Anna Schmidt - Lasso Her Heart

Bethany shifted uncomfortably in her saddle and in the knowledge that Cody had just described her.

“Others,” Cody continued, “like your aunt, for example, can find beauty and a place to call home in the shadow of skyscrapers or mountains.”

“I suspect that’s because she long ago found her own inner peace and level of comfort.”

“And now she has someone to share it with,” he added.

Bethany couldn’t help but wonder if the wistfulness she heard was actually there in his tone or something she had felt shift ever so slightly in her own soul.

has been writing most of her life. Her first “critical” success was a short poem she wrote for a Bible-study class in fourth grade. Several years later she launched her career as a published author with a two-act play and several works of nonfiction.

Anna is a transplanted Virginian, now living in Wisconsin. She has worked in marketing and public relations for two international companies, and enjoys traveling, gardening, long walks in the city or country and antiquing. She has written six novels for Steeple Hill—one of which was a finalist for the coveted RITA ®Award given by Romance Writers of America. Anna would love to “meet” her readers—feel free to contact her online at www.booksbyanna.com.

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Blessed are those who mourn,

for they will be comforted.

—Matthew 5:4

For Serena—

Thanks for being my tour guide and my

brainstorming buddy!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

Cody Dillard was accustomed to being on the receiving end of admiring glances from women of all ages. He was tall and lean with an easy smile and eyes so deep blue that he’d been asked more than once if the color was his or tinted contacts. He’d been a high school junior and a wannabe athlete when his body had suddenly taken on the hard planes of manhood and his head had finally caught up with his ears—appendages that had caused him no end of teasing as a kid.

Basically shy and introverted by nature, as a kid Cody had not been sure popularity and admiration were much better than the old teasing and snickers. But as a grown man, he actually enjoyed the attention. He had learned that he could make some grandmother’s day by returning her glance with a smile that bypassed the younger women around her. Cody was all about finding ways to lighten people’s load. That was how he had decided to honor the lives of his mother and brother—two souls who had filled the world with laughter, joy and generosity of spirit during their far-too-brief stay on earth.

Too often he saw people rushing around, their faces set into hard frowns or exhausted blank stares as if they knew they needed to get somewhere but were not sure what they would do once they arrived at their destination. Cody understood that, better than most who enjoyed the many blessings of life might guess. Even now, five years later, Cody fought every day not to surrender to his grief—and his guilt.

He ambled through O’Hare Airport where no one ambled—ever—and focused on individuals hurrying past him. A businessman, cell phone to ear, brushed past. He was juggling a carry-on bag, laptop and shopping bag with presents for the kiddies back home judging by the teddy bear that had just fallen unnoticed to the floor. Cody picked up the bear and hurried to catch up with the man. He watched the man’s expression go from annoyance at the interruption to appreciation. The man mouthed “thank you” as he turned so Cody could stuff the bear back in the bag.

Cody saw a security officer eyeing him suspiciously. Understanding that his leisurely stroll might be perfectly normal to him but stood out in a madhouse like O’Hare, Cody realized he’d better relieve the man’s suspicions.

“Excuse me, Officer,” he said. “I’m meeting someone coming in on the flight from D.C. Since I don’t have a ticket and can’t meet her at the gate, what do you suggest?”

The officer continued to check him out as he gathered information. Cody explained that he’d never actually met the woman he was meeting and was operating from a description provided by her aunt. Of course, Cody knew exactly what he needed to do, but asking the bored security guard for help gave the man purpose and an identity in the mad rush of the airport.

“If I were in your shoes,” the officer said, “I’d find out where the luggage is coming downstairs, make a sign with her name on it and wait by the carousel. You could also have her paged….”

Just then the public address system activated and the security guard paused as he and Cody both listened to the garbled message. The words were effectively drowned out by the multiple conversations and competing announcements of flights boarding around them.

“Or not,” the security guard added when the announcement ended. He grinned. “I’d go for the sign and baggage claim.”

Cody thanked him and ambled off.

“Hey, buddy,” the guard called, and a number of people—assuming trouble—stopped to gawk, wondering what Cody had done. Cody turned and the guard took an empty cardboard box from the candy kiosk vendor and waved it at him. “For your sign. She’s got a marker, too,” he added, nodding at the young woman managing the stand.

Cody grinned and retraced his steps, nodding to the gawkers on his way and causing one woman of a certain age to blush scarlet when he actually winked at her. “That’s really nice of you,” he said to the guard and candy vendor.

“What’s her name?” The girl sat poised to write with a large red marker.

“Bethany Taft.”

“Better just use first initial and last name,” the guard instructed as the girl wrote the name in bold script letters. She quickly added a border of flowers and vines and handed the finished work to Cody.

“Thanks. I really appreciate the help,” he said and continued down the corridor following the signs directing him to Baggage Claim.

Bethany Taft was having definite second thoughts about her latest decision. She was explaining all that to her best friend, Grace Marlowe, as the plane taxied for what seemed like the approximate distance that Grace had driven taking Bethany to the airport in Washington earlier.

“This was a mistake on so many levels,” she said, cupping one hand around the receiver of her cell phone and her mouth to keep her seatmate from overhearing and commenting on her conversation. The man had introduced himself as a lobbyist for the pork industry. Just after takeoff, he had insisted they put the center chair arm up to give them more room and then proceeded to take over every inch of space that Bethany left available as she pressed closer and closer to the wall of the plane.