Chapter 3

      Natalie was seasoning boneless chicken breasts to grill for dinner when the phone rang again.

      Deanna, who was in the kitchen with her cutting potatoes for the salad, was the one who went to answer the phone.

      “Maybe you shouldn’t answer it,” Natalie said. “I’m sure it’s another reporter.” Another reporter who clearly wanted to hear her bad-mouth Vance so he or she could feed the team of hungry tabloids and gossip magazines with more dirt.

      They had been calling since the sun had come up, and frustrated, Natalie had stupidly spoken to a reporter just after lunch. The woman had wanted her response to the fact that Vance was talking up a storm about how he had found his “true love” and how that made her feel. It was the kind of ridiculous question quack reporters were famous for: Your son was just crushed by truck. How do you feel, sir? Natalie had hung up without answering.

      “If it’s a reporter, I’ll get rid of the pest,” Deanna said. “But maybe it isn’t, because this time the display isn’t showing that a private number is calling. It’s a Cleveland number.”

      “That doesn’t mean anything,” Natalie pointed out. She would never forget the time someone had come to her house pretending to be an electrician, when, in fact, the man had been a reporter trying to get the scoop on whether or not Vance was actually considering leaving San Antonio to play for a Los Angeles team.

      Reporters would do anything to get the story they wanted.

      Picking up the phone, Deanna uttered a pleasant greeting then paused. “Are you a reporter? Okay, then may I ask who’s calling?”

      Lowering the phone and covering the mouthpiece with her hand, Deanna said, “Natalie, it’s for you. Some woman named Penelope who claims she’s not a reporter.”

      Natalie narrowed her eyes in suspicion. “You don’t actually expect her to say, ‘Yeah, I’m a reporter.’ Come on, Dee.”

      “She said she’s from some children’s charity,” Deanna explained.

      Natalie frowned, but was slightly less suspicious. She did a lot of charitable work in San Antonio. But still she said, “Ask her what charity.”

      Deanna put the phone to her ear again. “What charity?” And after a moment, “Oh. Okay.”

      “Well?” Natalie asked. She knew some of these reporters were very clever. She didn’t want to be tricked.

      “She says it’s a local children’s charity for kids with cancer, and she could really use your help. That she knows of your charitable work in San Antonio.” Deanna shrugged. “I don’t know. She sounds legit.”

      It was a subject near and dear to her heart, one Natalie had spent a lot of time lending her voice to back in San Antonio. But still, it could be a trick, a desperate reporter who knew enough about her to try and lure her onto the line under false pretenses.

      “Are you going to take the call?” Deanna asked, still covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

      “All right.” Natalie supposed she may as well talk to the person on the phone, even if she would only end up telling the woman off for her ruse. She turned on the kitchen sink, washed her hands, dried them with a dish towel, then crossed the kitchen and took the phone from her sister’s hands.

      “This is Natalie Cooper. I mean Hart.” If Vance was already engaged to somebody else, then why should Natalie use his surname anymore? She was a Hart. And it was even more important for her to cling to that connection to her mother now, to her sisters. The Hart name had much more meaning to Natalie at this point in her life than it ever had before.

      “Hello, Mrs. Cooper,” came the relieved reply. “I’m really glad I found you.”

      “And who are you?” Natalie asked, knowing that she sounded a little brusque.

      “My name is Penelope Rand. And I knew your aunt. Jean…she was such a wonderful person. She gave so much to this community, volunteering for one cause after another. I really appreciated her and I miss her terribly.”

      Thinking of her aunt caused Natalie’s chest to tighten. “Yes, I miss her, too.”

      “I was excited to hear that you are in town, especially because your aunt told me about your efforts to help raise funds for childhood cancer research. I’m on the board of a small local charity, Compassion for Families, and our mandate is a little different than what you’re used to. We don’t raise funds for cancer research. Rather, the money we raise supports a home here in Cleveland where families from out of town can live while their child is undergoing treatment at one of the local hospitals. Or, if they live in town but are facing financial hardships because of the cost of medical care, we help out with rent or mortgage payments. The cancer patient needs support, but so does the entire family unit—and that’s where we come in.”

      “That’s wonderful,” Natalie said.

      “We’re currently working on putting a gala event together to raise funds. It’s very last minute, but we need to pull this off because Compassion House needs urgent financial help or it’ll have to close its doors. With the economy’s current shape, there have been less donations and between trying to help keep people in their own homes, there isn’t currently enough to keep the house running at the level we’d like. I don’t have to tell you how devastating it would be for families from out of town to suddenly have nowhere to go. So we were hoping to have an event within a six-week timeframe, possibly less. I don’t know how long you’re in town, but if there’s any chance you could help out, lend your vast expertise to the cause, that would be amazing.”

      That’s how to get them, Natalie thought. Compliment them, and how can a person say no? It was one of her strategies for helping to elicit funds and favors from people when she worked at getting financial support to help a certain cause.

      “I’m not sure how long I’ll be here, either,” Natalie told her. “I mean, the cause sounds great, absolutely. It’s definitely something I would support. But I’m just in town because of my aunt’s passing, and to spend some time with my uncle and family. Since I’m not even certain how much longer I’m going to be staying here, it wouldn’t make sense for me to make a commitment. You’re going to need someone who can give one hundred ten percent of their time. But I’ll happily—”

      “I would take whatever time you’re able to give,” Penelope said quickly, and Natalie heard a hint of desperation in the woman’s voice. “It’s been hard to garner support. The economy is in rough shape, people just don’t have the same kind of money they used to. And when they do donate, they give to bigger charities. But if I could have someone high profile like yourself, with your connection to your husband, Vance Cooper—”

      “We’re not together anymore,” Natalie said, swallowing the lump that had lodged in her throat at the mention of his name.

      “I know,” Penelope said, sounding contrite. “I heard about your split. And I’m sorry. But, you’re still very well connected. Your husband…ex-husband…is a successful NBA player. He has a wealth of friends who are very successful, and who know other successful people. Any connection to them that you may have can be of assistance.”

      Natalie nodded. “I understand. I do. But I just don’t want to bite off more than I can chew right now. The last thing I would want to do is disappoint you and your organization. Any project I take on, I like to see it through to the end. And right now, I just can’t say that I could do that for you. But I’ll definitely make a substantial donation to your charity to help with your immediate needs.”

      “Oh, I’m certain you would do a fantastic job,” Penelope insisted. “It’s not simply the fundraising we need help with. I hate to say it, but I’m not that experienced with throwing the kind of posh event I’m hoping to pull off. The organization is small,