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“I’m fine. Really.”
Pam hurried their way with a damp cloth and a roll of paper towels. Cassie exchanged the coffeepot for the towels. She yanked one free and handed it to him.
“I’m really sorry.” She felt like a dolt. Her father was right—she couldn’t do much without disaster happening…. But that was nonsense. Her fifth-graders sometimes had accidents, and she always managed to remain calm throughout!
“I can get you some ice if you need it to relieve the pain—” she found herself staring at his thigh “—um…where the hot coffee burned.”
“That won’t be necessary.” He brushed at his pants, although Cassie thought it futile at that point. “I’ll live. But I lost my coffee. Suppose I can get another cup?”
“Yes. Of course. Just as soon as I get this taken care of.” She dropped to her knees, wiping the tiled floor. She bit her lip in frustration.
“At least let me pay for your cleaning,” she said, staring at his shoes. They were a good brand. Very well made. But it looked as if he could stand to buy a new pair, though.
One of the men arrived with a mop, teasing her about providing him with exercise.
“Oh, yes, that was my very intention,” she replied lightly, making an effort to rise to the tease. “That and making a pest of myself to Peter, here.”
“Don’t be silly.” Peter took Cassie’s elbow and lifted her to stand. His lips parted in a smile, showing even white teeth, enticing her heart to do another little skip. “I’m not hurt and the suit needed a cleaning anyway. If I’d known how informal New Beginnings is—” he glanced around the room at the many who wore jeans and sandals or sneakers “—I’d have worn my jeans, too.”
“There’s always next week, I suppose,” Cassie offered with a hopeful tone. She glanced up at him, her heart beating a quickened beat.
“Yes, there’s always next time I’m in town.” The corner of his mouth edged a little wider, inviting Cassie to return a smile of her own. She felt her mouth widen. She could almost get lost in those summer-sky eyes.
Honestly, if she was imagining this man, or dreaming, she’d hide her head under a pillow from now until next year. She didn’t want to wake.
Lori regained Peter’s attention, and Cassie reluctantly moved away with a hidden sigh, but a lighter heart. Honestly, she had no desire to seem like an aging admirer—although with his looks, she could certainly fall into that slot. Peter could definitely qualify for adoration.
From out of town, was he? She wished she’d asked where he was from and if he was in town often.
Surreptitiously, she glanced over her shoulder. Once again she saw only the back of his head.
“An outdoor Easter sunrise service sounds wonderful to me,” Cassie heard Pam say to the women clearing up. “I’m a morning person anyway, and if we have a sunrise service, then I can take my boys to see both their paternal grandparents and my mother without adding to an already crowded afternoon.”
“What’s this?” Cassie asked, wondering how Pam managed. Pam had both parents and two sons to fill her days. Yet her new friend couldn’t have it all that easy. Pamela had lost her husband a couple of years ago. “Where?”
“Pastor Mike has secured River Bluff Park for Easter Sunday morning,” Pam responded. “Providing the weather cooperates, we’ll gather on the bluff just as the sun comes up. With the river below, that should be quite a sight.”
“How exciting. I’ve never attended a sunrise service.”
At the kitchen sink, Cassie turned on the tap and rinsed out the dripping cloth, thinking about the new prospect. Easter was only two weeks off.
The promise of rejoicing the Lord’s victory over sin in such a wonderful outdoor setting filled Cassie with a sense of awe. In past years she’d been too confined by her father’s dictates to try any church service other than their usual one. He hadn’t liked his routine disturbed, and he didn’t sanction any church but the one they’d attended all her life. Attendance at the usual Easter service held at a decent hour of the morning was all the Lord required of anyone, he would say.
Grumpy as he sometimes was, Cassie missed her father. He was the last of her family. There wasn’t a thing wrong with the church her parents had preferred, but this year she’d make her own choices.
“The only thing we’ll have to watch is the parking,” Pam said. “Since the park is small, there’s only a gravel clearing. We should probably organize a car pool.”
“I haven’t been to the park since I was a kid, so I don’t know what’s there. But I can help with that,” Cassie offered. “What else do we need for it? Do we need to carry folding chairs? My car can carry a few.”
“Each of us should bring our own lawn chairs, I guess,” Pamela replied. “But I can stick an extra one or two in my van for anyone who needs one.”
“Don’t worry too much about chairs, ladies,” Mike said, coming into the kitchen with paper plates to throw away. “I’ll get some of the men to haul chairs. But we’ll need some camp lights to light the drive since people will come in while it’s still dark.”
“Oh, yes. I hadn’t thought of that,” Cassie said, wiping down a counter. “And if I recall rightly, that’s quite a hill up to the bluff from the parking lot, so we may need some strong arms to assist the older church members along the climb.”
“That’s right,” Pastor Mike added.
“I can do that. I don’t mind helping older people,” Cassie said. The idea of the outdoor service sounded more exciting every moment. “Is there anything else to be done in preparation?”
“It’s kind of you to offer, Cassie,” the minister said. “We’ll certainly let you know.”
“Pastor Mike.” Peter stood in the doorway. “I must be off. I appreciate—” he broke off, his expression closing as he realized everyone was listening. “Thanks for your help and I’ll be in touch.”
“Sure, Peter,” Pastor Mike responded. “No problem at all. Hey, I’ll walk you out.”
“Nice meeting you, ladies.” Peter gave a generic nod of goodbye. Then he directed his teasing gaze toward Cassie and did a very bad Bogart imitation. “You still owe me a cup of coffee, sweetheart. With cream.”
Cassie chuckled along with the others while her face went red. She could kick herself. She’d totally forgotten the coffee. “Um, anytime. You just come on along to the sunrise service on Easter Sunday and I’ll buy you coffee and breakfast afterward.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
His smile flashed, sending her heart tumbling, and then he and Pastor Mike were gone.
“Wow, Cassie.” Pam nearly chortled as she spoke. “I think you just made a date with that new guy right under Lori’s nose.”
“I can’t believe I did,” Cassie muttered, staring at the empty doorway. “I never do things like that. I’m usually too shy. Honestly, it just slipped out.”
“Well, there wasn’t anything mousy about that exchange,” Pam insisted.
Cassie spent the next few minutes glowing. Could he be the man of her dreams?
She’d stopped dreaming of such foolish things when she’d entered her thirties, still living at home while taking care of her aging parents.
She sighed. Over the years, when all her women teacher friends talked of their boyfriends or husbands, she’d come to hate their pitying and snide secretive stares. Nearly forty and never been married….
She wasn’t that unattractive. She’d dated a few men, but her problems at home made her less than desirable. She met very few men in her day-to-day job, also. And she just wasn’t the type of woman to meet men in bars.
How likely was it that Peter would come again to New Beginnings?
No, she wouldn’t count on seeing him again. Like Lori, he had a cosmopolitan air about him, as if he ran in far more sophisticated circles than the people that came to New Beginnings.
And she was about as unsophisticated as you could get, even for these parts.
No, she shouldn’t really expect to see Peter again. Most likely, his parting words were only meant to make her feel better about her clumsiness.
Yet she knew, as she later entered her empty, silent house and climbed the stairs to the back bedroom she’d occupied all of her near forty years, that she’d dream of him tonight.
Peter…with the summer-sky eyes…
Chapter Two
Peter Scott Tilford flew out of the Lee’s Summit airport in western Missouri at seven the next morning in his small private jet. The airport was a little small for a jet, but he’d managed. Seated beside him was his pilot, Jackson, a man who could keep his thoughts to himself and who never interfered with Peter’s plans.
He’d contact his office as soon as he crossed the Appalachians, Peter thought. He’d been out of touch with his staff for three days and they’d be half frantic. No one knew where he was except his personal assistant, Tony Swartz, who was sworn to secrecy.
That was the way he’d wanted it. This was a personal matter. Very personal. News coverage and gossip about his current activities was the last thing he needed splashed all over hungry tabloid press.
He felt jubilant. After all these years, he’d hit pay dirt. Now he had to make contact.
The plane climbed to cruising altitude and Peter settled back. He’d been fortunate about not being recognized. He’d keep it that way for as long as possible, but it would take some juggling. Someone would recognize him eventually.
Private, easy, unhurried time—that was what he needed. He didn’t want to scare Eric away. But in Peter’s world, privacy was a highly prized commodity. Could he get it?
He’d have to carve it out carefully, but he’d do it. Take time to talk with Eric, to know the man he was sure—this side of a DNA test—was his younger brother. He wanted to do that without any outside pressures. He wanted more than five or ten minutes to become acquainted with the only remaining living person that he knew was a blood relative.
Did Eric want to know him? Be friends? Re-kindle a family relationship?
Did Eric even remember he had a brother? And what were those memories?
That was the information Peter needed most.
Peter prided himself on his ability to size up a person within the first few minutes of meeting and talking with them. Many of his business decisions had been made within a very short time. He evaluated everyone involved in a project, not just the logistics. In fact, he’d earned a reputation for lightning decisions based on how he scrutinized his opponents and associates.
That was true until three days ago.
Then he’d talked to Pastor Michael Faraday. The minister had gently pointed out that in such an important matter of family, it might not be wise to make a snap judgment. Peter’s ultimate decision was too important, surely, to rely on only a few minutes of acquaintance between Eric and himself. They should have had a lifetime of understanding between them; brothers should know each other well. But they’d been cheated of that.
According to the pastor, Eric was a very private man, not given to making friends easily. He had to give Eric time. Go slowly, Pastor Mike had advised.
Peter had been a teenager the last time he saw Eric. When Eric was only four, his mother, Faye, took him and fled from her marriage, from Peter’s father, Randall, and everything he stood for, changing their identities along the way. He hadn’t really blamed Faye. His father had created his own chaos.
After his father died, Peter expected Eric to show up to stake a claim to his healthy inheritance, but he never had. Later, it wasn’t important to wonder too closely what had happened to his brother; if Eric wanted any part in Peter’s life, he would come forward. After all, Eric and Faye knew where to find him. He wasn’t hiding. But he hadn’t known where they could be found.
Then last year…
A familiar pain crept up like a fog. Last year Peter’s only son had died of leukemia. Danny. Filled with a sorrow unlike any he’d ever known, Peter fought the tears that threatened. He felt unmanned by them, but they persisted whenever thoughts of his son surfaced. When would the pain ease?
He still grieved deeply, and guessed he always would. He’d had great hopes for Danny. Great plans.
The times he’d spent with his son were now confined to precious memories. Danny wasn’t coming back and he had to face the fact that he had no family left.
No one at all, except for Eric.
Then after months of silent suffering, he’d come out of his personal fog and finally began to look for his brother. Now he’d found him. He was elated with his hopes for a new relationship.
Yet questions haunted him. What kind of man was Eric? Did Eric grieve for his mother, Faye, who was now also dead? What had they done with their lives? Where had they lived? He wanted to know everything.
Instinctively, he trusted Mike Faraday. He’d flown to western Missouri at the suggestion of his private investigator, and set up a meeting with Pastor Mike the same day. He’d made a good choice when he decided to confide in the pastor. A good choice, indeed. Pastor Mike was a rare man of intelligence and integrity.
And Pastor Mike knew Eric. Eric Tilford— Eric Landers now. Pastor Mike had told him that Eric was a very private sort of man, but that Eric sometimes came to New Beginnings.
Sometimes he came, but not always. That was the catch.
Meeting at New Beginnings would be a neutral, nonthreatening way of sizing up Eric. Then he would know. Know what kind of man he was.
At the very least, he owed Eric his inheritance. He wanted to make it right between them, even though their separation hadn’t been of Peter’s making. But, buried deeply, he realized he wanted a brother.
Peter let out a deep sigh and steered his emotions away from the danger of falling into a deep well. Instead he thought about his evening.
He’d waited in edgy anticipation for Eric to arrive—and swallowed his extreme disappointment when he didn’t show. Set on his course of action, he stayed long enough to seem an ordinary visitor, listening in silence to Pastor Mike’s message, and waited another few moment to talk with him.
He was getting old, he decided, to have developed such patience. Fifty-two. He shook his head, wondering where the years had gone.
He didn’t usually waste his time with the kind of organization he’d attended last night. Rather old-fashioned and plebeian. Religious, too, which didn’t really interest him. It served other people better, he thought.
But after a lifetime of dealing with the inner circles of high finance and worldwide trade, and gaining acclaim for his business savvy, it didn’t hurt him, he supposed, to see how “regular” people lived their lives.
Take that Lori. She was smartly dressed, mentally sharp, and she’d mentioned being an attorney. She’d fit in anywhere. She wasn’t so different from the men and women he knew. He even had a few women like her on staff at his law firm.
While some of the men he’d been introduced to seemed to have no interest beyond the latest fishing hole or when baseball season would start, a few, such as Pastor Mike, discussed world events along with tax problems and how to chase the moles out of one’s yard. To his surprise, he hadn’t been bored.
How did one chase moles out of one’s yard? He chuckled outright because he didn’t know.
“Did you say something, Mr. Tilford?”
“No, Jackson, just thinking,” he replied. “Say, did you ever have occasion to chase moles from your yard?”
“Moles? No, sir. I live in an apartment.”
“Never mind. Just an idle thought.”
“Yes, sir.”
He fell silent again, and his thoughts returned to the company he was in the night before.
There had been that moment of comedy—right out of a slapstick movie—when Cassie spilled the coffee. Usually, he had no patience with careless waitresses—but Cassie wasn’t a waitress. She was a guest at that meeting just as he was. He’d surprised himself when he felt no ire and recognized her act of kindness for what it was when she freshened his coffee.
She certainly hadn’t known who he was. The only person he had to be careful of was that ex-model, Samantha. She might recognize him.
He suspected Cassie was a quiet woman. Her brown skirt, beige blouse and sensible shoes certainly held no spark or style. Yet unlike Lori’s sophisticated flirtation, Cassie’s green eyes had returned his gaze with an undisguised interest that was as easy to read as the newspaper. Her gaze was guileless. Something he saw there flattered him, just a little.
He’d enjoyed the surprise on her face when he did his very bad Bogart imitation, something he hadn’t done since his college days. He’d even laughed at himself for doing it.
Surprisingly, he’d actually had fun for those few moments. There had been very little to tickle his amusement in the past few years. Certainly not since Danny had passed away.
Why now? Why something so simple?
Perhaps it had been too long since he’d seen genuine interest from a woman for simply being a man. No frills, no expectations, just a thread of plain attraction.
