Linda Turner - Heaven Can't Wait

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my Great Uncle George Dawson, who really is a great uncle. Thanks for letting me pick your brain about construction. You’ll never know how much you helped me. Hopefully, I didn’t make too many mistakes.

And to Barbara Caitlin for the title. It’s perfect.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

They stood hand in hand, two lovers who had withstood the test of time, the love they shared for each other setting their hearts and auras aglow with a golden light that could be seen in the outermost realms of Heaven. Staring down at them, his own affection for them making it impossible for him to be stern, St. Peter struggled to hold back a smile. He didn’t usually handle the problems of ordinary souls, but these were two of his favorites and they obviously needed his help. “What am I going to do with you two? You blew it again.”

“It was my fault. I had no idea when I took that earlier train to New York in 1901 that I would miss my one and only chance to meet her—”

“No, I was ready,” she quickly cut in, giving his fingers a squeeze. “ I should have left for the station instead of waiting for the weather to clear. But I was worried about ruining my new shoes, and by the time I boarded the next train, he was already gone.”

So they had missed each other. Again.

Flipping through their joint file, St. Peter studied the recorded images that moved before him like a motion picture. They’d spent numerous lifetimes together on earth, lifetimes when they should have met and fallen in love, then spent valuable years together learning necessary lessons that could only be mastered in the physical realm. But in Medieval England, before their paths had ever had a chance to cross, he had left for the Crusades and died before his time on the hot, dry sands of Arabia. Then there was the middle of the nineteenth century. Everything should have worked out perfectly then. They were both headed for the California goldfields, where they should have come face to face in the ungodly little town of Black Bear Gulch in the Cascades. Instead she had never made it to California because she had left the wagon train in Kansas to become a teacher in a backwater community that no one but God had ever heard of.

In each incarnation, having missed their one true love, they had each gone through their lifetimes unmarried, choosing to be alone and lonely rather than mated to someone else. Considering that, it wasn’t surprising that neither had lived very long in lifetime after lifetime.

It was, St. Peter decided, frustrating enough to make an angel second class despair of ever earning his wings.

“This cannot continue, dear hearts,” he told them with a frown. “You must know that. There are things you need to learn and experience, and if you can’t find each other on earth, then you have to find someone else.”

“No!”

They cried out in unison, staring at him in horror as if he had just suggested they stab each other in the back. Wincing, St. Peter sighed in defeat. He’d never seen two soul mates more devoted to each other, more loyal to a love that showed every sign of lasting an eternity. But if they were ever going to get together on earth, it was obvious they were going to need some help.

That’s against the rules, Peter. The most important lesson a soul learns on earth is the consequences of free choice.

The voice that echoed in his head was kind and loving and gently reproving. Under normal circumstances, Peter would have obeyed it in a heartbeat. But the two unhappy souls standing so pitifully before him gave strong testimony to the belief that some rules were meant to be bent.

Taking a chance and praying he wasn’t making a mistake, Peter told his two charges, “I’m going to give you another chance, but this time I’m going to personally see that your paths cross. And to make sure that nothing goes wrong, one of you will recognize the other as the love of your life the second your eyes meet.”

“Who—”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he continued. “And it will be that soul’s task to convince the other that you were made for each other. It won’t be easy,” he warned when they started to smile. “You will be different ages and have numerous obstacles thrown in your path. But true love is worth fighting for and you can’t let anything get in your way.”

“Oh, we won’t. We won’t.”

“We promise.”

Reaching out to place a big strong hand on each of their shoulders, he smiled down at them lovingly. “I have all the faith in the heavens in you. Now go. You’ve got a journey to prepare for.”

In the blink of an eye, they were gone, so excited their feet hardly touched the clouds. Staring after them, St. Peter’s smile turned rueful. They were all taken care of. Now all he had to do was square his plans with the big guy.

Peter, what have you done?

“Nothing too radical, Lord,” he said hastily. “I admit I bent the rules a little, but only because I know how strongly you feel about true love.” Behind his back, he crossed his fingers. “Trust me. Everything’s going to work out fine.” He hoped.

Something wasn’t right.

Her eyes on her feet, Prudence Sullivan took a slow turn across the concrete floor of the east wing of what was to be the Fifth Army’s new state-of-the-art communications center at Fort Sam Houston in San Antonio. As a substitute for Eric Thompson, the government inspector normally assigned to the construction site, she wasn’t expected to do much except make sure nothing went wrong while Eric was on sick leave. She certainly wasn’t supposed to concern herself with a floor that had been approved weeks ago. But a familiar knotting in her gut warned her a mistake had been made somewhere. A mistake it was her job to catch.

Not liking her suspicions, she squatted to run her hand over the bare concrete. It felt fine, but she knew from experience that that didn’t mean diddly. If an unscrupulous contractor wanted to save some money and cheat on the specs, he could make a concrete floor that wouldn’t hold office furniture without cracking look like a work of art.

Still balanced on her haunches, she pushed her hard hat to the back of her head and frowned up at Roy Wilkins, the field superintendent. A bear of a man, he cast a shadow that would have done an oak proud as he returned her frown with a wary one of his own. The big boss was gone for the day, and Roy had obviously been told not to let her out of his sight. He’d stuck to her side like glue from the moment she’d shown up at the site an hour ago.

Another time Pru would have been amused by his watchdog hostility. She never understood why builders and contractors were so resentful of inspectors—she just made sure they did what they’d originally promised to do, which was put up a good building. But today, with the knots in her stomach drawing tight as a noose, she was anything but amused. “Who approved this floor?”

“Thompson.”

Pru nodded, her green eyes shifting back to the concrete. She didn’t know Eric personally, but that wasn’t surprising. She was new to the job, new to the city, new to Texas. In fact, if she hadn’t visited Laura, her college roommate and best friend, on Labor Day, she’d probably still be in Kansas City, where she’d been born and raised. But she’d taken one look at San Antonio and had instantly known that that was where she belonged.