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

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      “But it says right here,” she said, reading the letter once more. Her eyes flew upward. “Don’t you believe them?”

      “Yes, of course.” He felt constrained to agree. “It’s just that I’ll feel better when it’s all settled.” A lot better, he thought.

      “So will I,” Melanie burst out excitedly. Her eyes were glowing.

      Mitch felt his heart drop to his highly polished loafers. She was too trusting, he decided. Melanie counted on that prize money to help her friends. She couldn’t imagine not receiving it after all this time.

      He, on the other hand, was well aware of just how swiftly her fortune could be rescinded in light of the errors that appeared on her application. Mitch made his decision. He wasn’t going to be the one to erase the joy from her glowing face. His heart began its thudding beat as he stared into her rapt gaze. She was so beautiful. And so far beyond his reach.

      The paging system disturbed their self-analysis, jolting each back to reality.

      “I have got to get moving,” Melanie told him. Her voice seemed breathy. She slipped around him to edge inside the building but his long legs caught up to her immediately.

      “I’ll walk you there,” he offered, still dumbfounded by the depth of emotion he had seen in those deep eyes.

      In her office, Melanie turned to call Bridget, allowing Mitch just enough time to scoop up the card he had included with the cat. It would not do to let her know the truth, he decided. Stuffing it into his pocket, he turned and came face to face with a grinning Bridget. She flicked her bright red nail at his lapel.

      “Not such a good idea,” she teased, laughing. “Next time try flowers.”

      Mitch tried to look nonchalant when Melanie called his name.

      “Yes?” he answered, his blue eyes thoughtfully studying her.

      “Aren’t you going to work?” Melanie’s impatient voice was like a douse of cold water. Glancing at his watch, Mitch strode to the door.

      “Lord, yes. I’ve got to be in court in ten minutes. Gramps will probably cite me for contempt,” he admitted. “See you later.” With a wave he was gone, leaving Melanie to stare curiously after him.

      She wasn’t sure what it was all about, or even why he’d come. But, somehow, she felt as if Mitch had seen into her soul. Which probably was not good, given that Melanie seemed constantly attracted to his lean good looks.

      Sighing, she turned to smile at a hovering Bridget, who stood inside the door with a box of tissues and a small vacuum. Now, for the cat.

      Eight hours later, Melanie wished the cat was the sum total of her problems. She forced herself to sit and listen to the angry man deriding her and her staff for their inconsiderate lack of attention to the plight of families who came to visit the residents.

      “Yes, Mr. Johnson, I realize that everyone works nowadays, but our clients need to eat their meals at a regularly scheduled time each day. We encourage them to come to the dining rooms on time, to eat with the others and to limit their snack foods.” She waited for the next onslaught.

      The blustering man’s whining voice grew louder.

      “But surely when we have made the effort to get here to see our mother, you could adjust the dinner hour somewhat?” His soulful brown eyes drooped with sadness.

      Melanie’s temper was wearing thin after forty minutes of his griping. There was still so much to be done before her daily to-do list was even halfway complete. She decided to set him straight and make her point without any pussyfooting around.

      “Mr. Johnson,” she said, her soft voice firm. “You have been to see your mother, what?” She consulted the open book in front of her. “Two times in the past month.”

      The man had the grace to turn red, but Melanie was relentless.

      “Your mother is here every day of every week, all year long. She is hypoglycemic, which means that she has to eat regularly to maintain her blood sugar levels.” She gave him her most severe nurse look. “Please don’t ask me to adjust the routine of your mother and the other eighty-six residents, thirty-odd staff and an entire kitchen just so you can drop in for a visit once in a blue moon.” She closed the big binder with a thud and stood in dismissal.

      “I’m sorry, but you will have to wait until Mrs. Johnson is finished her meal or return at another time.” Her tone suggested that she didn’t particularly care which.

      Grumbling and complaining, the man took his leave. Melanie sank into her chair with a groan.

      “I didn’t know we kept track of the residents’ visitors.” Bridget smirked from the doorway.

      Grinning, Melanie held up the accounts ledger for housekeeping. “We don’t, but it worked, so don’t knock it.” They giggled together for a few moments before Bridget spoke.

      “You still need to call Mr. Richards’s family about his clothes,” she chided, glancing at her watch. “Or should I say lack of!” Bridget’s round face beamed with mirth. “And then get out of here. It’s after seven.” She clucked at Melanie like a mother hen guarding her chick.

      Two and a half hours later, at the end of a killer fourteen-hour day, Melanie reluctantly dragged her aching body into the apartment she shared with Mitch and Hope. Tossing her purse and sweater on the sofa, Melanie sprawled on the soft, cool comfort of Mitch’s leather sofa, dreaming of a bubble bath.

      “That’s all I want,” she mumbled wearily. “That and someone to cook me a wonderful dinner,” she elaborated, closing her eyes for just a moment.

      “Melanie.” A big hand was shaking her and Melanie wished it would go away. She pulled one eye open with the maximum effort and saw a pair of huge blue eyes peering into hers.

      Not now, she prayed. She couldn’t deal with a sexily rumpled corporate type right now. She shut her eye and resumed her fantasy.

      “Oh, boy, you look bad.” Mitch’s deep voice rumbled beside her right ear, bringing her awake.

      “I know, don’t even say it,” Melanie ordered halfheartedly. “I’ve been doing CPR on a resident.” She glanced into his dark eyes. Tiredness caused the tears to course down her wan cheeks. “We lost him.”

      To his credit, Mitch never said a word. He just tugged her gently into his arms and let her bawl on his new blue shirt. When she was finished, he wiped her eyes gently and then sat on the sofa behind her, propping her up.

      “Come on, lady.” He urged her forward a little, his hands moving to her shoulders. “I’ll give you a massage.” His long, lean fingers kneaded the tensely knotted muscles in her shoulders. “You’re dead on your feet.”

      Melanie was too tired to do anything but relax against him and let him do all the work.

      “Mmm,” she moaned, unable to move an inch. “I guess dreams really do come true.” She tipped her head and peered at him from beneath lowered lids. “Did you bring dinner? Something yummy like chicken chop suey or moo goo gai pan?”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ