A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband. Lois Richer

      “Junk-food junkie,” Melanie muttered through tightly clenched teeth. Her heart sank as she spied Hope standing on the corner, waving madly. “Just what I need to make a lousy morning really complete,” she muttered, staring at the woman’s smiling face.

      “Hi, Hope. Boy, you’re up early.”

      She tried to infuse some enthusiasm into her voice while swallowing the little prick of conscience that reminded her that Hope had risen at precisely four fifty-eight, a full half hour before her own alarm went off.

      “Yes, I had some thinking to do,” Hope murmured, buckling herself in carefully after arching one eyebrow, then daintily removing a chocolate-bar wrapper from the seat with two perfectly shaped oval nails. “Could you give me a lift to the home, Melanie? It’s my day to volunteer and I thought I’d get an early start.”

      “Yes, of course.” Melanie steered into what passed for rush hour traffic in Mossbank and drove furiously through town.

      “What did you say, dear?”

      “Oh, nothing, Hope,” Melanie lied, knowing perfectly well what she had said and hoping against all the odds that her former Sunday school teacher wouldn’t call her on it.

      “You said, ‘The man is a neat freak,’” Hope repeated, her voice serious. “I take it you’re talking about Mitchel?”

      “Oh, yeah.” Melanie breathed, trying to stall all the unlovely things that begged release. “He was nattering at me again this morning. I accidentally bumped his arm and spilled his coffee. He’s so rude!”

      There was no point in holding back and getting ulcers, Melanie decided finally. Might as well lay it on the line.

      “If I so much as put my feet up on the edge of the coffee table, he’s there with a cloth, cleaning up.” Melanie flicked the signal with more power than necessary and winced at Bessie’s protest.

      “If I have a glass of water, he waits, suspended at my side, ready to pounce the moment I set it down. Then he marches into the kitchen to put the glass in the dishwasher. As if I have some contagious disease!”

      “Yes, he’s become quite particular about things lately.” Hope nodded, smiling happily. “And you could take a lesson from that, dear.”

      “I’m not messy,” Melanie protested, her face flushed and angry. “I just like to relax for a while after work. It’s not my fault he stepped on my keys last night. I didn’t deliberately put them on the floor.”

      “He didn’t say you had! He just asked you to be more careful. With the three of us, it is rather crowded, and you do tend toward accidents, my dear.”

      “I do not!” Melanie refused to back down when Hope’s raised eyebrows begged her to reconsider. “Like what?”

      “You left the lid off the blender two days ago, dear. When you started it, that tomato sauce flew everywhere. It took a long time to clean up.” Hope’s face was pensive. “I’m not sure it will ever come off the ceiling. Stipple is so dreadfully hard to clean, isn’t it?”

      “All right! One little accident. You’re making it sound like a whole string of problems.”

      “Well, there was that business with the can of whipped cream, dear.”

      “I was trying to fix it! I didn’t know he’d try to use it before I’d got the top back on properly.” Melanie giggled in remembrance. “At least now we know what he’ll look like when he gets old.”

      “And the barbecue? I don’t think he’ll be able to use the balcony without having some repairs done, Melanie. He also fell on your wet floor after the soap bottle broke. I’m glad he didn’t break anything.” Hope ticked an item off on her fingers. “You washed that white silk shirt of his with your red vest and put his watch down the garbage disposal.” Hope looked sad. “There have been several problems, Melanie.”

      “And not all of them are my fault,” Melanie complained, pulling into a parking spot. “That pizza last night, for instance. I’m allergic to shrimp, and yet he got it loaded.”

      “He didn’t know, dear.” Hope gathered her purse and sweater before brushing one hand over her hair. “You two always seem to be at loggerheads, and yet, really, I think if you’d admit it, you like each other.”

      “He hangs around in clothes a bag lady would reject and eats those horrible doughnuts nonstop,” Melanie seethed. “And if I had a dollar for every file he’s left strewn on the coffee table, or a quarter for the number of times he left his half-full coffee cup on the dishwasher instead of inside it, I could retire quite happily.”

      “Well, yes, it does seem to be the perfect case of a bachelor in a rut,” Hope murmured. “Are you sure this money really means that much to you, dear? I mean, sometimes we ask the Lord for a sign and then we misinterpret things to our own benefit.”

      “But Hope,” Melanie protested. “I’ve prayed and prayed about Sunset’s needs, and every time I turn around, the answer is right there. Get that prize money and you can fill some of those needs.” She stared at her friend. “Do you think I’m wrong?”

      “I think you have to be very sure that this is God directing Melanie and not you misconstruing what might just be chance.”

      Melanie shook her head vehemently.

      “I don’t think that’s what I’m doing, Hope. I’ve prayed so hard, and everything just seems to have fallen into place.”

      “Not quite,” Hope murmured dryly. “I mean you two are only sharing the apartment to get the prize money, right?” She opened the door and got out, straightening her skirt carefully. “But I daresay all of that could all be corrected. In time.”

      Melanie wasn’t sure whether to agree or not but was forestalled from answering by the simple expedient of Hope’s departure. She strode toward the nursing home in long, determined steps. Sighing, Melanie gathered her briefcase and purse from the back seat, her mind replaying the scene in the apartment.

      So he wanted to be alone, did he? Well, tough. He had asked her to stay and, nasty as he was, she wasn’t moving until that check came. As she stared at her white fingers clenching the handle of her briefcase, Melanie just wished the money would come today. She released each finger, one by one.

      Breathing deeply, she tried to view their situation from a distance. What was it about Mitch that made her so nervous? she asked herself.

      Well, for one thing, his hands were constantly touching her, under her elbow, on her hand, brushing her waist. He made the blood flow hot and sweet through her body and then left her wanting more.

      “But I detest him,” she muttered, and knew that she lied. No man had ever made her feel so vulnerable. It scared her. In her world of old people, she was in control. Even her dates allowed her to set the tone of the evening. But when Mitch touched her, control moved out the window.

      Control, she decided. That’s what she really needed. An abundance of control. Unfortunately, it had never been her forte. She grimaced as the morning scene flashed through her mind.

      No, she considered ruefully, there hadn’t been much control there. She resolved to think happy thoughts. Mitch Stewart was not going to get under her skin again.

      She hoped.

      “I could use a little help with this decision, Lord,” she murmured.

      Once she entered the nursing home, Melanie tried to focus entirely on her clients. The shock came when she opened her office door after morning rounds with the doctors. Immediately her eyes began to water. She blew her nose several times before her senses cleared enough to spy the frail little woman seated on her sofa, cuddling a pure white angora kitten.

      “Look, Melanie, a wonderful present arrived for you.” Mrs. Rivers’s soft voice was perfectly clear, and Melanie marveled at the sudden change in the woman.

      The