Daring Moves. Linda Miller Lael

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      “I’ll go if you’ll sit beside me,” Jordan said.

      Amanda considered the suggestion only briefly. The mall was a well-lit place, crowded with Christmas shoppers. If Jordan Richards were some kind of weirdo—and that seemed unlikely, unless crackpots were dressing like models in Gentlemen’s Quarterly these days—she would be perfectly safe. “Okay,” she said with another shrug.

      After the decision was made, they lapsed into a companionable silence. Nearly fifteen minutes had passed by the time Jordan reached the author’s table.

      Dr. Eugene Marshall, the famous psychology guru, signed his name in a confident scrawl and handed Jordan a book. Amanda had her volume autographed and followed her new acquaintance to the cash register.

      Once they’d both paid, they left the store together.

      There was already a mob gathered at the double doors of the mall’s community auditorium, and according to a sign on an easel, the minisession would start in another ten minutes.

      Jordan glanced at the line of fast-food places across the concourse. “Would you like some coffee or something?”

      Amanda shook her head, then reached up to pull her light, shoulder-length hair from under the collar of her coat. “No, thanks. What kind of work do you do, Mr. Richards?”

      “‘Jordan,’” he corrected. He took off his overcoat and draped it over one arm, then loosened his tie and collar slightly. “What kind of work do you think I do?”

      Amanda assessed him, narrowing her blue eyes. Jordan looked fit, and he even had a bit of a suntan, but she doubted he worked with his hands. His clothes marked him as an upper-management type, and so did that gold watch he kept checking. “You’re a stockbroker,” she guessed.

      He chuckled. “Close. I’m a partner in an investment firm. What do you do?”

      People were starting to move into the auditorium and take seats, and Amanda and Jordan moved along with them. With a half smile, she answered, “Guess.”

      He considered her thoughtfully. “You’re a flight attendant for a major airline,” he decided after several moments had passed.

      Amanda took his conjecture as a compliment, even though it was wrong. “I’m the assistant manager of the Evergreen Hotel.” They found seats near the middle of the auditorium, and Jordan took the one on the aisle. Amanda was just daring to hope she was making a favorable impression, when her stomach rumbled.

      “And you haven’t had lunch yet,” Jordan stated with another of those lethal, quicksilver grins. “It just so happens that I’m a little hungry myself. How about something from that Chinese fast-food place I saw out there—after we’re done with the minisession, I mean?”

      Again Amanda smiled. She seemed to be smiling a lot, which was odd, because she hadn’t felt truly happy since before James Brockman had swept into her life, turned it upside down and swept out again. “I’d like that,” she heard herself say.

      Just then Dr. Marshall walked out onto the auditorium stage. At his appearance, Jordan became noticeably uncomfortable, shifting in his seat and drawing one Italian-leather-shod foot up to rest on the opposite knee.

      The famous author introduced himself, just in case someone who had never watched a TV talk show might have wandered in, and announced that he wanted the audience to break up into groups of twelve.

      Jordan looked even more discomfited, and probably wouldn’t have participated if a group hadn’t formed around him and Amanda. To make things even more interesting, at least to Amanda’s way of thinking, the handsome, silver-haired Dr. Marshall chose their group to work with, while his assistants took the others.

      “All right, people,” he began in a tone of pleasant authority, “let’s get started.” His knowing gray eyes swept the small gathering. “Why does everybody look so worried? This will be relatively painless—all we’re going to do is talk about ourselves a little.” He looked at Amanda. “What’s your name?” he asked directly. “And what’s the worst thing that’s happened to you in the past year?”

      She swallowed. “Amanda Scott. And—the worst thing?”

      Dr. Marshall nodded with kindly amusement.

      All of the sudden Amanda wished she’d gone to a matinee or stayed home to clean her apartment. She didn’t want to talk about James, especially not in front of strangers, but she was basically an honest person and James was the worst thing that had happened to her in a very long time. Not looking at Jordan, she answered, “I fell in love with a man and he turned out to be married.”

      “What did you do when you found out?” the doctor asked reasonably.

      “I cried a lot,” Amanda answered, forgetting for the moment that there were twelve other people listening in, including Jordan.

      “Did you break off the relationship?” Dr. Marshall pressed.

      Amanda still felt the pain and humiliation she’d known when James’s wife had stormed into her office and made a scene. Before that, Amanda hadn’t even suspected the terrible truth. “Yes,” she replied softly with a miserable nod.

      “Is this experience still affecting your life?”

      Amanda wished she dared to glance at Jordan to see how he was reacting, but she didn’t have the courage. She lowered her eyes. “I guess it is.”

      “Did you stop trusting men?”

      Considering all the dates she’d refused in the months since she’d disentangled herself from James, Amanda supposed she had stopped trusting men. Even worse, she’d stopped trusting her own instincts. “Yes,” she answered very softly.

      Dr. Marshall reached out to touch her shoulder. “I’m not going to pretend you can solve your problems just by sitting in on a minisession, or even by reading my book, but I think it’s time for you to stop hiding and take some risks. Agreed?”

      Amanda was surprised at the man’s insight. “Agreed,” she said, and right then and there she made up her mind to read Eunice’s copy of Gathering Up the Pieces before she wrapped it.

      The doctor’s attention shifted to the man sitting on Amanda’s left. He said he’d lost his job, and the fact that Christmas was coming up made things harder. A woman in the row behind Amanda talked about her child’s serious illness. Finally, after about twenty minutes had passed, everyone had spoken except Jordan.

      He rubbed his chin, which was already showing a five o’clock shadow, and cleared his throat. Amanda, feeling his tension and reluctance as though they were her own, laid her hand gently on his arm.

      “The worst thing that ever happened to me,” he said in a low, almost inaudible voice, “was losing my wife.”

      “How did it happen?” the doctor asked.

      Jordan looked as though he wanted to bolt out of his chair and stride up the aisle to the doors, but he answered the question. “A motorcycle accident.”

      “Were you driving?” Dr. Marshall’s expression was sympathetic.

      “Yes,” СКАЧАТЬ