Everlasting Love Read online

  Everlasting Love

  Linda Ford

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Inheritance of Love sneak peek

  Also by Linda Ford

  1

  He'd said put him down for something.

  He'd specifically mentioned ham or ice cream but he sure didn't remember agreeing to this.

  Steele Davis again read the note his secretary handed him. "Pastor Don says thanks for offering to help with the banquet. The planning committee is meeting at five at J'ava Moi, the cafe across the street."

  No, he had definitely not offered to help plan the thing. Not that he couldn't do it. But with the café owner? No way. Something about her he found alarming, disturbing even.

  He glanced out the window. There she was in the flesh--Holly Hope—serving a couple at one of her outside tables. Dispensing coffee, smiles and eternal optimism, her wavy dark hair swinging about her shoulders as she danced her way back into the cafe.

  The whole place screamed romantic nonsense. Practically made a man break into a cold sweat. He hadn't been raised to believe in such stuff nor had his experience as a lawyer taught him to trust it.

  He'd gone for an espresso a few months ago when she first opened her café. Uninvited she'd told him all about her dreams for the place. "I want to give people a chance to nurture their love. That's why I've created a romantic little spot and named it J'ava Moi. It's a play on words. You know, would'ya have me?"

  Steele had been fascinated with the way her eyes flashed back and forth between amusement and determination as she talked. He'd also been more than a little awestruck at such a blatant, head-in-the-clouds attitude. As a lawyer, a dealer in realities, he'd felt the need to dispute her optimism. "Not everything can be fixed by flowers and candles."

  "I think you'd have to agree it's hard to harbor bitterness while making romantic gestures."

  He didn't agree that the one canceled out the other and tried again to promote reason. "In my experience, romance doesn't last."

  "Maybe because it's neglected." She'd challenged him with a steady look from her dark brown eyes.

  To this day, he couldn't explain why he didn't just walk away. Maybe it was her denial of facts that made him add, "How many couples do you think I see every year who've vowed before God and man to love each other ‘til death do them part', and who can now no longer stand the sight of each other? Personally, I will never be fool enough to let emotion overrule reason."

  She'd considered him a full, tension-fraught moment then smiled.

  The expression made him want to bite the edge off his china cup; it was the same sort of look opposing lawyers gave when they felt they'd argued better and smarter than he—all smug and self assured.

  "Sounds like you have some baggage to deal with," she said with calm assurance just as if his life was her business. Which it wasn't.

  He remembered clearly how he'd sputtered. He, a lawyer, paid to be good with his mouth, had been at a loss for words. He'd drained his cup, set it quietly on the table and resorted to retreat.

  He hadn't been back.

  Didn't intend to ever return.

  Did his best to avoid any contact with the overly cheerful Holly Hope at church.

  He glanced again at the paper in his hand. Seems the discussion had been about a banquet as a fundraiser for some charity. Anxious to get on with his plans for the day, he'd paid little attention to the whole thing—except to offer a food contribution. But if Holly planned it, he could count on lots of hearts and flowers. And if the menu board outside her café indicated her preference, there would be nothing but health food.

  Someone needed to make sure she didn't go overboard with the romance nonsense. He checked his watch. Almost five. He had a few minutes before he had to be anywhere. He made up his mind. Steele to the rescue of any innocent man who'd be attending the banquet with a starry-eyed woman at his side.

  Besides, how long would it take? He'd give a few suggestions, make sure everyone was on board with a practical plan then step aside and let someone who liked doing this sort of thing take over.

  He threw some documents into his briefcase and jogged down the stairs into the warm sunshine.

  As he crossed the street, Holly glanced up from cleaning a table, and looked startled. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

  "Wouldn't miss it for the world." His sarcasm came easily. It'd always been his defense and something about Holly put him on the defensive.

  She straightened, studied him with a glint in her eyes that informed him she doubted he meant what he said and then she nodded toward a table beside a large potted tree and sheltered by a long planter complete with trellis and drenched in pink flowers.

  He shuddered, thought of pulling the table further along the sidewalk to a place where a man could think.

  "Can I bring you something? Espresso, wasn't it?"

  How did she remember that? He was so surprised he sat next to the flowers without protest. And for the second time in his life, was at a loss for words. All he could manage was a quick nod.

  She went inside to get the coffee.

  The place oozed romance—a trap to short-circuit a man's reason. He'd just proven it with his little mental lapse.

  She returned with two cups and sat across from him. "I expect you'd like to get right to work."

  He surely would. Not that he was desperate to get away or anything. He had his thoughts firmly under control. Now. "Shouldn't we wait for the others?"

  She laughed.

  A pleasant enough sound but he didn't like the message it conveyed. As if he'd said something supremely foolish.

  "We're it."

  "The two of us? No way. The pastor said there was a committee."

  "Yup. You and me."

  He felt her look as much as saw it. Full of challenge. A dare. Can you handle this, mister? Of course he could. The sudden beading of sweat across his brow only proved the day was unseasonably warm.

  She smiled and wriggled like some kind of over-eager pup. "I'm so glad we decided to raise money for the AIDS orphans in Africa. The poor little things. Doesn't it make you want to adopt them all and give them a good home?"

  "I doubt the kids would thank you for taking them from their own culture and their familiar world."

  Her eager smile flattened. "I know that. But it doesn't stop me from wishing I could do more." She looked down, toyed with her cup.

  His chest felt stiff at the way her enthusiasm had died. What was the matter with him? He wasn't usually so argumentative outside the courtroom.

  He drew in a deep breath full of a jumble of scents—honey, cinnamon, and other spices he couldn't name. He couldn't tell if the smells came from the flowers or the cookies and muffins in the display case, or a combination of both.

  He was thankful she spoke again, pulling him from considering the source of the intriguing aromas and back to the subject at hand.

  "To start with, we need a theme. I thought something like 'For the love of—'"

  He rolled his eyes.

  She stopped. "You don't like that?" Again that long considering look. "Am I sensing a problem here?"

  "It isn't a Valentine banquet. If we must have a theme, let's make it something more appropriate like—" He did some quick mental gymnastics. "Aid for AIDS victims." He smiled, pleased he'd managed to come up with something in such a hurry. "It's simple and practical."

  She tipped her head, a brittle gleam
in her eyes. "It sounds like a newspaper headline. We need something a little catchier."

  "What's wrong with newspaper headlines? They say things succinctly. No guessing as to what it's all about."

  "Let's keep thinking about it. Maybe we'll come up with something better."

  He knew what she really meant. Not something better—something she liked. He could see this was going to be about as much fun as stepping on a nail.

  She nodded briskly. "Let's move on then. What about decorations?"

  He gave a long deliberate look around the place. "We could maybe skip the frilly and flowery. How about something—" Again he had to scramble for a substitute.

  "You don't like the way I've decorated the café?"

  Intuition was supposedly a woman's strength but right now he had a sudden flash of understanding and knew he'd offended the woman.

  "It's very pretty. Just a little too—" Pink. But he glanced around. Apart from the flower cart, now almost empty, and the bank of pink to his right, there wasn't as much of the color as he pictured. In fact, he saw lots of green, some kind of tan color that probably had a fancy name, and black wrought iron furniture. "It's a little too”—he was stuck for words again—"romantic," he blurted.

  "So you don't believe in love."

  "Of course I do, but the Biblical sort. Love is patient, kind, gentle, and forgiving; keeps no record of wrongs. As I see it, love is practical. It doesn't need all these trappings to be real."

  She snorted. A very expressive sound, communicating quite effectively her disbelief. "So it's romance you object to." She favored him with a smile.

  If her smile had been mocking, he would have known how to react but it was full of sweet patience and slid right past his sarcasm and defensiveness. Left him speechless. Again. Not that she seemed to notice. She went right on as if intent on exploring the whole realm of psychology as per Steele Davis.

  "That's a curious belief. I'm guessing it's more personal than dealing with angry couples seeking a divorce. Any chance you've been married?"

  "Not me." She struck out on that one.

  "Your parents then? Are they divorced?"

  "Nope." Strike two. "My parents have what I consider a very good marriage. It's not based on dreams. It's—"

  "Practical?" She pulled her mouth down into a fierce frown. "A business arrangement maybe?"

  "What's wrong with that?"

  "Sounds cold and calculating."

  "Not to me. It sounds sensible and lasting."

  "And safe. But no risks, no glory."

  He didn't like the way this conversation had headed south. How had she turned it from banquet plans to dissecting his parents' marriage and examining his motivation for disliking romance? Not caring for a whole lot of sentimentality didn't point to and him having a deep, dark secret—just a long streak of practical. "About the decorations...."

  "Not you. Not your parents."

  "Maybe we could have something solid. Like—"

  But she would not be sidetracked. He was beginning to think she'd missed her calling. She should have been a lawyer.

  "A sibling then?"

  Cold filled his insides. Cold, blue anger at her persistence. At being forced to admit, if only to himself, how Mike's divorce had hurt him. Hurt the whole family. He was still helping Mike clean up from it. Becky had practically destroyed them and could have destroyed the family business if Steele hadn't fought her every step of the way. Even so, it had cost them a bundle.

  Steele and Mike had both sworn off women but Bill, only twenty-four and six years younger than Steele and unable to get past his hurt and anger at how Becky had treated them, spent his time pursuing women only to dump them before they could dump him. Everyone in the family knew what he was doing but they couldn't make Bill understand how irresponsible his behavior was.

  It filled Steele with frustration to see his brothers trying to come to grips with their anger though Steele preferred anger to the bouts of depression that so often gripped Mike.

  Holly's smile faded. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit a nerve. Let's get back to planning the banquet." She paused as if knowing he needed a minute to pull his thoughts back to the business at hand.

  He wanted to resent her prodding more than he appreciated her insight and kindness but it proved a difficult choice.

  She seemed to know when he'd pushed away the intense emotion grabbing his throat. "Now about the decorations. I think we need to keep in mind this is a formal, dressy affair. People will expect something rather special. I thought a summer theme like a garden room. Banks of flowers and greenery..." She paused as if reading his mind.

  Or maybe she simply saw the way his lips curled as he interrupted her. "I suppose lots and lots of pink flowers and pink and white balloons. You know a man could get some kind of fever with all that pink."

  She narrowed her eyes as if to argue then suddenly, she chuckled.

  The sound surprised him—a deep-throated trill like some kind of cheery songbird.

  "But that's just what I had in mind—love fever."

  He shuddered. "It's not something to joke about. There's nothing romantic or sensible about a couple with stars in their eyes and their brains out of gear." He'd seen over and over how it led to disaster.

  She chuckled again.

  And again he felt a sudden internal lurch at the sound. He shook his head to clear it though the confusion seemed to originate from an unfamiliar place behind his heart. Something he was loath to admit even to himself.

  She grew serious. "I say pink flowers, lots of greenery, maybe some streamers. We want to make it special."

  "That's your idea of special, not mine." He glanced around the outdoor seating area, shot a pained look through the door to more flowers and fancy stuff.

  Her brown eyes turned as cold as the soil on his grandfather's farm in the dead of winter. "I'll have you know that many people, men and women alike, find my décor very relaxing, very romantic."

  "Exactly. Could we skip romantic and go straight to something ordinary?"

  She made an exasperated sound. "If people wanted ordinary they would stay in their own back yard and save themselves the cost of a banquet. It has to be special somehow."

  "Isn't that where the food comes in?"

  "We also need entertainment, decorations, other things."

  "Entertainment? Whoa." He glanced at his watch and saw his plans for a quick appearance disappear in a flash. "I thought the career group just wanted to do something special for the summer."

  "It's more than just something to do."

  Remembering her impassioned argument at the meeting, wanting to turn the event into a fundraiser, he guessed he couldn't blame her for sounding defensive any more than he could stop the sudden clenching of his gut at the idea of spending hours with this woman, arguing about minutia. He couldn't imagine how they'd work together. Her belief in romance grated against the facts he witnessed day after day. But with admirable determination considering his long sigh of exasperation, she pushed on.

  "I wanted to do something to benefit the AIDS victims. Something wonderful to get everyone involved."

  "R—i-g-h-t." He waved around the empty café. "Let's get everyone involved. Oh wait. You and I are everyone and I didn't even offer to help plan the thing. I thought I could contribute something in the way of food or help set up." What had Pastor Don been thinking to assign him to help on a committee of two? He mentally shrugged. Likely the same as he—someone had to make sure this banquet didn't turn into a lovefest.

  "So you're not behind this?"

  "No." He backtracked as her hard look silently accused him of withholding food from a starving child. "I mean, yes, of course I'm behind it. I just hadn't planned to be in charge. Not that I mind helping. In fact I probably have a lot to contribute." Yeah. Uh huh. Like what? Hopefully she didn't have the same thought.

  "Really?" No mistaking the disbelief in her voice. "Then perhaps you'd like to be in charge of entertainment."

/>   Then again maybe not. "I figure if you intend to hire a professional group of any sort you should have done it months ago."

  "No, if you want to hire a group...didn't we just agree you'd look after entertainment?"

  "Holly, I did not agree to anything except bringing ice cream. However, I'm here and I can see you need help."

  She snorted.

  "I admit," he said. "I haven't given the whole thing a lot of thought." None, in fact. "But I'm prepared to do my part. Why don't I look after decorations and you arrange entertainment?"

  She laughed out loud—the sound a mixture of horror and amusement that managed to scratch his nerve endings at the same time as it tickled the unfamiliar spot deep inside.

  "I don't think so. I want this banquet to be special. Memorable."

  They stared at each other, his gaze, he suspected, as hard and unyielding as hers. He wanted nothing more than to hand the whole business over to her and let her do what she wanted. But his stubborn, practical side warned him he wouldn't be happy with himself or the results if he did. He owed it to the pastor, to the church members and to the male populace as a whole to keep Holly from inflicting her sentimental notions on them.

  "Very well," he conceded, reluctantly. "We'll work together."

  Boy did she look happy about that. Yeah right. She pulled her pretty pink lips down in the most daunting frown.

  "That's an oxymoron if I ever heard one. You and I 'work together.' Why don't we just go to Pastor Don and ask him to replace you?"

  "Why? It's not like I don't have the brains to help plan a simple little banquet. We'll work together just fine." No way would he let anyone tell him he couldn't do it.

  "You're sure? You won't just sneer at every one of my ideas and do your best to ruin the whole affair?"

  He'd never been more certain he didn't want to do something. Except maybe for the time he'd been forced to take dancing classes at school and had to dance with Penny, the prettiest girl in class. He'd broken out in hives every time her hand touched his. Come to think of it, this situation wasn't a lot different. He'd survived the Penny torture. And now he was all grown up—a lawyer who did not flinch at anything. "Why would I want to ruin things? I'll help. This will be the best banquet you've ever seen."