we’ll decide how often and for how long. It’s good that Peggy is eating without any difficulty.”
Her husband nodded. “Can we take her home today? I know she’ll sleep better in her own bed.”
“We definitely want to get her home as soon as possible.” Mason made a few notes, then returned the chart to its holder. “Let me see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Dr. Davies.”
As he headed to the nurses’ station, Mason couldn’t help but compare this family to the ones he met at the free clinic downtown. They were a world apart.
Regret flooded him. If only he’d been able to convince the women’s club to help Project Mentor. Obviously, April was holding a grudge and she held all the clout with that group.
It was a damn shame.
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” Nikki McClellan asked Tess Tuesday afternoon, as they strolled through the mall, shopping bags in hand.
Tess inhaled a deep breath. Why had she even mentioned Mason Davies to Nikki? Tess should have known her sister would react this way. Talk about ruining their time together.
“I’m sure he’ll find someone else to help him. It is a worthwhile project,” Tess said. “I’m not denying that, but it isn’t as though he doesn’t have resources of his own. He’s got a whole organization with who knows how many volunteers. I don’t see why he needed the DCWC anyway.”
