Central Park Rendezvous

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Well, guess it’s time to get busy. Got a shop to run.”

  Helen nodded.

  Henry’s eyes twinkled. “We’ll be all right, you know.”

  Again, Helen nodded, a smile growing on her lips without effort. “We will be. God will carry us through.”

  Together, they turned toward home.

  DREAM A LITTLE DREAM

  PART 3

  by Ronie Kendig

  Chapter 9

  Wow, that’s some legacy.”

  Sean peeked to the side, to the brown and gold eyes that dazzled him stupid. “Yeah?” Too bad he wasn’t like them. Too bad he was the black sheep of his family. Like his dad.

  The thought gave him pause. Not only had Granddad said his dad was a good guy before he broke, but so had Simon. So… what happened?

  “You’re part of that, Sean.” Jamie’s soft voice warmed him as she bumped shoulders with him. “You come from a great line of warriors.”

  He folded the letter, thinking back over the story. Everything in him wanted to debate the point, to argue that his family was just messed up, but he was seeing the fruit of the Wolfe legacy. This time, not from a tainted source, not from his mother.

  “You’re not unlike Helen Wolfe.”

  He arched an eyebrow at Jamie.

  “She had tough circumstances. She fought and won a happy life. In doing so, she paved the way for your grandfather—her brother—to have a good life.”

  “And how do you figure I’m like that?”

  “You’re prepared to do whatever it takes to end the painful side of the legacy that your mom started.”

  He clenched his teeth at the mention of his mother. “Even if I could overcome that—I’m broken in other ways, Jamie.”

  “We all are.”

  “Yeah, how are you broken?”

  Jamie ducked her head, cheeks going pink.

  “Sorry. Guess that was too personal—or maybe I’m the only one who’s so broke he needs fixing.”

  “No.” Jamie touched his arm. “I just… well, honestly, it’s not easy to talk about. God’s been challenging me lately about…”

  “Dancing?”

  Surely he could see the color from the heat seeping into her face. “Yeah.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Whoa, that was weird hearing his voice asking the very question she’d thrown at him.

  Jamie scrunched up her shoulders. “I don’t know.” She drove her gaze across the green field, to the street where traffic slithered past. “I guess… maybe that I’m not good enough. That even if I got in, there’s no way I could afford tuition in addition to living expenses. Maybe, when Uncle Alan was still single, he might’ve let me stay with him, but now that he’s married—”

  The two lovebirds were almost sickening. “The very reason I moved out of Aunt Mitzi’s place.” Besides, seeing the two of them… it was just hard to watch. Not everyone got lucky in love like that. “That, and I was too afraid to watch the marriage dissolve.”

  Jamie’s eyes widened. “Why on earth would you say that?”

  He shrugged. “It happens. To a lot of people.”

  “And it doesn’t happen to a lot.” Jamie swept her hair back and craned her neck. “Is that why you’re so afraid of… us?”

  It felt like he was manning that .50 caliber gun again, the report rattling through his chest. “Just don’t want to hurt you.”

  Her expression warmed, eyes softening.

  Don’t look at me like that. Sean shifted his gaze back to the letter, tried to push his thoughts from the beautiful woman sitting beside him. The one who turned his brain to mush, the one who made him want to break his no-women rule. Could they make a go of it? He’d managed his anger, his frustration. What about the TBI? He couldn’t imagine Jamie ditching him the way his fiancée had. But… what if she did?

  He couldn’t take another rejection. Not from Jamie. The idea smothered him. He sloughed his hands together, mind racing. Thoughts careening through the possibilities. What if—was she—worth the risk?

  A burst of nausea swelled up his throat. Breathing grew hard. His vision blurred.

  “Sean?”

  Warmth on his back. Rubbing. Soothing.

  “Sean, are you okay?”

  The panic abated, leaving him drained but also acutely aware of Jamie Russo. Her delicate touch against his spine. Her soft voice. Her floral scent. Heat darted through his gut as he pushed his gaze to hers.

  “It’s okay,” she said softly with a smile. “You’re okay.”

  Beautiful, sweet Jamie. Wavy brown hair, cinnamon-colored eyes. Full, soft lips. What would it be like to kiss her?

  “Hi, Jamie.”

  At the strange voice, Sean blinked. Hard. A lot. He drew a breath and turned toward the path. A gangly man stalked toward them.

  “Martin.” Jamie punched to her feet, as if she felt guilty. Did she? What did she have to feel guilty about? Or was Sean lighting up her personal radar the way she did his?

  Ah, Sean thought he recognized him. The guy from Jamie’s studio. The one who’d given a ubiquitous warning about how Jamie needed to be focused, not distracted by a man.

  Jealousy coiled around Sean’s chest and tightened as Jamie hugged the goon.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Heading to the studio. Hey, listen…” He gave Sean a look. “If I’m interrupting…”

  “No,” Jamie said. “What’s up?”

  “We could use some help on the last piece. It’s not coming together. Do you have time?”

  The test. Would Jamie leave Sean for this guy?

  Of course she would. Dance was her life. Sean was a distraction.

  “Um”—Jamie’s brown eyes darted to him then back to the goon—“right now?”

  This didn’t need to be painful for her. Sean shifted on the bench and reached for her satchel. He glanced down and saw the application, practically begging him to put it to good use. He’d once told her he wouldn’t let her sacrifice her dreams for him. And he meant it.

  He stuffed the application in his back pocket and handed the bag to Jamie. “See you later.”

  Chapter 10

  Mouth agape, Jamie stared at the e-mail that hit her in-box. Then she stared at her phone, where she’d gotten the notification.

  “What’s wrong?” Monet slid into the booth seat beside Jamie.

  “I got an e-mail.”

  “Yeah, that’s amazing.” Sarcasm dripped off Monet’s words and her expressive green eyes.

  “It’s from The Juilliard.”

  Monet squealed and wrapped her arms around Jamie. “You applied! I am so proud of you. Man, you really had me fooled, saying you weren’t going to.”

  “I didn’t!” Jamie frowned at the screen as its brightness faded. “I had the application, filled it out—for what reason, I don’t know. There’s no way on earth I could afford it. I even told Sean—” Jamie clamped her mouth shut. A swirl of cold washed through her stomach.

  “What?”

  She wet her lips. “I… I showed it to Sean. He told me I should apply.” Covering her mouth, she realized she hadn’t seen the application since that day in the park. Surely, he hadn’t…

  “You think he turned it in?”

  “No. Yes.” She slumped. “Why would he? I told him I couldn’t afford it.” She jammed a hand through her hair. “Now I’m going to have to call the school and tell them it’s no use.”

  Monet clapped her hand over Jamie’s. “No.”

  “No?”

  “You have to try out, right?”

  Dumbstruck, she nodded.

  “Then go, try out—at least this way you’ll know if you’ve got what it takes.”

  “But it’s weeks of practice and rehearsals.”

  “So? Martin’s not doing anything now. He’s jetting around the globe, touring other troupes. You haven’t gotten a job yet, so you’ve got the time—”

  “Thanks for pointing that out.”

  “Hey
, I’m just saying Sean has given you an opening, so take it!”

  “First, I need to talk to Sean, let him know I don’t appreciate this.”

  With a questioning glance, Monet asked, “Do you really want to ruin what you guys have going?”

  Again, Jamie fell silent.

  “He probably thought he was doing a favor—”

  “Favor? I can’t afford this!”

  “Get a loan.”

  “No way. Not after all the debt my parents left behind getting their doctorates. I won’t put myself or anyone else in that situation.” She brushed the loose strands of hair from her face. “Digging myself into debt makes me look and feel irresponsible.”

  “Or like you’re figuring out how to chase your dreams.”

  “That is a thing of beauty.”

  The words pulled Sean around, ratchet in hand.

  A man in a brown leather jacket and boots strode toward him. Purpose defined the man’s steps. Wealth and power defined his presence. “Is she for sale?”

  Sean placed a hand on the Harley. “‘Fraid not.” He’d never felt closer to his father than he had in the last several weeks working on this. It was as if he’d gotten a piece of his life back working on the antique bike. To give it away, he’d be giving away his father, his heritage.

  The man planted his hands on his belt, his leather jacket winging back. “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “Marc Riordan.” The man shoved his hand toward Sean.

  Arms up revealing his greasy paws, Sean shrugged. “Sorry. Wouldn’t want to get you dirty.”

  Mr. Riordan produced a business card and slid it in Sean’s shirt pocket. “You change your mind about that bike, give me a call. I’d pay a pretty penny for her.”

  “Why?”

  Riordan grinned. “Guess you could say I’m a collector. Runs in the family.”

  Huh. “Well, sorry. She belonged to my dad, and it’s got a lot of sentimental value. It’d be like giving away my dad.”

  Chuckling, Riordan squatted and ran a finger over the parts. “Amazing. It’s all original.”

  “Yes, sir. Just not running quite right yet. Won’t be much longer.”

  A throaty growl emanated through the warehouse, drawing Sean’s attention to the main bay doors where a sleek car slid out of the bright sun into the bleak anonymity of the garage. Whoa. Was that an… Aston Martin? Old. Vintage.

  Stunned, Sean watched as Harry climbed out from behind the wheel. He strode toward them. “Hey, Marc. Yep, I heard that rattle you mentioned. We’ll get her fixed up and back to you tomorrow.”

  Riordan straightened and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “Knew I could count on you. Thanks.” He turned back to Sean. “Twenty thousand.”

  Sean’s heart stuttered. “What?”

  “I’ll give you twenty grand for her.”

  Mouth dry, Sean looked at Harry, uncertain the man was legit. Harry’s curious expression told Sean there was no fluff to this man’s offer. “All the same…” He wiped his mouth. “I just can’t.”

  “If you change your mind, call me. The offer stands as long as she’s running.”

  Harry watched his friend leave then spun toward Sean. “Are you out of your mind? He just offered you twenty large!”

  “Yes, and I told him no. The Harley belonged to my dad. I’m not giving her up.”

  “It could solve your problems.”

  “Sorry,” Sean said with a chuckle. “Money’s not that powerful.” But God is. And if he were that desperate for money, God would provide a way that didn’t involve a transaction that felt like selling off his soul.

  Harry shook his head then pointed behind Sean. Over his shoulder, he spotted Jamie walking up the drive to his bay. His heart did a crazy jig at the sight of her stepping in out of the spring morning. Even after their walks in the park every night, she still turned his insides to Jell-O, especially seeing her wearing the coin pendant. Scared but thrilled him. “I’ll get cleaned up, and we can head out.”

  She nodded but said nothing. Weird. But maybe that meant she was just getting comfortable with him.

  It wasn’t until they were halfway across the park that the quiet grew uncomfortable. Something was wrong. He could feel it. Feel the tension rolling off her with the way she kept her arms folded, barely spoke.

  Normally he was the quiet one. She the exuberant. He liked that. Liked experiencing life through her. He’d wanted to ask her if she was okay, but it was a stupid question. Of course she wasn’t. Or she’d be talking, laughing, matching the summer day.

  The thought that stalled his brain was: Is she going to break things off?

  What things? They weren’t dating.

  “You’re quiet.”

  Jamie stopped. Pivoted as if she’d been just waiting for him to break the ice. Her eyebrows dove. “Did you do it, Sean?”

  He drew back. “Do what?”

  “My application—did you send it in?”

  He lowered his head. Rubbing a hand over his neck, he remembered how his gut had churned as he’d put the cashier’s check in the envelope and dropped it in the mail.

  Jamie flinched away, pain etched in her tawny features. “Why?” Her voice hitched. “Why would you?”

  “You deserve to go, Jamie. You’re an amazing dancer. You’ve sacrificed everything for Alan. It’s your turn now.”

  Face crimson, she whirled on him. “No. It’s not. I can’t!” Her eyes glossed.

  “Why? You got accepted—that’s how you knew I sent it in, right?”

  She dragged her fingers through that light brown hair. “I can’t afford it.”

  “I’m sure—”

  “No.” Jamie jerked away from him. “No, don’t say anything. You had no right to send that in, and now…”

  Had someone run a knife through his chest it would not have hurt as much as seeing Jamie in pain. “I’m sorry.”

  “You had no right!”

  His vision blurred and the world darkened with one last visage: Jamie running away from him.

  Alone in his apartment, Sean sat on the kitchen chair staring at the brown padded envelope sitting on the table. Fingertips pressed to his lips, he eyed her name on the return address. JAMIE RUSSO. A weight in his chest made it hard to breathe.

  He knew what was in there. The same thing that had been in there since he received the package a week ago: the pendant. Jamie was giving up on them. On him.

  “I’m broken and nobody can deal with it.”

  “You ruin everything.”

  “If he just wasn’t born, we’d be okay.”

  Head cradled in his hands, Sean tried to get a grip on reality. On his life spiraling out of control. It’d be okay. He’d lost other girls.

  But nobody like Jamie.

  Eyes closed, he tried to steady his breathing. The thought of her leaving him, cutting herself out of his life, had brought on episodes just about every day. He’d bailed on Harry and the garage this week. The fact was he couldn’t face the bike knowing he’d run Jamie off. It was like facing his father, and seeing all over again how he just wasn’t good enough.

  Maybe… was it the scars, too? Had she figured out a pretty girl like her could have any guy she wanted? She deserved The Juilliard. She deserved a man who was a man—one who could hold it together.

  I don’t deserve her, God. But… I don’t want to lose her. Show me… what can I do?

  The letters.

  No, he didn’t need any more history lessons that proved he was the weak link in the Wolfe line. He needed a solution.

  Read the last letters.

  That’s right. There was only one bundle left. Penned by his great-great-great-grandfather, William Wolfe during the war.

  Maybe…

  Sean dragged the tin from the counter and flipped it open. He dug out the last envelope.

  Why… why should he even care?

  Somehow… his fingers managed to unfold the oldest letter. The very first letter of the Wolfe l
egacy.

  BEAUTY FROM ASHES

  by MaryLu Tyndall

  Dedication

  To anyone who has been scarred by life, both on the inside and on the outside

  To console those who mourn in Zion, to give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that He may be glorified.

  ISAIAH 61:3 NKJV

  Chapter 1

  The Shaw Plantation, outside Williamsburg,

  Virginia, May 23, 1865

  Permelia Shaw’s stomach growled. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she gazed out the front parlor window. Evening shadows fell upon the cedar and birch trees, coating them in a dull, lifeless gray. Gray like the Confederate uniforms that had been conspicuously absent from Williamsburg these past three years.

  Except those that were torn and covered in blood.

  A moan rumbled from her belly again. Though she’d eaten an hour ago, the meager fare had not been enough to assuage her hunger—a recurring condition during this horrendous war. Four years was a long time, a lifetime for a young girl who had been only nineteen at the beginning. A lifetime in which she had grown from a pampered daughter of a wealthy plantation owner to a mature woman who could fend for herself.

  “I’m hungry.” Sitting upon the flowered sofa, her sister Annie voiced Permelia’s thoughts. “Jackson said he’d come by with some meat today.”

  Permelia rubbed the blisters on her palms and gazed down at the dirt beneath her fingernails, trying to gather what patience she had left after her long day’s work. “It is not right to take food from that man, Annie.”

  “Oh fiddle. Who cares?” her sister whined.

  Spinning around, Permelia made her way to the mantel. Striking a match, she lit the gilt-bronze sconces on either side of the fireplace. Golden light spilled into the parlor, chasing away the gloom and cascading over Annie’s lavender taffeta evening gown. No matter the war, no matter their destitute condition, Annie always dressed to perfection.