Redeeming Heart (2 page)

Life had turned on him with a vengeance,
stripping him of almost everything, but Landon refused to lose his
dignity, so he clung to his self-pride. Instead of networking with
other business professionals, he was schmoozing with homeless
associates that were dealt the same fate to survive on the streets
of St. Louis.

Nervously, Landon peered through the slits of
the wood blinds in the front bedroom, which had been his safe
haven. The alternative had been sidewalks, deplorable conditions
under overpasses, or shelters as the last resort, so empty houses
were like luxury suites at a hotel.

John, Jimmy, Jeremy…J—something from the soup
kitchen would chew him out for blowing his cover. His buddy advised
him against getting too comfortable in one place and to move on
frequently. Landon had overstayed his uninvited welcome by four
days. Now, thanks to some good-smelling petite woman, he was about
to be evicted from his borrowed residence.

With sirens fast approaching, Landon grabbed
his tattered Coach suitcase and slipped out the back door. He
cursed at his bad luck that the yard had no bushes and trees for
him to hide. He sprinted across the yard and was about to scale the
fence when his nightmare came true.

“Freeze! Drop the loot and get on your
knees,” a man shouted.

What a way to end his life: a gunshot to the
back, whether he complied or not. Releasing his suitcase, Landon
lifted his arms in the air and turned around. He fell to his knees,
hoping the officer’s weapon wouldn’t accidentally discharge.

“Put your hands up,” a short policewoman
commanded as she stormed toward him.

“No, put your hands behind your back,” a tall
male officer contradicted. “And don’t move!”

Evidently, they were rookie cops who couldn’t
make up their minds about how to confine him. “Great,” Landon
said.

They wrestled with his wrists until they
cuffed him, then struggled as they heaved him onto his feet
.
Clark
was the name engraved on the male officer’s badge as he
left Landon’s side to retrieve all of his stuff. The other badge
read
Jackson
. She was a short African-American woman with a
ponytail. Didn’t the police academy have a height restriction?

If nothing else, women were drawn to his
charm. Landon had mastered the skills of a smooth talker. He had
the looks—a stand-in for actor Tyler Lepley, but enhanced and with
money—at one time, he had lots of it. He cast a seductive glance at
the officer with his hazel eyes, something that would make the
heart of anyone with female hormones flutter. “I just wanted
shelter,” which was true. Landon wasn’t a threat to anybody.

“Do you realize you’re trespassing,” Officer
Jackson stated, rather than questioned. “Let’s go.” She shoved him
as a warning that she would use force. He was definitely losing his
charm. In his thirty-three years, he’d never had an arrest record,
but from the looks of things, one was pending. He had never been
homeless either. God wasn’t playing fair. Could his life get any
worse?

As they came through a wrought-iron gate,
another woman—beautiful from a distance—was waiting near the patrol
car as they escorted him around to the front of the house. Using
her hand to shield her eyes from the sun, she squinted at him.

He gawked at the beauty of her doll-shaped
face. The slant of her eyes, either naturally or tricks from
makeup, gave her an exotic look. African-American women with any
Asian in their blood were his weakness, but who was he kidding? All
women were a man’s weakness.

She had the most unusual color of light brown
hair as if sandy blonde strands were intertwined. The length wasn’t
important; it was her shiny sassy curls that framed her face that
made a man look more than once—he did. As a matter-of-fact, Landon
could see himself guiding her soft pointed chin toward his face for
a kiss.

In less than thirty seconds, Landon scanned
her figure to her attractive toes. Her scandals were a series of
straps that tied at her ankles. She wasn’t naturally tall, so the
heels added height, which drew attention to her well-toned legs,
then his eyes traveled back to her face

The softness of her features almost had him
groaning until he noticed the lift of a well-defined eyebrow. She
looked ticked.

“Landon?” she said in awe, stepping closer.
There was that whiff of perfume again, the one that lingered after
he was taken down. She was the one who had collided with him. “What
were you doing in there?” She pointed to the house.

How did she know his name?

He had a sharp memory, except when it came to
women’s names and faces after a night’s encounter. The next
morning, he had forgotten both without regret, but not this woman.
They definitely didn’t run in the same circles. No man in his right
mind would allow her needs not to be met. Landon swallowed.

“I’m visiting,” he smarted, stating the
obvious. His warped sense of humor was one of his causalities of
humiliation.

“Ma’am, you know him?” Officer Clark asked as
the unidentified woman eyed him. “Would you like to press
charges?”

“No, that’s not necessary.” His rescuer
fanned her hand in the air. “My company owns this property. I just
didn’t know Landon was here,” she said in a manner that made Landon
suspicious. “You can release him. I recognize him as one of our
patrons at Gateway 180.”

Patron at a food pantry was synonymous with
homeless. The term took on a whole new meaning when he
unceremoniously joined the ranks after losing his senior
advertising sales rep position at Foster & Wake Ad Agency in
Boston. If she volunteered at the Gateway 180 shelter, then she
must have handed him a brown bag lunch a time or two. That was one
place Landon didn’t want to be recognized. There are always
hundreds in the food line, so how come she would remember him?

“He’s going with me,” she stated, a fist on
her curvy hip. She tapped her heel. Judging from her determined
expression, she had a scheme brewing.

Not much scared him, but it was something
about this soup kitchen volunteer that shook his confidence. “I
am?” His jaw dropped.

“Yes, you are.” She nodded toward her
car.

“You sure, miss?” Officer Clark exchanged a
guarded look with his partner who shrugged.

Clearing her throat, Jackson advised, “Then
you better lock this place up.”

With that said, all eyes were on his unnamed
rescuer as she jogged up the stairs and vanished into the house, he
guessed to assess any damage for which he might be responsible. The
only evidence of his habitation would probably be a ring around the
tub after a long, hot bath without the benefits of soap. Landon
didn’t plan to return to the house tonight without his choice
shower gel and toothpaste. He wasn’t a thief by trade or hobby, but
the idea was tempting.

“Mind if I inspect the contents?” Officer
Clark eyed his suitcase.

Landon huffed. He was in no position to
demand a warrant. He preferred not to witness the humiliation of
someone rummaging through his designer briefs, so he diverted his
attention to the brick house. It was a nice starter home for a
couple, but the all-white kitchen—cabinets, floor, walls—would
definitely need updating if he could afford to buy it, which he
couldn’t.

Someday, he would get back on his
feet—someday, Landon kept reminding himself. Once the officer
seemed satisfied with invading his privacy, he snapped the suitcase
shut.

As he continued to wait, neighbors stood on
their porches to get a preview of what might be on the five o’clock
news. Landon was glad to disappoint them. The hottie reappeared and
nodded to the police that everything was okay. He cringed after the
officer unfastened his handcuffs. He rubbed his wrists, then picked
up his tattered suitcase.

Directing him toward her car, the woman got
in with such finesse as Landon squeezed his frame into the
passenger side for a destination unknown. Adjusting his seat,
Landon stretched his legs and refrained from sighing at the feel of
her leather seats. When was the last time he had been in a car? He
missed the comfort of his silver Corvette, which a loan company had
repossessed and another driver was enjoying. Landon had only been
four months behind. He was making partial payments with his
unemployment checks while he was job hunting. People just didn’t
cut a guy slack anymore.

I gave you grace
,
God whispered as if He was tapping him on the
shoulder.

He frowned. Grace had not kept him from
living on the streets, he thought as his rescuer ordered him to
click his seatbelt.

Inserting her Bluetooth in her ear, the woman
answered a call and eyed him. “Ah, I’m with Landon,” she said as if
she was on a covert mission and he was her cargo. “I already did.”
She disconnected, apparently without any concern about his
intentions. They definitely needed to talk about female safety
measures when encountering strangers, then he thought about her hit
to his gut. She could take care of her own.

Landon frowned. “Two questions.”

“Two answers,” she said as she pulled into
traffic.

“Who are you?”

She laughed, and the sound was melodious.
Taking her right hand off the wheel, she extended it for him to
shake. “Octavia Winston. Nice to see you again. It’s been a
while.”

How long was a while? Landon frequented three
soup kitchens. Gateway 180 offered brown bag lunches seven days a
week during business hours. Karen House served cold sandwiches all
day and hot lunches Monday, Wednesday and Friday at 12:30. If
somehow, he found himself near downtown Clayton, which was upscale,
he had until three o’clock to get something to eat at the Bread
Company’s Care Community Cafe.

Accepting her hand, Landon immediately
admired her long fingers and their softness. When he didn’t release
it right away, she snatched it back. He frowned. “And where are we
going, Octavia?”

“Church. I’m glad you don’t have a problem
with that.” She wasn’t giving him an option as she kept her eyes on
the road.

Suddenly, Landon felt like gagging on her
perfume and bolting from the moving vehicle. “Ah, as a matter of
fact, I do.” He avoided church whenever possible, even those that
sponsored soup kitchens. Church had not been a good fit with his
past lifestyle. Landon had been preached to and counseled his
entire life. He knew scriptures he didn’t want to know and couldn’t
shake.

When Octavia blasted the radio, Landon was
relieved it wasn’t gospel music. Coming from a family of musicians,
he could play most songs by ear, but he was tired of playing
church—inside and outside. Been there and done that. He was free,
but destitute.

He eyed Octavia again. Who was this fearless
woman who seemed relaxed with a stranger in her car? He could be a
felon—or worse, a rapist. “You know, you really shouldn’t pick up
strangers.”

“Yeah. I’m thinking the same thing, too.” She
tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “But I have mace.”

Great. He was being kidnapped by a crazy
woman. Now it was time to pray, he thought as he looked out the
window from inside the air-conditioned car. It might be hot and
humid outside, but at least he had a choice in where he roamed,
which was in the opposite direction of a church where he had failed
God, himself and four others who needed him.

***

Octavia regulated her breathing to come off as
confident in her actions and not crazy to give a man who she knew
nothing about a ride…and to church of all places!

God was definitely working in mysterious
ways. As soon as Octavia saw the vagabond’s face, he seemed
familiar, then his name rolled off her tongue as if she really knew
the man. She didn’t. That’s when God brought the two instances she
had seen Landon to mind. Both times, God instructed her to pray for
him. She had without giving much thought to it. Plus, Landon had
never exchanged more than a “thank you” with her. Octavia knew his
name after overhearing another man say it and she thought it was
different.

Do not be afraid.
Jesus’ voice was
soothing and reassuring as the police was about to take Landon into
custody
. Take him with you.

Octavia relaxed at first, but had almost
choked on air when the Lord whispered the last part. Once she was
in the house to secure the property, she questioned God.

You are serving My purpose. He’s My lost
sheep. I will perfect the work I began in Landon until the day I
return,
God said, quoting Philippians 1:6.

And what did that have to do with her?
Octavia needed more time for clarification to God’s purpose, but
she didn’t think the officers and Landon would appreciate standing
in the hot sun while she had an impromptu prayer meeting, so she
had to take God at His Word. Plus, Landon hadn’t committed a
crime—well, besides breaking and entering.

She wished God had let her in on His plan
before she had hysterically texted her broker who rented her office
space and who acted like Octavia’s mother hen; Octavia’s mother had
been deceased for years, but Terri Mack was barely six years older
than her.

Now, Octavia’s feigned calm demeanor had
Terri frantic and flustered as she rambled off crime stats. She
would deal with her friend later about the perception that all
homeless people were unstable.

“I’m harmless,” Landon broke into her reverie
as if he were picking up on her uncertainty. Maybe the gnawing on
her lip gloss was the giveaway.

Believe him,
God spoke.

Octavia’s amusement was a sham as she put on
a brave persona. “And I’m a safe driver. You believe that?” she
teased as she jammed on her brakes at a stop sign.

This time, she laughed in earnest. The
snapshot of dread on Landon’s face was priceless—the payback for
him scaring her. He braced his large hands pushed against the
dashboard as his tall frame seemed to prepare for impact. It was
comical. Octavia was an attentive driver—no tickets to date. Of
course she wasn’t usually as distracted as she was at the
present.