The warmth in her cheeks increased several degrees. She took a breath. “Then you must be very pleased at the moment.” It came out a tiny bit acerbic, which didn’t help her blush at all.

David’s smile widened. “I am.”

Smooth. Very smooth. A nervous little quiver rippled through Erin’s stomach. She grabbed her small white clutch bag off the table by the door and stepped out onto the porch before she lost her courage and bolted back to her bedroom to change into something less attractive—like an old baggy sweat suit.

“You’re not going to keep me waiting?” Shock spread across David’s face. “You’re ready to go?”

“I’m afraid so. There’s no point in more primping. This is as good as it gets.”

“It certainly is.”

Critically acclaimed, award-winning author Dorothy Clark is a creative person. She lives in a home she designed and helped her husband build (she swings a mean hammer!) with the able assistance of their three children. She also designs and helps her husband build furniture. When she is not thus engaged, she can be found cheering her grandchildren on at various sports events, or furiously taking notes about possible settings for future novels as she and her husband travel throughout the United States and Canada. Dorothy believes in God, love, family and happy endings, which explains why she feels so at home writing her stories for Steeple Hill and Steeple Hill Love Inspired. Dorothy enjoys hearing from her readers and may be contacted at [email protected].

Be ye not unequally yoked together with

unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness

with unrighteousness and what communion hath

light with darkness?

—2 Corinthians 6:14

Can two walk together, unless they be agreed?

—Amos 3:3

This book is dedicated, with affection and deep appreciation, to my editor, Krista Stroever, who gently and kindly eases me over the rough patches of the writing process with her humor, patience, enthusiasm and wonderful editing talent. And to my agent and friend, Joyce Hart. Without her faith in my writing, this book would not exist.

Thank you to the ladies of the Literacy Volunteers of Cattaraugus County for graciously answering my questions about this important work. And to all of the volunteers at all of the literacy centers across America for their dedication in helping others to a better life.

And I must extend my special thanks to Elizabeth Curtis, a sister ACFW member, who immediately stepped forward to answer my cry for help with the medical information I needed for this book. It must be all that E.R. trauma nurse training that makes her so quick to react! Whatever it is, she saved my skin. I couldn’t have written this book without your expert advice, Elizabeth. So again, thank you.

“Commit thy works unto the Lord, and thy thoughts shall be established.”

Your word is truth. Thank You, Jesus. To You be the glory.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Letter to Reader

David Carlson glanced at his mirrors, signaled then pulled over into the turn lane. Disappointment rode his shoulders. He needed a big story. He was so close to gaining a position among the top echelon of reporters at The Herald, and now the rumor about graft in the city’s transportation department he’d been investigating had fizzled into nothing but a disgruntled employee trying to get his boss in trouble.

David frowned and made the right turn onto Monroe Street. He was feeling a little disgruntled himself. One thing was sure, he wouldn’t find his big story this afternoon. At least not until he cleared away this minor one. He scanned the buildings on the right, looking for numbers—1422…1424… Ah! There it was.

David flipped on his blinker, pulled into the parking lot of the Westwood Literacy Center then glanced at his watch. Five minutes early. Perfect. Okay, Professor Stiles, let’s get this over with!

Erin Kelly hurried down the hallway, crossed the entrance and stuck her head around the open office door. “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Yes, yes. Come in, Erin, I’ll just be a minute.” The elderly man rummaged through a towering stack of papers on his desk, scowled then ran his hand through his thinning gray hair. “I had it here yesterday….”

He thumbed his way through another pile. “I don’t know why I can never find—”

Erin hooted. He scowled up at her. “Are you laughing at me, young lady?”

“Not at all.” She gave him a cheeky grin. “I’m laughing at your expectations.”

“Humph!”

The snort was one of fond affection. Erin’s grin widened. She gestured toward the litter of books, magazines and miscellaneous folders and papers that covered the large desk. “Do you really expect to find a specific item in that mess?”

“I do.”

She took a brave step forward. “Then perhaps if you tell me what you’re searching for, I could help.”

“I don’t need any help! That’s what’s wrong.” The professor directed a baleful look toward his secretary in the entrance room and raised his voice. “That woman was in here straightening up again. She can’t leave anything alone.”

“I only threw away things that were growing.”

The words floated in over Erin’s shoulder. She laughed and turned toward the door. “Good one, Alice!”

The secretary grinned at her, then faced the other way as the outer door opened.

Erin shifted her gaze. A tall, broad-shouldered, gorgeous man entered. He looked vaguely familiar. She searched through the files of memories in her head as she watched him walk over to Alice.

“Good afternoon. I’m David Carlson. I have an appointment with Professor Robert Stiles.”

The sound of his voice did it. Recognition dawned. David Carlson appeared occasionally on Channel Four News. What was he—?

“Hah! I’ve got it! One o’clock!”

Erin turned back to find the professor waving a scrap of paper through the air like a flag of triumph.

“That’s what I thought, just couldn’t remember for sure.” The professor ducked his head and squinted at her over the top of his glasses. “Some newshound called the other day. He wants to interview me about—”

Someone cleared their throat behind her. The professor stopped speaking and shifted his gaze to a point above and beyond her head. His gray eyebrows drew together. “Who are you?”

“The newshound.”

There was a trace of amusement in the deep voice. Erin stole a sidelong glance as David Carlson stepped up beside her and extended his hand over the desk.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. Your secretary told me to come in. I’m David Carlson of The Herald, Professor Stiles. It’s good to make your acquaintance.”

“Humph. Too early to know that.” Her boss waved an age-spotted hand in her direction. “This is my program coordinator, Erin Kelly.”

David Carlson swung his handsome, impeccably groomed head her way. She looked up into his intelligent, alert, gray-blue eyes and the oddest sensation hit her. Everything inside her went still. It was as if time stopped.