Heartsong Page 7

  The whole class burst into laughter.

  “Yeah, girls, shape up,” one boy shouted, and several girls responded by sticking out their tongues.

  Skye resumed the song before things got out of hand, and soon everyone was singing again. And there was no more note-passing.

  Skye left church feeling elated and cheerful. The pastor’s sermon had reinforced the insights revealed the day before, and she was amazed at how persistent her blindness had been.

  The aroma of meat and vegetables slowly cooking in a Crock-Pot met her as she entered her apartment. Skye usually ate her main meal at lunchtime on Sundays, a tradition her family had followed. Sundays were centered on the morning and evening worship services, and it was convenient to eat the main meal of the day at lunchtime.

  Skye had lingered over the morning paper and was changing her clothes when the phone rang.

  “Hello,” she said cheerfully, expecting Peggy.

  “Good afternoon,” Jordan responded.

  Instantly her heartbeat accelerated. She needed to explain yesterday’s outburst, and it wasn’t going to come easy. She so seldom lost her temper like that.

  “Hello, Jordan.” She hardly knew where to start. “I’m glad you phoned … I feel I owe you an apology.”

  “Good.” His crisp voice seemed to mock her. “I’ll take you to lunch, and you can tell me all about it. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  The connection was broken, and Skye was left listening to the hum of the dial tone. Skye shrugged. He hadn’t even asked her. Jordan Kiley could be the most infuriating man. What if she had already made plans for the afternoon? She often did with her niece, Janey. Apparently any arrangements she’d made were of no consequence. She wasn’t angry, but bemused. Jordan’s personality was commanding and forceful, as if he was accustomed to giving orders and having them followed. What an enigmatic man he was.

  The doorbell rang well within the allotted twenty minutes. His smile was warm and lazy when she opened the door.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Ready?” Her round blue eyes feigned ignorance.

  “I thought we were going out to eat.” His gaze narrowed slightly.

  “I don’t remember your asking,” she said matter-of-factly.

  Catching a glimpse of the table set for two in her tiny kitchenette, Jordan expelled his breath. “You’re expecting someone.” It wasn’t a question but a statement of fact.

  “Yes, I am. You.”

  His gaze swiveled back to her, his thick brows knit in confusion.

  “If you’d have asked me, Jordan, I’d have told you I had a meal ready in the Crock-Pot. You’re welcome to join me if you like.”

  He seemed to relax. Had the suspicion she was expecting someone else bothered him? The pleasure this bit of evidence brought overrode any sense of outrage at his presumptuous behavior.

  His free hand gently caressed the soft flesh of her upper arm before he placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

  “I’ll be right back. I have a car and driver waiting.”

  Skye watched him leave. She didn’t know what it was about his touch that brought her senses to life. A kiss, the feather-light stroke of his hand, gave her undeniable pleasure.

  Steaming bowls of Irish stew had been placed on the table by the time he returned. The smell of fresh sourdough bread filled the apartment as she drew it from the oven.

  “Lunch is ready,” she said, feeling awkward.

  Once they were seated, Jordan paused, waiting for Skye to begin eating.

  “Do you mind if we pray?” she asked unsteadily.

  He arched his brows expressively. “I suspect you want more than the prayer my father taught me.” His eyes were smiling. “You know the one: Good bread, good meat, good God, let’s eat.”

  Skye couldn’t help laughing. “Yes, I guess I do.”

  “You do the honors then.”

  Skye bowed her head, her hands folded. “Father, thank you for this meal and for abundantly supplying all our needs. Bless Jordan and the time we spend together. In Your precious name. Amen.”

  When she lifted her head, she discovered Jordan was watching her intently, and she shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

  “Before we eat,” she began haltingly, “I think I’d feel a whole lot better if I could explain about yesterday.”

  The smiling sparkle returned to his smoky gray eyes. “Bothers you, does it?”

  She lowered her gaze, pretending to study the thick bowl of stew. “The car breaking down was a culmination of several other things. I’d had a rather disconcerting conversation with my sister-in-law, and I got caught in that cloudburst … and, well, I feel I overreacted. I don’t often blow up like that, and …”

  He reached across the small table and gently squeezed her trembling hand. “It’s forgotten. Feel better?”

  She smiled and nodded.

  “I have to admit, however, the thought of you burning your bra is an appealing one.”

  Skye could feel the color invade her face, burning her cheeks. “A gentleman would have forgotten I said that.”

  “I’m no gentleman.” His mouth quirked with the effort to suppress a laugh.

  “I noticed.” Determinedly Skye began eating, refusing to let him see how he had embarrassed her.

  “Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

  Skye didn’t understand the question, and glanced at him quizzically.

  “Did you and your date have a good time last night?” It was a polite inquiry without a hint of jealousy or resentment. Apparently she’d misread him earlier; he really didn’t care if she was with someone else or not.

  “I tried phoning. You were out.”

  Darn, she’d forgotten his phone call. “Oh, last night …” Her mind worked furiously. “Yes … yes, I did. I was invited to a party.” Another half-truth. John Dirkson had invited her, but Skye had never considered attending. She hadn’t stepped out of her apartment all evening.

  They played three games of backgammon after their meal. Jordan won the first two and showed no mercy. Skye won the third because she was tired of being Ms. Nice Guy and suffered no qualms about putting him off the board. She half expected Jordan to be angry, but when she replaced his man for the third time, she saw a glimmer of respect enter his eyes.

  Afterward they sat talking while they drank several cups of coffee. They found their tastes were surprisingly similar in several areas. It was when they were discussing music that he questioned her about the hospital singer for the second time.

  “What’s her name again?” he asked with undisguised interest.

  “Jane.” A lump knotted her stomach.

  “She’s a talented lady.”

  “So she’s been told.” This was the very reason Skye didn’t want him to know it was she. It embarrassed her to discuss her gift. And that was exactly what it was—a gift. She had done nothing to earn it and had always been ill at ease accepting compliments.

  “Oh, dear, look at the time.” She stood abruptly. “It’s six already. I’ve got to be at church soon.” But she had plenty of time; the evening service didn’t start until six thirty.

  “Church again?” He sounded as if he didn’t believe her.

  “Yes, would you like to come? I’d be pleased to have you meet our pastor. I know you’ll like him. My brother and his family will be there, too.”

  Jordan stood and put his coffee cup in the sink. “Another time perhaps.”

  She wasn’t disappointed. Skye was playing the piano for the service tonight, and he was sure to guess she was the hospital singer if he heard her.

  Walking with Jordan to the small entryway, Skye could feel the muscles of her stomach begin to twitch. Was he going to try to kiss her again? Should she pretend she didn’t want him to?

  “Yes, I’m going to kiss you.” He openly mocked her.

  Her startled blue eyes flew open, and he gently gripped her arm, bringing her to his side. “You’re very easy to read sometimes
.” The pressure of his grip moved from her arm to the back of her neck, slowly raising her head, decreasing the distance between their lips.

  Was she that transparent? Skye wondered seconds before his mouth easily fit over hers. The urgency of his kiss parted her lips, and she succumbed to the tide of sweetness that swept through her.

  Embracing was awkward: The unyielding cast of his broken arm pressed painfully against her ribs as his free hand moved down the curve of her spine. But the only sensation her mind registered was the rightness of being in his arms.

  “While you’re in church, say a prayer for me,” Jordan said thickly, his voice slightly ragged.

  Her voice wasn’t any steadier. “I will.”

  The hand positioning her against him relaxed, as if he realized it must be uncomfortable for her. Skye shook her head but lowered her gaze, struggling against the magnetic pull of his eyes.

  “What time does school let out these days? Maybe we can go sailing tomorrow afternoon.”

  “There’s no school … it’s spring break. Oh, Jordan, I can’t.” Regret filled her voice. “I promised Billy I was coming. Sally is making arrangements for me to take him outside the hospital for the day. I couldn’t disappoint him.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to. How about Tuesday?”

  “I’d like that.” She didn’t even attempt to disguise her enthusiasm.

  “I’ll pick you up at ten.”

  Halfway out the door, Skye called to him. “Jordan.”

  He stopped and turned around.

  “I am going to pray for you.”

  Something unreadable flickered in his eyes. “Do that,” he said softly, and left.

  On Monday Skye impulsely drove by and picked up her niece before stopping at the hospital for Billy. The two had met several times previously and seemed to enjoy each other.

  “Hiya, Sprout.”

  Billy was in his wheelchair waiting. “Hi, Skye; hi, Janey.” His eyes lit up eagerly.

  “Okay, you two, we have the whole day ahead of us. Where would you like to go?”

  “Chinatown,” they shouted in unison.

  “Chinatown,” she moaned, as if it were some great tragedy, but a laugh lay barely beneath the surface. San Francisco’s Chinatown was exotic and exciting. The largest community of Chinese people living together outside the Orient, in many ways it seemed like visiting a foreign country.

  Skye located a parking place with easy access to the well-defined area, and soon the three made their way down the crowded streets. Several shops displayed signs in English, but the only language that drifted toward them was a rapid flow of Chinese.

  Billy insisted upon handling the wheelchair himself, but Skye found it necessary to help him several times as they moved up and down the narrow, hilly streets on and off Grant Avenue. Several of the stores had sidewalk displays, and Billy was able to investigate the treasures of the East without having to maneuver his wheelchair through the narrow shop doors.

  They stopped to eat lunch in a nearby restaurant. Ushered by the waiter, they were given their own private dining room. Both children loved the privacy and took delight in teasing each other, especially over the chopsticks.

  The food was delicious. Janey and Billy quickly devoured the traditional Chinese dishes, leaving Skye to sample the more exotic ones. The fortune cookies were the highlight of the meal as far as either child was concerned.

  “Read yours, Aunt Skye,” Janey coaxed.

  “You first.” Skye leaned forward, feigning acute interest.

  Janey cracked hers open and was immediately consumed by giggles. Billy read it for her in a singsongy rhyme that could barely be understood above Janey’s laughter. But Billy showed little interest in his and laid it beside his plate, his eyes dull and tired, yet smiling.

  “What’s yours say, Skye?” he wanted to know.

  To appease them both she examined the tiny slip. The words seemed to reach out and slap her. BEWARE OF THE STRANGER DARK AND BOLD. STAY TRUE TO YOUR LOVE OF LONG AGO.

  “It says—” She faltered slightly. “—it’s time to take Billy back to the hospital.”

  They both objected, but not strenuously. Billy fell asleep in the car, and Janey was unusually quiet. Whether it was because she was exhausted, too, or as a thoughtful gesture so as not to wake Billy, Skye didn’t question.

  As the silence settled over the car, the message of the fortune cookie kept repeating itself in her confused brain. It was uncanny, inexplicable, and the words deeply troubled her. Was God using this silly fortune to warn her about Jordan? The words echoed through her mind a hundred times as she drove from the hospital to her brother’s house. Although she’d made the proper responses when spoken to at the hospital, her mind was far from the matters at hand. It was something she couldn’t explain or reason away. Above all else, Skye realized that nothing in her life happened by accident. God had a purpose in everything, no matter how minute.

  Home looked good; her feet hurt after the extended hike. After hanging her jacket in the entryway closet, she went directly to the Bible set on the nightstand. For all her Bible study and all the verses she’d memorized over the years, she didn’t know what to make of the message of the fortune cookie.

  “Dear Jesus,” she began silently, sitting Indian-style across the top of her bed. “I don’t know why You allowed this message to come to me, or if it has any significance at all. I realize You guide me through life and I am trusting You. Thank you, Lord, for sending Jordan into my life. At first he frightened me, and I didn’t know how to handle the feeling he awoke within me. Although I find myself still unsure, I’m far less afraid. I’m asking You, Lord, to guide me in this relationship. I desire only Your will in my life.”

  Familiar with several books in the Bible, Skye read until she felt a soothing peace come over her spirit.

  Because the situation was in God’s hands, Skye forgot it, later fixing herself a light dinner. While she was washing the dishes her phone rang.

  “Hello, Pollyanna. Been saying your prayers like a good girl?”

  “Hello, Jordan.” It felt good to hear the sound of his voice, and she didn’t take exception to his greeting. “And, yes, I have been saying my prayers, including a few for you.”

  “I’m going to need them. Listen, Blue Eyes, I’ve got to cancel tomorrow. Things have gotten out of hand here in LA without me. I flew back this afternoon.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment settled over her. Jordan had left the city. “That’s all right,” she assured him. Nervously her fingers looped a strand of ashen hair around her ear.

  “It’s not all right,” Jordan said impatiently.

  The doorbell rang, jerking her attention to the apartment door. “Jordan, there’s someone at my door. Hold on … or do you want to hang up?”

  “No, I don’t want to hang up. Answer the door,” he said, and sighed heavily in irritation.

  Laying the phone on the small table beside her davenport, Skye rushed to answer the repeated buzz. If it was John Dirkson, she thought, she’d scream.

  She didn’t, of course. “Yes?” she said brusquely, hoping she sounded as unfriendly as she felt.

  Indolently John placed himself between Skye and the door. “Hi, yourself. I’m just being neighborly. I wonder if you happen to have a tube of anchovy paste?”

  “Anchovy paste?” Skye laughed. “No, John, I don’t normally keep anchovy paste lying around.”

  “Maybe you should look,” he persisted. “One never knows what lurks in the backs of cupboards.”

  “Listen,” she said pointedly, glancing back into her living room, “I’m on the phone and it’s important.”

  John beamed her one of the irresistible smiles meant to melt the defenses of the most determined woman. “I don’t mind waiting.” Before she could stop him, he had let himself in, sunk down on the davenport, and made himself at home.

  Skye sighed in frustration. “Jordan,” she began self-consciously, “it’s my neighbor.”

&nb
sp; “So I heard,” Jordan said in a voice that sounded very much like a snarl. “I want to talk to you, Skye. Get rid of him.”

  Skye turned her back to John and cupped her hand over the mouth of the receiver. “I tried,” she whispered spiritedly. Jordan was out of sorts; Skye could feel his impatience. “I want to talk to you, too,” she added so there would be no doubt where her preference lay.

  His breath was expelled harshly. “All right, I’ll phone back in ten minutes. Will that give you enough time?”

  “Yes … yes, I think so.”

  Actually it took her only five minutes and a few choice words to show John exactly what she thought of his rude behavior. Because of his unfailing belief in his male charm, Skye’s repeated rejection had fueled a challenge too blatant to be ignored. When she told him that if he bothered her again she would contact the apartment manager, John looked totally confused. Women didn’t usually treat his attention lightly.

  The phone only rang once. “Jordan?”

  He didn’t bother with a greeting. “Is he gone?”

  “Yes, he’s gone.” She took the phone and curled up on the davenport. “And good riddance.” She laughed lightly.

  “As I was saying,” Jordan began again, “I’ve had a change in plans. I’ve got to cancel tomorrow, but I should be in Frisco in about two weeks. How about dinner then?”

  “Fine,” Skye said shamelessly. She didn’t even bother to look at her calendar; if other plans had been made, she’d cancel them. Being with Jordan was worth more than anything she could have scheduled.

  “Oh, and while I’m thinking about it, give me the full name of that singer from the hospital again. I’d like to have Dan Murphy contact her. From the little I heard, the girl’s got talent, exceptional talent.”

  “Dan Murphy?”

  “He’s the fellow who owns the radio station that employs yours truly.”

  “Oh.” Skye had backed herself into a corner, forced to tell another white lie. “I told you her name is Jane, but honestly, Jordan, I don’t think she’s interested.”

  “You sound jealous.” It was an accusation that rankled.

  “That’s ridiculous,” she denied. “It’s just that I find it disconcerting to have you phone me to ask about another woman.”