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In the Light of Love
Deborah Fletcher Mello


You have beautiful eyes. I think I could love you.…From the moment Talisa London woke on the operating table and looked into Dr. Jericho Becton's mesmerizing blue-green gaze, she knew he was unlike any other man she'd ever met. Running into him a few weeks later only confirmed the spark between them wasn't imagined. But this time they were in a wartorn African nation, far from the safety of their Atlanta home.…Working toward a common goal in a world where danger lurked in every corner, Jericho and Talisa found themselves swept up in a wave of desire that left them both breathless and wanting more. But would they survive their mission with their love–and lives–intact?







He was tall, dark and handsome, and he was coming her way!

“Hello, my name’s Jericho Becton. Have we met before? You look very familiar.”

Talisa smiled and shook her head, her gaze sweeping over the man’s face. From the other side of the reception her friends were calling her name. Their voices momentarily pulled her attention away, but in a heartbeat, her glance returned to the man standing in front of her.

She stammered searching for her words as she stood lost in the sensation of her small hand resting in the warmth of his large palm.

“I…I was just…thinking the same thing,” she finally managed to say. All of a sudden, the room seemed to spin in a slow circle around her.

“You don’t look like you are having a good time,” Jericho said.

“Have you been watching me?” Talisa asked coyly, her excitement now shining brightly from her dark eyes. Her hand was still held hostage in his firm grasp.

“I couldn’t help myself,” Jericho answered, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper.




Books by Deborah Fletcher Mello


Kimani Romance

In the Light of Love

Kimani Press Arabesque

Take Me to Heart

A Love for all Time

The Right Side of Love

Forever and a Day

Love in the Lineup




DEBORAH FLETCHER MELLO


is the author of five Kimani Arabesque romance novels. Her first novel, Take Me to Heart, earned her a 2004 Romance Slam Jam nomination for Best Author. In 2005 she received Book of the Year and Favorite Heroine nominations for her novel The Right Side of Love.

For Deborah, writing is akin to breathing and she firmly believes that if she could not write she would cease to exist. Weaving a story that leaves her audience feeling full and complete, as if they’ve just enjoyed an incredible meal, is an ultimate thrill for her. Born and raised in Connecticut, she now calls Hillsborough, North Carolina, home, where she resides with her husband, son and two dogs.


In the Light of Love

Deborah Fletcher Mello






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To the children of Uganda,

You have not been forgotten,

And you are remembered with much love.


Dear Reader,

I have an emotional attachment to my stories. Each has been fueled by an experience that has stayed with me, haunted me, encouraged me and motivated me to capture the moment as eloquently in words as was humanly possible.

In the Light of Love was one of the stories that I wanted to tell, needed to tell and fought to write with the emotion and passion of the experience itself. I hope that you enjoy it. I hope that it inspires you to reach out to someone in need, to question what you might not know and to find the light that burns especially for you.

Many thanks to all of you for your continued support. Please visit me at my Web site (www.deborahmello.com) and continue to send me your comments.

With much love,

Deborah Fletcher Mello




Contents


Chapter 1 (#ue5ca0c04-bd07-5655-9e2e-493bbbea0ee8)

Chapter 2 (#ud5f0041a-27b5-5591-a621-83e96aac621a)

Chapter 3 (#u7efa1c51-b688-5a62-a63d-88614b2dae0d)

Chapter 4 (#ucddc71b5-fa11-5336-8915-e18904da1e69)

Chapter 5 (#uc9bc8f9c-d353-5209-9aa9-be3752bd6191)

Chapter 6 (#u9a34ca7b-e867-5fc5-ac77-ae446e1f7183)

Chapter 7 (#u68f9596b-77f3-59de-9f74-af525eed9688)

Chapter 8 (#uc06e3fd9-1542-5f86-8ea1-a75a3f68760c)

Chapter 9 (#uea959923-580d-529a-941e-c6def44828ea)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 22 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 23 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 24 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 25 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 26 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 27 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 28 (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter 1


The first wave of intravenous medication had quickly dulled the blinding pain that had cut through her abdomen only moments before. Talisa London could breathe again and she gulped oxygen, fearful that it might be denied.

From some distant place above her, a male voice was eerily calming, the deep tone even and controlled as the man explained the impending procedure, assuring her it would be quick, and over before she knew it. As she felt her body being lifted from the gurney onto the operating table, panic swept over her. A large, brown hand that patted her gently against her bare shoulder instantly soothed the fright-filled emotion.

“You’re doing very well,” Dr. Jericho Becton whispered softly, warm breath blowing against her ear. “Everything’s going to be just fine.” His voice was melodic, a soothing bass tone that eased right through her.

Focusing her attention upward, Talisa’s eyes met his, her stare floating up to his intense gaze. His eyes reminded her of the ocean, the irises a deep, blue-green liquid balm. The black lashes were forest thick; long, luscious, enviable strands. The warmth he exuded was consuming and she could feel herself swimming in his gaze, the sensation like a warm wet blanket wrapping around her. There was something ultra-soothing about his stare and when he smiled, she willed herself to smile back. An anesthesiologist placed a mask over her nose and mouth, instructing her to breathe deeply.

“That’s a good girl, deep breaths,” Dr. Becton said, echoing his associate, the warmth of his hand still pressed against her shoulder.

Talisa stared upward, her smile widening. “You’re very sweet,” she said, mumbling into the mask. “And you have beautiful eyes. I think I could love you,” she chimed, her eyelids fluttering open and then closed. As drug-induced sleep tiptoed in to possess her, Talisa heard the man laugh, a faint “thank you” echoing into her dreams.

“Talisa? Are you sleeping, baby?”

Talisa opened her eyelids to find her mother staring down at her. She blinked quickly, wiping at her face with the length of her fingers. Lifting herself up against the bed pillows, she yawned widely. “No, ma’am. I think I just dozed off for a quick moment.”

Mary London smiled at her daughter. “You was asleep. I woke you up. Sorry ’bout that, but it’s time for your medicine. That doctor said you had to take your medicine every four hours.” The woman glanced down to the Timex watch on her wrist. “It’s past time.”

Talisa nodded, extending her hand for the antibiotic and pain medication her mother was holding out toward her. As the small pills settled against her tongue, she reached for the cup of chipped ice and cold water the matriarch passed her way.

It had been one week since Talisa had been rushed to Atlanta’s Northside Hospital with a ruptured appendix. She could have kicked herself for ignoring the initial pangs of hurt that had teased her only days before. High doses of aspirin had dulled the ache just enough for her to consider it of little importance. A sprained muscle, she’d thought, remembering an aerobics class that had taxed her body’s limits. Then, out of the blue, agonizing pain had hit her broadside, crippling her movements and sending her straight to the floor.

She shook her head at the memory. Everything after that moment, from the ambulance ride to the operating room, was nothing but a blur. As Talisa reflected back, one memory swept over her. She smiled, and as she did, her mother gave her a strange look.

“What?” Mary asked, fluffing the pillows behind her daughter’s head. “What are you grinning about?”

“I just remembered this man in the operating room who had blue eyes. I think I told him I loved him.”

Mary frowned. “There were lots of men in that hospital with blue eyes now. That nice Dr. Pearson has ’em, and that tall boy, the nurse. What was his name?”

“Tim, I think.”

“That’s it. Tim. He had blue eyes, too. But I know you were not serious about being in love with one of them.” The woman frowned, the lines deepening against her dark complexion.

Talisa shook her head, two shoulder-length ponytails swaying back and forth against the sides of her skull. “No. This man was African-American. He was Daddy’s complexion, maybe a little lighter, and he had bright blue eyes.”

Mary skewed her face in disbelief. “They was probably them colored contact lenses.”

“Did you see him?”

The woman shook her head no. “I would have remembered a black boy with blue eyes. You must have been dreaming from all them drugs.”

Talisa shrugged. “Well, if I was, it was a very nice dream.”

Her mother sucked her teeth, rolling her eyes skyward. “You don’t need to be dreaming about no man. A man ain’t nothing but trouble waiting to happen to you. They’s devils. All of ’em. Take my word for it.” She reached for the television remote, taking a seat in the cushioned wing chair at her daughter’s bedside. “It’s time for my stories. Erica Kane’s in some mess, again. I’ll sit here and watch All My Children with you, then I need to go get lunch ready.”

Talisa laughed, her palm falling against her bandaged belly. She winced slightly, the act of laughing an uneasy feat to accomplish with the multitude of stitches that crossed her stomach.

Mary fanned a hand in her daughter’s direction. “Hush, now. I need to hear the television.”

Glancing from her mother, to the TV screen and back again, her wide grin continued to fill her face. Settling herself comfortably against the pillows, Talisa closed her eyes and wished for a dream. Wishing the memory of a blue-eyed, black man back to her.

The tall, Caucasian man was pacing the floor anxiously, his distress painting an intricate frown pattern across his face. He ran a thin hand through the short length of salt-and-pepper-toned hair that graced his head, staring intently at the younger man who stood before him.

“This is career suicide, Jericho,” Dr. Elijah Becton insisted, shaking his head from side to side. “What are you thinking, son?”

Jericho shrugged, shaking his own head. “I don’t agree, Dad. I need to do this.”

“What about the practice?”

“The practice will be fine. You will continue to run things just as we’ve been doing. Besides, I’m not going to be gone forever. It’s only going to be for one year.”

The elder Becton rolled his eyes. “Why Africa, of all places?”

“Because they need the medical help. Because it’s where I need to be for a while.”

His father nodded slowly, his own ocean-blue gaze meeting his son’s as the two aquatic stares spun one into the other.

The moment was interrupted by a knock on the library door. Both men turned toward the entranceway as the solid oak door was pushed open. Irene Becton stepped into the room, greeting her husband and son with a wide grin.

“Is it safe to enter?” she asked, easing over to stand between the two men.

The senior Becton leaned to kiss his wife’s mouth, pressing his lips lightly against hers. Reaching for his hand, the woman clasped his fingers between her own.

“Our son is leaving for Uganda. I tried to talk him out of it but he won’t listen.”

Irene laughed, reaching to kiss her child’s cheek. “Good for you, Jericho. The experience will be good for you.”

“For heaven’s sake, Irene. He’s going to the jungles of Africa!”

The woman shrugged. “Oh, please! Would you have preferred he choose Iraq or Israel, instead? Maybe Bosnia? I’m sure his services are just as needed there.”

Elijah tossed up his hands in exasperation. “Whose side are you on?”

“I’m on the side of all those children who will benefit from our son’s altruism. You should think about going yourself. Get back to your Peace Corps days.”

“I was never in the Peace Corps,” the man responded.

“You should have been,” she said matter-of-factly, her gaze penetrating his.

Crossing his arms over his chest the man smiled, shaking his head from side to side. “Well, I’m too old to be volunteering in the field now. But I do my part every time I sign one of those large donation checks you keep writing.”

Jericho chuckled. “You’re never too old to give back, Dad.”

Irene winked at her son. “That’s right. You tell him, baby boy. So, when do you leave?” she asked, leaning her back against her husband’s chest as he wrapped the length of his arms around her.

“I’ll be flying out the first week in April,” Jericho answered, his gaze dancing from his mother’s face to his father’s. “I have some time before I have to leave.”

The couple nodded, one shifting comfortably against the other. Jericho smiled, warmed by their presence. Irene and Elijah Becton were the pillars in his life, his own personal fan club and cheering squad. Although Jericho understood the adversity the duo had faced being a white male and black female during an era of heightened racial tensions, the two had built a solid relationship on a foundation of mutual respect, passion and pure love. Jericho yearned for what his parents shared—constant companionship with that one person who touched your soul and held the key to your heart. He sighed, and the wistful gesture was not lost on his mother.

“That’s good,” she said, a smile widening across her ebony face. “I’ve volunteered you for one of my fund-raisers at the end of the month.”

Elijah laughed, giving his wife a quick hug before moving back behind his desk and taking a seat against the leather chair. “You’re in for it now, son.”

Irene fanned a hand at the man and sucked her teeth. “Ignore your father. This will be fun. My women’s group is hosting a bachelor auction and I’ve put you on the program. You’ll need to decide what your date package will be, or of course, I can plan it for you, if you like.”

Elijah roared with laughter, wiping at the moisture that rose to his eyes. “Which means she’s already planned it for you. I told you, son,” he muttered between chuckles. “Didn’t I tell you?”

Wide-eyed, Jericho shook his head from side to side. “A bachelor auction? I don’t think so, Mom. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, and you will. It’s for a good cause. We’re gifting the money we raise to the hospital for pediatric cancer research. So, you have to do it. Besides, this will give you an opportunity to meet some very nice women.”

Jericho sighed, a look of defeat gracing his face. “Yes, ma’am.”

“And you need to get your hair cut,” his mother said, running her hands through the excessive length of her son’s locks.

Jericho bristled. “Never,” he said emphatically, shaking the jet-black strands that fell in a gentle wave against his skull. “I don’t have any need to cut my hair, so please don’t ask.”

Irene rolled her eyes, nodding her head at her husband. “You need to talk to your son.”

The man shook his head. “Oh, now he’s my son. My son needs a haircut. Your son gets to parade around like a side of beef for the cause. You’ve got some nerve, woman!”

Jericho’s mother laughed. “It’s for a good cause and you never know. Our son might meet a nice girl, and we might get grandchildren out of the deal.”




Chapter 2


The morning staff meeting had gone well, and when Reverend Edward Warren gestured toward Talisa, asking to speak with her privately, she was surprised. It was rare that the minister ever had anything to say to her that he couldn’t say in front of them all.

Mrs. Stevie Parrish, the student activities director for the Wesley Foundation and Johanna Bower, the administrative assistant, both watched curiously as Talisa followed Reverend Warren into his office, the man closing the door behind them.

Reverend Warren took a seat in one of the two oversized recliners that decorated his office, pointing a finger toward the other.

“Make yourself comfortable, Talisa,” the man said, smiling at her warmly. “How have you been feeling?”

“I’m doing very well, sir. Fully recovered.”

He nodded. “I’m glad to hear it. We were worried about you for a while there.”

“Thank you. I appreciate everything you all did to help, and it feels great to be back to work.”

The man turned serious as he reached for a manila folder on his desk. “I’m sure you want to know why I wanted to speak with you.”

“Yes, sir. I’m a little curious. There’s nothing wrong, is there?”

Reverend Warren shook his head. “No, dear. Not at all. Just the opposite, in fact. I have recommended you to lead one of the two student groups we’re sending on work team missions this summer. Johanna will be on maternity leave and Stevie already has a group of twenty committed to building homes in Costa Rica. I have ten more seniors who want to work with a medical outreach ministry in Uganda. I would like you to take them. They don’t need a lot of hand-holding, but we’re obligated to have a member of our staff accompany them.”

Talisa pulled herself to the edge of her seat. Excitement shimmered across her face, the ecstatic expression flooding the room.

“I would love to, Reverend Warren. Are you sure?”

“I couldn’t be more positive. I think you’ll do a wonderful job. I’ll let the board know that you’re going.”

“How long will we be away, sir?”

“Eight weeks. You’ll leave right after exams. That’s all we have in the budget. The kids are raising the majority of their money and the board will fund the difference, plus pay all of your expenses. But it’s going to be a good deal of hard work, Talisa. Not only will you have to complete your work mission, but you’ll be expected to do so keeping the spirit of the Lord front and center, and sharing our love of God and the church with the community, as well.”

Talisa nodded her head. “Yes, sir.”

The man smiled. “You’ll do just fine. I have total confidence in you, Talisa. So, do you have any plans for the weekend?”

Talisa blushed. “I’m actually attending a fund-raiser this weekend. It’s an auction to raise money for the hospital.”

Reverend Warren nodded his head. “Sounds like fun.”

Talisa giggled. “I hope so. They’re auctioning single men. My father’s hoping I’ll get lucky and find a husband.”

The minister laughed with her. “I should send my daughter. She could use a little help in that direction herself. Well, you enjoy and we’ll finalize the details of your trip on Monday.”

“Thank you, Reverend Warren. Thank you very much.”

Talisa was grinning widely as she exited the office and returned to the small conference room of the United Methodist campus ministry at Georgia Tech. Just as she’d expected, Stevie and Johanna were waiting for her, feigning interest in the paperwork scattered across the surface of the table.

Stevie rose excitedly, rushing to close the door from prying ears as Talisa took a seat at the table. “What’s going on?” the woman asked anxiously, dropping back into her own seat.

“Reverend Warren asked me to head the second mission group,” Talisa answered, her excitement spilling into the small space.

Stevie clapped her hands as Johanna reached out to hug her. “That’s great,” her friend said, the other echoing the sentiments. “You’ll do just fine. I am so happy for you.”

Talisa placed a hand against Johanna’s pregnant belly, patting the haven of new life ever so slightly. “Won’t you miss going?” she asked, studying the woman’s face.

“Not at all,” Johanna said emphatically, her blond ponytail swaying from side to side. “It’s time I took a break. I’ve done a mission trip every year since I was a student here. It’ll be a pleasure not to have to worry about inoculations, visas, and all the other stuff you’re going to have to bother with. Plus, I love our kids dearly, but they will work your nerves once you get them out of the country.”

Talisa laughed. “Now you tell me!”

Stevie shook her head. “I wish we were going together, but you’ll do fine. You have David, Paul and Clarissa going with you. They have over ten years of experience between them. They’ll be a big help.”

“But you won’t need much help, Talisa,” Johanna said. “You’ve got great instincts. All you will need to remember is that you are not there to babysit them. They’re adults. All they need is for you to occasionally remind them that they represent the church and their school, and that they need to behave like it. Once you get them settled and organized, they’re on their own and so are you.”

Stevie waved her head in agreement. “When you finish this trip you need to walk away knowing that you fulfilled a calling in your heart, that you served well, and that everyone can be proud of whatever it is you accomplished. You also need to relax, enjoy and have a great time.”

Talisa grinned as the two women chattered excitedly around her. She had been working at the student ministry for almost three years, her duties ranging from being a housemother to a homesick freshman, guidance counselor for an anxious senior, maintenance woman, building manager, and everything else in between. The Wesley Foundation, home of the United Methodist Church’s student ministry, had become her second home and she welcomed the opportunities it afforded her to be a part of the campus community.

When she’d initially applied for the position, Reverend Warren had explained their jobs simply. He had explained that they were there to help the students grow in their love for and their commitment to God. At the time, neither knew that the foundation would do that exact thing for Talisa. But from the moment she first stepped into the building and the staff had embraced and welcomed her, Talisa had marveled at how powerful, how healing, how sustaining an environment the place would be for her. She was excited at the prospect of sharing that through their outreach ministry. She was also excited about the opportunity to visit the motherland she only knew through outdated history books, an occasional world news item and the travel brochures she’d periodically picked up at the local travel agency.

Her grin widened as Stevie changed the subject. “How much do you plan to bid tomorrow?” the woman asked, turning the pages of the auction catalog she’d swiped off Talisa’s desk.

Talisa laughed again, the sound vibrating between them. “I have no intentions of bidding at all. I’m only going because my friends insist that this is where I need to be for my birthday. That, and my father is hoping someone will take pity on me, marry me, and move me out of his house. I just plan on making a nice donation for the cause, enjoying the hors d’oeuvres, and then I’m going home to a good book and a hot bath.”

Johanna stared over Stevie’s shoulder as the two scanned the photographs and read the bios of the auction’s participants. “I like this one,” she said, pointing to the black-and-white photo of a senior pilot for Southwest Airlines. The man’s wide smile filled the image, accentuating his thick eyebrows, dimpled cheeks, and the graying edges of his hairline.

“They all work for me,” Stevie said with a deep laugh. “I think he’d be cute for you, Talisa,” she finished, pointing to the image of a pro basketball player for the Atlanta Hawks. The young man staring up from the page was a richly toned, blue-black specimen, in a pin-striped suit and wide-brimmed Panama hat, and matching, two-toned, black-and-white shoes. A wide grin filled his very round face and Talisa could almost imagine the number of hearts he’d broken in his lifetime.

She rolled her eyes. “You two are starting to sound like my father. If he tells me one more time how much I need a good man, I’ll absolutely bust.”

Johanna rubbed her palm against her bulging abdomen. “Personally, a man is the last thing I need. My poor husband is not having any fun with me right now. Every time I look at my swollen ankles, get heartburn or feel a twitch of pain, I take it out on him.” She sighed, looking toward Stevie. “I thought you said this pregnancy thing was going to be a piece of cake?”

The older woman laughed. “It was…for me.”

“I should never have listened to you. What would you remember? It’s been what, thirty-four years since you gave birth to your daughter?”

“About that, give or take a year,” Stevie said.

Johanna shook her head. “That’s what I get.”

Talisa laughed. “You know you’re enjoying every minute of this pregnancy and I’m sure you haven’t been that hard on Allan at all. That husband of yours is golden the way he fawns all over you.”

Johanna smiled. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Listen to your father. Go find yourself a really good man. Just don’t pay too much for him. A bargain is always better than full price any day of the week.”




Chapter 3


The morning sun peeked through the blinds of her bedroom, the rising warmth summoning Talisa awake. As she stretched the length of her body against the padded mattress top, she suddenly remembered that her work week had ended well and that she actually had something to do to get the weekend off to a promising start. She smiled.

Although she professed to not be interested in the evening’s auction, she was overly excited at the prospect of being in a room with so many eligible, employed, socially promising men. It was an ideal way to celebrate her twenty-fifth birthday—and her best friends had promised her an exceptional birthday party. She stretched again, yawning as she shifted from sleep mode to wide-eyed and awake.

She had already lifted herself from beneath the covers and was returning from the adjoining bathroom when her mother and father knocked on the bedroom door.

“Happy birthday to you…happy birthday to you…happy birthday, Pumpkin Pie…happy birthday to you!” they both sang, one more out of tune than the other.

“Happy birthday, pumpkin,” Herman London said, leaning to kiss his only child on the cheek.

Her mother reached for the covers on the unmade bed, instinctively smoothing out the rumpled sheets and blankets.

“Stop, Mom! I can make up my own bed,” Talisa said, reaching to pull the covers from her mother’s grasp. She rolled her eyes in annoyance.

Mary flipped her hand at her daughter. “I know what you can do. I was just helping out.” She smiled widely at the young woman, nodding approval in her daughter’s direction.

Herman shook his head from side to side. “So, what do you have planned for the day, baby girl? Anything special?”

Talisa grinned. “Going out with the girls tonight, Daddy.”

The man nodded. “Do you need some money?” he asked, reaching for the wallet in his rear pocket.

Talisa shook her head. “No, sir. I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

“Give her the present, Herman,” Mary said, clapping her hands together as she hopped in place. “What are you waiting for, Daddy?”

The man winked, reaching for an envelope in the pocket of his work shirt. “Child ain’t even dressed yet and you rushing folks.” He passed the envelope to Talisa who looked at them both curiously.

“What’s this?” she said, pulling at the sealed container.

Her parents stood beside her, beaming in her direction.

“Your daddy and I thought this was the best present for you. Hurry up and open it now!” her mother said excitedly.

Opening the envelope, Talisa’s eyes widened as she pulled a set of silver keys and the title to a new car from inside. Her mother had tied a red ribbon around the document that said the vehicle belonged exclusively to her. Talisa stared at the set of keys, her mouth ajar as the engraved Ford logo and inscription stared up at her. “You bought me a car?” she asked hesitantly, looking from one to the other.

Mary’s excitement burst out in glee as she pulled her daughter into a warm hug. “Daddy picked out a pretty new car for you. It’s blue with gray seats. It’s in the driveway. Go look,” the woman said in one big breath, gasping for air as she finished.

Her father nodded. “Happy birthday, pumpkin!” he exclaimed for a second time.

Talisa stood shocked, her limbs tied to the floor. “I don’t believe this. Daddy, why would you buy me a car? You and Mommy can’t afford this!”

Her mother bristled. “Don’t tell us what we can afford. Your daddy and I know what we can afford and what we can’t.” The woman’s tone was suddenly hostile.

Her father defused the moment quickly, resting a large hand against his wife’s forearm. “Your mama and I been saving up for this since you turned eighteen, Talisa. We’ve been putting a little away every month. I thought we’d have been able to do it when you graduated college, but that’s when I lost my job at the plant. After I started driving buses for the city, we just kept on saving. We wanted you to have something special and since turning twenty-five is a special time, today was as good as any other.”

Talisa’s hair swayed from side to side as she shook her head. She reached to hug her father and then her mother. “I love you both so much.”

“Well, don’t just stand there,” her mother admonished, the smile returning to her face. “Get dressed. I gots to go to the store and I want to ride in that nice new car.”

Talisa pulled her new car into the parking lot of the Crowne Plaza Atlanta hotel, Mya Taft, one of her closest friends, riding shotgun beside her. The two women were laughing heartily as they exited the vehicle, one just as excited as the other.

“I plan to bid on every tall, Mandingo brother with big feet and an even bigger bankbook,” Mya said as they made their way toward the front of the building.

Talisa laughed. “Why does he have to be big?”

“Small men make me nervous. I want a man who eats well, eats often, and isn’t afraid to give me a taste when the moment moves me. And you know if his feet are large, then the rest of him won’t be a disappointment.”

“You are a sick woman,” Talisa said with a chuckle as the two women gave each other a high five.

“Where’d you get that dress?” Mya asked as Talisa removed her jacket, admiring the turquoise, floral-printed, silk sundress her friend wore. “’Cause that dress is wearing you, girl!” she exclaimed.

“The new Bloomingdale’s in Lenox Square.”

“I never find anything at that store. You make me sick.”

“Like you don’t look good in that size-two slip you have on.”

Mya laughed, doing a fashion model strut and spin in the middle of the hotel lobby, flipping the jacket she’d just removed over her shoulder. “Okay. I do look good, don’t I?”

Talisa clasped her arm through the other woman’s. “We both look good. Now let’s just hope these men tonight are worth all the trouble.”

As the duo entered the ballroom, stopping first to register at the reception table, they were instantly in awe of the elaborate decorations. Playing with a New Orleans masked ball theme, the decorating committee had outdone themselves. The décor was exotic and sensual. The tables were dressed in white linens with gold and black accented table runners. A large runway had been built room center, the massive structure skirted in a coordinating harlequin print, and miniature white lights sparkled against the high ceilings. With registration, each attendee was given an updated auction catalog and an exquisite Venetian mask on a scrolled wooden handle. An assigned number adorned the back of the mask to be used as the bidding paddle. The gathering of women, varying in shades and sizes, was duly impressed.

Talisa and Mya rushed to their table, greeting the rest of their party who sat waiting for them.

“What took you two so long?” Benita Rivers asked, rising from her seat to give them each a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. Her café au lait complexion was flushed with color that highlighted her reddish-brown afro.

“We were beginning to think your old butt wasn’t coming,” Leila Brimmer added, gesturing for them to take a seat.

“Who are you calling old?” Talisa said as she settled herself comfortably against the cushioned seat.

“I’m calling you old,” her best friend responded teasingly. “Happy birthday, woman!” Leila twirled one of her ebony curls around her index finger. Laugh lines pulled at her thin face, her mahogany complexion shining with glee.

Talisa grinned. “Thank you. And I’m not old. I’m just aging nicely. Like fine wine.”

“Like she can talk,” Benita interjected. “Who turned twenty-five last month?”

“I’m still twenty-one and I’ll deny anything else,” the other woman laughed.

Benita rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. Just like you’re still a virgin.”

The women laughed again. Talisa’s gaze scanned the perimeter of the room, noting the landscape of primped and perfumed women, each dressed to the nines, hair and nails meticulous. “What did we miss?” she asked, taking a mental note of the elderly piano player who sat in the left corner, his fingers skating easily over the piano keys.

Leila shook her head. “Not much. I picked up our tickets for the champagne reception in the VIP suite. We’ll get to mingle with the bachelors before this thing gets started. Spend some quality one-on-one time as we decide which ones will be our future husbands.”

“We should be so lucky,” Mya responded as she peered into a compact mirror pulled from her purse.

Talisa shook her head. “How’d you swing tickets for the reception? I heard it was by invitation only.”

Leila shrugged. “The only invitation we needed was the required five-hundred-dollar donation for the tickets.”

Talisa spun around in her seat, her mouth falling open in shock. “Five hundred dollars? You spent five hundred dollars for reception tickets?”

Leila laughed. “No. I spent two thousand dollars for reception tickets. We needed four of them,” she said, pointing to each of them in turn. “I told you we were going to celebrate your birthday in high style.”

“You’ve lost your mind,” Talisa exclaimed. “I can’t believe you!”

Her friend laughed again. “Well, let’s head on up so you can believe me.”

Mya patted at her lipstick. “I hope you don’t expect me to pay you back, Leila. You know I’m broke. I don’t have a high-powered lawyer’s job like you do.”

Leila rolled her eyes. “It’s a gift, Mya. A gift for all of us. Just make it worth my investment and find yourself a man. Please, do us all that favor.”

Talisa laughed. “I declare! For five hundred dollars, they should give us a private reception, an engagement ring, and the two point three kids with a dog.”

“Please, don’t act poor when we get upstairs, Talisa,” Mya admonished. “Just pretend we at least know what money is.”

“You mean just pretend we have money we don’t,” Talisa said, her head waving from side to side.

“It’s all tax-deductible and I need as many deductions as I can get,” Leila said. “Besides, we’re here to support the cause, remember?”

“I’m here to catch me a rich husband.” Mya laughed. “You can be here for any reason you want.”

Crossing through the lobby, the four women made their way to the elevators on the south side of the building, pushing the button to the upper-level suite reserved for the occasion. Excitement filled the space around them as they traveled the quick distance from one floor to another. Talisa smiled warmly at the three women who stood beside her.

She and Leila had been best friends since kindergarten, when Talisa broke the red crayon in her Crayola box and Leila had offered her own in replacement. They’d been inseparable after that, even following each other to Georgia Tech when they graduated high school. Mya had joined the duo when they’d been in the fourth grade. They’d met her in church two weeks after her parents and twin brothers had moved from Baltimore to Atlanta. Mya had captivated them with her vocal cords, bellowing big hymns out of her tiny body that had made them all stop and take notice. She’d also been the more daring of the trio, enticing them to get into more trouble than any one of them cared to remember. Benita had been Mya’s college roommate, evening out their threesome as they’d moved into adulthood.

Leila had graduated college a year early, moving right on to Harvard Law School for her law degree. It had been the first time she and Talisa had been apart, the telephone and e-mail the lifeline between them. Talisa had marveled at her friend’s dedication and commitment to her career, still having no idea what she wanted to do with her own life, despite her degree in journalism.

Benita was working her Spelman College marketing degree by running a small advertising agency. Her business was growing rapidly and Talisa envied her ability to build something out of absolutely nothing. Free-spirited Mya was her sister-friend most intent on marrying well, believing that the right union would lift her well above her family’s days of food stamps and government housing. Talisa sighed as they giggled beside her, energy flowing from one to the other.

As they stepped inside the tastefully decorated suite, handing their tickets to the woman at the door, their excitement level rose tenfold. Forty good-looking, well-dressed men turned their attention to the entrance as the women stepped inside. Scanning the room from one corner to the other, Talisa felt as if they’d just experienced sensory overload, one human confection more delectable than the other. Every nerve ending in her body was tingling with anticipation and as Mya pushed her way past them, extending her hand toward three men who stood in conversation in front of the bar, Talisa looked to Leila for support. The woman stared back at her and grinned.

“Happy birthday, girlfriend.”

Talisa laughed. “I owe you big-time, my friend.”

“Just make sure I don’t have to wear pink ruffles at your wedding and we’ll call it even.”

“Ditto for me,” Benita said before turning to say hello to a man with a linebacker’s build who’d stepped in to greet her.

Talisa suddenly stood alone and nervous as Leila disappeared into the crowd. She followed the clear path toward the buffet table in the center of the room, a smile pasted on her face as she brushed past one good-looking man after another.

“Hello, my name’s Charles, Charles Barrow,” a voice said from behind her as she reached for a clean plate and a canapé.

Talisa turned to stare up into the dark brown eyes of a heavyset, mocha-colored black man. He reached to shake her hand, then gestured to the green-eyed blond beside him. “And, this is Mark Hayes.”

“It’s very nice to meet you both,” Talisa said, nodding ever so slightly. “My name’s Talisa. Talisa London.”

“Beautiful name,” the man named Mark said, her hand still caught in his as he held on to the handshake a touch longer than necessary.

“Thank you.”

“So what brings you here this evening?” Charles asked.

Talisa’s grin widened. “It’s my birthday. I thought making a donation to a worthy cause would be a great way to celebrate.”

The man chuckled. “Ahhh. A woman comfortable with being alone, enjoying her single lifestyle, and not desperate for a man to spend the rest of her life with. A woman here for the larger cause. That’s refreshing,” he said, a wealth of sarcasm tainting his tone.

Talisa gave him a wry smile. “Yes, it is. It’s also nice to be in the company of men who are interested in supporting those in need and not just needing to inflate their overly excessive egos with what they think will be a quick, one-night booty call on someone else’s dime.”

The man laughed. “Touché,” he said.

An awkward silence fell between them as Talisa pushed the food from one side of her plate to the other.

The man named Mark grinned at the obvious dislike his associate and the stunning woman had taken to one another. “Do you participate in these things often?” he asked politely, making a second attempt at conversation.

She shook her head. “No, this is my first time. So why are you two participating?”

Mark shrugged. “I don’t know about my partner here, but I’m desperate for a date.”

Talisa laughed. “I’m sure it’s not that bad for you.”

Smiling wryly, the man shook his head. “You wouldn’t believe just how bad it is.”

“So, what do you do?” Talisa asked, suddenly wishing she’d spent more time studying her auction brochure.

Mark smiled. “We’re both anchors on Good Morning, Atlanta. Charles does the news and I do the weather. I take it you don’t watch much television.”

Talisa shook her head, shrugging her shoulders. “Sorry.”

Charles winced, his feelings clearly bruised by her lack of knowledge about who he was and what he did. “Figures,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to either of the two standing beside him.

They all looked toward the door as the lights flashed on and off. The ticket taker was gesturing for their attention. “Excuse me. If I can have your attention, please.” She paused for a quick second, her gaze skating across the faces in the room. “We’re about to start the auction in a few minutes. We’re going to ask our ladies to please return to the ballroom and take your seats so our guests can have a few minutes to get themselves ready. Thank you.”

Talisa smiled as the duo suddenly appeared anxious. She tossed Mr. Charles Barrow a look that let him know clearly that she had no intentions of pursuing any further time in his company. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Mark,” she said, placing the china and half-eaten canapé onto the tray of a passing waiter. “Good luck this evening. Oh,” she added as an afterthought, “and you, too, Charlie.”

Charles winked. “Same to you, babe.”

As Talisa turned toward the door, a tall man standing off in the corner caught her attention. His expression was pensive as he stood alone, knee-deep in thought. From the stern expression, his eyes narrowed to thin slits and his jaw locked hard and tight, the lines chiseled in his face, one could have mistaken his demeanor for brooding. But Talisa sensed that there was something more going on inside the man’s mind, something deeply personal and consuming. His face was familiar and she stopped short in her tracks as she stared blatantly in his direction.

The good-looking man suddenly jumped as if startled, his gaze locking tightly with hers. He stared at her boldly, appraising every inch of her with obvious appreciation before lifting his mouth in a deep smile, nodding his head slowly in greeting. The silent exchange of eye contact spoke volumes, whispering promises Talisa suddenly found disconcerting. As a wave of recognition swept over her, nervous energy filled the pit of her stomach. She stood frozen, staring intently as the man slowly crossed the carpeted floor in her direction. Turning a quick gaze to the door, Talisa saw Leila and Mya waiting at the entrance, both staring curiously. Benita still stood chatting with the football player on the other side of the room.

Jericho Becton stopped directly in front of Talisa, smiling warmly. Standing well over six feet tall, he was dressed in an expensive black tuxedo. With his long and lean stature, the formal suit fit him to perfection. His thick hair, the color of black licorice, was pulled into a neat ponytail that hung down his back, stopping just below the line of his shoulder blades. Contrasting nicely against his rich, caramel complexion, his bright white smile washed over her, and Talisa suddenly found herself tongue-tied.

He extended a well-manicured hand. “Hello, my name’s Jericho Becton. Have we met before? You look very familiar.”

Talisa smiled back and shook her head, her gaze sweeping over the man’s face. Her name being called pulled at her attention and she glanced from Jericho to Mya and back again. She stammered, searching for her words, lost in the sensation of her small hand lost in the soft, warm palm of his.

“I…I was just…thinking the same…thing,” she finally managed to say, the room seeming to spin in a slow circle around her.

The man nodded, his head slowly bobbing up and down against his broad shoulders. “You didn’t look like you were having a good time,” Jericho said, his gaze flitting toward the newscaster and back.

Talisa smiled, a sweet bend to her mouth that made Jericho suddenly want to kiss the sugar from her lips. The sudden thought sent a chill throughout his body, a quiver of energy that set his nerve endings on fire.

“You were watching me?” Talisa asked coyly, her own excitement shining brightly from her dark eyes. Her hand was still lost beneath the clasp of his.

“I couldn’t help myself,” the man answered, his voice dropping into a seductive whisper.

Talisa finally pulled the appendage back, dropping her palm to her abdomen. The deep tone of his voice seemed to swallow her whole, her control lost somewhere in the depths of his intense stare. She inhaled a quick breath, willing the oxygen to calm her nerves.

The woman at the door flicked the lights for a second time, once again directing them back to the ballroom. Jericho nodded, his intoxicating smile still caressing every nerve ending in her body. “Well, it was very nice to meet you, Miss…?”

Talisa’s own head bobbed up and down. “London. Talisa London.”

Jericho’s gaze brushed warmth over her. Talisa felt as if she were on fire beneath his stare. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss London. I hope we’ll get an opportunity to talk more later.”

Talisa continued nodding, then turned on her very high heels to catch up with her friends. Behind her, she could feel Jericho still staring, his ocean-blue eyes calling her back to him.

Back at the table, the four friends were talking over each other, concentrating more on their personal thoughts than each other’s conversations. Talisa flipped quickly through the pages of her catalog, searching for one picture in particular. The photographic image of Dr. Jericho Becton smiled up at her as she read the brief biography about the man who’d captured her total attention just minutes before.

“He’s a surgeon,” she said, leaning to whisper toward Leila. “He was my surgeon. He operated on my appendix.”

Her friend shook her head. “And he didn’t remember you?”

“I don’t want him to remember me!” she exclaimed in a low whisper. “Do you know how bad I looked when they brought me into the emergency room? Besides, he wasn’t supposed to be there. There was another doctor who was supposed to be covering the emergency room but they couldn’t find him. He was the doctor who was filling in.”

Leila grinned. “So, do you plan to bid on him?”

Talisa grinned back. “I don’t know. Do you think I should?”

Her friend nodded her head up and down excitedly. “It is for a good cause. You could use a man.”

Talisa laughed, the warmth of the vibration causing her to shake in her seat.

Mya turned to stare curiously. “What are you two whispering about?” she asked, looking from Talisa to Leila.

“Talisa’s trying to decide whether she should go after a doctor or not. What do you think?”

“If she doesn’t, I surely will. I’ve got my eye on John the attorney, Bradley the basketball player, and Stephan the general contractor. Any one of them will do quite nicely.”

Benita rolled her eyes. “Do you have that kind of money?”

Mya shrugged. “I’ve got Visa, MasterCard, and American Express. One, or the other, or all three of them will buy me a man this night.”

The group laughed. Their chattering was interrupted by an elegant black woman who approached the microphone at the podium, gesturing for the few persons standing to take a seat. Standing prim and proper in a classic-cut, blue pinstripe suit and a white lace top, she epitomized the mood of the evening. Talisa imagined her to be as old as her own mother was, but her obvious wealth enabled her to wear her age well. This woman lacked the tired stress lines that graced Talisa’s mother’s face. The woman’s Hershey’s dark chocolate complexion was virtually blemish free. Wherein Mary London rarely bothered with manicures and had never had a pedicure, it was obvious that their hostess for the evening probably never missed her weekly appointments. With her dark hair pulled back into a neat French twist, she was sophisticated and beautiful and Talisa couldn’t help herself from wishing that time would serve her at least half as well. She leaned forward in her seat and listened intently as the woman clasped her hands in front of herself and spoke into the microphone.

“Good evening and welcome to our first ever bachelor auction! My name is Irene Becton and I’m the president of the Center for Women’s Resources. We are absolutely thrilled to welcome you all here tonight. I’m not going to bore you with a long speech about why this evening is so important to the center and the hospital. I know all of you are here because you want to make a difference in someone else’s life. I’m also sure all those handsome, intelligent, sexy men who are standing backstage waiting to walk the runway for you had no influence whatsoever on your decision to be here.” Irene paused and smiled as the audience laughed heartily.

“So, allow me to say thank you in advance. The donations you make tonight will make a significant impact in a child’s life and your support will make all the difference in the world. So, with no further delay, I’ll turn our program over to our guest auctioneer, local radio personality, Mr. Jarred Nelson. Please, sit back, enjoy, bid, and bid well!”

Talisa watched as the woman made her way to the rear of the stage and disappeared behind the black velvet curtains. She wondered if the woman was any relation to Jericho—they had the same last name. His mother, perhaps. Her thoughts shifted back to the auction as the lights in the room dimmed ever so slightly and the piano player revved up his tune. A spotlight fell on the tall, mocha-toned, gray-haired man who stood in the space Mrs. Becton had just vacated.

The maple-syrup timbre of the man’s voice filled the room, sending a chill up the spine of every woman who sat listening as he introduced the first of many men who were scheduled to make an appearance before the evening was over.




Chapter 4


Jericho stood against a rear wall of the large ballroom, his arms crossed evenly over his broad chest. He knew the woman from somewhere, but he couldn’t for the life of himself remember where. He’d noticed her the minute she’d walked in, his gaze following her to the buffet table, and watching as she’d engaged in conversation with the two men who’d stood like bookends beside her.

She was full-figured, a perfectly proportioned beauty who would have easily been labeled voluptuous. The dress she wore had hugged her curves like a second skin and he’d felt his body quiver with intrigue as he’d watched her. From where he’d stood, he thought she embodied the image of the woman the Commodores had sung about on that old song, “Brick House.” The old rap song by Sir Mix-A-Lot, “Baby Got Back,” was just as fitting. Although she was a definite beauty, there was clearly nothing vain about her. Her shoulder-length hair had appeared windblown, soft brown curls billowing around her oval-shaped face. Her makeup was simple at best, just a coat of lipstick across her mouth and a touch of eyeliner beneath her eyes. Not an ounce of foundation touched her clear, copper complexion. And there had been something in her eyes when her gaze had met his that had reduced him to a weak mass, spinning heat from one end of his body to the other. His thoughts were still on the woman he’d just met when his mother came up beside him, slipping her arm beneath his.

“Nervous?” Irene asked, leaning to kiss her son’s cheek.

Jericho shrugged, pushing his shoulders skyward. “Not really. Just ready for this to be over.”

“You need to relax and have some fun,” the woman said smiling. “There are some beautiful, intelligent women out there.”

Jericho shrugged again. “Did you get to meet any of the women at the reception?” he asked, his gaze meeting hers evenly.

“No, dear. I was too busy down here. How did it go?”

“There was one woman I met briefly. Her name was Talisa London. She looked very familiar.”

Irene’s expression was pensive as she mulled the name over in her mind. She shook her head from side to side. “Sorry, baby. It doesn’t ring a bell. Could you know this woman from the hospital?”

“I don’t know. I recognize her from somewhere though.”

His mother nodded. “Well, don’t let it bother you. The minute you stop thinking about it the answer will come.” She reached to adjust her son’s bow tie. “You look quite dashing.”

Jericho chuckled. “Thank you.”

“Do me proud,” she said, giving him a pat on the back as the event coordinator called him to get in line to await his turn.

Jericho grimaced, heaving a deep sigh as he stepped toward the front curtains.

Behind him, his mother called out his name.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Good luck, baby.”

The emcee had rolled Jericho’s name off his tongue with relative ease, the sound of it calling for her attention as Talisa shifted forward in her seat. As Jericho stood at the end of the runway, waiting to walk the length of floor ahead of him, she could feel her heart skip a beat. She clutched the bid paddle tighter in her hands.

“Dr. Jericho Becton, the only son of our gracious host this evening, is a graduate of Duke University’s medical school. He completed his surgical internship at Atlanta’s Children’s Hospital, and is currently in private practice with his father and mentor, Dr. Elijah Becton. Jericho is an avid sportsman. He loves to scuba dive in Bermuda, rock climb in the Grand Canyon, ski the slopes in Aspen, and hike the Georgia Mountains. His ideal woman is just as adventurous, intensely family-oriented, and fiercely independent.

“The lucky bidder will enjoy Dr. Becton’s company at the VisionarieSpa here in Atlanta as they get to know each other over luxurious mango body massages and strawberry facials.” The man laughed. “Sounds like a lot of dessert before the meal to me,” he chuckled before continuing. “Some lucky lady and the good doctor here will end the evening at one of his favorite restaurants, Paschal’s, where they’ll enjoy home cooking to rival that of my very own mother’s. So, brush off those credit cards ladies ’cause our lucky bidder is sure to enjoy a good time with this fine young man. I’m going to start the bidding at one hundred dollars.”

Talisa could feel herself beginning to perspire as she stared up at Jericho. Tiny beads of moisture were forming in the valley between her breasts and she fanned herself ever so slightly, fearful that she might break out into a full sweat. The man’s gaze sought her out as he sauntered slowly to the end of the runway. When he located her, he smiled seductively in her direction, an easy bend of his lips that deepened the crevice of his dimples and it was as if he’d lit a fire beneath her, causing her to melt like butter against her seat.

Leila grabbed Talisa’s hand and pushed it upward, waving the bid paddle in the air.

“I have five hundred dollars, do I hear six?”

“What are you doing?” Talisa said under her breath.

“Winning you that doctor. You can’t get him if you don’t bid,” Leila hissed back.

“I don’t have that kind of money, Leila.”

“Well, I do, so don’t worry about it.”

Talisa was prepped to give her friend a tongue-lashing when the emcee gestured in her direction.

“I have six hundred dollars. Will you give me seven? Do I hear seven?”

“Seven!” a tall, redheaded woman called out from the other side of the stage.

Talisa’s eyes widened in disbelief as Leila pushed her hand up again. “Eight,” her friend called out from behind her.

The room erupted in noise. Jericho grinned excitedly in her direction.

“Eight hundred dollars. I have eight hundred dollars for a day with Dr. Jericho Becton. Do I hear nine? Someone give me nine. I have eight hundred. Eight hundred going once…eight hundred going twice…”

“One thousand dollars,” a voice sang out from the back of the room and every head turned to see from where it had come. Women were rising from their seats to catch a glimpse of the woman who’d offered one thousand dollars for time with the beautiful black man who stood before them, an expression of surprise painted across his face.

Talisa watched as the woman made her way closer to the center of the room, her gold-trimmed bid paddle raised high in the air. She was exceptionally tall, a long-legged blonde with pale green eyes and skin the color of whole milk. Before Talisa realized what she was doing, her own paddle was sky-high, her bid rolling off her tongue. “Two thousand dollars.”

Behind her Leila laughed. “That a way. Go get your man, girlfriend.”

Talisa could feel a sudden wave of embarrassment drop over her. She glanced from Jericho, to the other woman who was eyeing her with obvious annoyance, to her best friend, and back again. Jericho was nodding his head in her direction, a wistful expression gracing his face. The room had gone quiet as everyone watching waited to see what the two women would do.

The auctioneer was waving his gaze anxiously from one to the other. “Do I hear two thousand, five hundred?” he asked, his excitement spilling past his words.

The blond woman nodded, lifting her bid mask high into the air. “Twenty-five hundred,” she answered, her voice loud and clear.

Leila poked Talisa in the back, hissing into her ear. “Do not let that woman get your man, Talisa. Bid!” she commanded, her breath hot against her best friend’s neck. “I’ve got you covered. Go ahead and bid!”

Talisa’s voice was much less assured as she rose to her feet, waving in the auctioneer’s direction. “Three thousand.”

Jericho beamed, the glaze in his eyes fueled by Talisa’s obvious interest. He pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his silk slacks, the easy gesture meant to hide his obvious nervousness. As he leaned his weight back against one hip, the motion made his six-foot-six stature appear comfortable, the pose accentuating the lines of his firm body. It caused every woman in the room to gasp and Talisa suddenly found herself fighting for oxygen. Jericho’s gaze was still locked with hers, his stare piercing right through her heart and when he smiled, the sweet bending of his lips calmed her and Talisa felt herself smiling back.

“Twenty thousand dollars,” the blonde called out, tossing Talisa a look that dared her to top so generous an offer. The sudden silence in the room was deafening as all eyes turned to see what she intended to do. The moment was surreal as Talisa’s gaze moved from Jericho’s face to her opponent’s and back again. Talisa blew air past her full lips as if she’d been punched in the stomach, clearly deflated by the turn of events. She dropped her paddle against the table and shook her head as the auctioneer turned to see if she would counter. She suddenly found herself fighting a rush of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

“Twenty thousand dollars once…twice…twenty thousand dollars three times…sold to lucky number six-seventy-four!” The man slammed his gavel against the wooden podium top. The women cheered, fueled by the excitement they’d all just witnessed. Through glazed eyes, Talisa watched as her opponent turned to give her a quick nod. Clearly defeated, Talisa smiled a faint smile and shrugged her shoulders, gesturing half a salute in the woman’s direction. The blonde turned, sweeping her long hair over her shoulders and gave Jericho a quick wink before heading in the direction of the checkout counter. On the center of the stage, Jericho stood stunned, his eyes still locked on Talisa’s face, the line of his smile pulling toward the floor in a deep frown.




Chapter 5


“Can you believe she paid twenty thousand dollars for the man?” Mya exclaimed as they rode home, the bright lights of the hotel dimming in the distance behind them.

Talisa shook her head, then changed the subject, not wanting to be reminded yet again of her loss. “What I can’t believe is that you bid on an evening with that anchorman and that you won.”

“The way those women were acting I consider myself lucky. For only five hundred dollars my date was a bargain.”

“Your date is going to be a nightmare. The man is an ass.”

Mya rolled her eyes. “Don’t hate.”

Talisa shook her head at her friend. “Why am I dropping you off at Kenny’s house?” she asked, pulling her car onto Interstate 285. “I would think you’d want to go home to bask in the light of Charles Barrow on the eleven o’clock news.”

“Kenny misses me. He called today and invited me to come hang out with him.”

Talisa laughed. “I forgot. It’s the first of the month. Kenny paying the rent this time?”

Mya laughed with her. “He better. I do not intend to endure bad sex for absolutely nothing. Besides, the last time I broke up with him, he didn’t send me anything. He needs to make up for that.”

“Just because he’s sent you a check the last four times you cut him off doesn’t mean he’s going to keep doing it. The man may have grown a backbone.”

“When that happens I will definitely be through with him. Until then, I plan to bait him along just enough to keep my checkbook out of the red. The relationship works for us. Don’t hate the player, just hate the game.”

“Personally, I think he’s gay. He’s just not ready to admit it.”

“That’s his problem. My bills are mine. If he can’t fix anything or keep my car tuned up, then he needs to just keep coming up off the cash. Then he and I will be just fine.”

“So what about your anchorman?”

“What about him? I’ll play him just like I play all the others. I’m sure he’ll be useful for something.”

Talisa laughed. “I know this is ugly to say, and Lord forgive me for it, but that’s one man I think will deserve any game you run on him and then some.” She pulled her car onto a tree-lined street, large old oaks adorned with Spanish moss cascading overhead. At the fifth house on the left, she pulled into the driveway and shifted the engine into Park. “Stay safe, Mya. Please. I don’t have time to be worrying about you.”

Her friend smiled. “Don’t worry about me, girlfriend. I’m going to be just fine. You need to worry about yourself. When’s the last time you had a man? High school or junior high?”

“It hasn’t been that bad.”

“It might as well be. I suggest you spend more time hanging out with me and less time down at that foundation. You need to devote more time to you and having yourself a good time. Life is too short and that do-gooder stuff you keep doing isn’t going to keep you warm at night.”

“I love working at Wesley. You know that. And knowing I’ve done something good for someone else more than warms my heart.”

“Sure you do. But trust me, you and that warm heart of yours will love a little Saturday-night Johnson much more.”

The two women laughed as Mya kissed her cheek then lifted her petite body out of the passenger seat. Talisa watched as her friend eased her way inside the house, turning to toss her a quick wave as she did. Pulling out of the driveway, Talisa couldn’t help but notice as Kenny Davis greeted her friend excitedly, pulling the woman into a deep kiss in front of the home’s large bay window. Talisa suddenly thought of Dr. Jericho Becton and wondered what a Saturday night with that man might do for her.

It had been a long time since she’d last had a date. Dating had never been easy for Talisa, feeling more like a chore than an event to look forward to. Talisa had always been more comfortable volunteering her time for some worthy cause than trying to make polite conversation with a man over a meal she was too anxious to eat and enjoy. It didn’t help that the few men she had dated had not met her mother’s approval, each having some moral flaw or imperfection Mary London found fault with. Insult to injury was Mary’s quickness to point these flaws out with such sheer venom that it caused Talisa to question and doubt her own judgment.

As Talisa maneuvered her car toward home, she heaved a deep sigh, her gaze dancing between the road and her rearview mirror. Reflecting back on the evening’s events, she was suddenly appalled by her behavior. What had she been thinking to bid thousands of dollars for a date with some man? Dollars she knew she didn’t have no matter what her dear friend had promised her. Talisa shook her head. Jericho Becton had made her lose her mind. Talisa had been so enamored with the prospect of seeing him again that she had allowed the possibilities to sap every ounce of common sense from her head. If her mother ever found out there would never be any peace between them, Talisa thought, imagining the ranting that would ensue if Mary ever gained knowledge of her daughter’s actions.

Talisa was suddenly dismayed. Obviously the interest had not been mutual, she thought. After the auction, he had made no effort to find her, hadn’t even bothered to seek out her company, if only for a few minutes. The man barely knew her name and didn’t have a clue how to reach her. Clearly, she mused as she pulled into the driveway of her home, getting to know her wasn’t something Jericho Becton was interested in doing.

The young man’s silence had begun to wear on her nerves and Irene Becton said so. “What is your problem, Jericho? You’ve been pouting since before we left the hotel. And you were downright rude to Shannon Porter.”

Her son cut his eyes in her direction, his large palms gripping the steering wheel of his father’s latest acquisition, a steel-gray Jaguar XKR sportscar. The vehicle accelerated ever so slightly, the tires spinning over seventy miles per hour in a fifty-five mile per hour zone. The movement was not lost on his mother.

“Slow down before you wreck your father’s new car and I have to hear about it. Besides, you don’t need to be getting any speeding tickets. Did you drink tonight? Good Lord, that would be all this family needs, you being stopped for a DUI. Slow down right now, Jericho!”

The man pursed his lips, biting his tongue as he pulled the car into a parking space in front of the Corner Bakery Café. Shifting the car into Park, he turned off the engine. Still refusing to meet his mother’s gaze, he could feel her stare boring a hole straight through him. “I need a cup of coffee,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the vehicle, pretending not to really care if his mother heard him or not.

Irene slammed the car’s door as she made her exit and headed into the café behind her son. Taking a seat in an empty booth she watched as he headed into the men’s room before returning to take the seat across from her. Jericho focused his attention on a menu, still pretending to ignore her presence.

Irene smiled. “If you were three I’d have smacked that behind of yours already. Now, I’m not going to take but so much more of this foolishness. You’re almost thirty-four years old, Jericho. So, act like it. Tell me what has you so upset.”

Jericho allowed his gaze to rest on his mother’s face. As they both studied each other, he heaved a deep sigh, filling his lungs with air. “I’m sorry,” Jericho said, the beginnings of an apology painting his expression. “I’m just irritated that Shannon did what she did. Why didn’t you warn me she was coming?”

“Because I didn’t know Shannon was coming. But if I had, and if I had told you, you would have refused to participate.”

“You’re right. I would have. I may still not participate.”

Irene shook her head. “Shannon is a sweet girl and she adores you. She comes from an excellent family. We have been friends with her parents since before you two were born. I don’t understand why you treat her the way you do.”

Jericho rolled his eyes, then gestured for a waitress to come take their orders. A small girl with a large bustline smiled eagerly as she made her way to the table.

“Are you ready to order, sir,” she said, her grin as wide as her full face.

“Two coffees, please, one regular and one decaffeinated. And I’ll have an apple pastry.”

“How about you, ma’am?”

Irene returned the girl’s smile. “Just coffee, thank you.”

Reaching for the menus the girl promised to be right back, then headed toward the kitchen.

“What happened between you and Shannon?” Irene persisted.

Jericho tossed her a quick glance, then shifted his gaze across the room, avoiding his mother’s stare for a second time. He shrugged, driving his shoulders skyward before responding. “Shannon is desperate for a husband and I’m not interested in the job. She seems to be having a difficult time accepting that, though.”

Irene sensed that there was much her son wasn’t telling her. She nodded her head ever so slightly before responding. “Well, she made a very generous donation to the hospital tonight. You don’t have to marry her but you do have to spend a day with her.”

Jericho shook his head. “That’s what irritates me the most. Shannon knows full well that I have no interest in spending any time with her. To make matters worse, things were so crazy with her following me around that I didn’t get a chance to catch up with Miss London. I really wanted to get her telephone number. Now, I don’t know if I’ll even be able to track her down. What if she’s not from Atlanta?”

“Are you talking about the other young woman bidding against Shannon?”

Jericho nodded, noting how his mother rolled her eyes in response. “What?” he asked, his annoyance resurfacing in his tone.

Irene laughed. “If you want her telephone number all you have to do is ask. You seem to forget that she had to register so that she could bid. I should have her contact information in all that paperwork we packed in the trunk of that car. But, how do you know she’d even want you to have her telephone number?”

Jericho grinned, a sudden rush of hopeful anticipation filling his face. “I just know, Mom. If I’d had half a chance, I’d have given her mine. And thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.”

His mother waved her head from side to side, reaching to rub her palm against the back of his hand. “I think I do, but if you keep acting up like you were before, you’re not going to be very happy with me. You will see the back of my hand on your bottom and then some, and I don’t care how old you are.”




Chapter 6


Mary London pulled the ringing telephone to her ear.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hello. Is Talisa London available, please?”

“Who’s calling?”

“Jericho Becton.” The man’s voice was a deep bass, a rich tonality that would have resonated nicely over the radio.

“Are you a friend of Talisa’s?”

“She and I met last week, ma’am, and it’s very important that I reach her. I’ve tried calling her a couple of times before but I don’t know if she’s been getting my messages.”

Mary stood with one hand resting on her hip, the other clutching the telephone receiver. She cleared her throat before continuing. “Well, Talisa’s not home at the moment. But I will tell her you called.”

“Thank you,” Jericho said, following with a heavy sigh.

Mary could hear the disappointment in the man’s voice. The sadness of it echoed loudly in the tone of his voice as he gave the woman his contact information, repeating over again how anxious he was to make contact with Talisa. As Mary dropped the telephone receiver back onto the hook, her husband came through the kitchen door, waving hello as he entered.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Mary responded. “How was your day?”

The man shrugged, not bothering to respond as he took a seat at the kitchen table and reached for the lacings that bound his leather work boots.

“Don’t take them boots off in my kitchen,” Mary scolded, fanning her hand in the man’s direction.

“Why you got to start the minute I come through the door?” her husband responded. He paused, his hands frozen in midair in front of him as he gazed up at her.

“I’m not starting anything. I’m finishing this. Take them boots out of here. I just mopped this floor clean and you come in here ready to kick trash on the floor. I’m not having it.”

Rising from his seat, Herman swore, profanity filling the air with his annoyance. That was all it took before the duo was arguing bitterly back and forth, the moment turning uglier with each comment that passed between them.

As she came through the front door, Talisa could hear the two of them bickering loudly. Her mother’s voice had risen four octaves, the older woman screaming unintelligibly and her father yelling back just as loud. She shook her head in disgust as she entered the room to stand between the two of them. Her presence was greeted with silence as one parent eyed the other, vile stares racing between them. Her father suddenly turned away from the two women, plopping back down against the thinly padded chair, reaching for his bootlaces.

As Talisa shook a finger at one and then the other, she couldn’t help but think she should be used to the ugly that frequently passed between her folks. During the course of their forty-two-year marriage, Herman and Mary London had forever walked a fine line between love and hate for one another. Since Talisa had been three years old she knew she would never understand how two individuals with such an abundance of love for her and everyone else, could totter so precariously from one side of malevolence to the other side of devotion when it came to the relationship they shared with each other.

“Why do you two have to act so ugly? The whole neighborhood can hear you both screaming. Miss Taylor is still standing on her front porch eavesdropping,” Talisa said, pointing in the direction of their next door neighbor.

“Betty Taylor can stand wherever she pleases. But she don’t ever want to get in my business if she knows what’s good for her,” Mary proclaimed, spinning her stout body around to reach for the mop. “Just look at what you done to my floor,” she hissed in Herman’s direction.

The man reached for his boots, standing up straight as he headed out of the room in his bare feet and up the stairs. He muttered under his breath as he made his exit.

“Daddy doesn’t need you fussing at him the minute he gets home from work. You know how hard his days are.”

“Don’t be telling me about your daddy. I’ve been with that man longer than you’ve been around. I know about your daddy.”

“You just need to give him a break. I bet your blood pressure is sky-high right now. That’s not good for either of you.”

Mary shrugged, moving to change the subject. “We’re having baked chicken, rice and green beans for supper. I even made some peach cobbler for dessert. Your daddy likes my peach cobbler.”

Talisa smiled, leaning to kiss her mother’s cheek. “Did I get any calls?”

Mary nodded. “Some boy called here for you. I forgot his number though. Your daddy and his mess threw me right off track. I was just about to get a pen and some paper when he come in here with his evilness.”

“Do you even remember the man’s name?”

Mary sucked her teeth, tossing her daughter a look that said she should be careful with the tone of her voice. “Jericho. Like in the Bible.”

Talisa inhaled swiftly, surprise registering across her face. “Jericho Becton?”

“Yeah, I think that was it.”

“And you didn’t get a telephone number?”

“I told you what your daddy done. Threw me right off track with his foolishness. That poor boy’s number went right out my head. But I’m sure he’ll call back. He’s called before. He’ll call again.”

“Before?” Talisa’s tone was incredulous. “You mean this wasn’t the first time?”

Mary shook her head, reaching for a broom to sweep her floor. “No. He done called two or three times. I just forgot to tell you.”

Talisa pursed her lips, rolling her eyes with disbelief. “Thanks,” she muttered.

“You’re welcome,” the woman responded nonchalantly, oblivious to her daughter’s annoyance.

Talisa tossed her hands into the air in frustration as she spun out the door. As she headed up the stairs, she passed her father making his way back down. He had changed from his city employee’s uniform into a pair of khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. He leaned to kiss her cheek as they stood side by side on the same riser.

“I don’t like it when you two fight,” Talisa said, leaning her head against her father’s shoulder.

“We wasn’t fighting. It was just a matter of differences.”

“Well, I don’t like that either,” Talisa responded.

The man laughed, kissing her forehead. “We’ll work at it. We’ll try to do better. So, when do you leave for Africa?”

Talisa grinned. “In a few weeks. I can’t wait.”

Her father returned the wide smile. “I’m real proud of you, pumpkin. I hope you know that.”

Leaning into her father’s hug, Talisa pressed her cheek to the man’s broad chest. “Thank you, Daddy. I love you so much.”

Herman London winked his eye as he released his grip around her torso. “Daddy loves you, too, baby. Daddy loves you, too.”

Sitting side by side in the family living room, Talisa’s parents were still trading barbs back and forth, stopping just long enough to watch an old Cosby Show rerun, before resuming their bickering during the commercial breaks. Talisa knew it would go on for most of the night, finally calming when one or the other retired for the evening.

Throwing her body across the length of her queen-sized bed, Talisa heaved a deep sigh. Jericho Becton had tried to call her. Not only had he called her, but he had actually tried on three separate occasions to catch up with her, and her mother had let the knowledge of that fact just slip from her mind. Talisa shook her head at the absurdity. For months now she’d been ignoring the woman’s forgetfulness, turning a blind eye to the laundry that was left to mildew in the washing machine, or the dinner charred around the edges.

The termination notices from the utility companies had been laughed at as Talisa had rushed to make the payments, insuring services weren’t disconnected. “I’d forget my own head if it wasn’t attached,” her mother would say with a deep chuckle, shaking gray hair from one side of her full face to the other. Talisa and her father would laugh with the woman, both ignoring that there might actually be a problem that they needed to address.

In conjunction with the woman’s already volatile temperament, she was becoming increasingly difficult to deal with. Talisa made a mental note to discuss it with her father so that they might consider giving her mother’s doctor a call to ask for advice.

Rolling over onto her stomach, Talisa reached into her nightstand drawer for a telephone directory. Flipping quickly through the pages, her disappointment was thick when she found no home listing for Jericho Becton. She found his office number, though, and repeated it in her mind as she agonized about whether or not she should call it. With nothing to lose, she reached for the phone extension and dialed.

A woman with a deep, Southern drawl answered the line. “Doctor’s office. May I help you?”

Talisa cleared her throat, trying to will the nervous butterflies from her abdomen. “Yes, please. I’m trying to reach Dr. Jericho Becton.”

“I’m sorry, but the office is closed. You’ve reached the answering service. Is this an emergency?”

“No, it isn’t. I just needed to speak with him.”

Talisa could hear the woman flipping through a pile of papers before she spoke again. “Dr. Jericho Becton isn’t on duty so I’m unable to page him for you. In fact, we’re directing all his calls to his father, Dr. Elijah Becton. According to my notes, Dr. Jericho will be out of the country for the next twelve months. His father is handling all his patients. Would you like me to page Dr. Elijah for you?”

Talisa shook her head into the receiver. “No. That’s not necessary. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“Not a bother, dear. If you change your mind, just give us a call back. Any of the operators will be able to reach the doctor for you.”

“Thank you.” Talisa disconnected the line, wiping at a tear that had edged its way to the corner of her eye. “Just perfect,” she muttered under her breath. “Of all the lousy luck…”




Chapter 7


There was nothing left for Jericho to pack. His mother had arrived earlier in the day, navigating his laundry, his shopping, the watering of his plants, and organizing his duffel bag of casual clothing to prepare him for his trip. He smiled as he thought about his mother, the way she easily flitted from one chore to the other, ignoring his pleas for her to let him take care of things on his own. She’d been ignoring him since he’d been knee-high and able to tell her no. She’d chosen instead to do for him as if he were unable to do for himself. The relationship had made for some interesting moments between them when Jericho had grown old enough to challenge her parental authority and assert his independence. Folding his own laundry, preparing his meals, and making his own bed had been more than a task with Irene Becton at the helm.

Jericho reached for the telephone, tempted to dial the woman’s number one last time. Giving it a second thought, he dropped the receiver back onto the hook. He’d already left three messages with the woman who’d answered the telephone. Three times he’d been told that Talisa wasn’t home to take his call. Three times Talisa hadn’t bothered to call him back. Maybe he had been wrong about what he thought he’d seen in her eyes the night the two of them had met. He inhaled sharply, the memory of her pulling at his breath. The telephone ringing distracted him from his thoughts.

“Hello?”

“Jericho, hello.”

The man heaved a deep sigh, pausing noticeably as he recognized the voice on the other end.

“Aren’t you going to say hello?”

“What do you want, Shannon?”

“I just called to tell you what a delightful time I had the other day. I was hoping we might be able to do it again.”

“I don’t think so, Shannon. I was obligated for one afternoon. That’s all.”

“So, is that what our date was to you? An obligation?” The woman’s tone was quickly brimming with tension. Jericho could feel the hostility beginning to spill across the telephone lines.

“It was your twenty grand, Shannon, and you got what you paid for. I was just upholding my end of the contractual agreement.”

“I still love you, Jericho. Why are you being so hateful?”

Jericho sneered. “There isn’t an ounce of love between us, Shannon. A woman doesn’t do what you did to a man she claims to love.”

“I made one mistake, Jericho. I deserve another chance.”

Jericho scoffed at the thought. “Is that what we’re calling what you did? A mistake?” He shook his head into the receiver. “Don’t do this, Shannon. You know that there is never going to be anything else between us. Don’t make this difficult.”

“I’m trying to make amends, Jericho. I want to show you what you still mean to me.” The woman’s tone was beseeching as she whispered loudly into the telephone, tears outlining her words.

Jericho refused to be moved by the display of emotion. “I have to hang up, Shannon. I have things to do. Thank you for calling.”

“Jericho—” Shannon started before the dial tone filled her ear.

Jericho was annoyed by the rise of anxiety that had suddenly filled the pit of his stomach. As he stood with the telephone still pressed against the palm of his hand, the phone cord pulled from the wall, his body shook uncontrollably.

At the Atlanta airport, Jericho sat waiting for his British Airways flight to Entebbe, Uganda. He had a six-fifteen departure time, so his plane wouldn’t land until seven twenty-five the next morning. With an extended twelve-hour layover at London’s Heathrow Airport, he wouldn’t see Africa until Monday morning, after a second overnight plane flight. He would have more than his fair share of time to while away, thinking about things that did nothing but cause him anxiety.

At that particular moment, Shannon Porter and Talisa London were both on his mind. So deep in thought, he barely noticed the flow of passengers gathering in the hard seats to the right and left of him. When a young child brushed against him, the little boy racing from his mother’s side to his father’s, the touch against his pant leg caused Jericho to jump with surprise. The child gave him a cautious stare, and then lifted his small hand to wave before scurrying off to peer out the large glass windows to the aircraft parked outside.

Jericho heaved a deep sigh. He had no interest in spending his entire two-day journey to Africa thinking about any woman, especially one who wasn’t interested and one he surely didn’t want. Unfortunately, the memories of both females seemed intent on haunting his spirit. He sighed again, swiping the back of his hand across his forehead as he finally looked up, taking in the view around him.

A newspaper stand caught his eye and he rose from his seat, shifting his carry-on bag against his shoulder. Pulling a copy of the Atlanta Journal-Constitution from a wire rack, he dropped a dollar bill against the counter and headed back toward his seat, not bothering to wait for his change.

As dark as his mood, the paper’s headlines were dismal at best, and the drab surroundings of the airport did little to lift Jericho’s spirit. He dropped back into a seat, tossing the paper onto the chair beside him. An airline attendant caught his eye and smiled, mouthing hello as she gave him a come-hither look. Jericho gave her a quick bend of his lips, then dropped his gaze back into his lap. He still had over an hour to wait before the airlines would start boarding flight # 0062 and he had no desire to make small talk. He closed his eyes tightly, crossing his arms against his broad chest.

He flashed back to the night of the auction and Talisa’s warm smile. The woman had been a breath of fresh air and Jericho had inhaled the essence of her like much needed oxygen. The connection between them had been instantaneous, Jericho had thought, reflecting back on the waves of energy that had spun like a raging fire between them. He had been out of control, his mind lost in the brilliance of their connection. When she had bid, countering each offer, he had taken that as confirmation of his emotions, confident that she, too, was feeling the same things he was.

He bristled at the memory of Shannon’s exorbitant bid, the flagrant display of the woman’s wealth nothing but an acute irritation. Shannon had always placed far too much emphasis on her father’s money, almost to the point of belittling anyone who had less than she did.

Since they’d been in first grade together at Marietta’s The Walker School, Shannon had played by rules few others would ever understand. Even at the tender age of six, she’d imagined the world revolved around its axis for her alone and that the sun and moon set and rose as she willed them to. At The Walker School, Jericho’s had been the only dark face in the small class of twelve students. The friendship between him and Shannon had been established at birth by virtue of their two fathers both being Yale University alumni and their mothers building an alliance on the demands of their elite social circle. By third grade, Irene Becton had insisted on a school with a more diverse student body and Jericho and Shannon’s camaraderie was reduced to weekend gatherings and holiday vacations.

In junior high school, Jericho had become smitten with puppy love and Shannon had found a viable boy toy to manipulate and control. With much instigation from both sets of parents, they had allowed his infatuation and her obsession to define their romantic relationship. Despite both of them dating other people off and on during high school, once in college they’d been easily drawn back into the possibility of forever that their parents had seen for each of their futures. The Porter family had welcomed the prospect of their only daughter marrying a surgeon. Jericho’s parents had seen resounding potential in Shannon being an ideal doctor’s wife. Shannon had cleverly masked her idiosyncrasy to be self-absorbed from both families, and only Jericho had true knowledge of the woman’s propensity for coldhearted antics.

A chill ran through him and he shivered in response. He clasped his arms tighter around his upper body, stealing a glance up at the attendant who was still cutting her eye in his direction, hopeful for his attention.

There had been a part of him that had truly loved Shannon. He’d reconciled her flaws and had learned to turn a blind eye to her deficiencies, focusing as much attention as he could muster on her strengths. His sophomore year in college she’d shown up unannounced at his dorm room door, paying him a surprise visit for his twentieth birthday and the two had become lovers. Shannon Porter had taken his virginity, but the loss of her own was still a mystery to him.

His first taste of heartbreak had come six months later when he’d flown to Vassar College, only to find her in bed with a fellow history major. Shannon had sworn the relationship was nothing special, just a momentary lapse of judgment for a quick minute of sexual release. He’d believed her heartfelt plea for forgiveness, her long lashes batting back the rise of tears. Things between them had improved and he’d actually found himself believing in the possibility of him and Shannon Porter living blissfully in love for the balance of their lives.

His surgical residency had been taxing on the relationship, but they’d endured. Both of their mothers had massaged the strain, rallying support to get them through the bouts of aloneness his intense schedule placed on their time together. But Jericho had seen the signs of their demise, choosing instead to ignore the warning signals that Shannon was clearly not the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. The reality of that fact was made clear the last night the two of them had spent together.

The entire evening had started badly with Shannon in a snit about nothing and unhappy about everything. Dinner had ended with her throwing a tantrum because Jericho had refused to give up his weekend golf plans with his father to fly with her to Aspen, Colorado for an impromptu ski trip. It had been his father’s fiftieth birthday and Jericho had been planning the get-together for months. Shannon had refused to understand, wanting him to defer his attention to her instead.

Despite her pouting, Jericho had spent the balance of their evening struggling to make Shannon happy. A spontaneous stop at a local jeweler had netted Shannon a diamond tennis bracelet and cost him a month’s salary. After promising to take her away for a one-week holiday in Hawaii for her birthday, Shannon had seemed pacified and back at her apartment she’d feigned contentment. Later that night, as they lay side by side in her bed, he could never have imagined what would happen next.

The clock had barely struck midnight when the bickering began, Shannon once again imploring him to change his weekend plans to be with her. The bickering had increased to an all-out battle with Shannon throwing her possessions from one side of the residence to the other. When she’d lunged at him, slapping his face with the palm of her hand, it had taken every ounce of restraint for Jericho not to hit her back. The arrival of Atlanta’s finest, beating their nightsticks against the front door in response to a neighbor’s complaint should have been enough, but Shannon had taken their disagreement to a point of no return.

The duo had been separated, him in the living room and she in the bedroom, as the two law enforcement officers listened first to his side of the story and then to hers. Then, to Jericho’s dismay, he’d been handcuffed and hauled off to the local police precinct, having to defend himself against an accusation of domestic violence. Shannon Porter had accused him of assault, the tale of her attack complete with sobbing tears and enough dramatic innuendo to place doubt on Jericho’s character. Four hours of questioning had finally unearthed the truth and Jericho had been released.

Heartbreak couldn’t hold a candle to the pain Jericho had felt. Everything within him had been destroyed. As the sun rose that next morning, so did Jericho’s resolve. Shannon Porter became dead to him, nothing more than a faint memory of a bad time in his life. He’d never told his parents or hers what had happened between them. He still didn’t know why, just wanting nothing more than to place as much distance between him, her and the memory as he could find. He believed that if he didn’t have to discuss it, the easier it would be for him to forget. And now Shannon had the audacity to proclaim her blatant betrayal a mere mistake and her love for him to be real.

The little boy stood at Jericho’s knee, watching him curiously. It was only then that Jericho realized his face was damp from his tears. Glancing quickly around to see if anyone else had noticed, he wiped the moisture against the back of his hand and forced himself to smile down at the child.

“What’s your name?” he asked, leaning toward the toddler. “My name’s Jericho.”

The boy laughed, his curly head bobbing against his shoulders as he turned back to his mother, reaching to wrap his arms around the woman’s legs. Jericho made a funny face, his eyes bugging out from his head, his tongue reaching down to his chin and the child responded with one of his own. They both laughed and for a quick moment, Jericho allowed the memories of Shannon Porter to stay dead.




Chapter 8


Stepping from the plane, Jericho inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of Mother Africa. The essence of her homeland was intoxicating and he was delirious with joy at being cradled in the arm of her vastness. As he maneuvered his way through customs and immigration he was greeted warmly by black men whose faces resembled the faces of friends and family back in Atlanta. Outside of the large white building, the warmth of sunshine rained down upon him, cascading heat through his body. The scent of flora planted in stone containers lined the airport’s walkways, the vibrant color of hibiscus and porcelain roses standing bright against the man-made backdrop.

In the exterior of the arrival area, minivan drivers waited patiently for their charges, many holding neatly printed signs announcing the names of the passengers they awaited or the hotels they represented. They were each dark complexioned, skin tones ranging from deep chocolate-brown to a deeper blue-black. All were dressed conservatively, cotton slacks in navy, black or khaki, complemented by button-down dress shirts in pastels and whites.

The wide smile of Jericho’s former college roommate and best friend, Peter Colleu, greeted him warmly, the man waving his hand excitedly in Jericho’s direction. The man’s deep voice and familiar accent called out his name as he rushed over to wrap his friend in a brotherly embrace.

“My friend,” Peter chimed. “Welcome to my home.”

Jericho grinned back, patting his friend’s protruding stomach. “You look good, Peter. I see that wife of yours is feeding you well!”

Peter laughed. “You should find a woman to do the same for you, my friend.”

The two continued laughing as Peter led the way to his vehicle and ushered Jericho into the passenger seat.

“So, how was your flight?”

Jericho sighed. “Long. I’m glad for it to be over.”

“Well, you are here safely. Are you now ready to work? I have much work for you to do.”

Jericho nodded. “Just say when.”

Peter nodded his head. His expression became serious as he began to speak. “We are grateful to have you here with us. Our children need a good doctor.”

“How many are with you now?”

“We have twenty-seven orphans plus too many to count in the villages. They have been abandoned because their parents had no way to feed them or disease has wiped out their families.”

“How are you getting funding to take care of them?”

Peter glanced quickly toward his friend, then returned his gaze back to the road. “Donations have helped. Your parents have been very generous. Their last check helped with the construction of the school.”

Jericho smiled, nodding his head ever so slightly. “My mother believes in what you are doing. You know that all you have to do is ask and it is yours.”

His friend grinned. “Did she send me that package?”

Laughter filled the interior of the car as Jericho chortled wholeheartedly. “She sent boxes of Butterfinger candy bars and Ding Dongs. More than enough to rot their teeth out.”

“Whose teeth? That candy is for me!”

The two men continued chatting excitedly, catching up on the time that had elapsed since Peter had last been in the United States. As Peter maneuvered his vehicle along Gaba Road, the rising city stood out against a backdrop of plush, white clouds floating against a vibrant blue sky.

Conversation waned as Jericho’s attention shifted to the views outside the window. An ebony-toned woman stood roadside, an infant clinging to her back. The mother’s garments were well-worn, a purple, floral print skirt and green polo shirt hanging against her thin body. A large bowl of newly-picked bananas rested against the top of her head.

Peddlers traveled the length of roadway, some by foot, others riding on mopeds or pedaling bicycles. Peter caught him staring, then gestured with his head. “They are bodas,” he said, pointing to the young men on minibikes. “Bodas will deliver anything, anywhere.”

Jericho smiled, turning his attention back toward a group of craftsmen gathered around a display of iron works, an assembly of newly fashioned iron gates lined in a neat row. As Peter continued their drive through the suburban streets, Jericho was struck by the abject poverty of the residential areas. Running water in the dilapidated homes was nonexistent. Children ran barefoot, threadbare clothing barely fit for dirty rags. A little girl, no more than five years old, stood alone, her thumb pulled into her mouth, a dusty-yellow cotton shift skimming the lines of her malnourished frame. Jericho heaved a deep sigh.

Noting the change in his friend’s disposition, the man’s initial excitement defusing quickly, Peter offered commentary. He pulled the vehicle off to the side of the road and shut down the engine.

“My homeland is still recovering from our days of political oppression and the subsequent war. Tribal animosity, corrupt politics and military tyranny had crippled us. Some parts of the country are still too volatile to think about traveling. But we are slowly becoming stabilized. Look at the city of Kampala. It thrives! It is the new Uganda! It is what this whole country shall one day become.”

Jericho nodded his head slowly. “But the children look so dejected.”

“Our children are hungry and homeless and there is no money to care for them. Thousands have been abducted by the Lord’s Resistance Army to be child soldiers or sex slaves. Many more have been orphaned by the AIDS pandemic. Our sons and daughters have had a hard road to travel.”

“Why isn’t more being done to help them?”

Peter paused, a flicker of a tear rising to his eyes. “We are doing all we can,” he answered, his words falling into a whisper.

“What can I do?” Jericho asked, turning to look his friend in the eye.

Peter smiled. “You are doing it, Dr. Becton. You are here, my friend.”




Chapter 9


The two friends sat in quiet reflection as the waiter carved slices of slow-roasted meats onto their plates. The tradition of best friends’ night had begun in high school, the monthly ethnic dining sessions initiated by Leila’s obsession with foreign cultures and supported by Talisa’s simple desire to hang out with her best friend.

That first year, on teenage allowances, or lack thereof, each monthly meeting had revolved around Oriental food, Yum Yum’s Chinese Takeout the main staple of each event. A library screening of an Oriental art film featuring Chinese actor Yao Kim had ended with egg rolls and wonton soup. Sidewalk seats at the Chinese New Year’s Day parade, complete with fireworks and the traditional dragon float, had been capped off with a shared order of beef lo mein and fried noodles. The following years, with the help of part-time jobs after school and a flux of creative energy, the activities and meals had become much more interesting.

This night was Brazilian night. With tickets to an Afro-Latino music festival, the two women had imbibed the cultural experience of Brazilian and Peruvian musicians, dancers and singers. The evening wasn’t complete until they’d taken their seats at Fogo de Chao, a local Brazilian restaurant, to experience the culinary artistry of churrasco—large cuts of meat slow roasted over an open pit.

As the last slice of filet mignon was placed on her plate, Talisa palmed the dining chip that had been issued to them when they’d been seated. Twirling the coin between her fingers, she flipped the chip from green to red. The waiter stopped just as quickly and backed away from the table.

“Here, try the liguica,” Leila said, reaching to place one of her spicy pork sausages onto Talisa’s plate.

“The food is incredible,” Talisa exclaimed, swallowing a mouth full of potatoes before she spoke.

Leila nodded, unable to speak, her own mouth a forkful away from overflowing. She reached for the chip, flipped it back to green and gestured to the waiter who rushed to their sides to refill the water glasses. As the last drop of fluid fell into her friend’s crystal container, she flipped the chip back to red and the pleasant-looking man disappeared to the other side of the room.

“So, are you excited about your trip?” Leila asked, grinning in Talisa’s direction.

“Yes. I’m also scared,” Talisa answered, leaning back against her seat.

“I’d go with you if I could. You know how much I’d love to see Africa.”

“You’d love to see Africa from a five-star hotel with an experienced guide. Not with ten college students and a sleeping bag on a schoolroom floor.”

Leila laughed. “So, next year you and I will go and we’ll use my travel agent instead of yours.”

Talisa laughed with her, her head bobbing up and down against her shoulders. She reached a palm into the air, her fingers waving excitedly. “Oh, oh, oh!” she exclaimed. “Did I tell you what my mother did?”

Eyebrows raised, Leila shook her head from side to side. “No. What’s happened this time?”

“The hottie doctor called me. Not once, not twice, but three or four times.

And she forgot to give me the messages.”

“Your doctor from the auction? That doctor?”

Talisa nodded, pulling a forkful of salad to her lips.

Leila giggled. “I told you your mother was losing her mind. You don’t get half the messages I leave for you. That’s why I only call your cell now.”

“I was so upset with her.”

“Did you call him back at least?”

“I tried. Dr. Becton has left the country for the next twelve months,” Talisa said, mimicking the only response she’d been able to get out of his nurse.

“Where did he go?”

Talisa shrugged, dejection painting a look of frustration across her face. “I don’t have a clue. No one will say.”

Her friend shook her head. “Oh, well. You win some and you lose some.”

“Damn, Leila,” Talisa muttered, tossing her hands into the air. “First, I didn’t think he was interested. Then he calls and my mother ruins it for me. I’ve lost him twice now and we haven’t even managed a conversation long enough to make a date.”




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