you?”
He was a missionary, a man not given to impulse, a man very careful not to overstep his bounds, but he wanted to kiss the lovely Sam.
He shifted around toward her, lifting one hand to brush a stray lock behind her ear. As he’d expected, her hair was silk. In the moonlight, their eyes met and held.
Then the sweep of car lights found them and Eric moved away, both thankful and sorry for the interruption.
“There’s my ride,” Sam said. Eric leaped to his feet and helped her up. Her skin, even after a hard day’s work, was as silky as her hair. Regretfully, that would change by the time her mission team left Africa.
They walked to the car, still holding hands.
“Thanks for your help today.”
She shook her head. “No. Thank you. I learned so much. I never—” Her voice choked. Eric moved closer, but Sam backed away and reached for the car door. “Bye, Eric. Today was wonderful.”
As the car pulled out, Eric raised a hand. “See you tomorrow.”
But he didn’t. In fact, Samantha never returned to the orphanage again. Eric was not only disappointed, he was bewildered to learn that Sam was not a part of the missions’ team. The team didn’t know her any more than he did.
No one could figure exactly what had happened. One thing for certain, she’d made an impression on him.
Eric spent a couple of days talking to God about the incident. Because for that one, beautiful day, he had almost believed in love at first sight.
And he didn’t even know her last name.
Chapter Two
Present day, Chestnut Grove, Virginia
His dream was coming true.
Eric Pellegrino sat at the desk inside the offices of Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency reading the home study of a prospective adoptive family.
Last year, after much prayer and counsel, he’d resigned his work in Africa to take the job as assistant director in charge of developing an international adoption program for Tiny Blessings. Now that the director, Kelly Van Zandt was pregnant and had cut back on her hours, he was heavily involved in all aspects of the agency, but his dream of finding permanent families for the orphans of Africa never left his thoughts.
Matunde and Amani were waiting. And the paperwork to make them his official children now awaited approval from the South African government. If all went well, other orphans would also soon be crossing the waters to loving families.
He completed his notes on the prospective parents and slid their information into a file. They, too, were interested in adopting from Africa.
As much as he missed the children, he liked his job here, although he sometimes chafed at wearing a suit and living by an alarm clock.
The Tiny Blessings agency was a good one, committed to doing Christ’s work, though an ugly scandal had rocked the place over the last couple of years. Kelly, with her meticulous organizational skills had nearly killed herself to set things right. Or rather someone had tried to kill her to keep things quiet.
Thank God, the insane woman had been caught and dealt with. Kelly, Pilar and all the other staff members worked diligently, not only to move new adoptions forward, but to right the wrongs of the past.
But every time they doused one firestorm of trouble, another seemed to flame up. Someone still didn’t want Kelly’s husband, Ross, to investigate the old falsified adoption records and had recently sent a threatening letter to the agency.
As a newcomer, Eric often had trouble keeping up with events that had happened before he’d arrived. But he’d been blessed with a great new church and new friends, and was knee-deep in fund-raising efforts for his African projects. Life was good. Different but good.
Anne Williams, the agency’s bookkeeper, appeared from the back of the long, narrow building. Eric liked the shy gentle woman, and he was glad she had married an old missionary acquaintance of his, Caleb Williams. In fact, Caleb, now a youth pastor, was the man who had recommended Eric for his current position.
A newspaper tucked beneath her arm, Anne said, “Andrew Noble called while you were conferencing with that new family.”
Eric reached for the telephone. “Should I call him back?”
Anne shook her head. “He only wanted to thank you again for chairing the youth-group committee for the upcoming fund-raiser.”
Every year the Noble Foundation held a picnic to raise funds for charitable groups. Eric was thrilled because this year the fund-raiser was earmarked for orphanages in Africa.
“Considering it’s a project close to my heart, I’m glad to do it. And the kids at the youth center are full of ideas. A good bunch, too.” He already knew most of them from his Sunday school class at the Chestnut Grove Community Church. Grabbing a pen, he scribbled a note to get snacks for tonight’s meeting. Teens worked better when food was part of the deal. “Did Andrew mention if he or Rachel had found a cochair?”
The new international adoption program was taking a lot of his time. Add his already busy schedule, church and an occasional night out, and Eric wasn’t sure he could swing the full responsibility of organizing the youth’s portion of the fund-raiser. He hoped that Andrew and his cousin Rachel would soon pick a cochair for the event.
“Andrew says Rachel has someone terrific in mind and is awaiting a call back.” Even though the pregnant Rachel was on bed rest, she remained involved with foundation work by telephone and computer.
“Did he say who?” Not that it mattered. Eric would work with anyone who desired to help his kids.
“You’re going to like this.” Anne placed the newspaper on the desk in front of him and tapped a picture. “If Rachel can convince her, this is your cochair.”
Eric looked down at the newspaper photo. All the air whooshed out of his lungs.
Samantha Harcourt. The woman he couldn’t forget even if he wanted to. The woman who disturbed his dreams and whose memory sent waves of humiliation flowing over him. He’d nearly made a fool of himself in Africa. Had actually prayed for God to send her back after that first amazing day. Had spent many late nights standing outside the orphanage, listening to the call of the jackal, and wishing he could forget her.
But how could he?
Now that he was back in the States, he found her picture was literally everywhere. Billboards, magazines. Sam Harcourt, ad model for Style Fashions, the hottest trend in America.
As a man who’d lived most of his adult life in Third World countries, he’d had no idea the sweet missions’ worker was a top fashion model.
Once he’d discovered her identity, he’d felt like a total idiot. He’d also understood why she’d never returned to the orphanage. She wasn’t a missions’ worker at all. Like celebrities everywhere, she loved publicity and what better press than to say she’d worked among the poor, starving orphans of Africa?
Wasn’t this photo proof
