To Heal a Heart. Arlene James

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      Laughter came easily to Piper, Mitch noticed, despite the deep well of dark emotion that he had glimpsed behind that pretty face earlier. A quick smile and an impish sense of humor were second nature to Piper Wynne, but they did not disguise her pain.

      She was harboring some sort of secret; yet when her amber eyes lit with that personal sense of the absurd, Mitch couldn’t help smiling. Something in her spoke to him.

      After dinner she insisted on helping his mother clean up. He could hear the women chatting as he rose to follow his father into the den. He’d have stayed were he was and eavesdropped on the conversation if he could have—not because he particularly wanted to know what they were talking about, but just to hear their voices. Listening to the two of them talking together made him feel peaceful and cozy.

      Why had he waited so long to start looking for someone with whom to share his life?

      ARLENE JAMES

      says, “Camp meetings, mission work and the church where my parents and grandparents were prominent members permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”

      The author of over sixty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Dallas, Texas, with her husband. Arlene says, “The rewards of motherhood have indeed been extraordinary for me. Yet I’ve looked forward to this new stage of my life.” Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade!

      To Heal a Heart

      Arlene James

      Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for Thou art with me. Thou dost prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; Thou has anointed my head with oil; my cup overflows.

      —Psalms 23:4–5

      Dear Reader,

      The Twenty-Third Psalm is a familiar passage of Scripture beloved by generations. Like many, I memorized that eloquent Old Testament chapter as a child but had difficulty relating to it. I couldn’t conceive of death, let alone the “valley of the shadow of death,” and I had no enemies. Even taken allegorically, neither term seemed applicable to anyone I knew. Thankfully, I reached adulthood before I came to a personal understanding of the concepts involved. When I got to that point, this Psalm (along with other precious Scriptures) helped me remember the sufficiency and intention of God’s love for us.

      Some find the concept of a loving God who can and will allow tragedy into our lives for reasons that we cannot always comprehend to be an impossible contradiction, and yet every successful parent knows what strength, wisdom and love are required to allow a child to learn by suffering. Of course, we do everything in our power to minimize our children’s pain, but some very necessary lessons, like learning how to deal with loss, can only be accomplished via experience.

      Thankfully God loves us enough, as Mitch and Piper’s story demonstrates, to supply our every need, and that includes joy. He wants the very best for us, and, remember, sweet is best when it follows sour. I hope I’ve given you a taste of each and that you always have more of the sweet!

      God Bless,

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Epilogue

      Chapter One

      The first day of September was shaping up to be one for the record books, Mitch thought wryly, jogging down the airport causeway, briefcase containing his laptop computer in one hand.

      First he’d overslept, unaware that the electricity had been off for several hours during the night due to an industrial accident that had taken out a transformer. As a result, he’d missed the early flight to Houston. To make matters worse, in his haste he’d grabbed a pair of mismatched socks and hadn’t realized it until he’d looked down while retrieving a dropped pen during a witness deposition. The witness, a prim and proper middle-aged woman, had already been irritated because Mitch had shown up more than an hour late for their appointment. One look at his black-and-blue-sock combination and she’d become convinced that he was a “low-budget shyster,” to be exact, and had terminated the interview.

      As if that weren’t bad enough, he’d been caught in one of Houston’s infamous traffic jams and was in danger of missing his return flight to Dallas. Thank God for cell phones and understanding shuttle bus drivers. They’d sped all the way from the rental car agency to the terminal, taking turns without an inch to spare and gunning through a yellow light along the way. The worst part was that he hadn’t gotten the information he needed to prevent his client from receiving a stiff sentence for what had essentially been a foolish prank.

      Maybe God was trying to tell him something. It wasn’t the first time Mitch had thought about slowing down, maybe lightening his case load a little, but work had been his focus for so long now, he wasn’t sure what he’d be slowing down for. If he did manage to make the flight, maybe he could find time later that evening to think about some important personal issues, like his priorities and his future.

      He rounded a column and jogged into the waiting area of Gate 27 just as the ticket agent was about to close the boarding-ramp door.

      “Wait!”

      The agent, a stocky Hispanic male, turned, smiled and inquired, “Mr. Sayer?”

      Nodding, Mitch came to a stop and bent forward slightly, gasping, “Did I make it?”

      “Barely,” he answered as Mitch set down his briefcase and batted back the side of his suit coat to fish his ID from the front pocket of his pants. “If you hadn’t called ahead, I’d have given away your seat and already released the plane.”

      “Thanks for waiting,” Mitch said, lifting his briefcase from the floor.

      The man checked his identification, nodded and stepped back. “Have a nice day.”

      Mitch smiled and flipped his wallet closed, slipping past the barrier tape to the door beyond, briefcase in hand. He heard the ticket agent radio the flight attendant to reopen the hatch as he trotted down the enclosed ramp.

      Just as Mitch rounded a sharp turn, he spotted a folded sheet of paper on the floor. Small and lined, it looked to be filled on both sides with handwriting. Thinking that someone who had boarded the plane before him might have dropped some important notes, he scooped up the paper. The hatch slid open just then, and an attractive brunette female flight attendant smiled at him.

      “Find a seat quickly,” she instructed as he twisted past her. “We’ve got an immediate departure window.”

      Mitch meant to hand her the sheet of paper he’d found, but she hurried away the instant the hatch was secured. Not wanting to