Missionary Daddy. Linda Goodnight
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finish those rooms and stop hammering.”
Ashley chuckled. “And about the time they have the entire suite just the way you want it, you’ll run back to Chicago.”
“I don’t think so. I’m thinking of renting out my condo.”
“Are you serious?” Ashley’s face registered disbelief. “Why?”
“I’m not sure I want to go back to modeling.” Even while she was on hiatus, the pressure never stopped. Only today her agent had called, urging her to get back to Chicago. “Not full-time anyway.”
The idea horrified her sister. “Are you crazy? Why wouldn’t anyone want your life?”
“Africa,” she said simply.
Ashley titled her head, puzzled. “Now that makes perfect sense. Care to elaborate?”
Sam shrugged. “Africa did something to me, Ash. Poverty like I can’t even express and yet the people have this joy, this strength about them.”
“Excuse me if I have no clue what this has to do with your amazing career.”
“Everything.” Gabriel wiggled to be let down, so Sam turned him loose. He scooted toward the edge of the bed. “I want my life to matter more. I want to make a difference. Standing in front of a camera in pretty clothes seems so empty after what I saw there.”
“Well, half the female population would take your place in a heartbeat if they could.”
Sam knew it was true. She also knew a lot of things about the business her sister didn’t. Sure, hers was a great job, but money and success in modeling came with a high price. A price she wouldn’t share with anyone, even her baby sister.
She fiddled with the edge of the pizza box, tempted to have another slice. “What do you think of Eric Pellegrino?”
“He’s a hunk and a half. Almost as cute as my Chris. A nice guy, too. Everyone at church seems to like him.” Ashley poked a finger at Sam’s knee. “Why? What does Eric have to do with our conversation?”
“We met in Africa.”
Ashley’s mouth formed an O. “No kidding?”
Gabriel turned onto his belly and started to slide off the high bed feetfirst. Without breaking the line of conversation, Ashley helped him safely down. He toddled to his push pony and climbed aboard, saying, “Horsey, go.”
“I worked at Eric’s orphanage for a day,” Sam said. “It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I found myself wishing I could stay there forever.”
“You? In an African orphanage? With dirt and flies and poverty? And no beauty salon?”
Sam gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Yes. How weird is that?”
She told her sister the rest, about the children, the lack of food, the despair. Most of all, she talked about Eric.
When she finished, Ashley’s soft brown eyes danced with speculation. “Are you in love with this guy?”
Sam made a face to quell a sudden invasion of nervous butterflies. “I barely know him. And now that we’ve met again, I think he hates me.”
“Oh, come on, Sam. There is not a red-blooded male in this country who hates you.”
“Then let’s say he doesn’t like me much. He holds me at an arm’s length and when I try to talk to him, he’s as cool as a Frappuccino.”
Ashley grinned. Having found her own true love, Ashley saw romance everywhere. “I think you’re way off base. Maybe the guy likes you a lot. And maybe he’s intimidated because you’re famous and he’s just a missionary.”
“Eric Pellegrino is not just a missionary. Nor is he intimidated by anything. He seems to despise what I do. And maybe he should. He’s dedicated to a noble cause. I’m dedicated to shopping and accessorizing.”
“Yes, but you’re so good at it!”
They both laughed, but Sam wasn’t joking. Along with her desire to change her own life, she wanted to change Eric’s opinion of her. She just didn’t know how.
When Eric walked into the Youth Center arts-and-crafts room, the first person he spotted was Samantha. Like radar, he seemed to find her. It was maddening. Yesterday, he’d spotted her going into the Noble Foundation. The day before, he’d driven past the mall and amidst all the cars and people, he’d seen Sam.
Now, here he was, that funny feeling in his gut, watching her with the teens. She and the girls, plus Anne Williams, were hub deep in conversation about hairstyles of all things. The boys sat at the table, chins on hands, looking bored to the point of coma.
Tiffany had brought a fashion magazine and was pointing to a picture. Sam placed a finger on each of the girl’s cheekbones, indicated the shape of her face and said something that made the slightly pudgy girl smile.
Eric had to give Sam that much. She was kind to the kids although they still treated her with a star-struck adulation that set his teeth on edge. She was only a person. No better than the rest of them.
He felt in the back pocket of his jeans for the letter that had arrived today.
“Hey, guys,” he called to the dying-of-boredom boys. They whirled as if he’d saved them from a fate worse than death. Chuckling, he understood all too well. To a guy, discussing girls’ hairstyles was pretty deadly.
“What’s up, Eric?” Lanky Jeremy scraped a chair out from the table to make room for their leader.
“Got some news today.” He unfolded the letter and placed it on the table. “From Africa.”
Sam, who had been describing some bizarre thing called shine serum, stopped in mid-sentence and looked up at him. He hadn’t intended to notice her at all tonight and yet, here he was soaking in the way sprigs of blond hair framed her face and brought out the beauty in her gray eyes.
“Africa?” she asked, tone eager. “From your orphanage?”
Technically it wasn’t his orphanage anymore though he’d founded and built the place. The missions’ board was in charge. “From the boys I’m trying to adopt.”
Three of the teenagers in the group had been adopted. Those three always wanted up-to-the-minute details on Eric’s process to adopt Matunde and Amani. They huddled around his back, staring down at the letter. Telephone or Internet contact with the new director was spotty at best, so every time he received a letter from the boys, he was pumped for days.
To his surprise, Sam rose, too, and came around to his side of the table. “Matunde and Amani?”
His surprise doubled. “You remember them?”
“Of course I do. I have a picture of them that I treasure.”
“Oh, right.” The photo she used for publicity. That was why she remembered his boys.
Sam pressed in beside him, leaning onto the table to read the letter along with the others. Right at his elbow, she brought with her the luscious scent of some perfume that probably cost enough to fund the orphanage for a year. And as annoyed as he tried to be about that, his senses couldn’t help appreciating the warm, feminine fragrance or the way her slender arm grazed the side of his.
“Did you say you’re adopting them?” Sam asked, turning her head so that their faces were only inches apart.
A hitch in his chest, Eric was trapped between Sam, the table and a huddle of kids. He couldn’t escape if he wanted to—and he most definitely wanted to. Yes, indeed. He needed to get far away from Miss Rich and Famous.
“Trying to. International adoptions are long and complex. The rules change constantly.”
“So what are the rules saying right now? Can you or can you not bring the boys to America?”