by JoAnn Durgin
Reading through it, she winced and removed the last two lines since they sounded way too snarky. After writing Fondly, Sincerely yours and a few other sign-offs, she was at a loss and left it off entirely. She was curious and anxious to hear his explanation. Deciding at the last minute to add the sentences back in, she pushed send and moved away from the computer as she started to gather her laundry. Could anything be more pitiful than a woman who waited by the phone . . . or the computer? A few minutes later, tossing more dirty clothes in the basket on her bed, Amy’s heart raced when she heard the telltale sound of an incoming e-mail. Throwing a blouse into the basket, she scurried over to the desk and slid into the chair.
Dear Miss Irresistible,
Wish I could say I know some people in the prop department of a TV show or that it’s really nothing more than a slap-on decal that looks realistic as long as you don’t get too close. Wish I could say I almost lost the dumb thing a few times when I was with you in Texas. Wish I could say it’s gone now because I don’t need the reminder of my foolishness.
But I can’t say any of the above. The truth? The scar is all mine, and it’s exactly what I told you in Texas. It’s the result of being stupid when I was a teenager and deciding to do a flip on a motorbike. I’m thankful I didn’t break my skull or worse. Perhaps more painful is telling you why you couldn’t see my scar on our date in Manhattan. Right before you and I met for dinner that evening, I had a photo shoot. The makeup artist insisted on covering it up. So—and I hate like anything to admit this—I finally gave in to get the session over with or I’d have been late to meet you. She slathered heavy stage makeup over it so it was barely noticeable. If you’ve ever worn that stuff, you know how hard it is to remove. I kept combing a section of hair down over it because I wanted to cover up the makeup, not the scar. Any more questions? Feel free to ask. Anything. Anytime.
Yours always,
Vain I’m Not
Yours always? A dozen more questions flooded her mind, but she needed to assimilate them and put them on paper or into another e-mail. Pulling her notepad closer, she picked up her pen and jotted random thoughts. She stopped to throw clothes into the washer and fold clean towels before returning to her computer and composing another e-mail. Although she had other things to ask, she decided on one of the smaller questions. Typing it out, she sent it on its way before she could think about it. “Let’s see what he says,” she said with a little grin.
Me again.
Do you have two cells phones or one? One for Cooper and one for Landon? And you call me the nutty one?
Curious Amy
Eating a turkey pot pie, her all-time favorite comfort food, and listening to the evening news, she heard the telltale chime from the computer signaling an incoming message. “You’re such a lovesick fool,” she muttered, nearly falling over her feet as she stumbled to the chair and plopped down in it, staring at the e-mail inbox on the screen. Sure enough, he’d replied. Holding her breath, she stared at it for a few seconds, heart pounding, before reaching for the mouse and clicking on the message.
Dear Curious Amy,
Yes, I have two cell phones, one for Texas and one for New York, but I usually keep both with me. Call me strange, but it’s easier and works better that way to keep the two parts of my life separate, ironically enough. You almost caught me after the incident with Anson when you asked to use my phone. I stink at role playing in more ways than one. Think about it. If I’d called you as Landon during your time with me as Cooper, that would make me even more of a fraud. Maybe I actually do deserve an ID bracelet and should check myself into a padded room. I worried I’d use the wrong phone at the wrong time, but in the end, I messed up in a much more spectacular way.
Missing you, LCJW
She needed one more.
Dear Missing You,
What’s the card you always put down on the table with a tip?
Sort of Missing You Back
Dear Sort of Missing You Back,
It’s a TeamWork card. You see, I’m a proud, card-carrying member, too. Sam has them printed up with a few Scripture verses, and the tag line, “Rebuilding lives worldwide and binding souls for Christ.” If you don’t have some, I can get some for you. Just let me know where and when and I’ll be happy to deliver them in person.
Your Faithful Servant Always,
Landon
Printing out the string of e-mails, Amy carried them back to the table and picked up her fork. Funny how the pot pie lost its appeal as she read—and reread—Landon’s e-mails, as if she’d discover some code message in between the lines.
The only “code” was that she missed him more than ever.
Chapter 43
Saturday, December 28, 2002
Amy’s Church
“Amy, can you serve the vegetables tonight?” Marcia Heilman asked as she headed into the kitchen of the large reception hall in the church basement.
“Sure. I’ll be happy to.” After storing her purse in a cabinet, she grabbed an apron from a drawer. Tying on the apron, she smiled and called out holiday greetings to a number of members and their guests as she positioned herself behind the warming trays of green beans, homemade mashed potatoes and a smaller pan of brown gravy. Picking up the large serving spoon, she stirred the beans.
As if he hadn’t done enough, Landon had also managed to steal her appetite since their e-mail exchanges. If nothing else, the man was good for her waistline. Small consolation. Not to mention she’d already been to the gym twice today—working out like some type of fitness-obsessed fiend. Although she was bone-weary, she might get some decent sleep tonight, something hard to come by since her trip to Texas.
The members of the congregation slowly streamed through the serving line. Pasting on a smile, Amy poised her spoon. From the rather large group coming in the door, it appeared they’d have a good crowd. Maybe it was the cold weather that brought so many into the church, beckoning them with the promise of warmth, fellowship and good food. Could be the holiday spirit lingering in the air. Too bad she hadn’t caught it. Even if her heart wasn’t in it, she could still be polite and make small talk.
Watching the various members and their guests move through the line, she complimented the older ladies on their pretty brooches and colorful scarves, and smooth-talked the older gentlemen sporting their holiday shirts and ties. Not many couples with children came to their dinners or the mid-week prayer meetings, unfortunately—especially during the cold months—but she chatted with one mother as she assisted her three kids in the line. One of the girls needed help pouring the gravy, so Amy ladled it out for her. Taking a break twenty minutes later, she darted into the kitchen for a glass of ice water, downing it with a few quick gulps before returning. Stirring the green beans and noticing the man in line wasn’t moving, she lifted her chin.
“Would you like . . .”
“Yes, I’d definitely like.”
Landon stood in front of her and sported a rather large but fading bruise on his jaw. She tried not to notice how well his dark suit was tailored or how well the gorgeous blue silk tie matched his incredible eyes. Catching a whiff of his cologne, she coached herself not to breathe in more than necessary. “Green beans?” she snipped, keeping her voice steady.
“No, thanks.”
“Mashed potatoes? Wouldn’t you like some of those? They’re homemade.” She avoided his gaze and concentrated on staring at the spoon her in hand.
“No, but thank you. Amy.”
The way he tacked on her name—the very way he said it in that deep, sexy voice—made her squirm, but she stood her ground. “Well, please move along then. There’s obviously nothing here for you tonight. Bye-bye now. Thanks so much for coming. Have a wonderful evening and a nice life. God bless.” She waved her hand in dismissal.
Landon grinned and ignored her glare as he moved along the line, taking only a chicken leg instead of ham and a dinner roll. Accepting a cup of iced tea from one of the ladies at another nearby table, he
glanced her way and took a quick sip. Catching her stare, he winked.
The audacity of the man. Showing up here in my home church, of all things. Flirting. “Marcia,” she called to where the other woman stood nearby, “do you mind if I go sit down for a bit? Most everyone’s been through the line at least once.”
“Oh, sure. Go ahead, honey, and grab yourself a plate. Thanks so much for helping tonight, as always.”
Taking off the apron, Amy hung it on a hook in the kitchen. She nodded and smiled at some of the others through clenched teeth as she picked up her plate, napkin and silverware while trying to ignore Landon where he stood beside a table at the far end of the fellowship hall. Grabbing a plate and plopping mashed potatoes and green beans on it, Amy frowned when bean juice sloshed onto her shoes. Oh well, who cared if she’d smell like a green bean all night? Maybe it would have mattered a couple of weeks ago, but everything was different now. Perhaps God’s intention was for her to spend the rest of her natural born life alone. Maybe I should get a cat and take up knitting.
“You’re doing it again,” a familiar voice said from behind her as she added a chicken leg to her plate. Her appetite migrated south, along with her mood.
“Doing what?” Turning slowly, she hoped her expression resembled disdain. Landon’s apparent amusement made her want to slap him.
“Daydreaming. However, since the sun has set, perhaps it should be called something else after dark. Like night dreams or moon dreams. Moonbeams sounds pretty clever. You’re a journalist. What do you suggest?”
“I suggest, Mr. Warnick, that you march yourself out the doors of this church and onto the street where you belong. This is God’s house, and I don’t think you’d be very welcome here tonight if these kind-hearted Christian people know the way you go around deceiving people for your own selfish purposes.”
“Wow. That’s quite a mouthful from a woman who hasn’t taken her first bite of food.”
“Stick around. There’s plenty more where that came from.” I’m such a fool. With the utterance of those words, she’d admitted to him that—beneath the sarcasm—she wanted him to stay. Glancing at the nearby tables, it was difficult to miss the interested stares directed at them. Nodding her head for him to follow, she led him in the direction of an empty table.
Landon made no move to sit down as they faced one another, still holding their partially-filled plates. “I do believe you’re nuttier than before.” He took a step closer. “And much more beautiful.”
“That will be quite enough out of you.” Her voice held a note of warning, and she turned to march away from him. The abrupt movement sent juice as well as a few beans flying off her plate. With a startled cry, Amy’s eyes widened in horror as the mess splattered on Landon’s starched shirt, and some of the juice stained his suit coat. She grimaced and gave him a sheepish shrug by way of apology as it made a slow trail down his jacket. “Here,” she said, putting her plate down. She started to dab at the stain with a napkin until he took it from her and pressed it against the fabric.
“Go ahead. Throw things at me. Do whatever you need to do, Amy. If accosting me with green beans helps you in some small way, have at it. As a matter of fact, here, let me help you.” Her eyes widened as Landon put his plate on the table. Using his fingers, he scooped a bit of mashed potatoes from her plate. With a grin, he smeared them over his tie, rubbing in circles, working them in good.
Staring aghast, she recovered her voice. “What are you doing now?” she hissed. “You’re embarrassing yourself. Honestly, you should be ashamed. A world-class publisher standing here in my church, dribbling and smearing food on himself like an infant. Would you like a bib to go with your mess?” Laughter bubbled up inside her, and she bit her lip to keep from dissolving in giggles. “Not to mention the fact you’ve now had your way with my food, so I’m afraid now we both smell like green beans.”
To his credit, Landon maintained his composure. “Perhaps I’m in the mood for some comfort food myself. Mashed potatoes and green beans fit the bill, wouldn’t you say?”
“Are you speaking in terms of eating them or wearing them?”
“Maybe both.” He took a step closer, staring her down. Amy met his gaze, determined to win this battle of wills and stay strong in her resolve to resist him. “As a matter of fact, I came here tonight at the suggestion of your brother.”
Anger stirred within her. “Oh, now you’ve gone and done it. You’ve managed to drag Mitch into your shenanigans. What’d you do, dupe him, too? Honestly, does your shame stop at nothing?”
“As a matter of fact,” he said, pointing to his jaw, “this bruise is compliments of Mitch in his avid desire to protect you from the likes of me. Imagine that.”
“Mitch did that?”
“Yeah, and you don’t have to sound so pleased about it. The guy packs a mean punch.”
“Well,” she said, inspecting it, “I suppose it’s starting to heal. It’s at that stage where it’s a little red and . . . yellow.” She stroked her fingers over the bruise with a light touch and turned his chin to one side to better inspect it. “A little blue and green, too. I think I’ll call you rainbow man. That fits. Among several other names I could call you.”
“That feels good. Do it again.”
“Oh!” Amy released her fingers and gave him an icy glare. “Do you never stop? You might as well take your flirtations, and your green bean and mashed potato-covered self out the door right now, like I said before. Your kind is not needed—and certainly not wanted—here.”
“Sure. I can do that.” Grabbing a spare napkin from the table, he wiped potato residue from his hand. He frowned and shrugged before sticking a few fingers in his mouth and licking them clean, one-by-one.
Amy watched, incredulous. “I can’t believe you’re actually licking your fingers now.”
He laughed. “Don’t look so appalled. It’s from the chicken leg, and you know what they say—”
Amy whirled on her heel. “Far be it from me to stop you. It’s a free country. Lick your fingers all you want. Better yet, why not go get some dessert and smear it all over your pants since you like playing with your food so much? Do whatever you please, but leave me out of it. Tuck that accent under your Stetson and mosey on your way. I’m sure there’s plenty of gullible women in Manhattan to fall for your overflowing charms.” Stop talking now.
Landon’s smile grew broader, annoying her. “You are adorable when you’re all witty and saucy like this.” Hearing spontaneous applause all around them, they both glanced up in surprise.
“Oh, Amy, thank you. That’s the best skit we’ve had in months. Let’s go in the kitchen and get your prize.” With one arm around her waist, Lois Cannon guided her across the room. “You come, too, young man,” Lois said, motioning for Landon to follow.
Amy paused, looking over her shoulder at Landon, who now wore confusion mixed with amusement on that way-too-handsome face. When Lois pulled her into the kitchen, Amy released her breath. “I really won a prize?” Surely this was a ruse to get them alone and render a serious tongue lashing. She couldn’t blame Lois; their behavior was nothing less than shameless. Two adults acting like silly, flirty teenagers. Heat warmed her cheeks and she lowered her gaze like a child chastised after a prank.
“It’s a prize for both of you. You really livened up our meal tonight. I can’t tell you how entertaining it was. Thanks for inviting him to join you tonight, Amy.”
“I didn’t invite—” Amy closed her mouth. No sense in protesting, but she refused to glance his way. In that second, she’d rather spit nails.
Retrieving an envelope from a drawer, Lois checked it and then handed it to Landon. “Here you go. Dinner for two at the restaurant of your choice, complete with a carriage ride in Central Park.” A wide smile crossed her face. “If I were you,” she said with a knowing wink encompassing them both, “I’d save this for Valentine’s Day.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Landon said as Lois departed, leaving the linger
ing scent of her signature honeysuckle perfume. Slipping the envelope in his jacket pocket, he leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I imagine she’s old school and believes it’s a man’s place to take charge of romantic Valentine dinners. I happen to agree.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face. If you’d stop being so defensive and started trusting people more—meaning me in this case—you might be able to lighten up and enjoy the gifts right in front of your nose.”
“I beg your pardon?” She’d played right into that one. Shifting from one foot to the other, she ran one hand back and forth along the smooth but cold stainless steel counter. “Just because we traded a few e-mails doesn’t mean I’m inviting you back into my life.”
With a frown, he pulled the envelope back out of his pocket and offered it to her. “Here then. You take this certificate. That performance out there was mostly you, anyway. You deserve it more than me.”
She stared at him, not budging. “I doubt I’ll need it. I’m sure you can find a willing woman—”
Walking over to her, he took her hand and gently pulled her fingers out of the curled fist. Opening her palm, he placed the envelope across it. “Can we at least be adults and talk about this?”
She blew out a sigh. “I don’t even know where to begin, Landon. Or are you being Cooper tonight? Who are you? Have a new identity to add to your repertoire?”
“Stop it. Please. Although,” he said, gentling his voice, “that was kind of fun tonight, don’t you think? We should try role playing again sometime.”