by Barbara Metzger, Connie Brockway, Casey Claybourne; Catherine Anderson
It was a fanciful, crazy answer, Faith knew. Or was it? As her husband deepened their kiss and her blood began thrumming with desire, she couldn’t deny that sometimes, when a woman least expected it, truly magical things could happen to forever change her life.
Catherine Anderson lives in the pristine wood-lands of Central Oregon. She is married to her high school sweetheart, Sid, and is the author of more than twenty best-selling and award-winning historical and contemporary romances.
Epilogue
Catherine Anderson
Charlotte Hamilton almost walked past the boutique without stopping, but a vintage wedding gown in the window display caught her attention. She pressed close to the ice-frosted glass, her gaze fixed on the ivory silk and lace, so mesmerized by their beauty that the sound of the traffic behind her was momentarily snuffed out. Gorgeous, she thought, and then, But so totally what I don’t need.
To say that Charlotte had no marriage prospects would have been an understatement. It had been more than a year since she’d even been asked out on a date. Nevertheless, the dress drew her out of the cold air into the warm shop like a magnet attracting metal shavings.
“Isn’t it lovely?” a slender older woman asked when Charlotte went directly to the window display. “For reasons beyond me, I haven’t been able to sell it. It’s marked down, if you’re interested.”
Charlotte reached out to touch the dress. The instant her fingertips grazed the lace, a tingle of warmth shot up her arm. In that moment, she wanted to buy that dress more than she’d ever wanted to buy anything. Madness. She had just been laid off from her job. She was living with her mother and had a four-year-old son with leukemia to support. She couldn’t afford to squander her money on a dress that she’d probably never have an opportunity to wear.
“It is beautiful,” Charlotte agreed. “But I’m afraid fifty dollars is more than I can afford to spend. My little boy is sick.” She shrugged and smiled at the clerk. “I just wanted a closer look.”
The older woman raised her elegantly drawn brows. “It would look lovely on you. If I reduce the price to twenty-five, can you afford it?”
“You can’t sell it for so little,” Charlotte protested. Then, with a roll of her eyes, she added, “And even twenty-five is too much, I’m afraid. I was laid off last week. Unemployment benefits don’t stretch very far when a child is gravely ill.”
The woman tipped her gray head. “I’ll let you buy it in installments. If you can’t pay for some reason, just give me a call.” Her smile deepened. “Maybe I’m a silly old woman, but I can’t shake the feeling that the dress is meant for you. All that glorious red hair and those fabulous blue eyes.” She shook her head. “You must have that dress. You’ll be a vision in it.”
Somehow Charlotte found herself leaving the boutique with the boxed wedding gown clutched in her arms. She was so excited as she stepped back out on the sidewalk that she didn’t think to look both ways. The next instant, she felt as if she’d been sideswiped by a speeding train. The box flew in one direction, she in another.
“Oh, God! I am so sorry. Are you all right?”
Charlotte blinked to clear her vision and discovered that she lay sprawled on her back. Snowflakes landed softly on her cheeks. Was she all right? She couldn’t honestly say. Dimly she was aware of the sounds of passing traffic, plowing through the slush on the asphalt. Nothing seemed to hurt, but she felt decidedly dazed. She found herself looking into eyes the color of melted chocolate—warm, concerned, beautiful eyes ensconced in a chiseled, incredibly handsome face capped with curly black hair.
“I’m fine, I think.”
“I didn’t see you,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was my fault. I stepped out onto the sidewalk without looking.”
“No way. It was totally my fault,” he countered.
They argued the point for a moment, and then the absurdity of it struck them both and they started to laugh. He grasped her by the shoulders and helped her to sit up, then gently massaged her arms to check for injuries. Even through her wool coat, the touch of his hands made her heart miss a beat. A steady stream of people walked around them, but Charlotte barely noticed them, and she had the strangest feeling that he didn’t either.
“Let’s settle this debate over coffee,” he suggested. Inclining his head toward a nearby shop, he flashed a crooked grin that didn’t help to slow her racing pulse.
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she said.
“Please. I can’t let you go until I’m sure you’re all right.”
With his help, Charlotte managed to regain her feet and collect her package. Then, after glancing at her watch, she said. “I’d love to have a cup of coffee. Really, I would. But I have a very sick little boy waiting for me at home.” She felt in her pocket to make sure the prescription for chemo nausea that she’d just filled hadn’t been broken by her fall. “Mark is looking forward to watching the new Shrek release tonight. I still need to stop by the video store to pick it up, and then I have to pick up some Chinese takeout. Ginger chicken. The chemo makes him horribly nauseated, and the ginger seems to help settle his stomach.”
His smile dimmed. “Chemo?”
Charlotte nodded. Too bad, so sad. This was where all men made polite excuses and ran in the opposite direction. “Yes. He has leukemia.”
“Ah.” He nodded and gave her a searching look. “You’re married, then.”
He sounded disappointed. Charlotte laughed. “If only. I could use a husband’s paycheck right now.” Sobering, she added, “No, I’m a single mother. My husband did a vanishing act shortly after my son was born.”
“It must be hard, going through the illness of a child all alone.”
Hard didn’t describe it by half. She cried herself to sleep some nights, terrified that her son might die. “I really need to go. I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“Name and phone number.” He reached inside his overcoat and drew a pen from under the lapel of what looked like a very expensive suit. Pen to his palm, he gave her an expectant look. “Please. I swear I’m not a serial killer.”
Charlotte laughed again. It felt good, she realized. For her son’s sake, she had to wear a cheerful face, but she seldom actually felt cheerful. “I wasn’t thinking that.
“So what were you thinking?”
A taxi honked just then, making her jump. “It’s just that—”
“I want to see you again,” he pressed. “Call me crazy, but I have to see you again. I’ve got this feeling. I saw your face, and bang. I can’t explain it. I never ignore my feelings. If I let you walk away, I’ll always regret it.”
Charlotte searched his brown eyes. She saw nothing sinister in their depths. Bemused, she gave him her name and phone number, watching as he wrote the information on the palm of his hand. Then she asked, “Are you slightly hard of hearing? My son is very ill. He has leukemia.”
“I got that.” He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a business card. “Leukemia is no longer a death sentence for children, Charlotte. And I’m accustomed to dealing with sick little boys.”
He handed her the card and retreated a step. “I’ll call tonight to make sure you’re all right.”
She nodded stupidly.
“And be prepared with good excuses if you don’t want to see me again. I know this great Chinese place that has the best ginger chicken on the planet. You, me, and your son. We’ll make it a threesome. If his white count is down, we’ll eat in while we watch movies.”
Charlotte wondered how he knew that chemo could wipe out a patient’s white count, making it imperative to avoid public places. She was still staring after him when he disappeared behind the curtain of falling snow. She looked down at the business card. STEWART REDENHAFF. A string of letters followed his name. Stunned, Charlotte read on and realized that he was a pediatric oncologist who specialized in treating leukemia.
An inexplicable warmth ran through her as she clutched the dress box closer to her chest. She was
smiling as she turned in the opposite direction. Maybe, she thought nonsensically, she’d been meant to step out of the shop without looking. Maybe, just maybe, she’d just had a head-on collision with fate.