Missionary Daddy (3 page)

“She’s always cold,” Jeremy answered as he slid down beside his girlfriend, paper plate piled high with food. Though he was tall and lanky, the brown-haired boy showed the muscular promise of coming manhood. He plunked a cookie and napkin in front of Gina. “Eat.”

“I had supper.”

“You did not.” He waved the cookie under her nose. “I ate. You watched.”

Gina turned her head away from the tempting chocolate sandwich. “My stomach’s a little off today.”

With a shrug, Jeremy placed the cookie on her knee and concentrated on demolishing his own plateful. Gina picked off a tiny corner of the cookie, then placed the remainder on her boyfriend’s plate.

As Sam observed the exchange, a suspicion niggled at the back of her mind. After a bit, she shrugged it off. She didn’t know these kids yet. Her concerns were likely the result of her own long struggle with food.

She sat quietly, getting to know the group by listening to their chatter. The lively talk reminded her of the days in junior high before food had taken control of her life. Other than Eric’s odd behavior, tonight was fun and relaxing, a welcome respite from her hectic life.

Freckle-faced Tiffany obviously had a crush on Billy, but the shaggy-haired boy was clueless. Sam hid a smile when Tiffany took Billy’s empty plate and Coke can, asking if he wanted anything else. Nikki, the Goth girl with kohl-rimmed eyes and black clothes, was the obvious leader. Young Dylan stayed on the perimeter, watchful and quiet.

Samantha wanted so badly to talk to Eric the way she had in Africa. How was he? Why was he here in Virginia? How were the boys, Matunde and Amani? She still treasured the single photo of them. She’d even had it blown up and framed to sit on her dresser—if the suite of rooms being remodeled at Harcourt Mansion was ever finished.

Soda can empty, she went to find a trash can.

“In the kitchen,” Nikki called, guessing her intent.

The Youth Center had been built during Sam’s long absence from Chestnut Grove and she was unfamiliar with the layout.

Rounding a corner, she slammed into the back of a broad-shouldered man.
Eric.

He turned, his ready smile fading as soon as he recognized her. With a curt nod, he said, “Excuse me,” and turned away again.

Sam caught his arm. The muscle beneath her hand tensed, rock hard.

“Eric, wait.”

Reluctance hanging on him like a baggy shirt, he complied.

“Have I offended you in some way?” she asked quietly.

“Of course not. You’ve only just arrived.”

“Then why the cold shoulder?”

Indecision came and went. Sam suspected he wanted to blow her off and escape. The honest man she’d met in Africa couldn’t do that. “You should have told me who you were. It was a pretty big shock to come home to.”

“Did it matter? Would you have treated me any differently?”

She saw the truth in his eyes. He would have. She would have been a fashion model, an object on display, instead of a person.

“You don’t have to serve as cochair of this committee,” he said. “I can find someone else or handle the job alone.”

The words hurt. He neither needed nor wanted her. “You’d like me to quit?”

He hitched a shoulder. “I figure you’re too busy for something like this. How did Rachel rope you into it?”

Sam didn’t want to tell him, but she might as well. He’d find out soon enough. “She thought my involvement might be helpful.”

“Helpful? In what way?”

Sam knew the minute he figured it out.

“Oh,” he said. “I get it. People will come to see the famous model.”

Trying not to bristle at the slight note of condescension, she squared her shoulders. “If using my name helps the kids, I’m willing to do it.”

“Yeah,” he said softly. “You’re all about the kids, aren’t you?”

His words weren’t cruel but they cut just the same. And Sam knew as well as she knew the number of calories in a slice of bread that Eric didn’t trust her goodwill one little bit.

S
itting cross-legged on Ashley’s pink duvet cover, Sam watched her sister gobble down three slices of thick pan double-cheese pizza and mentally calculated the calories and fat grams. To tell the truth, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d tasted pizza but the smell was tantalizing. For most of her life, smelling pizza was as close as she dared come.

Following an afternoon around the family’s magnificent backyard pool, she, Ashley and two-year-old Gabriel had come upstairs to Ashley’s large bedroom suite to eat and talk, a sisterly act they hadn’t embraced during their growing-up years. Funny how maturity and a little baby could change one’s attitude.

Maturity had other effects, too. Or perhaps she could blame the perspective change on Africa. Her sister’s living quarters included a private bathroom and balcony, as much space as the entire bedroom facility in Eric’s orphanage.

In fact, the spectacular Harcourt Mansion, with seven bedrooms and nine bathrooms, was considerably larger than the space where thirty African children lived, slept and attended school.

The comparison made her feel guilty. Worse yet, her parents were renovating a huge area into a private apartment every bit as elegant as the best hotel, just for her.

“Have some pizza, Sam.” Ashley pushed the opened box toward her.

Sam patted her empty stomach. “Not hungry.”

Baby Gabriel, sitting on Sam’s lap, reached for a slice. Ashley gently pushed his hand away and made a face. “I’ve been with you all day and you haven’t eaten a bite. Eat. You’re not going to lose your skinny-model body over a single piece of pizza.”

Sam blinked, stunned. No wonder the pizza smell was killing her. She really
hadn’t
eaten anything all day. Six years ago the monster of anorexia had sent her to the hospital, malnourished and dehydrated. Nobody, not even Ashley knew about her secret shame.

Since that frightening wake-up call and the subsequent months of treatment, she was regimented about her eating, making sure she took in sufficient nutrition every day. Somehow she’d gotten off schedule since coming back to Chestnut Grove.

With every ounce of willpower she possessed, Sam reached for a pizza slice. “Smells awesome.”

Ashley chowed into a fourth slice. “Tastes even better.”

Sam forced the pizza to her lips and took a bite. “Mmm. Delish.”

The food lodged in the back of her throat. She grabbed her diet soda can and swigged, forcing the pizza down. During times like this, times of high stress or emotional unbalance, the anorexia tried to rear its murderous head. She’d done enough damage to her body already. Damage that might never heal. She couldn’t allow the disorder to take control again. Next time, it might kill her.

“Why don’t you come to church with us tomorrow, Sam?” Ashley asked as she handed LEGO blocks to her son with one hand and stuffed away pizza with the other.

“Chris is coming down after service.”

Ashley’s face glowed when she mentioned her fiancé, Chris Sullivan who pastored a church in Williamsburg. Some Sundays she and Gabriel drove up to spend the day with him. On others, he drove down to spend the afternoon with them. He was a great guy who’d helped Ashley forgive herself for past mistakes, and Sam was glad to finally see her sister so happy.

“The whole church thing seems weird to me.”

“There’s nothing weird about being a Christian.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Since coming home, Sam had noticed a radical change in her family. Once cold and distant, her parents suddenly wanted to be close, to make up for lost time. They’d started attending church with Ashley and Gabriel and wanted Sam to do the same.

“I wish Mom and Dad had been this enthused about family when you and I were kids.”

Gabriel threw a block onto the floor and laughed.

“Me, too, but if I learned anything through the ordeal with losing Gabriel and trying to get him back again, it’s that we can’t change the past. We have to move on, and try to do better in the future.”

Ashley’s teenage pregnancy had been a pivotal event for all of the Harcourts. Too afraid and ashamed to tell anyone, she’d given Gabriel up at first. When Sam had found out, she’d rushed home to help her sister regain custody of the baby. She couldn’t imagine not having this precious boy in their lives.

Since then, Ashley was working hard to complete a degree in fashion design and looking forward to a future as Christopher’s wife. She’d been lucky to find a man who not only didn’t hold her past against her, but who loved her son as his own.

“I’m glad you found your path in life, sis. Really, I am. But church is so foreign to us Harcourts. All we’ve ever needed was money.”

“Look what that got us.” Ashley ripped off a piece of pizza, blew on it, then slid it into Gabriel’s open mouth. Though the little guy had been well fed before the pizza had arrived, he responded with a toothy grin.

“Yeah. Reporters calling day and night to ask what we know about the adoption scandals. The whole town acts as if we personally stole babies and still have them hidden in the attic thirty years later.”

They both laughed at the silliness. Gabriel patted the side of Sam’s face with Bob the Builder. She caught his hand and kissed it, drawing in his clean baby smell as a powerful love welled up inside.

“I don’t know why Grandfather falsified adoption papers and birth certificates. I wish I could understand. He hurt a lot of people.”

“Money, Sam. Barnaby Harcourt was all about making money. That’s all I remember about him. He looked like a kindly grandfather but he spent every waking moment getting richer.”

“He could have made money by adopting out children honestly.”

To the deep embarrassment of all the Harcourt family, Barnaby had extorted money from people who had given up their babies and then had spent years blackmailing them. Even the town mayor had fallen victim.

“Life has been insane around here since the construction workers found those papers in your wall,” Ashley said.

“The Cavanaughs are nice people. Ben didn’t deserve to find out about his birth parents that way.”

Ironically, one of Ben’s construction-company employees, Jonah Fraser, had discovered the hidden files. Since then, reporters had been hounding the Harcourt family, trying to blame them for Barnaby’s misdeeds.

Hammering issued from the other end of the house.

“Funder,” Gabriel said, eyes wide. For some reason, he’d developed a fear of thunder and lightning. Even though the hammering had continued off and on for weeks now, the toddler considered every sudden noise to be an ensuing storm.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Sam crooned, raising the sturdy two-year-old body up to her shoulder. “Someday they will actually finish those rooms and stop hammering.”

Ashley chuckled. “And about the time they have the entire suite just the way you want it, you’ll run back to Chicago.”

“I don’t think so. I’m thinking of renting out my condo.”

“Are you serious?” Ashley’s face registered disbelief. “Why?”

“I’m not sure I want to go back to modeling.” Even while she was on hiatus, the pressure never stopped. Only today her agent had called, urging her to get back to Chicago. “Not full-time anyway.”

The idea horrified her sister. “Are you crazy? Why wouldn’t anyone want your life?”

“Africa,” she said simply.

Ashley titled her head, puzzled. “Now that makes perfect sense. Care to elaborate?”

Sam shrugged. “Africa did something to me, Ash. Poverty like I can’t even express and yet the people have this joy, this strength about them.”

“Excuse me if I have no clue what this has to do with your amazing career.”

“Everything.” Gabriel wiggled to be let down, so Sam turned him loose. He scooted toward the edge of the bed. “I want my life to matter more. I want to make a difference. Standing in front of a camera in pretty clothes seems so empty after what I saw there.”

“Well, half the female population would take your place in a heartbeat if they could.”

Sam knew it was true. She also knew a lot of things about the business her sister didn’t. Sure, hers was a great job, but money and success in modeling came with a high price. A price she wouldn’t share with anyone, even her baby sister.

She fiddled with the edge of the pizza box, tempted to have another slice. “What do you think of Eric Pellegrino?”

“He’s a hunk and a half. Almost as cute as my Chris. A nice guy, too. Everyone at church seems to like him.” Ashley poked a finger at Sam’s knee. “Why? What does Eric have to do with our conversation?”

“We met in Africa.”

Ashley’s mouth formed an O. “No kidding?”

Gabriel turned onto his belly and started to slide off the high bed feetfirst. Without breaking the line of conversation, Ashley helped him safely down. He toddled to his push pony and climbed aboard, saying, “Horsey, go.”

“I worked at Eric’s orphanage for a day,” Sam said. “It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I found myself wishing I could stay there forever.”

“You? In an African orphanage? With dirt and flies and poverty? And no beauty salon?”

Sam gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Yes. How weird is that?”

She told her sister the rest, about the children, the lack of food, the despair. Most of all, she talked about Eric.

When she finished, Ashley’s soft brown eyes danced with speculation. “Are you in love with this guy?”

Sam made a face to quell a sudden invasion of nervous butterflies. “I barely know him. And now that we’ve met again, I think he hates me.”

“Oh, come on, Sam. There is not a red-blooded male in this country who hates you.”

“Then let’s say he doesn’t like me much. He holds me at an arm’s length and when I try to talk to him, he’s as cool as a Frappuccino.”

Ashley grinned. Having found her own true love, Ashley saw romance everywhere. “I think you’re way off base. Maybe the guy likes you a lot. And maybe he’s intimidated because you’re famous and he’s just a missionary.”

“Eric Pellegrino is not
just
a missionary. Nor is he intimidated by anything. He seems to despise what I do. And maybe he should. He’s dedicated to a noble cause. I’m dedicated to shopping and accessorizing.”

“Yes, but you’re so good at it!”

They both laughed, but Sam wasn’t joking. Along with her desire to change her own life, she wanted to change Eric’s opinion of her. She just didn’t know how.

When Eric walked into the Youth Center arts-and-crafts room, the first person he spotted was Samantha. Like radar, he seemed to find her. It was maddening. Yesterday, he’d spotted her going into the Noble Foundation. The day before, he’d driven past the mall and amidst all the cars and people, he’d seen Sam.

Now, here he was, that funny feeling in his gut, watching her with the teens. She and the girls, plus Anne Williams, were hub deep in conversation about hairstyles of all things. The boys sat at the table, chins on hands, looking bored to the point of coma.

Tiffany had brought a fashion magazine and was pointing to a picture. Sam placed a finger on each of the girl’s cheekbones, indicated the shape of her face and said something that made the slightly pudgy girl smile.

Eric had to give Sam that much. She was kind to the kids although they still treated her with a star-struck adulation that set his teeth on edge. She was only a person. No better than the rest of them.

He felt in the back pocket of his jeans for the letter that had arrived today.

“Hey, guys,” he called to the dying-of-boredom boys. They whirled as if he’d saved them from a fate worse than death. Chuckling, he understood all too well. To a guy, discussing girls’ hairstyles
was
pretty deadly.

“What’s up, Eric?” Lanky Jeremy scraped a chair out from the table to make room for their leader.

“Got some news today.” He unfolded the letter and placed it on the table. “From Africa.”

Sam, who had been describing some bizarre thing called
shine serum,
stopped in mid-sentence and looked up at him. He hadn’t intended to notice her at all tonight and yet, here he was soaking in the way sprigs of blond hair framed her face and brought out the beauty in her gray eyes.

“Africa?” she asked, tone eager. “From your orphanage?”

Technically it wasn’t his orphanage anymore though he’d founded and built the place. The missions’ board was in charge. “From the boys I’m trying to adopt.”

Three of the teenagers in the group had been adopted. Those three always wanted up-to-the-minute details on Eric’s process to adopt Matunde and Amani. They huddled around his back, staring down at the letter. Telephone or Internet contact with the new director was spotty at best, so every time he received a letter from the boys, he was pumped for days.

To his surprise, Sam rose, too, and came around to his side of the table. “Matunde and Amani?”

His surprise doubled. “You remember them?”

“Of course I do. I have a picture of them that I treasure.”

“Oh, right.” The photo she used for publicity. That was why she remembered his boys.

Sam pressed in beside him, leaning onto the table to read the letter along with the others. Right at his elbow, she brought with her the luscious scent of some perfume that probably cost enough to fund the orphanage for a year. And as annoyed as he tried to be about that, his senses couldn’t help appreciating the warm, feminine fragrance or the way her slender arm grazed the side of his.

“Did you say you’re adopting them?” Sam asked, turning her head so that their faces were only inches apart.

A hitch in his chest, Eric was trapped between Sam, the table and a huddle of kids. He couldn’t escape if he wanted to—and he most definitely wanted to. Yes, indeed. He needed to get far away from Miss Rich and Famous.

“Trying to. International adoptions are long and complex. The rules change constantly.”

“So what are the rules saying right now? Can you or can you not bring the boys to America?”

She seemed genuinely interested, just as she had in Africa. Why was it that the Sam he talked to was not the Sam he knew her to be?