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

them.” She waved the scissors thoughtfully. “Would you like me to do it?”

      “No, thanks anyway,” he said, backing out of the room. “You’ve done a wonderful job, though.” Of ruining his only pair of designer pants, he added under his breath.

      Mitch turned carefully to go to the living room and found Melanie in his path, her gaze wide with disbelief as she studied him. Her mouth tilted in a slash of amusement, and her eyes sparkled with delight.

      “Don’t say a word,” he warned her menacingly. “And if there’s anyone who’ll be leaving early, it’s going to be me.”

      “How the mighty are fallen.” She giggled, walking behind him as he limped to his chair. Her face cracked up when he jerked upward as the metal prong stabbed him in the rear again. “Shall I call Aunt Hope for you, Mitch?” She chortled.

      “Oh, go away,” he told her miserably. His eyes moved to the seniors huddled over the pictures on the coffee table. “What’s going on there?”

      “Oh, that. Hope has just received word that the man she was engaged to years ago may not have died in the Vietnam war, as she was told. My mother wants Judge Conroy to help them check into it.” Melanie’s face was sad. “I feel bad because Hope never forgot Jean.”

      “But where on earth has he been?”

      “I don’t know,” Melanie told him. “Let’s listen in and see what we can find out.”

      “But if he wasn’t killed there, why did they think he was?” Hope demanded. “There must have been some proof of identity.” She glanced at the judge for confirmation.

      “I don’t know, dear,” the old man murmured, covering her hand with his tenderly. “But I’ll do everything I can to help you find out.” There was a silence while everyone considered the implications.

      Moments later the two older ladies went with Melanie into the kitchen and Mitch, his grandfather and Hope sat in the living room. It seemed the other two had forgotten him completely, so Mitch listened to their conversation unashamedly.

      “Do you still have feelings for this man, Hope?” his grandfather whispered, his salt-and-pepper head bent near hers.

      “I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel anymore. Everything has changed, moved out of its familiar pattern. I just wish I knew for sure whether or not Jean was alive.” She stared at the old pictures with tears in her eyes, her face a study in contrasts.

      “All those years ago I just gave up,” she whispered regretfully. “Maybe, if I had kept searching, Jean and I would have had a future together.”

      Judge Conroy patted the soft white hand with affection.

      “It’s in His hands,” he murmured comfortingly. “Let’s leave it there while we do what we can, my dear.”

      As he sat at the dinner table, munching on wonderful home-cooked fried chicken and the smoothest mashed potatoes he’d ever eaten, Mitch studied each person carefully.

      His grandfather sat next to Hope, and he was paying an inordinate amount of attention to the woman, Mitch noted. They were laughing about the good times they’d shared and their plans for the seniors’ retreat at Lucky Lake.

      Hope Langford was a beautiful woman, with her smooth blond hair and clear blue eyes. She was quiet but thoughtful, replying to the comments only after she’d carefully considered her responses. Which was totally unlike her friend Faith, who seemed to bubble with excitement. Mitch knew that the older woman had recently been married, so perhaps that explained her effervescence.

      Charity Flowerday sat next to him, insisting that he try seconds of everything and teasing him about his good appetite. But it was her arthritic hands that he noticed most. Although they were bent and worn, they expressed her tender concern in a thousand different ways. She ruffled his hair affectionately, offered a friendly pat to Faith’s shoulder, soothed Hope’s fears and pinched Melanie’s ear. And all with those deformed hands.

      And Melanie? Beautiful, remote Melanie sat silent in her chair, watching the other members of the group with love shining in her eyes. Mitch could see the pleasure she took in their company, the careful concerned way she rushed to help her mother, sparing her unnecessary labor.

      And later, as they sat around singing old songs, it was Melanie who played for them. Tunes that Mitch recognized from his grandfather’s era flowed easily through her fingers as they rippled lovingly over the notes, her voice blending in with a rich, deep harmony.

      They’re like her family, he thought. That’s why she works with old people. A big, happy family that cares and shares their lives with each other.

      It was something he’d never known and always thought he wanted. It was something he intended to find out more about, Mitch decided firmly.

      With the help of Miss Melanie Stewart, of course.

      Chapter Three

      Once his knee had healed, the pain of embarrassment had passed and he’d purchased a new pair of pants, Mitch asked Melanie out for dinner. Chinese food. They sat across from one another in one of the local cafés without speaking as they waited for their meal of stir-fried Chinese vegetables and the deep-fried shrimp he’d insisted on. He figured Melanie could think of nothing to say—unlike their past encounter. Her fingers rolled the edge of her napkin. She took a sip of water.

      “I like your dress.” Mitch’s low voice cut into her thoughts. His magnetic dark eyes gleamed in appreciation at the sweetheart neckline and fitted waist. “Green is certainly your color. That swimsuit was a knockout on you.”

      Blushing profusely, Melanie thanked him before hurrying to change the topic. “Have you heard anything from the contest people yet?” she asked.

      Once more that wicked grin flashed at her, and once more her pulse started that rat-tatting that Mitchel Stewart always seemed to cause.

      “Nope, not a word. Maybe they’ll decide not to award it or to draw again. How did you enter?”

      “I don’t know.” She laughed—that light, tinkling sound he had come to associate with her. Shrugging, she confessed, “I don’t even eat the stuff.”

      “What?” He gave an exaggerated gasp before he admitted, “Me, neither.” His forehead was furrowed in thought. “How do you suppose they got our names, then?”

      Melanie blushed again, and he wondered why. Gazing at her hands, she explained.

      “A few months ago I was really down. One of our residents had died unexpectedly, and I…I was sort of depressed.” Her green eyes were filled with sadness as she stared ahead. “Mrs. Peters was so lonely, you see. Her kids never came to see her except on a duty visit at Christmas that lasted all of five minutes. She needed to talk to them and feel that they still cared.” Melanie heard her own voice harden.

      “Apparently, all they needed was the check she always handed out. When she died, I phoned them and they were there in thirty minutes. Yet when she had been asking to see them only one week earlier, no one had the time to get away.” Melanie waved across the table as she tried to help him understand.

      “I remember the last thing she said to me. She wanted to buy a new dress,” she told him sadly. Mitch’s warm brown hand was wrapped around her clenched fingers. She glanced at him sadly. “She got her dress, but it was too late.”

      They sat there quietly eating the delicious food. Mitch had done nothing more than listen, but somehow his quiet strength helped, and after a minute or two she continued.

      “Anyway, I was working with Mrs. Rivers by then and she was entering these contests. I thought, why not throw in a few of my own entries. Maybe a windfall of some kind could take some of the sting away and provide at least some of the essential equipment that so many need.” She grinned self-deprecatingly. “That’s been a hobbyhorse of mine for a while now.”

      “Why