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A Season For Family
Mae Nunn


Texas cop Heath Stone knows what it's like to have no home or family. Once a foster-care kid, Heath now appreciates those who help others. Like Olivia Wyatt, the lovely young woman who opened a homeless shelter in a tough part of town. But Olivia's hard work is in danger when Table of Hope is suspected of being a drug front.Heath goes undercover to keep a close eye on the shelter - and Olivia. What he finds is a woman of faith, a woman who feels like family…the family he's always dreamed of.









“Good afternoon, I’m Olivia Wyatt. Welcome to Table of Hope.”


The man turned his face toward hers. As their eyes met, she felt a powerful spark shoot through her system.

“Heath Stone.” He stood and reached to shake her hand. “Detective Biddle said you’d be expecting me.”

Olivia took a second to compare the reality before her with the computer hacker she’d agreed to take in while he worked off a hundred hours of community service.

If this guy’s an internet nerd, I’m a Mexican drug lord.

Olivia had been warned that beneath Heath Stone’s quiet exterior there was a clever cybercriminal. Well, growing up around a lying father and then earning a degree in social work had taught Olivia a thing or two about men. Not only would she keep a close eye on Mr. Stone, she’d keep him busy with laundry, cooking, cleaning and Bible study.

But how would she keep herself from staring at those dangerous eyes?




MAE NUNN


grew up in Houston and graduated from the University of Texas with a degree in communications. When she fell for a transplanted Englishman living in Atlanta, she moved to Georgia and made an effort to behave like a Southern belle. But when she found that her husband was quite agreeable to life as a born-again Texan, Mae happily returned to her cowgirl roots and cowboy boots! In 2008 Mae retired from thirty years of corporate life to focus on her career as a Christian author. When asked how she felt about writing full-time for Steeple Hill Books, Mae summed up her response with one word: “Yeeeee-haw!”




A Season for Family


Mae Nunn







Jesus replied, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. All the law and the prophets hang on these two commandments.”

—Matthew 22:37–40


A Season for Family is dedicated to Bill and Peggy Biddle.

Your love for one another, your courage in the face of adversity and your faith in our Lord Jesus Christ is an inspiration to everyone who knows and loves the two of you.




Acknowledgments


With love and thanks to my son, Paul Nunn, just the skeptical male I needed in my life while I was developing the character of Heath Stone.

Special thanks and appreciation go to Alan Beck for sharing your amazing stories and years of experience as an undercover officer.

Thank you to Pat Magid of Studio Gallery in Waco, Texas, for answering all my questions, even the dumb ones.

I’m grateful to My Brother’s Keeper in Waco, Texas, for the tour, the education and the incredible work you do for the people you serve.

As always, I owe my deepest gratitude to Michael. I am forever in your debt for being my critique partner, my first line editor and my biggest fan. You make it all worthwhile, my darlin’.

Lastly, special thanks to Libo for keeping me company.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion




Chapter One


The buzzer installed at Table of Hope’s bulletproof security door echoed through the hallway, signaling to Olivia Wyatt that she had a visitor. Somebody needed to get inside the homeless mission and out of the gusting wind, which was unusually cold for Waco, Texas, even in November. The converted warehouse was perpetually locked from the inside since it was in a dicey, old part of town that was beyond the reach of revitalization.

“I got it, Miss Livvy,” Velma called from the check-in desk.

Olivia was elbow-deep in a carton of jeans donated for her shelter’s clients when Velma swept into the women’s sleeping quarters a few minutes later and swooned across a lower bunk with Scarlett O’Hara flair.

“If you’re already worn out, it’s gonna be a long night for me,” Olivia said, doubting that fatigue had anything to do with her buddy’s theatrics. Velma was a natural drama queen.

“Not tired, just need some smelling salts after bein’ up close to what just came through the front door,” she insisted, fanning herself and rolling playful eyes. Though she was prone to exaggeration, this was excessive even for Velma.

“Let me guess—Brad Pitt needs a place to stay tonight?” Olivia continued sorting clothes.

“This man’s every bit as good lookin’ but more in a Johnny Depp with a shaved head kinda way. And he’s asking for you, so go take a look at those dangerous eyes for yourself.” Velma sat up, crossed stubby legs campfire-style and reached for a plus-size pair of secondhand denims.

Olivia turned her full attention to the conversation.

“Really, he asked for me?”

“Said his name’s Stone but looks more like velvet,” Velma giggled and fake shuddered.

Olivia couldn’t help laughing at her friend, a key member of the core group accepted for Table of Hope’s resident program. Working side-by-side with her small team was changing Olivia’s life as much as it was changing theirs.

By the grace of God her dream of providing homeless outreach had become a reality when they’d served their first meal on a sultry summer evening five months earlier. The days had scattered like fall leaves and now a Thanksgiving wreath made of yellow and orange gourds decorated the front door. It was a perfect complement to the building she’d painted rooster red with green shutters to make it inviting in spite of the burglar bars on every window.

“If I’m lyin’ I’m dyin’, Miss Livvy,” Velma insisted. “He’s all wrapped up in a black jacket with a hood probably to hide jailhouse tattoos. But this one smells real nice.”

“Girl.” Olivia slurred the word as Velma would. “You need to get a grip and stop carrying on every time a clean man walks through our door.”

Velma pointed toward the hallway. “Take a gander at that tall drink o’ water for yourself.” She fanned both hands before her chubby face.

“Okay,” Olivia gave in. “I wasn’t expecting Mr. Stone until tomorrow but now’s as good a time as any to get started. I need to stretch the kinks out of my legs and check on dinner anyway.”

She pushed to her feet and enjoyed the pleasant cracking of her spine as she arched her back. Twenty strides carried her out of the women’s sleeping quarters, down the corridor past the laundry area and around the corner to the front lobby. Just as Velma had said, a long slender male body was folded into one of the reception chairs, his shrouded head and a pencil poised over a clipboard questionnaire.

“Good afternoon, I’m Olivia Wyatt.” She extended her hand.

The man straightened in the chair, turning his face toward hers. As their eyes met, she wanted to wince from the powerful connection that sent a spark sizzling through her central nervous system. Velma’s description of his dangerous eyes was right on the money.

“Heath Stone.” He stood and reached to exchange the courtesy. “Detective Biddle said you’d be expecting me.”

Olivia took a split second to compare the reality before her with the computer hacker she’d agreed to take in while he worked off a hundred hours of community service.

If this guy’s an Internet nerd, I’m a Mexican drug lord.

From the way Heath Stone had been described to her, Olivia expected a geek, complete with pocket protector. Detective Biddle had called earlier in the day to ask a big favor. Since the Waco computer crimes detective had become something of a benefactor to Table of Hope, Olivia was more than willing to repay his kindness. She agreed to accept Stone into her program while he worked off his sentence for hacking into the city’s Intranet.

She’d been warned that beneath Stone’s quiet and somewhat sulking exterior there was a skilled and clever cyber criminal. Well, growing up around a lying father and then earning a degree in social work had taught Olivia a thing or two about recognizing the lies of men. She’d not only keep a close eye on Mr. Stone, she’d keep him busy with laundry, cooking, cleaning and Bible study.

She accepted the hand he’d shoved outward, squared her shoulders a bit and returned his stare.



Undercover officer Heath Stone locked eyes with the woman before him as she pressed her warm palm into his cold grip. He felt the pads of Olivia Wyatt’s fingers, dry and calloused. If the lady wasn’t afraid of physical labor, she just might be bold enough to let her old man run recreational drugs through this innocent-looking place.

“Welcome to Table of Hope,” she sounded sincere enough. “I’m glad you made it this evening. We can always use help with dinner service.”

The raven-haired beauty he was assigned to check out would put this year’s crop of Texas debutantes to shame. Her baggy, pinkish sweater and faded jeans fell across feminine curves on a frame that looked to be about five-foot-ten. She reminded him of that girl who married Tom Cruise, but with more flesh on her bones.

Heath liked tall women, admired the few who realized stature was an asset. Instead of slouching and rounding her shoulders to camouflage an inch or two, this lady stretched her spine, held her head high, even lifted her chin to stare at him with confident eyes.

Her body language left no doubt that she was in charge.

First impressions count. He hadn’t anticipated such a positive one from a woman suspected of having connections to a Mexican drug cartel. But Heath learned early in his career as a cop that looking innocent didn’t make a dope dealer any less of a criminal.

“You can fill out that paperwork later.” She indicated the clipboard, and then jerked her thumb toward the corridor. “Come with me and we’ll put you to work.”

Obviously expecting he’d do as she instructed, the lady turned around, headed down the hall at a fast clip and disappeared through an open doorway.

“Oh, and pull the lobby door closed behind you, please!” she hollered.

He slung a backpack over his shoulder and followed orders, looking left and right as he passed down the wide corridor ablaze from the jumble of wild colors on the walls. To his right a large room was filled with several rows of barracks-style bunks covered in bright blue blankets. Most were empty but on a couple of mattresses men curled on their sides, sleeping. On another bunk a guy was stretched out, feet crossed comfortably, a book balanced on his chest.

“Hey, buddy,” the reader said, looking up from his book. “Welcome.”

Heath lifted a hand, jerked his head and then turned away. He paused beside the next door marked MEN’S LOCKER ROOM, listened until he heard the flush of a toilet.

“You need some personal time?” Olivia Wyatt poked her head back into view.

“No, ma’am. Sorry to drag my feet. I was just lookin’ around.”

“No apology necessary. I’d normally give you the tour right away but we need to get busy in here.” She motioned for him to follow.

“Yes, ma’am.” He lengthened his stride to join her in a room that turned out to be the kitchen.

“Please, call me Olivia. Ma’am makes me feel ancient and I’m only twenty-seven.”

“I hear ya.” He shucked off his jacket, hung it on a wall peg atop his backpack. Heath raised his voice to be heard over the rattling of pots nearby. “I know it’s a nicety mamas teach their kids in the South, but when anybody calls me sir I can’t help lookin’ around to see if some feeble old geezer is right behind me.”

She handed him a white chef’s apron and grabbed one for herself. He followed her lead as she dropped the neck strap over her head and tied the strings behind her back. Then they moved past see-through shelves of canned goods and into a cavernous place painted in fall colors, as if somebody had splattered the walls with pumpkin pie and caramel apples.

The kitchen was rimmed by ovens and cooktops with the middle reserved for butcher block tables. A scrawny gray-haired man and a guy about Heath’s age worked over piles of vegetables.

“Amos and Bruce, this is Heath Stone, our new addition to the resident program.”

The two might as well have ignored the introduction as they exchanged a glance. The younger one barely nodded, the older one grunted as they continued their duties.

Olivia caught Heath’s eye. “They’re busy getting the jump on tomorrow’s dinner.” She stopped next to a row of huge stockpots, lifted a lid and poked a long-handled fork at something inside.

“Thursday’s always vegetable soup day,” Bruce said matter-of-factly. “Best you ever ate.”

The other man grumbled something under his breath and kept his head down, revealing a bald spot. He continued to add to his mound of carrots.

“We always make plenty. Some people come from the other side of town for a bowl of Miss Livvy’s soup.”

“Bruce, you have three months before you need to start buttering me up for an extension.”

The two laughed. Even the old guy managed to contort his face into a grin of sorts.

“Will you wash up and give me a hand with this, please?” Olivia held a couple of quilted mitts toward Heath. “These potatoes are ready to be mashed, but I need you to drain the water off first. Over there.” She pointed to one of several deep sinks.

He quickly soaped and rinsed his hands, donned the mitts and then carefully dodged the blistering curtain of steam that rose off the potatoes as they drained into a wire colander. “Thanks for the gloves.”

“Good kitchen help is hard to find. We try not to injure a new recruit on his first day.” She placed a mixing bowl about half the size of the Astrodome on the counter before him.

“Now what?” Heath waited for instructions.

“We ain’t got time to hold your hand,” Amos barked.

“Sorry, sir,” Heath responded to the jibe. “I’m better with a Mac than macaroni.”

“Oh, a wise guy,” the older man bristled. “Well, if you’re gonna stay with us for a while you’d better get acquainted with the business end of a potato masher.”

Olivia handed Heath a utensil with a zigzag shape on one end. He brought it close to his face and studied the strange kitchen tool, trying to recall if he’d ever seen anything like it.

“I was planning to leave you in Bruce and Amos’s capable hands, but I’ve got some time to help out since I’m already prepared for tonight’s Bible study.”

Bible study?

Before he could question her last comment Olivia got busy giving him a cooking lesson. She scooped a portion of the steaming potatoes into the stainless steel bowl and then squashed away like she was working off a grudge.

“I think my mother used instant potatoes or maybe an electric mixer. Wouldn’t that be faster?”

“Look, Steve Jobs,” Amos snapped, “money don’t grow on trees around here. We make do with what’s donated. We only have one big mixer and it’s busy smoothin’ the lumps out of Bruce’s pitiful excuse for gravy.” He pointed toward a machine humming away on a countertop across the room.

“So I used a little too much flour,” Bruce defended himself. “Lighten up, old geezer.” He emphasized the insult.

Amos snarled and cast a menacing scowl toward Bruce.

“Okay, you two. Give it a rest,” Olivia insisted. “Nobody will notice a few lumps in the gravy once it’s poured over the potatoes.”

Amos turned his glare toward Heath. “We’ll never know unless Miss Livvy gets some help.”

“Sorry.” Heath reached toward Olivia who handed over the masher. He dumped more boiled potatoes into the bowl as she’d done and began to mash with gusto, little gobs flying as he worked. He eventually got a tub of chunky, starchy gunk for his effort.

When he paused, Olivia handed him a spoon and they each took a sample mouthful.

“Kinda boring and gloppy, huh?” he asked, pretty sure nobody would want to eat the stuff.

She nodded, her smile sympathetic as she reached for a cup of water to wash down the bite.

Heath stared down at the mess. “Ugly, too,” he admitted.

“I’ll take it from here, Miss Livvy.” Amos elbowed between Heath and the counter. “Out of the way, newbie. I’ll fix it since you don’t have the kitchen instinct God gave a goose.”

Without measuring a thing, the older man upended bottles of strange seasonings, dropped chunks of butter and added streams of milk to the bowl. After a couple minutes of stirring with a huge spoon till he was red in the face, Amos swiped a taste and pronounced it passable.

“It’s time for me to go help in the dining room.” He handed the spoon to Heath. “Clean up over here, and then see if you can figure out how to open those plastic bags and put the rolls in the bread baskets. And try not to make any more mess than you already have, ya pig.” Amos jerked his head toward the potato-spattered countertop before he stomped from the room.

Heath slanted a questioning look at Olivia who shrugged in response.

“I admitted up front I don’t have any experience,” Heath explained, then turned to Bruce. “My mother didn’t like me in her way while she was cooking.”

“Is there a chance you ever insulted your mama while she was fixin’ you a meal?” Bruce asked. “’Cause that might explain why she didn’t want your company in her kitchen. Same goes for Amos.”

“Huh?” Heath hadn’t slept more than a few hours in a row for a couple of weeks, thanks to a stakeout where the good guys had come up nearly empty-handed. He was exhausted and asked to delay this assignment until tomorrow. But Biddle insisted that Heath get on the case right away, and without any of the disguises he normally used during undercover operations. He’d been told to report as is, clean-faced and bare-headed, a situation he’d never encountered before.

The confusion just kept on piling up. He strained his brain to understand the comparison Bruce had just made between Heath’s mama and Amos. Obviously he’d done something wrong. “Are you saying I insulted the guy?”

“When you came into the kitchen with Miss Livvy we heard what you said about sir being code for feeble old geezer. When you called Amos sir two beats later, I thought that big vein on the side of his neck might explode.”

“I was simply showing respect,” Heath explained.

“You can’t have it both ways. Everything’s black and white with Amos.”

Heath looked to Olivia, who nodded agreement.

He hung his head. How he wished for a beard and horn-rimmed glasses to hide his naked face. There was comfort beneath camouflage. Being out in the world like this made him feel exposed.

Judged.

The real Heath Stone wasn’t exactly a guy people took to right away. And who could blame them?

Most days Heath didn’t even like himself.

“Oh, don’t worry too much about it,” Olivia said, cutting him a break. “It may take a while, but Amos will warm up to you once he gets to know you.”

“How long you plan to stay?” Bruce asked. A smirk twisted one corner of his mouth. “I’ve been here three months and he’s still calling me Bryan.”

“Well, Bryan,” Olivia picked up the joke, “things are under control in here so how about checking with Velma to see if she needs help? With these freezing temps I expect a full-capacity night.”

Bruce nodded, scrapped his pile of chopped vegetables into a container and stored it in an oversized fridge. He hung his apron over a peg on the way out of the kitchen.

“Sorry I got off to a bad start,” Heath felt he should apologize, though he wasn’t sure he’d done anything so awful.

“Most people have the same experience with Amos.” Olivia tore big sheets of tin foil from a roll mounted on the wall and tucked them over the giant bowl of mashed potatoes.

“Including you?” Heath grabbed paper towels and began to clean up the mess he’d made.

When she didn’t respond right away, he glanced up. He was captivated for the second time that hour by the fair skin that rose above the neck of her sweater and the short crop of jet-black hair framing her face. Something quickened inside Heath’s chest at the thought of this woman being guilty of trafficking drugs, especially if it was to support her thieving father who’d fled the country a decade earlier to avoid prosecution for tax evasion. The Feds had never given up on finding Dalton Wyatt and they wondered if he might somehow be behind the recent influx of meth and ecstasy that seemed to be passing through this shelter.

Heath watched tiny lines crinkle the corners of Olivia’s indigo eyes, where she squinted as if the answer to his question was a pleasant memory.



“God’s touch was all over my first encounter with Amos.” The event was a sweet memory for Olivia. “We hit it off right away. He needed a place to live and I needed someone I could depend on.”

“What about your family?” Heath dipped his chin and turned his attention to wiping down the countertop.

“I’ve been on my own since high school, so help from family hasn’t been an option for years.”

She wondered how his life compared to hers. Wondered if he could possibly understand what it was like to be alone in the world, not knowing whether you’d have food to eat or a roof over your head from one day to the next. Heath Stone spent his life sitting at a computer while she went door-to-door asking for donations to feed the hungry. They probably didn’t have much in common at all.

Still, she’d been asked by Detective Biddle to let Heath repay his debt to the community through service at her mission. Maybe the time he spent at Table of Hope would have a life-changing impact. Maybe he’d find even more than anyone expected.




Chapter Two


Olivia watched Heath throughout the meal. He was obviously uncomfortable having his dinner in a shelter. He avoided eye contact, ate with his head down. He kept his elbows pulled close to his body, careful not to brush against his neighbors as if that would keep their cooties away.

The guy was definitely out of place among the homeless but after the strained introductions in the kitchen she suspected he might never find his personal comfort zone.

Anywhere.

Though Detective Biddle had briefly shared the circumstances that cost Heath a hundred hours of community service, she knew nothing about him personally. Was he a political activist or just a prankster? What on earth had compelled him to make the trip over from his home in Austin, visit the public library in Waco and use his talent to break into the city’s computer system? Whatever his objective, the price of reaching it had been high. The court had slapped Heath with the maximum number of hours and threatened him with contempt if he left Waco without serving his full sentence. They’d even impounded his vehicle!

If not for the creative thinking of Detective Biddle, Heath could be working highway detail during the coldest year on record. From the hangdog expression on his face he might actually prefer the road crew to eating in her cozy dining hall and sleeping in the men’s quarters for a while.

A shoulder nudged playfully against Olivia’s.

“Ain’t he somethin’, just like I said?” Velma whispered.

“Would you stop!” Olivia hissed, hiding the humor that would only encourage her friend.

“Mmm, mmm, mmm,” Velma smacked her always-painted lips. “That man needs a lady friend and I just might have to apply for the job, even if it’s only part-time.”

As Olivia stood to clear her plate from the table, she gave Velma’s arm a pinch. “You behave yourself,” she instructed. “We have rules here and for good reason.”

Even so, it was impossible to disagree with Velma’s assessment. Heath’s questioning brown eyes had met Olivia’s only once across the table. For the brief seconds she’d held his gaze, a deep sense of emptiness had stirred in her spirit. Olivia wasn’t experienced enough with relationships to know if the need she recognized was his or her own.

As she carried her plate toward the cleanup station, she tried to imagine what Heath thought of her cheerfully painted dining hall. She sniffed the warm air, wrinkled her nose. Okay, it got a bit smelly in the evenings with all the food and the crowd of people right off the street. But before lights out everyone would have an opportunity to freshen up, to appreciate a brief shower.

The hot water heaters would be nearly empty by the time the staff had a turn. But with a man as handsome as Heath Stone as their new resident, the chill of a cold shower was probably a good idea. Especially for Velma!



If Heath added up all the dishes he’d washed in his twenty-nine years of life, it would still be less than the number of plates that passed through his sink tonight. He was fairly sure this would become a frequent event, so he needed to accomplish the job he’d been sent to do and then make tracks toward a new future in a new place.

Just today he’d firmly decided to leave the force.

“I gotta get out of drug enforcement, Biddle,” Heath had complained to his trusted friend at lunchtime over chips and vending machine sandwiches. “What’s the use in bustin’ college kids for dime bags when there’s an endless supply out there? It’s just a waste of effort and tax dollars.”

“Oh, come on,” Biddle chuckled. “It was a bigger deal than that. You’re just sufferin’ poststakeout blues. You say this every time a case wraps and you have to cool your heels waitin’ on the grand jury.”

Bill Biddle was patient to a fault when a cop needed to let off steam. Venting had become a daily occurrence for Heath, frustrated as he was by the constant stream of drugs across the Mexican border into Texas.

“It would be different if the indictments paid off,” Heath griped. “But the honcho of this new outfit seems to have an endless supply of product and every money-grubbin’ lawyer in Texas in his hip pocket. Living in disguise twenty hours a day is making it harder and harder to remember who I am. It’s just not worth it to me anymore.”

“Listen, son.” Biddle had laced his fingers across a sixty-something belly. “I know going undercover wasn’t your first career choice, but you’re good at the work. Stick with us till we can afford another full-timer in the Computer Crimes Unit. Microsoft and Google aren’t the only places a natural nerd can find his calling, you know.”

Heath reached for another dirty plate, grateful for the ugly yellow gloves that were a barrier between him and cleaning up after these homeless people. This place was definitely not for him and the sooner he was out from under the eagle eye of Grandpa Amos, the better.

Earlier, while Heath picked up the shattered pieces of a fumbled cup, he’d foolishly mentioned that using disposable stuff might be a good idea. He was swiftly educated about the virtues of soap, water and elbow grease versus garbage that would still be in a landfill when Christ returned. Then Amos started in about the number of trees that died for the sake of paper plates when a restaurant supply had donated perfectly good dishes.

“And, by the way, butterfingers,” he’d warned, “try not to break anything else. Money’s tight around here!”

Olivia’s return to the kitchen was like a sedative, quieting the curmudgeon who was a cranky Pit Bull guarding his boss lady’s business. As she picked up a stack of clean bowls near Heath’s work area and then stepped away, a sweet aroma lingered. She turned to carry them to the dish pantry and he seized the moment.

“Um, excuse me. Could we talk?”

“Sure,” she answered. A patient smile lifted the corners of her tired eyes. Setting the bowls back on the counter, she grabbed a fresh kitchen towel to dry the coffee cups in his drainer. The woman’s hands hadn’t been still since she’d introduced herself. He knew rookie cops who could use a dose of her stamina.

“It’s been crazy here tonight,” she admitted. “That’s the nature of a shelter in the winter. When the weather’s warm, folks leave right after the meal, but if it’s freezing we tend to bed down almost everybody. And even when it finally gets quiet, there still seem to be a dozen problems that need attention.”

“I noticed.” He’d only been in the place a few hours and had already come to the conclusion there must be easier ways to get some of the jobs done. But if it was all a front for drugs, why care about efficiency?

“So, what can I do for you?” she asked.

Before he bothered to state his case, Heath was pretty sure what the woman standing beside him would say, but he needed an opportunity to poke around the place when everybody else would be occupied. He gave it a shot.

“You can tell me Amos is wrong about nightly Bible study being a requirement of staying here.”

Olivia flung her red checkered towel over her left shoulder and pointed to a plaque on the wall above their heads. It was identical to the one he’d noticed above the front entrance.

Seek ye first the Kingdom of God, and His righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you. Matthew 6:33

“We’re in the business of seeking God. Shelter and food are only the physical part of what Table of Hope is about. Introducing lost souls to Christ and helping believers grow closer to Him is the primary reason we’re here. If you’re going to be with us even for a short while, worship is nonnegotiable. It’s a daily time that brings the staff together with a common heart.”

“But what if I don’t believe that stuff anymore? Why would you want me to take part if I didn’t feel the same way you do?”

“Faith comes by hearing the message and the message comes through the Word of God. Just because you don’t feel the same way I do doesn’t mean the Holy Spirit can’t use Scripture to meet your needs, whatever they are.”

Heath’s jaw tightened, sending a pinpoint of pain into his temple. This shouldn’t be a big deal. He’d find another way to skin this cat. But having somebody force religion on him rankled all the same, reminded him of the well-meaning adoptive parents who were forever trying to suck him into their church activities. Once they moved to Florida, he thought this sort of coercion was behind him.

Evidently not.

“I’ll cooperate because I have to, just like I have to wash dishes.” Heath reached for more dirty flatware and slid spoons and forks into the sudsy water while keeping his gaze away from the intensity of Olivia’s oh-so-lovely eyes. “But I want to say up front that requiring me to listen to Bible study will be about as effective as forcing me to do community service. Neither one can rehabilitate the person I am inside.”

A hand rested lightly on his shoulder. His already tense muscles stiffened more.

“Is it being stuck here that’s got you keyed up or are you angry at the world in general?”

“Is submitting to therapy also a requirement of your program?” He glanced at the spot where her fingers touched him, warming the flesh beneath the fabric of his long-sleeved shirt.

Olivia pulled her hand away. She reached for another dish and continued to help in spite of his rudeness.

“May I ask what kind of work you do in Austin?”

“Government security.” He began to spin a fresh web of lies, making up his story as he went along. Saying whatever it took to get her to drop her guard.

“Will you lose your job over this?”

It was natural for Heath to examine the motives behind questions. Did this lady really care what happened to him? Could her ministry to this captive audience be sincere, or was this God business just a more intricate cover than the average dope dealer bothered to set up? A loyal daughter would go to a lot of trouble to protect her father, even if he didn’t deserve it.

Heath turned his head, his eyes searching hers. He smiled to mask his suspicions.

“One of Waco’s city officials is the brother of my boss. He challenged me to hack into their Intranet just to stick it to his brother. I actually did the city a favor by pointing out the weakness in their network, but the mayor didn’t see it that way. Even though I didn’t access anything confidential, Judge Wapner still threw the book at me. I covered for my boss and he’s letting me use vacation time till I get home.”

“Do you have family in Austin?”

“Nope.” Heath said the word like punctuation to end the prying.

Olivia caught the hint, knew he was telling her to back off, but she kept pressing. “So it was a security job that drew you to our state capital?”

If this guy thought she’d go away easily, he had another think coming. People were her life’s work. Each one had a story worth telling and most needed somebody to listen. Maybe if she’d been tuned in to her father, she’d have recognized the signs of trouble, spotted the depth of his deception before it was too late.

But she’d barely been nineteen back then. He’d run like a coward and left her alone to face the enormity of his white collar crime. His disgraceful departure devastated Olivia. He left her with nothing but the landmark family home that was her late mother’s inheritance, Olivia’s birthright. Selling off the antiques kept the taxes paid and the water turned on, but little more. Once the place was nearly empty, it only made sense to let the property go and use what funds were left to do something positive to restore the Wyatt name by giving back to the community her father had swindled.

Some citizens had objected to another mission, even complained that it encouraged transients to frequent the area. Olivia would not be distracted by opposition, since she realized from her first volunteer experience that she was called to witness to the homeless. Or nonbelievers like the one standing before her now with his rubber gloves fisted on his hips.

“Is this an interview?” Even while he was glaring and demanding an answer, the man was a pleasant sight. His lean arms pulled the sleeves of his black T-shirt tight against a solid chest. “Or are you just nosy with everybody?”

“Pretty much everybody, but especially with the ones I allow to hang around for a while,” she said, a reminder that she had every right to ask a few questions. “Some of your answers would already be in writing for me if you’d had time to fill out the paperwork. How about if I empty out that sink while you take a break and get those forms completed.”

The glare of his eyes softened, the set of his jaw seemed to relax and his head tilted ever so slightly as if he were sizing her up. He turned back to the sink and resumed his attack on the white stoneware.

“If you get a nonnegotiable, then so do I.”

Olivia detected a hint of humor in his words.

“And what would that be?”

“I don’t shy away from hard work. I pull my own weight, especially in the service of a lovely lady.”

She hadn’t thought of herself as a lady in quite a long time, let alone one who was lovely. Humility was a free by-product of dressing in cast-off clothes.

“I never argue with a man who wants to do his part.” She sidestepped the compliment. People were generally grateful when you took them in, so it was her practice not to read too much into flattery.

“Miss Livvy, a toilet in the women’s lavatory is overflowin’ like the Brazos in rainy season.” Velma stood in the doorway with a mop in one hand and a janitor’s bucket at her side.

“Not again,” Olivia groaned. “The plumber promised it was fixed.”

“I already shut the pipes off, but I could use some help to clean up the water.”

“I got it.” Heath made a beeline for Velma and relieved her of the mop. “Point the way.”

“Just follow the stream.” She glanced at the wet tile floor. “It’ll lead you straight to the source.”

“You get the ladies out?”

“Sure did.”

“Can you wait by the door till I give the all-clear signal? We wouldn’t want anybody to slip and fall.”

“I got you covered, sugar cookie.” Velma winked at Olivia before she hurried after Heath.

Olivia offered up a prayer of thanks for having another pair of strong hands for a while, whether he was a willing volunteer or not. He hadn’t hesitated to take charge of cleanup in the ladies’ room, a place most guys wouldn’t go if their lives depended on it. He even made it a one-man job, so maybe that would get a thumbs-up from Amos. Staff relationships were important in close quarters.

She’d been exposed to a lot of unhappy people in her life and Heath had a thorn in his paw, for sure. If she had to make an educated guess, she’d say it had more to do with how he felt about himself than how he felt about the world around him.

According to Detective Biddle, Heath had thought about it for a while before choosing Table of Hope for his community service. She understood his reluctance to move into a shelter. Lots of people break the law intentionally, but very few associate with homeless folks by choice. A mission wasn’t exactly one step up from a labor camp and serving others shouldn’t be considered as a form of punishment.

Still, she’d gone along with the arrangement because it was nice to know Waco’s finest were aware and keeping an eye on activity at the shelter. There was a modicum of comfort in knowing that she wasn’t totally on her own when the lights went out each night. With so few trustworthy men in her life, the cops were high on her short list.




Chapter Three


A quick search of the women’s hot pink locker room for evidence to pin on Olivia Wyatt left Heath empty-handed. But he really hadn’t expected to find anything incriminating, at least not that easily. So he tackled the wet floor, pushing and pulling the industrial-size mop across the linoleum, pausing every few sloppy strokes to squeeze the head in the wringer attached to the bucket. As he worked, he mulled over his situation. For some reason he felt even more bent out of shape than usual.

“What’s your problem, Stone?” he grumbled aloud. “Just do the drill and get out. This assignment is a cake-walk compared to the last one.”

Five days ago he’d been in full body armor, a stinger in his grip, as he used the steel battering ram to break down the door of a crack house. A cop could never be sure what he’d find on the other side; could be drug-dazed kids, could be gunfire.

Hanging out at Table of Hope would be a big honkin’ bore by comparison. But hadn’t he just tried to convince Biddle that a quiet existence was exactly what the doctor ordered? Putting his life on the line over drugs was a losing battle. As soon as he wrapped this case he’d be off to the West Coast and the life of a professional geek.

“You ’bout done?” Velma yelled through an inch-wide crack in the door. “I got ladies who need to get in there.”

“You tell ’em unless they want to slip on this wet floor and break a leg to hold their horses for ten more minutes,” Heath yelled back. Then he muttered, “Pushy woman.”

“I heard that,” Velma called as the door creaked shut.

He felt a smile spread the width of his face, maybe for the first time in days. This place was definitely run by control freaks, but that seemed to be a good thing. From what he’d been able to observe, the facility was clean and in spite of his lame contribution to the meal, the food had been tasty and plentiful. It was a good thing since there were more hungry and homeless around here than he’d have guessed.

Yep, with so many people coming and going and the staff’s constant activity, this shelter would make a convenient cover for drug trafficking whether Olivia was involved or not.

Olivia.

He was bugged by a quality in her that he couldn’t quite identify. Was she a willing participant, covering for someone who’d let her take the fall? Or was she the real deal with this religious stuff? There was softness in Olivia’s dark gaze that appeared ready to forgive unknown and unconfessed sins. It was reckless and brave at the same time and, again, difficult to interpret.

He found that as worrisome as an unchained guard dog. Heath’s knack for reading people made him good at his job, kept him alive. Olivia Wyatt would be a challenge. Well, at least he’d leave undercover work on an interesting note, thanks to the unconventional nature of this assignment.

He crushed the mop in the wringer while reviewing the personal decision he’d admitted to Biddle earlier that day. Heath’s mind was made up. He was ready to nail shut the pine box on this phase of his life, bury the work he’d been doing in an unmarked grave and move across the country. Short of going into witness protection, this was the only way to move on with his life.

Anyone closely associated with Heath was in danger if the criminals he’d sent to jail ever put two and two together. He wasn’t afraid for himself but concern for his parents was the reason he’d bought out their duplex and hurried them off to an early retirement in sunny Florida. The hurt in their voices when he refused their offers to visit during holidays was slowly choking an already weak relationship.

All Heath’s life, his folks had been perplexed by his sullen personality and working undercover only magnified his skepticism. Every day he moved further away from being the son they wanted, the son they deserved. This was not a life worth sharing and it was the very reason he didn’t dare reconnect with his biological sisters.

Heath hadn’t been much more than a toddler when the mother he couldn’t recall was murdered at the hands of their brutal father, sending two daughters and a son into the family court system to be scattered like wildflower seeds in a Texas whirlwind. He’d found an adoptive home, but nobody had wanted the older girls, Alison and Erin.

Twenty-five years later, Alison had somehow found his address and tried repeatedly to make contact. Her most recent letter was still in his backpack. He didn’t have the heart to write Return to Sender on another envelope.

The woman was a stranger, but she was still his sister and deserved his protection. He knew very little about her, she knew nothing about him, and as things stood today it had to stay that way.

He clenched his jaw as he acknowledged the key to his anger. It wasn’t so much the constant battle with criminals as it was the by-product, his growing anonymity. The past six years had taught Heath to be invisible, and he was tired of living like a phantom. He wanted his life back. He wanted to know his family.

“That’s what’s bugging me!” Heath said to himself, the revelation suddenly clear as he pushed the mop across the floor.

The thought struck him like a gun butt to the skull. Olivia Wyatt was the only thing standing between Heath and his future. As soon as this case was solved, he could move on with his life.

He’d crack that unreadable expression and get her to show her true colors no matter what it took. And he’d start right now.

Heath’s gaze swept the nearly dry floor, coming to rest on the row of lockers. His fingers twitched at the thought of rifling behind the doors that were padlocked. The men’s private area would look just like this, which meant there were at least fifty locks to pick. He had the tools and experience to give it a go, but time was his enemy. There was no telling what else in the place was kept under lock and key. With a transient clientele, that probably meant everything of value.

Female voices grumbled in the hallway.

“All clear!” he called. The door burst open with Velma, a red-lipped fireplug of a woman in the lead and a dozen more close behind.

“It’s about time.” She leaned her hip against the open door and held it wide for him to exit. “The kitchen is closed up for the night so grab your Bible and meet us in the big room. Miss Livvy’s expecting you.”

Before he could comment that he didn’t own a Bible and had no idea where to find the big room, the line of women had shuffled past him, headed toward the showers.

“Last one gets cold water,” Velma explained as the door closed in his face.

Heath stood alone in the hallway, not at all sure which way to turn but certain somebody would give him bossy instructions at any moment. Meanwhile, he simply took a few beats to appreciate the floor-to-ceiling strokes of color that brought the walls of the corridor to life.

Lavish green plants and a rainbow of flowers sprang from soil you would swear was damp from rain. Birds of yellow and scarlet perched on shaded limbs of tall trees. A lazy blue stream wound through the setting, splashing down layers of rock and over smooth stones. Sunny rays filtered through clouds casting shadows that swayed with the wind. The scene was breathing with primary colors but mostly it was…moving. Alive with motion.

He stared hard, shook his head. He really needed a good night’s rest.

Olivia turned a corner and headed Heath’s way. “You like?” She swept her hand toward the walls.

“I can’t believe I hardly noticed it the first time I passed through here,” he confessed.

“Yeah, you really have to stand still and take it in. Eventually, everything starts to move. It’s kinda creepy in the dark but still cool.”

Heath nodded, glad it wasn’t the lack of sleep getting the better of him. But this kind of talent had to be expensive. He spotted an opportunity, baited the trap.

“I’m surprised you can afford art like this on the tight budget Amos keeps reminding me about. It must have cost a small fortune.”

She waved away Heath’s concern. “Oh, the paint is donated and I do all the work myself.”

“You’re the artist?” Heath stared again at the walls.

“Oh, I don’t know about being an artist, but I do all the painting around here. I had some help with the exterior, but I did the inside by myself before we opened.”

Heath couldn’t recall another day in his life when he’d been caught off guard so many times in such a brief period. Either this woman was something special or he was slipping.

Whatever the answer turned out to be, it was just a job. A job standing between him and the rest of his life.

“I came to get you for Bible study,” Olivia explained.

“It’s been a long day. Can’t I get a pass since it’s my first night here?”

“Nice try, but I already saved you a seat up front.” A smirk lifted one corner of her mouth. “Right next to Amos.”



Heath was mesmerized by Olivia as she spoke to the small group. She perched on a folding chair in the common space they called the big room, sitting tall with one foot tucked beneath her. For half an hour she talked about the Book of Job in a way that made the man’s struggles come to life, like the scenes she’d painted on the walls in the hallway.

Until that moment Heath had viewed Job merely as one more character from the stories he’d been told during childhood. Noah built his ark, Moses parted the Red Sea and Lazarus returned from the dead. Those were little more than fairy tales to Heath. Still, he loved a good superhero.

But Olivia was presenting a flesh-and-blood man whose trust in God overcame the worst trials Satan had up his sleeve. She made a convincing argument for faith and it was tempting to buy into her perspective.

Heath would keep that in mind. Charisma was an excellent shield. The world was full of smooth-talking leaders with hidden agendas. A disapproving puff of air rushed past Heath’s lips at the aggravating thought.

The point of an elbow poked against his ribs. Amos’s scowl indicated that Heath should bow his head, somebody was praying. He dipped his chin but slanted his eyes toward the others. He recognized a few faces from dinner, when he’d kept mostly to himself. During the meal he’d risked a glance across the room at Olivia. Her eyes were already fixed on him, affirming what he expected; she was keeping him under scrutiny.

And she should. He was a stranger, new on her turf, and as far as she knew he’d been convicted of a cyber crime. Yet he hadn’t seen any judgment in her eyes, only kindness.

The closing prayer droned on, so Heath’s gaze wandered back to the front of the room and homed in on Olivia. As if he’d tapped her on the shoulder, she looked up, gave him a brief smile and lowered her eyelids again.

“Shame on you,” Amos hissed when the meeting was dismissed.

“For what?”

“For lookin’ around when Bruce was praying.”

“If you’d been minding your own business you wouldn’t have noticed.”

“I was just checkin’ to make sure you were participating.”

“I agreed to attend. I never said I’d participate.”

“That’s true.” Olivia came to his rescue. “Heath is meeting all the requirements and he’s done an okay job.” She looked his way, her eyes wide with expectation. “So far.”

“It must be tough to get an atta boy around here,” he mumbled.



Olivia watched a sullen glaze settle in Heath’s eyes, like that of a brooding boy who longed for approval.

“Well, it’s a bit soon for praise, don’t you think? Give me a few days to see how you fold laundry and make beds.”

Heath’s shoulders slumped forward. He shoved his fists deep into the pockets of his baggy jeans, hiding and folding in on himself in one motion.

Olivia couldn’t wait to get his enrollment forms and study them in her personal quarters upstairs, the only truly private area of the shelter. Something was up with this guy and she planned to figure it out during the time he’d be completing his community service.

“Come on, sugar cookie.” Velma appeared at Heath’s side. “I’ll show you the rest of the place.”

“I’ll take over from here,” Olivia was firm. She looked from Velma to Amos. “I need the two of you to get a final head count before we lock up for the night.”

“Alrighty, then.” Velma fanned her fingers in a goodbye and tugged at Amos’s sleeve to ensure that he was close behind.

“Thanks for joining us this evening.” Olivia acknowledged Heath’s presence in her Bible study.

“I didn’t think I had a choice.”

“You didn’t. But you attended without an argument and that’s appreciated.”

“Do you get much backtalk?”

Olivia couldn’t hold in a smile. The guy seemed clueless about the streets. Maybe his tough look was all for show and he really was a nerd in skater boy clothing after all.

“What’s so funny?” His brows drew together.

She motioned toward the coffee station and moved away from the conversation couches of the big room. She poured a cup and turned her back to the others as she offered it to Heath.

“Homeless folks can be unpredictable.” She kept her voice low. “Sometimes they’re so worn down by their circumstances that there’s no fight left. It’s all they can do to put one foot in front of the other each day looking for shelter and food. Other times they’re like cheap firecrackers. The fuse is already short and it’s just a matter of time before they explode.

“And, sadly, we get our fair share of clients with mental problems. We do the best we can, referring folks where better resources can meet their needs.”

He nodded. “So, if nobody melts down or blows a gasket it’s a good day.”

“That’s it in a nutshell.” Olivia tore off several sheets from the wall-mounted paper towel dispenser and began wiping up drips and splashes around the coffee urn.

Heath leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, shook his head. “Isn’t there a smarter way for a single lady to make a living? I mean, where’s your chance for advancement, your five-year plan?”

“Thoughtful questions from a guy spending his vacation in a homeless shelter because he was too shortsighted to consider the consequences of a prank against city government.”

Olivia couldn’t resist dishing it right back when Heath had the nerve to question the wisdom of her professional decisions.

“My bad.” Heath lowered his eyes, tapped the toe of his sneaker against the linoleum of the big room.

Was hanging his handsome head a sign of humility? Or shame? Or just an act?

Olivia planned to figure out which one it was but she didn’t need to get in a hurry. Heath still had about ninety-five hours left on his sentence, plenty of time for her to decide what made him tick.




Chapter Four


Even though Heath’s question could have been posed more diplomatically, he’d been straightforward in the asking. He deserved an honest response, and he was watching Olivia now with expectation in his brown eyes.

“You’re not the first person to inquire about my ambitions,” she noted in response. “As a matter of fact I had to justify myself to the zoning commission and then again to some local churches who give us financial support. Table of Hope is my calling, but it’s also my sole responsibility.”

“I heard your father funded this place.”

Her hands stilled, her gaze met his.

“Is that supposed to be some kind of cruel joke?”

He pushed away from the wall, stood tall. “No, and I’m sorry ’cause I can see I’ve offended you. Detective Biddle said you were the boss lady and I thought he mentioned something about your father.”

“He probably did.” She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if she’d ever break free of the past. “I forgot you’re not from around here and you don’t know the Wyatt family history.”

She dropped to one knee to unlock the cabinet beneath the coffee bar. As she pulled the double doors wide, he moved closer and bent low to peer inside.

“Can I give you a hand with that?” Heath offered, his eyes glancing toward the contents of the storage shelves.

“Sure.” She moved aside, gave him access. “This area needs to be restocked a couple of times a day with just enough for a few hours. We can’t leave the supplies sitting out or they’ll walk away.”

“It’s the same where I work. People on the honor system always develop sticky fingers.”

“I’m afraid that’s been my experience, too,” she admitted.

“What happens if you catch somebody stealing?”

“We haven’t had to face that situation yet, but I’d remind the person we require honesty and accountability for our supplies. The clients have to respect that if they want to remain at Table of Hope.”

“A reminder is good, but removing temptation is still the best defense.”

She nodded in agreement. “That’s why we keep a close watch on our pantry and almost everything goes under lock and key at nine o’clock.”

“Want me to close this back up for you?” He opened his palm. Olivia removed the keys from her neck and dropped them in his hand.

“It’s the one with the black plastic tag, the same color as the dot beside the lock.”

He stood, returned her keys. “So everything’s color-coded?”

“You got it.” She moved toward the door, motioned for Heath to follow as she headed for the check-in area. “I hope you’re an early riser. The newest resident always gets the first shift.”

“I don’t sleep much, so that’s no problem. Midnight to four is about the only rest I can count on. So sign me up for crack-of-dawn duty.”

Passing into the front lobby, Olivia took the clipboard from Velma, blocking any chance for her to pounce on Heath. “Amos will love you for being an early bird.”

“First he has to get over hating me for being clueless in the kitchen.”

Olivia ignored the concern and motioned toward her office, a head-high cubicle that shielded a metal desk and two chairs.

“Amos is a wonderful person and I couldn’t get by without him.” She felt the need to explain. “But he lost everything at an age when a man should be enjoying life. I hope we can turn it around over time, but he’s become a glass-half-empty kinda guy.”

“The last time I heard somebody use that term they were talkin’ about me,” Heath offered as he settled into her creaky desk chair.

“Would you agree that’s true?”

“Pretty much.”

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Olivia pressed.

“Should it?” His head hitched to one side, a challenge in his eyes.

“I suppose not if you’re okay with your perspective being defined by lack instead of abundance. It seems sad, choosing to limit your possibilities in life.”

“I didn’t say I was okay with it, but I can’t help the way I’m hardwired,” he insisted.

“Sorry, but I don’t accept that excuse from you any more than I buy it from Amos. We may be predisposed to certain behaviors, but God gave us free will for a purpose. Every moment we’re awake presents a new choice with different consequences. The pessimist’s life is bound by doubt and doing without. James says we have not because we ask not. When we reach out to God with unselfish motives, He listens.”

“You sound like my mother. She’s always quoting the Bible.”

“Then I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It’s a waste of time for her and it will be for you, too.” He pushed the words through clamped teeth. “The day my folks moved to a retirement community was the day I was freed from their efforts to give me religion.”

He lowered his eyes and his head, took up a pen and began scribbling answers on the questionnaire. The finality in Heath’s words was like a blanket smothering the potential for fire in his spirit. Olivia’s heart was sad for him.

Her own sainted mother had lost the battle with diabetes in her thirties. But in the fourteen precious years they’d had together Anne Wyatt faithfully discipled her only child, as if knowing Olivia would be alone one day, needing the Truth as her anchor.

And here this foolish man sat complaining about his mother’s desire to give him a spiritual upbringing. Well, maybe he’d escaped the efforts of his parents, but for a short while anyway he’d be seated at Table of Hope where the glass was perpetually full because the Holy Spirit was always present.

Olivia watched him pressing pen to paper, probably giving as little information as possible. She’d check his answers first thing in the morning. As he wrote, she silently prayed for her personal witness to somehow have an impact on his heart. Heath hungered in a way that resonated more profoundly than a desperate client’s need for food.

“Hand the clipboard to Velma when you’re finished and she’ll assign you to a bunk in the men’s dorm and give you a welcome kit. That should get you through the night, and then we’ll cover the rest in the morning.”



Heath could tell from the determined set of Olivia’s jaw that he’d just become her new cause. Good. That meant she’d stay close to him. She’d learn soon enough he was a lost cause, but that was her business. His business was to dig deep beneath the surface of this place and its owner until the core was exposed.

“So, that’s it for tonight?” He tapped the pen against the metal clip on the board. He hadn’t made much progress so far. “I thought you wanted to review my form?”

She cupped her right hand behind her neck, squeezing as she tipped her face forward. “That was my plan until my head started to throb a couple of minutes ago.”

“I have that effect on people.”

She raised her face, a tired smile in her eyes.

“You get partial credit, but mostly I suspect the barometric pressure is dropping along with the temperature. I’m gonna call it a night, go upstairs and settle down with my favorite old quilt.”

“Should I slip this under your door when I’m done?”

“Thanks for offering, but there’s a locked stairwell between my apartment and the first floor of the shelter. A male resident always works the back exit and he keeps an eye on my entrance, too.”

“It’s smart you take precautions. A woman alone in this world needs to guard herself constantly.”

“I volunteered and studied missions for years while I planned Table of Hope and I gave a lot of thought to my personal space. So don’t worry about me.” She locked her desk drawer and pushed out of her chair. “Get a good night’s sleep because we have a busy day tomorrow.”

She disappeared around the wall of the cubicle, then several seconds later poked her head back into view. “And I look forward to reading about your family so don’t scrimp on the answers.”

With Olivia out of sight and Heath alone behind the small desk, he smacked his palm against his forehead.

What on earth made me mention my parents? Now I have to make something up about them.

Or did he? This could be a golden opportunity to test the waters, discover how it felt to be himself instead of some version he concocted as he went along. He pondered it for a moment. Nope, he shook his head. Not a good idea to start unearthing the truth when a lie worked perfectly well.

Heath’s shoulders slumped lower as he accepted how easily fabricating a background came to him, along with each assignment. It seemed the obvious way to protect his real family history. He was the only child of adoptive parents, but he had two natural sisters out there who wanted their brother to be part of their lives. Considering it seriously had always been too risky. And how would he deal with it if his sisters turned out to be dominated and abused like their birth mother? Or worse, what if they were single-minded, Bible-verse-quoting women like the one who had just lectured him about his pessimistic attitude?

“Lord, I sure hope my sisters fall somewhere in the middle of those two extremes,” Heath muttered.

“You need somethin’ over there, sugar cookie?” Velma called across the panel.

“Sorry,” he answered. “Just thinking out loud.”

Hearing folks praying tonight must have dredged up that old habit of talking to God. What was it Olivia had said? We have not because we ask not. Heath had stopped asking for stuff a long time ago. It occurred to him that the comment Velma just overheard kinda resembled a prayer.

If God’s likely to grant me a prayer request I should probably spend it on something of value, namely a good-paying job in Silicon Valley that lets me create software instead of lies.

Enough time wasted on introspection.

He was here to study Olivia Wyatt like the key to a final exam. He needed answers hidden somewhere in this building. They had to be uncovered before more college kids died. And before Heath could get on with his new life.




Chapter Five


Just after 11:00 p.m. Heath figured out that a homeless shelter never completely goes to sleep for the night. Sure, the bunks were heavy with snoring figures and the lights were out in dorms and hallways. But the muted sounds of conversation, television, flushing, coughing and even someone softly singing continued to flow.

He wandered the halls, poking around in the few spaces that remained unlocked or unguarded. Heath was restless to search in earnest for clues leading to drug activity. Working on his own in a place that was perpetually active had him rethinking how long he might have to invest in this case.

At the front and back entrances, night shift residents sipped coffee and read, looking up each time he happened past.

“You need something?” The young man who’d introduced himself as Nick paused over what appeared to be a textbook. He was seated at a folding table beside two doorways; one was clearly marked with an EXIT sign and the other, Heath assumed, led to the upstairs apartment.

“No, just antsy, I guess.”

“First night at this shelter?”

“First night in any shelter,” Heath admitted. “I’m here for community service. I guess I’ll get used to it in a day or two.”

Nick tucked a folded sheet of paper between the pages and closed his book. He motioned for Heath to take the other chair.

“I’ve been in and out of places like this for nearly two years,” Nick shared. “I’m still not used to it. So don’t be surprised if it never feels like home.”

The kid was well-spoken. Heath pointed toward the thick volume. “You a student?”

“Only for a little longer.” Nick grinned and nodded. “I was almost finished with technical school when I lost my job and apartment. I had to drop out, figured that was the end of my education. But since Table of Hope took me in I’ve been able to catch up. In a couple more months I’ll graduate, be qualified for work and get back on my feet again. I just need to put some money in the bank.”

“Your folks must be proud of you for finding a way to get back on track.” Heath returned the young man’s smile.

Shaggy hair fell across Nick’s brow when he shook his head. “They don’t even know where I am. I messed up too often to go home again.”

Heath could understand not wanting to feed at the family trough, but given the choice between shelter and pride he’d take the former. “So, let me get this straight. You chose being homeless over being humble?”

Nick took a sip from a smiley face mug as though he needed a moment to consider his response. “You ever been on the street?” he finally asked.

“Not in the way you mean,” Heath admitted.

“It’s more humbling than you can imagine. You never get past the shame of asking a stranger for a handout. You’ve seen those WILL WORK FOR FOOD signs, right?”

Heath nodded.

“Well, holding that sign is less embarrassing than hearing yourself say the words over and over again. I know some people see us as bums who just won’t get a job, and for a handful that may be true. But my experience at shelters tells me otherwise. If it wasn’t for Miss Livvy’s Christian heart, everybody here tonight might be sleeping in a doorway, and it wouldn’t be because they’re too lazy or proud to work.

“Trust me, if all I had to do was eat some crow to get my mama to invite me back to her table again, I wouldn’t hesitate. But my parents never read about the prodigal son. I’m grateful that Miss Livvy believes in helping folks get another chance, no matter what they’ve done.”

Warmth stirred beneath Heath’s breastbone. Was there any possibility the woman he was investigating was truly as beautiful inside as she was on the outside?

Did that kind of person even exist in the world today?



Olivia stood before her bathroom sink, tipped her face toward the ceiling and made a gurgling sound through a mouthful of salty water. Too many encounters with the day’s blustery wind had left her with a raw throat and throbbing ears. Thank goodness for home remedies. She couldn’t afford medical insurance, so anything less critical than a severed limb had to be handled out of her first aid kit.

Two aspirin and a cup of hot tea should do the trick.

She rinsed her mouth, finger-combed short hair that stuck up every which way and dragged a favorite old Baylor sweatshirt over her head for added warmth. She padded into her small kitchen and pried open the tea bag tin.

Empty.

“Oh, that’s right,” she muttered. “I used the last one this morning.” Crawling back under the blankets would be the simple thing to do, but when had she ever taken the easy road? She scooped up her wad of keys and flipped on the stairwell light. At the bottom she poked her head out, hoping to get Nick’s attention and ask for a favor. He was nowhere in sight.

“It figures,” Olivia griped as she trudged toward the big room. She’d make quick work of pocketing some tea bags from the drink station and get back upstairs before she was seen.

She found the room silent and empty, lit only by a plug-in night-light near the coffee urn.

“Yes!” Olivia cheered quietly, then hurried across the floor and reached for the tea canister. The lid flipped open easily. She grasped a handful of the small bags, raised them to her nose and closed her eyes to appreciate the fragrance.

“Excuse me,” a male voice rumbled in her ear.

Olivia gasped! Her eyelids flew wide in the dark room.

The terse baritone and the fist gripping her wrist sent a shock wave shivering through her body. She gawked for a split second at the shadowy place where a strong hand held her captive. Her gaze raced upward to the man’s face. Sober eyes loomed close to hers.

“I believe under these circumstances I’m supposed to remind you about honesty and accountability, showing respect for the supplies at Table of Hope.”

“And I believe under these circumstances I oughta have you skinned alive, Heath Stone. You scared the daylights out of me.” She attempted and failed a defense training move to break his hold on her arm. “Let me go!” she hissed.

He squeezed harder and gave her a slight shake.

“Pay attention for a minute,” his voice was insistent.

She stopped struggling, propped her free hand on her hip. “Okay, you have exactly sixty seconds before I call Detective Biddle to have you removed from my place.”

“Fair enough, but listen. That little twist thing you just did with your arm might work with someone who’s not expecting you to fight back. But you need to learn more aggressive tactics if you intend to hold your own against an attacker who won’t give up easily.”

He talked her though a judo maneuver that would put a man flat on his back and knock the wind out of him, giving her precious seconds to run for help. “Now, that’s what you need to do the next time a guy grabs you by the wrist.”

“Dumping somebody on the floor that hard is cruel.” She doubted she could be so brutal to another human being.

“Exactly! Always think of your own safety first. No man has the right to put his hands on a woman without her permission.”

“The way you just did, you mean?” She rubbed the skin below her shirtsleeve.

“That was only to make an important point.”

“Do you frequently make this point with women?”

“I’ve never shown that self-defense move to another person.”

“Not even to your own mother?” Olivia asked.

Heath’s expression went blank. He inhaled and exhaled before responding. “My mother’s been dead for twenty-seven years.”

Ten minutes later Olivia was seated on one of the big room’s sofas at a right angle to Heath’s chair. Her furry slippers were propped on the edge of a secondhand occasional table, and both hands cradled a mug of strong, hot tea. She should have made the time to retrieve his chart from the office, but the Holy Spirit was urging her to seize this moment and make it more personal, less about business.

“I’m not sure what possessed me to say that because I rarely think of my birth mother.”

Olivia watched Heath cross one ankle over the other knee, jiggling his support leg in time with some cadence only he could hear. She’d seen the gesture before in applicants who were nervous. Or lying.

“Well, she was on your mind for some reason. Wanna tell me about her? I apologize if it seems like I’m prying, but as long as we’re sitting here together at midnight we might as well get acquainted.”

“Or I could show you another judo throw,” he joked. The most mischievous grin Olivia had ever seen on a male over the age of eight dimpled Heath’s cheeks. This handsome man must have been an adorable-looking child.

“I’ll take you up on that offer in a few days when I’m feeling at the top of my game. Tonight the only thing I’m going to throw is a soggy tea bag if you don’t tell me something about yourself.”

His leg stopped jostling. He stared at the cup in his hands.

“When I was a toddler both of my parents were killed in an accident.”

“Oh,” Olivia pressed three fingers to her lips to contain a gasp. “I’m so sorry, Heath.”

“I wasn’t more than a baby, so I don’t have any memories of them. It’s not like I’m emotionally scarred or anything. But they didn’t leave a will and nobody in the family could take me, so I was eventually adopted.”

“Still, that’s a terrible loss for a child no matter what the circumstances. How long have you known this?”

“Since middle school when my folks thought they should tell me the few facts they had.”

“Have you made contact with any family members of your birth parents?”

“No.” He shook his head. “There’s no reason why I should after all this time. If anybody cared about me, they’d have made an effort by now.”

“Maybe it’s as simple as not having your name.”

“My name was never changed.” His eyes were downcast. “When the Brysons adopted me, they just tacked their last name on the end. I dropped Bryson when I turned eighteen.”

Her heart was heavy with sadness. His adoptive parents must have been crushed by such an action from their son. “May I speak frankly?”

“Go ahead.” He seemed to accept whatever might be coming.

“You’ve only been here a few hours and I’ve already heard you mention resenting your parents’ faith and now your rejection of their name. Have you considered how terribly painful that must have been for the people who raised you as their own?”

Oh Father, how hurtful it must be when so many of Your beloved children do the same thing to You!

“Of course I have.” Heath dropped his chin, not so much to look contrite as to indicate that he got the point. “Look, they’re good, Christian folks and I show my gratitude the best way I can. But in all our years together we never saw eye-to-eye on anything important. So it didn’t come as a great surprise when they told me about the adoption. All of a sudden our failure to connect kinda made sense.”

Olivia sipped cautiously while she considered his revelation. This man was as confused and complicated as anybody she’d encountered in her social work career. He seemed to have everything going for him and nothing to show for it emotionally or relationally.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Heath insisted. “I’m beyond redemption.”




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