Whispers Of The Heart. Ruth Scofield

there, and all the fresh fruit and veggies she’d passed by yesterday in favor of getting the staples.

      Before she could give herself time to become anxious, she yanked on her favorite faded green sweats and left her building. She sprinted the two and a half blocks to the marketplace, then slowed as she took in the scene, fighting the clutch in her stomach.

      True to her hopes, she found some stalls already open for the morning, but only a few shoppers. She could handle this. It wouldn’t be bad at all. She even smiled at the vendors, the ones with the outside tables, while making her choices, careful to buy only what she could carry. She tried not to rush, telling herself to slow down long enough to savor the experience.

      One of the stalls had freshly baked bread and rolls. She paused. The fragrance made her mouth water, and she couldn’t resist them.

      Now she could go home. She’d taken this expedition in stride.

      Leaving the growing bustle of the market, she resisted breaking into a run by sheer determination. By the time she turned her corner, putting the market completely out of sight, she could slow to a stroll.

      She wouldn’t admit to the amount of relief she felt. Or the very slight shaking of her knees.

      The fragrance of the rolls drifted with enticing demand. Like an eager child, she pulled out a breakfast sweet roll, its center filled with cream cheese and pineapple, and took a bite. She still had her mouth full when she heard Brent’s greeting.

      “Good morning, Autumn. Nice morning, isn’t it?”

      He stood beside his red sedan, parked in front of his building. He wore jeans today, and a brown T-shirt that matched his eyes.

      She nodded and swallowed. “Mm, yes, it’s a lovely morning. I’ve been to the market already,” she couldn’t resist telling him, a childish pride breaking through her usual shyness. Though she knew he had no idea of her disability, it was nice to share this bit of victory anyway. She could hardly wait to tell Spring she’d shopped two days in a row, with people all around her. She wouldn’t tell her about how badly her knees shook.

      “Nice time for a walk,” he commented.

      Brent watched the quick, lovely smile fade into uncertainty, her lashes dropping to hide her thoughts. He wondered what it would take to keep her talking. He’d watched her come up the hill from the market, having spied her before he pulled into their street. She’d taken long strides at first, as though in a great hurry, then slowed to a stroll as she turned the corner. As if she now felt safe. She hadn’t seemed aware of him until he spoke.

      “Yes, it is,” she conceded. Already, she wanted to retreat—he saw it in her eyes.

      What was it? What was she afraid of? Why did she so often withdraw, as though she didn’t want him to get too friendly? Was she really that shy, or didn’t she like him? Most people did, and he usually returned the regard, but…Autumn puzzled him.

      Maybe she had a boyfriend, though he hadn’t seen anyone visit her—and he thought he might have, since his office desk faced the street window and he often found himself watching the traffic.

      Perhaps the truth was more basic than that. Simply put, she just might not be interested in him.

      He supposed it could be that, though he’d seldom met a woman who turned him down flat. On the whole, he liked women, even liked them a lot, though it had been a very long time since he’d met a woman who interested him in any personal way. This one did. Why, he hadn’t yet figured out.

      Perhaps he was at last ready to find a new woman to love.

      Other than casual, friendly dates, he’d lived without a woman in his life, except his mother, since that awful day Felice smashed her car and herself into nothing. Three and a half years ago, next week.

      Since then, he’d contented himself in his faith, work and family, and a renewed interest in community service. That was why he’d moved his offices downtown. He wanted to be a big part of the city’s urban renewal.

      “Daddy, can I get on your computer now?”

      About to turn away, Autumn’s gaze dropped to the small boy who stepped from his father’s shadow. About four, she guessed, the child had the same ginger-colored bright-eyed gaze as Brent.

      “This is my son, Tim,” Brent said. “Timmy, this is Miss Barbour.”

      The boy stared at her in curiosity for a long moment, then smiled. “You have icing on your mouth.”

      “I do?”

      “Uh-huh. Have a tissue?”

      “Oh, yes, I suppose I do.” She smiled at the boy and fished in her pocket for one. “I just bought some wonderful baked goods down at the market and had to have a sweet roll right away. They’re the best when they’re so fresh, you know.” She thrust the bag toward him. “There’s two chocolate donuts in here. Would you like one?”

      Timmy turned to his father. “Can I?”

      “Sure, if you recall your manners.”

      Autumn held her paper bag out farther. The little boy reached in and helped himself, saying his thank you at the same time his mouth took a huge bite. She offered the bag toward Brent.

      “Thanks, think I will. We didn’t take time for breakfast this morning. Say, I have about an hour’s work to take care of here, then Tim and I are going to find a real all-American breakfast. Want to come along?”

      “Oh, no…” Autumn thought it time for her to take her leave, sidling toward her door. “Thank you for inviting me, though. I, um, have a project I’m eager to finish.”

      “Did you get all your boxes put away?”

      “Not exactly. I have to find a ladder.”

      “Ah. I’d loan you one, but I haven’t any here at the office.”

      “That’s all right. I need to buy one, I guess. You were right when you said I’d never reach the top third of my shelves without one.”

      “If you’re going out today, I could help you pick it out and carry it home for you. Those things get pretty heavy.”

      “They do? Well,” she glanced down the hill toward the market area. The current festival, a spring flower show, she thought, was getting under way with incoming trucks and cars. Saturdays were busy everywhere merchandise was sold. Saturdays spelled crowds. No, she couldn’t go out again today.

      “I don’t think I’ll go today. Perhaps I can get a store to deliver one.”

      “If you wish, I can get Sam and Josh to pick up one for you and deliver it right to your door. They’re coming this way one day next week.”

      “Oh. Why, that would…that would be very helpful, thank you. Yes, please. I’ll certainly pay them for their time.”

      “Let’s worry about that later, shall we? Sam and Josh are good buddies.”

      “Daddy, can I get a drink of water?”

      Brent and Autumn glanced at the child at the same time. His mouth smeared with chocolate, he looked like a clown.

      “Whoa, there, Timmy pal,” Brent said, laughing. “You need a wash along with that drink.”

      Autumn felt her own mouth tug into a smile. “Now you need the tissues,” she said, offering one from her pocket. “I’ll bet your mom would scold us both.”

      “My mom can’t scold me. She’s in heaven,” Timmy said very casually as he accepted the tissue, swiping at his mouth and upper lip. Smears of chocolate remained on his cheek, on his chin, on his fingers.

      Autumn examined the little boy’s face, then Brent’s. The child couldn’t have known his mother very well. His eyes carried no sorrow, only knowledge of a fact. But Brent’s swift gaze told her he still felt a stab of grief.

      “I