Missionary Daddy. Linda Goodnight
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Anyone who cared about the kids was automatically on his happy list.
His newest helper was tall and tan and willowy, pale blond hair slicked back from a clean, natural face into a thick ponytail. Elegantly groomed eyebrows arched above a pair of stunning silver-blue eyes that gazed at him with undisguised interest. With her delicate beauty and her fancy clothes, she looked as out of place as a princess at a mud-wrestling contest.
He, who’d learned the hard way not to be misled by exterior appearances, couldn’t stop staring.
Sure, she was beautiful, but the instant connection was more than that. It was as if he knew her already, as if he knew the things that would make her laugh…and cry, as if he looked into the face of his future.
With a shake of his head, he dispelled the odd sensation and stepped forward.
“I’m Eric,” he said. “Director here. These are my kids. Or rather the orphanage charges. I call them my kids.”
Smiling down at the children, the mirage untangled herself and offered a well-groomed hand. “I’m Sam.”
Her skin felt the way he’d known it would. Soft and pampered, but under-girded with steel, even if those fingernails wouldn’t last ten minutes. “Welcome to Ithemba House. Feeling better?”
She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?”
Matunde and Amani already had her hands, tugging toward the structure.
“The mission’s director called. Said you were under the weather. International travel does that to a lot of people.”
“Oh. Right. Sure. I—” She looked around at the driver and then back at Eric. A strange expression, almost of decision, came and went. Eric understood. She wouldn’t be the first who was scared off by the sheer enormity of the problems he faced every day. But Eric hoped she would stay for more reasons than he could articulate.
Finally, she let the boys pull her forward. “So where do I start?”
Eric jerked his head toward the building. Even seriously overdressed for the task, the woman had grit. He liked her attitude. Ah, who was he kidding? Sam intrigued and attracted him. There was something very special about her. “Some of the other girls are around back mixing mud for the bricks.”
As much as he’d like to forget work today and spend it getting to know her better, they had a job to do. He figured a job away from him was the best place for lovely Sam.
“Okay,” she said. “Just a second.” With the boys in tow, she went back to the car and spoke to the driver. From the man’s expression, he wasn’t happy with his passenger, but he nodded and drove away.
Led by the adorable little boys, Sam joined the group of laughing, sweating teens at the far end of the orphanage. Though she’d never done construction work, neither had any of the other girls. And she was a master at faking it. With no regard to her clothes or her jewelry, she set to work. The workers were chatty, and quickly filled her in on their African adventure. Having only just arrived, they were from a church in Texas that supported the orphanage on a regular basis.
When she brought the topic around to the missionary, a couple of the girls giggled. One said, “Cute, huh?”
Sam only smiled but she had to agree. Eric was not only darkly handsome, he radiated a contagious charm and energy. She thought it was funny that he had mistaken her for one of these kids, considering she was nearly twenty-seven and they were all teenagers. But she let the misunderstanding ride, embarrassed to admit what she did for a living. He’d probably sneer if she told him. Compared to his work, hers was meaningless.
Stirring a bucket of a substance resembling white concrete, she glanced Eric’s way. At any one time, several small children swarmed around him, pulling on his legs and arms. Over and over, with infinite patience, he stopped whatever he was doing to acknowledge them. And she’d never seen anyone work so hard and laugh so much.
Eric was a very interesting man. And she wanted to know him better, if for no other reason than to understand more about the mission.
As he struggled to lift an oversized window into place, Sam saw her chance and hurried over to help him hoist one side.
“Looks like you could use an extra hand.”
“Thanks,” he grunted as together they shoved the framed glass into the open wall. “This window is bigger than usual but electricity here is iffy. We need the sunlight for the kids’ studies.”
“The kids go to school here?”
“Yep. No place else to go.”
Sam leaned her body weight against the window frame while Eric made adjustments. “How many kids live here?”
“Ten.” He used his fist to pound a corner into the tight space. “But as soon as these new rooms are ready we can take in twenty more plus two caregivers.”
She was horrified. “Are there that many orphans?”
“Not even a drop in the bucket to the number out there with no place to go.” He motioned with his chin. “Hand me that bag of nails, will you?”
Sam complied and found herself assisting him as he hammered the window into the wall. Her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the idea of so many children alone.
“How do you do this? I mean, there’s so much need.”
“It’s tough sometimes, but I love what I do.” He wiped a muscled forearm across a face damp with hard work and summer heat. “Africa has taught me to trust God. Really trust Him. When we need something, He always comes through.”
Well, what had she expected? The man was a missionary. Sam, who wasn’t sure what she believed, had never been a religious person, had never been around any to speak of, though her sister Ashley had become a Christian after the birth of her son a couple of years ago. Sam was still curious about that turn of events.
“How long have you been here?”
“Nearly six years.”
“All that time.” She was amazed. Years without microwaves or hot showers or air-conditioning.
She took the extra hammer and tried to drive a nail. It bent double. “Do you ever go home?”
“I furlough at least once a year. Lately—” His face clouded for a second as if he wanted to share something worrisome. But instead he shook his head and laughed. “I see you’ve done a lot of carpentry work.”
Sam grinned. “Tons. Can’t you tell by my finesse?”
Eyes twinkling, the charming missionary flipped his hammer around to the claw end and extracted the nail with one fluid twitch of a powerful wrist.
“I know you’re a master craftsman and all,” he said, still grinning, “but let me show you the way we poor African missionaries hammer a nail.”
“I’m all ears,” she answered, extending the hammer. “Or maybe I should say all thumbs?”
Eric made a huffing noise in appreciation of her humor. Sam’s mood spiraled upward. She liked this guy.
“Strike with your arm, not your wrist. You’ll get more power that way,” he was saying as he leaned in from behind to demonstrate the correct way to hold a hammer.
“Where are you from, Sam?” Eric asked as they worked.
“Chicago. Virginia, originally. Why?”
He tilted his head. “You don’t exactly look like the missions type. What do you do back in Chicago?”
A frisson of embarrassment kept her from telling him. Her work was so superficial. “Just a job. Nothing special.”
But what Eric did was special. The most special work she’d ever witnessed. This man and his team of helpers were making a difference in human lives every single