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

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      “Good thinking.” She laughed. “I can’t stand tofu myself. Particularly not after wading through those awful poached chicken breasts last night. They had no taste.”

      “Tell me about it.” He chuckled. “Well, what’s it to be? Artery-clogging fried chicken? Thirty fat grams of pizza? Or Faith’s favorite—Burger Heaven?”

      When Melanie beamed at him like that, Mitch wondered if it wasn’t just about time to renounce his long-held beliefs on marriage and his aversion to it. Just about.

      “None of the above. Let’s try some lean, healthful Chinese food.”

      “Good idea! Like sweet and sour ribs and deep-fried chicken balls. Health food! Now that’s my style.” He pulled away from the curb with a roar and steered off down the street.

      He couldn’t help but join in her hoot of laughter. Nor could he avoid the sense of camaraderie that being with her brought. It was almost as if he belonged.

      Chapter Six

      “Please, God, just this once, don’t let him be there.”

      Melanie prayed fervently but without much faith. Since that fateful day two weeks ago when her sane, orderly life had been traumatized by a back rub that had massaged away the aches but replaced them with desires that couldn’t be fulfilled, Mitch Stewart had dominated her thoughts.

      Lately, Mitch managed to be at their apartment whenever she was. Casually waiting, smiling that mysterious smile. As if he knew about the flicker of desire that curled in her stomach whenever she caught sight of his dark head.

      And Melanie was more aware of him than any man she had known before. Regardless of what he thought, she did remember offering him a kiss as thanks for his help. She was pretty sure she’d seen desire in his eyes at that moment. And Melanie knew Mitch had wanted her as much as she had him.

      She wanted permanence, someone to depend on, someone to build a future with. She had a sneaking suspicion Mitch might fill that bill very well, Melanie admitted. But Mitch had made it very clear that theirs was only a temporary arrangement. It would end, and they would go their separate ways.

      When she left for work, his dark blue eyes stroked over her uniform, noting every detail. When she left on a date, his glance followed every curve and line of her outfit, mentally chiding her for leaving him alone with Hope. Oh, he never said a word, of course. But she was a master at reading that poor-little-me expression.

      Of course, it’s only for the money she was staying. At least, that’s what she told herself.

      Ruthlessly ignoring the tingle of electricity that jolted through her whenever his twinkling baby blues met hers, Melanie focused on work. She came in way too early and left later than ever and was still far behind in her work. She accepted every date she was offered, even though she spent most of the time sitting thinking about who Mitch was with while she listened to someone else’s love life and their problems.

      That’s why Papa John’s visit last night had been so unexpected. And so infuriating. Hope had gone out with Harry, leaving Melanie to tolerate the friendly arm Mitch placed around her shoulders just long enough to avert suspicion before she moved across the room, far away from his big hands. And when he sat right beside her on a sofa that could have easily held six, Melanie made an excuse to refill the tea, even though the pot was still more than half full.

      “Oh, yes, we’re great friends, Mel and I,” he assured the old man, flashing that sexy smile guaranteed to weaken any woman’s knees. “We share everything from breakfast cereals to our taste in music.”

      Mel had gaped at that. Mitch liked jazz while she preferred rock music from the past. And as far as she knew, he never ate breakfast. Unless you counted doughnuts.

      The one thing they did share was their obvious lack of use of the old man’s product. Melanie sincerely hoped he wouldn’t ask for some, because she was positive there wasn’t a jar of the stuff anywhere in the apartment. But then, as usual, Mitch was miles ahead. He proudly showed their half-empty jar of nutty peanut butter to a benignly smiling Papa John.

      “This is great stuff, sir. I’ve enjoyed it every morning.” Grinning ear to ear, Mitch proceeded to wax rhapsodic about peanut butter!

      Melanie thought she would be sick.

      “Did your children eat a lot of peanut butter when they were growing up?” Mitch had asked curiously.

      When the elderly gentleman lost all his color, Melanie helped him sit down and offered him a cookie.

      “I’m afraid my only son died,” he whispered, his face chalk white with strain. “I have no other children.”

      “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Melanie murmured, patting the blue-veined hand as she glared at Mitch. “It must be terrible to lose a child.” To her disgust, Mitch continued on quite easily, as if nothing untoward had happened.

      “Yes, I imagine it must be just like losing a parent,” he said thoughtfully. “I used to know some people who lost a father in Vietnam. It was very sad.”

      Melanie didn’t think it was possible, but the old man’s color receded even further, leaving him pale and wan.

      “I, er, I was in Vietnam, too,” he murmured, his hand shaking as he sipped his tea. “I had an accident there.”

      “I’m so sorry.” Melanie rushed to reassure him, wondering why Mitch kept probing at a subject that was obviously painful. She directed a glare in his general direction, but it did absolutely no good. Mitch kept right on asking questions that were none of his business.

      “What kind of an accident?” he asked curiously. “Anything you can talk about?”

      “I, er, that is, well, you see, I lost my memory.” His eyes were distant, staring into the past. “I was hit with some flying debris when a comrade in the army stepped on a land mine.” He peered at Mitch. “I still don’t remember it all,” he murmured. “But a friend of mine has been helping me understand that what’s in the past isn’t important.”

      “But what if there was someone, some family member maybe, that had been waiting for you to return all these years?” Mitch’s eyes were deeply intense as they studied their visitor. “Wouldn’t you want them to know you’re alive and okay?”

      “Of course,” Papa John murmured. He rubbed his chin and tried to explain himself. “But I just can’t piece it all together. Not yet. Sometimes I get these pictures of someone, a woman…” He shook his head tiredly. “It’s no good. I can never remember the dreams.”

      “Perhaps a hypnotist, or some specialist,” Mitch offered quietly but Papa John shook his head.

      “No,” he said firmly. “I can’t sit around waiting anymore. I made my wife wait too long before we were married, hoping I’d remember something from the past, some clue to who I was.” His eyes filled with tears. “Because of that, we had so little time together.”

      “I’m sorry, Papa John,” Melanie murmured. “We have no right pressing you like this.” She frowned at Mitch. “This is obviously a painful subject and absolutely none of our business. I apologize for my friend.” She laid special emphasis on the last СКАЧАТЬ