A Heart Speaks - Large Print
Page 1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
Chapter FOUR
Chapter FIVE
Chapter SIX
Chapter SEVEN
Chapter EIGHT
Chapter NINE
Chapter TEN
Chapter ELEVEN
A writer of “incredible beauty and sensitivity,”* New York Times bestselling author LaVyrle Spencer offers a story to cherish—about falling in love and finding the courage to follow your dreams . . .
Lee Walker knows it won’t be easy to start a new life in a new city. But she is on a mission: to prove to everyone, and to herself, that she can make it here, working in the masculine world of the construction industry . . .
When contracting rival Sam Brown offers her a job, Lee is stunned . . . and a little wary. Sam’s motives seem honorable enough, even if he doesn’t see her in a strictly professional light. In fact, Sam sees her as the woman she’s always hoped to be—smart, capable, warm, and funny. And sexy. Before she knows it, Lee is falling head over heels for her boss . . . but part of her is sure that telling Sam about her past would have him backing away, fast. Now she must choose between protecting her bruised and battered heart—or trusting it to a man whose quiet strength just might heal it . . .
“[LaVyrle Spencer] knows how to tug at readers’ heartstrings.”
—Publishers Weekly
✱Affaire de Coeur
THE BESTSELLING NOVELS OF LA VYRLE SPENCER . . .
Then Came Heaven
A triumphant story of faith and love . . . “Touching.”
—The Chattanooga Times
Small Town Girl
A country music star rediscovers her heart. . . “Warm and folksy.”
—Kirkus Reviews
That Camden Summer
A shunned divorcée finds unexpected love . . . “A modern fairy tale.”
—People
Home Song
A secret threatens to tear a family apart. . . “Tug[s] at readers’ heartstrings.”
—Publishers Weekly
Family Blessings
A widow is torn between her family and new love . . . “A moving tale.”
—Publishers Weekly
November of the Heart
True love blooms for two hearts from different worlds . . . “One of Spencer’s best.”
—Kirkus Reviews
Bygones
A moving story of a family at a crossroads . . . “A pageturner.”
—New York Daily News
Forgiving
A beautiful story of family ties renewed. . . “A lively story.”
—New York Daily News
Bitter Sweet
The poignant tale of high school sweethearts reunited . . . “A journey of self-discovery and reawakening.”
—Booklist
The Endearment
A woman’s love is threatened by past secrets . . . “A tender, sensual story.”
—Lisa Gregory
Morning Glory
Two misfit hearts find tenderness . . . “A superb book.”
—New York Daily News
Spring Fancy
A bride-to-be falls in love—with another man . . . “Incredible beauty.”
—Affaire de Coeur
The Hellion
Sparks fly between a lady and a hell-raiser . . . “Superb.”
—Chicago Sun-Times
Vows
Two willful lovers—one special promise . . . “Magic.”
—Affaire de Coeur
The Gamble
Take a chance on love . . . “Grand.”
—Good Housekeeping
Years
Across the Western plains, only the strongest survived . . . “Splendid.”
—Publishers Weekly
Separate Beds
First came the baby, then marriage . . . then love . . . “A superb story.”
—Los Angeles Times
Twice Loved
A woman’s missing husband returns—after she’s remarried . . . “Emotional.”
—Rocky Mountain News
Hummingbird
The novel that launched La Vyrle Spencer’s stunning career . . . “Will leave you breathless.”
—Affaire de Coeur
Titles by La Vyrle Spencer
A PROMISE TO CHERISH
FORSAKING ALL OTHERS
THEN CAME HEAVEN
SMALL TOWN GIRL
THAT CAMDEN SUMMER
HOME SONG
FAMILY BLESSINGS
NOVEMBER OF THE HEART
BYGONES
FORGIVING
BITTER SWEET
MORNING GLORY
SPRING FANCY
THE HELLION
VOWS
THE GAMBLE
YEARS
SEPARATE BEDS
TWICE LOVED
SWEET MEMORIES
HUMMINGBIRD
THE ENDEARMENT
THE FULFILLMENT
THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
A PROMISE TO CHERISH
A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author.
PRINTING HISTORY
First Jove mass-market edition / February 1983
Second Jove mass-market edition / December 2004
Copyright © 1983 by La Vyrle Spencer.
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eISBN : 978-1-101-52533-3
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With
gratitude
to my friends in
Independence and Kansas City—
Bea, who gave me the map
Barbra, who showed me the old orchard
and
Vivien Lee, who took me to the “C C”
Chapter ONE
As the first suitcase came clunking down the luggage return of Stapleton International Airport in Denver, Lee Walker checked her watch impatiently, drummed four coral fingernails against her shoulder bag, and studied the conveyor belt with a frown. It moved like a sedated snail! She glanced at her watch a second time—only one hour and ten minutes before the bid letting! If the damn suitcase didn’t roll out soon, she’d end up at City Hall in these faded blue jeans!
Lee glowered at the flapping porthole until at last her suitcase came through. She sighed deeply and strained to reach it.
She plucked it off the conveyor belt and flew—a tall, dark-skinned flash of loose black hair and aqua feathers, the worn patches on the backside of her tight jeans attracting the eyes of several men she adroitly sidestepped. The feathers in her hair lifted with each long-legged slap of her moccasins on the terminal floor until she came at last, panting and winded by the thin Denver air, to the Economy Rent-A-Car booth.
Twenty minutes later the same suitcase hit the bed in Room 110 of the Cherry Creek Motel. Lee reached to yank the shirttails free of her jeans at the same time that she released the catch on the suitcase and flipped it open. Her hand halted. Her jaw dropped open.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. Lifeless fingers forgot about buttons. Stricken eyes stared at the strange contents of the suitcase while one hand covered her lips, the other clasped her suddenly queasy stomach. “Oh sh . . .” Her eyes took it in, but her mind balked. “No . . . it can’t be!” But she was staring not at the mustard-colored envelope containing the bid for a sewage treatment plant she’d worked on for the last two weeks. Instead, a half-naked blonde tootsie lifted a pair of enormous breasts and smiled a come-hither message from the cover of a . . . a Thrust magazine.
For a moment Lee was struck motionless with disbelief. Thrust? She stood hunched over, horrified, her thoughts whirling. Then frantically she scrambled through the suitcase, throwing out item after item—a gray sweat suit, two pair of dress trousers, a man’s shaving kit, two neatly folded shirts, royal blue jockey shorts—royal blue?—black socks, Rawhide deodorant, a pair of well-worn jogging shoes with filthy laces, a hair blower, and a brush with very dark brown hair caught in its white bristles.
She ran a thumb over them, then dropped it distastefully and quit scrambling through the contents to grab the identification tag dangling from the suitcase handle.
Sam Brown
8990 Ward Parkway
Kansas City, Missouri 64110
With a groan Lee sank to the bed, leaned forward, and clutched her forehead in both hands. Oh, damn my hide, I’ve really done it now. Old Thorpe will gloat over this for months! At the thought of Thorpe and his small, racist mind, panic swept Lee, tightening the skin across her temples, making the blood sing and swirl crazily as she burst to her feet. She checked her watch. Frantic thoughts tumbled about in her head, leaving her to stand in indecision, glancing from phone to suitcase to the car keys on the bed.
Countless dire possibilities insinuated themselves into Lee’s thoughts while she wondered who to call first. Could she possibly retrieve her own suitcase and make it to the bid letting before two o’clock?
She wasted five minutes telephoning the airline’s passenger information, who told her to call lost and found, who informed her they’d get back to her in half an hour. Frustrated and angry at both herself and the airline, which hadn’t had an attendant checking baggage-claim stubs, Lee finally returned to the airport. When a search of the baggage department proved futile, there seemed little to do except call the home office in Kansas City and admit her blunder.
Lee’s stomach churned as she dialed. She pictured the fat belly and seedy little eyes of Floyd Thorpe, the company president and owner, who never lost an opportunity to remind Lee exactly why he’d hired her. Oh, he’d been waiting for this. Like the self-righteous bigot he was, how he’d been waiting. She knew full well Thorpe gritted his teeth every time they passed each other in the office. He probably visited his psychotherapist every payday after signing her check.
Well, you wanted to compete in a man’s world and earn a man’s salary, and you are!
But never in her three years in the construction industry had Lee earned it so dearly.
Floyd Thorpe’s voice fairly shook with rage. He let out a blue streak of cuss words, ending with an order for Lee to “get your liberated female ass to that bid letting and find out who the hell was low bidder, and when you have, get on the next plane home because I’m not—by God—paying for any goddam woman to stay in a Colorado motel and eat on my company expense account when she doesn’t know her ass from a catch basin, and any government bureaucrat who think it’s easy to find minority employees who are worth diddly can shove his Minority Business Enterprise Goals—”
That’s where Lee hung up.
Sexist, bigoted bastard! she raged silently, feeling again the ineffable futility of trying to change the jaundiced views of men like Floyd A. Thorpe.
Lee had no delusions about why she’d been hired. Not only was she a woman, she was also one-quarter American Indian, and either fact qualified her employer as a minority contractor in the eyes of the federal government as long as she was a corporation officer or owner. Furthermore, the federal government had proclaimed that ten percent of all federal monies allocated for public improvements were to be paid to minority contractors.
Considering the marked advantage of those contractors in today’s business world, Floyd A. Thorpe would have given the diamonds out of the opera windows of his Diamond Jubilee Lincoln Continental Mark V to be an Indian woman himself—if he could possibly manage it without being red and female! But Floyd Thorpe was not only male, he was also as Caucasian as the president himself, and he never let Lee forget it. Whenever she was around, he spit juice from the ever-present poke of tobacco that bulged his cheek. He hoisted up his pot belly with strutting tugs on his overstrained belt. He told dirty jokes and talked like the sewer rat he was. It got worse and worse as Lee continued to refuse his invitations to become a vice-president of Thorpe Construction. And if Lee Walker didn’t like it, Thorpe’s overbearing attitude clearly stated, she could go home and chew hides, plant maize, and raise a few papooses.
As Lee now spun from the telephone and crossed the airport terminal, she too gritted her teeth. Yes, she wanted equal pay, so once again she had to lick his boots and go out there and earn it!
SHE arrived at the bid letting five minutes late. As usual, she was the only woman in the room. Up front the city engineer was opening a sealed envelope as Lee slipped into a folding chair at the back of the room. From her purse she took a tablet and pen, then glanced surreptitiously at the lap of the man next to her as he entered the amount of the bid being read.
She wrote it quickly on her own paper, then leaned over to ask, “How many have been opened?”
He counted with the tip of a mechanical pencil. “Only six so far.”
“Do you mind if I copy them?”
“Not at all.”
He angled the pad her way, and Lee took down the six names and amounts. Glancing around the room, she found an unusually large number of contractors represented. The nation’s slumping economy, coupled with relatively little new-home construction, had contractors traveling farther and bidding tougher in order to get work.
The Denver suburb of Aurora had attracted much attention, for it was one of the fastest growing mid-size cities in the nation. Aurora had solved its most serious problem—a shortage of water—by obtaining its own water supply and bringing it down from
Leadville, a hundred miles away. But that water needed filtering and chemical treatment before use, adequate sewage treatment and removal after use. Every contractor in the room understood the value of getting in on the ground floor of the city’s growth. To win this bid would be like plucking the first ripe plum in a highly productive orchard.
Suddenly Lee’s back stiffened as the voice of the city engineer rang across the room, reading the name on the front of the next envelope.
“Thorpe Construction Company of Kansas City.”
Lee stiffened and her heart did a double-whammy. There must be some mistake! She searched the room for anyone else from Thorpe, but she was the only one present. How could the envelope have gotten there? She scarcely had time to wonder before a brass letter opener sliced through the thick envelope with a raspy sound of authority, and while Lee still floundered in stunned surprise, her bid was read aloud:
“Four million two hundred forty-nine thousand.”
Her heart thudded like a bass drum and she pressed a palm against it. My God! I’m the low bidder so far! Across the room faces fell as those who’d been beaten out sighed with disappointment.
Lee knew nothing to equal the exhilaration of moments like this. The sweet taste of revenge was already making her mouth water as she thought of returning to Kansas City and flinging the news in the beady little mustard seed eyes of one Floyd A. Thorpe, alias F.A.T., as Lee often thought of him.