A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband: A Hopeful Heart. Lois Richer

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      “It’s all because of that awful grandson of yours,” Hope complained. “He flies into town, all handsome and debonair, and sweeps the girl off her feet.”

      “So you think he’s handsome, do you?” Judge Conroy’s eyes twinkled.

      “Of course he’s handsome,” Hope spluttered. “You know very well he takes after you, Harry, and you were a heartbreaker at that age. You still are.”

      “Do tell,” Harry murmured with a smile of appreciation, allowing himself to preen.

      “But you had some scruples. You would never have up and asked a woman to live with you so cold-bloodedly.”

      Judge Conroy absently turned down the dirt road that led to the park beside the river where he’d courted his wife years ago. It wasn’t much of a river now, of course. And he wasn’t as young as he once was. But oh, my, things did sound promising!

      “Mitch has asked someone to live with him?” he repeated softly. “That’s strange. I didn’t think the boy had any intention of getting married.”

      “He doesn’t,” Hope shrieked in exasperation. “He wants her to live in sin with him.”

      The judge stared at her as if she’d lost her marbles, sending Hope’s blood pressure soaring.

      “I hardly think Mitch would suggest—”

      “Oh, yes, he would,” she contradicted him. “I was visiting Nettie Rivers. We were sitting in her room, right by the window, and I distinctly heard him ask Melanie to move in with him.” She slammed the door of the car and stomped to a clearing beside a tiny waterfall. “Well, I’m not having it,” she spluttered, sinking down onto the blanket Harry spread. “Do you hear me?”

      “Yes, dear,” he murmured, trying to understand. It didn’t sound at all like Mitch, but then the boy did have a mind of his own. “I’ll talk to him,” he promised, patting her hand commiseratingly.

      “It won’t do any good,” Hope murmured, squeezing his hand gently. “But thank you. No, Charity’s determined to go along with it all. She thinks Melanie needs to see what she’s missing, working with old people all the time.”

      “Perhaps she’s right about that, Hope. She is the girl’s mother, after all. Charity wants to see Melanie happily married with her own children. So do I, for that matter.” He stared at her. “Let’s pray about it, dear. God can do anything. He can certainly handle this.”

      They bowed their heads, and Judge Conroy murmured a short petition, asking for guidance and help for their friends and relatives.

      “Do you feel better now, dear?” he asked, after they’d finished the low-fat potato salad, cold sliced chicken sandwiches with tomato, lettuce and spicy mustard. For dessert, there was fruit salad and hot, fragrant herbal tea.

      “A little,” Hope conceded. She stared into the woods. “I think I shall keep my eye on that situation. Perhaps I can be of help.”

      “But won’t you be busy contacting the authorities about Jean?” he asked softly, knowing it wouldn’t hurt her to discuss her past love. To the judge’s immense surprise, Hope shook her head.

      “No,” she told him firmly. “I’ve decided to turn that over to the Lord. Jean has been gone for a long time. It’s very doubtful that he’s survived at all, but if, for some strange reason, he turns up alive, I’ll be happy and I’ll learn to deal with it. Somehow.”

      “What are you going to do?” Harry asked with a frown.

      “Exactly what I’ve been doing for the past twenty-five years,” Hope told him with a smile. “Take each day as it comes and plan on making it the best yet.”

      “Good,” he agreed after a moment. “And I’ll be here to share them with you.”

      “You have been for a long time now,” she murmured, staring at his bald head as if she hadn’t noticed it before. “We’ve had some good times, haven’t we, Harry? You and Anna and I. She was my very best friend, you know. I always felt as if she was my sister.”

      Harry frowned.

      “Well, I don’t feel like your brother,” he muttered. To his delight she giggled, leaning nearer to kiss him on one cheek.

      “You don’t look like him, either,” she assured him, laughing. She jumped to her feet and tugged his arm. “Come on, lazybones. I let you feed me all that delicious food. The least you can do is help me walk it off.”

      “All right,” he agreed meekly. “But I carefully planned a low-fat meal, just as you prefer. You know that. As long as we just walk. I’m too old for anything else.”

      Hope’s blue eyes twinkled with mischief.

      “Really?” she asked. “That’s too bad.”

      Harry let her lead him down the path, resisting an urge to kiss her then and there. But no, he decided. He’d bide his time. They were just beginning to get closer, and she was only starting to come to terms with the possibility of Jean’s reappearance. Everything looked positive, but he’d keep mentioning things to the Lord, just the same. A little heavenly guidance couldn’t hurt, he decided, hearing Hope’s sudden burst of laughter.

      Chapter Four

      “Have a nice day, folks. Enjoy that sun.”

      Mitchel Edward Stewart was not having a nice day, despite the radio announcer’s bland wish. He had risen with a splitting headache on his first day off in weeks. The coffeemaker had refused to cooperate, and his doughnut supply was tapped out.

      It should have been simple. Everything was so carefully planned. He would pick up some supplies from downtown and then he was heading out for a day at the beach. Sun, sand and surf, that’s what he needed. Maybe even a cold root beer.

      Sighing, he stared balefully at his bright red sports car once more. Apparently, some things were not to be. The expensive engine refused to respond to his orders, and since anything under the hood of an automobile gave him hives, Mitch had called the shop.

      “Nope, can’t touch it today.” The youngster’s voice was less than helpful. At least he thought it was. You could barely hear over the crashing of some heavy metal band in the background.

      “Pardon?”

      “No can do, dude.”

      “And why is that?” Mitchel had forced a tight rein of control on his temper and prayed for strength. Impudent little brat!

      “Mechanic’s out sick. Have a good one!” With a click, the kid had hung up on him, leaving Mitchel to bite out a particularly choice epithet that divulged his irritation with the world in general.

      “Something I said?”

      He groaned, recognizing her voice immediately. Why now, why today? He turned to face Miss Melanie Stewart, a flush of red hinting at his turmoil.

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