To Heal a Heart. Arlene James

charge. Seems he was not exactly a fan of his buddy’s little brother, and the D.A. was taking a hard line until my witness remembered seeing that. She’s the reason I was on that plane, by the way. How about you?”

      “It was the cheapest airfare,” she told him honestly.

      He chuckled. “Yeah. It’s bare bones on those daily shuttle flights, but that’s not what I meant. I was wondering what it is exactly that you do for a living.”

      “Oh. I thought I told you.”

      “You told me that you work for an insurance company,” he said before taking another bite of his lunch.

      She lifted her sandwich and nibbled at it. “That’s right. Case review. You know, that’s where a rejected claim is appealed, so it goes for review, and I either have to justify the refusal to pay or offer some settlement.” She wrinkled her nose, thinking how often she’d complained about some asinine bureaucrat dictating treatment to facilities like the one where she used to be employed. “Like you said, somebody’s got to do it.”

      “Okay. Gotcha. Go on.”

      “That’s about it,” she said.

      “What about family?”

      “Everyone has family,” she answered evasively. “Even you, I assume.”

      He nodded. “My parents live in the White Rock Lake area to the east of here. What about yours?”

      “Oh, they’re in Houston.”

      “So that’s where you grew up?”

      “No, actually, we lived overseas.”

      “Really? Whereabouts?”

      “Thailand.”

      “Ah, the sandpipers.”

      “That’s right.”

      “Must’ve been interesting.”

      “Well, I’ll tell you, it was quite a culture shock when I came to the States in, like, seventh grade to attend boarding school in Tulsa.”

      He polished off the chili dog and wiped his mouth and fingers with a napkin that he plucked from the folded wrapper, careful not to get anything on his pristine white shirt or dark tie. “So what you’re telling me is that your parents stayed in Thailand?”

      “For forty-two years.”

      He cocked his head. “What business was your father in?”

      She looked at her sandwich. “They were missionaries.”

      She felt it the instant he figured it out. It was as if something popped.

      “Your father is Ransome Wynne.”

      “You’ve heard of him,” she said mildly, a little disappointed.

      “Oh, my goodness. Heard of him? Ransome and Charlotte Wynne are giants in the mission field. I heard him speak once, a long time ago. His faith just astounded me.”

      Piper nodded and tried to smile, but an ache had started in her chest. She fought it desperately. Her companion seemed not to notice.

      “Ransome Wynne,” he murmured. “Imagine that.”

      Piper stuffed her sandwich back into her bag and hastily rose, glancing blindly at her watch. “Look at the time. I have to get back.” She turned away, automatically adding over her shoulder, “Nice to see you again.”

      “Wait a minute,” he insisted. “You forgot this.” Pivoting on her heel, she found him right behind her, the folded newspaper in one hand, his suit coat carried once more in the crook of his arm, as if it just naturally gravitated there. He tapped the paper with a forefinger. “This is it,” he said.

      “What?”

      “My church.” He lifted the paper a little higher so she could read the small ad tucked in among so many others in the church directory section. “Maybe I’ll see you on Sunday.”

      She actually recognized the address as being in her neighborhood, but she didn’t say so. “I’m not sure yet about Sunday.”

      “You’d be most welcome.”

      She met his gaze then, confirming the interest that his tone had seemed to suggest—personal interest. She took the paper from him and tucked it beneath her arm.

      “Thank you,” she said a trifle breathlessly. “I have to get back.”

      “Yeah, me, too.” He snagged the collar of his suit coat with the curve of his forefinger, tossing it over his shoulder. She started off again.

      “Bye.”

      “See you,” he called after her, and it sounded as if he might have added under his breath, “Soon,” but she couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t look back. She didn’t dare. Something about him brought her raw emotions too close to the surface and made her heart beat just a little too fast. That somehow seemed threatening, since she often wondered if her heart had ceased to function entirely.

      Chapter Three

      Mitchell was astounded. The most interesting, attractive woman he’d met in years was Ransome and Charlotte Wynne’s daughter! How amazing was that? The Wynnes were personal heroes of his. He could only shake his head at the thought of it. His parents would be as blown away as he was—if he told them. When he told them, he amended mentally, because of course he would tell them. Eventually.

      They might jump to all kinds of unwarranted conclusions if he let that particular cat out of the bag too soon, so he had to think carefully about the timing of it. He didn’t want to disappoint them, to get them thinking that he’d found the woman God intended for him, only to come to the conclusion later that such was not the case. Better to see how things developed first.

      Eager for that, he wondered when he’d see Piper again, and then realized that he’d let her get away without asking for her telephone number or offering his own. Lifting a hand to the back of his neck, he bemoaned his own thoughtlessness, but then he chuckled. He’d see her again if he was supposed to, maybe as soon as Sunday.

      He decided that if she showed up at church he’d introduce her to his parents as the daughter of Ransome and Charlotte Wynne. If she didn’t, he’d wait to impart this interesting tidbit until after the next development, provided there was another development. Surely there would be. Surely.

      Maybe not romantic developments, though. He sensed a skittishness in her, an uncertainty, as if she weren’t quite sure if she liked him. Then again, even if she did like him, that was no guarantee she’d be attracted to him, let alone fall in love. With so much thinking ahead, he felt a little deflated.

      Maybe he’d wait to see if she came to church before talking about her again to his parents.

      A car horn blared. Feeling a little disoriented, he glanced around him, then lifted his arm to check his watch. He had time to stroll back to the office, but instead he found himself hurrying, as if he could make the day go faster and Sunday come sooner.

      Piper sighed as she punched in the code that allowed her access to her apartment. A feeling of oppression enveloped her; it wasn’t even relieved when she reached shelter. Leaden skies threatened to release their burden of rain any moment. Piper refused to think the oppression might be guilt. She was absolutely determined to be finished with guilt. Why should she feel guilty just because she’d decided to attend a church other than Mitchell Sayer’s?

      Frankly, it hadn’t been a very uplifting experience, even though the people there had seemed friendly. The music had been familiar, and she couldn’t quibble with the pastor’s sermon or delivery, but she hadn’t felt any “connection.” So what? she asked herself. At least she could scratch that particular church off her figurative list. Besides, she didn’t owe Mitch Sayer anything. As a matter of fact, she didn’t owe anyone anything, not anymore. She was a free