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A Time To Give
Kathryn Shay
His only love sprang from his only hate…Isn' t that just like life to mirror something out of Romeo and Juliet? And Benedict Cassidy has good cause to hate Emily Mackenzie' s father–the corporate pirate stole his company. So what if Emily' s pregnant with Ben' s child? Or that he can' t help loving her? She' s still a traitor and the daughter of a traitor. And forgiveness doesn' t come easily to Ben.If Emily hadn' t agreed to marry him, he' d have fought the woman for custody once the baby was born. Instead, he' s going to watch his wife like a hawk until he' s got his business back and his child safely in his arms.
Ben stared down at Emily
He could see the freckles dotting her shoulders in the morning light. Was he ready to rejoin the world now, for her? Could they possibly have a future together?
A whimper from another part of the house made him ease out of bed. Covering Emily with a blanket, he slipped on his clothes and went out to the main living area. It was so her. Big, overstuffed couches covered in fabrics that resembled watercolors, high ceilings, warm wood floors. Chic but cozy.
Lady was scratching at the door that led to the foyer. “Hey, girl, need to go out?” Ben glanced over at the dog’s bed by the fieldstone fireplace—her puppies were out for the count.
After letting the dog out into the yard, he went into the kitchen to put on the coffee. While it brewed he studied the large, airy space. Granite countertops, brick walls hung with pots and pans, an island counter in the middle of the floor, a huge refrigerator covered with pictures. Smiling, he crossed the room to get a glimpse into Emily’s life. There was a photo of her and Lady, one of a dark-haired woman in dance wear, one of Emily and a man, arms linked.
Ben frowned. A boyfriend? No. The guy was too old. He moved in closer to get a better look. “What the hell…?”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to my new Superromance novel. I hope you enjoy this look at an urban soup kitchen. For years I’ve volunteered at a kitchen very similar to Cassidy Place, and I’m continually amazed at the staff’s hard work and belief that it’s our responsibility to help people less fortunate than we are. It’s truly a wonderful organization, and I’m glad I’m able to help out.
Several years ago I thought, “Wow, I’d like to set a book here.” How could I craft a hero who’s a guest at the kitchen, though, and a heroine who volunteers there? It took me a while, but I managed to create Ben, a formerly prosperous businessman, who’s lost his company and his self-esteem. At the soup kitchen he meets Emily, who has a connection to him that neither of them knows about. Before they discover it they’re involved, and nothing—even such a big surprise—is going to break them apart.
Emily and Ben are basically decent people caught in circumstances not of their making. It was a challenge to play out their journey to happily-ever-after. I liked both of these characters from the outset, and I hope you do, too. Though I don’t agree with some of their choices or actions—that makes for good conflict, right?—I do appreciate the predicament they’re in.
Please let me know what you think of the book. You can reach me at kshayweb@rochester.rr.com or P.O. Box 24288, Rochester, NY 14624. Also, visit my Web site for updates on my work at www.kathrynshay.com or www.superauthors.com.
Kathryn Shay
A Time to Give
Kathryn Shay
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To the staff and volunteers at Salem Soup Kitchen, in acknowledgment of your dedication and desire to help those in need.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
STARING ACROSS THE DINING HALL, Emily watched the tall, muscular man stop and look up at the picture over the entryway. “I wonder what his last name is,” she muttered to herself.
“Best you get your mind off that one.” Alice Smith, the administrator who ran the Cassidy Place soup kitchen where Emily volunteered three nights a week, tossed out the warning as she refilled creamers and sugars. At 7:30 p.m., they were ready to close up for the night.
Emily liked this down-to-earth woman with her sturdy build, a tidy bun corralling her coarse gray hair. Though Alice worked tirelessly at feeding the impoverished, she could be tough when one of the guests got out of line, or the volunteers grumbled too much.
Emily’s grin was sheepish. “I didn’t realize I said that aloud.”
“You did. Anyway, what you were thinking is written all over your face.” Alice tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from Emily’s braid behind her ear. “For as long as he’s been coming here, he’s fascinated you.”
Emily turned her gaze back to Ben. “I guess he has. He’s different from the others.”
“Yeah, he is. He broods a lot, but I like that he pitches in around here. Most guests just eat and take off.”
“But, it’s more than his helping out. There’s just something about him that doesn’t quite fit.” She nodded across the room. “He always does that.”
Alice started to wipe the counter. “Does what?”
“Stares at that picture of Mick Cassidy over the entrance. Every Monday night when he comes in, he stops at it. His expression is almost sentimental. Nostalgic.”
“Odd. The old guy’s been dead for years.”
Emily changed the topic. She was all too familiar with what had happened to Mick Cassidy and his son, the one who’d founded the soup kitchen as a memorial to his father—not to mention the fate of the workers from Cassidy Industries who used to volunteer here.
Making small talk, she surreptitiously watched Ben as he approached one of the twenty long tables that were in rows. “He’s sitting down. I’ll go wait on him.” She grabbed a place setting and rushed off.
“Time’s almost up,” Alice called after her.
“I know. I’ll hurry.” She crossed the dining hall. The room was as huge as a gymnasium, with big windows, a high ceiling and scuffed hardwood flooring. Cassidy Place was housed in a wing of a beautiful old church on St. Paul Street and had character. “Hello, Ben,” she said when she reached him.
His gray eyes lit up when he saw her. Ringed with dark black, they were accented by thick lashes. After a moment, though, the light went out in them, like it always did. “Hello, Emily.”
She set silverware and a place mat on the table in front of him. “You’re later than usual.”
“Am I?”
“Hmm.” She fussed with the knife and fork, wishing she could crack that facade of his. “Busy today?”
Forcefully he shook out his paper. “Uh-huh.”
“At a job?”
“Yes.” He looked down and began reading.
“Where do you work, Ben? You’ve never mentioned it.”
He hesitated. “Construction jobs here and there.”
Since he’d finally answered a question about his circumstances, she dared another. “Then you can afford a place to live?” She’d worried he was homeless, like many who came to Cassidy Place. “You don’t…”
“Live on the street? No, not anymore.”
He raised the paper and stuck his nose in it, signaling he was done talking. Well, at least she’d gotten this far tonight. Over the past year, she’d had to drag any personal information out of him. When he did talk to her, he seemed so lonely it broke her heart.
She scurried back to the kitchen where the aroma of cooking meat and fresh bread permeated the air, contrary to the smell out in the dining area. Guests at shelters like this weren’t always clean. “One more,” she said and smiled at the older woman who dished up food in front of the huge industrial stove. “It’s for Ben.”
“Ah, that one. Let’s give him a hefty portion. He needs meat on his bones.”
He’s got nice meat on his bones already. Blushing at the thought, Emily transferred her gaze to the windows that lined the wall above the king-size dishwasher. More than once she’d checked out his bones. He wore tattered shirts and threadbare jeans, revealing the muscles beneath them—from the construction work he did, she guessed. Now that it was spring, those muscles were vividly defined beneath his T-shirts.
Sliding his plate and a dessert onto a tray, she hurried back to the table. Alice had served him milk and coffee, which he drank slowly, precisely, like he did everything. He seemed to savor each drop. “Here you go.” She set his meal in front of him.
He gave her what passed for a smile. “Thank you.”
She glanced around. “Can I sit with you a while?”
“All right.” As he ate, she studied him. His features were square cut and angular. Right now, his jaw sported about a two-day beard. In addition to being sexy, it was somewhat sinister. “You look tired, Emily,” he finally said, scrutinizing her face.
Another disagreement with her father. “Do I? I’m not sleeping well.”
He hesitated. “You’re not sick are you?”
“No. Family problems.” He glanced at her hand, her left hand, but said nothing.
“Are you married, Ben?”
He’d forked in a mouthful of meat and now he almost choked on it. The volunteers at Cassidy Place were friendly but they usually kept a professional distance from the guests.
He cleared his throat. “No, I’m not married.”
“Ever been?”
“No.” And then, he added, “Came close, though.” Still, he didn’t ask her.
“I was married. I’ve been divorced for almost three years.” And the breakup had done serious damage to her self-esteem. Sometimes when she tried to sleep at night, she could still hear Paul hurl insults at her, see his face suffused with disgust.
Again, Ben studied her. He ate some potatoes, then wiped his lips with his napkin. They were nice lips. “The divorce was tough?”
“That’s an understatement. You know, I just don’t understand intentional cruelty.”
“Me, either. Any kids?”
Her hand went to her stomach. “No, I…can’t. I wish we had some, though. I’d have a baseball team if I could.”
He laughed.
Emily cocked her head. “Why does the conversation always revert to me when I finally get you to talk?”
The corners of his mouth turned up. “Because you’re more interesting.”
“No way. Come on, tell me more about yourself. Do you have brothers or sisters? A father or mother living?”
“No. No living relatives.” He shook his head. “Alice need help tonight?”
She felt frustrated with the change of topic. “Probably with stacking the chairs and folding up the tables so the janitor can get in here tomorrow morning. He has a fit if that’s not done.”
From across the room, the one other guest left at a table yelled, “I need something here.”
She stood. “I’d better go talk to Hugo. He’s not very happy tonight.”
Ben nodded and looked back to his plate.
But when Emily rose and crossed the room, she could feel him watching her. Hmm, he was definitely different. And she liked him. She wished he’d pay more attention to her. Oh, well. The story of her life. She’d always wanted the attention of a mother, but hers had left home when Emily was five. For years, she’d craved more attention outside of work from her father. And, of course Paul, who’d walked out on her, had said outright she wasn’t worth anybody’s attention.
He was wrong, though. Emily was worth all of those things. She knew it, and she wondered if the man behind her, whom she’d been having these stilted conversations with for almost a year, would recognize it too. If he ever got to know her.
SURREPTITIOUSLY, BEN WATCHED her like a hawk. It was his only vice these days. Once every week, he allowed himself to feast on the sight of Emily Erickson. She had strawberry-blond hair, which right now escaped from her braid, and when she got close, he could see wisps framing her face, probably from the heat of the kitchen. She had the most flawless skin he’d ever seen, lips just a bit pouty, a cute nose…but it was her eyes that really got to him—they were a mixture of browns and greens and reminded him of a forest in the fall. As she walked away, she glanced over her shoulder and smiled.
He didn’t return it; instead, he shifted in the straight-back chair and picked up the newspaper to block her from his sight. Best not to encourage her. For almost a year, he’d been trying to keep his distance, though she’d done anything but cooperate and they’d gotten closer than was good for her. She was always sitting with him, asking him questions, paying extra attention to him. And too often he succumbed to spending time with her. Invariably he regretted it. When he was with her, Ben felt like a man starved for food, but when a banquet was set out in front of him, he was forbidden to eat. There was a time when he’d have gone after a woman like her with all he had, and gotten her, too. But that part of his life was over.
“Ain’t you got none left?” he heard Hugo, a regular, snap at her.
Ben looked over the top of the paper in time to see Emily step back. She seemed more vulnerable in the leotard and tights she wore under a filmy black skirt. She told him once that she took a dance class after her stint at the soup kitchen.
She spoke softly to Hugo, who then swore. Ben set down his paper and crossed the room.
