Wonders Of The Heart. Ruth Scofield

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      “That isn’t necessary,” he muttered, letting irony lace his words. If he’d been a burglar or otherwise bad guy, her actions held all the intimidation of a mouse’s. “I have a key.”

      “You do?”

      “I do. Where’s Mrs. Hinkle?”

      “Who?”

      He hardened his jaw, as her gaze went a little wider. Did she think he’d buy that innocent act? What was she trying to pull? Some kind of scam? Something was definitely out of kilter here. “Mrs. Hinkle. Where is she?”

      “Um.” She pursed her nicely shaped lips into a pretty pout. “Sir, are you sure you have the right apartment? Perhaps—”

      Just a shade too polite. Not a New Yorker. She was a good actress, he’d give her that.

      Was that it? Was she one of the many young things who came to New York every year hoping to break into theater, and she’d conned her way into his household?

      “Uh-uh. You can’t pull that.” His irritation boiled to the surface and he stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “This is my apartment.”

      “I think, sir—” She retreated, two spots of color blossoming in her cheeks. Her gaze never wavered from his face as she fumbled behind her for the phone lying on the shadowed lamp table. “—that you should identify yourself immediately, or I will call Security.”

      “That’s an excellent idea, missy. Call Security. And you may identify yourself! And tell me where my sister is,” he demanded, his tone harsh and threatening. “Explain what you’ve done with her.”

      “Chad!” Honor Suzanne shouted behind him. She quickly stepped around and into the room to stand beside the young woman. “Here I am—don’t get yourself into a twist. Nothing’s wrong.”

      “Honor,” he croaked. He waited a moment to let his pounding heart slow down. “It’s about time you made an appearance. I thought— I was beginning to think the worst.”

      “Well, there isn’t a worst. At least, not now,” Honor insisted. “This is Spring. And you don’t have to scare us out of our back teeth. It’s late and you’re home early. We didn’t expect you till next week.”

      “Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing at his watch. Ten o’clock wasn’t late by New York standards. Unclenching his hands, he twitched a shoulder in irritation. Why should he apologize for coming home at any time he chose?

      Spring continued to stare at him, eyes wide, then she abruptly caught her breath as though breaking a spell.

      “Chad.” Her color spread into her hairline. “Of course. I should’ve known. I’m so sorry. I’m the one to apologize, and I do so humbly. You obviously didn’t remember about me being here. I’m Spring Barbour.”

      She thrust her hand forward in a rather formal offer to shake hands. He took it slowly, enveloping her slender fingers and palm in his for a required moment. He felt the delicate bones beneath, and slid a thumb across warm skin.

      “I don’t recall being told of your presence at all,” he murmured.

      “Oh, really?” she said with a slight frown in Honor Suzanne’s direction. “Sorry. I suppose that information must have been lost along the way? But you don’t look like those snapshots Honor has of you, do you? Not much, anyway. My goodness, they must’ve been taken ages ago. Otherwise, I would’ve recognized you right off. You should have something professionally done, really.”

      She dropped his hand, leaving his palm with a sense of loss. “But it doesn’t matter now…” She trailed off.

      Good. She’d hushed. He’d begun to think she never breathed. Yet her voice was soft, with a gentle accent.

      He glanced at his sister, wondering about her choice in friends. At twenty years her senior, he didn’t know much about teenagers, and supposed he’d have to study a bit to get up to speed.

      Spring moved to turn off the CD player, her midnight blue skirts, made of some floaty material, dancing around her ankles. Raveling threads tickled her toes. He noticed for the first time that the hem wasn’t stitched. He’d already noted she had only one sleeve in the top, the neckline slanting to reveal a graceful white throat. Her dark hair fell like feathers against her bare shoulders.

      “That’s a long ride in from the airport, isn’t it?” she picked up again as she turned back. “What time did you land?”

      “Couple of hours ago,” he muttered, wondering who and what she was. He still wanted to know where Mrs. Hinkle had gone, thinking the woman had better have a doggone excellent excuse for allowing this young person to move into his apartment.

      Where was the girl sleeping? He’d had to give up his den to accommodate the housekeeper. Another body in his apartment would put a big crunch in his life, on his space. And privacy. He had enough adjustments to face as it was.

      “I’ll just bet you’re hungry,” Spring continued. “Did you have anything? No? Honor, did you finish that English paper?”

      “Uh-huh. Eight pages,” Honor said, looking pleased. “It’s much better now, since you showed me where I missed my theme. Bound to pull an A.”

      “Good. Then you can start the tea kettle while I change. I’ll only be a minute. Chad, why don’t you go on into the kitchen with Honor, and I’ll be there in a minute to find something for you to eat.”

      “You will?” Why should she? He could take care of himself. And he wasn’t a guest!

      And where was that blasted housekeeper?

      But his words only trailed her, as Spring disappeared down the hall. He turned to his sister. “Where’s Mrs. Hinkle?”

      “Um, Chad…” Honor laid a hand on his arm, anxiously coaxing him past the dining room alcove and into the kitchen. “Mrs. Hinkle isn’t here.”

      “I can see that.” The dining alcove was a mess. The table was covered with some of the same dark cloth Spring wore, and a sewing machine sat at the end. Scraps and loose threads lay on the floor. He yanked his gaze back to his sister’s face. “Where is she?”

      “I fired her.”

      “Excuse me?” He halted in the middle of the small kitchen, realizing that something had changed there, but unable to give it the attention it deserved in the face of Honor Suzanne’s news. “You can’t be serious.”

      “Well, I am. I did. I hired Spring, instead.”

      “You what?” He couldn’t believe what he’d heard. No one in their right mind would allow a fourteen-year-old to hire or fire an employee. What had the employment agency said? Who had she talked with?

      “I hired Spring…”

      “How could you? What about the employment agency?”

      “They didn’t have much to say about it after the letter I wrote. I didn’t like Mrs. Hinkle.”

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