Season of Joy
Season of Joy
Virginia Carmichael
SHELTER FOR EVERYONE As the holiday season approaches, wealthy CEO Calista Sheffield wants to give instead of receive. So she volunteers at a downtown Denver shelter, never expecting that her own scarred heart will be filled with hope and healing. The mission’s director, handsome Grant Monohan, has devoted his life to helping those in need.But his harrowing past—and what he sees every day—makes him wary of Calista. Unless she shares her painful history, he’ll never believe they can have a future. But a future with Grant at the shelter is the only Christmas gift Calista truly wants.
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Shelter For Everyone
As the holiday season approaches, wealthy CEO Calista Sheffield wants to give instead of receive. So she volunteers at a downtown Denver shelter, never expecting that her own scarred heart will be filled with hope and healing. The mission’s director, handsome Grant Monohan, has devoted his life to helping those in need. But his harrowing past—and what he sees every day—makes him wary of Calista. Unless she shares her painful history, he’ll never believe they can have a future. But a future with Grant at the shelter is the only Christmas gift Calista truly wants.
“After spending the day with business people, these kids are a treat,” Calista said.
She turned serious for a moment. “They’re honest. And they don’t care what you’re wearing or what kind of car you drive.”
Grant wanted to say something, but he couldn’t seem to form words. Calista’s face shone with that fragile sweetness he’d seen the first day she came to the mission.
“And they don’t care who your parents are,” he added, his voice sounding huskier than he intended.
“Exactly.” Her gaze locked on his. “I always thought that verse about being like little children meant we were supposed to be gullible. But it really meant that we needed to believe first, and doubt later.”
“Sort of the way that little kids love you first and ask questions later?”
Her face lit up at his words. “That’s just what I mean.”
Love first, and ask questions later. Great for kids, but it was the very worst advice he’d heard for adults.
And still, that’s what was happening in his heart.
About the Author
VIRGINIA CARMICHAEL was born near the Rocky Mountains, and although she has traveled around the world, the wilds of Colorado run in her veins. A big fan of the wide-open sky and all four seasons, she believes in embracing the small moments of everyday life. A home-schooling mom of six young children who rarely wear shoes, those moments usually involve a lot of noise, a lot of mess, or a whole bunch of warm cookies. Virginia holds degrees in Linguistics and Religious Studies from the University of Oregon. She lives with her habanero-eating husband, Crusberto, who is her polar opposite in all things except faith. They’ve learned to speak in short-hand code and look forward to the day they can actually finish a sentence. In the meantime, Virginia thanks God for the laughter and abundance of hugs that fill her day as she plots her next book.
Season of Joy
Virginia Carmichael
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. These also I must lead, and they will hear my voice, and there will be one flock, and one shepherd.
—John 10:16
This book would not exist if not for the support of many different people, old and young, near and far. Thank you to my daughters Isabel and Ana for being my beta readers. I’m sorry for the smooching. It just had to be in there somewhere. For Jacob, Sam, Edward and Elias, thank you for every time I asked for one more minute to write and you ignored me. Cruz, I want to say Marisol’s food terms came from Google. Really. Thank you to my sister Susan who never reads this kind of book but was willing to put in serious time proofreading and giving comments. If I could write a good ghost story, I would, but that gene was passed to you alone. Thank you to my brother Dennis for making time to read and comment on all sorts of things, giving tech advice, big business advice and keeping a sense of humor through it all. For my brother Sam, who always keeps a clear view of what’s important in life, sort of like Grant. For my parents, Murphy Carmichael and Bonnie Reinke, thank you for raising me in a house with more books than our local library. Bibliophiles unite!
Most of all, thank you to the fine ladies over at Seekerville.com who started this ball rolling in the first place. Your constant encouragement and advice is invaluable.
Contents
Chapter One (#u130a0c16-d9bb-5e15-ac33-98f1abb8647b)
Chapter Two (#u08ed625b-eb13-5169-8b9a-2557a20ff03a)
Chapter Three (#u5d3cc7d3-1123-5b3d-a5b6-e53bdc9ad791)
Chapter Four (#u0a65df1c-5b36-5b42-9a3f-f01856a743c9)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Teaser Chapter (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
A dark tidal wave of fear swept through Calista Sheffield as she paused at the door of the Downtown Denver Mission. She took a deep breath and wiped damp palms on the legs of her jeans. Her image was reflected in the glass door as clearly as in a mirror, the bright Rocky Mountain sunshine as backlighting. Giving her casual outfit a quick scan, she tucked a strand of honey-blond hair behind her ear and tugged at the hem of her black cashmere sweater. She prayed no one in the shelter would be able to tell the difference between Donna Karan and a knockoff, because she wasn’t here to impress anyone. She was here to volunteer.
Her reflection showed a pair of large green eyes shadowed with anxiety. Calista squinted, hating her own weakness. There was no reason to be afraid when she ran a multimillion-dollar company. She gripped the handle and swung it open, striding inside before the heat escaped.
The exterior of the five-story mission was a bit worse for wear, but the inside seemed clean and welcoming. In the center of the enormous lobby, a tall pine tree bowed under the weight of handmade ornaments and twinkling lights. Calista’s gaze darted toward a group of men clustered near the double doors at the far end. Probably the cafeteria. Maybe she was just in time to help serve a turkey dinner with trimmings. A vision of handing a plate piled high with steaming mashed potatoes and gravy to some desperate soul passed through her mind’s eye. This was going to be great.
No, this was going to be more than great; the start to a whole new life. Not like the lonely existence she had right now with only her passive-aggressive Siamese cat for company. No more pretending she had somewhere to go on Thanksgiving, then suffering through everyone else’s happy chatter after the holiday. It was her own fault for letting work take over her life, but that was all in the past.
This Christmas would be different.
Calista scanned the lobby for a secretary. The long, curving desk spanned the area between the elevator and far wall, but it was empty. An oversize wooden cross took center stage on a staggered section of ceiling that connected the lobby to the upper level. A small smile tugged at her lips, thinking of how that sight would have made her cringe just a few months ago.
A young man with the mission staff uniform and close-cropped dark hair exited the double doors, papers in hand. Calista stepped forward into his path.
“Excuse me, I need to see Grant Monohan,” she said, in the tone she reserved for secretaries and assistants. Her eyes flicked from his deep brown eyes to the ID badge pinned to his shirt to the solid pattern of colorful tattoos that covered both of his arms from biceps to wrist.
He paused, frowned a little, glanced back at the empty desk.
“The director,” Calista added, hoping she wasn’t speaking the wrong language. His dark coppery skin and angular features made her think of paintings she’d seen of the Mayans.
“Just let me drop these papers in the office and I’ll tell him you’re here,” he said, waving the stack of papers at her. He started off again without waiting for a response and punched in a series of numbers at the keypad by the far door.
The brown patterned couches were arranged in groups of three but none of them were occupied, except the very last one, near the large windows that faced the street. An older woman sat hunched in the corner, rocking and murmuring to herself. Her brown shawl slipped off one shoulder and pooled at her feet like a stain. Dark tangles framed a wrinkled, but somehow expressionless, face. Calista swallowed a sudden wave of anxiety.
A door swung open to her right and a wheelchair-bound woman rolled to a stop behind the desk. Her short gray hair was spiked on top and touched with violet. She maneuvered to the middle of the desk just as the phone rang.
“Downtown Denver Mission, this is Lana. How may I help you?” she responded in a cheerful tone.
None of this should have made her feel queasy, but the combination of the rocking elderly woman, the young man’s tattoos and the purple-haired handicapped woman had Calista struggling with her resolve. She wandered toward the windows and gazed out at the snowy sidewalk, taking deep breaths. Life isn’t pretty, she should know that. But after ten years of clawing her way to the top of the business world, Calista had buried any memories she had of imperfection. Memories of her own rough childhood in a place where there were worse things than purple hair and tattoos.
“Ma’am?” She snapped into the present at the word spoken quietly behind her. The young man was back. “The director is just finishing up but he can see you for a few minutes before his next appointment. Go ahead and have a seat.”
Calista nodded and smiled brightly. “Thank you,” she chirped, hoping she oozed positivity and enthusiasm. They wouldn’t want unhappy people around here. She was sure they had enough of those already.
* * *
Grant Monohan checked the balance-sheet numbers for the third time. He knew better than to get upset at the decreasing number in black and the increasing number in red. The shelter scraped by most of the year until they got to the season of giving, or the “season of guilting,” as Jose called it. God had provided every day of the past seventy-five years, so he wasn’t going to start worrying now.
A light knock at the door and Jose popped his head in. “We got another one.”
Grant wanted to roll his eyes but he nodded instead.
“Actress?” Aspen’s popularity had been great for them, even all the way out here in Denver. The megarich had started to settle in the area a decade ago and it showed right around the holiday season. Every year, right when the store windows changed to sparkly decorations and Santas, the famous faces started appearing. Most were dragged in by agents or managers, but a few came on their own. They would spend a few days, sign some autographs and go away feeling good about themselves. He wasn’t one to turn away help, especially when it came with good publicity and a donation, but it got real old, real fast. Last year they had a blonde starlet stumble in with a twenty-person entourage. Most of them were as high as she was. He cringed inside, remembering the scene that erupted as he informed them of the “no alcohol, no drugs” policy.
“Not sure. She’s pretty enough but she came alone.” Jose shrugged. Grant wished he would come all the way in, or open the door wider, but Jose always seemed to be in constant motion. It was all the kid could do to hold still for a few minutes.
“Why didn’t Lana call back here?”
He shrugged again. “The lady just came up to me and said she had to see the director.”
Grant frowned, wondering if it was worse to have a volunteer who demanded special treatment, or a volunteer who ignored the disabled secretary. He stood up and stretched the kinks from his back. Maybe he’d look into a better chair after the crazy holiday rush was over. The ratty hand-me-down was obviously not made for a six-footer like himself. Or maybe turning thirty was the start of a long, slow slide into back trouble.
“Tell her I’ll be right out.” Jose’s head disappeared from the doorway. Grant crossed the small office space and absently checked his reflection in the mirror near the door. He was looking more and more like his father every year. Women told him what a heartthrob he was, like a classic movie star. They never knew how close they were to the truth. But what he saw—instead of the dark wavy hair, strong jaw and broad shoulders—was the man who walked away from his mother when he was just a kid. Grant shook his head to clear it. All things are made new in You, Lord. He had a heavenly father who would never run away and he needed to remember that.
Grant pushed open the heavy metal door and stepped into the lobby, letting the door close with a thud behind him. It wasn’t hard to pick out the new volunteer. It wouldn’t have been hard to spot her in a crowd at the Oscars, she was that pretty. She had the California party-girl look with an added healthy glow, but had wisely left the party clothes at home.
At least she was dressed conservatively. If you could call cashmere and designer jeans conservative. He sighed. Rich people could be so clueless. He watched her for a few moments as she stood near the window, arms wrapped around her middle. She sure didn’t have the confidence of a professional actress. Unless the whole nervous attitude was an act.
She turned suddenly and looked straight into his eyes as if he had called her name across the lobby. Grant felt heat creep up his neck. He must look like a stalker, standing there silently. He strode forward, forcing a welcoming expression.
“Grant Monohan,” he said, extending his hand. She took it, and he was surprised by the steadiness of her grip.
“Calista Sheffield,” she answered. “Wonderful to meet you.” The name sounded familiar. Her smile was a bit too wide, as if she was worried about making the wrong impression. Or maybe she was turning on the star power. As if that sort of thing worked on him.
“Jose told me you wanted to see me. Would you like to sit down?”
She frowned down at the couch and said, “You don’t meet with anyone in your office?”
“Actually, I don’t. We have meeting rooms for groups, and we have a reception area. There’s another building at the south end of the block that we use for most of our administration needs.”
There was a pause as she tilted her head and regarded him steadily. He could see her processing that information. “Is it a shelter policy?”
She was quick, this one. “It is. To protect the residents and myself from accusations or suspicion. We have plans drawn up for a new office that will have glass partitions but that’s still a few years away.” He motioned toward the long lobby desk. “So, for now we have Lana get pertinent information on visitors first.”
She surprised him with a grin, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s usually the way it’s done, isn’t it?”
Grant hesitated, adjusting her age upward. Not for the laugh lines but for the gentle ribbing. He’d been told before he was slightly intimidating but she seemed able to hold her own.
“There was no one at the desk when I came in, so I just asked Jose.”
He gave another tally mark, this time for remembering Jose’s name. She might not be a total loss after all. He wasn’t such a fool to think she’d stay more than a few days, but maybe she could do more than sign photos.
Grant motioned to the clean but worn couch behind her. “Let’s sit down and you can tell me why you’re here.”
She settled on the edge, hands clutched together. Her anxiety was palpable. “I’d like to volunteer on a weekly basis. Not just for Thanksgiving or Christmas.”
He plopped into the corner of the couch angled toward hers, putting a good three feet of space between him and those green eyes. “Why?”
She opened her mouth, but then closed it again. He raised an eyebrow and waited patiently. She looked down at her hands, then up at him again, emotions flitting across her face. Confusion, sadness, yearning.
Grant wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her it was going to be okay. Shocked at how fast he’d forgotten his professional role, Grant frowned, eyes narrowing. She was good at playing the little lost girl, that was clear.
“Miss...” He struggled to remember anything more than those eyes trained on him.
“Sheffield,” she whispered.
“Miss Sheffield, let me tell you a little about the mission. We welcome any and all support. Seventy-five years of serving the community of downtown Denver has made our organization one of the most respected in the country. We provide shelter, addiction counseling, parenting classes, transport for schoolchildren and job training. There are five separate buildings and almost a hundred staff members.” He paused, making sure she was following him. “But everything we do here is aimed at one goal, meeting the deep spiritual needs of all people. We want to be the Gospel in action, be His hands and feet in this world.”
Usually at this point in his speech, the new recruit’s eyes glazed over. They nodded and smiled, waiting for him to finish. She leaned forward, eyes bright.
“So, you mean to say that you provide for the physical needs but the spiritual needs of the person are just as important?”
“Just as or more. If it makes you uncomfortable, there is also the Seventh Street Mission a few miles away. They are a very respected shelter that doesn’t adhere to any spiritual principles.”
“No, it doesn’t bother me at all,” she said, her whole face softening. Grant struggled to reclaim his train of thought. Maybe he needed a vacation, had been working too hard. He felt as if he was a knot with a loop missing and that smile was tugging him undone.
“Good,” he said, eyes traveling toward the plain cross on the balcony overhang. “That’s the only reason we’re here. The only reason I’m here.” He sure wasn’t in it for the money. He paused for a moment, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”
“What about the cafeteria?”
A vision passed before him of men, young and old, lined up for limp broccoli served by a stunning blonde, while the regular servers stood abandoned, lasagna pans growing cold. “How about intake or administration? You would be working with Lana to get the paperwork in order and maybe interview new visitors or assign sleeping places.”
She blinked and then nodded. “That sounds fine.”
“We’ll need to get some basic information and do a background check for security reasons. But you can start today, helping out in the cafeteria. We’ve got a lot of prep work for Thanksgiving.”
“Of course.”
“Lana can help with the details.” He stood, offering his hand once more. “It was a pleasure to meet you and I’m grateful for your willingness to serve the disadvantaged in our community.”
She stood, gripped his hand and whispered, “Thank you.”
Grant’s heart flipped in his chest as their hands met and he looked into her eyes. Her heart-shaped face shone with hope and her bright green eyes glittered with unshed tears. There was more going on here than a rich person’s guilty conscience.
But there was no way he was going to try to find out what. He had enough trouble keeping the mission afloat without adding a woman to the mix. Even a beautiful woman who reminded him that he might need something more than this place. Plus, with the secret he was carrying around, no woman in her right mind would want to get anywhere close.
* * *
Calista stood up, gripping the director’s hand, his movie-star good looks bearing down on her full force. The man should have a warning sign: Caution: Brain Meltdown Ahead. She could just see him in a promotional brochure, that slightly stern expression tempered by the concern in his eyes. He reminded her of someone, somehow.
But her heart was reacting to more than his wide shoulders or deep baritone. The man had sincere convictions, he had substance and faith. There was nothing more attractive, especially in her job, where image was everything. She wanted to have a purpose in her life beyond making money and losing friends. She wanted to wake up in the morning with more to look forward to than fighting with her board of directors and coming home to a cat who hated her guts.
She met his steady gaze and felt, to her horror, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to smile and thank him for the chance to work at the mission, but the words could barely squeeze past the large lump in her throat. Heat rose in her cheeks as she saw his look of confusion, then concern. He probably thought she was completely unstable, crying over a volunteer gig.
She dropped his hand and immediately wished she could take it back. His hand was warm and comforting, but electrifying at the same time. A short list of things she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“Let’s go get those papers from Lana, all right?” His voice had lost its brusque tone somewhat, as if he was afraid of causing her any more distress.
Calista cleared her throat and said, “Lead the way.” She blinked furiously and turned toward the desk, hoping he couldn’t see her expression. If only he hadn’t sounded so sympathetic. If only he was pleasantly distant, the way a CEO is with employees. But he wasn’t like that; he wasn’t like her.
Grant introduced them quickly. Lana was ready with a stack of papers and handed them to Calista. She could see why the mission had a purple-haired secretary. The woman was efficient and friendly.
“Tell me when you need me and I can adjust my schedule pretty easily.” Calista bent over to fill out the papers. One of the perks of being CEO was she could take time off when she wanted some personal time. Not that she ever had before.
Grant’s eyebrows went up a bit. “We’re short-staffed right now and we could really use some help in the mornings. Maybe Wednesdays?”
“Sure, I can be here at seven.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wondered if that was too early. Maybe the staff didn’t get here until nine. But Grant only nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting the smallest amount. She wondered for just a moment what he looked like when he laughed...
Calista’s cheeks felt hot as she dropped her gaze to the papers. Grant turned away to speak to a slim young man who was waiting behind them and Lana took the papers, glancing over them. Her eyes stopped at the employment section. “You’re head of VitaWow Beverages? I could use someone with a knowledge of grant writing.”
“I’ve written a few grant applications but they weren’t for nonprofits. And it’s been a while.”
“It was worth a shot,” Lana said, shrugging and stacking the papers together.
“But I’m sure I could work on whatever you need,” Calista said quickly.
Lana looked up, and Calista saw genuine warmth in the woman’s eyes. “That’s the spirit,” she said. “We have a grant-writing team that meets on Thursday evenings. There are only two of them right now because it’s the holiday season and everybody’s busy. It would be great to get some of these applications turned in before the January deadlines. Is that a good day for you? They might change the meeting time if you can’t come then.”
“That’s fine. Thursday’s fine,” Calista said. Any evening was fine. Five years ago she’d been busy with the dinner-
and-drinks merry-go-round. Once she was promoted to CEO, she cut out almost all the dinners. Of course, after she’d done so, Calista realized her schedule was completely empty. She was friendless and alone.
“Grant is on the team, too. He can fill you in.”
“Does the director usually work in the evenings?”
Lana laughed, a lighthearted chuckle. “You don’t know the man. It’s all about the mission, all the time.” The smile slowly faded from her face. “I know he feels at home here, and we could never survive without him, but I wish...”
Calista waited for the end of the sentence, but Lana seemed to have thought better about what she was going to say. She regarded Grant, deep in conversation with the young man, and a line appeared between her brows.
“You’re afraid he’ll wake up one day and wished he’d put more time into his own life, something apart from the mission?”
“Exactly.” She appraised Calista with a steady eye. “You’re good at reading people.”
“I suppose I know what that feels like. And you’re right, it’s no fun.” Calista dropped her eyes to the desk, wondering what it was about this place that made her feel she could be honest. She wasn’t the CEO here, she was just a woman who had lost her place in the world.
She turned back to her paperwork and said, “I can find my way to the cafeteria—”
The end of her sentence was lost in the explosion of noise that accompanied a horde of children entering the lobby. They seemed to all be talking at once, the polished lobby floor magnifying the sounds of their voices to astounding levels. Just when Calista decided there was no one in charge of the swirling group of small people, two young women came through the entryway. One was short and very young, with a thick braid over her shoulder. The other was a powerfully built middle-aged woman with a wide face and large pale eyes. They were both wearing the mission’s khaki pants and red polos under their open coats. They were laughing about something, not concerned in the least that their charges were heading straight for the director.
“Mr. Monohan!” A small girl with bright pink sunglasses yelled out the greeting as she raced across the remaining lobby space. She didn’t slow down until she made contact with his leg, wrapping her arms around it like she was drowning. He didn’t even teeter under the full impact of the flying body, just reached down and laid a large hand on the girl’s messy curls.
A huge smile creased his face and Calista’s mouth fell open at the transformation. He was a good-looking man, but add in a dash of pure joy and he was breathtaking. She tore her gaze away and met Lana’s laughing eyes behind the desk. Of course, the secretary would think it was hilarious how women fell all over themselves in his presence. Calista gathered up the papers with a snap, when she realized she was surrounded. A sea of waist-high kids had engulfed them, with the two women slowly bringing up the rear.
She sidled a glance at Grant, hoping he would tell them to clear out and let her through. But he was busy greeting one child after another. How he could tell them apart enough to learn their names was really beyond her. They just seemed an endless mass of noise and motion, a whirl of coats and bright mittens.
“Miss Sheffield, this is Lissa Handy and Michelle Guzman. They take the preschoolers down the block to the city park for an hour every day.” He was still mobbed by coats and children calling his name, but his voice cut through the babble.
Calista raised one hand in greeting, trapped against the desk, but only Michelle waved back. Lissa seemed to be sizing up the new girl.
She stood with her arms folded over her chest, unmoving. But Michelle reached out and touched her on the shoulder. “It’s wonderful to have new volunteers,” she said, her voice warm and raspy, as if she spent too much time trying to get the kids’ attention. She smelled like fresh air and snow, and Calista smiled back. Her clear blue eyes reminded her of Mrs. Allen, her third-grade teacher. That kindhearted woman had given her confidence a boost when she was just like these little people.
“I don’t know how you keep them all from escaping. It must be like herding squirrels.”
Michelle laughed, a full-throated sound that came from deep inside. “You’re right. The key is to give them some incentive. They head to the park okay, and then I tell them we’re coming back, but Mr. Monohan will be here. Easy as pie.”
Calista glanced back at Grant, his wide shoulders hunched over a little girl who was excitedly describing something that needed lots of hand waving. He was nodding, his face the picture of rapt attention.
“He seems really good with the kids. Does he have any of his own?” She suddenly wished she could snatch the words back out of the air, especially since it was followed by a snort from Lissa.
Michelle ignored her partner’s nonverbal comment. “No, he’s never been married. I keep telling him he needs to find someone special and settle down. He was one of the youngest directors the mission had ever had when he started here, but this place can take over your life if you let it.”
“But that’s what he wants, so don’t stick your nose in.” So, Lissa did have a voice. A young, snarky voice, coming from a sullen face. She flipped her dark braid off her shoulder and stuck her hands in her pockets. Calista wondered how old Lissa was, probably not more than nineteen. Just the age when a girl might fall in love for the first time.
“You’ll understand when you’re older, Lissa. But there’s more to life than work, even if your work is filled with people like ours is here,” Michelle said.
Lissa’s face turned dark and threatening, like a storm cloud. “You always say stuff like that. I don’t think my age has anything to do with my brain.”
Spoken like a true teenager. Calista tried to smooth ruffled feathers. “Michelle’s right that everyone needs a family or friends separate from work.” Lissa’s face twisted like she was ready to pour on the attitude. Calista hurried to finish her thought. “But not everybody is happiest being married, with a family. Like me. I don’t think it would be fair to have a boyfriend when my work takes up so much of my time.”
Lissa’s eyebrows came up a little and she shrugged.
“But I could always use more friends.” That last part was a gamble, but Lissa seemed to accept it at face value. She relaxed a bit, the smile creeping back into her eyes.
“Don’t know why you’d be looking for friends at this place, though.”
Michelle gave Lissa a squeeze around the shoulders. “Come on, you found me here, right?” Lissa responded with an eye roll, but Calista could tell the young woman appreciated the hug and being called a friend.
“Fine, but we got enough pretty people in here slumming it for the holidays. We don’t need any more.”
“I can wear a bag over my face, if that helps.”
Lissa let out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, you do that. Maybe you’ll start a trend.”
“Maybe so.” Calista took one more glance back and started to laugh. Grant had a pair of bright pink sunglasses on his face and the kids were howling with laughter. Parents had started to show up to collect their children and they acted as if the scene wasn’t unusual at all.
“Those are Savannah’s glasses. She never goes anywhere without them. He’s sure got a silly side,” Michelle said, chuckling. “But you’d never know it at first glance.”
No, you wouldn’t. Not with that frown and the serious gaze. As if he could feel her looking at him, Grant glanced up and she saw the smile slip from his face. Calista felt her heart sink. Then again, she wasn’t here to get a boyfriend or find true love. She was here because her life had become a self-centered whirlpool of ambition, with her swirling around at the bottom like a piece of driftwood.
Grant seemed to come to some kind of decision. He waded through the kids until he was standing next to them. “Miss Sheffield, it’s almost lunchtime. Why don’t you come in for something to eat and then I can introduce you to the kitchen staff?”
Calista darted a glance at Lissa. The teen probably thought Calista had been angling for an invitation all along. But she couldn’t resist jumping at the chance to get to know this man better. She nodded quickly and he turned toward the far side of the lobby.
“Is there a kid version of catnip? If there is, you must be stuffing your pockets with it.”
“Nope, I just listen to them. It’s funny how many people forget that kids need someone to hear them,” he said, his words serious, but a grin spread over his features.
At that moment, as they stood smiling at each other, the other side of the cafeteria door swung open and nearly knocked Calista off her feet.
“Watch out! You shouldn’t stand in front of the door,” an old man shouted at her as she stumbled, struggling to regain her balance.
“Duane, please keep your voice down.” Calista could tell Grant was angry, maybe by the way his voice had gone very quiet and dropped an octave or two. “Are you all right?” He reached out and rubbed her left shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the impact.
She nodded slowly, distracted less by the pain than by the warmth of his hand. “Fine, not a problem.” Meeting the old man’s eyes, she was surprised to see such animosity reflected there. “I’m sorry I was standing behind the door.” When both sides were at fault, it was always best to be the first to offer an apology.
But if she was hoping for reciprocation, it didn’t come. He blinked, one eye milky-white while the other was a hazy-blue, and sniffed. “You’re still standing here and I gotta get through.”
Calista moved to the side immediately and let him pass. As they walked through the doors into the full dining hall, she glanced back at Grant. “Off to a good start, don’t you think?”
Again that warm chuckle. She could get used to hearing that sound, even if she couldn’t get used to the way it ran shivers up her spine.
“I think we’re off to a great start,” he said, and something in his tone made her look up. His smile made her heart jump into her throat and he stepped near. Although she knew the whole cafeteria was watching behind them, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his.
Calista watched those blue eyes come closer, her heart pounding in her chest. Her brain seemed to have shorted out somewhere between the shoulder rub and the chuckle.
Grant leaned forward, his gaze locked on hers, and then he looked directly behind her. “Scan it twice, please. She doesn’t have her guest pass yet.”
Calista blinked and turned to see him holding out a security badge with a small photo in the middle. A pretty young woman sitting at a small table took the badge without comment and passed it twice through a card reader. Her dark eyes flicked up and down Calista’s outfit, then handed Grant the security badge.
“We use visitor passes to keep track of how many meals are served,” he explained.
“I see,” she said in a bright tone, but clenched her jaw at her own stupidity. Was she so lonely that any good-looking
man caused her brain to shut down? Did she think he was leaning over to kiss her, in the doorway of the mission dining hall? She was so angry at herself that she wanted to stomp out the door. Except she had vowed to do something useful. Which did not include mooning over the director.
She stood for a moment and gazed around at the dining hall. It was much bigger than the lobby and had an assortment of elderly, teens, women, men and what seemed like a hundred babies crying in unison. The noise was horrible but the smell wasn’t bad, not even close to what she remembered from “mystery casserole” day in grade school. The rich scent of coffee, buttery rolls, eggs, sausages and something sweet she couldn’t identify made her mouth water.
“I haven’t eaten with this many people since college.” She peered around. “Is there a cool kids’ table?”
He grinned. “Sure there is, but I don’t sit there.” He led her forward to the long line of glass-fronted serving areas. “Here are the hot dishes. We try to keep it as low-fat as possible. Over there—” he pointed to a wall that held row after row of cereal dispensers “—are the cold cereals and bowls. The drinks are self-serve, at the end of the row. Milk, juice, coffee, tea, hot chocolate. We don’t serve soda anymore.”
Calista nodded. “I see that trend a lot.”
“In schools? I’m sorry. I didn’t catch what you do.”
“I’m the CEO of VitaWow.” She felt her cheeks heat a little at the words and was surprised. She was proud of her job, of how she’d turned the company into a national brand. But standing here, in this place, it didn’t seem as important.
She watched his eyes widen a little. “I’ve heard good things about your company. Didn’t the city honor VitaWow with a business award?”
“Best of the best.” She liked saying the words, and couldn’t help the small smile. “I’m proud of our product and our commitment to health. But I also care about our employees. We have excellent benefits and give every employee a free pass to Denver’s biggest fitness center.”
He smiled, and she was struck once more by the difference it made. He seemed like a friend, the kind she wished she had.
Calista nodded.
“Our main goal is to provide a safe place where people can fill their spiritual needs. But we also want to make sure the people have healthy food that gives them a good start to the day.”
He lifted a tray from the stack and handed it to her. “I don’t recommend the hash browns but the breakfast burritos aren’t too bad.”
“I like having a food guide.” A quick peek at the hash browns supported his opinion. They were soggy and limp. The metal serving dish was full, proving the rest of the cafeteria avoided them, too.
He moved down the line behind her, sliding his tray along the counter. “If that’s a job offer, I have to warn you that I have great benefits here. Unlimited overtime, my own coffee machine, a corner office with a wonderful view of the parking lot.”
Calista couldn’t help laughing as she spooned a bit of scrambled egg onto her tray. “Sounds like my job, except I have a view of the roof of the building next door. And lots of pigeons to keep me company.”
A short, wiry woman smiled at him as he reached for a biscuit. “Mr. Monohan, is good to see you having breakfast. You have to eat and keep strong.” Her softly curling hair was covered by a hairnet and she wore a brightly colored apron that was missing one large pocket in the front.
“Marisol, this is Calista Sheffield. She’s a new volunteer.”
Calista hoped the emotion that flickered over the lined face was curiosity, and not skepticism. “We can always use more of those, eh, Mr. Monohan?” The thick accent was a bit like Jose’s but more lyrical, as if she was more used to singing than speaking.
“We sure can. When are you going to cook me some of your arroz con pollo? I’ve been dreaming of it all week.”
Marisol beamed with pleasure. “Anytime, Mr. Monohan, anytime. You tell me and I cook you a big dinner. Maybe you bring a friend, too? How ’bout that nice Jennie girl?”
Calista studied the biscuit on her tray, wishing she couldn’t hear this conversation.
“Sadly, Mari, I don’t think there’s much future for us,” Grant said, sounding not at all sad about it.
“Oh, no.” She wagged her finger over the glass case at him. “You let her get away. I told you, she’s a nice girl and you work too much.” She seemed honestly grieved by this new development.
“You wouldn’t want me to be with the wrong girl, would you, Marisol? And she wasn’t right for me.” Calista glanced at him and could tell Grant was trying not to laugh, his lips quirked up on one side.
“But how you know that when you only see her once or twice? You work all the time and the girl decides you don’t like her. That’s what happened.” She was giving him a glare that any kid would recognize from the “mom look.”
“No, I made time for her. But it just didn’t work out.” He smiled, trying to convey his sincerity but Marisol was not budging. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t want to gossip, but I’ll tell you something she said.”
“Go ahead,” Marisol dared him, frowning. Calista couldn’t imagine how long it was going to take to convince this little Hispanic woman that Grant hadn’t done Jennie wrong.
“She said I was too religious.”
Calista felt her eyes widen, a perfect mirror to Marisol’s own expression. They both stared at Grant, disbelieving.
“Oh, Mr. Monohan. That’s bad. Very bad.” Her eyes were sad as she shrugged. “Because you don’t drink? Did you tell that girl your mama drink herself to death?”
“It wasn’t that. And I never told her about my mother.” His words were light, with no hint of anger. He could have told Marisol to zip it, but he looked more amused than anything.
“Well, good thing she’s gone. You tell me when you want me to cook. Maybe I bring my niece, that pretty one? She’s in college and wants to be a social worker!”
Calista bit back a laugh at how quickly Marisol had let go of Jennie as Grant’s future wife.
“Thanks, I will.” Grant nodded at Calista and she figured it was safe to move on.
They got glasses of orange juice and he chose a table near the entrance. As they settled on either side of the long table, he extended his hand to her, palm up.
She stared for a moment, uncomprehending, then remembered how her sister, Elaine, always held hands with her husband as they said grace before meals. It had made Calista uncomfortable a few years ago but she felt her heart warm in her chest now. She placed her hand in his and bowed her head. The steady strength of his fingers sent a thrill of joy through her. He spoke simple words of thanks and asked God’s blessing on their day.
He let go of her hand and she put it in her lap, feeling strangely lonely without the pressure of his hand.
“Did she really say you were too religious?”
“I wouldn’t lie about that,” Grant said, grinning. He paused, as if choosing his words. “And I’m sorry about Marisol. Too much information on your first day, right? But she doesn’t mean any harm. She thinks everyone will accept people for who they are, not holding the sins of their parents against them.”
Calista dropped her gaze to her tray. She’d worked hard to reinvent herself from a poor girl from a tiny Southern town, the one with a mean father and a dead mother, into a polished and beautiful businesswoman. But there was only so far you could run from yourself. Then it was all about facing your fears and being bigger than your past. She was ready to be what God intended her to be, no matter how crazy it seemed to everyone else.
Chapter Two
“You don’t seem very upset about losing your girlfriend.”
He took a sip of his orange juice and paused, a small line between his brows. “You know that moment, when you’re not sure exactly which way to go, when opposite choices are equally attractive?”
“Of course.” She hated that moment. The indecision nearly killed her.
“That was how I felt about Jennie. She was smart, caring, made good conversation. Everybody thought we’d be a great couple.”
Calista groaned and he raised his eyebrows in question. “Every time a friend tells me that I’d be great with someone, I know it’s doomed.” Jackie, her assistant, never tired of setting her up. It was always a disaster and Jackie always enjoyed the dramatic story the day after. Which made Calista wonder if she picked the men for her own amusement.
Grant laughed out loud and nodded. “Maybe I should have known, but my best friend, Eric, set us up. Well, he brought her in to volunteer and he knew we’d hit it off.”
Calista took a bite of her biscuit and chewed thoughtfully. Eric thought they’d hit it off because they were so alike, or because Grant went for pretty volunteers? The idea that she was sitting in a spot where twenty other girls had been made her heart sink.
“She’s an attorney and spends most of her time as a prosecutor for the city’s worst abuse cases. She also handles some family law, but mostly fights for the weakest of our residents. He knew I’d appreciate her passion for protecting vulnerable kids.”
The buttery biscuit turned to ashes in her mouth. Grant would certainly not appreciate her own passion for building a vitamin-water empire. There was nothing admirable about getting folks to pay a lot of money for something that didn’t really make them any healthier.
“And I really did—I mean, I do—think she does a great job. But we just didn’t seem to connect.” His voice trailed off and he took a bite of scrambled egg. “But I knew that before she told me I was too religious, so it only made it easier to leave it at being friends.”
Calista took a sip of her juice and pondered his words. Elaine told her once that if a man wasn’t in contact with any of his ex-girlfriends, then he was a bitter and spiteful person. So, maybe staying friends with Jennie was good.
“I’m just wondering...” She shook her head, trying to formulate her thoughts. He watched her, waiting. “Why did she say that? Was it something you did? Or said? I don’t want to pry, but it’s an odd comment. Don’t you think?”
He grinned at her and she felt her brain go fuzzy around the edges. “Not odd at all. Most people consider anything more than a passing gesture to be too much. Sunday service is okay. Giving up a big promotion because God is calling you in another direction is not. Saying a blessing before eating is fine. Praying for your future spouse is not.”
Calista paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Future spouse? What does that kind of prayer sound like, if I can ask?”
He shrugged a little. “Uh, I don’t usually focus on that, since I have bigger fish to fry. But let me think. I usually pray for her health and safety, for her to grow in God’s grace.”
Her fork was still poised above her tray. She hadn’t spent much time praying in the past ten years, but if she had, it wouldn’t have been for anyone else. It would have been for herself. Was there a man praying for her right now? One she’d never met, but who cared for her already? She dropped her gaze as the thought brought sudden tears to her eyes. Could she be loved and not even know it yet?
“That sounds weird to you,” he said lightly, but she heard the hint of something in his voice, maybe disappointment.
“No, not weird.” She looked up at him. “It’s beautiful. I’d never thought of it before, praying for your future spouse.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised.
“Really. I’m pretty new to this.” She waved a hand between their trays, meaning the blessing. He frowned, trying to understand. “Blessing your food, asking for direction in your life.”
He nodded. “How new? Like, today new?”
She laughed. “Not that new!”
He grinned back at her, his broad shoulders relaxing a little. She wished she could tell him that there were years of prayer behind her, that she was a seasoned Christian. But she was practically a newborn, trying to understand what God’s will was in her life.
“New enough.” She sighed. “It’s a long story but I grew up in a place that was less about the truth and more about what made a good show.”
His eyes were sad as he searched her face. “That could be anywhere. I think once pride gets center stage, God’s truth is hard to hear over the noise.”
She nodded, thinking it through. “You’re right. It’s probably a pretty common thing. But I let it get between me and God for a long time.”
“But not anymore.” Grant’s eyes were soft, his biscuit forgotten in his hand.
“No,” she said, unable to keep her smile from spreading as she gazed back. “Not anymore.”
* * *
Calista slipped out the mission’s door into the mid-November chill. She had been so nervous about volunteering that she had forgotten her coat and gloves in the car, but now she felt the wind whip through her expensive sweater. Tucking her hands in her pockets with a shiver, Calista glanced up at the snow-covered Rocky Mountains. It was hard enough to be homeless in the winter, but it was downright deadly in Denver.
She walked to the secure parking behind the mission, hardly noticing the people passing her on the sidewalk. Her mind was full to bursting and she struggled to squelch the feelings Grant brought to the surface. She’d told Lissa the truth; she was way too busy to date and it never worked out anyway. No guy wanted to be known as “Calista Sheffield’s boyfriend” instead of by his own name. There were very few men her age who earned more than her or had more power. The ones who were eager to take on the role were only interested in the boost it gave their own business reputations.
Her mind flashed back to Grant’s face, his appraising glance. He hadn’t seemed interested in her job so he probably didn’t care. That would be a good thing. Her life had become so consumed by her success that she had let her soul wither away. She felt as if she was just a husk, dried up and empty inside. Where there should be something vibrant, something connected to God, there was a pitifully weak, underfed shadow.
But she was ready to change, to let God call the shots for a while. She wanted to feel joy, like the look on Grant’s face when the little girl had practically tackled him with her hug. She pressed the button on her key ring and her Mercedes beeped in response. Sliding into the leather seat and reaching for the buckle, Calista felt her whole self yearn for purpose in her life. Her God was a God of second chances so she didn’t have to wallow around in her sad and lonely life.
Now, if she could just get everybody else to give her a second chance at being a decent human being, then she’d be all set.
Her cell phone trilled in her pocket. And she answered it automatically.
“I’m sending you the report on the new building sites and you have four urgent messages.” The voice on the phone belonged to Jackie, her personal assistant, who sounded calm and collected as usual. She rattled off the messages in rapid-fire.
Calista tucked the cell phone into her shoulder and turned onto the freeway. “Tell Jim Bishop that Branchout Corporation’s new commercial is encroaching on the VitaWow brand and we need to send them a cease and desist letter. Also, get Alicia down to tech support and make them promise not to wipe the hard drive on my laptop ever again. They said they were cleaning it, but all my temporary files disappeared into thin air.” She could hear Jackie typing at a frantic pace.
“How was the appointment?”
“What appointment?” Calista asked, before remembering that she’d told Jackie she had a toothache and was going to the dentist. “Right. The dentist was great. All fixed.”
The sound of Jackie’s laughter made Calista glare at the freeway in front of her.
“This is why I have complete faith in VitaWow’s CEO. You can’t tell a lie to save your life.”
“Why do you think I’m lying?”
“You never forget details, but more importantly, nobody ever says their dental appointment was great.”
Calista let out a sigh. “Fine. I wasn’t at the dentist. But I’ll tell you about it later. This traffic is just crazy in the afternoon.” Cars were slowing to a crawl in front of her. “Good thing I’m always at the office until late. I completely miss rush hour.”
“Are you using your headset?” Jackie asked suddenly.
Calista already had one ticket for cell use while driving. “I was, but I dropped it when I got out of the car and it shattered.”
“New headset,” Jackie mumbled into Calista’s ear as she typed another note. “Okay, I’m hanging up now because it would be extra bad for the company image if you racked up another ticket.”
“All right,” Calista said. “See you on Monday.”
Jackie snorted. “And talk to you tomorrow, you mean. You don’t take weekends off. Which means I don’t, either.”
She frowned, easing into another lane of slow-moving traffic. “Well, that might have been true before. But I’m determined to make it a priority to enjoy some free time. I don’t want to wake up at eighty and realize I worked my life away.”
“I never thought I’d hear you say that. How surprising.”
“Realizing your only friends are people who get paid to talk to you will do that to a girl.”
Jackie laughed and her infectious giggle made Calista grin long-distance. “I thought it was your biological clock ticking away.”
“I’m not that old! I just need to expand my horizons,” she said huffily. But the thought had crossed her mind, right about the time her sister, Elaine, had given birth and Calista had seen the pictures of all her friends gathered to meet the new baby. Calista wanted a family, but she wanted the whole picture. She wanted the faith that brought fullness to life, and the friends to experience it all with her.
“And I mean it about the weekends. I might pop into the office on Saturdays but no more Sunday work. I want to get a real life.”
“Hey, as a card-carrying member of your current life, I don’t appreciate you getting a new one unless I’m in it. But this is sounding stranger and stranger.” Jackie’s voice was still light, but Calista knew her words concealed real worry. And she had cause to be worried because Calista had made no secret of how her hypocritical father had ruined her life.
“It’s a long story.”
“Then Monday it is, and be careful driving in that traffic,” Jackie said, sounding uncharacteristically maternal before she hung up.
Calista focused on the road in front of her and tried not to think of the horror stories she had told Jackie. None of them had been exaggerated.
Her father had been the most respected man in their dusty, Southern town, but he ruled their little house like a dictator. He acted loving and gentle in front of their church family, but told his own family when to eat, sleep and pray.
The blaze that burned her house to the ground and took her mama’s life told her for certain that God couldn’t be trusted. So, she would have to make her own way in the world, without His help. Her choices were either go to college or settle down with Ray Collier, the football coach’s son. Ray was a good guy, but he would never have been happy with her. She had too many opinions, and didn’t like football. Her sophomore year in college she heard he’d married Tina Bowdy, a pretty girl whose father owned the gas station. She hoped they were a lot happier than she had been the past fifteen years. But her unhappiness was her own fault. There was ambition, and then there was insanity.
As Calista turned the car into the private parking garage under her condo, she felt hope rising in her chest. The mission was going to be a good place to spread her wings. She could be wealthy and successful, and have a few friends, too. As Grant’s face crossed her mind, she willed it away. She wasn’t volunteering so she could meet a nice guy. Even if she never saw him again, she knew this was the beginning of something...something real, something she’d been missing so far. It was time to stop hiding who she was. She had been born for a purpose, and she was ready to find out what it was, even if it meant admitting to the world that she wasn’t the perfect woman they all knew as the VitaWow CEO.
Chapter Three
“You haven’t cashed my check.” The low growl on the other end of the phone set Grant’s teeth on edge.
“I tore it up. Don’t send another because I don’t want your money.” He worked to keep his voice steady and even, but his heart was pounding in his chest.
“You’re a fool. Or a liar. I’ve heard the mission is in big trouble. I know you need the cash.” A thick, mucusy cough followed the last word, and Grant flinched as the sound echoed in his ear.
“I do what’s best for the mission and that would never be accepting your money. You’d always be there, trying to worm your way into every decision I make.” His voice had risen higher as anger threatened to choke him. They’d had this conversation ten, twenty times. He was sick of it.
“You’re right. I’ll always be here, whether you take the money or not. But thanks for letting me know I need to have my accountant send another. This time, to the board.” Then there was silence.
Grant stared into space, then slowly replaced the receiver. The board consisted of nine very respected and dedicated professionals, from bankers to business owners to pastors. All good people who would wonder why Grant wouldn’t take money the mission desperately needed for repairs and upgrades. Especially from the state’s richest man. But he couldn’t. It was tainted, stained. It was money made off the backs of the poorest of the poor. Taking money from a man who wouldn’t even provide his workers with decent health insurance was like making a deal with the devil.
He dropped his head in his hands and groaned. Lord, I’m not asking for You to stop the sun from rising. I just want him to go away. He had his chance and blew it. Isn’t it enough that I forgive him?
The sudden sound of a throat being cleared, loudly, brought Grant’s head up with a snap. Jose was standing in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his thick arms folded over his chest. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Grant answered tersely. Jose had the habit of appearing and disappearing without a sound. He should put a cowbell on that kid.
“Alrighty then,” he said lightly, but his face was creased with concern. “Just wondering what you thought about the new chick.”
Grant struggled to regain his composure, feeling like a gorilla at the zoo who just had his cage rattled. He stood up and stretched. “She’s not a chick. And she seems all right. Should be good for office help, at least. She wanted to work in the cafeteria.”
Jose chuckled. “Yeah, that would have been a disaster. She’s so pretty the line would have taken forever. She’s like, more than the usual pretty.”
Grant didn’t want to discuss the “new chick” but he nodded. “Yup, certainly got blessed in that department. But she seemed sort of...” His mind thought back to the tapping foot, the arms wrapped around her middle.
“Nervous?”
“Right. Or sad. I don’t know.” He shrugged and checked his watch. “But then again, it was probably because her car might get broken into out in the parking lot.”
Jose’s eyebrows went up. “She has a sweet ride, for sure. But, boss...”
“Sorry.” Grant couldn’t shake off the irritation that wrapped itself around his neck like a scarf. He rubbed a hand against the base of his skull. “I’m just on edge. True, everyone carries a burden. We’ll probably never know the whole story because after Christmas, she’ll be gone.”
“She said that?”
“No, but you know how it goes. Guilt sets in, they come sign up for a few meals, then January hits and they feel better about themselves so they never come back. Until next November.”
Jose nodded. “Well, probably a good thing anyway.”
“Why? You know something I don’t?” No matter how careful or protective he was of the people here, there would always be those who came to prey on the weaker ones. He had set up several lines of defense with background checks, personal references and lots of observant employees. But there were cracks in every fortress.
“Nope. Just thinking she’s definitely your type.” Jose grinned and waggled his thick eyebrows.
“That’s unprofessional,” he said, frowning. Unprofessional and unsettling. She wasn’t anything like his type. He felt comfortable with women who were reserved, even a little distant. The woman who came here today was a bundle of emotions; they flickered across her face like pictures on a screen.
“Yeah, it is, but it’s still true. Plus, how would this place survive if you actually got a life?”
“I do have a life. It’s just very quiet.”
“You mean, boring.” And with that Jose popped back out.
Grant sighed and pushed back his chair, stretching his long legs out under the old wooden desk. He was busy. He didn’t have time for a girlfriend. At least, that’s what he told himself.
He rubbed a hand over his face. Sometimes, when it was just a little too quiet, he thought about his mother. A beautiful woman ruined by her addictions, heartbroken when she trusted the wrong person. She never stopped reminiscing over how rich his father was, how successful. It almost seemed as if she didn’t remember that he’d left her with nothing but a baby to raise. The memory of the fast cars, wads of cash and fancy parties blurred her focus, polluted her heart. The love of money was the root of all evil, right? Grant straightened his shoulders. He was never going to be sucked into that fantasy world. He was happy, right where he was.
His mind flicked toward the image of Calista’s face, her large green eyes sparkling with hope. He wished her well. He really did. But people like that didn’t stick around places like a homeless shelter. The pull of money was too strong. And money was one thing the mission didn’t have.
If God didn’t nudge somebody to donate really soon, and in a big way, they might not even have to worry about Christmas preparations. The mission would have to close. But he would do everything in his power to make sure that didn’t happen.
* * *
Calista slid her car into the open space at the parking garage behind the mission and tried to calm her pounding heart. She allowed a small smile to touch her lips as she thought of the irony of the situation. Just that morning she had brokered a huge deal with a company in Northern California. It had been months in the making and if it succeeded, their production and distribution would be on the fast track to making VitaWow a nationwide phenomenon. Before ten this morning, she was CEO to a company that was a regional star. After ten, she was CEO to a company that could be as widely recognized as Coca-Cola in just a few years.
The irony of her anxiety now was that she hadn’t felt a bit uncomfortable going into a meeting that could decide the fate of her company. She knew business and marketing, she understood the language and the terms. More than all of that, she had a gift for business. Calista took another deep breath and shook her head.
But this mission gig had her stomach in knots. Definitely out of the comfort zone, right where God wanted her.
The short walk to the front doors of the lobby seemed to take forever but finally Calista stepped into the warmth. She headed for Lana’s desk, unbuttoning her bright red wool peacoat on the way.
The secretary glanced up and raised a hand. “Glad to see you. You’re early. I just love early people.”
Calista felt her heart lift. Lana sounded like she really was glad to see her. “I was raised in a family of chronically late people so I rebel by arriving just a bit early,” Calista said, trying not to look toward Grant’s office. She wondered if he was at the mission, or if he was in a meeting somewhere, and then was irritated at herself for wondering.
“Just a bit early is perfect. Then there are those people who come twenty minutes early for everything.” Lana rubbed the spiky ends of her hair, and Calista recognized the gesture from her last visit.
“What do you need me to do today?”
“Thanksgiving is a really busy time for us. Not just for meals. There’s lots of paperwork. It would be a relief to have someone do a little filing. We have a skeleton crew for the office right now, since two of our part-timers left for other positions.”
“You’re at the front desk a lot of the time?”
“Right, so when I’m out here, I can’t be in there,” she said, waving a hand toward the locked door on the right.
Calista’s mouth went dry and she cleared her throat. “So, I’ll be working with you at the desk, or back in the offices?” She added hastily, “I can answer phones, too. If you show me your system.” She actually hadn’t worked a switchboard since college but the thought of working in close quarters with Grant sent a thrill of alarm through her.
“Because of privacy issues, you should probably work in the office area. We can have you organize files into specific cabinets, without having to look at the papers, since they’re all color-coded.”
Calista nodded, resigned to the fact she was going to bump into the man. She would just have to get a grip. “I’m ready,” she chirped, hoping she was convincing enough.
Lana must have thought so, because she pushed a button on her phone and said, “Grant, Calista’s here.”
“Be right out.” The answering voice was familiar, in a tinny way.
Lana let go of the button. “Thanks again for the help. You’re saving me a headache.”
She smiled automatically but her mind was whirling. “Jose’s not here? I would think Grant’s way too busy to show me the filing system.”
“He’s here, but the director asked to be the one to show you around the offices.” Lana’s words were followed by the appearance of the man himself.
Calista heard the door, and turned her head in time to see him open the door with speed. He looked a little harried, his red tie crooked and crisp white shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.
He was happy to see her. At least, his expression changed from something like worry to pleasure. His lips quirked up and his eyes radiated warmth. She couldn’t stop herself from responding. It had been so long since anyone had looked happy to see her. She let her eyes drift over him for the briefest moment and then clamped down hard on any desire to give a closer examination.
“Glad you’re back. Come on in,” he said, motioning her through the door.
It was just a common phrase, but her smile only got bigger. It was like she’d swallowed a happy pill.
“I’ll show you the offices first, then the general meeting rooms and the break room.” He strode down a carpeted hallway and stopped at the first door, knocking lightly.
The affirmative answer from the inside sounded muffled, and she saw why when Grant pushed open the door. Jose was crouched near the desk, piles of power cords in his hands.
“This power strip is dead. I’ll have to get another from the supply closet. Maybe they only last a few—” His sentence trailed off as he finally caught a glimpse of his audience. “Hey, Calista. Glad to see you back.”
“Hi there,” she responded, grinning. Three people had welcomed her in less than ten minutes. She felt all warm and fuzzy inside. It had been a very long time since anybody had said “hey” to her. People didn’t say “hey” to the CEO.
“Jose’s office. He oversees the group that works with the food boxes distributed to needy families. He also organizes social activities for the residents.”
“Yup. And I say we spring for a real Santa this year. The kids are starting to suspect the truth when Santa has a Tex-Mex accent.” He grabbed his stomach and tried a few “ho ho ho” sounds.
Grant laughed and waved a hand. “You know you love it. All right, on to the next stop.”
The next door was an empty office that had a high window with a pulled shade. “One of our three empty offices. Soon to be filled, God willing. The person here handles class scheduling and addiction support. The main counselors and teachers are doing well right now, but it helps to have a manager type to handle any conflicts.”
Another short walk to the next door and Grant pushed it open without knocking. “My office. Lana started calling it my ‘man cave’ after Jose brought in a small fridge.”
“Got it stocked with beer for those slow afternoons?” She chuckled to herself the split second before she realized her mistake. “Oh, Grant. Sorry. That was stupid.” His mother was an alcoholic, Grant didn’t drink, and she’d just made a beer joke. She wanted to fall through the floor.
To her relief he seemed to shrug off the insensitive comment. “No big deal. And no beer.”
Calista gazed around the space and wondered why Grant didn’t have a nicer office. As the director, he needed to give the impression that he was the head of a thriving organization. People donated to the cause they thought would succeed—it was human nature. Maybe it was because the donors always met in the conference rooms. Or maybe with nonprofits, it might not work as well to flash too much wealth. In her world, understated luxury was the only way to go.
His office was more than understated; it was shabby. An older-than-Methuselah desk, a battered chair, a few framed photos, his diplomas and the small fridge.
“How long have you been here?”
“Five years as director, about eight altogether.”
“And you don’t even have a plant?” She turned to him with a curious look.
To her surprise, he flushed. “I should make it a little homier, considering all the time I spend in here.”
Calista nodded. “I don’t know much about charities, but if you’re bringing donors through this hallway to get to the boardroom, you had better keep this door closed.”
He let out a sound that was more of a startled cough. “I don’t think it’s all that bad, personally.”
“It’s not bad. But it doesn’t look good. And donors will judge the entire mission on you and your space.” She surveyed the room once more. “Maybe a nice framed photo of the staff, right here, that you could see when you passed down the hallway.”
Grant frowned. Putting money into furnishings when there were people who didn’t even have shoes was unthinkable. And a photo? He hated anything done for show. It smacked of insincerity to have a photo taken of his staff, even though they were his friends, just to show it off to donors. But he tried to take a mental step back and look at her advice with a cool head. He knew better than anybody that donors saw him and the mission as inseparable. He was the human face they could put on the problems of hunger and homelessness in their community.
“I suppose I can see your point. I’ll look for something that might go in that spot. I appreciate the advice.”
People didn’t usually thank her for the advice she handed out. Probably because she made it a habit to break the cardinal rule of giving advice: wait for someone to ask. She turned, surprised and ready with a quick retort if she saw the faintest suggestion of sarcasm.
Their eyes met. Time seemed to slow as he stood very still. His gaze wandered down to her mouth. It had been so long since any man had looked at her like that and she read in his blue eyes exactly what was going through his mind.
He moved a half inch forward. Calista felt a thrill course through her and couldn’t stop her breath from catching in her throat. The tiny noise she made seemed to remind him where they were and what they were doing. He blinked, and his gaze flashed back to the empty spot on the wall.
He cleared his throat and stepped back into the hallway. “I’ll show you the filing room so you can see the mess we have in there.” His voice was rough.
Calista nodded, following his lead without comment. She really needed to get a grip. All of this talk about purpose and change, but here she was ogling the director. Of course, there were some major sparks flying, but the poor man had enough on his plate without adding a woman like herself to it. She trudged behind him down the hallway, barely listening while making appropriately interested sounds. Everything about Grant Monohan made her want to be a better person, and that meant learning not to indulge every wish and whim. Not something she was really used to, but she was determined to make herself useful at the mission...and stay out of his way.
* * *
Grant struggled to put words together as he led Calista down the hallway toward the file room. His mind churned as he pointed out stacks of loose files, gave her a quick tutorial and then made as quick an exit as was humanly possible.
He reentered his office and shut the door, leaning heavily against it. What on earth had just happened there? One minute she was giving him sound business advice, and then next he was about to make a move on the pretty new volunteer. He felt a shiver of fear run through him. Maybe all the stress of making their low funds stretch through the holidays was messing with his head. Maybe he needed to get some counseling to make sure he was staying on track.
And being seconds from kissing a woman in his office was about as offtrack as he could get.
He didn’t even really know much about her, except she was smart, bossy and emotionally vulnerable in a way that made him want to protect her from the world. But she didn’t need him to do that. Rich people just hired someone to protect them. Grant rubbed his temples and tried to corral his thoughts.
In a job like this, you had to understand the danger of becoming too emotionally close to the people who needed your help. It was okay to make friends, to give support and encouragement; it wasn’t okay to let attraction lead to actions. To be fair, it was definitely a mutual attraction. The way her eyes looked at him told him that.
And she wasn’t a resident or someone in need of counseling. But she had already said she was working her way back from some kind of traumatic past. Her faith was new, untested. He had no right to get in the way of what God was working in her heart. It was too much, too soon. The “new chick” was going to have to find her way without any of his attention. Plus, he had bigger problems on his plate, starting with a leaky roof and a Thanksgiving dinner for five hundred. After that, he had to take another look at the financials. If anything else went wrong, anything at all, their reserves would be tapped out.
Chapter Four
Calista’s usual morning routine began with two pieces of seven-grain toast, some orange juice and a long run on her treadmill. This Wednesday was no different, except that she pounded out a solid five miles with an overwhelming feeling of happiness. The awesome view of the Rocky Mountains never got old. She couldn’t wait for the next snowfall, a few days from now, if the forecast was right. Last year she’d been too busy to enjoy any of it, practically living at the office. But this year would be different.
It would be the perfect winter moment: watching big flakes drifting past her tenth-floor windows as she read in her favorite chair, wrapped in a cozy blanket and sipping hot chocolate. In her mind’s eye, there was someone new in the picture. Someone tall, handsome, caring. Calista shook her head and turned off the treadmill. Grant was never going to end up in her condo, sipping hot chocolate or not. To him, the luxury high-rise would be a disgusting waste of money.
Mimi wandered into the kitchen and surveyed her domain from the end of her squashed and furry nose. Cruella De Vil could have learned a thing or two from Mimi. The cat was bad to the core. Deceptively sweet on the outside, Mimi would wait for Calista to leave before she took her revenge, usually by chewing on her nicest pumps.
Calista put out a tentative hand, hoping for the hundredth time that they could be friends. The Siamese cat waited for her to get closer, then darted forward with lightning speed to nip Calista’s fingers with her tiny, sharp teeth. She yelped and snatched her hand back. Mimi made a slow-motion about-face and presented her fluffy behind before she sidled out of the kitchen.
Calista sighed, and headed for the master bathroom.
After her shower, she decided on a simple tailored white shirt and khaki pants. She let her blond hair dry naturally so it curled a bit and swiped on a light pink lipstick.
Calista took a long look in the mirror. She tilted her head and squinted, watching little crow’s-feet appear at the corners of her large green eyes. She had always taken care of her skin and watched her weight, but no more than most women. Calista knew she had a lot of spiritual work to do but at least she wasn’t obsessed with her appearance.
It was a strange feeling, looking at her own personality under the microscope. She’d spent so many years gliding by on power and position that she wasn’t even sure what her weaknesses were.
She closed her eyes for a moment, praying that God would reveal her faults to her. Just not all at once, please, she thought hastily. Maybe she could tackle one issue a month. And this month would be...being a better friend. She opened her eyes and grinned at her reflection. This would be the ultimate makeover, from the heart on out.
* * *
“Glad to see you this morning,” Grant said.
Calista knew it was just words, but she couldn’t help grinning every time he said it. “Thanks, I can’t seem to stay away.”
He reached out a hand and she responded, feeling the warmth and strength that she had missed ever since the first time they’d met. She struggled to sort her feelings, to narrow down the whirl of conflicting emotions. But all she could feel was the touch of his hand, and hear the steady beat of her heart against her ribs. As he let go, she noticed dark shadows under his eyes and there was a persistent frown line between his brows.
“Everything all right? You look tired.”
His shoulders straightened a bit and he glanced out the lobby window behind her, watching the residents filing in from the halls. “Fine. Just the busy season.”
“Does your family live around here?” As she asked the question, she wished she could snag back the words. He probably thought she wanted to know more about his alcoholic mother. Her cheeks went hot.
His gaze traveled back to her and he frowned, thinking. “My family...is here. At the mission.”
Well, that was clear enough. He could have waved a sign that said, “None of your business. Stop prying.” Calista nodded, biting her bottom lip.
“Mr. Monohan?” A young man with a long, lean face approached them. He was wearing one of the red polo shirts that identified him as a mission worker and it hung from his thin frame.
“Hi, Jorge.” Grant turned his attention to the mission worker. “What’s up?”
Deep brown eyes flitted to Calista and then away. He cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Your girlfriend is on the phone.”
Calista’s stomach suddenly fell to her feet. There was no reason on God’s green earth that she should feel anything at those words. She looked around desperately for Lana, and pretended she couldn’t hear the conversation only a foot away.
“My what?”
“Jennie Close, that lawyer? She said to tell you that your girlfriend was on the phone.” His eyes flickered nervously between Calista and Grant again.
Grant opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of what he was going to say. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”
Jorge nodded and slipped back through the door to the offices.
“Lana should be here in just a bit. She has some projects she wanted to show you.”
Calista forced a bright smile. “Great. I’ll wait right here.”
As Grant walked away, Calista felt her face grow hot. No wonder she was at her best in the boardroom. She was a total failure at normal conversation.
“Hey, Calista, did you want to grab some coffee with me in the cafeteria? Then I can show you the filing system.” Calista turned her head in surprise, then readjusted her gaze downward.
“Lana, that sounds great, actually.”
Lana wheeled past her, leading the way to the cafeteria. She handed Calista her badge on the way. “Here’s your ID. Go ahead and slip it on. You should have it visible at all times, especially since you don’t have a uniform.”
Calista took the square badge and slipped the lanyard over her neck. She was thankful she didn’t have to wear that awful uniform. Then she squashed the feeling down, irritated with her own shallowness. At least the shirts weren’t yellow. She looked awful in yellow.
They swiped the badges at the front and went to the coffee bar. Lana balanced her cup on a tray settled on her knees. Calista hovered, undecided, then said nothing. Lana had lots of practice carrying her own cup. She should probably just back up and let her do it.
Lana stopped at a table, scooted a chair to the side, then wheeled into place. “You’re a godsend for the mission, you know.”
Calista choked, the bitter liquid burning its way up her throat. She took a few seconds to clear her airway, her mind spinning. Of all the things she had expected Lana to say, this was close to last on a very long list. “Why do you say that?”
“Your business background. We’re in big trouble here and I think someone with your experience could get us back on track.”
Calista stared into her cup, watching the overhead lights shimmer on the black surface. “I hadn’t heard that. I don’t know anything about nonprofits. I wish I did, truly, but—”
“How different can it be? We need money, you know how to make money.” Lana leaned forward, her usually pleasant expression now serious. “Grant doesn’t want to alarm anyone, but this is the worst situation we’ve been in for years. Our funds have been low, but this is scraping the barrel.”
“What’s the problem? Did you have a big donor back out?”
Lana sighed. “The day-care area needed to be updated to keep in line with federal standards. Then we had to widen all the doorways and bathrooms for handicapped access.” She glanced up. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for being able to get to the bathroom. But the board thought we should widen everything, not just have one designated exit or bathroom on each floor. That was early this year. Right after that, the classrooms had to have all the electrical redone to be up to code. Then the state recommended every public space have an emergency contact system put in, so we had to put in a PA system.”
Calista nodded. Sometimes things snowballed and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. “So, how bad is it? The financial situation, I mean.”
“Bad. The roof is leaking, so it has to be fixed, and soon. We’ve got another four months of snow. We’ll have to close that building if we can’t fix the roof. Thanksgiving is a huge expense, and then winter comes right on top, so we’ll be full to the brim. If it was June, we could probably make it through. But as it is right now...” Lana’s light blue eyes dropped to her cup, her lips thinned out in a line. “Even with Christmas donations on the way, we won’t make it into December at this rate.”
A woman appeared behind Lana, her round face pocked with acne scars but her dark eyes were bright. “Lana? Jose needs you at the desk. There’s some question about the switchboard. They can’t transfer a call.”
Lana nodded. “I’m coming.” She motioned to her cup. “Finish your coffee. Come on back when you’re done.”
“Thanks,” Calista said and watched Lana push herself with powerful arms toward the doorway. She couldn’t shake the sense of alarm that threaded through her at Lana’s news. The mission had serious money issues and they thought she could help? How? A for-profit company sold stock or got investors and promised some kind of return. What kind of return was there in giving cash to a homeless shelter? No wealthy person she knew would be willing to donate the kind of money they needed. There was nothing in it for them.
Calista’s shoulders straightened. She would just have to figure something out. But first she needed to get a specific idea of what kind of numbers they were talking about. She glanced around, feeling like the new kid in junior high who had to eat lunch alone. The cafeteria had emptied considerably in the few minutes they’d been talking and the kitchen staff had come out to wipe down the tables and collect trays.
Marisol directed several groups in aprons as they cleared the food trays out of the warming areas. The small Hispanic woman was a blur of movement as she bustled between workers. She spotted Calista sitting alone at the table and paused, frowning. Seconds later she was standing before her, hands on hips, lined face creasing with displeasure.
“Did they go and leave you alone?”
Calista considered her options. She could rat out Grant and feel a little satisfaction after being dumped for Jennie-the-lawyer-but-not-girlfriend. Or she could be honest.
“Lana was here, but they needed her back at the desk.” She tried a placating tone, hoping for an undercurrent of nonchalance.
“That’s no excuse. Where Mr. Monohan?” If anything, Calista’s explanation made the frown even deeper.
“He got a phone call. It was Jennie, the girl you were asking about.” She had no idea if that would be helpful, but she felt as if she’d been called to the principal’s office.
The noise that came out of Marisol’s mouth made her think of an angry goose. An angry mama goose. “So! He leave you to go talk to the girl who says he love Jesus too much!”
Calista felt her face start to flush. The cafeteria crowd was sparse, but there were still a few curious looks being cast in her direction. “It’s fine, really. I don’t mind.”
Her dark head was cocked slightly, eyes appraising Calista. “Oh? You think he is too religious, like that crazy girl?”
Calista’s gaze swept the cafeteria for any sign of rescue in the form of Jose. “No, he’s perfect the way he is. And I don’t mind eating by myself.” Or she didn’t until the cafeteria matron came to give her a hard time.
As if someone had flipped a switch, Marisol dropped her fists from her hips and slid into the seat across from her. “I’m sorry if I make you feel upset. I want him to have a family, a wife who love him, but he is so busy.”
At least she knew when to back down. Her cheeks still felt hot but Calista said, “That’s all right. I can tell you care about him.”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Monohan save my life.” She said this as if she was simply giving the time of day.
* * *
Grant laid the phone in its cradle and dropped his head in his hands. What an awkward conversation. He never wanted to repeat anything like it, ever. Jennie wanted to give it—them—another shot and well, he didn’t.
Jose peeked in the door and gave him a sympathetic glance. “Looks like that went about as well as I thought it would.”
“Yeah, you called it.” Grant stared at the desktop, shoulders slumped. “I’ll have to call Eric and tell him he’s banned from setting me up with anyone, ever again.”
“It’s not his fault. You have to admit, she’s pretty good-looking.”
Grant frowned. “So, how did you know that she...?”
“Wasn’t your type?” Jose sidled a glance at him and then chuckled at his boss’s irritated expression.
“Right. Did you give her a personality test when I wasn’t watching?”
“She wasn’t interested in the mission. Just you. And that was never going to work.”
“Not interested? Why else would she be here? I’m pretty good at spotting the fakers and the takers.” He’d spent close to ten years at the mission, on and off, and after awhile he could smell a user at fifty yards. Not a drug user, but a people user. Although he’d gotten pretty good at spotting the addicts, as well.
“Simple.” Jose’s black eyes were restless, like a bird’s, as he glanced around the lobby. “She never tried to talk to anybody else but you. Not the kids, not the staff, not Lana or Michelle or Lissa, or the residents.”
“I can’t believe that she never talked to anybody. There are hundreds of people here every day.”
“I didn’t say she didn’t talk to them. I said she didn’t try.”
Grant frowned, trying to remember. “Well, make sure you use your superpowers the next time, okay? You can save me some time.”
He turned to see a huge grin spread over Jose’s face. “Now what?”
“You sure you want me to put on my cape and tell you who to ask out?”
Grant rolled his eyes. “Sure, why not? Just don’t make the list too long. I’m not made of money, you know.”
“How about the new volunteer?”
“Oh, right.” Grant paused, struggling to come up with a reason that Calista was not his type. He decided not to argue with the type just yet. “Well, I don’t think it’s a great idea to be using the new volunteers as my personal dating pool. Eric introduced Jennie and me, so it was all right for us to go out socially.”
Jose continued to grin. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on his heels, looking like a man who knew more than was good for him.
“And then there’s the matter of faith.” Grant wouldn’t normally share that kind of conversation, but Jose was killing him with that smug expression. “She just said that she’s new to all of this. That’s how she said it. All of this.” Grant waved a hand, indicating the cross on the wall, the lobby, everything.
“That’s a bad thing? I’d rather have a fiery convert than a lukewarm cradle Christian.”
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Virginia Carmichael
SHELTER FOR EVERYONE As the holiday season approaches, wealthy CEO Calista Sheffield wants to give instead of receive. So she volunteers at a downtown Denver shelter, never expecting that her own scarred heart will be filled with hope and healing. The mission’s director, handsome Grant Monohan, has devoted his life to helping those in need.But his harrowing past—and what he sees every day—makes him wary of Calista. Unless she shares her painful history, he’ll never believe they can have a future. But a future with Grant at the shelter is the only Christmas gift Calista truly wants.
This Christmas, we’ve got some fabulous treats to give away! ENTER NOW for a chance to win £5000 by clicking the link below.
www.millsandboon.co.uk/ebookxmas (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk/ebookxmas)
Shelter For Everyone
As the holiday season approaches, wealthy CEO Calista Sheffield wants to give instead of receive. So she volunteers at a downtown Denver shelter, never expecting that her own scarred heart will be filled with hope and healing. The mission’s director, handsome Grant Monohan, has devoted his life to helping those in need. But his harrowing past—and what he sees every day—makes him wary of Calista. Unless she shares her painful history, he’ll never believe they can have a future. But a future with Grant at the shelter is the only Christmas gift Calista truly wants.
“After spending the day with business people, these kids are a treat,” Calista said.
She turned serious for a moment. “They’re honest. And they don’t care what you’re wearing or what kind of car you drive.”
Grant wanted to say something, but he couldn’t seem to form words. Calista’s face shone with that fragile sweetness he’d seen the first day she came to the mission.
“And they don’t care who your parents are,” he added, his voice sounding huskier than he intended.
“Exactly.” Her gaze locked on his. “I always thought that verse about being like little children meant we were supposed to be gullible. But it really meant that we needed to believe first, and doubt later.”
“Sort of the way that little kids love you first and ask questions later?”
Her face lit up at his words. “That’s just what I mean.”
Love first, and ask questions later. Great for kids, but it was the very worst advice he’d heard for adults.
And still, that’s what was happening in his heart.
About the Author
VIRGINIA CARMICHAEL was born near the Rocky Mountains, and although she has traveled around the world, the wilds of Colorado run in her veins. A big fan of the wide-open sky and all four seasons, she believes in embracing the small moments of everyday life. A home-schooling mom of six young children who rarely wear shoes, those moments usually involve a lot of noise, a lot of mess, or a whole bunch of warm cookies. Virginia holds degrees in Linguistics and Religious Studies from the University of Oregon. She lives with her habanero-eating husband, Crusberto, who is her polar opposite in all things except faith. They’ve learned to speak in short-hand code and look forward to the day they can actually finish a sentence. In the meantime, Virginia thanks God for the laughter and abundance of hugs that fill her day as she plots her next book.
Season of Joy
Virginia Carmichael
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
I have other sheep that do not belong to this fold. These also I must lead, and they will hear my voice, and there will be one flock, and one shepherd.
—John 10:16
This book would not exist if not for the support of many different people, old and young, near and far. Thank you to my daughters Isabel and Ana for being my beta readers. I’m sorry for the smooching. It just had to be in there somewhere. For Jacob, Sam, Edward and Elias, thank you for every time I asked for one more minute to write and you ignored me. Cruz, I want to say Marisol’s food terms came from Google. Really. Thank you to my sister Susan who never reads this kind of book but was willing to put in serious time proofreading and giving comments. If I could write a good ghost story, I would, but that gene was passed to you alone. Thank you to my brother Dennis for making time to read and comment on all sorts of things, giving tech advice, big business advice and keeping a sense of humor through it all. For my brother Sam, who always keeps a clear view of what’s important in life, sort of like Grant. For my parents, Murphy Carmichael and Bonnie Reinke, thank you for raising me in a house with more books than our local library. Bibliophiles unite!
Most of all, thank you to the fine ladies over at Seekerville.com who started this ball rolling in the first place. Your constant encouragement and advice is invaluable.
Contents
Chapter One (#u130a0c16-d9bb-5e15-ac33-98f1abb8647b)
Chapter Two (#u08ed625b-eb13-5169-8b9a-2557a20ff03a)
Chapter Three (#u5d3cc7d3-1123-5b3d-a5b6-e53bdc9ad791)
Chapter Four (#u0a65df1c-5b36-5b42-9a3f-f01856a743c9)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Questions for Discussion (#litres_trial_promo)
Teaser Chapter (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
A dark tidal wave of fear swept through Calista Sheffield as she paused at the door of the Downtown Denver Mission. She took a deep breath and wiped damp palms on the legs of her jeans. Her image was reflected in the glass door as clearly as in a mirror, the bright Rocky Mountain sunshine as backlighting. Giving her casual outfit a quick scan, she tucked a strand of honey-blond hair behind her ear and tugged at the hem of her black cashmere sweater. She prayed no one in the shelter would be able to tell the difference between Donna Karan and a knockoff, because she wasn’t here to impress anyone. She was here to volunteer.
Her reflection showed a pair of large green eyes shadowed with anxiety. Calista squinted, hating her own weakness. There was no reason to be afraid when she ran a multimillion-dollar company. She gripped the handle and swung it open, striding inside before the heat escaped.
The exterior of the five-story mission was a bit worse for wear, but the inside seemed clean and welcoming. In the center of the enormous lobby, a tall pine tree bowed under the weight of handmade ornaments and twinkling lights. Calista’s gaze darted toward a group of men clustered near the double doors at the far end. Probably the cafeteria. Maybe she was just in time to help serve a turkey dinner with trimmings. A vision of handing a plate piled high with steaming mashed potatoes and gravy to some desperate soul passed through her mind’s eye. This was going to be great.
No, this was going to be more than great; the start to a whole new life. Not like the lonely existence she had right now with only her passive-aggressive Siamese cat for company. No more pretending she had somewhere to go on Thanksgiving, then suffering through everyone else’s happy chatter after the holiday. It was her own fault for letting work take over her life, but that was all in the past.
This Christmas would be different.
Calista scanned the lobby for a secretary. The long, curving desk spanned the area between the elevator and far wall, but it was empty. An oversize wooden cross took center stage on a staggered section of ceiling that connected the lobby to the upper level. A small smile tugged at her lips, thinking of how that sight would have made her cringe just a few months ago.
A young man with the mission staff uniform and close-cropped dark hair exited the double doors, papers in hand. Calista stepped forward into his path.
“Excuse me, I need to see Grant Monohan,” she said, in the tone she reserved for secretaries and assistants. Her eyes flicked from his deep brown eyes to the ID badge pinned to his shirt to the solid pattern of colorful tattoos that covered both of his arms from biceps to wrist.
He paused, frowned a little, glanced back at the empty desk.
“The director,” Calista added, hoping she wasn’t speaking the wrong language. His dark coppery skin and angular features made her think of paintings she’d seen of the Mayans.
“Just let me drop these papers in the office and I’ll tell him you’re here,” he said, waving the stack of papers at her. He started off again without waiting for a response and punched in a series of numbers at the keypad by the far door.
The brown patterned couches were arranged in groups of three but none of them were occupied, except the very last one, near the large windows that faced the street. An older woman sat hunched in the corner, rocking and murmuring to herself. Her brown shawl slipped off one shoulder and pooled at her feet like a stain. Dark tangles framed a wrinkled, but somehow expressionless, face. Calista swallowed a sudden wave of anxiety.
A door swung open to her right and a wheelchair-bound woman rolled to a stop behind the desk. Her short gray hair was spiked on top and touched with violet. She maneuvered to the middle of the desk just as the phone rang.
“Downtown Denver Mission, this is Lana. How may I help you?” she responded in a cheerful tone.
None of this should have made her feel queasy, but the combination of the rocking elderly woman, the young man’s tattoos and the purple-haired handicapped woman had Calista struggling with her resolve. She wandered toward the windows and gazed out at the snowy sidewalk, taking deep breaths. Life isn’t pretty, she should know that. But after ten years of clawing her way to the top of the business world, Calista had buried any memories she had of imperfection. Memories of her own rough childhood in a place where there were worse things than purple hair and tattoos.
“Ma’am?” She snapped into the present at the word spoken quietly behind her. The young man was back. “The director is just finishing up but he can see you for a few minutes before his next appointment. Go ahead and have a seat.”
Calista nodded and smiled brightly. “Thank you,” she chirped, hoping she oozed positivity and enthusiasm. They wouldn’t want unhappy people around here. She was sure they had enough of those already.
* * *
Grant Monohan checked the balance-sheet numbers for the third time. He knew better than to get upset at the decreasing number in black and the increasing number in red. The shelter scraped by most of the year until they got to the season of giving, or the “season of guilting,” as Jose called it. God had provided every day of the past seventy-five years, so he wasn’t going to start worrying now.
A light knock at the door and Jose popped his head in. “We got another one.”
Grant wanted to roll his eyes but he nodded instead.
“Actress?” Aspen’s popularity had been great for them, even all the way out here in Denver. The megarich had started to settle in the area a decade ago and it showed right around the holiday season. Every year, right when the store windows changed to sparkly decorations and Santas, the famous faces started appearing. Most were dragged in by agents or managers, but a few came on their own. They would spend a few days, sign some autographs and go away feeling good about themselves. He wasn’t one to turn away help, especially when it came with good publicity and a donation, but it got real old, real fast. Last year they had a blonde starlet stumble in with a twenty-person entourage. Most of them were as high as she was. He cringed inside, remembering the scene that erupted as he informed them of the “no alcohol, no drugs” policy.
“Not sure. She’s pretty enough but she came alone.” Jose shrugged. Grant wished he would come all the way in, or open the door wider, but Jose always seemed to be in constant motion. It was all the kid could do to hold still for a few minutes.
“Why didn’t Lana call back here?”
He shrugged again. “The lady just came up to me and said she had to see the director.”
Grant frowned, wondering if it was worse to have a volunteer who demanded special treatment, or a volunteer who ignored the disabled secretary. He stood up and stretched the kinks from his back. Maybe he’d look into a better chair after the crazy holiday rush was over. The ratty hand-me-down was obviously not made for a six-footer like himself. Or maybe turning thirty was the start of a long, slow slide into back trouble.
“Tell her I’ll be right out.” Jose’s head disappeared from the doorway. Grant crossed the small office space and absently checked his reflection in the mirror near the door. He was looking more and more like his father every year. Women told him what a heartthrob he was, like a classic movie star. They never knew how close they were to the truth. But what he saw—instead of the dark wavy hair, strong jaw and broad shoulders—was the man who walked away from his mother when he was just a kid. Grant shook his head to clear it. All things are made new in You, Lord. He had a heavenly father who would never run away and he needed to remember that.
Grant pushed open the heavy metal door and stepped into the lobby, letting the door close with a thud behind him. It wasn’t hard to pick out the new volunteer. It wouldn’t have been hard to spot her in a crowd at the Oscars, she was that pretty. She had the California party-girl look with an added healthy glow, but had wisely left the party clothes at home.
At least she was dressed conservatively. If you could call cashmere and designer jeans conservative. He sighed. Rich people could be so clueless. He watched her for a few moments as she stood near the window, arms wrapped around her middle. She sure didn’t have the confidence of a professional actress. Unless the whole nervous attitude was an act.
She turned suddenly and looked straight into his eyes as if he had called her name across the lobby. Grant felt heat creep up his neck. He must look like a stalker, standing there silently. He strode forward, forcing a welcoming expression.
“Grant Monohan,” he said, extending his hand. She took it, and he was surprised by the steadiness of her grip.
“Calista Sheffield,” she answered. “Wonderful to meet you.” The name sounded familiar. Her smile was a bit too wide, as if she was worried about making the wrong impression. Or maybe she was turning on the star power. As if that sort of thing worked on him.
“Jose told me you wanted to see me. Would you like to sit down?”
She frowned down at the couch and said, “You don’t meet with anyone in your office?”
“Actually, I don’t. We have meeting rooms for groups, and we have a reception area. There’s another building at the south end of the block that we use for most of our administration needs.”
There was a pause as she tilted her head and regarded him steadily. He could see her processing that information. “Is it a shelter policy?”
She was quick, this one. “It is. To protect the residents and myself from accusations or suspicion. We have plans drawn up for a new office that will have glass partitions but that’s still a few years away.” He motioned toward the long lobby desk. “So, for now we have Lana get pertinent information on visitors first.”
She surprised him with a grin, green eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s usually the way it’s done, isn’t it?”
Grant hesitated, adjusting her age upward. Not for the laugh lines but for the gentle ribbing. He’d been told before he was slightly intimidating but she seemed able to hold her own.
“There was no one at the desk when I came in, so I just asked Jose.”
He gave another tally mark, this time for remembering Jose’s name. She might not be a total loss after all. He wasn’t such a fool to think she’d stay more than a few days, but maybe she could do more than sign photos.
Grant motioned to the clean but worn couch behind her. “Let’s sit down and you can tell me why you’re here.”
She settled on the edge, hands clutched together. Her anxiety was palpable. “I’d like to volunteer on a weekly basis. Not just for Thanksgiving or Christmas.”
He plopped into the corner of the couch angled toward hers, putting a good three feet of space between him and those green eyes. “Why?”
She opened her mouth, but then closed it again. He raised an eyebrow and waited patiently. She looked down at her hands, then up at him again, emotions flitting across her face. Confusion, sadness, yearning.
Grant wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her it was going to be okay. Shocked at how fast he’d forgotten his professional role, Grant frowned, eyes narrowing. She was good at playing the little lost girl, that was clear.
“Miss...” He struggled to remember anything more than those eyes trained on him.
“Sheffield,” she whispered.
“Miss Sheffield, let me tell you a little about the mission. We welcome any and all support. Seventy-five years of serving the community of downtown Denver has made our organization one of the most respected in the country. We provide shelter, addiction counseling, parenting classes, transport for schoolchildren and job training. There are five separate buildings and almost a hundred staff members.” He paused, making sure she was following him. “But everything we do here is aimed at one goal, meeting the deep spiritual needs of all people. We want to be the Gospel in action, be His hands and feet in this world.”
Usually at this point in his speech, the new recruit’s eyes glazed over. They nodded and smiled, waiting for him to finish. She leaned forward, eyes bright.
“So, you mean to say that you provide for the physical needs but the spiritual needs of the person are just as important?”
“Just as or more. If it makes you uncomfortable, there is also the Seventh Street Mission a few miles away. They are a very respected shelter that doesn’t adhere to any spiritual principles.”
“No, it doesn’t bother me at all,” she said, her whole face softening. Grant struggled to reclaim his train of thought. Maybe he needed a vacation, had been working too hard. He felt as if he was a knot with a loop missing and that smile was tugging him undone.
“Good,” he said, eyes traveling toward the plain cross on the balcony overhang. “That’s the only reason we’re here. The only reason I’m here.” He sure wasn’t in it for the money. He paused for a moment, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Did you have anything specific in mind?”
“What about the cafeteria?”
A vision passed before him of men, young and old, lined up for limp broccoli served by a stunning blonde, while the regular servers stood abandoned, lasagna pans growing cold. “How about intake or administration? You would be working with Lana to get the paperwork in order and maybe interview new visitors or assign sleeping places.”
She blinked and then nodded. “That sounds fine.”
“We’ll need to get some basic information and do a background check for security reasons. But you can start today, helping out in the cafeteria. We’ve got a lot of prep work for Thanksgiving.”
“Of course.”
“Lana can help with the details.” He stood, offering his hand once more. “It was a pleasure to meet you and I’m grateful for your willingness to serve the disadvantaged in our community.”
She stood, gripped his hand and whispered, “Thank you.”
Grant’s heart flipped in his chest as their hands met and he looked into her eyes. Her heart-shaped face shone with hope and her bright green eyes glittered with unshed tears. There was more going on here than a rich person’s guilty conscience.
But there was no way he was going to try to find out what. He had enough trouble keeping the mission afloat without adding a woman to the mix. Even a beautiful woman who reminded him that he might need something more than this place. Plus, with the secret he was carrying around, no woman in her right mind would want to get anywhere close.
* * *
Calista stood up, gripping the director’s hand, his movie-star good looks bearing down on her full force. The man should have a warning sign: Caution: Brain Meltdown Ahead. She could just see him in a promotional brochure, that slightly stern expression tempered by the concern in his eyes. He reminded her of someone, somehow.
But her heart was reacting to more than his wide shoulders or deep baritone. The man had sincere convictions, he had substance and faith. There was nothing more attractive, especially in her job, where image was everything. She wanted to have a purpose in her life beyond making money and losing friends. She wanted to wake up in the morning with more to look forward to than fighting with her board of directors and coming home to a cat who hated her guts.
She met his steady gaze and felt, to her horror, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to smile and thank him for the chance to work at the mission, but the words could barely squeeze past the large lump in her throat. Heat rose in her cheeks as she saw his look of confusion, then concern. He probably thought she was completely unstable, crying over a volunteer gig.
She dropped his hand and immediately wished she could take it back. His hand was warm and comforting, but electrifying at the same time. A short list of things she hadn’t felt in a very long time.
“Let’s go get those papers from Lana, all right?” His voice had lost its brusque tone somewhat, as if he was afraid of causing her any more distress.
Calista cleared her throat and said, “Lead the way.” She blinked furiously and turned toward the desk, hoping he couldn’t see her expression. If only he hadn’t sounded so sympathetic. If only he was pleasantly distant, the way a CEO is with employees. But he wasn’t like that; he wasn’t like her.
Grant introduced them quickly. Lana was ready with a stack of papers and handed them to Calista. She could see why the mission had a purple-haired secretary. The woman was efficient and friendly.
“Tell me when you need me and I can adjust my schedule pretty easily.” Calista bent over to fill out the papers. One of the perks of being CEO was she could take time off when she wanted some personal time. Not that she ever had before.
Grant’s eyebrows went up a bit. “We’re short-staffed right now and we could really use some help in the mornings. Maybe Wednesdays?”
“Sure, I can be here at seven.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wondered if that was too early. Maybe the staff didn’t get here until nine. But Grant only nodded, the corners of his mouth lifting the smallest amount. She wondered for just a moment what he looked like when he laughed...
Calista’s cheeks felt hot as she dropped her gaze to the papers. Grant turned away to speak to a slim young man who was waiting behind them and Lana took the papers, glancing over them. Her eyes stopped at the employment section. “You’re head of VitaWow Beverages? I could use someone with a knowledge of grant writing.”
“I’ve written a few grant applications but they weren’t for nonprofits. And it’s been a while.”
“It was worth a shot,” Lana said, shrugging and stacking the papers together.
“But I’m sure I could work on whatever you need,” Calista said quickly.
Lana looked up, and Calista saw genuine warmth in the woman’s eyes. “That’s the spirit,” she said. “We have a grant-writing team that meets on Thursday evenings. There are only two of them right now because it’s the holiday season and everybody’s busy. It would be great to get some of these applications turned in before the January deadlines. Is that a good day for you? They might change the meeting time if you can’t come then.”
“That’s fine. Thursday’s fine,” Calista said. Any evening was fine. Five years ago she’d been busy with the dinner-
and-drinks merry-go-round. Once she was promoted to CEO, she cut out almost all the dinners. Of course, after she’d done so, Calista realized her schedule was completely empty. She was friendless and alone.
“Grant is on the team, too. He can fill you in.”
“Does the director usually work in the evenings?”
Lana laughed, a lighthearted chuckle. “You don’t know the man. It’s all about the mission, all the time.” The smile slowly faded from her face. “I know he feels at home here, and we could never survive without him, but I wish...”
Calista waited for the end of the sentence, but Lana seemed to have thought better about what she was going to say. She regarded Grant, deep in conversation with the young man, and a line appeared between her brows.
“You’re afraid he’ll wake up one day and wished he’d put more time into his own life, something apart from the mission?”
“Exactly.” She appraised Calista with a steady eye. “You’re good at reading people.”
“I suppose I know what that feels like. And you’re right, it’s no fun.” Calista dropped her eyes to the desk, wondering what it was about this place that made her feel she could be honest. She wasn’t the CEO here, she was just a woman who had lost her place in the world.
She turned back to her paperwork and said, “I can find my way to the cafeteria—”
The end of her sentence was lost in the explosion of noise that accompanied a horde of children entering the lobby. They seemed to all be talking at once, the polished lobby floor magnifying the sounds of their voices to astounding levels. Just when Calista decided there was no one in charge of the swirling group of small people, two young women came through the entryway. One was short and very young, with a thick braid over her shoulder. The other was a powerfully built middle-aged woman with a wide face and large pale eyes. They were both wearing the mission’s khaki pants and red polos under their open coats. They were laughing about something, not concerned in the least that their charges were heading straight for the director.
“Mr. Monohan!” A small girl with bright pink sunglasses yelled out the greeting as she raced across the remaining lobby space. She didn’t slow down until she made contact with his leg, wrapping her arms around it like she was drowning. He didn’t even teeter under the full impact of the flying body, just reached down and laid a large hand on the girl’s messy curls.
A huge smile creased his face and Calista’s mouth fell open at the transformation. He was a good-looking man, but add in a dash of pure joy and he was breathtaking. She tore her gaze away and met Lana’s laughing eyes behind the desk. Of course, the secretary would think it was hilarious how women fell all over themselves in his presence. Calista gathered up the papers with a snap, when she realized she was surrounded. A sea of waist-high kids had engulfed them, with the two women slowly bringing up the rear.
She sidled a glance at Grant, hoping he would tell them to clear out and let her through. But he was busy greeting one child after another. How he could tell them apart enough to learn their names was really beyond her. They just seemed an endless mass of noise and motion, a whirl of coats and bright mittens.
“Miss Sheffield, this is Lissa Handy and Michelle Guzman. They take the preschoolers down the block to the city park for an hour every day.” He was still mobbed by coats and children calling his name, but his voice cut through the babble.
Calista raised one hand in greeting, trapped against the desk, but only Michelle waved back. Lissa seemed to be sizing up the new girl.
She stood with her arms folded over her chest, unmoving. But Michelle reached out and touched her on the shoulder. “It’s wonderful to have new volunteers,” she said, her voice warm and raspy, as if she spent too much time trying to get the kids’ attention. She smelled like fresh air and snow, and Calista smiled back. Her clear blue eyes reminded her of Mrs. Allen, her third-grade teacher. That kindhearted woman had given her confidence a boost when she was just like these little people.
“I don’t know how you keep them all from escaping. It must be like herding squirrels.”
Michelle laughed, a full-throated sound that came from deep inside. “You’re right. The key is to give them some incentive. They head to the park okay, and then I tell them we’re coming back, but Mr. Monohan will be here. Easy as pie.”
Calista glanced back at Grant, his wide shoulders hunched over a little girl who was excitedly describing something that needed lots of hand waving. He was nodding, his face the picture of rapt attention.
“He seems really good with the kids. Does he have any of his own?” She suddenly wished she could snatch the words back out of the air, especially since it was followed by a snort from Lissa.
Michelle ignored her partner’s nonverbal comment. “No, he’s never been married. I keep telling him he needs to find someone special and settle down. He was one of the youngest directors the mission had ever had when he started here, but this place can take over your life if you let it.”
“But that’s what he wants, so don’t stick your nose in.” So, Lissa did have a voice. A young, snarky voice, coming from a sullen face. She flipped her dark braid off her shoulder and stuck her hands in her pockets. Calista wondered how old Lissa was, probably not more than nineteen. Just the age when a girl might fall in love for the first time.
“You’ll understand when you’re older, Lissa. But there’s more to life than work, even if your work is filled with people like ours is here,” Michelle said.
Lissa’s face turned dark and threatening, like a storm cloud. “You always say stuff like that. I don’t think my age has anything to do with my brain.”
Spoken like a true teenager. Calista tried to smooth ruffled feathers. “Michelle’s right that everyone needs a family or friends separate from work.” Lissa’s face twisted like she was ready to pour on the attitude. Calista hurried to finish her thought. “But not everybody is happiest being married, with a family. Like me. I don’t think it would be fair to have a boyfriend when my work takes up so much of my time.”
Lissa’s eyebrows came up a little and she shrugged.
“But I could always use more friends.” That last part was a gamble, but Lissa seemed to accept it at face value. She relaxed a bit, the smile creeping back into her eyes.
“Don’t know why you’d be looking for friends at this place, though.”
Michelle gave Lissa a squeeze around the shoulders. “Come on, you found me here, right?” Lissa responded with an eye roll, but Calista could tell the young woman appreciated the hug and being called a friend.
“Fine, but we got enough pretty people in here slumming it for the holidays. We don’t need any more.”
“I can wear a bag over my face, if that helps.”
Lissa let out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, you do that. Maybe you’ll start a trend.”
“Maybe so.” Calista took one more glance back and started to laugh. Grant had a pair of bright pink sunglasses on his face and the kids were howling with laughter. Parents had started to show up to collect their children and they acted as if the scene wasn’t unusual at all.
“Those are Savannah’s glasses. She never goes anywhere without them. He’s sure got a silly side,” Michelle said, chuckling. “But you’d never know it at first glance.”
No, you wouldn’t. Not with that frown and the serious gaze. As if he could feel her looking at him, Grant glanced up and she saw the smile slip from his face. Calista felt her heart sink. Then again, she wasn’t here to get a boyfriend or find true love. She was here because her life had become a self-centered whirlpool of ambition, with her swirling around at the bottom like a piece of driftwood.
Grant seemed to come to some kind of decision. He waded through the kids until he was standing next to them. “Miss Sheffield, it’s almost lunchtime. Why don’t you come in for something to eat and then I can introduce you to the kitchen staff?”
Calista darted a glance at Lissa. The teen probably thought Calista had been angling for an invitation all along. But she couldn’t resist jumping at the chance to get to know this man better. She nodded quickly and he turned toward the far side of the lobby.
“Is there a kid version of catnip? If there is, you must be stuffing your pockets with it.”
“Nope, I just listen to them. It’s funny how many people forget that kids need someone to hear them,” he said, his words serious, but a grin spread over his features.
At that moment, as they stood smiling at each other, the other side of the cafeteria door swung open and nearly knocked Calista off her feet.
“Watch out! You shouldn’t stand in front of the door,” an old man shouted at her as she stumbled, struggling to regain her balance.
“Duane, please keep your voice down.” Calista could tell Grant was angry, maybe by the way his voice had gone very quiet and dropped an octave or two. “Are you all right?” He reached out and rubbed her left shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the impact.
She nodded slowly, distracted less by the pain than by the warmth of his hand. “Fine, not a problem.” Meeting the old man’s eyes, she was surprised to see such animosity reflected there. “I’m sorry I was standing behind the door.” When both sides were at fault, it was always best to be the first to offer an apology.
But if she was hoping for reciprocation, it didn’t come. He blinked, one eye milky-white while the other was a hazy-blue, and sniffed. “You’re still standing here and I gotta get through.”
Calista moved to the side immediately and let him pass. As they walked through the doors into the full dining hall, she glanced back at Grant. “Off to a good start, don’t you think?”
Again that warm chuckle. She could get used to hearing that sound, even if she couldn’t get used to the way it ran shivers up her spine.
“I think we’re off to a great start,” he said, and something in his tone made her look up. His smile made her heart jump into her throat and he stepped near. Although she knew the whole cafeteria was watching behind them, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his.
Calista watched those blue eyes come closer, her heart pounding in her chest. Her brain seemed to have shorted out somewhere between the shoulder rub and the chuckle.
Grant leaned forward, his gaze locked on hers, and then he looked directly behind her. “Scan it twice, please. She doesn’t have her guest pass yet.”
Calista blinked and turned to see him holding out a security badge with a small photo in the middle. A pretty young woman sitting at a small table took the badge without comment and passed it twice through a card reader. Her dark eyes flicked up and down Calista’s outfit, then handed Grant the security badge.
“We use visitor passes to keep track of how many meals are served,” he explained.
“I see,” she said in a bright tone, but clenched her jaw at her own stupidity. Was she so lonely that any good-looking
man caused her brain to shut down? Did she think he was leaning over to kiss her, in the doorway of the mission dining hall? She was so angry at herself that she wanted to stomp out the door. Except she had vowed to do something useful. Which did not include mooning over the director.
She stood for a moment and gazed around at the dining hall. It was much bigger than the lobby and had an assortment of elderly, teens, women, men and what seemed like a hundred babies crying in unison. The noise was horrible but the smell wasn’t bad, not even close to what she remembered from “mystery casserole” day in grade school. The rich scent of coffee, buttery rolls, eggs, sausages and something sweet she couldn’t identify made her mouth water.
“I haven’t eaten with this many people since college.” She peered around. “Is there a cool kids’ table?”
He grinned. “Sure there is, but I don’t sit there.” He led her forward to the long line of glass-fronted serving areas. “Here are the hot dishes. We try to keep it as low-fat as possible. Over there—” he pointed to a wall that held row after row of cereal dispensers “—are the cold cereals and bowls. The drinks are self-serve, at the end of the row. Milk, juice, coffee, tea, hot chocolate. We don’t serve soda anymore.”
Calista nodded. “I see that trend a lot.”
“In schools? I’m sorry. I didn’t catch what you do.”
“I’m the CEO of VitaWow.” She felt her cheeks heat a little at the words and was surprised. She was proud of her job, of how she’d turned the company into a national brand. But standing here, in this place, it didn’t seem as important.
She watched his eyes widen a little. “I’ve heard good things about your company. Didn’t the city honor VitaWow with a business award?”
“Best of the best.” She liked saying the words, and couldn’t help the small smile. “I’m proud of our product and our commitment to health. But I also care about our employees. We have excellent benefits and give every employee a free pass to Denver’s biggest fitness center.”
He smiled, and she was struck once more by the difference it made. He seemed like a friend, the kind she wished she had.
Calista nodded.
“Our main goal is to provide a safe place where people can fill their spiritual needs. But we also want to make sure the people have healthy food that gives them a good start to the day.”
He lifted a tray from the stack and handed it to her. “I don’t recommend the hash browns but the breakfast burritos aren’t too bad.”
“I like having a food guide.” A quick peek at the hash browns supported his opinion. They were soggy and limp. The metal serving dish was full, proving the rest of the cafeteria avoided them, too.
He moved down the line behind her, sliding his tray along the counter. “If that’s a job offer, I have to warn you that I have great benefits here. Unlimited overtime, my own coffee machine, a corner office with a wonderful view of the parking lot.”
Calista couldn’t help laughing as she spooned a bit of scrambled egg onto her tray. “Sounds like my job, except I have a view of the roof of the building next door. And lots of pigeons to keep me company.”
A short, wiry woman smiled at him as he reached for a biscuit. “Mr. Monohan, is good to see you having breakfast. You have to eat and keep strong.” Her softly curling hair was covered by a hairnet and she wore a brightly colored apron that was missing one large pocket in the front.
“Marisol, this is Calista Sheffield. She’s a new volunteer.”
Calista hoped the emotion that flickered over the lined face was curiosity, and not skepticism. “We can always use more of those, eh, Mr. Monohan?” The thick accent was a bit like Jose’s but more lyrical, as if she was more used to singing than speaking.
“We sure can. When are you going to cook me some of your arroz con pollo? I’ve been dreaming of it all week.”
Marisol beamed with pleasure. “Anytime, Mr. Monohan, anytime. You tell me and I cook you a big dinner. Maybe you bring a friend, too? How ’bout that nice Jennie girl?”
Calista studied the biscuit on her tray, wishing she couldn’t hear this conversation.
“Sadly, Mari, I don’t think there’s much future for us,” Grant said, sounding not at all sad about it.
“Oh, no.” She wagged her finger over the glass case at him. “You let her get away. I told you, she’s a nice girl and you work too much.” She seemed honestly grieved by this new development.
“You wouldn’t want me to be with the wrong girl, would you, Marisol? And she wasn’t right for me.” Calista glanced at him and could tell Grant was trying not to laugh, his lips quirked up on one side.
“But how you know that when you only see her once or twice? You work all the time and the girl decides you don’t like her. That’s what happened.” She was giving him a glare that any kid would recognize from the “mom look.”
“No, I made time for her. But it just didn’t work out.” He smiled, trying to convey his sincerity but Marisol was not budging. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t want to gossip, but I’ll tell you something she said.”
“Go ahead,” Marisol dared him, frowning. Calista couldn’t imagine how long it was going to take to convince this little Hispanic woman that Grant hadn’t done Jennie wrong.
“She said I was too religious.”
Calista felt her eyes widen, a perfect mirror to Marisol’s own expression. They both stared at Grant, disbelieving.
“Oh, Mr. Monohan. That’s bad. Very bad.” Her eyes were sad as she shrugged. “Because you don’t drink? Did you tell that girl your mama drink herself to death?”
“It wasn’t that. And I never told her about my mother.” His words were light, with no hint of anger. He could have told Marisol to zip it, but he looked more amused than anything.
“Well, good thing she’s gone. You tell me when you want me to cook. Maybe I bring my niece, that pretty one? She’s in college and wants to be a social worker!”
Calista bit back a laugh at how quickly Marisol had let go of Jennie as Grant’s future wife.
“Thanks, I will.” Grant nodded at Calista and she figured it was safe to move on.
They got glasses of orange juice and he chose a table near the entrance. As they settled on either side of the long table, he extended his hand to her, palm up.
She stared for a moment, uncomprehending, then remembered how her sister, Elaine, always held hands with her husband as they said grace before meals. It had made Calista uncomfortable a few years ago but she felt her heart warm in her chest now. She placed her hand in his and bowed her head. The steady strength of his fingers sent a thrill of joy through her. He spoke simple words of thanks and asked God’s blessing on their day.
He let go of her hand and she put it in her lap, feeling strangely lonely without the pressure of his hand.
“Did she really say you were too religious?”
“I wouldn’t lie about that,” Grant said, grinning. He paused, as if choosing his words. “And I’m sorry about Marisol. Too much information on your first day, right? But she doesn’t mean any harm. She thinks everyone will accept people for who they are, not holding the sins of their parents against them.”
Calista dropped her gaze to her tray. She’d worked hard to reinvent herself from a poor girl from a tiny Southern town, the one with a mean father and a dead mother, into a polished and beautiful businesswoman. But there was only so far you could run from yourself. Then it was all about facing your fears and being bigger than your past. She was ready to be what God intended her to be, no matter how crazy it seemed to everyone else.
Chapter Two
“You don’t seem very upset about losing your girlfriend.”
He took a sip of his orange juice and paused, a small line between his brows. “You know that moment, when you’re not sure exactly which way to go, when opposite choices are equally attractive?”
“Of course.” She hated that moment. The indecision nearly killed her.
“That was how I felt about Jennie. She was smart, caring, made good conversation. Everybody thought we’d be a great couple.”
Calista groaned and he raised his eyebrows in question. “Every time a friend tells me that I’d be great with someone, I know it’s doomed.” Jackie, her assistant, never tired of setting her up. It was always a disaster and Jackie always enjoyed the dramatic story the day after. Which made Calista wonder if she picked the men for her own amusement.
Grant laughed out loud and nodded. “Maybe I should have known, but my best friend, Eric, set us up. Well, he brought her in to volunteer and he knew we’d hit it off.”
Calista took a bite of her biscuit and chewed thoughtfully. Eric thought they’d hit it off because they were so alike, or because Grant went for pretty volunteers? The idea that she was sitting in a spot where twenty other girls had been made her heart sink.
“She’s an attorney and spends most of her time as a prosecutor for the city’s worst abuse cases. She also handles some family law, but mostly fights for the weakest of our residents. He knew I’d appreciate her passion for protecting vulnerable kids.”
The buttery biscuit turned to ashes in her mouth. Grant would certainly not appreciate her own passion for building a vitamin-water empire. There was nothing admirable about getting folks to pay a lot of money for something that didn’t really make them any healthier.
“And I really did—I mean, I do—think she does a great job. But we just didn’t seem to connect.” His voice trailed off and he took a bite of scrambled egg. “But I knew that before she told me I was too religious, so it only made it easier to leave it at being friends.”
Calista took a sip of her juice and pondered his words. Elaine told her once that if a man wasn’t in contact with any of his ex-girlfriends, then he was a bitter and spiteful person. So, maybe staying friends with Jennie was good.
“I’m just wondering...” She shook her head, trying to formulate her thoughts. He watched her, waiting. “Why did she say that? Was it something you did? Or said? I don’t want to pry, but it’s an odd comment. Don’t you think?”
He grinned at her and she felt her brain go fuzzy around the edges. “Not odd at all. Most people consider anything more than a passing gesture to be too much. Sunday service is okay. Giving up a big promotion because God is calling you in another direction is not. Saying a blessing before eating is fine. Praying for your future spouse is not.”
Calista paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. “Future spouse? What does that kind of prayer sound like, if I can ask?”
He shrugged a little. “Uh, I don’t usually focus on that, since I have bigger fish to fry. But let me think. I usually pray for her health and safety, for her to grow in God’s grace.”
Her fork was still poised above her tray. She hadn’t spent much time praying in the past ten years, but if she had, it wouldn’t have been for anyone else. It would have been for herself. Was there a man praying for her right now? One she’d never met, but who cared for her already? She dropped her gaze as the thought brought sudden tears to her eyes. Could she be loved and not even know it yet?
“That sounds weird to you,” he said lightly, but she heard the hint of something in his voice, maybe disappointment.
“No, not weird.” She looked up at him. “It’s beautiful. I’d never thought of it before, praying for your future spouse.”
“Really?” He sounded surprised.
“Really. I’m pretty new to this.” She waved a hand between their trays, meaning the blessing. He frowned, trying to understand. “Blessing your food, asking for direction in your life.”
He nodded. “How new? Like, today new?”
She laughed. “Not that new!”
He grinned back at her, his broad shoulders relaxing a little. She wished she could tell him that there were years of prayer behind her, that she was a seasoned Christian. But she was practically a newborn, trying to understand what God’s will was in her life.
“New enough.” She sighed. “It’s a long story but I grew up in a place that was less about the truth and more about what made a good show.”
His eyes were sad as he searched her face. “That could be anywhere. I think once pride gets center stage, God’s truth is hard to hear over the noise.”
She nodded, thinking it through. “You’re right. It’s probably a pretty common thing. But I let it get between me and God for a long time.”
“But not anymore.” Grant’s eyes were soft, his biscuit forgotten in his hand.
“No,” she said, unable to keep her smile from spreading as she gazed back. “Not anymore.”
* * *
Calista slipped out the mission’s door into the mid-November chill. She had been so nervous about volunteering that she had forgotten her coat and gloves in the car, but now she felt the wind whip through her expensive sweater. Tucking her hands in her pockets with a shiver, Calista glanced up at the snow-covered Rocky Mountains. It was hard enough to be homeless in the winter, but it was downright deadly in Denver.
She walked to the secure parking behind the mission, hardly noticing the people passing her on the sidewalk. Her mind was full to bursting and she struggled to squelch the feelings Grant brought to the surface. She’d told Lissa the truth; she was way too busy to date and it never worked out anyway. No guy wanted to be known as “Calista Sheffield’s boyfriend” instead of by his own name. There were very few men her age who earned more than her or had more power. The ones who were eager to take on the role were only interested in the boost it gave their own business reputations.
Her mind flashed back to Grant’s face, his appraising glance. He hadn’t seemed interested in her job so he probably didn’t care. That would be a good thing. Her life had become so consumed by her success that she had let her soul wither away. She felt as if she was just a husk, dried up and empty inside. Where there should be something vibrant, something connected to God, there was a pitifully weak, underfed shadow.
But she was ready to change, to let God call the shots for a while. She wanted to feel joy, like the look on Grant’s face when the little girl had practically tackled him with her hug. She pressed the button on her key ring and her Mercedes beeped in response. Sliding into the leather seat and reaching for the buckle, Calista felt her whole self yearn for purpose in her life. Her God was a God of second chances so she didn’t have to wallow around in her sad and lonely life.
Now, if she could just get everybody else to give her a second chance at being a decent human being, then she’d be all set.
Her cell phone trilled in her pocket. And she answered it automatically.
“I’m sending you the report on the new building sites and you have four urgent messages.” The voice on the phone belonged to Jackie, her personal assistant, who sounded calm and collected as usual. She rattled off the messages in rapid-fire.
Calista tucked the cell phone into her shoulder and turned onto the freeway. “Tell Jim Bishop that Branchout Corporation’s new commercial is encroaching on the VitaWow brand and we need to send them a cease and desist letter. Also, get Alicia down to tech support and make them promise not to wipe the hard drive on my laptop ever again. They said they were cleaning it, but all my temporary files disappeared into thin air.” She could hear Jackie typing at a frantic pace.
“How was the appointment?”
“What appointment?” Calista asked, before remembering that she’d told Jackie she had a toothache and was going to the dentist. “Right. The dentist was great. All fixed.”
The sound of Jackie’s laughter made Calista glare at the freeway in front of her.
“This is why I have complete faith in VitaWow’s CEO. You can’t tell a lie to save your life.”
“Why do you think I’m lying?”
“You never forget details, but more importantly, nobody ever says their dental appointment was great.”
Calista let out a sigh. “Fine. I wasn’t at the dentist. But I’ll tell you about it later. This traffic is just crazy in the afternoon.” Cars were slowing to a crawl in front of her. “Good thing I’m always at the office until late. I completely miss rush hour.”
“Are you using your headset?” Jackie asked suddenly.
Calista already had one ticket for cell use while driving. “I was, but I dropped it when I got out of the car and it shattered.”
“New headset,” Jackie mumbled into Calista’s ear as she typed another note. “Okay, I’m hanging up now because it would be extra bad for the company image if you racked up another ticket.”
“All right,” Calista said. “See you on Monday.”
Jackie snorted. “And talk to you tomorrow, you mean. You don’t take weekends off. Which means I don’t, either.”
She frowned, easing into another lane of slow-moving traffic. “Well, that might have been true before. But I’m determined to make it a priority to enjoy some free time. I don’t want to wake up at eighty and realize I worked my life away.”
“I never thought I’d hear you say that. How surprising.”
“Realizing your only friends are people who get paid to talk to you will do that to a girl.”
Jackie laughed and her infectious giggle made Calista grin long-distance. “I thought it was your biological clock ticking away.”
“I’m not that old! I just need to expand my horizons,” she said huffily. But the thought had crossed her mind, right about the time her sister, Elaine, had given birth and Calista had seen the pictures of all her friends gathered to meet the new baby. Calista wanted a family, but she wanted the whole picture. She wanted the faith that brought fullness to life, and the friends to experience it all with her.
“And I mean it about the weekends. I might pop into the office on Saturdays but no more Sunday work. I want to get a real life.”
“Hey, as a card-carrying member of your current life, I don’t appreciate you getting a new one unless I’m in it. But this is sounding stranger and stranger.” Jackie’s voice was still light, but Calista knew her words concealed real worry. And she had cause to be worried because Calista had made no secret of how her hypocritical father had ruined her life.
“It’s a long story.”
“Then Monday it is, and be careful driving in that traffic,” Jackie said, sounding uncharacteristically maternal before she hung up.
Calista focused on the road in front of her and tried not to think of the horror stories she had told Jackie. None of them had been exaggerated.
Her father had been the most respected man in their dusty, Southern town, but he ruled their little house like a dictator. He acted loving and gentle in front of their church family, but told his own family when to eat, sleep and pray.
The blaze that burned her house to the ground and took her mama’s life told her for certain that God couldn’t be trusted. So, she would have to make her own way in the world, without His help. Her choices were either go to college or settle down with Ray Collier, the football coach’s son. Ray was a good guy, but he would never have been happy with her. She had too many opinions, and didn’t like football. Her sophomore year in college she heard he’d married Tina Bowdy, a pretty girl whose father owned the gas station. She hoped they were a lot happier than she had been the past fifteen years. But her unhappiness was her own fault. There was ambition, and then there was insanity.
As Calista turned the car into the private parking garage under her condo, she felt hope rising in her chest. The mission was going to be a good place to spread her wings. She could be wealthy and successful, and have a few friends, too. As Grant’s face crossed her mind, she willed it away. She wasn’t volunteering so she could meet a nice guy. Even if she never saw him again, she knew this was the beginning of something...something real, something she’d been missing so far. It was time to stop hiding who she was. She had been born for a purpose, and she was ready to find out what it was, even if it meant admitting to the world that she wasn’t the perfect woman they all knew as the VitaWow CEO.
Chapter Three
“You haven’t cashed my check.” The low growl on the other end of the phone set Grant’s teeth on edge.
“I tore it up. Don’t send another because I don’t want your money.” He worked to keep his voice steady and even, but his heart was pounding in his chest.
“You’re a fool. Or a liar. I’ve heard the mission is in big trouble. I know you need the cash.” A thick, mucusy cough followed the last word, and Grant flinched as the sound echoed in his ear.
“I do what’s best for the mission and that would never be accepting your money. You’d always be there, trying to worm your way into every decision I make.” His voice had risen higher as anger threatened to choke him. They’d had this conversation ten, twenty times. He was sick of it.
“You’re right. I’ll always be here, whether you take the money or not. But thanks for letting me know I need to have my accountant send another. This time, to the board.” Then there was silence.
Grant stared into space, then slowly replaced the receiver. The board consisted of nine very respected and dedicated professionals, from bankers to business owners to pastors. All good people who would wonder why Grant wouldn’t take money the mission desperately needed for repairs and upgrades. Especially from the state’s richest man. But he couldn’t. It was tainted, stained. It was money made off the backs of the poorest of the poor. Taking money from a man who wouldn’t even provide his workers with decent health insurance was like making a deal with the devil.
He dropped his head in his hands and groaned. Lord, I’m not asking for You to stop the sun from rising. I just want him to go away. He had his chance and blew it. Isn’t it enough that I forgive him?
The sudden sound of a throat being cleared, loudly, brought Grant’s head up with a snap. Jose was standing in the doorway, shifting his weight from foot to foot, his thick arms folded over his chest. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Grant answered tersely. Jose had the habit of appearing and disappearing without a sound. He should put a cowbell on that kid.
“Alrighty then,” he said lightly, but his face was creased with concern. “Just wondering what you thought about the new chick.”
Grant struggled to regain his composure, feeling like a gorilla at the zoo who just had his cage rattled. He stood up and stretched. “She’s not a chick. And she seems all right. Should be good for office help, at least. She wanted to work in the cafeteria.”
Jose chuckled. “Yeah, that would have been a disaster. She’s so pretty the line would have taken forever. She’s like, more than the usual pretty.”
Grant didn’t want to discuss the “new chick” but he nodded. “Yup, certainly got blessed in that department. But she seemed sort of...” His mind thought back to the tapping foot, the arms wrapped around her middle.
“Nervous?”
“Right. Or sad. I don’t know.” He shrugged and checked his watch. “But then again, it was probably because her car might get broken into out in the parking lot.”
Jose’s eyebrows went up. “She has a sweet ride, for sure. But, boss...”
“Sorry.” Grant couldn’t shake off the irritation that wrapped itself around his neck like a scarf. He rubbed a hand against the base of his skull. “I’m just on edge. True, everyone carries a burden. We’ll probably never know the whole story because after Christmas, she’ll be gone.”
“She said that?”
“No, but you know how it goes. Guilt sets in, they come sign up for a few meals, then January hits and they feel better about themselves so they never come back. Until next November.”
Jose nodded. “Well, probably a good thing anyway.”
“Why? You know something I don’t?” No matter how careful or protective he was of the people here, there would always be those who came to prey on the weaker ones. He had set up several lines of defense with background checks, personal references and lots of observant employees. But there were cracks in every fortress.
“Nope. Just thinking she’s definitely your type.” Jose grinned and waggled his thick eyebrows.
“That’s unprofessional,” he said, frowning. Unprofessional and unsettling. She wasn’t anything like his type. He felt comfortable with women who were reserved, even a little distant. The woman who came here today was a bundle of emotions; they flickered across her face like pictures on a screen.
“Yeah, it is, but it’s still true. Plus, how would this place survive if you actually got a life?”
“I do have a life. It’s just very quiet.”
“You mean, boring.” And with that Jose popped back out.
Grant sighed and pushed back his chair, stretching his long legs out under the old wooden desk. He was busy. He didn’t have time for a girlfriend. At least, that’s what he told himself.
He rubbed a hand over his face. Sometimes, when it was just a little too quiet, he thought about his mother. A beautiful woman ruined by her addictions, heartbroken when she trusted the wrong person. She never stopped reminiscing over how rich his father was, how successful. It almost seemed as if she didn’t remember that he’d left her with nothing but a baby to raise. The memory of the fast cars, wads of cash and fancy parties blurred her focus, polluted her heart. The love of money was the root of all evil, right? Grant straightened his shoulders. He was never going to be sucked into that fantasy world. He was happy, right where he was.
His mind flicked toward the image of Calista’s face, her large green eyes sparkling with hope. He wished her well. He really did. But people like that didn’t stick around places like a homeless shelter. The pull of money was too strong. And money was one thing the mission didn’t have.
If God didn’t nudge somebody to donate really soon, and in a big way, they might not even have to worry about Christmas preparations. The mission would have to close. But he would do everything in his power to make sure that didn’t happen.
* * *
Calista slid her car into the open space at the parking garage behind the mission and tried to calm her pounding heart. She allowed a small smile to touch her lips as she thought of the irony of the situation. Just that morning she had brokered a huge deal with a company in Northern California. It had been months in the making and if it succeeded, their production and distribution would be on the fast track to making VitaWow a nationwide phenomenon. Before ten this morning, she was CEO to a company that was a regional star. After ten, she was CEO to a company that could be as widely recognized as Coca-Cola in just a few years.
The irony of her anxiety now was that she hadn’t felt a bit uncomfortable going into a meeting that could decide the fate of her company. She knew business and marketing, she understood the language and the terms. More than all of that, she had a gift for business. Calista took another deep breath and shook her head.
But this mission gig had her stomach in knots. Definitely out of the comfort zone, right where God wanted her.
The short walk to the front doors of the lobby seemed to take forever but finally Calista stepped into the warmth. She headed for Lana’s desk, unbuttoning her bright red wool peacoat on the way.
The secretary glanced up and raised a hand. “Glad to see you. You’re early. I just love early people.”
Calista felt her heart lift. Lana sounded like she really was glad to see her. “I was raised in a family of chronically late people so I rebel by arriving just a bit early,” Calista said, trying not to look toward Grant’s office. She wondered if he was at the mission, or if he was in a meeting somewhere, and then was irritated at herself for wondering.
“Just a bit early is perfect. Then there are those people who come twenty minutes early for everything.” Lana rubbed the spiky ends of her hair, and Calista recognized the gesture from her last visit.
“What do you need me to do today?”
“Thanksgiving is a really busy time for us. Not just for meals. There’s lots of paperwork. It would be a relief to have someone do a little filing. We have a skeleton crew for the office right now, since two of our part-timers left for other positions.”
“You’re at the front desk a lot of the time?”
“Right, so when I’m out here, I can’t be in there,” she said, waving a hand toward the locked door on the right.
Calista’s mouth went dry and she cleared her throat. “So, I’ll be working with you at the desk, or back in the offices?” She added hastily, “I can answer phones, too. If you show me your system.” She actually hadn’t worked a switchboard since college but the thought of working in close quarters with Grant sent a thrill of alarm through her.
“Because of privacy issues, you should probably work in the office area. We can have you organize files into specific cabinets, without having to look at the papers, since they’re all color-coded.”
Calista nodded, resigned to the fact she was going to bump into the man. She would just have to get a grip. “I’m ready,” she chirped, hoping she was convincing enough.
Lana must have thought so, because she pushed a button on her phone and said, “Grant, Calista’s here.”
“Be right out.” The answering voice was familiar, in a tinny way.
Lana let go of the button. “Thanks again for the help. You’re saving me a headache.”
She smiled automatically but her mind was whirling. “Jose’s not here? I would think Grant’s way too busy to show me the filing system.”
“He’s here, but the director asked to be the one to show you around the offices.” Lana’s words were followed by the appearance of the man himself.
Calista heard the door, and turned her head in time to see him open the door with speed. He looked a little harried, his red tie crooked and crisp white shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms.
He was happy to see her. At least, his expression changed from something like worry to pleasure. His lips quirked up and his eyes radiated warmth. She couldn’t stop herself from responding. It had been so long since anyone had looked happy to see her. She let her eyes drift over him for the briefest moment and then clamped down hard on any desire to give a closer examination.
“Glad you’re back. Come on in,” he said, motioning her through the door.
It was just a common phrase, but her smile only got bigger. It was like she’d swallowed a happy pill.
“I’ll show you the offices first, then the general meeting rooms and the break room.” He strode down a carpeted hallway and stopped at the first door, knocking lightly.
The affirmative answer from the inside sounded muffled, and she saw why when Grant pushed open the door. Jose was crouched near the desk, piles of power cords in his hands.
“This power strip is dead. I’ll have to get another from the supply closet. Maybe they only last a few—” His sentence trailed off as he finally caught a glimpse of his audience. “Hey, Calista. Glad to see you back.”
“Hi there,” she responded, grinning. Three people had welcomed her in less than ten minutes. She felt all warm and fuzzy inside. It had been a very long time since anybody had said “hey” to her. People didn’t say “hey” to the CEO.
“Jose’s office. He oversees the group that works with the food boxes distributed to needy families. He also organizes social activities for the residents.”
“Yup. And I say we spring for a real Santa this year. The kids are starting to suspect the truth when Santa has a Tex-Mex accent.” He grabbed his stomach and tried a few “ho ho ho” sounds.
Grant laughed and waved a hand. “You know you love it. All right, on to the next stop.”
The next door was an empty office that had a high window with a pulled shade. “One of our three empty offices. Soon to be filled, God willing. The person here handles class scheduling and addiction support. The main counselors and teachers are doing well right now, but it helps to have a manager type to handle any conflicts.”
Another short walk to the next door and Grant pushed it open without knocking. “My office. Lana started calling it my ‘man cave’ after Jose brought in a small fridge.”
“Got it stocked with beer for those slow afternoons?” She chuckled to herself the split second before she realized her mistake. “Oh, Grant. Sorry. That was stupid.” His mother was an alcoholic, Grant didn’t drink, and she’d just made a beer joke. She wanted to fall through the floor.
To her relief he seemed to shrug off the insensitive comment. “No big deal. And no beer.”
Calista gazed around the space and wondered why Grant didn’t have a nicer office. As the director, he needed to give the impression that he was the head of a thriving organization. People donated to the cause they thought would succeed—it was human nature. Maybe it was because the donors always met in the conference rooms. Or maybe with nonprofits, it might not work as well to flash too much wealth. In her world, understated luxury was the only way to go.
His office was more than understated; it was shabby. An older-than-Methuselah desk, a battered chair, a few framed photos, his diplomas and the small fridge.
“How long have you been here?”
“Five years as director, about eight altogether.”
“And you don’t even have a plant?” She turned to him with a curious look.
To her surprise, he flushed. “I should make it a little homier, considering all the time I spend in here.”
Calista nodded. “I don’t know much about charities, but if you’re bringing donors through this hallway to get to the boardroom, you had better keep this door closed.”
He let out a sound that was more of a startled cough. “I don’t think it’s all that bad, personally.”
“It’s not bad. But it doesn’t look good. And donors will judge the entire mission on you and your space.” She surveyed the room once more. “Maybe a nice framed photo of the staff, right here, that you could see when you passed down the hallway.”
Grant frowned. Putting money into furnishings when there were people who didn’t even have shoes was unthinkable. And a photo? He hated anything done for show. It smacked of insincerity to have a photo taken of his staff, even though they were his friends, just to show it off to donors. But he tried to take a mental step back and look at her advice with a cool head. He knew better than anybody that donors saw him and the mission as inseparable. He was the human face they could put on the problems of hunger and homelessness in their community.
“I suppose I can see your point. I’ll look for something that might go in that spot. I appreciate the advice.”
People didn’t usually thank her for the advice she handed out. Probably because she made it a habit to break the cardinal rule of giving advice: wait for someone to ask. She turned, surprised and ready with a quick retort if she saw the faintest suggestion of sarcasm.
Their eyes met. Time seemed to slow as he stood very still. His gaze wandered down to her mouth. It had been so long since any man had looked at her like that and she read in his blue eyes exactly what was going through his mind.
He moved a half inch forward. Calista felt a thrill course through her and couldn’t stop her breath from catching in her throat. The tiny noise she made seemed to remind him where they were and what they were doing. He blinked, and his gaze flashed back to the empty spot on the wall.
He cleared his throat and stepped back into the hallway. “I’ll show you the filing room so you can see the mess we have in there.” His voice was rough.
Calista nodded, following his lead without comment. She really needed to get a grip. All of this talk about purpose and change, but here she was ogling the director. Of course, there were some major sparks flying, but the poor man had enough on his plate without adding a woman like herself to it. She trudged behind him down the hallway, barely listening while making appropriately interested sounds. Everything about Grant Monohan made her want to be a better person, and that meant learning not to indulge every wish and whim. Not something she was really used to, but she was determined to make herself useful at the mission...and stay out of his way.
* * *
Grant struggled to put words together as he led Calista down the hallway toward the file room. His mind churned as he pointed out stacks of loose files, gave her a quick tutorial and then made as quick an exit as was humanly possible.
He reentered his office and shut the door, leaning heavily against it. What on earth had just happened there? One minute she was giving him sound business advice, and then next he was about to make a move on the pretty new volunteer. He felt a shiver of fear run through him. Maybe all the stress of making their low funds stretch through the holidays was messing with his head. Maybe he needed to get some counseling to make sure he was staying on track.
And being seconds from kissing a woman in his office was about as offtrack as he could get.
He didn’t even really know much about her, except she was smart, bossy and emotionally vulnerable in a way that made him want to protect her from the world. But she didn’t need him to do that. Rich people just hired someone to protect them. Grant rubbed his temples and tried to corral his thoughts.
In a job like this, you had to understand the danger of becoming too emotionally close to the people who needed your help. It was okay to make friends, to give support and encouragement; it wasn’t okay to let attraction lead to actions. To be fair, it was definitely a mutual attraction. The way her eyes looked at him told him that.
And she wasn’t a resident or someone in need of counseling. But she had already said she was working her way back from some kind of traumatic past. Her faith was new, untested. He had no right to get in the way of what God was working in her heart. It was too much, too soon. The “new chick” was going to have to find her way without any of his attention. Plus, he had bigger problems on his plate, starting with a leaky roof and a Thanksgiving dinner for five hundred. After that, he had to take another look at the financials. If anything else went wrong, anything at all, their reserves would be tapped out.
Chapter Four
Calista’s usual morning routine began with two pieces of seven-grain toast, some orange juice and a long run on her treadmill. This Wednesday was no different, except that she pounded out a solid five miles with an overwhelming feeling of happiness. The awesome view of the Rocky Mountains never got old. She couldn’t wait for the next snowfall, a few days from now, if the forecast was right. Last year she’d been too busy to enjoy any of it, practically living at the office. But this year would be different.
It would be the perfect winter moment: watching big flakes drifting past her tenth-floor windows as she read in her favorite chair, wrapped in a cozy blanket and sipping hot chocolate. In her mind’s eye, there was someone new in the picture. Someone tall, handsome, caring. Calista shook her head and turned off the treadmill. Grant was never going to end up in her condo, sipping hot chocolate or not. To him, the luxury high-rise would be a disgusting waste of money.
Mimi wandered into the kitchen and surveyed her domain from the end of her squashed and furry nose. Cruella De Vil could have learned a thing or two from Mimi. The cat was bad to the core. Deceptively sweet on the outside, Mimi would wait for Calista to leave before she took her revenge, usually by chewing on her nicest pumps.
Calista put out a tentative hand, hoping for the hundredth time that they could be friends. The Siamese cat waited for her to get closer, then darted forward with lightning speed to nip Calista’s fingers with her tiny, sharp teeth. She yelped and snatched her hand back. Mimi made a slow-motion about-face and presented her fluffy behind before she sidled out of the kitchen.
Calista sighed, and headed for the master bathroom.
After her shower, she decided on a simple tailored white shirt and khaki pants. She let her blond hair dry naturally so it curled a bit and swiped on a light pink lipstick.
Calista took a long look in the mirror. She tilted her head and squinted, watching little crow’s-feet appear at the corners of her large green eyes. She had always taken care of her skin and watched her weight, but no more than most women. Calista knew she had a lot of spiritual work to do but at least she wasn’t obsessed with her appearance.
It was a strange feeling, looking at her own personality under the microscope. She’d spent so many years gliding by on power and position that she wasn’t even sure what her weaknesses were.
She closed her eyes for a moment, praying that God would reveal her faults to her. Just not all at once, please, she thought hastily. Maybe she could tackle one issue a month. And this month would be...being a better friend. She opened her eyes and grinned at her reflection. This would be the ultimate makeover, from the heart on out.
* * *
“Glad to see you this morning,” Grant said.
Calista knew it was just words, but she couldn’t help grinning every time he said it. “Thanks, I can’t seem to stay away.”
He reached out a hand and she responded, feeling the warmth and strength that she had missed ever since the first time they’d met. She struggled to sort her feelings, to narrow down the whirl of conflicting emotions. But all she could feel was the touch of his hand, and hear the steady beat of her heart against her ribs. As he let go, she noticed dark shadows under his eyes and there was a persistent frown line between his brows.
“Everything all right? You look tired.”
His shoulders straightened a bit and he glanced out the lobby window behind her, watching the residents filing in from the halls. “Fine. Just the busy season.”
“Does your family live around here?” As she asked the question, she wished she could snag back the words. He probably thought she wanted to know more about his alcoholic mother. Her cheeks went hot.
His gaze traveled back to her and he frowned, thinking. “My family...is here. At the mission.”
Well, that was clear enough. He could have waved a sign that said, “None of your business. Stop prying.” Calista nodded, biting her bottom lip.
“Mr. Monohan?” A young man with a long, lean face approached them. He was wearing one of the red polo shirts that identified him as a mission worker and it hung from his thin frame.
“Hi, Jorge.” Grant turned his attention to the mission worker. “What’s up?”
Deep brown eyes flitted to Calista and then away. He cleared his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Your girlfriend is on the phone.”
Calista’s stomach suddenly fell to her feet. There was no reason on God’s green earth that she should feel anything at those words. She looked around desperately for Lana, and pretended she couldn’t hear the conversation only a foot away.
“My what?”
“Jennie Close, that lawyer? She said to tell you that your girlfriend was on the phone.” His eyes flickered nervously between Calista and Grant again.
Grant opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of what he was going to say. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”
Jorge nodded and slipped back through the door to the offices.
“Lana should be here in just a bit. She has some projects she wanted to show you.”
Calista forced a bright smile. “Great. I’ll wait right here.”
As Grant walked away, Calista felt her face grow hot. No wonder she was at her best in the boardroom. She was a total failure at normal conversation.
“Hey, Calista, did you want to grab some coffee with me in the cafeteria? Then I can show you the filing system.” Calista turned her head in surprise, then readjusted her gaze downward.
“Lana, that sounds great, actually.”
Lana wheeled past her, leading the way to the cafeteria. She handed Calista her badge on the way. “Here’s your ID. Go ahead and slip it on. You should have it visible at all times, especially since you don’t have a uniform.”
Calista took the square badge and slipped the lanyard over her neck. She was thankful she didn’t have to wear that awful uniform. Then she squashed the feeling down, irritated with her own shallowness. At least the shirts weren’t yellow. She looked awful in yellow.
They swiped the badges at the front and went to the coffee bar. Lana balanced her cup on a tray settled on her knees. Calista hovered, undecided, then said nothing. Lana had lots of practice carrying her own cup. She should probably just back up and let her do it.
Lana stopped at a table, scooted a chair to the side, then wheeled into place. “You’re a godsend for the mission, you know.”
Calista choked, the bitter liquid burning its way up her throat. She took a few seconds to clear her airway, her mind spinning. Of all the things she had expected Lana to say, this was close to last on a very long list. “Why do you say that?”
“Your business background. We’re in big trouble here and I think someone with your experience could get us back on track.”
Calista stared into her cup, watching the overhead lights shimmer on the black surface. “I hadn’t heard that. I don’t know anything about nonprofits. I wish I did, truly, but—”
“How different can it be? We need money, you know how to make money.” Lana leaned forward, her usually pleasant expression now serious. “Grant doesn’t want to alarm anyone, but this is the worst situation we’ve been in for years. Our funds have been low, but this is scraping the barrel.”
“What’s the problem? Did you have a big donor back out?”
Lana sighed. “The day-care area needed to be updated to keep in line with federal standards. Then we had to widen all the doorways and bathrooms for handicapped access.” She glanced up. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for being able to get to the bathroom. But the board thought we should widen everything, not just have one designated exit or bathroom on each floor. That was early this year. Right after that, the classrooms had to have all the electrical redone to be up to code. Then the state recommended every public space have an emergency contact system put in, so we had to put in a PA system.”
Calista nodded. Sometimes things snowballed and there wasn’t anything you could do about it. “So, how bad is it? The financial situation, I mean.”
“Bad. The roof is leaking, so it has to be fixed, and soon. We’ve got another four months of snow. We’ll have to close that building if we can’t fix the roof. Thanksgiving is a huge expense, and then winter comes right on top, so we’ll be full to the brim. If it was June, we could probably make it through. But as it is right now...” Lana’s light blue eyes dropped to her cup, her lips thinned out in a line. “Even with Christmas donations on the way, we won’t make it into December at this rate.”
A woman appeared behind Lana, her round face pocked with acne scars but her dark eyes were bright. “Lana? Jose needs you at the desk. There’s some question about the switchboard. They can’t transfer a call.”
Lana nodded. “I’m coming.” She motioned to her cup. “Finish your coffee. Come on back when you’re done.”
“Thanks,” Calista said and watched Lana push herself with powerful arms toward the doorway. She couldn’t shake the sense of alarm that threaded through her at Lana’s news. The mission had serious money issues and they thought she could help? How? A for-profit company sold stock or got investors and promised some kind of return. What kind of return was there in giving cash to a homeless shelter? No wealthy person she knew would be willing to donate the kind of money they needed. There was nothing in it for them.
Calista’s shoulders straightened. She would just have to figure something out. But first she needed to get a specific idea of what kind of numbers they were talking about. She glanced around, feeling like the new kid in junior high who had to eat lunch alone. The cafeteria had emptied considerably in the few minutes they’d been talking and the kitchen staff had come out to wipe down the tables and collect trays.
Marisol directed several groups in aprons as they cleared the food trays out of the warming areas. The small Hispanic woman was a blur of movement as she bustled between workers. She spotted Calista sitting alone at the table and paused, frowning. Seconds later she was standing before her, hands on hips, lined face creasing with displeasure.
“Did they go and leave you alone?”
Calista considered her options. She could rat out Grant and feel a little satisfaction after being dumped for Jennie-the-lawyer-but-not-girlfriend. Or she could be honest.
“Lana was here, but they needed her back at the desk.” She tried a placating tone, hoping for an undercurrent of nonchalance.
“That’s no excuse. Where Mr. Monohan?” If anything, Calista’s explanation made the frown even deeper.
“He got a phone call. It was Jennie, the girl you were asking about.” She had no idea if that would be helpful, but she felt as if she’d been called to the principal’s office.
The noise that came out of Marisol’s mouth made her think of an angry goose. An angry mama goose. “So! He leave you to go talk to the girl who says he love Jesus too much!”
Calista felt her face start to flush. The cafeteria crowd was sparse, but there were still a few curious looks being cast in her direction. “It’s fine, really. I don’t mind.”
Her dark head was cocked slightly, eyes appraising Calista. “Oh? You think he is too religious, like that crazy girl?”
Calista’s gaze swept the cafeteria for any sign of rescue in the form of Jose. “No, he’s perfect the way he is. And I don’t mind eating by myself.” Or she didn’t until the cafeteria matron came to give her a hard time.
As if someone had flipped a switch, Marisol dropped her fists from her hips and slid into the seat across from her. “I’m sorry if I make you feel upset. I want him to have a family, a wife who love him, but he is so busy.”
At least she knew when to back down. Her cheeks still felt hot but Calista said, “That’s all right. I can tell you care about him.”
“Oh, yes. Mr. Monohan save my life.” She said this as if she was simply giving the time of day.
* * *
Grant laid the phone in its cradle and dropped his head in his hands. What an awkward conversation. He never wanted to repeat anything like it, ever. Jennie wanted to give it—them—another shot and well, he didn’t.
Jose peeked in the door and gave him a sympathetic glance. “Looks like that went about as well as I thought it would.”
“Yeah, you called it.” Grant stared at the desktop, shoulders slumped. “I’ll have to call Eric and tell him he’s banned from setting me up with anyone, ever again.”
“It’s not his fault. You have to admit, she’s pretty good-looking.”
Grant frowned. “So, how did you know that she...?”
“Wasn’t your type?” Jose sidled a glance at him and then chuckled at his boss’s irritated expression.
“Right. Did you give her a personality test when I wasn’t watching?”
“She wasn’t interested in the mission. Just you. And that was never going to work.”
“Not interested? Why else would she be here? I’m pretty good at spotting the fakers and the takers.” He’d spent close to ten years at the mission, on and off, and after awhile he could smell a user at fifty yards. Not a drug user, but a people user. Although he’d gotten pretty good at spotting the addicts, as well.
“Simple.” Jose’s black eyes were restless, like a bird’s, as he glanced around the lobby. “She never tried to talk to anybody else but you. Not the kids, not the staff, not Lana or Michelle or Lissa, or the residents.”
“I can’t believe that she never talked to anybody. There are hundreds of people here every day.”
“I didn’t say she didn’t talk to them. I said she didn’t try.”
Grant frowned, trying to remember. “Well, make sure you use your superpowers the next time, okay? You can save me some time.”
He turned to see a huge grin spread over Jose’s face. “Now what?”
“You sure you want me to put on my cape and tell you who to ask out?”
Grant rolled his eyes. “Sure, why not? Just don’t make the list too long. I’m not made of money, you know.”
“How about the new volunteer?”
“Oh, right.” Grant paused, struggling to come up with a reason that Calista was not his type. He decided not to argue with the type just yet. “Well, I don’t think it’s a great idea to be using the new volunteers as my personal dating pool. Eric introduced Jennie and me, so it was all right for us to go out socially.”
Jose continued to grin. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on his heels, looking like a man who knew more than was good for him.
“And then there’s the matter of faith.” Grant wouldn’t normally share that kind of conversation, but Jose was killing him with that smug expression. “She just said that she’s new to all of this. That’s how she said it. All of this.” Grant waved a hand, indicating the cross on the wall, the lobby, everything.
“That’s a bad thing? I’d rather have a fiery convert than a lukewarm cradle Christian.”
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Virginia Carmichael
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: SHELTER FOR EVERYONE As the holiday season approaches, wealthy CEO Calista Sheffield wants to give instead of receive. So she volunteers at a downtown Denver shelter, never expecting that her own scarred heart will be filled with hope and healing. The mission’s director, handsome Grant Monohan, has devoted his life to helping those in need.But his harrowing past—and what he sees every day—makes him wary of Calista. Unless she shares her painful history, he’ll never believe they can have a future. But a future with Grant at the shelter is the only Christmas gift Calista truly wants.