Landon Thomas gritted his teeth and cursed. He had blown his cover. Landon’s survival skills as a squanderer were seriously in need of a refresher’s course. At six-two, and about two hundred pounds, how could the little fireball who crashed into him temporarily knock the wind out of him?
Granted, he wasn’t as buff as he had been since leaving Boston six months ago, but at the least, the woman should have bounced off whatever muscle he had maintained.
Dismissing his wounded pride, Landon had to get out of there. He couldn’t risk jail time for various reasons, mainly because he enjoyed freedom. Not only could he not pay for bond, but he wasn’t in good graces with anyone who would gladly help him out. He gathered his belongings—the remains of his mass of wealth that he possessed when he began his journey. The prestige and the pampered life he once had back East were gone. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t put up a fight to hold on to the remnants of his past lifestyle—from creditors and fellow vagabonds.
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.
Landon was a minor distraction. She didn’t have to stare at his long nose, hazel eyes, and unkempt facial hair to mask the man’s handsomeness. His skin seemed so flawless; razor bumps probably had second thoughts about making an appearance. Even his wrinkled clothes made a fashion statement—he looked like a male model on a runway.
Now his scent was another matter. He didn’t have a pungent odor, which was saying a lot in this humid weather, but there was definitely a residue of perspiration.
She knew every family, man and woman had a story that had shattered their world and plummeted them into the underground world of homelessness. If it weren’t for the grace of God, it could have been her seeking refuge. Despite Landon’s current fate, she respected his privacy, but that didn’t stop her from wondering about the circumstances that caused his misfortune. “Hungry?”
He frowned. “Never ask a displaced person or a man if he’s hungry.”
The more he talked, the more Octavia liked his slight dialect and his sense of humor. She nodded. “Good point.” When was the last time Landon had a hot meal besides in a soup kitchen? She checked the time and made a detour.
When she pulled into Applebee’s parking lot, Landon faced her, merriment dancing in his eyes. “Nice church.”
“Don’t get too happy. We have exactly an hour and twenty minutes—and don’t even think about jumping ship. God always has a tracking device on our whereabouts—physically and spiritually.”
“With a beautiful dining companion and a mouth-watering steak—never.” Landon hurried out the car as if he was about to stampede the restaurant, but slowed his stride to assist her out the car.
“Thank you.” Octavia could never get enough of chivalry. He fell in step with her, but as they got closer to the entrance, his steps quickened, so he could open the door for her.
She might as well take advantage of the treatment as long as she could. She was single with no prospects insight. Like any other woman, Octavia wanted to be loved, wooed and married sooner rather than much later. The holdup was God sending her a Christian man to fulfill the desires of her heart.