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Christmas Trio A

Angels at Christmas

Debbie Macomber

One Snowy

Regency

Christmas

Christine Merrill

Sarah Mallory

A Royal Christmas

Kate Hewitt

Susan Mallery

Heidi Betta

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Angels

at

Christmas

Debbie Macomber

Make time for friends. Make time for Debbie Macomber.

CEDAR COVE

16 Lighthouse Road

204 Rosewood Lane

311 Pelican Court

44 Cranberry Point

50 Harbor Street

6 Rainier Drive

74 Seaside Avenue

8 Sandpiper Way

92 Pacific Boulevard

BLOSSOM STREET

The Shop on Blossom Street

A Good Yarn

Susannah’s Garden

(previously published as Old Boyfriends) Back on Blossom Street (previously published as Wednesdays at Four) Twenty Wishes Summer on Blossom Street Hannah’s List A Turn in the Road Thursdays at Eight

Christmas in Seattle

Falling for Christmas

A Mother’s Gift

Merry Christmas, Friends!

As you’ve probably already guessed, I love Christmas. And I have a special fondness for Christmas angels. After all, it was an angel who came to announce to Mary that she’d be giving birth. And later, when Jesus was born, it was angels who first told the shepherds watching over their flocks.

Shirley, Goodness and Mercy have proven to be three of my most popular story characters. Since they first appeared back in 1993, they’ve shown up periodically through the years. Last Christmas I was delighted to find huge wire angels strung with lights for sale in a local store. Naturally I purchased three and set them up in our front yard.

Wouldn’t you know it, soon afterwards we had a snowstorm with blizzard-like conditions. When I woke the next morning, I was dismayed to find my precious angels face down in the snow. My clever husband smiled and said we had three fallen angels. What struck me, however, was that despite the horrific weather conditions, their lights continued to shine.

This Christmas they’re shining again, my three angels—in our yard and in this two-story edition—and they’re brighter than ever. I hope Shirley, Goodness and Mercy will bring you some Christmas joy and a smile or two. And you can bet that whatever comes their way—and ours—their lights will shine!

Have a wonderful Christmas. Remember there are angels among us … and sometimes we don’t even know it.

Merry Christmas!

Debbie Macomber

About the Author

DEBBIE MACOMBER is a number one New York Times bestselling author. Her recent books include 44 Cranberry Point, 50 Harbor Way, 6 Rainier Drive and Hannah’s List. She has become a leading voice in women’s fiction worldwide and her work has appeared on every major bestseller list. There are more than a hundred million copies of her books in print. For more information on Debbie and her books, visit www.DebbieMacomber.com.

Those Christmas Angels

In memory of Sandy Canfield,

talented writer and dear friend.

And to Charles Canfield with affection and thanks

for the 38 years of love and support

he gave Sandy

One

Anne Fletcher pulled the last box of Christmas decorations from the closet in the spare bedroom. She loved Christmas—always had and always would, regardless of her circumstances. It was a bit early yet, a few days before Thanksgiving, but some Christmas cheer was exactly what she needed to get her mind off her problems. The grief that had been hounding her since the divorce five years ago … The financial uncertainty she now faced … The betrayal she still felt …

“No,” she said aloud, refusing to allow herself to step closer to that swamp of regrets. It often happened like this. She’d start thinking about everything she’d lost, and before she knew it, she’d collapse emotionally, drowning in pain.

Carrying the plastic container down the hallway, she glanced inside her art room and let her gaze drift over to her easel and her latest project. The bold colors of the setting sun against the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean pleased her. Yes, she was divorced, but there’d been compensations, too. Her art had fulfilled her in ways she hadn’t even realized were possible.

How different her life was at fifty-nine than she would’ve imagined even five years ago—before the divorce. What Burton had done was unforgivable. He’d hurt her, and he’d cheated her out of funds that were rightfully hers.

Once again she stopped herself, not wanting to indulge those bitter memories and regrets. She’d done plenty of that in the beginning, when she’d first learned he’d found someone else and wanted out of their thirty-year marriage. It was a fling, or so she’d managed to convince herself. A midlife crisis. Lots of men had them. Any day Burton would come to his senses and see what he was doing to her and to Roy, their son.

Only he hadn’t, and Anne walked out of divorce court numb with shock and disbelief. Not until the judge’s gavel echoed through the room had she fully believed her husband was capable of such treachery. She should’ve known, should’ve been prepared. Burton was a top-notch divorce attorney, a persuasive man who knew all the ploys. But despite everything, she’d trusted him …

Her friends had been stunned, too—less by Burton’s deception than by Anne’s apparent acceptance of what he’d done to her. It wasn’t in her to fight, to drag her marriage and her life through the courts. Burton had recommended an attorney, whom she’d obediently retained, never suspecting that the man who’d represented her in court would apply to Burton’s law firm as soon as the divorce was final. Of course, he’d been hired …

Burton had promised to treat her fairly. Because she was convinced that he’d soon recognize what a terrible mistake he was making, she’d blindly followed his lead. Without a quibble and on her attorney’s advice, she’d accepted the settlement offer—one that had turned out to be grossly unfair. Although she hadn’t been aware of it at the time, Anne was cheated out of at least two hundred and fifty thousand dollars’ worth of assets.

Burton’s ploy in this particular case had been simple: he’d strung her along. Twice he’d come to her in tears, begging her forgiveness, talking about reconciliation, and all the while he’d been shifting their assets to offshore accounts. All the while, he’d been lying, stealing and cheating. She’d loved him and she’d believed him, and so had taken her husband at his word. Never had she dreamed he could betray her like this. After thirty years, she’d walked away with only a pittance. And, needless to say, no alimony.

Yes, Anne could fight him, could take him back to court and expose him for the thief he was, but to what end? It was best, she’d decided long ago, to preserve her dignity. She’d always felt that life had a symmetry to it, a way of righting wrongs, and that somehow, eventually, God would restore to her the things she’d lost. It was this belief that had gotten her past the bitterness and indignation.

Admittedly she couldn’t help lapsing sometimes, but Anne tried not to feel bitter. At this point, she couldn’t see how anger, even righteous anger, could possibly benefit her. She’d adjusted. Taking the little she’d managed to salvage from her marriage, she’d purchased a small cottage on St. Gabriel, a tiny San Juan island in Puget Sound. In college all those years ago, when she’d met Burton, she’d been an art student. She had a flair for art and enjoyed it. Given the demands of being married to a prominent divorce lawyer, she’d put aside her own pursuits to assist Burton. Her husband’s ambitions had become her own, and Anne was the perfect wife and hostess.

It’d been a disappointment to her to have only one child, a son they’d named after Anne’s father. Young Roy was the light of her life, her ray of sunshine through the years. When she wasn’t hostessing social events on her husband’s behalf, Anne spent her time with Roy, raising him with limitless love and motherly devotion.

If she felt any bitterness about the way Burton had treated her, it was because of what he’d done to Roy. Unfortunately, Roy was the one who’d introduced Burton to Aimee. He’d never forgiven himself for that, despite Anne’s reassurances. Still, Roy assumed responsibility for what had happened. He couldn’t seem to forgive himself for his role in the divorce, no matter how innocent that role had been.

To complicate the situation even more, he refused to forgive his father, not only for betraying Anne but for stealing Aimee, the woman he himself had loved and planned to marry. Roy’s anger was constantly with him. The anger had become part of him, tainting his life, as though he wore smudged, dark glasses that revealed a bleak, drab world. All Roy cared about now was his business, his drive for more and more, and while he’d achieved greater success than most men twice his age, Roy wasn’t happy.

Her son’s cynicism troubled Anne deeply—even more than the divorce itself. She’d put that behind her, as much as she was able, and built a comfortable life for herself, doing what she loved best—painting. Mainly through word of mouth, her work had begun to sell at the local farmers’ market and then at a couple of galleries in the area; it now provided her with a small income.

Anne would’ve given anything to help her son. Regardless of how much money he made or how many accolades he received, he remained lonely and embittered. She desperately wanted him to find happiness.

In the five years since the divorce, Roy had not spoken to his father once, despite Burton’s repeated efforts. Yet Roy was so like Burton. He shared his father’s talents, his ambition. They shared another trait, too, the one that concerned Anne the most. He possessed his father’s ability to be ruthless about marriage and relationships. He was thirty-three, and in Anne’s view, he should get married. However, her son resolutely refused to discuss it. His attitude toward love and commitment had been completely warped. He no longer dated, no longer sought out relationships.

The only thing that mattered to Roy was the bottom line. He’d grown cold and uncaring; little outside of Fletcher Industries seemed to affect him. Anne realized her son was in trouble. He was hurting badly, although he seemed incapable of recognizing his own pain. Roy needed someone to teach him the power of forgiveness and love. She’d wanted to be that person, to show him that forgiveness was possible, but in his zeal to succeed, Roy had started to block her out of his life. It was unintentional, she knew, but nonetheless, it hurt.

Roy had established Fletcher Industries, his own computer security company, in Seattle, shortly after he graduated from college. His innovative, cutting-edge software led the competition in the field. Recent contracts with the government and several banks had given Fletcher Industries a solid position as one of the top companies of its type.

Those first years after he’d formed his business, Roy spent far too many hours at work. It wasn’t uncommon for him to stay in the office for two or three days at a time, living on fast food and catnaps. That all changed after he met Aimee. Her son had fallen in love and he’d fallen hard. Anne had been thrilled and Burton was, too. Then Roy had brought Aimee to his parents’ home in Southern California to introduce her … and all their lives had exploded.

Following his parents’ divorce, Roy had quickly reverted to his old habit of working long hours. Only now a callousness had entered into his business dealings. Anne was aware of this, but she was helpless to change her son, and her heart ached with her inability to reach him. Time and again, she’d tried to tell him what he was doing to himself—that he was damaging his life and his future—but he couldn’t or wouldn’t hear.

The kettle whistled, and leaving the Christmas box in the hall, Anne moved into the kitchen. She took the blue ceramic teapot from the cupboard and filled it with boiling water, then added a tea bag—Earl Grey, her favorite—and left it to steep. After a moment, she poured herself a cup and took a first sip of the aromatic tea. She frowned, berating herself for allowing her thoughts to follow the path they’d taken. Just when she assumed she was free of Burton, she’d wallow in the pain all over again and realize how far she had yet to go. There was only one cure for this bout of self-pity and for the worry that consumed her. Setting down the china cup, Anne bowed her head and prayed. Sometimes it was difficult to find the words to express what was in her heart, but not today. The prayer flew from her lips.

“Dear Lord, send my son a woman to love. One who’ll help him heal, who’ll teach him about forgiveness. A woman who’ll open his heart and wake him up to the kind of man he’s becoming.”

Slowly, as if weighed down by her doubts, Anne’s prayer circled the room. Gradually it ascended, rising with the steam from the teapot, spiraling upward out of the simple cottage and toward the leaden sky. It rose higher and higher until it reached the clouds and then sped toward the heavens. There, it landed on the desk of the Archangel Gabriel, the same Archangel who’d delivered the good news of God’s love to a humble Jewish maiden more than two thousand years ago.

Gabriel, however, was away from his desk.

Shirley, Goodness and Mercy, three Prayer Ambassadors who had a reputation for employing unorthodox means to achieve their ends, stood just inside the Archangel’s quarters. Together the three of them watched as the prayer made its way onto his desk. Only the most difficult prayer requests went to the mighty Gabriel—the prayers that came from those who were most in need, from the desperate and discouraged.

“Don’t read it,” Shirley cried when Goodness, unable to resist, bent to pick up the wispy sheet.

“Why not?” Goodness had always had more curiosity than was good for her. She knew that peeking at a prayer request before Gabriel had a chance to view it was asking for trouble, but that didn’t stop her. Mercy was the one most easily swayed by things on Earth, and Shirley, well, Shirley was nearly perfect. At one time she’d been a Guardian Angel but had transferred to the ranks of the Prayer Ambassadors. That had happened under suspicious circumstances, so Shirley’s perfection was a little compromised. Shirley never mentioned the incident, though, and Goodness dared not inquire. She knew that some things were better left unknown—despite her desire to hear all the sordid details.

“Goodness,” Shirley warned again.

“I’m just going to glance at the name,” Goodness muttered, carefully lifting the edge of the folded sheet.

“Is it anyone we know?” Mercy demanded, drawing closer.

Goodness eyed Shirley, who was trying not to reveal her own interest. “Well, is it?” Shirley finally asked.

“No,” Goodness said. “I’ve never heard of Anne Fletcher, have you?”

“Anne Fletcher?” Shirley echoed, and then as if her knees had gone out from under her, she sank into the chair reserved for Gabriel. “Anne Fletcher from California,” the former Guardian Angel repeated slowly.

Goodness looked again, lifting the edge of the sheet just a bit higher this time. “Formerly of California,” she said.

“Oh, no!” Shirley cried. “She moved. I wonder why. Tell me where she’s gone.”

“The San Juan Islands,” Mercy said, leaning over Goodness to take a look for herself.

“She’s in the Caribbean?” Shirley said, sounding distraught.

“No, in Puget Sound—Washington State,” Goodness told her.

“I remember it well,” Mercy said with a dreamy smile. “Don’t you remember the Bremerton Shipyard? We had so much fun there.”

“What I remember,” Goodness informed her fellow angel, “was all the trouble we got in when you started shifting aircraft carriers and destroyers around.”

“I don’t know how many times you want me to apologize for that,” Mercy muttered, crossing her arms defiantly. “It was a fluke. Nothing like that’s happened since, and frankly I think you’re …”

Her words faded as she saw Goodness studying Shirley. “How do you know Anne Fletcher?” Goodness asked softly.

“Poor, poor Anne,” Shirley murmured, seemingly lost in thought. “I knew her mother—I was her Guardian Angel. I was with her mother, Beth, when she gave birth to Anne.”

So Shirley had a connection to Anne Fletcher. “I didn’t read the request,” Goodness said, more eager than ever to throw caution to the winds and take a second, longer look.

“Maybe there’s something we can do,” Mercy said. It sounded as if she was encouraging Goodness to flout protocol, and Goodness was happy to go along with the implied suggestion. She quickly scooped up the prayer request, then almost dropped it when a voice boomed behind them.

“Do for whom?” it asked.

Gabriel. The Archangel Gabriel.

Goodness spun around and backed against the side of the huge desk, crushing her wings in her attempt to hide. Oh, this wasn’t good. Gabriel was their friend, but he wouldn’t tolerate their snooping around his desk.

“Nothing.” Mercy moved closer to Goodness until they stood shoulder to shoulder, wing to wing.

Shirley was lost in her own thoughts, sitting in Gabriel’s chair, apparently oblivious to their dire circumstances.

“Do?” Goodness choked out. “Are we supposed to be doing something for someone?”

“It’s Anne Fletcher,” Shirley whispered, peering up at Gabriel, apparently still in a stupor. “We’ve got to help her.”

“Anne Fletcher?” Gabriel’s brow furrowed with concern.

“She’s said a prayer for Roy,” Goodness explained, and boldly handed Gabriel the request, as much as admitting it had been read. “She wants to believe. But she’s worried about her son and has given up hope that anyone can reach him. We can’t let her lose faith—we just can’t!” She gazed up at Gabriel with large, pleading eyes. Her wings were folded back and she hung her head as though she felt the same sense of despair Anne Fletcher did.

Goodness had never seen Shirley so upset. Clearly this Anne person was someone she cared about.

Gabriel made a grumbling sound. Shirley glanced up and with a look of panic realized she was sitting in his chair. She bolted upright, then leaped to one side.

It was such a rare sight to see Shirley ruffled that, had she not felt so worried about her friend, Goodness would’ve been amused.

Once his chair was vacant, Gabriel sat down, ignoring the prayer request. Instead, he removed the massive book from the shelf behind him. With a soft grunt, he set it on his desk. He opened it to the section marked F, and ran his finger down a long list of names inscribed there.

Goodness wasn’t going to risk standing on tiptoe and taking a look. Even she understood when it was best to restrain her curiosity.

“Anne Fletcher,” Gabriel said thoughtfully. “It’s been five years since the divorce.”

“Anne’s divorced?” Shirley whispered. “Oh, my, I didn’t know. How’s she doing?”

“Actually, quite well,” Gabriel told her. “She’s adjusted far better than we’d expected.” He nodded, smiling gently. “She’s gone back to her art and that’s helped her. It says here that she’s living in Washington State, on a small island in Puget Sound.”

“Burton always discounted her talent,” Shirley said, and leaned on her palms against the desk, daring to read the huge volume that documented human lives. “She could’ve been a successful artist had she continued her studies.”

“Still might,” Goodness threw in, implying that she was in the know. She hated being left in the dark when it came to earthly matters. Humans intrigued her. They were the very pinnacle of God’s creation, fearfully and wonderfully made, yet so obtuse. It was hard to believe free will could cause such problems.

“Anne Fletcher is indeed talented,” Gabriel said, “but fame and fortune were never important to her. She’s had to deal with various losses, but as you already know, for every loss there is an equal or greater gain. Often humans have to search for it, though.”

Goodness nodded in full agreement, although she couldn’t begin to guess what God had in store for the fifty-nine-year-old divorced woman. “God has another man for her, doesn’t He?” she ventured.

Gabriel frowned as if Goodness’s comments were starting to irritate him. “No, Goodness, not another man. Frankly, Anne isn’t interested.”

“I don’t blame her for that,” Mercy added. “After what Burton did to her, she’d find it very difficult to trust again, and who could blame her?” She seemed to think that was all anyone needed to say on that subject.

“The prayer is for her son,” Gabriel pointed out as he read the request.

“Roy,” Shirley said. “You remember Roy, don’t you?” she asked mournfully. “He was such a sweet child, so willing to please, so anxious to follow in his father’s footsteps.”

“Burton never forgave him for not pursuing a law degree,” Gabriel commented absently. “Roy is gifted, but he works too hard.”

“I’m sure Anne would like grandchildren,” Shirley said, studying the prayer request.

“Of course she would,” Mercy agreed.

For the first time since they’d entered the room, Shirley smiled. “God provides,” she whispered, and then said in a louder voice, “Isn’t that what you were just saying?”

Gabriel glanced up. “Roy isn’t interested in marriage.”

“Not now he isn’t,” Goodness chimed in. The possibility of romance rose before her—it was such fun to steer humans toward one another! Creating romance was by far her favorite duty on Earth. “We want in on this,” she announced.

Gabriel leveled a fierce gaze on her, and she swallowed hard and took a step back.

“But only if you feel it’s for the best,” she mumbled.

“It’s for Anne,” Shirley pleaded. “Beth’s little Annie.”

“Are you saying the three of you want to return to Earth?”

Shirley, Goodness and Mercy all nodded simultaneously.

“I was afraid of that.” Gabriel stroked his chin. “I’m not sure Earth has recovered from your last visit yet.”

“We’ll be exceptionally good this time,” Mercy promised, folding her hands prayerfully. “I swear I won’t even think about going near an escalator.”

“It isn’t moving staircases that worry me,” Gabriel said. “It’s everything else.”

Goodness stepped forward again. She could tell by the look in his eyes that Gabriel was weakening. “We can help her, Gabe.”

“Gabe?” he bellowed.

“Gabriel,” she corrected swiftly. “I know we can. Besides, I have this romance thing down pat. Humans are eager to fall in love. All we have to do is lead them in the right dir—” She stopped when she saw Gabriel’s expression.

For a moment, no one spoke and then in a low whisper, Shirley said, “Please?”

Gabriel took his time answering while Goodness waited, holding her breath in anticipation. She wanted to visit Earth again. They’d been away far too long—several Earth years at least.

Oh, Gabriel, make up your mind, she muttered to herself. Say yes!

Two

Roy Fletcher hated doing job interviews. He warily regarded the older man sitting on the other side of his desk. Dean Wilcoff had to be close to sixty and retirement. His thinning gray hair was brushed away from his face and his dark eyes met Roy’s squarely. He was big, an inch or two over six feet, broad-shouldered and muscular. He’d obviously maintained himself physically, which was good. As head of building security, it was unlikely he’d be chasing intruders, but he should at least be capable of it if the need arose. Roy glanced over Wilcoff’s résumé a second time. The man had an impressive work history.

“You were with Boeing’s security force for twenty-six years.”

“I was,” Dean answered without elaborating. There’d been some downsizing at the airplane manufacturer, but Roy guessed that Dean Wilcoff had left or been let go for another reason. Still, his Human Resources department had selected this candidate for him to interview.

The dates on Wilcoff’s résumé showed that he’d last worked nine months ago, yet Roy didn’t sense any desperation in the man. Wilcoff should be worried. By now, his unemployment benefits would’ve expired and at his age, obtaining another job wouldn’t be easy.

“What do you know about computers?”

For the first time Roy noticed hesitation in the other man. “Only enough to get around on the Internet. My daughter’s been after me to take one of those courses, but frankly I don’t see the need. I work security. It’s what I know and what I do best. If you hire me, Mr. Fletcher, you can rest assured that no one’s going to break into your offices, day or night.”

Roy raised a skeptical eyebrow. Life didn’t come with guarantees. Everything was suspect. Everything and everyone. This was a lesson he’d learned the hard way, but learn it he had.

“I’ll get back to you,” he said, dismissing the man. He’d finished the round of interviews and although all the candidates were qualified, there hadn’t been a single one he especially liked. The day before, he’d talked to three applicants, and three more today. No one had really impressed him. Unfortunately he needed to make his decision soon if he didn’t want hourly phone calls from his HR director. Well, fine. He’d put the names in a hat and simply draw one. At this point, that was as logical as anything else.

“How’d it go?” Julie Wilcoff asked her father as she set the salad on the dinner table. She hated to ask, but he hadn’t exactly been free with details since his return from the long-awaited interview. Julie was afraid that meant bad news, and he’d already had enough disappointments. After nine months without a job, her father had grown restless and discouraged. She knew he was worried, especially with the holidays so close. He’d wanted to have a new job lined up by New Year’s, and he’d had such hope for this one, which seemed perfect for him. Yet he’d barely said a word since he’d come home from the interview.

“Why hire an old man like me?” he muttered as he walked to the table.

“Because you’re highly qualified, dependable and intelligent.”

“I’m not even sure I want to work for Roy Fletcher,” her father complained. He pulled out his chair and sat down.

Julie frowned. After weeks of searching, of making dozens of unsuccessful applications, after talking about this interview for days on end, his attitude came as a shock. But if her father, a man who never exaggerated or jumped to conclusions, made such a statement, there was a reason.

Roy Fletcher’s name had appeared in the media for years. He was one of the geniuses in the security software business, the man entrusted by the government to keep out hackers. Fletcher Industries had prospered as doing business online had become increasingly prone to theft—of credit-card numbers, private information, financial records and more. Her father was in security, too, only a different kind. While Roy Fletcher made sure no one could break into computer files, her father prevented intruders from breaking into the doors and windows of buildings.

Julie sat down at the table and handed her father the meat loaf. It’d been her mother’s recipe and was one of his favorite meals. Julie had hoped this would be a celebration dinner, but apparently not. Still, she wondered what had prompted her father’s comment. “What’s wrong with Mr. Fletcher?” she asked.

“I don’t much care for him.”

“Mr. Fletcher interviewed you himself?” Dad hadn’t mentioned that earlier.

Her father nodded. “After I talked to a nice gal in what they call Human Resources.” He paused a moment. “She sent me to see him.” Another pause. “He isn’t a pleasant man.”

Julie scooped up a serving of scalloped potatoes and put them on her plate. Toward the end of her mother’s final bout with cancer, Julie had moved out of her apartment and back in with her parents. Her father had quit his job and stayed home to nurse her mother. His company benefits had paid most of the medical bills; Julie’s salary as a junior-high physical-education teacher covered the rest. It had been a time of sacrifice for them all. Emily, Julie’s fraternal twin, had helped, financially and emotionally, as much as possible, although she no longer lived in Seattle.

After six months of this arrangement, Julie’s beautiful, petite mother had died. That was four months ago. From the beginning, the doctors had given them little hope. Julie, Emily and their father knew and were prepared for the eventuality of Darlene Wilcoff’s death. Or so they’d assumed. What Julie had learned, and her sister, too, was that it didn’t matter how ready you thought you were to face the death of a loved one; even when death is expected, it hits hard. Julie, her sister and their father had been left reeling. Julie felt her life would never be the same—and it wouldn’t. The world had lost a graceful, charming soul; she and Emily had lost a loving mother; Dean had been deprived of the woman he adored.

Julie waited until their plates were filled before she questioned him again. “What didn’t you like about Roy Fletcher?”

“He’s cold.” Dean hesitated and his brows drew together. “It’s as if nothing touches him, nothing affects him. From what I’ve heard, people don’t mean much to Fletcher. In fact, the whole time I was with him, I had the feeling there wasn’t a single person in this world who meant a damn thing to him. I doubt he’s an easy man to know.”

“People usually have a reason for acting the way they do,” Julie said, hoping that would encourage her father to continue the conversation. She couldn’t help being curious. The job offered an employment package that was far above anything he would have received with another employer.

“Well, whatever the reason, I got the impression that Fletcher thinks everything comes down to money, but there are some things that can’t be bought.”

Julie nodded.

Her father sampled the meat loaf, then set down his fork. “It’s time, you know.”

Julie pretended she didn’t understand, but this was a discussion they’d had more than once. Her father seemed to believe Julie should move back into an apartment of her own, now that her mother was gone. She disagreed. First, her father needed her. Oh, he’d muddle through with meals and housework; Julie wasn’t concerned about that. But she knew he was lonely and struggling with an all-consuming grief. As well, finances were tight since he was on a significantly reduced pension, and it went against his pride to let someone, even his daughter, pay the bills.

What he didn’t grasp—and she could find no way to explain—was how badly she needed to be with him. They’d suffered the biggest loss of their lives, and being together seemed to help. She wasn’t ready to move out. Eventually she would, but not yet. For her, it was too soon.

“We’ve already been through this.”

“And your point is?”

“Now, Dad, Emily and I think—”

“You should have your own life, instead of taking care of your old man.”

“I do have my own life,” she insisted. “I’ll stay here until we’re both back on our feet. Then you can kick me out.”

“The thing is, I might never get back on my feet, especially financially,” he said, his gaze dark and brooding. “It’s time we faced facts here. I should sell the house.”

“No!” Julie cried, the thought unbearable. Losing the family home so soon after her mother’s death was more than she could cope with emotionally. Not if there was any way to stop it. “Emily and I refuse to let that happen.”

Emily wanted to help more, but she was a young navy wife, living in Florida with two small children. Her husband was periodically at sea, sometimes for months at a time. Although twins, Julie and Emily were about as different as two sisters could be. Emily was like their mother, small and delicate, with blue eyes and wavy blond hair. A classic beauty. Julie took after her father’s side of the family. Her hair and eyes were a deep shade of brown. Tall, strong and solidly built, she was a natural athlete. She’d played center in basketball, pitcher in softball and was a track star all through high school and college.

While boys had flocked around Emily, they’d mostly ignored her sister. Emily had brains, as well as looks, and although Julie had brains, too, she wasn’t pretty the way her sister was. It had never bothered her until recently, when she’d turned thirty. Her sister was married, and so were most of her friends. Sure, she dated, but the number of eligible men had dwindled as the years went on. With her mother growing increasingly ill, Julie hadn’t worried about it much. But now … She sighed. Like her father in his job search, Julie had given up hope of meeting the right man. For a woman over thirty, the pickings were slim.

The phone rang, and Julie and her father both turned to stare at it.

“Let the machine pick it up,” he said. That had been a hard and fast rule during her teenage years—no telephone call was worth disrupting family time at the dinner table.

“You sure?” Julie asked.

Her father nodded and continued eating. “You did a good job on the meat loaf.”

“It’s Mom’s recipe, remember?”

Her father grinned. “It might surprise you to learn she got it from a ‘Dear Abby’ column.”

The phone rang again. “No way!” This was news to Julie.

Her father chuckled. “That broccoli salad I like came out of the paper, too.”

Her mother had never told her this, but then it was Emily who usually hung around the kitchen. Julie was always at basketball practice or some sporting event. There’d been so many things her mother had never had the opportunity to tell her. Unimportant things, like this, and other things—revelations, advice—that really mattered. How Julie wished she could go back and recapture all those precious hours with her mother. If only she’d known …

The answering machine clicked on and they heard a disgruntled male voice. “This is Roy Fletcher.”

Without thinking, Julie launched herself toward the phone, whipping the receiver off the cradle before Fletcher could end the call. “Hello,” she gasped. “I assume you want to speak to my father?”

“Yes, if your father is Dean Wilcoff.”

Her dad was right; the man’s voice was devoid of the slightest warmth.

“Just a moment,” she said, handing him the receiver.

“Dean Wilcoff,” he said gruffly, frowning at Julie. His look said that if it’d been up to him, he would’ve left Roy Fletcher cooling his heels. Fortunately Julie had been closest to the phone.

She bit her lower lip as she studied her father. This had to be good news. Roy Fletcher wouldn’t phone to tell a man he’d chosen another candidate for the job.

Her father’s eyes widened. “Before I accept the position, I have a few questions.”

Julie wanted to wave her arms over her head and scream. Her father needed this job and not only for financial reasons. Oh, Dad, don’t blow this now. It was too important.

After what seemed like an hour but was probably five minutes, her father replaced the receiver.

Julie could barely contain her anxiety. “Well?”

“I’m seeing Mr. Fletcher in the morning to discuss my questions.” The smallest hint of a smile touched his mouth.

“For better or worse, it looks like I’ve got the job if I want it.”

“Oh, Dad! That’s terrific news.”

“That, my dear Julie, remains to be seen.”

Three

“Would you care to meet Anne Fletcher for yourselves?” Gabriel asked, eyeing the trio.

Goodness couldn’t believe their good fortune. She nodded and smiled as Mercy eagerly agreed. It’d been so long since they’d visited Earth with its manifold delights. The place was definitely interesting—and appealing—but completely unlike Heaven. Earth was also dangerous, full of exotic allures and various temptations. Heaven, on the other hand … well, eyes hadn’t seen or ears heard all that awaited those in glory.

Shirley’s face brightened. “Could we visit Anne for just a little while? I haven’t seen her in years.”

“At one time she routinely prayed for her son,” Gabriel explained as he guided them out of his quarters and to a convenient location to view Anne’s little spot on Earth. “For quite a while after the divorce, she brought Roy’s hardened heart to God’s attention, but when she didn’t see results, her faith weakened. Now only an infrequent prayer comes our way.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Shirley whispered. “When I was assigned to her mother …” She paused and looked up guiltily, as if afraid she’d said more than permissible. “I’m sure all Anne really wants is for her son to be happy.”

“But happiness is a condition of the mind, not of circumstances,” Gabriel reminded them. “That appears to be a most difficult lesson for humans. They expect to find happiness in things, which we all know is impossible.” Sadly he shook his head. “They repeatedly fail to see what should be perfectly logical.”

“Humans require a lot of patience,” Goodness said, trying hard to sound knowledgeable.

Gabriel studied the trio, as though gauging how much he could trust them if he did grant them passage back to Earth. Goodness did her utmost to look serene and confident. She fully intended to be good, but she couldn’t count on Mercy. Shirley was iffy, too. Her friend seemed to have a special fondness for Anne, and there was no telling what she’d do once they arrived on Earth.

Goodness didn’t begrudge Gabriel his doubts. The trio always left Heaven with the best intentions, but when they began to mingle with humans, their powers to resist grew increasingly weak. They found it impossible not to interfere in situations that hadn’t been assigned to them—which inevitably got them into trouble.

Gabriel’s gaze was drawn back to the big blue sphere, the view of Earth from Heaven.

Goodness peered closer but couldn’t make out anything yet. Gabriel would need to bring everything into focus.

“Yes, I’m afraid that where her son is concerned, Anne’s lost hope,” the Archangel murmured sadly. “She doesn’t understand that some things need to be believed in order to be seen.”

Goodness was impressed. “That’s so wise.”

“Poor Anne,” Shirley whispered, her brow wrinkled in worry.

“We can help her, I’m sure,” Mercy insisted, sidling next to Shirley. “Anne needs us.” She glanced from Gabriel to Shirley, looking for confirmation.

Goodness bit her tongue to keep from chastising her friend. They couldn’t act too eager, otherwise Gabriel might become suspicious. He might wonder if they had ulterior motives for wanting to visit Earth. As unobtrusively as possible, she made a small waving motion with her hand, hoping Mercy would get the message.

“Of course,” Mercy added with an exaggerated sigh, “there are any number of angels more qualified than the three of us.”

“Yes, there are,” Gabriel said bluntly.

“I thought you said we could see her from here,” Shirley said, squinting through the thick cloud cover.

For a moment Gabriel seemed to be having second thoughts. His expression became more severe as he stared at them. Little wonder humans were terrified of Gabriel, Goodness reflected. His imposing stature was enough to intimidate the bravest men. That was one reason, she supposed, that he was only sent from Heaven on the most serious of missions.

Slowly he raised his massive arms and with one sweeping motion the clouds cleared and the mist gradually thinned, revealing the cottage surrounded by tall fir trees. Then Anne came into view. She stood in her art room, a paintbrush in her hand. A few Christmas decorations hung here and there, as if a halfhearted effort had been made to display them.

Once more Shirley leaned forward, peering downward. “Anne’s painting,” she said, and pointed to the scene below.

Once the mist faded completely, Goodness stepped closer to her friends to get a better look. Just as Shirley had declared, Anne Fletcher stood in front of an easel, apparently deep in thought.

Goodness examined the painting and was pleasantly surprised. Shirley had been right; the woman was a talented artist. She used bold, distinctive colors and strong, confident lines. But despite the beauty of her landscape, Anne was obviously dissatisfied. She seemed about to paint over the canvas and destroy her work. Instead, she set her brush and palette aside and slumped into a chair. Tilting her chin, Anne stared at the ceiling, blinking back tears.

“What’s wrong?” Shirley asked, turning to Gabriel for an explanation. “She looks like she’s going to cry.”

“She’s worrying about her son,” Gabriel said. “She—”

“But she’s prayed for him,” Shirley broke in. “Anne knows to leave matters with God. Her mother taught her the importance of trusting in God,” she said, adding, “But that was so long ago …”

“She spoke to her son a little while ago, and things are even worse than she realized. She’s given up hope.”

“But she prayed—how can you say that?” Shirley demanded. “After everything she’s been through, after all she’s suffered. Look,” she cried, gesturing at the weeping woman, “there’s no bitterness or hatred in her, no ill will toward Burton and his new wife.”

“That’s true,” Gabriel agreed, and he seemed truly astonished by the simple human act of forgiveness. “Anne has forgiven her husband for what he did to her, but she feels helpless to influence her son.”

“Why is God taking so long to answer?” Shirley asked, pacing restlessly.

“He has His reasons. It’s not for us to second-guess the Creator of the Universe.”

For an instant, Shirley seemed about to argue, but Goodness intervened. “Perhaps God knows that the right woman’s going to come along. A woman who’ll open Roy’s eyes—and his heart. It can’t be an ordinary woman, but one strong-willed enough to stand up to his arrogance.”

“Who could that be?” Mercy asked, looking wide-eyed at Gabriel.

“This woman is waiting to be found, and I’m sending you to Earth to find her.”

“We’re going back?” Goodness hadn’t been convinced that Gabriel would actually agree, since he so obviously had reservations about their dependability. She was thrilled. And just before Christmas, too! Oh yes, this was excellent news, the best yet.

“You may go,” Gabriel said in a guarded voice, “but with a few stipulations. You have less than a month—the prayer request must be answered before Christmas Eve, and in the process your goal is to teach these humans a lesson. Can you do it?”

“We can,” Shirley promised.

“We’ll be better than ever,” Mercy said.

“I’ll keep an eye on them both,” Goodness assured the Archangel.

“But who’ll watch you?” he asked, cocking one dark brow.

Goodness sputtered, hardly knowing how to respond, then straightened. She recited her mission statement. “I … I will faithfully fulfill my duties as an Ambassador of the Almighty.”

“Well said.” Gabriel nodded with approval, but Goodness wasn’t fooled. One wrong move, and they’d be immediately jerked back from Earth with its multitude of fascinating distractions.

A short while later, the three of them were gathered in Anne Fletcher’s art room. It was a small area with plenty of light. Canvasses were stacked against the wall, some painted, others a pristine white, waiting to come to life. Anne sat near a phone, and after a long moment, picked it up.

“Who’s she calling?” Mercy asked.

“Shh,” Goodness warned. Thankfully, Anne wasn’t aware of their presence nor could she hear their voices, unless special arrangements had been made well in advance. They were required to go to Gabriel for permission to reveal themselves—not that there weren’t inventive ways around that. “Listen,” Shirley said, hushing them all.

Anne punched out the private number to Roy’s office. There was no guarantee that he’d speak to her. She didn’t doubt that he loved her, but her son was avoiding her these days. Anne wasn’t fooled; she knew why he was doing this. While she tried not to nag him, Anne realized she must sound like a distant echo, repeating the same message over and over. No wonder he looked for ways to sidetrack her—or avoid her altogether.

“Roy Fletcher,” came his gruff, disembodied voice.

“It’s your mother,” she said with a cheerful lilt. “I haven’t heard from you in ages.” She wanted to bite her tongue. This wasn’t how she’d intended to start their conversation. Why, oh, why had she said that? It must have seemed like a chastisement, and that was the last thing she wanted Roy to think. “But I know how busy you are,” she said, faltering a little.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, already sounding bored. He’d be quick to write a check, and had on several occasions, although she’d never cashed one. She wondered if he’d noticed. It wasn’t Roy’s money she wanted, it was his happiness. No amount of money he gave or received, no matter how generous, could buy that.

“I’m fine, Roy. And you?”

“Busy.”

“Are you telling me you can’t talk now?” Or any other time, she thought, disheartened.

He hesitated. “I have five minutes.”

Anne almost had the feeling he was setting a timer. “I called to tell you I’m coming into Seattle next Thursday.” The trip required a ferry crossing and a half-hour drive; it often took a couple of hours to make the journey across Puget Sound.

“Any particular reason?”

“I’m meeting Marta Rosenberg for dinner.”

“Should I know the name?” Roy asked.

Anne sighed, resigned now to his lack of interest and enthusiasm. Except for his work, everything in life seemed to be an effort for Roy.

“There’s no reason you should remember the name,” she told him. “Marta and I were good friends in college. We’ve kept in touch through the years—Christmas cards, that sort of thing. She’s made a real name for herself in New York as an art dealer and gallery owner.”

Surprisingly, that piqued his interest. “Is she going to sell your paintings?”

“Oh, hardly,” Anne said, embarrassed at the idea. Anne would never approach her friend with such a request. Her paintings were amateurish compared to the work Marta sold, work by big names. Revered artists. “I was hoping you and I could meet beforehand,” Anne suggested. She wanted to get to her main reason for calling before her allotted time elapsed.

“I have a half hour open at lunchtime,” Roy murmured.

Anne’s spirits lifted. “That would be lovely. I’m meeting Marta at seven and—”

“I’ll pencil you in for noon. I have a meeting and I might be a few minutes late, so don’t be upset if you’re left twiddling your thumbs for a while.”

“I was thinking I might decorate the windows at your office building before Christmas,” she hurriedly added.

Her remark was followed by a lengthy pause. “You want to do what?”

“Paint your windows, you know, for Christmas.”

“Is this a joke, Mother?”

“No, it’ll give a festive air to the complex. I was thinking of those big windows in the front lobby. In case you hadn’t noticed, ‘tis the season, Roy. Don’t you remember how we used to paint the windows at the house every year?”

Again his response was slow and edged with sadness. “Of course I remember, but I was a kid then. I’ve outgrown things like that.”

Anne didn’t feel that way in the least. She wanted to do whatever she could to resurrect happy memories for him. “You won’t mind, though, will you?”

“If it pleases you, then by all means paint.” His voice softened slightly. “I have to go.”

“I know.” Her five minutes was up.

“I can’t promise you lunch, but I’ll do my best to squeeze you in.” With that, the phone line went dead.

Anne set the receiver back in its cradle as if it weighed thirty pounds.

“Squeeze her in!” Mercy cried, outraged. “This is worse than I thought. Anne’s his mother! How are we ever going to find a woman willing to put up with that kind of behavior?”

Actually, Roy Fletcher was in worse shape than anyone had thought, Goodness mused. They had their work cut out for them.

“Oh, dear, look,” Shirley whispered.

Anne Fletcher’s hand remained on the telephone, as if she was trying to maintain an illusion of contact with her son. Her head fell forward and her shoulders slouched. Suddenly, before the other angels could react, Shirley slipped into the middle of the room.

“What are you doing?” Goodness asked, reaching out unsuccessfully to stop her.

“Anne needs encouragement,” Shirley insisted. “She can’t continue like this.”

“You’re going to get us pulled off this assignment,” Mercy warned. “We haven’t been on Earth five minutes. That’s a record even for us.”

“Don’t you remember what Gabriel said?”

“Darn right I do! One wrong move and we’re out of here.”

“No,” Shirley countered, “he said some things had to be believed in order to be seen.”

“But he didn’t say for us to leap in and do something we know isn’t allowed.”

Mercy’s warning, however, went unheeded. “What’s Shirley going to do?” she asked Goodness.

“I’m afraid to find out,” Goodness replied.

“I’m going to prove to Anne that she should believe,” Shirley announced grandly.

“But that’s the opposite of what Gabriel meant,” Mercy argued.

“I’m doing it,” Shirley said.

Sure enough, she stepped through the thin layer of truth that separated angels from humans. For a moment she did nothing but soak in the earthly environment. Then, in a display of heavenly grace, the angel unfolded her wings, extending them to their complete and glorious length. With the full splendor of the Lord reflecting upon her, she revealed herself to Anne.

Anne Fletcher gasped and placed her hand over her mouth. To her credit, the human seemed suitably impressed. Slowly Anne dropped her hand and stared hard at Shirley, as if she expected her to disappear. She blinked once and then again, obviously testing to see if this could possibly be her imagination. Anne shaded her eyes from the light. Then, still staring, she reached for a pad and pencil and started to sketch.

“Oh, no.”

Mercy looked around, certain they were about to lose all visitation rights until the next millennium. Nothing happened.

Seconds later, Shirley was back. Goodness forced herself to keep quiet and not reprimand her friend. Mercy had no such restraint.

“How could you?” she wailed.

“Anne needed a sign,” Shirley said, “and I gave it to her. God is working, and I wanted her to know that—to believe.”

“But look what she’s doing!” Mercy cried, watching as Anne worked on the sketch, her fingers moving at a furious pace as if she was struggling to get everything she’d seen down on paper before it faded from memory.

Goodness could hardly wait until Gabriel heard about this.

Four

Julie was proud of her father, and so pleased that he’d been granted this opportunity. Abraham Lincoln Junior High where she taught was only a short distance from Fletcher Industries. The first day he was scheduled to work, she suggested she ride in with him and then take her bike from the complex to the school. She planned to do the same thing in reverse every afternoon, unless there was a late meeting scheduled or one of her teams had a practice or a game. It was hard to find opportunities to exercise, and this seemed a good solution, in addition to giving her extra time with her father. Folding a change of clothes into her backpack, she dressed in her spandex pants and nylon shirt. She attached her bicycle to the carrier on the rear of the Ford, then joined her father in the front seat.

“Are you excited?” she asked. If he wasn’t, she certainly was. Her father could use a psychological boost. It’d been a long dry spell for both of them.

He shrugged.

“Well, I am.” It felt, in some strange, inexplicable way, as if they could finally begin to heal—as if their time of grieving was about to end. Not that either of them would forget Darlene Wilcoff. She was alive in their hearts and would forever remain a part of them. Now, four months following her death, this crisp, clear late-November morning seemed filled with renewed promise.

“You’re sure about this bicycle business?” her father muttered as he started the engine. “I don’t like the idea of you riding back in the dark.”

“It’s perfectly safe, Dad,” she said, half-tempted to say that at thirty, she was well beyond the age of needing parental supervision. “I’m wearing a helmet and a vest that reflects in the dark, plus the bike has a flashing light in the front and the back.”

He grunted, obviously still disapproving, but didn’t argue further. As they reached Fletcher Industries, her father slowed. “You’ll need to be here at five this afternoon.”

“I will.” That would allow her time to finish up some paperwork and cycle back to the complex. “Where would you like me to meet you?”

He frowned as if he hadn’t considered this earlier. “In front of the building would probably be best. The parking lot is a secure area and I don’t want you going in there without me.”

“Okay. I’ll see you at five.”

Her father pulled up close to the tall office building and put his car in Park while Julie climbed out. Other cars had already started to arrive, and a delivery truck circled toward the back of the complex.

Julie walked to the rear of the Ford and removed her ten-speed. Her father drove off once he’d pointed out where they should meet. His taillights disappeared as he turned the corner and drove toward the employees’ designated parking area, joining a line of other vehicles.

Julie had just finished snapping the helmet strap under her chin when a sharp male voice spoke from somewhere behind her. She whirled around.

“What’s your business here?” Oh, great, her father’s first day and she was going to have a confrontation with a security guard.

“Hello,” she said, smiling warmly. “I’m Julie Wilcoff. My father—”

“I asked you to state your business.”

The man was no guard, Julie could now see. He was tall, an inch or two more than her five foot eleven, and dressed in a dark suit, expensive, judging by the cut, although she didn’t have a discerning eye when it came to fashion. He might have been handsome, but scowling as he was, he appeared intimidating and in no mood for excuses.

“I’m on my way to school.”

His expression implied that she was lying.

“You’re not a student.”

“No, I’m a teacher. My father dropped me off here to show me where I should meet him tonight when he’s finished work. Are you Roy Fletcher?” This could be the man her father had described; his attitude certainly resembled that of the company owner.

The man ignored her question. “Your father is Dean Wilcoff?”

“Yes.” She had to bite back the urge to call him sir. It’d been a long time since any man had intimidated her, and she wasn’t about to let it show. “I didn’t realize there were rules against riding bicycles in this complex.”

“There aren’t. Be on your way,” he ordered, starting toward the front door.

Julie planted one hand on her hip and glared at him. “I beg your pardon,” she said in her best schoolteacher voice. How dare he speak to her like this!

He paused, and then with exaggerated patience, said, “You’re free to go.”

“In case you’re unaware of it, I was entitled to do so before.” No wonder her father had taken a dislike to Mr. High-and-Mighty. He was, without exception, the most disagreeable person she’d ever met. His arrogance was absolutely staggering.

He turned his back on her and walked into the building.

Fuming, Julie climbed on her bike and locked her cleats into the pedals. She rode hard, her anger driving her faster and faster as she left the complex and then merged with traffic on the main thoroughfare outside Fletcher Industries. She arrived at Abraham Lincoln a good ten minutes earlier than she’d estimated. She parked her bicycle, still muttering to herself, and carefully took off her helmet.

“Mornin’,” Penny Angelo, who taught English, said cheerfully as she passed the bicycle rack, briefcase in hand.

Julie managed a halfhearted greeting and then added, her outrage flaring back to life, “You wouldn’t believe what just happened.”

“Did you cross paths with a rude driver?” Penny guessed, eyeing her ten-speed.

“No, a tyrant!” Julie waited for her heart to stop pounding and exhaled slowly in an effort to regain perspective. She refused to let the encounter affect the rest of her day. “It’s behind me now,” she said, making a determined effort to put Roy Fletcher out of her mind. If it had been him. He hadn’t answered her question, but from his demeanor and attitude she could only assume she’d run headlong into the company’s owner.

Despite her rough start that morning, Julie had a good day. She enjoyed teaching; she was strict but fair, and her students understood that and respected her for it. After her last class, Julie changed out of her work clothes and back into her cycling gear and pedaled the five miles to Fletcher Industries.

Invigorated, she arrived at the spot her father had suggested. She hadn’t been there more than a few minutes when a uniformed guard approached. It seemed she was destined for trouble. Probably Mr. Nose-in-the-Air had ordered him to chase her off. Well, if that was the case, she was ready. She had every right to be there, and she intended to point that out.

“Ms. Wilcoff?” the young man asked politely. His name tag read Jason.

She relaxed her stance. “Yes?”

“Your father said he’d be a bit late and asked that you meet him in his office.”

“Oh, okay.”

“I’ll show you up.”

What a difference from the way she’d been greeted that morning! The guard indicated where she could park her bike and then led her into the building. Entering the elevator, dressed as she was, Julie felt a bit self-conscious. She smiled shyly at a couple of women and decided that perhaps this bike-riding business wasn’t the best idea, after all, especially if she was going to be meeting people. She’d give it a week and see how it went.

Her father’s office was on the third floor. He looked up and smiled when she came into the room. “How was your day?”

“Great,” she said, dropping into a chair. “How about yours?”

“Fine, fine. I won’t be long.” He returned to the computer screen, which he studied intently. “Just checking some employee records,” he said. “I’m getting the hang of this computer stuff now.”

“Take your time, I’m in no hurry.”

“Wilcoff.” The same unfriendly voice that had almost ruined her morning sounded from the doorway.

Julie turned her head to find the same unfriendly man—presumably Roy Fletcher. His eyes narrowed when he saw her.

“You again?” he said.

Her father rose and cast a glance from his employer to Julie. “This is my daughter, Julie. You’ve met?”

“I had the pleasure this morning.” Fletcher held out his hand.

They exchanged brief handshakes. “Pleasure isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” Julie primly informed him.

“You teach English?”

“No,” she said in a clipped voice. “Etiquette.”

The merest hint of a smile touched his mouth. “I see.”

“Julie teaches physical education, Mr. Fletcher,” her father corrected, apparently surprised she’d claim otherwise.

Fletcher focused his attention on Dean. “I wanted to let you know my mother’s stopping by in the next couple of weeks to paint a Christmas scene on the lobby windows.” He frowned. “She seems to think some Christmas cheer will put me in the holiday mood,” he said with heavy sarcasm.

Julie doubted he was interested in goodwill, now or at any other time of the year.

“I’ll make sure no one bothers Mrs. Fletcher,” her father assured him.

“I’d appreciate it.” He turned to go, then changed his mind. “How was your first day?”

Her father hesitated. “Challenging.”

“Good, glad to hear it.” With that, Fletcher was gone as fast as he’d appeared.

“Good, glad to hear it,” Julie repeated, and rolled her eyes. “Is that the most unpleasant man you’ve ever met in your life or what?”

“He’s my employer, Julie, and he has more important matters on his mind than either you or me.”

“How can you defend him?” she cried. “You said he was cold, but I had no idea he was this cold.”

“He has a lot of responsibilities,” her father said. “I’ve only been with the company one day, but I can see that people respect him, which says a great deal. There has to be a reason the staff feels like that about him.”

If her father wanted to defend the tyrant, fine. She wasn’t going to argue with him.

“I wonder what made him like this,” she murmured while her father cleared off his desk. She didn’t expect an answer and he didn’t give her one. Perhaps eventually she’d learn more about Roy Fletcher. Then again, perhaps she wouldn’t. Because Julie didn’t care if she ever saw him again.

“It’s her,” Mercy shouted joyously, clapping her hands with delight. “She’s the woman we’ve been sent to find for Anne’s son.”

“Who?” Shirley asked, looking around the empty office.

“Julie, of course,” Mercy said irritably. “Dean Wilcoff’s daughter.” Mercy seemed disappointed that they didn’t see things as plainly as she did.

“Julie? This Julie?” Goodness repeated, incredulous. “Get out of here!” Julie Wilcoff wasn’t at all the kind of woman she had in mind. Besides, anyone could see those two had started off on the wrong foot. Julie openly disliked the man. Roy’s feelings were harder to read, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d had trouble remembering Julie’s name two minutes after they’d met.

“Open your eyes,” Mercy said, sitting on the file cabinet in Wilcoff’s darkened office. “They’re perfect for each other.”

Shirley remained skeptical. “Sorry, I just can’t picture it.”

“Me, neither,” Goodness concurred. She tried to imagine them as a couple. They didn’t fit together, somehow. They both had strong personalities that would constantly collide. Goodness thought a gentle, loving woman would be better suited to the likes of Roy Fletcher. Someone soft and quiet. Someone less opinionated, more compromising. They hadn’t found this paragon yet, but give them time and they would. Of course, they didn’t have a lot of time. Their assignment on Earth was limited to a short three weeks.

“Am I the only one here with a brain?” Mercy groaned. “Julie’s the right woman because she isn’t going to let him intimidate her. She’s got the strength of will to stand up to him, and he’ll respect her for that.”

“True,” Shirley reluctantly agreed. “I don’t mean to be unkind here, but have you noticed that … well, Julie’s a very sweet girl, but …”

“She’s a woman with all the right qualifications.”

“Yes, of course, but, well, she’s rather … large.”

“I believe the term Shirley is looking for,” Goodness said, stepping forward, “is big-boned.”

“She’s tall and she’s … solid,” Mercy said forcefully. “Don’t forget, she played sports all those years. She’s not some skinny little size-two model type.”

“I know you mean well,” Goodness said, not wanting any more distractions, “but Anne’s son is handsome and wealthy, and frankly, he can have any woman he wants.”

“He’s well aware of that,” Mercy declared, “and he doesn’t care.”

“Aimee was blond and beautiful,” Shirley said.

“How do you know that?”

“I … peeked at the file on Gabriel’s desk when no one was around.”

“You did what?” Goodness burst out.

“It doesn’t matter what Aimee looks like,” Mercy insisted. “Okay, so she was blond and cute. Didn’t work out, though, did it?”

“Obviously not,” Goodness said grudgingly.

“Do you think he’s still in love with her?” Shirley asked.

“I doubt it.” Although Goodness couldn’t know for sure, she suspected that Roy had put Aimee completely out of his mind—her and every other woman in the universe.

This was what made their mission so difficult. It was up to the three of them to find Roy a woman who would warm his cold, empty heart and teach him about love. No wonder Gabriel had warned them. This was perhaps their most difficult assignment to date.

“I like Julie,” Mercy whispered.

“She’s apple pandowdy and Fletcher wants cheesecake,” Goodness said, proud of her analogy.

“He’s had cheesecake.” Shirley shot upward to join Mercy, crowding next to her on the filing cabinet. “I’m beginning to think Mercy’s right. Roy’s lost his taste for the exotic. He needs a woman with substance, a woman who’s truly his equal.”

Goodness thought perhaps her fellow Prayer Ambassadors had a point, but convincing Roy wouldn’t be easy. “Just how are we going to persuade him to give Julie a second look?”

“And what about Julie?” Shirley demanded. “She didn’t exactly fall for him at first sight.”

“I think you’re right,” Goodness said. “Roy might need a bit of angelic assistance, but Julie’s going to be even harder to convince.”

“Oh, dear, I hadn’t thought of that,” Mercy muttered. “She’s taken a rather keen dislike to him, hasn’t she.”

“That can be fixed, too.”

Goodness and Mercy turned to look at their friend. “What do you mean?”

Shirley chortled happily. “Why don’t I show you, instead?”

Five

“I hate the idea of you having to work on a Saturday,” Julie said as her father prepared to walk out the door. He’d explained that it was because of the Thanksgiving holiday that had just passed.

“I don’t mind. There’s a lot to do.” She watched him go and realized it’d been a very long time since she’d seen her father content. After only a few days, she was aware of what this new job had done for him. Once again, Julie was grateful that he’d been given this chance to prove himself. Despite her personal feelings about Fletcher, whom she considered both rude and egotistical, she appreciated the faith he’d placed in her father. Her sister agreed. They exchanged daily e-mails; Emily had told Julie she was encouraged by the changes she already saw in their father and suggested Julie make an effort to get along with the “big boss” if she saw him again—which she probably wouldn’t.

Julie leaned against the door and sighed once her father had left for work. A sigh of relief, of satisfaction. Looking heavenward, she whispered, “We’re going to be all right, Mom. We’re moving ahead with our lives.” Deep in her heart, she knew her mother heard her and approved.

The surprising thing Julie had learned in the past year was that life does go on. Despite her loss, despite her pain, she’d come to understand that. Clichéd though it sounded, it was true. Gradually, as she resumed her routines and her habits, it became easier. This didn’t mean she missed her mother any less or had stopped thinking about her—that would’ve been impossible—but life continued.

After showering and doing a few housecleaning tasks, Julie tackled the kitchen. It was when she opened the refrigerator that she noticed her father’s lunch. He’d forgotten it. Knowing he’d go without rather than pick up something at a restaurant, she called his work number. When he wasn’t available, she asked the man who answered to please let her father know she’d deliver his lunch later that morning.

As she left the house, Julie decided this was the perfect opportunity to get in some exercise. Soon she’d start training for the STP, the annual two-hundred-mile bicycle ride between Seattle and Portland, Oregon. The two-day event was held every July and she’d participated faithfully until her mother’s illness. Julie had skipped the past two years, but was eager to get back into a regular training program.

Dressed in her biking gear, she wheeled her ten-speed out of the garage and tucked her father’s lunch in one of the paniers over the rear wheels. Then she headed for Fletcher Industries. It felt good to work hard, to pump her legs and exercise her lungs. At top speed she turned off the busy road and into the long driveway that led to the office complex. In the small mirror attached to her helmet, she saw a black sedan turning in behind her. The driveway was narrow and there wasn’t room for her to move over or allow the vehicle to pass. Leaning forward as far as she could, her arms braced against the handlebars, Julie reached maximum speed, forcing her legs to pedal even faster.

Obviously the sedan’s driver hadn’t seen her. Julie gasped as the black vehicle hit her rear tire. The collision sent her hurtling through the air, arms flailing. Her heart stopped when she realized there was no way to avoid missing a fir tree. A scream froze in her throat. If her head slammed against the tree at this speed, helmet or not, she’d be a goner. The last thought she had before impact was a fervent hope that her father not be the one to identify her body.

Then she landed.

It was as though she’d collided with a pile of pillows. Following impact with the tree, she fell on her backside with a solid thump. Too stunned to react, Julie sat there. By any law of nature, she should be badly injured.

Only, she wasn’t. In fact, she seemed to be unscathed. Surely that was impossible!

“Are you all right?”

A pale, shaken Roy Fletcher stood above her. Equally shaken, Julie looked up at him and blinked several times, unable to find her tongue.

“I should be dead,” she whispered, and thrust out her hand, assuming he’d help her up.

“You should be arrested for pulling a stunt like that,” he said angrily, ignoring her hand. “Stay put until I can get an ambulance and the police.” He took out his cell phone and started frantically punching numbers.

He wanted her arrested. Of all the nerve! “Listen here,” she cried, still in a sitting position. “You were the one who ran into me.”

“You’re insane!” He was shouting now. “Not you,” he said into the tiny cell phone and clicked it off. “I didn’t touch you.” He stared down at her, a puzzled look on his face. “I can’t believe you’re not hurt.”

“I’m fine … I think.”

“That was the most idiotic stunt I’ve ever seen. Why did you do it?”

“Me?” He’d run into her. And here he was yelling at her when the entire accident had been his fault. “Do you honestly think I voluntarily flew through the air and collided with a tree?”

He shook his head and rubbed his eyes as though to clear his vision. “I don’t know what the hell happened, but I didn’t hit you.”

“Fine. Whatever. Just help me up.” She extended her arm to him a second time. Unsteady as she felt, she needed the assistance.

“No!” He raised both hands. “Stay put,” he said again. “You could’ve broken something and don’t know it.”

“I’d know it,” she muttered. While she admitted to being shaken, she wasn’t about to let him bully her. Although the trip to her feet lacked grace, she was soon upright.

“Don’t move,” he said. “Wait for the paramedics.”

“I’m perfectly all right,” she insisted, removing her helmet.

“You can’t be sure of that. Now do as I say and stay where you are.”

“Would you kindly be quiet and stop giving me orders?” Disgruntled, she brushed the dirt from her backside. So far, so good. Nothing even ached. She could see no scrapes or bruises.

Fletcher shook his head again, his expression one of hopelessness. “Are you always this unreasonable?”

Examining her ten-speed, Julie wanted to weep. It was ruined. “If you didn’t hit me, how did this happen?” Maybe he planned to claim his car hadn’t touched her bike, but she had evidence that said otherwise.

“If you hit that tree, why aren’t you injured?” he snapped.

Julie didn’t have an answer for him anymore than he did for her. They stood glaring at each other, both unwilling to back down, when the ambulance, siren blaring, rounded the corner.

Before she could protest, two paramedics had her sitting down. While Fletcher explained what had happened, Julie, under protest, was placed on a stretcher. “Would someone please listen to me,” she said as she struggled to sit up. “I’m fine. I don’t even have any bruises. I’m not hurt.”

The taller of the two paramedics picked up her dented helmet. “You hit that tree?” he asked incredulously.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” Fletcher confirmed.

“He saw it because he ran into me,” Julie immediately said. He wasn’t an innocent bystander in this accident. He’d caused it.

“My car didn’t touch her bike.”

By this time, the police had arrived, and a cruiser pulled up behind the ambulance. Fletcher scowled at her as if to say this was all her fault, but he’d contacted the authorities. She hadn’t wanted to. While the police officer talked to Fletcher, Julie answered the paramedics’ questions. When they suggested she be checked out at the hospital, she refused.

“Look,” she said, dismissing their concern, “I’m none the worse for wear.” The last thing she wanted was to show up at the hospital in an ambulance when she wasn’t even hurt.

“You’ll have your own doctor examine you?” the second man asked.

“I will,” she promised.

“I’ll see that she does,” Fletcher added.

The policeman knelt down in front of Fletcher’s sedan. “I don’t see any marks here.”

Fletcher looked at Julie, his eyes full of suspicion. “I don’t know how to explain what happened, but I swear I didn’t hit you.”

“Would you stop telling me how innocent you are?” Then it dawned on her that he was afraid she was going to sue him. As a man with deep pockets, he’d be worried about lawsuits.

“Nope, I don’t see any evidence here at all,” the police officer said, frowning in puzzlement.

Men always stick together, Julie thought irritably. Well, if that was what the police had decided, so be it.

“I’ll leave it for you two to settle,” the officer said.

“Thank you,” Roy told him.

The paramedics climbed back into their vehicle and drove off, and shortly afterward the police car followed.

“Look at my bike!” Julie studied the damage to her ten-speed. The entire back wheel was bent and twisted; the frame had buckled beyond repair.

“I’ll buy you another,” Fletcher said as he loaded her crumpled bike into the trunk of his car.

“So you are admitting responsibility,” she challenged, hands on her hips.

“No,” he said in a flat, businesslike tone.

“You don’t have to worry. I have no intention of suing you.”

He didn’t respond as he opened the passenger door. “Get in,” he said curtly.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To my personal physician.”

“I said I’m not hurt.”

“I know what you said. Now are you going to do as I ask, or do I have to put you inside this car myself?”

Julie could see it was pointless to argue; he was determined to do things his way. “Oh, all right,” she said with a complete lack of graciousness.

He slipped into the driver’s seat and exhaled slowly. “Thank you.”

Julie crossed her arms and tried to stifle a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” But then she couldn’t help it and burst out laughing.

“What?”

“It’s you,” she said between peals of laughter. “You said ‘thank you.’ Were you thanking me for sparing you the effort of having to physically lift me?”

“No.” He apparently lacked even the most rudimentary sense of humor. “I was thanking you for not putting up any more of a fuss than you already have.”

He started the engine. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Until he asked, she’d totally forgotten. “Dad’s lunch. It’s on the bike. He forgot it this morning and I was taking it to him.” She turned around and looked behind her, wondering if his lunch had somehow survived the collision. “I need to get it to him.”

“Your father can go without lunch—getting you to a doctor is more important at the moment.”

She glared at him, and he groaned audibly.

“Oh, all right.” Without her having to say another word, he drove up to the main entrance and parked. “Stay where you are,” Fletcher ordered.

“I wouldn’t dream of doing anything else,” she said with exaggerated sweetness.

He looked as though he doubted her, then quickly leaped out of the car. Removing her sorely bent and abused ten-speed, he leaned it against the building. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but a moment later, the side mirror on the passenger door gave her a brief view of him on his cell phone.

“Did you tell my dad I wasn’t hurt?” she asked when he got back in the car.

“No, I was talking to Dr. Wilbur.”

Great, just great. Her father would find her bike, a crumpled mess, and assume the worst. “Give me that phone.”

He stared at her as if no one ever spoke to him like that. “Please,” she added, realizing how rude she must sound. “I’ve got to tell Dad I’m all right. He won’t know what to think if he finds that.”

“By the way,” he said wryly, “his lunch did not sustain any mishap. The sandwich isn’t smashed at all. I thought you’d want to know.” He reached inside his jacket and handed her the cell, which was the tiniest phone she’d ever seen. It took Julie a few minutes to figure out how it worked.

Her father was away from his desk and once again she had to leave a message with someone else. She explained the situation and said he should collect his lunch from her bike.

“Are you happy now?” Fletcher asked when she’d finished her call and returned his phone.

“Ecstatic.”

“Good. Now sit back and relax.”

“Don’t be so bossy,” she muttered.

“Don’t be so stubborn.”

“This really isn’t necessary. I have no intention of suing,” she said, not for the first time.

“Good thing, because you’d lose.”

Julie thought she saw a hint of a smile. She looked again, certain she must be wrong. The high-and-mighty computer whiz was actually amused. Now this was something to write home about.

Anne Fletcher pulled the blanket around her shoulders as she attempted to fall to sleep. Opening one eye, she peered at the clock. Two in the morning. She should’ve been asleep hours ago. For no reason she could discern, she’d been having trouble sleeping. No matter what she did—read, drank warm milk, swallowed nighttime aspirin—she remained fully awake.

With a disgusted sigh, she tossed back the covers and reached for the switch on her lamp. She was wide-awake and any effort to sleep would be a waste of time. Her mind drifted to the memory of the angel who’d appeared to her. She leaned over to get her sketchbook from the bedside table and flipped the pages until she found what she wanted.

Anne was sure she’d imagined the visitation, and yet it had seemed so real. But none of this made sense. Why would an angel appear to her? Not a word had been spoken, not a sound uttered. But an angel had stood directly in front of her. So strong was the impression that even now Anne could feel the love emanating from the heavenly being.

To further confuse her, the image had lasted for several minutes, long enough for Anne to grab her sketchbook. Almost as if she was posing, the angel had stood perfectly still while Anne quickly outlined what was before her, unbelievable though it was.

“She was so beautiful,” Anne whispered as she studied the drawing with fresh eyes.

The urge to paint the image onto canvas suddenly gripped her. After a long day in her studio, she should be exhausted; instead, she was filled with excitement. Anne got out of bed. Dressed in her nightgown and slippers, she decided she’d paint until she felt tired. She’d get started and see how things went.

The studio was cold and dark, and she turned on the light, then hurried into the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Taking a pristine canvas from the pile stacked against the wall, she set it on the easel and stepped back. No, bigger. The angel who’d visited her couldn’t be displayed on such a small space. Searching through her supplies, Anne looked for the largest canvas she had.

She found one in a closet, bigger than anything she’d ever used before, and began to work. Thinking she’d soon grow tired, she didn’t pause. She painted through the night and didn’t stop until daylight. To her amazement, she noticed sunshine pouring in around her. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost eight! For the first time in her life she’d worked straight through the night.

“I’ll just take a quick break,” she told herself as she went back to bed. Exhausted, she climbed between the sheets and closed her eyes. Seven hours later, around three, she woke feeling refreshed and revitalized.

After showering and changing clothes, Anne resumed her painting. The next time she looked up, it was dark again. Shocked, she realized she hadn’t eaten in nearly thirty hours. The refrigerator provided a chunk of cheddar and a small cluster of seedless grapes, which she munched on hungrily. She made another pot of tea. Then it was back to work.

When she’d finished the painting, she saw daylight again; for the second night in a row, she’d worked without sleep. Stepping back, Anne examined her creation with a critical eye.

“Yes,” she whispered, awed by the painting before her.

This was her best work to date. She’d call it … Visitation. Smiling, she studied the painting from several angles.

The phone rang, startling her, and she hurried to answer it.

“Anne, it’s Marta.”

“Oh, Marta, hello.” Her mind raced frantically as she tried to remember what day it was. Anne had a terrible feeling she’d missed their dinner appointment—not to mention her lunch with Roy—and sincerely hoped she hadn’t. She thought for a minute; as far as she could calculate, it was Thursday morning. Never had she worked on a project in such a frenzied fashion—to the point that she no longer knew what day of the week it was.

“I just called to ask if you’d let me see one of your paintings.”

“Oh, Marta, are you sure?” Anne would never presume to ask her friend for this kind of favor.

“I’ve been hearing good things about your landscapes. A colleague of mine was on the island last summer—Kathy Gruber—and met you. She saw your work at a local exhibit. You remember her, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Since I’m in town this week, I’d like to take a look at some of your pieces.”

Anne glanced at her angel. “I’ll let you see one, but it isn’t a landscape. As it happens, I just finished it.” Eyeing the canvas, she frowned. The painting was too big; she couldn’t bring it into town with her. “It won’t fit in my car,” she said.

“I can make a trip out to your place tomorrow, if that’s convenient.”

“Of course it is, but we’re still meeting for dinner tonight, aren’t we?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Marta assured her.

“Me, neither,” Anne said.

They spoke for a few minutes longer. When Anne replaced the receiver, she saw by the clock that she had just enough time for a short nap and a shower before heading into Seattle to meet her son.

Six

“Not bad,” Goodness said as she studied the painting. She cocked her head to one side and decided that, as a portrait, it was uncannily accurate. “It certainly looks like Shirley.”

“I had no idea I was so lovely,” Shirley said, clasping her hands. “Is that truly the way Anne sees me?” She gazed expectantly at her two friends.

“So it seems,” Goodness replied.

“What I want to know,” Mercy began, making herself at home in Anne’s studio, “is why we haven’t been dragged back to Heaven in disgrace.” She glanced pointedly at Shirley. “By all rights, we should be standing guard at the Pearly Gates after what she did.”

Mercy was the one more accustomed to causing trouble on Earth. It used to be Shirley who made them tread the straight and narrow, but apparently the job had—unfairly—fallen to Goodness. For this assignment, anyway.

She couldn’t give Mercy an answer. The Archangel clearly had his own reasons for keeping them on Earth.

“We have an important task,” Shirley explained as if that should be obvious. “Anne and Roy need us.”

“Seems to me Julie could use a hand, too,” Goodness muttered. She didn’t want to be judgmental, but the woman Mercy considered the answer to Anne’s prayer was being less than cooperative.

“What do you mean?” Mercy asked. “I thought the accident was a brilliant idea! It got Roy and Julie together, didn’t it?”

“All they did was snipe at each other.” Goodness wasn’t disparaging her friend’s effort, but it simply hadn’t worked.

“I think I was more optimistic than I should’ve been,” Mercy said when Shirley came and sat next to her.

“I thought everything went very well.” Shirley seemed undeterred by Julie’s lack of cooperation—or Roy’s. She continued to stare at her portrait with an appreciative eye.

“How can you say that?” Goodness cried. In her opinion, Julie wasn’t the only one who needed instruction in romance. It was evident that Shirley had difficulty recognizing what worked and what didn’t. That staged accident certainly hadn’t.

Shirley sighed. “I had real hope when Roy took her to his own physician.”

“But then he dumped her there.”

Mercy nodded vigorously. “The least he could’ve done was wait long enough to make sure she wasn’t injured.”

“He did pay for her taxi ride home,” Shirley said. “They were getting along so well, too.”

Goodness gaped at her friend and wondered if Shirley had lost all touch with reality. “They did nothing but argue!” She’d witnessed courtroom battles with less antagonism. Roy Fletcher and Julie Wilcoff were completely unsuited as a couple, but no one wanted to listen to her. As far as she could see, the two of them didn’t even like each other.

Goodness might never have been in love—romance was for earthly beings—but she had an instinct for matchmaking, if she did say so herself. She’d successfully guided men and women toward each other a time or two, but none of that seemed to matter.

“Yes, they were arguing, but I was well aware even if you weren’t that they like each other,” Mercy insisted.

“I don’t think so.” Goodness hated to discourage her friends, but she didn’t see it. The spark just wasn’t there. She suspected Julie had become so discouraged about her prospects of finding a husband that she’d lost the ability to attract one. Goodness had wanted to shake the young woman for joking about her weight. A lady never discussed such things! Julie should know better. And Roy—he was one of the walking wounded. He didn’t seem capable of feeling anything, except bitterness and cynicism.

“What are you suggesting?” Mercy asked.

Goodness knew it was one thing to criticize and another to offer an alternative. But she figured they’d better face up to the truth sooner rather than later. “We should give it up and search elsewhere.”

Mercy folded her wings tightly, a sure sign she wasn’t pleased.

“We did our part. Now it’s up to the two of them. Agreed?” Goodness gave her friends a stern look.

“Just who do you think would interest Roy?” Shirley asked.

“Just who?” Mercy parroted.

They had Goodness there. “I don’t know—yet,” she said. “But we’ve done our part. Agreed?” she said again.

The other two nodded with unmistakable reluctance.

“Now I say we leave them alone, and if it’s meant to be, it’ll happen without any help from the three of us.”

Mercy seemed about to argue, but then she sighed loudly. “Oh, all right, but I still have a strong feeling that Julie’s the answer to Anne’s prayer.”

“Anne,” Shirley whispered. As if she’d suddenly remembered something, the former Guardian Angel announced,

“I’ll be right back.”

Goodness was having none of this. “Where are you going?” Shirley glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll only be a minute.” Goodness exchanged a look with Mercy and both of them followed Shirley. The other Ambassador didn’t go far. She crept into Anne’s bedroom and saw that the older woman was in bed, eyes closed.

“Is she asleep?” Mercy asked, floating above the bed. “Not quite,” Shirley answered with confidence. Goodness peered closer, but couldn’t tell. After working two consecutive nights on the portrait of Shirley, Anne must be exhausted.

“She’s meeting her son later this morning,” Mercy said.

“She won’t sleep long.”

Goodness checked the clock radio. “The alarm is set.”

“She thinks she only needs an hour or two.”

“The poor thing,” Shirley said. To Goodness’s surprise, she moved to stand over the older woman. Gently pressing her hand to Anne’s forehead, Shirley leaned forward to whisper, “You did a beautiful job.” Then she lifted her hand and eased away.

“Look,” Mercy said, pointing at Anne.

The softest of smiles touched the woman’s lips, almost as if she’d heard Shirley speak.

“Roy?”

Roy glanced up at George Williams, his high-priced corporate attorney. “I’m sorry, did I miss something?” Judging by the pained expression on the other man’s face, apparently he had. Williams had been discussing the profit-and-loss statement for Griffin Plastics, a company Roy was interested in purchasing. He’d half heard Williams drone on about “synergies”—which, as far as he could determine, just meant that Griffin would be able to make the cases for his security software. Sighing, he directed his attention to the papers on his desk. “Let me look these over and get back to you this afternoon.”

The attorney frowned, gathered his files together and stuffed them in his briefcase.

“Before you leave I have a question,” Roy said.

“About the Griffin figures?”

“No.” Roy reached for a pen and made a few scribbles on a clean sheet of paper while he collected his thoughts. “Late last week, I had a minor … altercation with a bicycle rider.”

“Altercation?” George Williams repeated.

“She fell—” he chose the word carefully “—off her ten-speed and hit a tree.”

The attorney’s eyes widened and he pulled a blank pad of paper toward him.

“She was unhurt,” Roy rushed to add. “As an innocent bystander, I immediately phoned the paramedics and notified the police.”

“So, you’re telling me that you were in no way responsible for her … fall?”

“That’s correct.”

“In other words, you happened along shortly after the accident, and out of consideration for this biker you stopped your vehicle and saw to her welfare?”

The attorney was describing a rather different scene than the one that had actually occurred, but Roy let him. “Yes,” he said slowly, thoughtfully.

“Your concern is?” Williams asked.

“The woman claims I caused her accident.” Just thinking about it irritated Roy. Although there was no evidence to validate her accusation, Julie Wilcoff had insisted he’d run into the rear of her bike. But he hadn’t even seen her until the last second and had instantly slammed on his brakes. In mentally reviewing the incident, Roy had decided that the sound of his car behind her must have startled Julie; she’d lost focus and hit something in the road, which was the reason she’d catapulted off the bicycle and into the tree.

That, however, didn’t explain the damage to her ten-speed. The bicycle clearly showed there’d been an impact from the rear. The back wheel was destroyed, the metal twisted and crumpled. Anyone looking at the bike would believe he’d hit Julie. But Roy knew otherwise, and there was no evidence on his car to suggest he’d collided with her.

“What injuries did she sustain?”

“None. She was unhurt. In fact, she refused medical treatment from the paramedics.”

Williams frowned.

“I took her to my personal physician and he couldn’t find any injuries, either.”

The attorney scribbled furiously. “What have you heard from her since?”

“Nothing.” That concerned him the most. With his name and his money, he was a natural target for frivolous lawsuits. However, any suit Julie filed might find a sympathetic jury. She could have a case, innocent though he was. It certainly wasn’t unheard of for a jury to award a huge settlement for a minor infraction, depending on how effectively the case was presented.

“I did feel bad,” Roy said cautiously. “The accident occurred on company property and I replaced her bicycle.” The new one was twice the machine her old ten-speed had been.

Again Williams made a notation. Roy worried that replacing Julie’s ten-speed might be seen as an acknowledgment of guilt. He should’ve thought of that earlier.

“Did she have a reason for being on company property?” Williams asked.

“I employ her father.”

The frown was back, creasing his brow. “I see.”

“Wilcoff was only recently hired.” Roy had let chance make the decision. He’d studied the applications, chosen the top three and written the candidates’ names on slips of paper, which he’d placed in an empty coffee mug. He’d drawn one name—Dean’s. So perhaps all of this was fated….

“Have you spoken to the father since the incident?”

Roy hadn’t. “Any suggestions on what I should do now?”

“I wish you’d said something sooner,” the attorney murmured, his expression darkening.

Roy probably should have, but until now he hadn’t seen the need. It hadn’t been a serious accident. By her own admission and confirmed by his doctor, Julie was perfectly fine. This sort of situation had never occurred before. Williams was probably right; Roy should’ve consulted a lawyer immediately.

“Trouble?” he asked, unwilling to borrow any. He had problems enough.

Williams nodded abruptly. “Even if you haven’t heard from this woman, that doesn’t mean she isn’t filing a lawsuit against you.”

“She hasn’t got a case,” Roy argued. But she did have the damaged bicycle….

“You and I know that, but didn’t you say she claims you were responsible for the accident?”

More times than Roy cared to count. Julie had accused him of running her down. It had become her mantra on their ride to Dr. Wilbur’s.

“That tells me there’s a good possibility of a nuisance suit.”

Roy should have known, should have guessed. “What do you think I should do next?” he asked, tension tightening his jaw. The thought of paying this money-grubber a dime went against his principles.

“Offer her a settlement.”

He didn’t want to do that, not in the least, but he knew it was better to take care of such unpleasantness quickly. Otherwise he might end up dealing with her in court. She had the damaged bike in her possession. A long, drawn-out trial would drain him emotionally and threaten him financially. And, needless to say, it could destroy his reputation.

“How much?” he asked bluntly.

The attorney hesitated, then said, “My expertise is corporate law, so perhaps we should let a litigation expert answer that question.”

Roy refused to waste another minute on this. “How much would you suggest?”

Williams shrugged. “Twenty-five thousand should more than compensate her for any pain and suffering.”

As far as Roy was concerned, that was twenty-five thousand too much. But gritting his teeth, he agreed. He’d order the check cut right away.

“Anything else?” Williams asked, picking up his briefcase.

“No, that should be all.”

The attorney gestured at the Griffin papers in front of Roy. “You’ll get back to me this afternoon?”

Roy nodded. He’d read over the figures and make a decision by the end of the workday. He stood, and the two men shook hands. Williams saw himself out as Roy returned to his chair.

He leaned back and steepled his fingers, his mind spinning in various directions. Shaking his head, he opened the Griffin file. Try as he might to focus on the facts and figures regarding the buyout, his thoughts wandered to Julie Wilcoff. Part of him wanted to take her at her word—to believe she had no intention of suing him. But his experience with women said otherwise.

“You know by now you can’t trust a woman.” Until he heard the words, Roy didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud.

Hoping to get a better feel for the situation, he called his executive assistant, Eleanor Johnson, and asked her to have Dean Wilcoff sent to his office. This potential lawsuit would bother him until he had some sense of what was likely to happen. The best way to find that out was through Julie’s father.

Within minutes, his new head of security was shown into his office.

“Good morning, Dean.” The older man stood by his desk, shoulders squared in military fashion.

“Sit down.” Roy motioned toward the chair recently vacated by his attorney. “I asked to see you on a personal matter.”

The other man didn’t react at all. That was good. “I assume you heard about your daughter’s bicycle accident.”

Dean nodded. “She told me about it herself. I want you to know how much I appreciate the way you took care of her.”

Roy dismissed his thanks. “She received the new ten-speed?” He’d had it delivered on Monday.

“She did, and I’m sure she’ll want to thank you personally for your generosity.”

“That isn’t necessary.” Roy paused, uncertain how to phrase the next question. “Uh, how is Julie?”

“How is she?” the other man repeated as if he didn’t understand. “Oh, do you mean does she have any lingering aches and such from the fall?”

“Yes,” Roy said without elaborating. He didn’t want to tip Wilcoff off about his fear of a lawsuit. Sure as anything, Julie was talking to some fancy lawyer who’d promise her millions. Roy’s millions. The tension gathered in his shoulder blades, tightening his muscles.

“Julie’s tough,” Dean answered, seeming to relax for the first time since entering the office. “As a kid, she had more scraped knees and bruises than any boy in the neighborhood. I will admit that when I saw her bike, I was a bit concerned, but she doesn’t seem to have any ill effects from the accident.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Like I said, Julie’s tough.”

“She’s been able to work all week, then?” That was another important question. If she was badly hurt, as she might claim, her showing up at work would be evidence that those claims were only an effort to bilk him out of as much money as possible.

“Oh, sure. She went to school every day this week.”

This was sounding better all the time, but it was no guarantee that she wasn’t planning legal action at some later point. No, it was best to deal with this once and for all.

“Your daughter’s convinced I caused the collision.” There, he’d said it. He watched the other man closely, wondering how he’d respond.

Wilcoff dropped his gaze. “Yes, she did mention that.”

Aha! Roy knew it. This was exactly what Williams had warned him about. Not hearing from Julie didn’t mean he wasn’t being set up for a multimillion-dollar lawsuit.

“I feel bad about the accident,” he said, selecting his words with care. “While Julie and I have a disagreement as to the cause, I’d like to remind you she was riding on company grounds.”

Wilcoff heard the censure in Roy’s voice and reacted accordingly. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t do that again.”

“I’d appreciate it.” He shuddered at the thought of another accident on his property.

“Consider it done,” Wilcoff said. He seemed eager to leave. “Was that all, Mr. Fletcher?”

“Actually, no,” Roy said slowly. This next part nearly stuck in his throat, but he had no option. “I’d like to offer Julie a small settlement to compensate for her pain and suffering.”

Shocked, his head of security held up both hands. “That isn’t necessary. In fact, I think Julie would be upset—”

“I insist. I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers and we’ll consider the matter closed.”

Wilcoff shook his head. “None of this is necessary. Anyway, you should talk to Julie about it, not me. But I know she’ll feel the same way.”

“Perhaps,” Roy said, although he didn’t believe it. He was a prime candidate for a lawsuit. He’d behaved stupidly in not getting his lawyer involved earlier. That oversight was a rarity for him; he hadn’t come this far in the business world by ignoring the obvious.

“Whatever you decide, Mr. Fletcher, is between you and my daughter, but I’m certain Julie isn’t interested in a settlement.”

That’s what they all say, Roy thought cynically. Julie Wilcoff was no different from any other woman he’d ever met—or any man in the same situation.

He was worried, but he didn’t dare let it show.

Wilcoff left, and Roy started to read over the Griffin paperwork, but he still couldn’t concentrate. The truth of it was, he’d quite enjoyed his exchanges with Julie Wilcoff. True, she wasn’t the most attractive woman he’d encountered, but she possessed a quick wit and a quirky sense of humor. He couldn’t recall the last time any woman had joked with him about her size or weight. He had to admit he found it refreshing.

His phone rang and he answered it. “I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Fletcher,” Eleanor Johnson said, “but your mother is here.”

“My mother?” Oh, yes, now he remembered. He’d even put it in his daily planner. She’d asked about meeting him on Thursday and he’d suggested lunchtime. In his current frame of mind, he had no interest in food, but he couldn’t slight his mother. He sighed, then said with obvious reluctance, “Send her in.”

“Merry Christmas, Roy.” Disregarding his mood, his mother came into the office and hugged him.

“How are you, Mother? And isn’t it a little early for Christmas greetings?”

“Not at all,” she said, smiling at him with sparkling blue eyes. “Once December arrives, it’s never too early to say Merry Christmas.” Roy smiled in return. He sincerely loved his mother. She often frustrated him, but he did love and admire her—although he didn’t understand her. She’d allowed his father to swindle her out of a huge amount. Roy had wanted her to fight, had urged her to drag his father back into court and make him pay. Roy wanted his father’s reputation destroyed, which was what Burton Fletcher deserved, but his mother had refused to do it. His father seemed to have some regrets, if his efforts to contact Roy were any indication, but so far Roy had adamantly rejected any kind of relationship.

Instead of fighting, his mother had apparently forgiven Burton and become a hermit, living in a ridiculously small cottage on a tiny San Juan island. What really upset him was that she claimed to be “reasonably happy.” She’d been cheated, dumped and cast aside like yesterday’s junk mail and she was happy? Roy just didn’t get it.

“Are you ready for lunch?”

Roy couldn’t think of a way to tell her he didn’t feel like having lunch without disappointing her. He checked his watch.

“Is your meeting over?”

“Yup, I have half an hour.” His problem was that he couldn’t be around his mother and ignore the past. When he was with her, his heart ached for a life that was dead to him. He grieved for the innocents they’d once been, he and his mother. She’d taken one path since the divorce and he’d taken another. Hatred for his father and for Aimee consumed him. He wanted them to suffer, wanted them to rot in hell for all the pain they’d caused.

While his mother chose to forgive and forget, he chose to remember every detail, every incident, every minute of their treachery. In retrospect, he realized Aimee had been interested in his father all along. He’d never been anything more than the means to an end.

“I’ll take whatever time you have for me,” his mother said in the complacent voice that always perturbed him. “Oh,” she said, slipping her arm around his waist. “I have a painting I want you to look at one day soon.”

“Another landscape?” Without her knowledge, he’d purchased several of her pieces, displayed under whatever name she used. Mary Something? He couldn’t remember at the moment. She refused his financial help, but what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Not this time,” she said, then softly added, “This time I painted something entirely different.”

Seven

“You don’t know how good it is to see you!” Marta Rosenberg greeted Anne, throwing her arms wide. The hotel foyer was dominated by a fifteen-foot-tall Christmas tree decorated with huge shiny red balls and large gold bows. Plush leather chairs and mahogany tables created an intimate atmosphere despite the openness of the room.

Anne hugged her friend. It’d been years since they’d last visited. Nearly ten if she recalled correctly. Burton had taken a business trip to New York and Anne had accompanied him. They’d gone to a show on Broadway, gotten together with old friends and strolled through Central Park holding hands. She and Marta had met for drinks one afternoon, gossiping and laughing like the college girls they’d once been. That was long before Aimee, long before the divorce.

A familiar ache stabbed Anne close to her heart. She made an effort to ignore it; she wouldn’t allow her loss to taint this reunion.

“You look marvelous,” Marta said, stepping back to get a better view. “What have you been up to?”

Anne laughed off her old friend’s praise. “I spent most of the afternoon buying Christmas cards and wrap—after I had lunch with Roy. I swear Scrooge has more Christmas spirit than my son.” Her elegant white suit was left over from her old life. These days, she was most comfortable in jeans and an oil-smeared cotton shirt.

Marta was blond and tanned and she dressed strictly in black, no matter what the season. It was a New York thing, Anne figured. Her friend’s hair haphazardly framed her face, but Anne knew there was nothing haphazard about it. She looked chic, rich, sophisticated, and her world seemed a million miles from the one that had become Anne’s.

“Speaking of Roy,” Marta said as she led the way into the dining room. “I understand he’s making quite a name for himself.”

“I’m very proud of what he’s accomplished, but I worry about him.” She didn’t elaborate and thankfully Marta didn’t question her. Despite her determination to enjoy this evening, Anne’s thoughts went back to the lunch with Roy. He seemed preoccupied, but when she’d asked him about it, he’d brushed aside her concern. He so rarely permitted her any glimpses into his life; he’d closed himself off from her, the same way he’d shut out everyone else.

Marta announced her name to the maître d’, and they were immediately seated. The man handed Anne a leather-encased menu, and with more ceremony than necessary, draped the white linen napkin on her lap.

A waiter came for their drink order, and both Anne and Marta requested a glass of white wine.

“What brings you to Seattle?” Anne asked her. “Business, I assume.”

“What else? At one time I had a life, but now it’s art. You wouldn’t believe some of the pieces I’ve found. And—as I mentioned before—I really would like to see your work.”

“I’ve only been painting for the last five years, Marta. My work is amateurish compared to the artists you represent.”

“Let me decide that. You were the most talented girl in our class and I don’t expect that’s changed.”

But it had. So much had changed in the forty years since Marta had first known her.

Their wine arrived, and they paused to sample it. Anne welcomed the break in conversation.

“Well,” Marta said as she set her wineglass aside. “Let’s get the subject of Burton out of the way. What happened?”

Anne gazed sightlessly into the distance. “What always happens?”

“Another woman.” Marta scowled as she added, “Younger, no doubt.”

Anne nodded. “Thirty years younger.”

“I hope he paid through the nose for this.”

Anne didn’t answer. How could she? “Actually, no.” The details weren’t anyone’s business but her own. “It depresses me to discuss it, so let’s not, all right?”

“The jerk,” Marta muttered, and said something else under her breath, something Anne wouldn’t ask her to repeat.

“Shall we toast to independence?” Marta asked, tears filling her eyes.

“Marta?” Anne leaned forward and touched her friend’s hand. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s always wrong?” she murmured, echoing Anne’s earlier statement.

“Jack?”

Marta nodded, lowering her eyes. “He’s got a girlfriend. Naturally, he still thinks I have no idea, but a blind woman could’ve figured it out.”

So this was the reason Marta had sought her out. “What are you going to do?”

“Twenty-seven years with a man, and you assume you know him. Silly me.” She made a gallant effort to smile through her tears. Raising the wineglass to her lips, she took a long and appreciative swallow.

“You’re considering a divorce?”

Marta shrugged. “I can’t imagine the rest of my life without Jack, but I can’t tolerate the thought of him with another woman—especially while he’s married to me! I don’t know what to do.”

Anne noticed that her friend’s hand trembled as she put down her wineglass. “Half the time I want to bash his head in for hurting me like this and the rest of the time I cry.”

“You’re sure he’s having an affair?”

Marta reached for her wine and took another large swallow. “Very sure.” Tears glistened in her eyes again. “All right, my wise friend, advise me.”

Anne felt in no position to be giving her advice, although she supposed she could tell Marta what not to do. She’d been cheated and misled, and all because she’d been naive. The waiter appeared at their table, and Anne realized they hadn’t even looked at their menus. They did so quickly, both deciding on the salmon entrée.

Resuming the conversation, Anne called on her own experience. The first thing she suggested was that Marta talk to an attorney, and not one her husband recommended. From this point forward, everything Jack said was suspect, since he’d lied to her already. Marta needed facts and information. Anne might have saved herself a lot of grief had she hired an attorney of her own choosing—and done so earlier.

Their dinners arrived. They chatted, they ate, they laughed and cried, and then laughed again.

“I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to talk with someone openly and honestly,” Marta said after their second glass of wine and two cups of strong coffee. “I didn’t know where else to turn. Lots of our friends have split up over the years, but … this just can’t be happening. Not to Jack and me, and yet it is, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Anne squeezed Marta’s hand. “I hoped Burton would come to his senses. I prayed and pleaded with God to give me my husband back. My entire identity was tied up with his.”

Marta grew tearful again. “I’m beginning to wonder if God really answers our prayers.”

Anne believed He did. “While it’s true God didn’t give me the answer I wanted, He did answer me.”

“How do you mean?”

“I have my own identity now, and it isn’t that of Burton’s ex-wife. I’m Anne Fletcher—and I’m also Mary Fleming, artist.”

“Why did you decide to use a pseudonym?”

It was a well-kept secret. Only a few people knew. Her fear was that friends, out of pity and concern, would purchase her landscapes in a desire to support her. Anne didn’t want their sympathy. Come hell or high water, she was determined to make it on her own.

“Mary Fleming is business-savvy, smart and talented. Anne Fletcher is meek, mild and a victim, in the eyes of the world.”

“I love it,” Marta said, reaching for the tab and signing it to her room. “Speaking of Mary,” she said, “I’m really looking forward to seeing her work.”

Anne hesitated. “You’re sure about this?”

“Is that Anne or Mary speaking?”

“Anne,” she confessed with a laugh.

“That’s what I thought.”

“Okay, come to my car with me. I brought a sketch.”

They left the hotel, and Anne handed the valet her claim check. He brought her car around, and at Anne’s instruction, parked it by the outside curb to avoid delaying anyone who was pulling into the portico. The Cadillac was one of the few things she’d gotten as part of the divorce settlement. Roy said that was because Burton had wanted it to look as if he’d been fair.

“As I explained, this isn’t one of my landscapes,” Anne said, opening the door. Because of the size of the painting, she’d brought along her sketchbook. It lay on the passenger seat, and Anne picked it up and opened it to the sketch of the angel.

For a long moment Marta didn’t say anything. “This is the sketch you painted from?”

“Yes, in a huge rush.” She told her the size of the canvas. While on the ferry, she’d shaded in the sketch, using pencils. “Like I said this morning, I just finished the painting. I’m sure the oil is still wet.” Then, because she regretted showing her art to such a renowned professional, Anne quickly added, “Listen, it’s all right if you don’t like it.”

“Like it?” Marta said, meeting her gaze. “I love it. This is incredible. I realize it’s only a sketch, but if the painting’s anything like this, you have a real winner on your hands. Maybe it’s my state of mind, I don’t know,” she said, staring down at the pad, “but I feel like … like I’ve been touched by God just looking at it.”

Anne could hardly believe Marta had said that….

“I’m stopping by your place first thing tomorrow, and if this painting is half as good as I think it’ll be, I’m taking it back to New York. Agreed?”

“I … of course.”

“I can get eight or nine for this.”

“Hundred?”

Marta grinned. “Thousand.”

“Eight or nine thousand?” Anne knew she had to be dreaming.

“Maybe more. Now, I have to tell you that as the dealer, I take a percentage, but you could still end up with four or five thousand dollars.”

Anne wanted to throw her arms in the air and scream for joy. Instead, she clasped both hands over her mouth and silently said a prayer of gratitude.

Eight

Now that her father was working, Julie always stopped at the mailbox on her way home. For obvious reasons, she no longer accompanied him or rode her bicycle—her brand-new bicycle—to and from school. As she strolled toward the house on Monday, she shuffled through the day’s collection of bills, notices, Christmas cards and the usual junk mail—and paused at the thick manila envelope addressed to her. Julie hesitated in midstep. The return address was that of a well-known Seattle law firm.

Tearing it open, Julie juggled the house keys, the rest of the mail and her backpack as she extracted a letter and a thick wad of paper. Using her shoulder to open the door, she nearly fell into the house when she realized what she was reading.

A settlement offer.

From Roy Fletcher.

Julie scanned the details and by the time she’d finished she could hardly breathe. Mr. High-and-Mighty wanted to buy her off. He was willing to spend twenty-five thousand dollars to shut her up. Julie couldn’t believe it, couldn’t comprehend why anyone would go to such outlandish lengths to get rid of her, especially when she’d assured him she had no intention of suing.

She didn’t want his money. She didn’t want anything from him. His offer was the biggest insult of her life.

Pacing now, she stomped from one end of the living room to the other. She knew it wasn’t a good idea to try to reason with Fletcher, especially when she felt like this, but she couldn’t stand still and she couldn’t stay home. She had to do something before she exploded with indignation. This pent-up energy had to go somewhere.

Her thoughts continued to churn as she tossed her car keys in the air and deftly caught them. Good idea or not, her mind was made up. She was going to tell Mr. Big Bucks exactly what he could do with his “settlement offer.”

Julie was so angry she barely noticed the ten-mile drive in heavy traffic. Naturally there wasn’t a single parking space available anywhere at Fletcher Industries. With no other option, she pulled into a handicapped spot.

Arms swinging at her sides, every step filled with determination, Julie headed for the company’s headquarters. In the back of her mind a small voice whispered that this was probably a mistake. She didn’t care. She was beyond caring.

She stormed into the building, past the security guard, a young man with impressive biceps. Jason, she recalled. She’d met him last week. “Miss,” he said, stopping her. “You have to check in here first.”

Julie waved her hand at him as he moved out from behind his desk. “You don’t want to mess with me just now.”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you onto the elevator until you’ve been cleared by security.”

“Hey, man, that’s Mr. Wilcoff’s daughter,” a second guard said, coming around the corner. “How you doin’?” he asked, as if they were the best of friends.

Julie vaguely remembered him from the day of her accident. Roy Fletcher had spoken to him briefly when he’d dropped off her bike at the office complex.

Julie smiled at the first guard. “You remember me, don’t you, Jason?” she said. “I came here with my dad about a week ago. How’s it going?”

“Okay, I guess,” he said, eyeing her skeptically.

For once Julie was grateful for the family resemblance.

“Yeah, I remember you now,” he said after a moment. “Do you have an appointment with your father?”

Julie smiled—and lied through her teeth. She had an appointment, all right, an appointment with justice. “I do. I apologize if I was rude earlier.”

“No problem.” Eager to please his boss, the guard returned to his desk and reached for his phone. “I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

“Thanks,” Julie said, and swallowed a plea not to call him, after all. She stopped briefly at the company directory to find the location of Fletcher’s office. Just as she’d suspected—top floor. Rushing, she pressed the elevator button and glanced at her watch, trying to gauge how much time she had before she was found out. Once her father knew she was in the building, he’d wonder where she was—and what she was doing.

At the top floor she stepped out of the elevator and faced a large desk. An efficient-looking middle-aged woman glanced up, her expression surprised.

“May I help you?” she asked politely.

“I’m here to see Mr. Fletcher.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

This paragon who guarded the lion’s den knew exactly when Fletcher’s appointments were scheduled, and Julie wasn’t on any list.

“Oh, yes,” she muttered, and without wasting another second, Julie bolted for the huge floor-to-ceiling double doors. Without bothering to knock, she turned the knob and barreled inside.

Fletcher was on the phone. Startled, he looked up. His gaze met hers and he didn’t so much as blink. She gave him credit for that. Tall as she was, angry as she was, Julie knew she made an intimidating sight.

“I’ll need to call you back,” Fletcher said smoothly. “My office has been invaded and I have a feeling this is going to take longer than you’ll want to wait.”

“Mr. Fletcher, I’m sorry, she just … came in.” Ms. Johnson entered the office seconds after Julie. The older woman was clearly flustered; presumably nothing like this had ever happened before. “I’ve contacted security—they’re on their way up.”

“Good plan.” Fletcher rose from his seat, leaning forward on his desk, his eyes never leaving Julie.

“Should I stay with you?” his assistant asked nervously.

“I’ll be fine, Ms. Johnson.”

“I wouldn’t count on that,” Julie muttered.

Fletcher waved his assistant out of the room and returned his attention to Julie. “You had something you wanted to say?”

“Your settlement offer arrived!” she said. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Why?” He cocked one brow as if to suggest it should be obvious.

“I told you I wasn’t going to sue!”

He snickered.

“Are you so cynical that you don’t trust anyone? So cynical you think you can buy your way out of everything?”

“Money is the universal language.”

Julie folded her arms. “Listen to me, Fletcher, and listen hard. I don’t want your money.” She spoke slowly and emphatically so that even a man as emotionally obtuse as this one would get the point.

He angled his head sideways and stared at the ceiling. “Where have I heard that before?” Then, as though he was bored and ready to end the conversation, he said, “You want the money. Everyone wants the money. Just sign the agreement and cash the check. You can be outraged all over again—and twenty-five thousand dollars richer.”

Julie’s mouth sagged open. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not cashing the check. I’m not signing the settlement.”

“Of course you’re not signing the settlement,” he snapped, his eyes so cold that for an instant she actually shivered.

She caught her breath and stepped back. “It isn’t just me you distrust,” she whispered. He wasn’t capable of trusting a single, solitary person. Some elemental betrayal had waylaid him in the past, and he’d never recovered, never moved beyond it. She didn’t know what had happened; in fact, she didn’t want to know. But right now they were at an impasse unless she could think of some way to settle this, some way that suited them both.

“All right,” Julie said. “Tell you what I’ll do.”

“Ah, the bargaining begins. Are you sure you don’t want your attorney here?”

“I don’t have an attorney. Now listen, because I’m only going to say this once.”

“The schoolteacher speaks.” He’d folded his arms and she relaxed hers.

“I’ll sign your stupid agreement.”

He flashed her a knowing, sarcastic grin. “I thought you’d come to your senses sooner or later.”

“With one stipulation.”

His smile vanished.

“I want a signed statement from you in which you concede that you caused the accident and—” she wagged her finger at his Cross pen “—I’d like a written apology.”

His eyes narrowed and, if possible, grew even colder. Hands pressed on the top of his desk, he leaned forward again. “I didn’t cause the accident and there’s no way I’ll apologize for something I didn’t do.”

She’d figured that would make him mad. Good. Maybe he’d understand how she felt. “Explain the damage to my bike, then,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm.

His lips thinned. “I can’t.”

“What does it matter? You get what you want and I get what I want.”

“What exactly do you want?” he demanded.

“I already told you. And I already stated that I was only saying it once.”

“Good luck, sister, because you’re not getting any apology from me.”

“Okay,” she said cheerfully, and then because she enjoyed riling him, she added, “Shall I have my attorney call yours?”

“I thought you didn’t have an attorney,” he challenged as if he’d welcome the opportunity to call her a boldfaced liar.

“I don’t, at least not yet, but I imagine I won’t have any problem finding one who’d be willing to take you to court.”

“Julie …” Her father rushed into the room and stopped midway between Julie and Fletcher’s desk. He spread his arms between the two of them, trying to assess the situation.

He looked at his boss first. “Mr. Fletcher, I apologize that my daughter burst into your office.”

“Dad, you’d better hear me out before you apologize to that man.” She gestured wildly at Fletcher. “He tried to buy me off with a settlement offer!”

“I know, honey.”

“You know?”

Her father nodded. “Mr. Fletcher told me it was in the works, but it’s none of my affair, so I didn’t say anything.”

“You involved my father in this?” Julie hissed at Fletcher.

“Sweetheart,” her father said in the gentlest of tones, “perhaps it would be best if you left now.”

“Not yet.” Julie was going to stand her ground. As far as she was concerned, this conversation was a long way from over.

Her father glanced apologetically at his employer. “I’m afraid Julie’s got a temper, sir.”

“Dad!”

“She takes after her mother in that.”

Julie was horrified to hear her father saying such a thing to a man who’d insulted her.

“I’m sorry, Jules,” her father continued, “but you don’t leave me any other choice.” That said, he attempted to hoist her fireman-style over his shoulder and forcibly remove her from the office. Julie didn’t try to fight him, but she was too heavy for him to carry. He did manage to lift her several inches off the ground.

“Dad! Put me down!”

Either she weighed more than he’d assumed or he was willing to listen, because he set her down on the carpet.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Julie, get out of this office,” he said in a low, irate voice. “Now.”

She could only imagine how amused Fletcher must be. “Not until this is settled,” she said, glaring at her father’s employer.

Suddenly her father walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. The shock of it caught her unawares and she toppled back against him. Satisfied, he started to drag her out of the room, the heels of her shoes making tracks in the plush carpeting.

“Let me go!” she cried. When she looked up, she saw Roy Fletcher grinning widely. “Don’t you dare laugh,” she warned, stretching out her arm and pointing at him.

“Bye-bye, Ms. Wilcoff.” He waved and had the audacity to laugh outright.

“We aren’t finished!” she shouted. “Daddy, for the love of heaven, let go of me.”

“Not until we’re in the elevator,” her father said. He dragged her through the large double doors.

Fletcher walked around his desk. Julie wanted it understood that he hadn’t heard the last of her. “Furthermore, you owe me an apology!”

Fletcher’s assistant stood at her own desk, eyes twinkling. “Nice to have met you, Ms. Wilcoff.”

“You, too,” Julie said, smiling weakly.

The elevator arrived. “This is your last chance, Fletcher!” she yelled.

“No, Julie,” her father said as he entered the elevator car. The doors slid closed. “This is your last chance. I don’t want you ever pulling anything like this again. Is that clear?”

She nodded. It was ridiculous to be chastised by her father at the age of thirty, but at the moment she felt more like twelve.

It seemed to take two lifetimes for the elevator to descend to the lobby. The silence was so tense it almost crackled—like static electricity. One glance at her father, who was the calmest man she’d ever known, told her he was furious.

“You will apologize,” he said just before the doors slid open.

She’d need to think about that.

“Your car’s going to be towed,” he announced without inflection. “You took a handicapped parking space and you know better.”

She resisted stamping her foot. Yes, she did know better.

“You can either wait for me to get off work to drive you home or you can take the bus. There’s one every half hour.”

Staying on Fletcher Industries property one second longer was intolerable. “I’d rather walk,” she muttered. It would help her work off some of her anger.

“I thought you might decide that.”

“He’s an unreasonable man, Dad.”

Her father didn’t answer. “Jason,” he said to the guard who’d first questioned her. “Until you hear otherwise, my daughter is banned from the building.”

Jason nodded grimly, as if to suggest she’d better not enter this lobby again, not on his watch. “Yes, sir!”

Great. If her father had anything to say about it, the next time she set foot on Fletcher property she’d likely be shot on sight.

Nine

Roy sat back down at his desk and for the first time in months—years—he burst out laughing. He laughed without restraint. Then he returned to work, stared at his computer screen and started to laugh all over again.

The phone rang and Ms. Johnson interrupted his laugh-fest. “Your mother’s on line one.”

His mother? Not until Roy picked up the receiver did he recall that he’d just seen her the week before. He generally heard from her once a month; any more often was unusual. She’d said something about wanting him to see one of her paintings, but he’d told her he’d do that on Christmas Day.

“Hello, Mom.”

The line was silent.

“Mom?”

“Roy, is that you? You don’t sound like yourself.”

“It’s me,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Are you …” She paused, apparently searching for the right word. “You’re not laughing, are you?”

“Laughing?” he repeated, trying to sober his voice. “I was earlier.”

“A joke?” she asked.

“Actually, it was a woman. Her father’s employed here and she stormed into my office filled with righteous indignation about some nonsense or other. I have to tell you, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything funnier.” Humor overtook him again and he burst into waves of laughter as he described Julie’s outrage. Soon his mother was laughing, too. She seemed to find the scene as hilarious as he did.

“What can I do for you?” Roy asked as he wiped his eyes.

“I wanted to make arrangements to come and paint,” she said.

“I thought you wanted me to come to your house—to look at one of your paintings.”

She had him completely confused now. Did his mother believe he was going to let her do custodial work? “What do you want to paint?”

“The lobby windows,” she said as if it should be perfectly obvious. “Remember? We talked about this a couple of weeks ago. I’m going to paint a holiday scene on the lobby windows.”

In Roy’s opinion, Christmas wasn’t all that different from any other day of the year. He’d do his duty and spend it with his mother; they’d exchange gifts against a background of decorations that brought back painful memories for him—painful because they were good. The truth was, he no longer cared much for Christmas. The holidays didn’t even resemble what he’d once known, those warm, happy times, joking with his parents, feeling their love for him and for each other. That had been a façade, he now realized. His father had become cynical and jaded as the years passed. Roy hadn’t seen that until it was too late. Far too late.

“Oh, yes. Now that you’ve reminded me, I do remember. You can paint whatever you want, Mother,” he told her. “I’ve already let the security people know.”

“I have a wonderful idea.”

She started to detail her plans—something about angels—but he cut her off. “Mother, this isn’t the Sistine Chapel. Don’t worry about it.”

“I know, but … well, I was thinking I’d paint a religious scene with angels similar to the one in this painting I was telling you about. You wouldn’t mind that, would you?”

There was no point in arguing with her even if he did object. “All right, paint your angels. I’ll have the windows cleaned.”

Her appreciative sigh came over the telephone line. “Thank you, Roy. I’ll be there Wednesday.”

“Fine.”

“I’m not going to bother you,” she assured him. “You won’t even know I’m there.”

This seemed to be his day for dealing with irrational women. He could hear the determination in his mother’s voice. For whatever reason, she felt it was important to paint a Christmas scene, and not just any scene, either. But if painting angels on his windows made her happy, then he guessed there was no harm in it.

“Fine, Mother, come and do as you wish.”

“I promise you’re going to love my Christmas angels.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I will, Mother.”

She seemed to be in a chatty mood and went on about dinner with her college friend. “I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” she asked after talking nonstop for several minutes. “I know how busy you are.”

For the first time in a very long while, Roy found he actually liked speaking to his mother—as much as he was capable of liking anything other than business. “It’s fine, Mom.”

For some reason, she seemed to get choked up over that and quickly ended the conversation. He replaced the receiver and stared down at his phone, hardly knowing what to make of his mother. Women. He’d never understand them.

Roy worked for another half hour and then realized he wasn’t in the mood. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, but he was leaving the office. Any file he needed could be accessed from the computer at his condo—a sprawling five-thousand-square-foot penthouse suite overlooking Lake Washington.

As Roy left the elevator and walked into the lobby, he saw a truck towing a vehicle away from the handicapped parking slot.

Jason, the security guard, wore a satisfied grin. “Ms. Wilcoff’s car,” he said, answering Roy’s unspoken question. “In her rush to get in to see you, she parked illegally. Her father wasn’t willing to make allowances.”

He was enjoying this more all the time. “Where is she?”

“Her father said she could either take the bus or wait until he was available to give her a ride. She decided to walk.”

That was exactly what Roy would have expected. “Any idea how much of a hike that is?” he asked.

Jason nodded. Grinning, he glanced down at the polished marble floor. “I think it’s about ten miles.”

A smile tempted Roy. “I see.”

“You can rest assured she won’t make it past me a second time, Mr. Fletcher. Her father’s banned her from the building, too, so you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“I appreciate that,” Roy said, pushing through the glass doors, but as he walked out of the building, he realized that wasn’t true. Despite everything, he’d enjoyed his encounter with Julie, reveled in it. He felt alive in ways he’d forgotten.

Roy turned back. “Do you know which direction she was headed?” he asked the guard.

Jason looked surprised. “North, I’d guess.”

“Thanks.” Roy was going south himself, but a small detour wouldn’t be amiss. He didn’t think she’d accept a ride, but he’d ask. Perhaps a brisk walk would help her vent her anger and make her a little more amenable to reaching some kind of agreement.

Roy drove a black Lincoln Continental with tinted glass. He could see out but no one could see in, which was precisely the way he wanted it. He exited onto the main street heading north and stayed in the right-hand lane. He drove a couple of miles, mildly impressed by how far she’d gotten. She’d made good time. Perhaps she’d grown tired and taken a bus. Or perhaps she’d hailed a taxi.

Then he saw her, walking at a quick pace, arms swinging at her sides. Roy reduced his speed to a crawl as he approached her. Traffic wove around him, some cars honking with irritation, but he ignored them and pulled up alongside Julie. With the touch of a button, the passenger-side window glided down.

She glanced in his direction and her eyes widened when she recognized him.

“Get in,” he said.

“Why should I?”

Time to play nice, he figured. “Please.”

She hesitated, then walked to the curb and leaned down to talk to him. “Give me one reason I should do anything you say.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

That didn’t appear to influence her. “I’m halfway there already.”

Horns blared behind him. “If you don’t hurry up and decide, I’ll get a traffic ticket.”

“Good. It’s what you deserve.”

“Julie, come on, be reasonable. I said please.”

She looked away and then capitulated. “Oh, all right.”

She certainly wasn’t gracious about it, but he felt thankful that she opened the passenger door without further ado and slid into the car. As he hit the gas, she fastened her seat belt.

“Give me your address,” he said.

Obediently she rattled off the street and house number.

Now that she was in the car, Roy couldn’t think of the right conversational gambit. He had no intention of meeting her demands and she apparently wasn’t interested in complying with his. Silly woman. With the stroke of a pen, she could be twenty-five thousand dollars richer, but she was too stubborn to do it. Perhaps she was looking for more.

“You don’t have anything to say?” she asked him after a moment.

“Nope. What about you?”

“Not a thing,” she returned testily.

He eased off the main thoroughfare and onto a quiet side street. It was a middle-class neighborhood of older homes, mostly small ramblers with a few brick houses interspersed among them, just enough to keep the neighborhood from being termed a development.

“Are you ready to listen to reason yet?” he asked as if he possessed limitless patience and was more than willing to wait her out.

“Are you ready to accept responsibility and write me an apology?”

“Not on your life.”

“I’m not signing that settlement offer, either,” she said, tossing him a saccharine smile. She exhaled sharply. “You can rest easy about one thing, however.”

He looked away from the road to glance at her.

“I can’t afford an attorney.”

Far be it from Roy to point out that in liability cases lawyers were more than happy to accept a chunk of the settlement. Generally it was a big chunk. “Sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are.” She closed her eyes and leaned back.

Roy didn’t completely understand why, but he found himself not wanting to drop her off at her house; he wanted to continue driving so they could talk. “We should discuss it further. Perhaps we could reach a compromise.”

“Like what? I take twelve thousand five hundred dollars and you just apologize and don’t accept responsibility?”

“Something like that. Why don’t we have coffee and talk it over?”

Julie’s head snapped up. “You’re joking, right? Did I hear you invite me to coffee?”

“A gesture of peace and goodwill,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “I hear this is the season for it.”

“Oh, puh-leeze.” She crossed her arms. “Thanks but no thanks.”

Roy shrugged off her rejection, although he had to admit he was disappointed. “I was only trying to be helpful.”

“Were you?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“It’s no big deal.”

“You’re sincere?”

“Yes,” he said simply. He felt her scrutiny as he drove.

“Fine,” she agreed, “but I’d like to suggest we have coffee at my house.”

Roy pulled to a stop in front of the address she’d given him. It was a small, well-kept house, probably two bedrooms. Green shutters bordered the windows and a rocking chair sat on the front porch. Christmas lights were strung along the roofline.

“You have coffee on?” he asked.

“No, but I’ll make a pot.”

“Why not a restaurant? Neutral territory.”

“Because,” she said, and sighed heavily. “I’d feel more comfortable on home turf.”

He considered that. “Should I worry about being poisoned?”

“Hmm.” A smile teased the edges of her mouth. “That’s an interesting possibility.”

“Perhaps we can use this as a lesson in compromise,” he said.

“Compromise? How do you mean?”

“If I come onto your turf, we’ll order dinner and I’ll buy—”

Julie didn’t allow him to finish. “Dinner? I thought we were having coffee.”

“I’m hungry,” he said. “And we’ll eat in the security and comfort of your home.”

For a moment he was sure she was going to reject the idea; then she turned to him with a tentative smile. “All right. We’ll order pizza and I like anchovies.”

“Pizza it is. I like anchovies, too.” He’d never met a woman who did; once again she’d surprised him.

From the expression on her face, he wasn’t convinced she believed him.

“I’m just a regular guy, Julie.”

Muttering, “That’s what Benedict Arnold used to say,” she climbed out of the car and closed the door.

Roy joined her on the concrete walkway that led to the front steps. “I’m really not so bad, you know.”

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled. “I guess it does. Friends?” He held out his hand.

She looked at his extended hand, sighed and gave him her own. “Don’t think this means I’m going to change my mind about the settlement check.”

“We’ll see about that,” he said as she inserted the key into the lock.

“Yes, we will,” she responded with equal determination.

Roy grinned. This might not be so bad. A girl who liked anchovies on her pizza was obviously reasonable some of the time.

Ten

Exhausted, Mercy flung herself onto a passing cloud. “This romance business is hard work,” she complained.

“But Julie’s having dinner with him.” For her part, Goodness felt encouraged. She had to give Dean Wilcoff’s daughter credit; Julie had spunk, which was something Goodness admired.

The young woman hadn’t been willing to accept Roy’s settlement because money wasn’t important to her. That was a rare human trait. The issue of earthly wealth confused Goodness. Money couldn’t buy the things that were truly important. Roy owned a fabulous condo on prime waterfront real estate. The three of them had gone to it and investigated, needing to learn what they could about him. Goodness had hardly ever visited a more beautifully decorated place, but it wasn’t a home. By the same token, Roy was surrounded by all kinds of people, employees and yes-men, but he had few friends. Those he’d once considered friends had drifted away out of neglect. While Roy was looked upon as rich, he was one of the poorest humans Goodness had ever seen.

“He likes Julie,” Shirley said with a rather smug smile.

“She amuses him.” Goodness wasn’t fooled. Roy had no real feelings for Julie. She wasn’t typical of the women he’d known and he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. The laughter had been good for him. It had felt good, too, and that feeling had left him with the urge to laugh more. She suspected it was the reason he’d pursued Julie during her long walk home. Their shared pizza dinner had come about unexpectedly, and yet he was enjoying himself. They both were.

“Her stubbornness intrigues him,” Goodness added. “He can’t understand why she isn’t interested in the settlement.”

“Julie has principles,” Shirley announced, “and Roy hasn’t seen that in a woman in quite a while. Since before Aimee.”

Mercy agreed. “What should happen next?”

The other angels looked at Goodness as if she was the one with the answers. “How should I know?” She shrugged, as much at a loss as her friends. This relationship was a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants affair. “I’m making this up as we go along.”

“Yes, but you’ve done such good work so far.”

“Me?” Goodness cried. “This is a team effort.” She peered down through the cloud cover and stared into the house below. “They’re eating their pizza now.”

“And talking,” Mercy noted with delight.

“No one seems to be yelling, either,” Shirley said. “That’s a good sign, don’t you think?”

Goodness nodded. “He should ask her out next,” she told the others, suddenly inspired. That seemed to be the most logical step. Not that she was convinced this relationship had much of a future.

“Out?” Mercy repeated. “You mean like on a date?”

“Yes, a date. He implied that he was interested in getting her on neutral turf, remember?” That was the way humans generally did those things, Goodness reasoned, because then no one had an unfair advantage. She gave a rueful grin. Humans tended to be so competitive….

“Roy doesn’t date,” Mercy pointed out. “Not in years. He’s forgotten how. Besides, he’s got this thing about women.” From the exasperated look she wore, one might think Goodness had suggested Roy propose marriage as his next move.

“Then he has to believe it isn’t a date.” Goodness’s head was spinning. Surely there was some social event he was obliged to attend. December was the month for that sort of function.

“Think,” Mercy demanded.

Suddenly the air brightened and with a sound like thunder the Archangel Gabriel joined them. He held a massive volume in his hands. The Book of Lives. “How’s it going, ladies?” he inquired.

The three of them rushed to give him brief updates. “Great,” Goodness said cheerfully.

“Yes—very good,” Mercy seconded.

“We think Julie Wilcoff is the answer to Anne’s prayer,” Shirley told him. “They’re together now.”

Gabriel seemed impressed. “And you three arranged that?”

Goodness swallowed hard. If she admitted their role in the bike accident, it could mean trouble. Much better if Gabriel didn’t know about their little scheme. “Not entirely,” she said—which was the truth. Still, it sounded becomingly modest.

“How’s Anne?” Gabriel surprised her by asking.

Shirley, Goodness and Mercy froze. If he found out that Shirley had appeared to Anne, they could forget ever coming to Earth again. “Fine,” Goodness said, and to her horror her voice squeaked. “She’s painting Roy’s office windows on Wednesday.”

“An angel scene, if I remember correctly,” Gabriel said, studying them carefully.

“What a nice idea.” Mercy looked frantically to her friends for help.

“I can’t imagine where she came up with that idea.” Gabriel’s eyes seemed to bore straight through them.

The three of them huddled close together. “It’s that time of year, isn’t it?” Goodness asked. “I mean, humans seem to associate Christmas with angels.”

Mercy spread her wings and stepped forward. “Glory to God in the Highest,” she said.

“Glory to God,” Shirley echoed.

“Exactly,” Goodness said. “We were there to announce the good news to the shepherds that night. Well, not us, exactly, but angels like us.”

“I know all about that night, Goodness.”

“Of course you do,” she said.

“Now, back to the matter of Anne’s prayer request.”

“Yes, Your Archangelness,” Mercy said.

Her friend didn’t play the role of innocent well, Goodness thought. She resisted the urge to elbow Mercy, since she couldn’t do it without being obvious.

“What are your plans?” Gabriel asked, scrutinizing them.

“Funny you should ask,” Goodness said. “We were just discussing that. I don’t think Roy’s going to come right out and ask Julie for a date. He wouldn’t be comfortable with such a direct approach.”

“He enjoys watching the parade of boats,” Gabriel said, flipping through the pages of the book. He looked up again. “Were you aware of that?”

It was all Goodness could do not to sidle over and take a peek.

Gabriel’s attention returned to the page. “The last couple of Decembers, he’s stood on his balcony alone and watched the decorated watercraft float by.”

“And he’s wished there was someone with him to share the experience,” Shirley said. Goodness figured she was just guessing, but she’d probably guessed right.

Gabriel confirmed it. “That wish has been fleeting, but it is one he’s entertained.”

“Julie’s so athletic, I’ll bet she’s a great sailor. She loves the water,” Mercy ventured.

“So does Roy,” Gabriel said. “Or he did at one time. Unfortunately, he hasn’t sailed in years.”

“Aimee used to sail with him, didn’t she?” Goodness asked, although she was fairly sure she knew the answer.

“Roy sold his sailboat after they split up. He hasn’t been out on Puget Sound since.”

“How sad for him.” Shirley sighed as she said it.

“Perhaps we could—”

“Carry on,” Gabriel said. He seemed to be in a hurry now. “You’re doing a fine job so far.”

“We are?” Goodness couldn’t keep herself from saying. “I mean, yes, I know. We’re working very hard on this request.”

“Good.” Then as quickly as he’d come, the Archangel vanished.

Goodness relaxed. Gabriel had yet to recall them from an assignment, but there was always a chance he would, especially with Shirley disobeying the angels’ number one rule: no revelations to humans.

Perhaps they were safe, for now anyway. She certainly hoped so.

Roy slept better on Monday night than he had in months. He always fell asleep easily enough but then he’d wake up two or three hours later. Often he roamed around his condo for much of the night, unable to get back to sleep. During the past few years, he’d tried any number of remedies, all of them useless.

As the alarm sounded, he rolled over and stared at the clock, astonished that he’d slept the entire night uninterrupted. That never happened, at least not anymore.

Roy felt rested and refreshed as he got into the shower. He stopped short when he realized he was humming a Christmas carol. Christmas music? Him? Something was going on, and he wasn’t sure what. Thrusting his face under the spray, he let the water hit him full force. It occurred to him that his good night’s sleep was because of the evening spent with Julie. He liked her. Julie Wilcoff was different from any woman he’d ever known. His money didn’t impress her, that was for sure. And she didn’t seem to care about his position in the business world. If any other woman had behaved this way, he would’ve assumed she was pretending, but Julie was genuine. Even a cynic like him could recognize that much.

Roy had often been the target of women looking for a free ride. He saw himself as reasonably wealthy and reasonably attractive; he knew he could date just about anyone he wanted. However, the idea of dating any woman after Aimee had become repugnant to him. Until Julie. He wasn’t convinced he liked this, wasn’t convinced he was making the right move or that he was interested in making any move at all.

When Roy arrived at the office, it seemed his whole staff was watching him. He felt their eyes on him as he strode through the lobby and toward the elevator. People turned and stared, and he heard a few hushed and badly disguised whispers. He resisted the urge to stop and ask, “What?”

Once inside his office, he followed his normal routine. Ms. Johnson phoned to remind him of a meeting. The Griffin Plastics file was still on his desk and he picked it up reluctantly. He decided he needed more information before making a final decision.

“Could you ask Dean Wilcoff to be available after my meeting?” Roy asked. “I’d like to talk to him.”

“I’ll see to it right away.”

“Thank you.”

She hesitated as if she’d never heard him express his appreciation before. “Will that be all, Mr. Fletcher?”

“Yes.” He hung up the phone and leaned back in his soft leather chair, folding his hands. Something was in the air, something he couldn’t explain. He didn’t know what was different, but there was definitely a change, and it wasn’t just him.

The meeting, concerning the launch of a new line of security software for home computers, ran smoothly. Roy hurried back to his office when it ended, and Dean Wilcoff came a few minutes later. “You asked to see me?” the man said as Ms. Johnson showed him in. He certainly didn’t waste any time, Roy observed. He got right to the point.

“I did. Sit down.” Roy gestured to the chair across from his desk. He wanted to talk to Wilcoff, but the matter wasn’t business-related. Julie had been on his mind from the moment he’d left her last night, and he realized he knew very little about her. They’d talked, but she wasn’t one to dwell on herself, unlike a lot of women he’d known. Most wanted to impress him. Julie had surprised him in that way, too.

Dean sat close to the edge of the chair, apparently ill at ease.

“Did Julie mention we had dinner together last night?” Dean had called Julie to say he’d be home late, and Roy had left before Dean’s return.

“She did,” Roy’s head of security answered stiffly.

“How old is Julie?” Roy had never thought to inquire, not that it was important.

Dean stiffened. “You should ask my daughter that, sir.”

Ever respectful, Roy noted, and unwilling to mingle his personal life with his professional one. He tried another tactic. “While we were having pizza, Julie told me she’s a twin.”

Dean nodded but volunteered no additional information.

“I gave her a ride home from the office last night,” Roy said, testing the waters, wading in a little deeper this time.

“So she said.”

“I tried to get her to accept my settlement offer.”

Dean didn’t respond.

“She refused.”

“My daughter’s over twenty-one and makes her own decisions,” Dean informed him.

“As she should,” Roy murmured.

Dean met his eyes. “I’ve asked her to apologize for her behavior yesterday.”

This should be interesting. “And she agreed?” Frankly, Roy would be surprised if she did. He’d tried to talk sense into her over pizza and she’d been as stubborn as ever. Judging by her dogged refusal, Roy didn’t expect her to change her mind about his offer anytime soon.

“Julie said she’d give the matter of an apology some thought.”

Roy smiled. So she hadn’t ruled it out altogether. He admired her for that.

“Is there anything else?” Wilcoff asked, transparently eager to leave.

“Yes. Did I tell you my mother will be here at some point on Wednesday?”

“You did.” Dean stood. “You said she’d be painting the lobby windows.”

Roy stood, too. “I’ll check in with you later about Julie.”

“What about her?”

Roy saw that he’d spoken out of turn. “About … whether she decides to apologize or not.”

“That’s up to my daughter.”

“Yes, of course. No reflection on your job performance, Dean, which to this point has been excellent.”

“Thank you.”

Roy nodded, dismissing the other man.

Dean moved to the door, then turned and met Roy’s gaze. “Are you romantically interested in my daughter?”

Roy’s throat went dry. Romantically interested in Julie? Instinct told him to deny it immediately, but he wasn’t sure.

“Would it bother you if I was?”

“Again, that’s my daughter’s business. And yours.”

“Yes, it is,” Roy said. Theirs and nobody else’s.

Shirley and Goodness, hovering above the office, nudged each other. Mercy gave them a thumbs-up and a big grin. Kudos to Dean, they all decided, for having the nerve to ask. Romantically interested? Yes!

Eleven

Anne was enjoying herself. Paintbrush in hand, she stood in the large lobby of her son’s office building and spread the bright colors across the smooth glass, creating a festive greeting for all to see. She’d drawn the outlines with a felt-tip pen and was now filling in the figures, using acrylic paints.

This was the first Christmas season since the divorce that she’d felt like celebrating. It wasn’t an effort; nothing felt forced, least of all her happiness. She thanked the angel for that. The one who’d appeared to her. Everything had changed for the better that day. Her heart felt lighter, less burdened, and life suddenly seemed good and right again.

After all these years, her prayer request had apparently been heard. Even now, Anne couldn’t get over the glorious, wonderful sound of her son’s laughter. Such a minor joy had felt forever lost to both of them. Even more wonderful, a woman—the first one her son had mentioned in five years—had caused this spark of excitement.

“How does that look, Jason?” Anne asked the security guard. The young man certainly took his duties seriously. The entire time she’d been painting, Jason had watched her. He must’ve been told that no one was to bother her, and he made sure no one did.

Jason didn’t answer and Anne turned around to see him studying the parking lot.

“Trouble?” Anne asked.

“Perhaps it’d be best if you left the area, ma’am.”

Anne peered outside; the only person she could see was a young woman wearing what appeared to be a soccer uniform. She was walking toward the building. “Who’s that?” Anne asked.

“Julie Wilcoff,” Jason answered in a low voice. He moved from behind the desk and stood directly in front of the glass doors, his posture a warning in itself.

Anne watched as the woman paused outside the door and smiled at the security guard. “Jason, I’m here to talk to my father.”

“I’m not falling for that a second time,” he said. “Your father told me to keep you out of this building and he hasn’t told me anything different, so I’m keeping you out.”

The woman glanced impatiently at Anne and then back at the security guard. “Jason, please.”

“If you’ve got a problem with that,” the guard said matter-of-factly, “then I suggest you take it up with your father.”

Ms. Wilcoff promptly pulled a cell phone out of her pocket, punched a few numbers and held it to her ear.

Jason stood exactly where he was.

“Is this the girl who gave my son such a talking-to the other day?” Anne asked. If so, Anne was eager to meet her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Her father banned her from the building?”

“I believe Mr. Fletcher gave his approval, ma’am.”

Anne’s spirits did an abrupt dive. “I’m sure he’s had a change of heart,” she said, praying she was right.

“Then he’ll need to tell me that himself, ma’am.” The guard wasn’t budging, not an inch. That much was obvious.

Julie Wilcoff seemed to have difficulty reaching her father. With an air of frustration, she clicked off the cell phone. “My father isn’t answering,” she called from the other side of the door.

“That isn’t my concern.”

“He asked to see me,” she insisted.

For a moment it seemed Jason might waver, but he held his ground. “He didn’t say anything to me about that. I don’t have any alternative but to do as I’ve been instructed. You aren’t allowed in this building. I’m sorry, Ms. Wilcoff, but I have my orders.”

Julie nodded. “I understand. Will you tell my father I was by?”

“If I see him,” Jason said.

Julie nodded again and turned around. She started back toward the parking lot.

Anne refused to let this woman leave.

Jason moved from his post and Anne rushed to the door. “Ms. Wilcoff?” she called. “Julie?”

Julie glanced over her shoulder.

Anne stood in the doorway and gave her a quick wave. “I’m Anne Fletcher, Roy’s mother.”

“Oh, hi,” she said. Turning again, she halted in her progress toward the visitors’ parking lot. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I guess you heard about your son’s and my disagreement.” The wind whipped the hair about her face, and Julie swept it away with a stroke of her hand. “I actually came to see Roy, but I needed to talk to my dad first. I can see that’s impossible.”

“No, it isn’t.” Anne raised her index finger. “Wait just a minute.” She closed the door and discovered Jason frowning at her. “I can’t let her in here, Mrs. Fletcher,” he said, “so don’t go asking me to make allowances.”

“I had no intention of doing that.” She planned to take another approach altogether. “The best thing would be to contact my son and get this settled once and for all.”

Jason said nothing.

“Can I use the phone on your desk?” She didn’t have a cell phone; it was an expense she couldn’t afford.

“Go ahead.” He kept his gaze pinned to the door as if he half feared Julie might try to dash in while he wasn’t looking.

Anne walked over to the desk and called Ms. Johnson, her son’s assistant. “Hello, Eleanor,” she said. “Could I speak to my son?”

The woman hesitated. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Fletcher, he’s in a meeting.”

“A meeting,” Anne repeated. She’d long suspected that was the excuse Roy used when he wasn’t in the mood to deal with her. “Did he ask you to say that?” she whispered.

“Not this time,” his assistant admitted, confirming Anne’s suspicions. “He actually is in a meeting.”

“Oh, dear,” Anne said, breathing a sigh.

“Is there anything I can do?”

Anne chewed her lip. “Do you happen to know Julie Wilcoff?”

“I do.” Eleanor’s voice grew warm and excited.

“She’s here.”

“In the building?”

“No, the security guard won’t let her inside. Apparently there’s some edict her father gave and she’s forbidden to come in. Is that true?”

“I’m afraid it must be, but we all like Ms. Wilcoff.”

Unfortunately, Jason hadn’t gotten that memo. “Any idea on how we can get her inside to see my son?”

After another second’s hesitation, Roy’s assistant said, “I’ll be down directly.”

“Oh, thank you.” Anne looked up and saw Jason frowning at her. Julie hadn’t moved from her position outside the doors.

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t speak to my son, but Ms. Johnson is on her way down.”

Jason frowned even more fiercely and shook his head. “That isn’t good enough. It’s got to be Mr. Wilcoff or Mr. Fletcher himself. No one else. As I explained earlier, I have my orders.”

Anne ignored him and went back to the glass entrance doors. She opened one and said, “I phoned Roy, but he’s in a meeting. His assistant is coming down to see what she can do.”

“It’s all right, Mrs. Fletcher. I’ll just do this another time.”

Anne shoved one arm out the door. “No! Stay where you are. I’ll be right back.” She turned away and then immediately turned around. “Promise me you won’t leave!” If she was going to make a fool of herself, she wanted to be sure it was worth her while.

Julie grinned. “I won’t.”

“Thank you.”

Anne addressed Jason next. “When Ms. Johnson arrives, tell her I’ve gone to get my son.” She refused to let this opportunity—or this woman—disappear from Roy’s life. With a determination that astonished even her, Anne marched over to the elevators and pushed the button. When a car didn’t come fast enough to suit her, she pushed it again.

A high-tech buzzing finally announced an elevator. To her relief, it was empty, and she shot to the top floor in what felt like seconds. Stepping off, she hurried into the foyer, glancing around. Ms. Johnson, as Anne knew, wasn’t at her desk. Anne thought she heard voices at the end of the hallway and headed in that direction.

Sure enough, there was a meeting taking place in the conference room. Anne remembered seeing it when Roy had given her a tour shortly after moving into the building.

She hated to barge in, but there was nothing else she could do. Knocking politely at the door, Anne walked inside, her smock smeared with paint and her hair a mess. The room, which had been lively with conversation, went silent. Twenty or so men and women, all important-looking, sat around a long, rectangular table. Every one of them turned to stare at her. Anne smiled weakly and noticed that Roy was standing at the front of the room.

“Mother?”

“Could I speak to you a moment?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Now?”

Anne held her breath. “Please.”

Roy gestured apologetically at his associates. “If you’ll excuse me?”

They all nodded and Roy walked to the back of the room. “What is it, Mother?”

From the way his eyes flared and the even, unemotional tone of his voice, Anne could tell he wasn’t pleased. He guided her, none too gently, into the hallway.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt you,” she said, clasping her hands tightly.

“If this has to do with the Christmas scene on the windows, then—”

“Oh, no,” she insisted, “it’s not about that.” Her throat felt dry and it was difficult to concentrate. “This has to do with Jason …”

“And who is Jason?”

“The security guard downstairs. He tells me Julie Wilcoff has been banned from the building. I know it was her father’s doing, but Jason seems to believe you supported that decision. Did you?”

His demeanor changed, and his mouth and eyes softened. “I might have. Why?”

“She’s here.”

“Now?”

Anne nodded. “Jason won’t let her in to speak to you.”

“She came to see me, did she?” He folded his arms and seemed to consider this information with some amusement. Then the humor left his eyes. “Did she give you any indication why she wanted to speak to me?”

Anne shook her head. “Not really.”

His mouth twitched. Was that a smile trying to emerge? “Ms. Johnson did her best to talk Jason into letting her in, but he won’t budge.”

“I’ll call him myself,” Roy promised. “Go ahead and have Ms. Johnson bring Julie up to my office. Tell her I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He glanced at his watch. “Make that twenty.”

“I hope I did the right thing,” Anne said.

“You did exactly the right thing,” he said, and to her complete shock, he took her by the shoulders and kissed her cheek.

Anne hurried downstairs. Jason was on the phone when she got off the elevator. He muttered something that sounded like “yessir,” replaced the receiver and walked over to the glass door, holding it open for Julie.

“You can come in now,” he told the young woman, who stood outside.

Julie walked into the building slowly, as if she expected alarms to ring the instant she stepped over the threshold.

“Thank you,” she said to Anne.

“Mr. Fletcher would like you to wait in his office,” Ms. Johnson told her.

“I’ll be up in a moment,” Julie said. She turned to Anne and the Christmas scene she’d started painting on the windows. “You painted these angels?”

“Oh … yes.” Anne had almost forgotten the reason she was in the lobby at all. She’d painted three angels this time, floating on a cloud and looking down at Bethlehem and the manger scene. The angels dominated the painting, their joy at the Savior’s birth evident.

“They’re absolutely lovely,” Julie said.

“Thank you.”

“I had plenty of time to look at them while I was waiting, and they seem almost real to me.”

Anne blushed with pleasure. “How kind you are.”

“Roy said you were an artist. You’re obviously very talented.”

“Roy mentioned me?”

“Yes, although I don’t know him well.” Julie shrugged. “We definitely got off on the wrong foot. I’m here to talk to him and, well, I hope we can start again.”

Anne clasped Julie’s hand in both of hers. “I hope you can, too. Could—could you and I talk sometime?”

Julie smiled. “I’d like that very much.”

“So would I,” Anne said. “I’ll be in touch.”

Twelve

Julie was waiting in his office when Roy returned from the meeting, which he’d adjourned rather quickly. She sat in the chair across from his desk, looking unusually demure. His mood had improved from the moment he learned she’d come here to see him. He’d been thinking of her ever since their pizza dinner, and he’d wondered if he’d see her again soon. He had his answer now and frankly, it was one he liked.

“Julie.” He greeted her warmly, walking over to his desk and sitting behind it. “This is a pleasant surprise.”

“I hope I’m not disturbing you.” She’d apparently come to his office immediately after school, not bothering to change into street clothes first. Despite the weather, she wore shorts and a sports jersey, and a whistle dangled like a long necklace around her neck.

“Not at all. What can I do for you?”

He assumed she was there to accept his settlement; she didn’t need to show up in person, but he was delighted she had. So she was like everyone else—willing to take easy money. Yes, he was a little disillusioned, but he still liked her. He couldn’t blame Julie Wilcoff for a quality shared by practically every other person on Earth. Greed was part of human nature, and he’d long since reconciled himself to that.

“I came to talk about what happened on Monday,” she said simply. “My father felt I was out of line bursting in here the way I did.”

“You were angry.”

“Angry,” she repeated, and with a soft chuckle added, “You have no idea. I don’t think I’ve ever been more insulted than—” She bit off the rest of her thought. “At any rate, Dad’s right. I should never have reacted like that. I made a fool of myself.”

Roy was quite enjoying this. “So you’ve come around. Somehow, I knew you would.”

“Come around? To what?”

He didn’t know why she insisted on denying the obvious. Certainly, the settlement was foremost in her mind; it had to be. “I’m talking about the money.”

Julie frowned and shook her head. “This has nothing to do with money. It has to do with an apology.”

“You’re not here because of the settlement?” He wasn’t fooled, but decided to play along for the time being.

“I came to apologize for storming into your office and for the things I said. I’m not here about that stupid, insulting settlement offer, which I have repeatedly rejected. I’d think that by now you’d get the message.” With a visible effort, she managed to keep her anger in check.

Roy’s own anger was rising. “Everyone’s interested in money, Julie, so don’t even bother pretending otherwise. Let’s both be honest, shall we? You aren’t going to get a better offer, so just sign the papers my attorney mailed you and be done with it.”

“I believe I already told you what I think of that,” she muttered. She slid closer to the edge of the upholstered chair. Soon she was barely perched on the cushion at all. He thought she might be in danger of slipping onto the floor.

“You’re holding out for more money, aren’t you?”

She bolted to her feet as if someone had pinched her. “You’re impossible, you know that? I came here in good faith—”

“Good faith?” Roy didn’t see it that way. Not when she said one thing and wanted another. But ultimately, human nature at its most basic couldn’t be defeated.

“I thought we’d made some progress, you and I, and … well, I can see you’re hopeless.”

“Me?” he shouted. “You’re the one who’s got her eye on the almighty dollar.”

“I don’t want any of your stupid money! Why can’t you get that through your head?”

“Because you’re just like every other woman.”

Her eyes seemed to grow wider. “Now you’re insulting not only me but every woman alive.”

“Yes, well, if the shoe fits.”

Hands on her hips, Julie glared at him. “Then I guess you know what you can do with your shoe.”

He glared right back. Standing, he reached for his phone and punched in the number for security. “Please send somebody to escort Ms. Wilcoff from the building.”

Julie’s mouth sagged open in what appeared to be shock. “Thank you very much, but I can see myself out.” She started for the open door, every step filled with indignation. She got halfway across the room before she swung around and said, “I really tried, you know.”

“Julie, just sign the settlement.” They would put an end to this, once and for all. Then they could move on, maybe explore the possibilities between them. He’d be willing to overlook this flaw; no doubt he had flaws of his own. Naiveté about the motives of others didn’t happen to be one of them. “Just sign, okay?” he said wearily.

“No!”

Well, that answered that.

“Furthermore, I think you’re—”

“Uh-uh,” Roy said, holding up his finger. “You don’t want to say something you’ll regret.”

The elevator doors opened before Julie had a chance to insult him. Jason, the guard from downstairs, loomed in the doorway. “You asked for security, Mr. Fletcher?”

If looks could kill, Roy would be six feet under. As best he could, he ignored Julie’s death-dealing glare. “I did.”

Jason gripped Julie by the elbow. “Once she’s gone, is she allowed back in the building?”

Julie closed her eyes. Roy looked at her curiously—was she grinding her teeth? For whatever reason, the anger seemed to drain from her.

“Let’s play that by ear,” Roy told the guard. When she saw that she had no choice but to sign, then and only then would Roy be willing to see her. He insisted on at least that much honesty.

Julie lifted her shoulders in a shrug. “I’ve destroyed the papers your attorney mailed, and I will destroy any replacement papers.”

“This is my final offer.”

She grinned. “I should hope so.” Still in Jason’s firm grip, she turned and walked away. “Goodbye,” she said over her shoulder. “And I mean that.”

“I’ll see that she leaves the building,” Jason told Roy as he hustled her out the door.

“Thank you.” Roy reclaimed his chair. Their conversation hadn’t gone the way he’d wanted. He’d hoped they could find some common ground. His problem was that he genuinely liked her. Okay, so Julie was a little stubborn and clearly unreasonable. But now he was afraid he might never see her again, judging by that final goodbye. She’d probably just mail the signed attorney’s contract, disgruntled that her ploy to get more hadn’t succeeded. She’d settle for twenty-five thousand and she’d avoid him from this moment on.

The thought depressed him. Besides, he was in the right. It was Julie who’d been unreasonable, not him.

He returned to a number of pressing business matters, determined to put Julie out of his mind. Fifteen minutes later, he began to pace, unable to concentrate. Fifteen minutes after that, he called Ms. Johnson into his office.

“Sit down,” he instructed his assistant when she entered the room. “Please.”

Watching him as he walked from one end of his office to the other, Ms. Johnson slowly lowered herself into the chair opposite his desk. “Is everything all right, Mr. Fletcher?”

“What makes you ask?” he muttered irritably.

She looked embarrassed now and her gaze followed him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so … agitated.”

“I’m not agitated,” he barked.

She dropped her eyes. “As you say.”

Roy resisted the inclination to argue with her to prove his point. He sank down in his chair, tempted to explain that he was the same as ever. But why bother? Women always stuck together.

“You wanted to see me?” Ms. Johnson asked.

Roy nodded and steepled his fingers as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “I have a question and I’d appreciate your honesty.”

“Yes, sir.”

Again Roy felt her hesitation. She probably wasn’t the best person to ask, but his options were limited. “Am I an unreasonable man?” He didn’t know why he was questioning his own behavior, his own perceptions. Was there the slightest chance he was wrong in his beliefs about Julie?

Ms. Johnson’s shoulders rose and then fell in a soundless sigh. “You can be at times,” she said, obviously uncomfortable meeting his gaze.

“I see,” he said. “Can you give me an example?”

She nodded. “Just now with Julie Wilcoff.”

Roy was afraid she was going to say that. “You think I’m the unreasonable one?” Women stick together, he reminded himself.

“Mr. Fletcher, perhaps it would be better if you discussed this with someone else, someone more … appropriate.”

Roy frowned, unable to imagine who else he could approach. “I asked you.”

His assistant edged forward. “I had a chance to talk to Ms. Wilcoff while you were finishing up the Griffin meeting, and she seemed sincere to me. I know it was difficult for her to come, but out of respect for her father, she felt it was the right thing to do.”

“She had a rotten attitude,” he snapped.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, it appears you’re the one with the attitude problem.”

His irritation flared briefly and then died.

“Not once did she mention the settlement,” Ms. Johnson continued. “If I were to guess, I’d say she completely forgot about it. I believe she came here for precisely the reason she said—to apologize for bursting into the office. She admitted there were better ways of handling the situation and she felt badly about it. I think she was afraid she’d embarrassed her father.”

“The only person she embarrassed was herself,” Roy said.

“At least she was woman enough to admit it.”

Roy looked thoughtfully at his executive assistant. She’d spoken frankly in a way he’d never expected. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m saying that perhaps it’s time …” She hesitated.

“Go on,” he urged. He might as well hear it all.

“Perhaps,” she said, “you should talk to Julie about this.” Roy nodded, swallowing hard. Perhaps she was right.

When she was this angry, the best thing for Julie to do was run—as if a pack of wolves was after her. The minute she got home, she tossed aside her shorts and changed into running gear. After a few perfunctory warm-up exercises, she took off. As her shoes hit the pavement, her thoughts chased each other around and around. Six miles passed, six pounding, breathless miles, before she found some measure of serenity. By then, her calves ached and her lungs burned. It was pitch-dark as she ran back to her neighborhood, cheered by the bright display of Christmas lights on the homes along her route.

As she rounded the corner to her house, she noticed a dark sedan parked in front. Her father was home, too; she saw his light blue car in the garage beside hers.

Instead of waiting for her inside the house, Roy Fletcher sat on the top porch step. She came up the walkway, bent over and braced her hands against her knees as she caught her breath. “What are you doing here?” she asked between gasps. If he wanted to resume their argument, she’d walk into the house and slam the door.

Roy stood and brushed his hands against his sides. “I don’t know. It seemed like a nice afternoon for a drive.”

“Sure it did,” she said sarcastically, still breathing hard.

“Would you believe I just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

She shook her head.

“All right,” he said. “Ms. Johnson suggested the two of us talk.”

“Talk …” Julie straightened, not hiding her shock. The great Mr. Roy Fletcher was here to make peace.

“This time I was the one out of line.” Apologies didn’t come naturally to this man; he seemed to have trouble saying the words.

Julie stared into his eyes to see if she could judge his sincerity. As far as she could tell, he meant it. She smiled and offered him her hand. He took it, then smiled back—a smile that was warm and lazy and completely sexy.

“Furthermore, I’m willing to make up for my rudeness,” he told her.

“Really? And how do you intend to do that?”

“Dinner?”

“When?”

He pulled a BlackBerry out of his pocket and looked up, meeting her eyes. “What about tonight?”

Although tempted, Julie already had dinner in the Crock-Pot and test papers to grade. “Another night would be better.”

He frowned, then suggested, “Friday? That works for me.”

“Sorry, I’ve got a game.”

“What sort of game?”

“I’m the girls’ soccer coach.”

“Oh.” He scrolled down his appointment calendar. “Saturday evening is free from seven o’clock on.”

“Yes, but …” Julie paused. “Isn’t that the parade of ships?” This was one of her favorite Christmas traditions. Last year, she and her father had managed to get her mother down to the waterfront. It had been a highlight of the season for so many years, and she hated to miss it. Especially now, when the event held such a significant memory for her.

Roy glanced up. “Yes, I believe Saturday night is the annual Christmas parade of ships.”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to see that, would you?” she asked hesitantly.

“Actually I would. I have a good view of Lake Washington if you’d like to see it from my condo.”

“Dinner, too?”

Grinning, he nodded.

“Wonderful.” Julie was thrilled not only with the opportunity to view the boats festooned with their Christmas lights but to know Roy better. His coming here was encouraging. Then a thought sobered her. They continued to trip over the matter of that settlement again and again. “You have to agree to one thing first.”

“Fine, let’s hear it.”

She threw back her shoulders. “If you say a word about the settlement or mention money even once, I’m out of there.”

He seemed about to argue. “If you insist,” he finally said.

“I do.”

“Then I guess I have to agree.”

“Good.” She smiled and raised both hands, palms up. “See? That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

“As a matter of fact,” he said with another grin, “it was.”

Julie laughed, walking past him and into the house. She opened the front door and looked over her shoulder, silently inviting him inside. “I should ask my father to escort you from the house, just so you know how it feels.”

“Yes, well—”

“Never mind.” Her father sat in the living room reading the evening paper. He lowered it as Julie walked in, Roy Fletcher a few steps behind.

“Dad, make Mr. Fletcher welcome while I shower, okay?”

Her father’s eyes widened. “What’s this?”

“We made peace,” Julie explained.

Dean turned to Julie and then his employer. “Somehow, I knew you would.” He set his newspaper aside. “Do you play poker, Mr. Fletcher?”

“Now and then. I might be a little rusty.”

“Oh, that’s not a problem.” Her father rubbed his hands together and gave a stagy wink. “I’ll get a deck.”

Thirteen

Anne couldn’t stop smiling. Everything was working out so well between her son and Julie Wilcoff. With Eleanor Johnson, Roy’s assistant, feeding her information, Anne had learned that he’d gone to Julie’s yesterday afternoon—even though he’d thrown her out of his office. Her son had actually sought out this delightful and strong-willed young woman.

That alone was enough to make Anne weak with joy, but then she’d found out that Roy had gone a step further and asked Julie for a date. He’d invited her to his home on Saturday! Ms. Johnson was busy contacting caterers. He was having Julie over for dinner, and then they were going to watch the Christmas parade of ships.

This was almost more than Anne had dared to hope, the best early Christmas gift she could ever receive.

Although Anne had only met Julie briefly, she’d taken an instant liking to the young woman. Julie wasn’t at all what she’d expected, although that didn’t matter. Julie was nearly as tall as her son and solidly built, but as Anne had learned a long time ago, it was character and not appearance that counted. Roy had fallen for a pretty face and an empty heart once, and he’d suffered the consequences. So had Anne….

“Oh, my,” she murmured aloud, irritated with herself. Describing Julie as “solid” made her sound dumpy and unattractive, and nothing could be further from the truth. She just wasn’t Aimee, who was petite and blond and delicate. Julie was none of those things, and that was all to the good. Besides, solid applied to her character, solid and direct, unlike Aimee’s wispy charm.

Anne had spent a second day at the office, finishing her angels. Home now, her spirits soaring, she stood barefoot in the kitchen chopping vegetables for a huge salad when the phone rang. She automatically checked her caller ID and noticed the New York area code.

It could only be Marta.

“Hello,” Anne said, pleased to hear from her friend. The possibility that the angel painting might sell for an astronomical eight thousand dollars—or more—had set her heart racing with hope and excitement.

“Anne, it’s Marta. How are you?”

“Fabulous! It was so nice to see you. I’ve been feeling great ever since.”

“I’m glad,” Marta said.

“How are you?” Anne was concerned about her friend’s marital situation.

“I’m doing fine.”

Somehow Anne doubted that. “And Jack?”

Marta hesitated. “He’s still being Jack.”

Anne knew then. Marta hadn’t confronted her husband, because the potential aftermath of bringing the truth into the open outweighed the pain. Anne didn’t blame Marta. Not so long ago she’d faced a similar situation; she understood and sympathized.

“I’m calling about the painting,” Marta said brightly. A little too brightly.

Anne held her breath. “Did my angel sell?”

“It’s not for sale,” Marta said flatly.

Taken aback, Anne said nothing.

“Paintings are always more attractive when the artist refuses to sell, my dear.”

“Oh.” To Anne’s way of thinking, that was dishonest.

“It is your personal favorite, isn’t that correct?”

“Yes, but …” Four thousand dollars was half a year’s worth of mortgage payments. Anne had begun to hope, to do something she’d told herself she never would, and that was to count on selling one of her paintings. “I would like to sell the angel….”

“But only if the price is right.”

“Well, yes …”

“That’s what I told her.”

“Her?”

“Mrs. Gould. She’s one of the Berkshire Goulds. She’s got oodles and oodles of money.”

“She likes my angel?” Anne was almost afraid to hope.

“Likes her?” Marta asked, laughing. “Evelyn is determined to have her, but I wouldn’t sell. I explained the situation and told her I needed to discuss it with you first.”

“Has she offered eight thousand dollars?”

“No.”

Anne’s heart fell. If an extremely wealthy woman hadn’t offered that much for a painting she supposedly wanted, then perhaps she wasn’t interested, after all.

“She offered more.” Marta giggled.

“Ten thousand?” Anne whispered.

“More.”

“And you turned her down?”

“Of course I did. I had to confer with you. Besides, if we cave too easily, she might suspect you really want to sell it.”

“Oh, Marta, I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing.”

“Trust me, Anne. I’ve been in this business for years. I know how to work this buyer. Furthermore, my commission from this sale is my Christmas gift to you.”

Anne was astonished. “I can’t let you do that!”

“Yes, you can and you will.”

“But I want to make it on my own, Marta.” This was one of the very reasons Anne had chosen to paint under the name of Mary Fleming. She didn’t want her friends’ charity.

“If you knew Mrs. Gould, you’d know that she’s—”

“I’m talking about the commission.”

The line went quiet for a moment. “Actually,” Marta confessed, “I might end up moving in with you at some point, and I was hoping to pave the way in case that happened.”

“You’re serious?” Sometimes with Marta it was hard to tell.

“Very.”

“But you haven’t confronted Jack?”

Anne heard Marta’s sigh. “I’ve tried, and every time I broach the subject, it’s as if Jack knows what’s coming and starts talking about something else. Once he simply got up and left the room. I’m so emotional about it. All I seem to do is cry and then I get so angry with Jack and with myself that I’m a worthless mess.”

“Of course you’re emotional!” Anne said. “You have every right to be.”

“I trusted Jack.”

Anne had trusted Burton, too. Although she was reluctant to mention it, Anne felt she’d be doing her friend a disservice if she didn’t share the painful lessons she’d learned. “Keep an eye on your finances.” She hated to give her more to worry about, but this was the trap Anne had fallen into, at great cost to herself.

“Jack would never—”

“I said the same thing about Burton,” Anne told her. “What you need to remember is that if Jack’s untrustworthy in one area, he could be untrustworthy in others.”

“Like Burton?”

Anne swallowed around the lump blocking her throat. “Like Burton,” she repeated.

“How much did he cheat you out of?”

Anne didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to confess how blind and foolish she’d been. “A quarter of a million dollars is my best estimate.”

“Oh, my,” Marta breathed. “That much?”

“I’m past the anger now.”

“But how can you be?” she demanded, outraged on Anne’s behalf.

“What else can I do? Hate him? Do you honestly think Burton cares how I feel about him?” Anne had gone through all of this after the divorce, gone through it over and over again. “It wouldn’t matter. The only person I’d be hurting is myself.”

“But you must’ve been an emotional wreck.”

“Of course I was. In the beginning I was angry, and then I was so hurt I couldn’t stop crying. For a while, I wondered if it was even worth living.”

“Oh, Anne.”

She’d never told anyone about those dark, ugly thoughts. Anne wondered if she should be confessing how bleak everything had seemed during those first dreadful months. When she’d discovered how bad her financial situation was, she’d sunk to her lowest depths. Once she’d learned she could cope with even that, her sense of self had begun to reassert itself.

“Frankly, I would’ve wanted to kill him.”

Anne laughed. “I considered that, but I preferred not to spend the rest of my life in jail.”

Marta laughed, too, but there was little humor in it.

“You want advice?” Anne had been in the same position Marta was now. She knew that her friend probably hadn’t been ready to hear her suggestions when they’d spoken the week before. She also knew how difficult it was to make decisions and think clearly during any kind of crisis.

“Please.” Marta’s voice was as soft as a whisper.

“If I were going through it again, the first thing I’d do is see an attorney and have our joint assets frozen.”

Marta’s breath came in a rush. “You told me to see one when I met you in Seattle, but now? So soon?”

“The sooner the better.”

“Okay,” Marta said, her voice gaining conviction. “I can do that.”

“A good one, but not one you both know.”

“All right.” Marta hesitated. “Should I tell Jack what I’ve done?”

To be fair to both parties, Anne felt she should. “I would. In your own time. It doesn’t have to be confrontational.”

“I should keep it simple, in other words, like … like, I know what you’re doing and I’ve seen an attorney. Period. End of story.”

“Something like that.”

“I’ll do it.” Marta sounded determined now.

Anne longed to put her arms around her friend and offer her reassurance and comfort. Marta, so experienced and sophisticated, was as emotionally vulnerable as Anne had been.

“Call me the minute you know anything,” Anne said, trying to encourage her.

“About the painting?”

Anne had forgotten about her angel. “That, too, but right now I’m more concerned that you take care of yourself.”

“I … I think I’ll wait until after the holidays,” Marta said. “To see an attorney, I mean.”

“Don’t,” Anne warned. “Do it today, before you lose your nerve.”

“You’re right, you’re right. I will.”

“And stay in touch,” Anne said.

“I will,” Marta promised.

Anne hoped she would. But there was nothing more she could say or do. It was Marta’s decision.

Fourteen

Things were working out nicely, Goodness thought. Despite their differences, Julie and Roy had knocked down some of the roadblocks that stood between them. Although she hadn’t admitted it yet, Julie was attracted to Roy. They were having their first official date on Saturday, and the relationship was starting to take shape. Mercy was right, after all. Goodness gave her friend credit; Julie might very well be the answer to Anne’s prayer request for her son.

This was the second evening the three angels had hovered over the Wilcoffs’ living room while Dean and Roy played two-handed poker. Granted, Dean and not Julie had invited him tonight, since they’d both enjoyed the previous poker game. But Julie hadn’t objected. And she’d even made dinner again—black-bean soup, corn bread and a salad. Chatting as he dealt, Dean picked up his two cards for Texas Hold’em and set the deck on the coffee table between them.

Roy looked over his cards and quickly placed his bet. Mercy, a serious student of cards, peered down at his hand.

“Should I help him with the deal?” she whispered.

“No,” Goodness cried. It was exactly this sort of intervention that got them in trouble. “Roy can win or lose this game on his own. Besides, I think it would do him good if Dean beat him again.”

“Oh, come on,” Mercy pleaded. “Don’t be such a spoilsport.”

Shirley sat atop the light fixture and sighed expressively. “Have you ever noticed how the game of poker is a lot like Roy’s life just now?”

Goodness and Mercy stared at her. Sometimes Shirley came up with the most bizarre pronouncements.

“In what way?” Goodness was already certain she was going to regret asking.

“Notice how willing Roy is to fold,” Shirley said, pointing to the six and the three, one a spade and the other a heart.

“Well, yes, but if I was dealt those cards in Texas Hold’em, I’d fold, too,” Mercy told her. “He doesn’t have much opportunity to make anything of it, and Dean has something better.”

“Roy’s done the same in life,” Shirley said. “He’s cast his father and Aimee aside. His inability to forgive them, as Anne has done, is a blight on his soul.” She shook her head. “Forgiveness is hard, and most people tend to hold on to their hurts, to take some kind of perverse satisfaction in them. I don’t understand, but it’s the way of humans.”

“Roy needs more time,” Goodness murmured. Angry and bitter as he was, any positive relationship with his father was impossible. Every effort Burton had made toward reconciliation with his son, Roy had rejected. He wasn’t anywhere close to finding forgiveness for either his father or Aimee.

“Perhaps,” Shirley agreed, but reluctantly.

“He’ll get a better hand next time,” Mercy said, watching as Roy shuffled the deck.

“He needs what humans call luck, and we both know there’s no such thing as luck, only God,” Goodness reminded them both, but no one seemed to be listening. Both her fellow Prayer Ambassadors were intent on the game.

“Roy needs all the help he can get,” Shirley said. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Did you lend him a little heavenly assistance?” Goodness asked when Roy came up with a pair of kings.

First Mercy and now Shirley. The two of them were out of control. Goodness was the only one with a sense of mission, a sense of purpose. They had important work to accomplish, and her fellow Ambassadors weren’t taking it seriously. They seemed more interested in this card game. Not that Goodness was averse to poker, of course, but unlike her colleagues, she did have her priorities straight. Pouting, she folded her wings, crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

Mercy looked up, surprised at this uncharacteristic display of temper. “I didn’t have anything to do with him getting that pair.”

“Me, neither,” Shirley said with an expression of such innocence that Goodness had no choice but to believe her. “I’m just saying Roy could do with a good turn of the cards, but I wasn’t responsible for that one.”

“Oh, all right,” Goodness muttered. She was tired of policing her friends. And at least they seemed to be realigning their priorities….

The phone rang. “Who’s that?” Mercy asked.

“Quiet,” Goodness said. “Julie’s answering it.”

Both Shirley and Mercy flew around while Goodness hovered in the kitchen doorway, listening in on the conversation. “It’s Anne,” she said excitedly.

“How’d she get Julie’s phone number?” Shirley asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Probably the phone book,” Mercy suggested.

“What does she want?”

“Shh,” Goodness cautioned. This was wonderful! She beamed at her friends. “Anne’s inviting her to lunch.”

“When?”

“Saturday.”

“She’s having dinner with Roy on Saturday,” Mercy said with a worried frown.

Goodness motioned for them to be quiet, fast losing her patience. This was hard enough without the two of them pestering her. Mercy held both hands over her mouth, while Shirley whirled about the room like a hamster on a treadmill.

“Well?” Shirley said when Goodness left the kitchen doorway.

“They’re meeting on the Seattle waterfront.”

“I love the waterfront,” Mercy said.

Goodness looked at her. “Promise me you won’t start throwing those salmon again.”

“I’m not making any such promise.”

“Need I remind you that we’re on a mission?”

Shirley nodded sternly. “A very important mission.”

Goodness noticed how Mercy glanced longingly at the deck of cards and the piles of chips. She found it far too easy to get distracted. Maybe her priorities weren’t quite in order yet.

Julie gathered the team of junior-high girls around her. Huddling close together to ward off the December-afternoon cold, her soccer team radiated energy and enthusiasm. Each girl thrust her right arm into the center of the huddle and gave a loud cheer.

The first string raced onto the field for the opening kick, and the others returned to the bench. As Julie started down the sideline, she glanced into the stadium. A number of parents had already arrived. More would come later in the game, depending on work schedules. The girls appreciated the support and so did Julie.

She had several talented players. Most of the girls had been involved with soccer from the age of five, and they knew how to play as a team. At halftime, they were ahead three to two.

Their audience had grown, Julie saw as she sent her girls back onto the field for the second half of the game. Darkness descended earlier and earlier these days, and the field lights came on automatically. As they did, she saw a lone figure standing by the chain-link fence at the far end of the field. It couldn’t be. Roy Fletcher? Surely she was mistaken. Why would he attend one of her games?

Julie felt the blood rush to her face and then just as quickly drain away. He’d been to the house for dinner two nights in a row, and played cards with her father both times. He’d apparently enjoyed the meals, although she’d never thought of Roy Fletcher as the kind of man who’d appreciate a bowl of black-bean soup and buttery corn bread. He’d surprised her by accepting and then eating two big bowlfuls, all the while praising her cooking skills. He’d been equally enthusiastic about Wednesday’s Crock-Pot stew. Now he’d shown up at her soccer game.

The two teams were tied in the third quarter, but Abraham Lincoln managed to pull off a win with a last-second goal, ending the match with a score of four to three. Julie went into the locker room with the team, but she didn’t expect Roy to be waiting for her when she finished nearly an hour later, after the girls had showered, changed and cleaned up.

Locking the room, she carried the soccer balls to the equipment area, then headed toward the faculty parking lot. As she stepped from the building and into the darkness of late afternoon, she saw Roy silhouetted against one of the lights. He’d pulled his vehicle around to where she’d parked and leaned casually against the fender as if he had nothing better to do.

“I wondered if you’d gotten lost in there.” He straightened as she approached and moved toward her.

“Hi.” His being here flustered Julie. Roy Fletcher was a very important man, far too important to spend valuable time watching her coach a soccer game. “I thought I saw you.” That wasn’t the most intelligent comment she’d ever made, but she couldn’t think of anything better.

“I didn’t get here until halftime.”

“You didn’t need to come. I certainly didn’t expect you to.”

“I didn’t expect to come, either,” he confessed. His hands were plunged deep in his overcoat pockets. “It’s been years since I attended a soccer match. This afternoon, a business associate sent me a report about our overseas sales, and I suddenly started thinking about European soccer.”

“They take it very seriously over there.”

“Seems to me your girls do, too.”

“True.” She nodded slowly. “My team works hard and winning is important, but it’s about far more than that.”

“I disagree,” he countered. “Winning is everything.”

“Perhaps in your line of work.”

“In every line of work. In everything. Look at soccer. Each game counts and—”

Julie held up her hand. Life and business were intense for Roy. Or maybe life was business in his view. “Now isn’t the time to be having this conversation,” she said briskly. Julie was tired and cold and in no state to reason with Roy Fletcher. If he wanted to argue, she’d prefer to be at her best, and currently she was far from it.

“You’re right,” he murmured as he walked her to her car.

“You came, and I’d like to thank you for that,” she said.

“That’s the weird part,” Roy went on. “I got sidetracked there for a moment. As I said, I was looking at European sales figures, and I started thinking about soccer. Then I remembered that you were coaching a game this afternoon and I had this strange urge to come and watch.”

She noticed the urge hadn’t been to come and see her. “Strange urge or not, I’m honored you were here.” She told herself it was ludicrous to feel disappointed that she hadn’t been the reason.

“It was an excellent game.”

“Thank you on behalf of my team.” She inserted the key into her lock, anxious now to get home and under a hot shower.

“And you’re an excellent coach.”

Again she smiled her appreciation. She tossed her backpack on the passenger seat. She didn’t want to be rude by climbing into her car and driving away, but Roy didn’t seem to have anything else to say.

As it turned out, Julie was wrong about that.

“Do you enjoy clam chowder?” he asked unexpectedly.

“Yes, I do.” It was one of her favorite soups.

“There’s a little hole-in-the-wall café not far from here. They used to serve the most incredible clam chowder. I don’t even know if the café’s still open. I haven’t been there in years, but I’m willing to look if you are.”

Julie wanted to be sure she understood what he was asking her. “Are you inviting me to dinner?” He seemed nervous about this, but she must be misreading him. Roy Fletcher had nothing to be nervous about.

“Yes, I guess I am asking you to dinner.” He brushed a hand across his face. “Like I said, I don’t know if the café’s still open. I ate there in college quite a lot. The food was cheap and good.”

Money certainly wasn’t something he needed to worry about now.

The differences between them—between his fame and wealth and her middle-class obscurity—would probably be a factor if they were to continue seeing each other. In a flash Julie understood; it was more than dinner he was asking her about. He did want to see her, get to know her, and he was asking if she felt the same way about him.

The look in his eyes was intense. “I like what I know about you, Julie.”

She was bewildered and a little shaken. Roy Fletcher was interested in dating her, a thirty-year-old teacher with few marriage prospects. “Other than your tendency to be arrogant, I like you, too.”

He grinned. “You have your faults.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“The word stubborn comes to mind.”

“I’m stubborn when I happen to be right.” She wasn’t letting that one pass.

He smiled. “I think that’s a conversation we should reserve for another time,” he said, echoing her earlier remark. “Agreed?”

She nodded. “I can go to dinner dressed like this?” She had on a nylon blue-and-white running suit—the Abraham Lincoln school colors. Her name was printed across the back with the silkscreen of a wolf, the team symbol.

“Sure,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me and then I’ll drive you back here to pick up your car when we’re finished.”

“Sounds good.”

Once they were in the neighborhood, it took Roy fifteen minutes to find the café. The restaurant had moved in the eight years since he’d last eaten there. They sat in a booth in a far corner, ordered clam chowder and coffee and discussed movies, politics, the stock market, the state of the economy and a thousand other things. Before she realized it, the café was closing.

As Julie undressed for bed that night, she could hardly believe they’d had so much to talk about. For three hours, they’d chatted nonstop, as if they’d known each other their entire lives. She felt genuinely comfortable with him, enjoying his warmth and wit, qualities she wouldn’t have guessed he had a couple of weeks ago. After a quick e-mail to Emily, she went to bed.

If anything surprised her, it was the fact that Roy didn’t kiss her when he dropped her off at the school to get her car. He wanted to—she was sure of it—and she wanted him to, but …

“Are we still on for tomorrow night?” he’d asked.

Julie was looking forward to it more than ever. “Yes. As far as I’m concerned. What about you?”

“Oh, yes.”

That was when she thought he might kiss her. He didn’t, but she had the distinct impression he intended to make up for it while they watched the Christmas ships.