Lois Richer - A Hopeful Heart and A Home, a Heart, A Husband - A Hopeful Heart

“Maybe it’s too sterile. Maybe those people would enjoy having someone else to be concerned about and care for.” His dark eyes dared her to deny it.

It was a convincing argument, and Melanie knew it. The trade journals were full of articles about experiments involving pets in nursing homes that had been tried with excellent results. In fact, Sunset Home already had a parrot, exotic fish and a gerbil. But a cat?

“If it makes such a difference in her life, maybe it would help some of the other residents too,” he coaxed, anxiously watching her face.

“I suppose it might work,” Melanie conceded, considering options. “The litter box will have to stay in her room, though.” She sneezed once more, shaking her head.

“There must still be some of those fibers on my clothes.” She wiped her red nose and then leaned over to pluck one from Mitch’s dark jacket. “Look, I’ve even spread them to you,” she muttered in disgust.

Melanie sneezed one last time. “I only hope it doesn’t cross my path again,” she added grimly. Her wide green eyes perused Mitch’s formally suited figure with a frown.

“What are you doing here, anyway?” she demanded, suddenly suspicious. Mitch held out a long white envelope.

“This came just after you left. By messenger. It’s from Papa John,” he told her, smiling sympathetically as she blew her nose in the fresh handkerchief he handed her.

“Well, what do they want now?” Melanie asked, tired of all the delays.

Her fingers tore open the envelope and she pulled out the single sheet of paper. Her face lit up with pleasure, eyes sparkling and pink lips grinning.

“Finally. They’re going to award the prizes within two weeks,” she told Mitch. “We’ll be given the final decision within two weeks.” She couldn’t believe it.

Melanie jumped to her feet and, grabbing Mitch’s hands, whirled around him like a top, spinning crazily out of control.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars! It’s more than I ever dreamed of.” Melanie hugged him happily before dancing off.

“Melanie.” Mitch’s low voice broke into her fanciful musings. Wide and green, her hazel eyes turned to study him curiously. “Things might not turn out the way you hoped.”

Mitch kept his voice lightly cautious, hoping she would see the possibilities the company had left open in their letter. In fact, his legal brain had been perturbed at the gaps in the information Papa John had conveyed, but he didn’t want to be the one to burst her bubble of joy.

Her arched brows quirked upward as her eyes opened wide to stare at him. He could see the awareness in her eyes and knew she was feeling the current snapping between them. Her pupils were dilated, but still she focused on him, allowing him to see into her soul.

“But it says right here,” she said, reading the letter once more. Her eyes flew upward. “Don’t you believe them?”

“Yes, of course.” He felt constrained to agree. “It’s just that I’ll feel better when it’s all settled.” A lot better, he thought.

“So will I,” Melanie burst out excitedly. Her eyes were glowing.

Mitch felt his heart drop to his highly polished loafers. She was too trusting, he decided. Melanie counted on that prize money to help her friends. She couldn’t imagine not receiving it after all this time.

He, on the other hand, was well aware of just how swiftly her fortune could be rescinded in light of the errors that appeared on her application. Mitch made his decision. He wasn’t going to be the one to erase the joy from her glowing face. His heart began its thudding beat as he stared into her rapt gaze. She was so beautiful. And so far beyond his reach.

The paging system disturbed their self-analysis, jolting each back to reality.

“I have got to get moving,” Melanie told him. Her voice seemed breathy. She slipped around him to edge inside the building but his long legs caught up to her immediately.

“I’ll walk you there,” he offered, still dumbfounded by the depth of emotion he had seen in those deep eyes.

In her office, Melanie turned to call Bridget, allowing Mitch just enough time to scoop up the card he had included with the cat. It would not do to let her know the truth, he decided. Stuffing it into his pocket, he turned and came face to face with a grinning Bridget. She flicked her bright red nail at his lapel.

“Not such a good idea,” she teased, laughing. “Next time try flowers.”

Mitch tried to look nonchalant when Melanie called his name.

“Yes?” he answered, his blue eyes thoughtfully studying her.

“Aren’t you going to work?” Melanie’s impatient voice was like a douse of cold water. Glancing at his watch, Mitch strode to the door.

“Lord, yes. I’ve got to be in court in ten minutes. Gramps will probably cite me for contempt,” he admitted. “See you later.” With a wave he was gone, leaving Melanie to stare curiously after him.

She wasn’t sure what it was all about, or even why he’d come. But, somehow, she felt as if Mitch had seen into her soul. Which probably was not good, given that Melanie seemed constantly attracted to his lean good looks.

Sighing, she turned to smile at a hovering Bridget, who stood inside the door with a box of tissues and a small vacuum. Now, for the cat.

Eight hours later, Melanie wished the cat was the sum total of her problems. She forced herself to sit and listen to the angry man deriding her and her staff for their inconsiderate lack of attention to the plight of families who came to visit the residents.

“Yes, Mr. Johnson, I realize that everyone works nowadays, but our clients need to eat their meals at a regularly scheduled time each day. We encourage them to come to the dining rooms on time, to eat with the others and to limit their snack foods.” She waited for the next onslaught.

The blustering man’s whining voice grew louder.

“But surely when we have made the effort to get here to see our mother, you could adjust the dinner hour somewhat?” His soulful brown eyes drooped with sadness.

Melanie’s temper was wearing thin after forty minutes of his griping. There was still so much to be done before her daily to-do list was even halfway complete. She decided to set him straight and make her point without any pussyfooting around.

“Mr. Johnson,” she said, her soft voice firm. “You have been to see your mother, what?” She consulted the open book in front of her. “Two times in the past month.”

The man had the grace to turn red, but Melanie was relentless.

“Your mother is here every day of every week, all year long. She is hypoglycemic, which means that she has to eat regularly to maintain her blood sugar levels.” She gave him her most severe nurse look. “Please don’t ask me to adjust the routine of your mother and the other eighty-six residents, thirty-odd staff and an entire kitchen just so you can drop in for a visit once in a blue moon.” She closed the big binder with a thud and stood in dismissal.

“I’m sorry, but you will have to wait until Mrs. Johnson is finished her meal or return at another time.” Her tone suggested that she didn’t particularly care which.

Grumbling and complaining, the man took his leave. Melanie sank into her chair with a groan.

“I didn’t know we kept track of the residents’ visitors.” Bridget smirked from the doorway.

Grinning, Melanie held up the accounts ledger for housekeeping. “We don’t, but it worked, so don’t knock it.” They giggled together for a few moments before Bridget spoke.

“You still need to call Mr. Richards’s family about his clothes,” she chided, glancing at her watch. “Or should I say lack of!” Bridget’s round face beamed with mirth. “And then get out of here. It’s after seven.” She clucked at Melanie like a mother hen guarding her chick.