In the Light of Love. Deborah Fletcher Mello
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Название: In the Light of Love
Автор: Deborah Fletcher Mello
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Короткие любовные романы
Серия: Mills & Boon Kimani
isbn: 9781474026840
isbn:
Despite her pouting, Jericho had spent the balance of their evening struggling to make Shannon happy. A spontaneous stop at a local jeweler had netted Shannon a diamond tennis bracelet and cost him a month’s salary. After promising to take her away for a one-week holiday in Hawaii for her birthday, Shannon had seemed pacified and back at her apartment she’d feigned contentment. Later that night, as they lay side by side in her bed, he could never have imagined what would happen next.
The clock had barely struck midnight when the bickering began, Shannon once again imploring him to change his weekend plans to be with her. The bickering had increased to an all-out battle with Shannon throwing her possessions from one side of the residence to the other. When she’d lunged at him, slapping his face with the palm of her hand, it had taken every ounce of restraint for Jericho not to hit her back. The arrival of Atlanta’s finest, beating their nightsticks against the front door in response to a neighbor’s complaint should have been enough, but Shannon had taken their disagreement to a point of no return.
The duo had been separated, him in the living room and she in the bedroom, as the two law enforcement officers listened first to his side of the story and then to hers. Then, to Jericho’s dismay, he’d been handcuffed and hauled off to the local police precinct, having to defend himself against an accusation of domestic violence. Shannon Porter had accused him of assault, the tale of her attack complete with sobbing tears and enough dramatic innuendo to place doubt on Jericho’s character. Four hours of questioning had finally unearthed the truth and Jericho had been released.
Heartbreak couldn’t hold a candle to the pain Jericho had felt. Everything within him had been destroyed. As the sun rose that next morning, so did Jericho’s resolve. Shannon Porter became dead to him, nothing more than a faint memory of a bad time in his life. He’d never told his parents or hers what had happened between them. He still didn’t know why, just wanting nothing more than to place as much distance between him, her and the memory as he could find. He believed that if he didn’t have to discuss it, the easier it would be for him to forget. And now Shannon had the audacity to proclaim her blatant betrayal a mere mistake and her love for him to be real.
The little boy stood at Jericho’s knee, watching him curiously. It was only then that Jericho realized his face was damp from his tears. Glancing quickly around to see if anyone else had noticed, he wiped the moisture against the back of his hand and forced himself to smile down at the child.
“What’s your name?” he asked, leaning toward the toddler. “My name’s Jericho.”
The boy laughed, his curly head bobbing against his shoulders as he turned back to his mother, reaching to wrap his arms around the woman’s legs. Jericho made a funny face, his eyes bugging out from his head, his tongue reaching down to his chin and the child responded with one of his own. They both laughed and for a quick moment, Jericho allowed the memories of Shannon Porter to stay dead.
Chapter 8
Stepping from the plane, Jericho inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of Mother Africa. The essence of her homeland was intoxicating and he was delirious with joy at being cradled in the arm of her vastness. As he maneuvered his way through customs and immigration he was greeted warmly by black men whose faces resembled the faces of friends and family back in Atlanta. Outside of the large white building, the warmth of sunshine rained down upon him, cascading heat through his body. The scent of flora planted in stone containers lined the airport’s walkways, the vibrant color of hibiscus and porcelain roses standing bright against the man-made backdrop.
In the exterior of the arrival area, minivan drivers waited patiently for their charges, many holding neatly printed signs announcing the names of the passengers they awaited or the hotels they represented. They were each dark complexioned, skin tones ranging from deep chocolate-brown to a deeper blue-black. All were dressed conservatively, cotton slacks in navy, black or khaki, complemented by button-down dress shirts in pastels and whites.
The wide smile of Jericho’s former college roommate and best friend, Peter Colleu, greeted him warmly, the man waving his hand excitedly in Jericho’s direction. The man’s deep voice and familiar accent called out his name as he rushed over to wrap his friend in a brotherly embrace.
“My friend,” Peter chimed. “Welcome to my home.”
Jericho grinned back, patting his friend’s protruding stomach. “You look good, Peter. I see that wife of yours is feeding you well!”
Peter laughed. “You should find a woman to do the same for you, my friend.”
The two continued laughing as Peter led the way to his vehicle and ushered Jericho into the passenger seat.
“So, how was your flight?”
Jericho sighed. “Long. I’m glad for it to be over.”
“Well, you are here safely. Are you now ready to work? I have much work for you to do.”
Jericho nodded. “Just say when.”
Peter nodded his head. His expression became serious as he began to speak. “We are grateful to have you here with us. Our children need a good doctor.”
“How many are with you now?”
“We have twenty-seven orphans plus too many to count in the villages. They have been abandoned because their parents had no way to feed them or disease has wiped out their families.”
“How are you getting funding to take care of them?”
Peter glanced quickly toward his friend, then returned his gaze back to the road. “Donations have helped. Your parents have been very generous. Their last check helped with the construction of the school.”
Jericho smiled, nodding his head ever so slightly. “My mother believes in what you are doing. You know that all you have to do is ask and it is yours.”
His friend grinned. “Did she send me that package?”
Laughter filled the interior of the car as Jericho chortled wholeheartedly. “She sent boxes of Butterfinger candy bars and Ding Dongs. More than enough to rot their teeth out.”
“Whose teeth? That candy is for me!”
The two men continued chatting excitedly, catching up on the time that had elapsed since Peter had last been in the United States. As Peter maneuvered his vehicle along Gaba Road, the rising city stood out against a backdrop of plush, white clouds floating against a vibrant blue sky.
Conversation waned as Jericho’s attention shifted to the views outside the window. An ebony-toned woman stood roadside, an infant clinging to her back. The mother’s garments were well-worn, a purple, floral print skirt and green polo shirt hanging against her thin body. A large bowl of newly-picked bananas rested against the top of her head.
Peddlers traveled the length of roadway, some by foot, others riding on mopeds or pedaling bicycles. Peter caught him staring, then gestured with his head. “They are bodas,” he said, pointing to the young men on minibikes. “Bodas will deliver anything, anywhere.”
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