A Hopeful Heart and A Home, A Heart, A Husband Read online

  “What did you give Faith twenty dollars for?” she demanded as soon as they left the apartment, the good wishes of the three ladies ringing behind them.

  “To get rid of any of that stuff that’s left,” he told her. “You may be some kind of health nut, but I am not, repeat not, eating tofu casserole.”

  Quick as a wink, Melanie whipped open her tan leather bag and pulled out a ten, which she handed to him with a grin.

  “Good thinking.” She laughed. “I can’t stand tofu myself. Particularly not after wading through those awful poached chicken breasts last night. They had no taste.”

  “Tell me about it.” He chuckled. “Well, what’s it to be? Artery-clogging fried chicken? Thirty fat grams of pizza? Or Faith’s favorite—Burger Heaven?”

  When Melanie beamed at him like that, Mitch wondered if it wasn’t just about time to renounce his long-held beliefs on marriage and his aversion to it. Just about.

  “None of the above. Let’s try some lean, healthful Chinese food.”

  “Good idea! Like sweet and sour ribs and deep-fried chicken balls. Health food! Now that’s my style.” He pulled away from the curb with a roar and steered off down the street.

  He couldn’t help but join in her hoot of laughter. Nor could he avoid the sense of camaraderie that being with her brought. It was almost as if he belonged.

  Chapter Six

  “Please, God, just this once, don’t let him be there.”

  Melanie prayed fervently but without much faith. Since that fateful day two weeks ago when her sane, orderly life had been traumatized by a back rub that had massaged away the aches but replaced them with desires that couldn’t be fulfilled, Mitch Stewart had dominated her thoughts.

  Lately, Mitch managed to be at their apartment whenever she was. Casually waiting, smiling that mysterious smile. As if he knew about the flicker of desire that curled in her stomach whenever she caught sight of his dark head.

  And Melanie was more aware of him than any man she had known before. Regardless of what he thought, she did remember offering him a kiss as thanks for his help. She was pretty sure she’d seen desire in his eyes at that moment. And Melanie knew Mitch had wanted her as much as she had him.

  She wanted permanence, someone to depend on, someone to build a future with. She had a sneaking suspicion Mitch might fill that bill very well, Melanie admitted. But Mitch had made it very clear that theirs was only a temporary arrangement. It would end, and they would go their separate ways.

  When she left for work, his dark blue eyes stroked over her uniform, noting every detail. When she left on a date, his glance followed every curve and line of her outfit, mentally chiding her for leaving him alone with Hope. Oh, he never said a word, of course. But she was a master at reading that poor-little-me expression.

  Of course, it’s only for the money she was staying. At least, that’s what she told herself.

  Ruthlessly ignoring the tingle of electricity that jolted through her whenever his twinkling baby blues met hers, Melanie focused on work. She came in way too early and left later than ever and was still far behind in her work. She accepted every date she was offered, even though she spent most of the time sitting thinking about who Mitch was with while she listened to someone else’s love life and their problems.

  That’s why Papa John’s visit last night had been so unexpected. And so infuriating. Hope had gone out with Harry, leaving Melanie to tolerate the friendly arm Mitch placed around her shoulders just long enough to avert suspicion before she moved across the room, far away from his big hands. And when he sat right beside her on a sofa that could have easily held six, Melanie made an excuse to refill the tea, even though the pot was still more than half full.

  “Oh, yes, we’re great friends, Mel and I,” he assured the old man, flashing that sexy smile guaranteed to weaken any woman’s knees. “We share everything from breakfast cereals to our taste in music.”

  Mel had gaped at that. Mitch liked jazz while she preferred rock music from the past. And as far as she knew, he never ate breakfast. Unless you counted doughnuts.

  The one thing they did share was their obvious lack of use of the old man’s product. Melanie sincerely hoped he wouldn’t ask for some, because she was positive there wasn’t a jar of the stuff anywhere in the apartment. But then, as usual, Mitch was miles ahead. He proudly showed their half-empty jar of nutty peanut butter to a benignly smiling Papa John.

  “This is great stuff, sir. I’ve enjoyed it every morning.” Grinning ear to ear, Mitch proceeded to wax rhapsodic about peanut butter!

  Melanie thought she would be sick.

  “Did your children eat a lot of peanut butter when they were growing up?” Mitch had asked curiously.

  When the elderly gentleman lost all his color, Melanie helped him sit down and offered him a cookie.

  “I’m afraid my only son died,” he whispered, his face chalk white with strain. “I have no other children.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Melanie murmured, patting the blue-veined hand as she glared at Mitch. “It must be terrible to lose a child.” To her disgust, Mitch continued on quite easily, as if nothing untoward had happened.

  “Yes, I imagine it must be just like losing a parent,” he said thoughtfully. “I used to know some people who lost a father in Vietnam. It was very sad.”

  Melanie didn’t think it was possible, but the old man’s color receded even further, leaving him pale and wan.

  “I, er, I was in Vietnam, too,” he murmured, his hand shaking as he sipped his tea. “I had an accident there.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Melanie rushed to reassure him, wondering why Mitch kept probing at a subject that was obviously painful. She directed a glare in his general direction, but it did absolutely no good. Mitch kept right on asking questions that were none of his business.

  “What kind of an accident?” he asked curiously. “Anything you can talk about?”

  “I, er, that is, well, you see, I lost my memory.” His eyes were distant, staring into the past. “I was hit with some flying debris when a comrade in the army stepped on a land mine.” He peered at Mitch. “I still don’t remember it all,” he murmured. “But a friend of mine has been helping me understand that what’s in the past isn’t important.”

  “But what if there was someone, some family member maybe, that had been waiting for you to return all these years?” Mitch’s eyes were deeply intense as they studied their visitor. “Wouldn’t you want them to know you’re alive and okay?”

  “Of course,” Papa John murmured. He rubbed his chin and tried to explain himself. “But I just can’t piece it all together. Not yet. Sometimes I get these pictures of someone, a woman…” He shook his head tiredly. “It’s no good. I can never remember the dreams.”

  “Perhaps a hypnotist, or some specialist,” Mitch offered quietly but Papa John shook his head.

  “No,” he said firmly. “I can’t sit around waiting anymore. I made my wife wait too long before we were married, hoping I’d remember something from the past, some clue to who I was.” His eyes filled with tears. “Because of that, we had so little time together.”

  “I’m sorry, Papa John,” Melanie murmured. “We have no right pressing you like this.” She frowned at Mitch. “This is obviously a painful subject and absolutely none of our business. I apologize for my friend.” She laid special emphasis on the last word, warning Mitch silently that she wasn’t finished with him.

  “It’s just that I’d like to help. If I could,” Mitch added, his cheeks flushed. “I mean, could I conduct a search or something?”

  Papa John smiled as he stood, towering over them.

  “That’s very kind,” he said. “But you see there’s almost nothing to go on. I don’t remember any names from that time except John. I think that’s mine. And a date,” he added. “June twenty-first. I have no idea of the significance of that. And you young things don’t want to be fussing about an old man like me. You’ve got too much living to do. I�
��d better get going.”

  Melanie ushered him to the door, murmuring a few polite words of farewell. The door flew open just as she grasped the handle, and an unusually flustered Hope came surging into the room, her hair wild and disorderly, her normally immaculate clothes rumpled and dirty.

  “The nerve of that man,” she sputtered, her voice full of dismay. “He actually asked me to marry him. At my age! Can you imagine it?”

  Papa John observed Hope with a curious look, his eyes wide and questioning, obviously amazed that she found a marriage proposal so distasteful.

  “He wants to get married right away! As if I would even countenance such a thing.”

  “But why not?” Mitch demanded. “Gramps and you make a fine couple, and I think you enjoy each other’s company. Don’t you?” His stare was speculative, his eyes narrowing as the older woman brushed aside a bright lock of hair.

  “Of course I enjoy Harry’s company,” she burst out. “But I can’t just suddenly decide to marry him. Not now, not with everything so up in the air.”

  “You know,” Mitch told her seriously, his eyes fixed on the white-haired man in the doorway. “We were talking about that very thing and how a person shouldn’t wait for something that might never happen. Isn’t that right, sir?”

  “Well, now, I’m not advising any rash decisions,” the old man mumbled, staring at Hope’s blond beauty, bushy eyebrows furrowed. “But there comes a time when you have to grasp opportunity with both hands and get on with your life. Before it’s over.”

  Melanie suddenly noticed that Hope was staring at Papa John, her cheeks pale.

  “Do I know you?” she whispered, peering into his eyes. “I feel somehow that I…”

  “I’m sorry, Hope. I should have introduced you.” Mitch was beaming at the two of them. “This is Papa John. You know, from the company awarding us the prize money.” He turned to the man at the door. “This is our friend, Hope Langford.”

  They nodded at each other, but Hope had not lost that odd look of speculation, and Melanie wondered for the hundredth time what was going on.

  “Papa John Lexington,” he told her succinctly, offering a quick little bow. “Most folks call me Big John.” He turned to Melanie, who was standing dumbfounded as Mitch’s muscular arm wound itself around her shoulders, pressing her against his side in a pose reminiscent of two young lovers.

  “Any word on that prize money?” Mitch asked, snuggling Melanie’s firm, unyielding form against his.

  “It should be released any day now,” Papa John murmured, still staring at Hope. “Strange, though, the entry forms having only the one initial. We don’t think they were signed in either of your handwritings, either. We checked against the disclaimer we had you fill out.” He was almost to the elevator before Hope’s shrill tone stopped him.

  “Wait a minute! Did you used to live near here? In a place called Sherman Oaks? You remind me…”

  But Papa John was stepping into the elevator, shaking his white head.

  “No, I’m afraid the name doesn’t sound familiar,” he told her. His gaze lighted on Mitch and Melanie still standing entwined. “Thank you for the tea. You’ll be hearing from my company soon, very soon.”

  When the elevator doors finally closed on their guest, Melanie ducked out from Mitch’s snug embrace to chastise him roundly.

  “How could you?” she gasped. “He thinks we are in love with each other. He thinks we eat peanut butter. He thinks we actually like each other!” Her voice was squeaking, and Melanie fought for control.

  “We could be, I do eat it, and we do like each other,” he answered quietly before moving to clear away the dishes they’d used.

  “But…but—” Melanie spluttered, unable to believe what she had just heard. She floundered, searching for words. “I never—that is, if we…I mean, darn it, will you stand still for a minute?”

  She was frustrated at Mitch’s calm acceptance of the situation. What did he mean, they could be in love? She had never given him any reason to think such a thing! Had she?

  He did stop. Putting the tray on the ceramic kitchen counter, he placed his hands behind him as he leaned back to study her flushed face and wringing hands. His knowing grin made her palms itch to slap it away. This was no laughing matter!

  “You know that you’re as interested in me as I am in you,” he told her. “We think alike. But if you want to keep pretending that there’s nothing there…” He shrugged. “Fine. That’s life. But you’re only fooling yourself.”

  “I have no clue as to where you got this information,” she told him spitefully. “But let me assure you that it is false. I am not attracted to you. You’re too pushy and too bossy and—”

  His big smile beamed teasingly at her.

  “It’s okay, Melanie. I don’t expect you to own up to it. You never do.” His blue eyes licked fire at her as he followed her figure to the cinched waist of her silky slacks.

  “You’re weird,” she muttered angrily. “I don’t understand where you get the wild idea that we think alike. I couldn’t possibly think in nearly such a convoluted form as you.” She glared at him. “Besides, I always own up to everything.”

  “Like this need you have to create big happy families wherever you go? Even if it means burning yourself out in overtime at Sunset with the residents?” His voice was low and intimate. “You know as well as I that you want your own family, and this is your way of creating one.”

  “You’re being ridiculous.” She bristled, angry at him for bringing the subject up. “I have family. I have Charity, remember?” She gasped when he shook his dark head.

  “Yes, but is that enough? Can you deny that what you really want is to put down some roots of your own?” He chucked a finger under her chin. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Melanie. What is wrong is to pretend you don’t.”

  “I’m not pretending anything,” she sputtered, turning away. It was a lie. She’d dreamed of her own family for as long as she could remember, and it infuriated her to hear Mitch speak of it.

  “Keep fooling yourself if you must,” he murmured softly, pressing past her to move out of the tiny kitchen. “But you don’t believe that lie any more than I do.”

  Melanie stood, transfixed. Was he right? Was she hiding behind the residents of Sunset, afraid to take a chance on her own dreams?

  And even if she wanted to, Mitchel Stewart would hardly be her choice. He was more like a shark than the easygoing kind of man she preferred.

  It was too touchy for discussion, she decided, and pursued his other claims, instead.

  “You’re a fine one to talk about denial,” she complained. “You don’t use their peanut butter!” She was furious at his temerity. He was going to jeopardize everything.

  “Of course I do,” Mitch countered, his voice smooth as silk. “It so happens that Papa John’s peanut butter tastes really great on doughnuts.” He pointed toward the half-empty container on the shelf. “That’s my second jar.”

  Melanie gaped. She staggered to one of the kitchen chairs and sank into it gratefully. The thought of peanut butter on doughnuts made her gag, so she focused on his lean, taut body lounging against the counter. His legs were covered in disreputable old denim with strategically placed tears that gaped across both knees.

  Melanie had no doubt those tears were from wear. He put the jeans on every chance he got, which was often enough. And that ragged old sweatshirt, too! Tonight he was dressed more sloppily than his usual relaxed attire. Why, the shoulders were so baggy, his shirt exposed more than it covered, and even on straight, it didn’t cover an awful lot of his hair-roughened, muscular chest.

  Melanie decided right then and there that it wasn’t politic to focus on anything but his face. Not where her heartbeat was concerned. She forced herself to meet his sardonic gaze without flinching.

  Blue eyes met hers, sparkling with suppressed laughter. He raked a hand through his wavy jet-black hair, and one irrepressible lock fell over his forehead. He looke
d very attractive in a jaunty sort of way. She felt her heartbeat speed up. It was time to go. Melanie turned, heading for the door.

  “I’m going out,” she murmured, hoping he wouldn’t hear the little catch in her voice.

  “Dressed like that, I expected so,” he murmured, following her to the front room. “What is it this time? A teenage crush or counseling a reprobate husband?”

  Melanie had a ton of sarcastic phrases, but she didn’t get the chance to utter even one of the words that flew to her lips. Hope’s soft voice broke in.

  “That man,” Hope murmured into the silence. “I…I think I might know him.”

  Melanie whirled to stare at her disbelievingly.

  “Know Papa John?” She frowned. “How would you know him?”

  “I’m not sure. He looks familiar.” The blue eyes stared into the past. “I think he might be Jean.” Her face fell as tears rolled down the clear alabaster skin, her eyes begging for understanding.

  “But that’s…” Melanie’s mouth fell open when Mitch’s fingers closed around her upper arm.

  “Gramps and I think so, too,” he told Hope gently. “I’ve been doing a bit of research on my own, and from what I can determine, Papa John might just be the guy we’ve been searching for.”

  “But he was reported dead.” Hope’s voice was faint and bemused. “They found his dog tags.” She rubbed a hand across her forehead. “I don’t understand this.”

  “I don’t have a lot of information yet,” Mitch told her, sitting beside her and enfolding her slim white hand in his big brown paw. “But when he was talking today, I got the impression that Papa John lost his memory and has never regained it.” He patted her shoulder consolingly. “Gramps didn’t want you to know until we were positive.”

  “Harry’s known about this all along?” she whispered in confusion. “And he didn’t tell me?”