Joanne’s fingers hovered over the telephone buttons. Then she let her hand drop to her side and hung up the receiver. If she called the police, she could scare the woman away. She’d already heard fear in the caller’s voice, and any other action might mean she’d lose Mandy.
And Benjamin? He rose in her thoughts like a beacon, but the light dimmed. She couldn’t tell Benjamin, either. He’d stop her from being extorted. He loved Mandy, but he didn’t understand the desperation she felt, the longing, the feeling that God had opened a door to help her find her daughter.
She sank into a kitchen chair and bowed her head. If she were to succeed, it would only happen with God’s help and blessing. Her prayer flowed heavenward as fervently as tears that rolled down her cheeks. The emotion had become overwhelming. She couldn’t bear the anxiety, the fear, the doubt, the hope that roiled through her body and heart. She’d thought herself a strong woman. Now the chaos had about undone her.
She took a calming breath. What would the caller do now?
The doorbell chimed, and Joanne pulled herself together, grabbed a napkin and wiped her eyes. She knew she looked a mess. The bell rang again. She drew back her shoulders as she walked through the kitchen doorway into the hall.
At the front door, she glanced through the security peephole. When she saw Benjamin on the other side, guilt skipped through her. She needed strength to keep the truth from him.
“Hi,” she said, opening the door. “I wasn’t expecting you.” When his eyes met hers, she saw concern.
“I usually call, but I was on my way home and had the urge to drop by.”
“I’m glad you did,” she said, more anxious than glad.
“Something’s wrong,” he said, pushing the door closed before he turned to face her. He touched her cheek. “You’ve been crying. She called again.”
Joanne’s mind searched for a response. “I’ve been looking at the ornaments,” she said. Not a lie, she’d been doing that. The Christmas balls had brought back memories.
“Oh, Joanne,” he said, drawing her into his arms. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t do that alone. I’d like to help.”
“You always help me, Benjamin. I suppose I should learn how to deal with things by myself one of these days.” She drew in the winter scent of his jacket mixed with the familiar aroma of his aftershave.
“You’ve done it alone all this time,” he said.
His voice whispered against her hair and sent a chill down her back. The sensation stirred her emotions, and she longed to feel his mouth on hers. The recollection of his tender kiss filtered from her mind to her limbs, and she felt weak with the memory. Fighting the feelings, Joanne drew back and invited him into the living room.
Benjamin slipped off his jacket and hung it on the closet doorknob, then followed her. He wandered to the tree and touched a limb, then drew his hand away to smell the fragrance on his fingers. “We need to keep this watered. Do you have a watering can?”
Joanne backed away, smiling at the word we. She headed for the kitchen and lifted a plastic container from beneath the sink. After filling it with water she carried it back.
Benjamin had just loaded a disk into the CD player. The Christmas music wrapped around her as she crossed the room. She felt her courage fade, knowing she was keeping something so important from him, but she believed she had no choice.
Benjamin took the container from her hand and knelt beside the tree, filling the stand with water. “There,” he said, rising. He set the can near the archxway, then returned to her side. “How can I help?”
She shrugged. “How are you at cookie baking?”
He sent her that crooked smile that brightened her spirit. “What about hanging the ornaments?”
“That can wait another week. I’m enjoying the lights, but I need the cookies for the church’s Advent midweek service.”
“Then we’ll make cookies.” His voice was matter-of-fact as his hand slipped behind her back. They stood listening to the instrumental melody of “What Child Is This?”
Joanne felt him inhale, then exhale, his feet shifting as they stood. His hand stirred on her arm, sending her pulse skittering. And as the scent of pine and Benjamin wrapped around her, she wished she could define their relationship. What was he now? Friend or more than friend?
“I’m concerned about you,” he murmured.
“I’m okay, Benjamin. Really. It’s the season, I think.”
“Christmas.”
“And all this confusion. The phone calls. The e-mails. The hopes that may never come to fruition.”
“I know,” he said, his look so tender it made her weak.
She gave his shoulder a squeeze and eased away. He didn’t release her immediately, and she loved the feeling of being held by someone unwilling to let her go.
Melancholy overtook her mood. The woman caller had opened doors—doors of hope. Joanne had no idea if the woman had been telling the truth or lying, but her heart said it was true.
Now what? She’d demanded proof. What would the woman do to prove Mandy was alive? Could Joanne trust her to follow through, or had she destroyed her only chance of finding her daughter?
Joanne gestured toward the archway as she turned to the kitchen, hoping the cookies would distract her from the phone call and the emotion that gnawed at her.
“Do you have any apple juice? I make a mean mulled cider.” Benjamin’s voice shot into her thoughts.
Joanne glanced at him. His smile warmed her heart and melted the icy feelings she’d had. “I might just have some.”
She entered the kitchen with Benjamin on her heels. Inside her pantry cabinet she found the juice, and while he warmed it along with some orange slices and a tea ball with cinnamon and cloves, she began gathering the ingredients for her cookie recipe.
“This has to simmer,” he said, moving to her side. “What can I do?”
She slid him a large bowl and measuring cups. “I’ll get the sugar and shortening ready while you handle the dry ingredients.”
He studied the recipe and went to work like a man who knew what he was doing. Joanne grinned at the precision with which he measured the floor and baking soda. Seeing him in the kitchen lightened her mood and she realized her disturbing thoughts had drifted away for a moment. When he moved back to her side with the flour mixture, her heart sped up at his nearness.
“If that’s finished,” she said, “you can grind the pecans for me. It’s part of the filling.”
She formed the dough, then rolled it out, cut it in squares and sprinkled in the nut and sugar-cinnamon mixture, then formed it into crescents. Benjamin shifted them to a cookie sheet and soon she slid the first batch into the oven.
“While you’re finishing,” he said, tilting his head toward the next tin, “I’ll make a fire.”
“Good idea,” she said, happy to be alone for a moment. Joanne realized she needed to get her thoughts in order. She had so many things to say and ask, but the phone call had filled her mind. Pushing it aside, she focused on the night before, and their kiss.
While she cleaned the kitchen, she pulled out the first batch of cookies and slid them onto a cooling rack. The cider’s spicy fragrance rose from the pan and mixed with the nutty cinnamon aroma. By the time the next batch came out, she had slid a few that had cooled onto a plate. She carried them into the living room.
Benjamin had tossed a couple of logs on the fire and was watching the glow of the kindling beneath. He turned when she entered the room, and pointed to the sofa. “I’ll get the cider.” Benjamin stood back a moment, then set down the matches and headed for the room.
Joanne settled onto the cushion, propping a pillow behind her back so she could face him, then lifted her legs and curled them beneath her. Having a man in the house had become a treat. She never used the fireplace anymore. Once she had loved sitting on the carpet in front of the logs, listening to the crackle of the flames and watching the sparks spiral up the flu.
She watched now as the fire left the kindling and licked up the bark, gaining speed as the red glow turned yellow with flickers of blue. Her feelings for Benjamin had grown in the same way.
Benjamin followed the scent of the cinnamon and cloves as he made his way into the kitchen. He pulled two mugs from the cabinet and turned off the burner. His mind felt weighed down with Joanne’s problems.
She’d said her tears had been because of the ornaments, and perhaps that had been it, but his gut told him they had been motivated by something else. Why wouldn’t she admit that the woman had called again if that was the case? He couldn’t believe Joanne would keep things from him or do something foolish.
Why not? He’d been foolish the night before when he kissed her. Tonight his concern revolved around that incident, as well. Had he upset her? Did she feel betrayed or disappointed? He’d come to her as a friend and now he’d let his emotions loose.
Benjamin longed to tell her how he felt, longed to tell her that the kiss hadn’t just happened, but that he’d cared about her for years when he had no right. He could only thank God that he’d been a gentleman and had never deceived or misbehaved in any way when it came to Joanne.
So what would happen now?
He ladled the spicy mixture into the mugs and carried them back into the living room. When he saw Joanne nestled on the sofa, his stomach coiled. He was about to have another fight with his heart.
After he handed her the mug, he sat beside her, gazing at the flickering flames and longing to talk about the things that burned inside him. Nothing was more important than knowing what was on Joanne’s mind.
“You’re quiet,” she said.
“Thinking,” he said.
“About the kiss?” she asked.
Her question startled him, and he gave her question thought before answering yes.
“Me, too,” she said.
Seeing her frown, he said, “I hope you’re not upset. I never meant—”
“Upset? No.”
“Disappointed?”
“No.” She gave her head a strong shake.
He searched her face for the answer. “Then what?”
“Wondering what it meant. I was surprised.”
So had he been, not only at his action, but at her eager response. Yet she’d dismissed it, when it had meant so much to him.
“What did it mean to you, Joanne?”
She looked away and gazed at the sparking flames, then at the Christmas tree. “I’m not sure. I—I know what it did.”
“What it did?”
“It made me feel alive. It’s the first time I’ve kissed a man since Greg.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you. It seemed right. It seemed natural.”
“We’ve been friends a long time,” she said swiveling to face him. “It did seem natural…and right.”
“But strange?”
She gave him a faint smile. “Yes, strange, but nicely so.”
That broke the tension and he chuckled. “So where are we now?”
She lifted her shoulders. “Together in the living room. Alive. Feeling.”
“And thinking.”
“And thinking,” she agreed. “Right now, I’m caught up in these telephone calls and in praying Mandy’s out there somewhere. I don’t have a lot of room to think about—”
She faltered, and he watched an uneasy look spread across her face. “About the future?” he asked.
“The future. But I want to, Benjamin. I truly want to live again, and you’re one of the finest men I know. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
He let the words settle over him, trying to decide if her comment should give him hope or remind him that he’d always been just a friend. For now, he could live with the latter, but for how long, he didn’t know.
Donna stared into the dress-shop window, watching Joanne Fuller’s movements. She’d never followed anyone before, but today she’d become an expert. The idea had come to her out of desperation. Joanne Fuller wanted proof of Connie’s existence, and Donna had tossed out the idea of sending a traceable letter or sliding something inside her storm door. Those methods were all too dangerous.
Instead, she’d located where Joanne worked and had hired a sitter for Connie so she could find some way to give Joanne the proof. Today had finally worked to her advantage. The busy mall filled with Christmas shoppers kept her undercover and still could afford her the opportunity she needed.
Joanne Fuller wandered away from the men’s shop window and headed into an open café. Donna shifted from her location and wandered nearer. The woman headed for a small table, dropped her packages on the floor beside a chair, then slipped off her coat and left it there before she moved to the counter and focused on the menu.
Donna slipped past her and heard her order a skinny latte. The familiarity of the woman’s voice caused Donna to jerk as she moved away. How many times had she heard the woman’s panicked voice ask for information? Donna had struggled to speak that first time. Finally after the third, she’d found courage to open her mouth. Now she hoped the calls could soon end, so she and Connie would be safe.
With Joanne Fuller occupied, Donna passed the small table and made her move.
The rich coffee aroma hung on the air as Joanne waited for her drink. She loved the little café, a place to rest and regroup in the midst of the Friday after-work shoppers. Realizing a busy mall could be filled with shoplifters, she glanced toward the table where she’d left her packages. No one seemed to have noticed them.
But as she watched, a harried-looking woman scooted past her table, and Joanne noticed her car keys slip from her hand. The woman faltered, then glanced down. As she bent over to retrieve her keys, the clerk’s voice drew Joanne’s attention.
“That’ll be three dollars and seventeen cents,” she said, sliding the drink in front of Joanne.
Joanne slipped her hand into her bag and pulled out her wallet. She counted out the change, slipped the billfold into her purse and grasped her latte. When she turned back, the woman and her keys were gone.
Joanne returned to her table and eyed her packages. They were all there and she felt ashamed for wondering if the woman or someone else might have stolen her Christmas gifts.
As she sipped the fragrant coffee mixture, Joanne’s thoughts settled on the anonymous caller’s recent request for money. The fearful sound of the woman’s voice and her comment about safety filled Joanne with deep concern. If Mandy were alive she could be in danger. But why and from whom? She’d hoped to hear from the woman again, but days had passed with no more contact, and that made her fearful.
Joanne still hadn’t mentioned the incident to Benjamin, though her good sense told her more than once that she should. But she knew Benjamin too well. He’d insist on contacting the detectives, and if the caller found out, she’d back away. Joanne felt as certain of that as of the fact Mandy was alive.
Dear Benjamin. More and more he filled Joanne’s thoughts. She’d never met a kinder, gentler man—he was known to be a powerhouse in a court room and at a bargaining table, yet he touched her life with a tenderness beyond compare. He’d brought her around.
Lately her thoughts had drifted back to times they had spent together when Greg was alive. She recalled how he’d always shown genuine interest in her. He’d been complimentary and thoughtful even then. Greg always chuckled that Benjamin had never married and figured he’d kill a wife with kindness.
That memory triggered a renewed thought in Joanne’s mind. Benjamin’s unfulfilled love. Since he’d told her that he’d been in love once, she’d longed to find out more about the woman. What would keep a woman away when a man like Benjamin loved her?
The only thing that seemed possible also seemed impossible. He had said the woman loved him, but not in the same way he loved her. Had the woman been engaged to someone else? Married? Had she loved him like a brother? Joanne had no idea, and wished the question didn’t come to mind so often.
Joanne pulled her thoughts away from Benjamin’s past and to the present. He’d suggested they do something tomorrow evening—a surprise, he’d said. He knew how the chaos and the holidays had affected her. She’d become teary too often. Last year Joanne remembered she’d gotten through the holidays with only the feeling of melancholy. Visiting her parents’ home left her feeling out of place and unwanted. Had her sense been true or only her own warped view?
Her mother’s phone call…Joanne was sorry Benjamin had overheard it. She’d been taken aback when he’d said she sounded hard. Maybe that had been true. She didn’t want her family’s interference now, with so much going on, but she should call back. Her mother deserved the courtesy.
With the added stress of the anonymous phone calls, she could barely contain her emotions. Tonight Joanne had no idea how Benjamin planned to surprise her, but it didn’t matter. Just being with him would be enough.
She took a sip of the latte and let her mind return to her task as she reviewed her purchases. She’d found a great Christmas tray for Nita who loved to entertain, but she still wanted to find something special for Benjamin. She’d looked at scarves and found them too boring. Then she’d thought a leather belt might be nice, but she didn’t know his size.
She took another drink of coffee and let it glide down her throat. Other gifts popped into her mind—a shaving kit, though she hoped his travels had ended. Then a new attaché case struck her as a good idea, but she’d seen his recently and it looked fairly new.
A tie? Boring. Handkerchiefs? Really boring. Pajamas? Too personal. Some things wouldn’t work. A sweater? Joanne figured she could guess his size even if—She faltered as an eerie sensation washed over her. Joanne had the unpleasant feeling she was being watched.
As her gaze swept the patrons, a woman in a dark coat turned away and rounded the corner of the food court. Joanne scanned the crowd again. A man’s gaze caught hers, and he winked. She frowned back.
Then Joanne glanced behind her. The woman who’d dropped the keys seemed focused on her from across the mall, and when she made eye contact, the stranger turned away. Feeling uneasy, Joanne rose. She gathered her packages and clutched them against her. Was she being ridiculous, or was she being followed?