Heaven's Blue
An Awe-Struck E-Books Preview
Published by Awe-Struck E-Books Copyright

EBOOK ISBN: 1-58749-445-0, PRINT ISBN: 1-58749-446-9
GENRE: inspirational romance
AUTHORS: Penelope Marzec
Usual nonsale price is $4.75

AVAILABLE FILE FORMATS: HTML for the standard computer, PDF for Adobe Reader, Rocket for the Rocket and REB1100, MS Reader for the PC and Pocket PC, FUB for eBookMan, Mobipocket for Palm Pilot, Pocket PC, and eBookMan, and KML for hiebook

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that their angels in heaven always look upon the face of my heavenly Father...it is not the will of your heavenly Father that one of these little ones be lost.

Matthew 18:10 & 14

Chapter One

From the top step at the entrance to Holy Redeemer Church, Samantha Lyons searched far out past the edge of town. The tiny gray speck on the horizon that was Field Station Number Thirty-Seven sat in the endless green of salt hay. Sighing, she fixed her gaze on her tiny home, a spot easy to miss unless one knew where to look for it. Despite the lack of conveniences, she had come to love the modest dwelling.

For two years Samantha had studied the effects of a new pesticide on the salt marsh mosquito as the final application of her doctoral thesis. The very real possibility that she would not finish her work was bad enough, but the idea of leaving her first real home tore at her. Sorrow welled up in her throat, threatening to choke her.

Shading her eyes, she glanced up and down the main street of Clam Creek, New Jersey. She doubted that she would catch a glimpse of the college junior who had signed on to be her assistant. Ginger Blaine had decided that the lonely life of a research scientist on a salt marsh was no way to live and had driven away, vowing never to return.

Lowering her hand, Samantha ambled slowly down the church steps, forcing herself to rein in her emotions. The humid air and searing morning sunshine of another steamy August day did not bother her. Yet, the sense of loss that swept through her felt like a black stone in the pit of her stomach. Without Ginger's help, she would have to leave Clam Creek.

She had known from the first that Ginger wouldn't make a suitable assistant, but since nobody else had applied for the position, she had been forced to hire the flighty young woman. Waves of heat shimmered from the roof of her blue Chevy as she approached it. She had parked her car in the brutal sunshine, but with the weather forecast for clear skies, and sleepy Clam Creek's almost nonexistent crime rate, she felt safe in leaving the windows open. Nobody had to worry about anyone stealing anything in the tiny town. So when she opened her car door and saw someone in her vehicle, it startled her so badly that she dropped the keys she held in her hand.

A small boy holding a chocolate ice cream cone sat on the passenger seat of her car. Melted brown ice cream covered his chin and he looked at her with wide, round eyes as full of fear as those of the timid deer that occasionally wandered into the field station. The child had straight, black hair falling into his eyes, which were the same hazy blue as the summer sky. Samantha didn't have any idea who he was.

She slowly bent down to pick up her keys, keeping her gaze fixed on the child. "Hi," she said. "Where's your mom and dad?"

The little boy's face crumpled. At almost the same moment, Samantha heard the frantic sound of a deep male voice calling.

"James! James! Where are you?"

Samantha rose, turned, and saw a man running down the street toward her.

The boy wailed. "Daddy! Daddieeeeeee!" His ice cream cone tilted and a large brown glob landed on the car seat. The youngster screamed louder.

"I'm here, James!"

As the man raced toward Samantha's car, she noticed that the ice cream shop owner followed him in hot pursuit.

"Hey, Meester. You no pay me!" The rotund ice cream entrepreneur shouted. The young boy's father skidded to a stop when he reached Samantha's car. He yanked open the passenger door, reached in, and quickly pulled his son into his arms.

"What are you doing with my kid?" he demanded.

"What's he doing in my car?"

The boy sobbed. "My ice cream, Daddy! My ice cream!"

"Hey you! You owe me a dollar feefty!" the shop owner roared, creating more of a ruckus.

"Look, I told you I had the money in my car!" the father growled back.

Samantha shook her head and then studied the scruffy pair of father and son. The dad hadn't shaved in a few days, though the stubble on his chin didn't detract from his good looks. At some point in his life, the man must have lifted weights because he had wonderfully broad shoulders, which his T-shirt only seemed to emphasize. She felt a blush heating her cheeks. "Thees your car?" the angry proprietor asked.

"No," the father answered. "Mine's blue..."

His voice trailed off as he blinked in the bright sunlight at the car's finish.

"Hey, thees one is blue," the shop owner pointed out.

"Yeah, well--mine's a Chev..." Samantha saw the puzzled frown cloud the father's face.

He paused as his gaze moved from one end of the car to the other.

"Okay," he muttered. "This car looks almost the same as mine. Is that what happened, James? You thought this was our car?"

The boy nodded his head and took in a ragged breath.

The father glared at Samantha. "You should have rolled up your windows and locked your car."

"You should have been holding your son's hand." Samantha reached under the seat for a roll of paper towels to remove the brown glob of ice cream, which spread out as it melted.

The shop owner boomed, "You shoulda keep the money in your pocket, not in your car!"

"All right!" the father grumbled. "Can't you be patient a minute? It's not like you have a long line of customers in that shop." He pointed to the deserted ice cream parlor up the street.

"You gonna cheat me!" The shop owner shook his fist in a threatening manner.

The harried father swore. "I'll see if I've got any change." He walked back up the street with his son sobbing softly on his shoulder and the shop owner dogging his footsteps.

Samantha tugged a few more towels off the roll and dropped them on the chocolate goo. She glanced up and couldn't help but notice how the father dragged his feet along the street. It appeared as though he didn't have just the weight of his son on his shoulders but the crushing load of the world. An odd suspicion set her nerves on edge. Maybe the father really didn't have the money in his car.

She swiped once more at the mess on her front seat. She couldn't ignore the lost look in the child's eyes. He reminded her of herself at around the same age. A small chill wound its way up her spine despite the heat of the day.

Suddenly, the father and the shop proprietor commenced yelling at each other all over again, loud enough for the entire town to hear.

"This is one dollar and ten cents!" The shop owner had his teeth bared. "I told you it was one-feefty!"

"So I'm a little short." The man clutched his son against him. "I really thought I had the exact amount."

Samantha dropped the messy paper towels in a nearby garbage can. Without a moment's hesitation, she dug in her handbag for some change and hurried up the street to the scene.

"I think you must have dropped this when you bent over to take your son out of my car." She held out the coins in her hand.

"No...I..." The father shot her a wary look. "Uh. Yeah, that must be mine." He reached out and she dropped the change into his palm.

Samantha saw the relief break out on his face as he stared at the coins.

"Thanks...I..." His eyes narrowed and he peered at her for a moment with such suspicion that she took a step back. He turned to the shop owner and dropped the money into the man's beefy paw.

"Well, that's all settled then. Here's your forty cents, sir. No hard feelings."

The shop owner carefully counted out the coins and closed the money tightly in his fist before heading back to his store, mumbling loud enough for everyone to hear. "Hmmph! I know the minute I see him--he's a bum!"

"My ice cream fell," the boy whimpered.

"Yeah, sport." The father patted the child tenderly. "Sorry."

His shoulders slumped in defeat as he began to turn toward his own blue Chevy. Samantha followed him.

"There's plenty of doughnuts and cider at Holy Redeemer," she suggested.

"A church?" The father turned a mocking smile toward her, marring his face. "I don't think so."

"I like doughnuts." The little boy looked ready to burst into tears again. "I'm hungry! Doughnuts, Daddy. Doughnuts."

He muttered a curse and ran his hand through his hair.

Samantha drew her mouth into a thin line and tried to ignore the foul language. The child was hungry and should be fed.

"Everyone at Holy Redeemer is very friendly, and really, there's a ton of leftovers. They'll just go stale if you don't eat them. They're homemade."

"I don't want to listen to a lot of scripture verses while I'm eating."

Samantha took a deep breath and glanced into the interior of the man's car. Pillows, blankets, boxes and clothing had been stuffed haphazardly inside. It seemed all too obvious to her. The man and his son were living in that automobile.

She made a mental note of the brand-name labels on the clothes and shoes the two wore. They hadn't always been destitute. While they could be moving, or vacationing on a shoestring, they could be running, too. The very thought of her own miserable youth made her ball her hands into fists.

She shrugged as casually as she could, trying to push the bad memories to the back of her mind.

"Too bad about the doughnuts, then. The members of Holy Redeemer do have a tendency to sprinkle Bible verses and proverbs into everything they say."

"I want a doughnut!" James voiced his opinion loudly.

The father stared down at the sidewalk for a moment. Samantha saw his jaw clench.

"No one is going to tie you up and force you to become a Christian." She could not prevent the touch of exasperation that edged into her voice.

The father narrowed his eyes and glared at her, but then his son sobbed.

"Daddy, my belly hurts."

Samantha's heart squeezed painfully at the boy's cry. She clutched at her waist and remembered the times she, too, had felt that gnawing hunger. Her temper rose. How could that man allow his son to go without food? But when she looked at him again, she saw that his features had softened. He rubbed his son's back to soothe the child.

"I'm not afraid of becoming a believer any time soon," he scoffed. "So lead us to those doughnuts."

* * *

My name is not Alan Nugent! It is David Halpern. Had he stuttered when he introduced himself? Yes. His face grew hot despite the cooler air in the church basement. How could he erase thirty years of being Alan Nugent? But he had to--for Foster's--James' sake. He had created new identities to protect his son and himself, but the boy seemed to have an easier time making the adjustment than he did.

David Halpern. DAVID! David and James Halpern. Alan Nugent must vanish.

He watched James down four doughnuts and at least a half-quart of cider. Two elderly women in the kitchen seemed delighted with his son's prowess in packing away the gooey treats. After the second one, David tried to end James' binge, but the women would not hear of it.

"He's a growing boy!" they scolded.

David ate two doughnuts. He didn't doubt that he could have finished off an even dozen himself, but he didn't want to appear desperate, even though it took every ounce of his restraint to walk away from the platter.

The coffee helped. He closed his eyes and smelled the heavenly aroma wafting out of the hot cup in his hands. Yesterday, he'd been robbed, but a man in trouble with the law could hardly go to the police to demand justice. When he called his lawyer, he'd learned the counselor had gone on vacation.

Leaving a message on the answering machine had wasted most of his precious change. So what now? He couldn't blow his cover, not when he was so close to saving his son from Linda.

"Are you just passing through?"

David opened his eyes warily and studied the blond beauty who had introduced herself as Samantha Lyons. Her light hair looked genuine, a shade more like honey. He didn't detect any dark roots, so it couldn't be bleached as Linda's was. It had to be real, he decided.

But that fact alone did not make her trustworthy. He couldn't trust her. He couldn't trust anybody.

He didn't like the way she twisted a rubber band around her fingers, over and over, staring at him in a most expectant manner. He'd seen that look before from some of those overly zealous Christians eager to bring him back to the fold.

"I wasn't planning to hang around here," he answered.

"It's a lovely town, very quiet."

He found himself staring at her lips. Unadorned by any garish color, they were small but nicely shaped. In fact, with her sandals, gauzy skirt, and sleeveless blouse she radiated a sort of wholesomeness, reminding him of a television commercial for an all-natural soap or herbal shampoo.

"Nothing happens here. Clam Creek doesn't even have its own police force." Her voice dropped to a whisper.

An alarming suspicion swept through David. He rubbed his neck to try and wipe away the prickles of apprehension.

"You need cash and I need an assistant," she said softly.

The sudden proposition hit him with all the force of a head-on collision. He choked on the coffee.

"W-what are you talking about?" he sputtered.

"I'm doing research on mosquitoes in the marsh," she explained. "I need someone to catch them."

He drew his brows together. Was she some kind of lunatic? "You shouldn't have a problem with that. There are zillions of mosquitoes out there."

"Yes, but there are other insects, too."

In a graceful movement, she pitched the rubber band she had been toying with into a nearby garbage can and then folded her arms across her chest. David watched the color of her eyes harden to a steely gray.

"I need someone to specifically catch mosquitoes. Once they are caught, I have to spray them with an experimental pesticide and document the results."

Okay, maybe she wasn't a nut case. Testing pesticides sounded reasonable. David looked at James. His son needed a roof over his head, clean clothes, and food. Since they'd been on the road, David hadn't dared to use his credit card because the purchases could be traced.

"What's the pay?" he asked.

She turned her gaze to the floor and he tensed. Her evasive body language meant she was hiding something. So what? He was a wanted man. The irony of the situation might have struck him as comical, if he hadn't run out of options. "Well, there's plenty of food, a clean room with bunk beds--"

"Bunk beds!" James picked up on the word. "Kyle has bunk beds. I got to climb to the top. I could touch the ceiling!" He smiled.

"Kyle?" David asked.

A sudden look of fear widened James' light blue eyes. "My friend."

David's jaw clenched. What kind of father had he been? He didn't even know the names of his son's friends. A wave of remorse washed over him for all the time he had wasted. Still, he reminded himself that he hadn't really known. He hadn't truly understood the kind of mother Linda had become. Thinking of her sickened him and he nearly missed hearing Samantha softly mumble her wage offer. David was shocked at the meager amount.

"Lady--I can make more than that bagging fries and burgers."

He saw her stiffen.

"But I won't ask for your social security number. This will be strictly under the table. Cash."

Her remark knocked the wind right out of him. She had a sharp mind, and obviously she was just as desperate as he was.

Which couldn't be good. He threw the Styrofoam cup into a trash can.

"Let's go, James," he ordered his son.

"Daddy! No!" James snatched another doughnut and scurried under a table.

As David went after his son, Samantha darted in front of him and blocked the way.

"Look, my assistant quit and I just need someone for two weeks. That's all, I promise! I know it's boring work, but it's really important."

For a moment, David felt mesmerized. The woman's gray eyes held him entranced. He wanted to reach out to touch the delicate blond tendrils that framed her face and quivered as she pleaded with him.

Then he suddenly realized that the room had become silent. The elderly ladies shot disapproving stares at him. He cursed himself for being such a fool. He had known he would have to pay a price for seeking sustenance in a church.

"James!" he rumbled. "Get out from under that table, now! And you," he growled at the woman impeding his escape. "Get out of my way!"

She didn't flinch. She glared at him with those gunmetal gray eyes and the sweat beaded up on his brow. It felt like he was staring into the barrel of a rifle.

"How can you drag that child around when he needs a roof over his head and food in his stomach?"

Her voice sounded so cold that a shaft of ice went right through David's heart. He wanted to shout at her, to tell her that he loved his son so much he had walked out of his job as vice-president of a major insurance firm, leaving one day without telling a soul in a frantic effort to save his son. However, the lump in his throat prevented him from saying anything. If he hadn't been robbed, if he hadn't been reduced to the status of a homeless man, everything would have been fine.

"Do you know I could report you?"

At that threat, David swallowed hard and found his voice.

"Look lady--"

"Samantha," she reminded.

"It doesn't matter what your name is!" he shot back. "I don't know anything about you. I don't know whether this 'study' of yours is legitimate. Maybe this is just some crazy scheme you dreamed up, maybe you intend to test the pesticide on me and my son like some mad scientist..."

He ended his tirade when he saw her shake her head. A sad smile touched her lips.

"I've been called dedicated and crazy, but never mad." A mist clouded her eyes, melting them into a gentle soft fog. "For what it's worth, I can guarantee that you will not be affected by the pesticide. You won't have any contact with it at all."

David stared at her with his heart hammering. He felt like an idiot.

Her unhappy smile turned tight and brittle. "If I don't finish this study, I will have wasted two years of my life plus I lose my happy little home."

Her eyes turned misty. Either she had the makings of an Academy Award winning actress or she was telling the truth.

David thought about the weeks he and James had already spent running: sleeping in a different motel room every night, buying a different car once, reading the papers and watching the television news, fearing that they would be the subject of the headlines. Living in a state of constant tension, hoping that the sound of a baying dog in the distance wouldn't be a bloodhound hot on their trail.

Now, without any money, they could wind up sleeping in the car every night, as they had done last night. With empty pockets, he might have to resort to stealing food. He was in enough trouble. Did he want to add burglary to his record? He realized he had no choice but to accept her offer.

"Okay, I'll catch some of your mosquitoes," he conceded.

Her smile widened, reminding him of the silver crescent moon that hung in the sky only last night when he thought all his hope was gone.

Chapter Two

Samantha's palms dripped with sweat as she drove to the field station with David's car following along behind her. Had she made one of the worst decisions of her life? Nobody hired a total stranger. Until now, she would never have even considered it. While it was bad enough that she knew nothing of the man and his son, what would happen when her new male employee met Cassie? A tense knot formed in her stomach.

She knew Cassie would take an immediate dislike to him. It was all Samantha's own fault. She had no one to blame but herself for Cassie's outrageous behavior. Though Cassie adored women and children, men brought out her baser instincts. Still, Samantha wouldn't have to worry about anyone in town starting any slanderous rumors with Cassie on guard. But if David was frightened away, all Samantha's hopes would disintegrate.

She carefully thought out her options and her shoulders slumped. She really didn't have any alternatives. Her grant ran out at the end of the month and without a documented conclusion, she had no chance of getting another grant. She would have to look for another job and leave her beloved home in the marsh.

No. She sat up straight and squared her shoulders. She would not quit. No matter what, she would struggle to finish her research and remain in her home-- with or without David's help--even if it meant not sleeping for days on end.

She had prayed long and hard in church. David Halpern's arrival in Clam Creek seemed to be the answer to her petition, since the likelihood of anyone else breezing into the backwater town was remote.

Besides, she couldn't possibly let young James Halpern suffer. She sighed and the old pain stabbed at her heart. Seeing that little boy started her mind whirling with flashbacks of her own young life, which certainly hadn't dimmed with the years. There had been very little joy in her childhood.

She comforted herself with the idea that maybe she could talk some sense into David's head, though suspicions crowded her mind. Could the child be the prize in a custody battle, just as she had been? Or was she merely assuming that because she had been a victim herself? She intended to search the Internet to see if she could find any information about the pair, but she sincerely hoped that her fears were way off track.

Then again, David could have committed some other crime, something even more horrific.

No. She swept her hair off her shoulders and cast her doubts to the back of her mind. David was the answer to her prayers--a way out of her difficulty.

Samantha recalled a verse and God's promise. God is faithful and will not let you be tried beyond your strength; but with the trial he will also provide a way out, so that you may be able to bear it.

As she drove over the rickety wooden bridge that spanned the creek, the weight of her car on the old beams made a series of familiar clunking sounds. She checked her rearview mirror to be sure that David didn't become unnerved by the archaic crossing, which had no railings or guards. He eased his car slowly over the bridge, but he did not stop or turn around. Samantha realized that she had been holding her breath as she watched him.

If he was brave enough to cross that bridge, could he face Cassie without blinking an eye? She gritted her teeth and prayed that she could change Cassie's mind concerning men.

The field station came into full view as the level of the dirt road rose another foot above sea level by a copse of stunted cedars. The sight of the three gray buildings in the afternoon light gave Samantha a catch in her throat. In only two short years, that little cluster of simple shelters had become her life. Two window boxes burst with the bright magenta of impatiens. On the side of the cottage, tomato towers supported the lush foliage and tempting fruit she had coaxed to grow from a small plot of precious earth. White sheets fluttered in the breeze on a line strung between the cottage and a stunted lone pine.

She pulled up beside the cottage with her eyes growing misty. She had dared to put down roots here. Leaving it would be too painful to bear. She closed her eyes briefly and offered up another silent plea that David Halpern would help her finish her research. When she got out of her car, she saw James already scrambling across the yard.

"Daddy! I hear a dog barking! And look! There's a boat! Can we go for a ride?"

Samantha couldn't help smiling at the young child's innocent delight, but her smile faded as David emerged from his car and glanced around the small enclosure.

"This is a research facility?"

Though he wore a vague look of confusion, Samantha couldn't prevent the surge of anger rumbling through her.

"Your tax dollars, or lack thereof, at work." She could feel the flush burning on her cheeks. "It's funny how nobody wants to get bitten by a mosquito carrying a deadly virus, but the good, hard-working citizens of this state don't want to invest much money in preventive measures."

"I don't live in this state," he grumbled in his defense.

Immediately, Samantha saw a look of consternation steal across his features. It seemed obvious that he realized he had made an error. He had let slip one small detail, one undisguised fact about his life.

She crossed her arms and studied him carefully. "So, where are you from?"

"Kansas."

She doubted the answer he blurted out, but she didn't intend to press him now. That might scare him away, and she didn't want to do that, although Cassie might.

"It looks like this is about as far from civilization as you can get."

His features relaxed into an easy grin, successfully disarming Samantha. Until then, she hadn't known what a smile would do to his face. It made him devastatingly attractive.

"Mrs. Lyon?" James tugged at her skirt. "Do you have a dog?"

Samantha felt her heart sink as she gazed down at the boy's eager face. The moment of truth had arrived, so she faced it with a valiant smile and evaded the question.

"Why don't you call me Miss Samantha? I'd like that."

"Miss Samantha, don't you have a dog?" he tugged at her skirt with both hands.

Samantha bent down to the child's level and wiped her damp hands on her skirt carefully before answering.

"Yes, I do. I got her at the animal shelter. Nobody wanted her, even though she is the sweetest, most beautiful dog in the world. If you give her a hot dog, she'll be your true friend forever."

James' face fell. "I don't have a hot dog."

"I have an extra."

James' eyes opened wide. "You do?"

Samantha nodded. "But my dog will lick you with her tongue. Do you think you will mind that?"

James shook his head vigorously from side-to-side. Samantha stood up and took James' hand to lead him to the cottage.

"You didn't tell me you had a dog." David fell into step behind them.

Samantha stopped and faced him with her mouth feeling as dry as the reeds in the summer sun. She decided that the way to begin would be to extol her dog's virtues.

"She's quite mild-mannered with children," Samantha emphasized. "She adores them. They can even step on her and she won't complain. She absolutely loves having kids annoy her. They can pull her tail and her ears and she just laughs at them. She rolls on her back so they can pat her tummy."

David's right eyebrow shot upward.

"So the dog runs free?"

"Unless we have company," Samantha added hastily and felt a chill twist around her heart as she thought about losing the only extra pair of hands she would probably get. Her own tiny glimmer of hope evaporated.

"Daddy, Kyle's dog used to lick me all the time, even if I didn't give him a hot dog."

Samantha prayed that the pure happiness glowing on the child's face would convince his father to stay.

"Look, I'll introduce James to the dog first. She's old and I don't want to confuse her or wear her out or...well, you'll see, they'll get along fine." She forced a light note into her voice, though the tightness in her chest made that difficult. "You'd best stay outside until I call you."

Leading James by the hand, she went up to the cottage door and opened it. Cassie danced around them with happy barks, wagging her entire tail end.

James laughed. "She's licking my hand!"

"Let's get a hot dog," Samantha said as she hurried into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Cassie and James followed at her heels.

"Sit," Samantha ordered. Cassie obediently sat on her haunches and stared at her mistress expectantly.

James patted the dog's forehead. "I'm going to give her a hot dog now. Right?"

"Yes." Samantha pulled out her pet's favorite treat and handed it to James. "Hold it out to her and she'll gobble it down in nothing flat."

James squealed with glee as Cassie downed the hot dog. Cassie then licked him, waiting for another treat while raising her eyebrows inquiringly and wagging her tail the entire time.

"No more," Samantha told the dog. "You don't want to spoil your supper."

Cassie sighed as if she understood and lay down on the floor. James knelt beside her and patted her gently.

"I like Cassie," he said. "She's a good dog."

Samantha found herself wringing her hands repeatedly. How was she going to handle introducing David to Cassie? Maybe she could skip it altogether.

"Have you ever seen guinea pigs?" she asked James.

The boy shook his head.

"They're much smaller than Cassie, but they're nice animals. I have four in the lab."

"Do they bite?" James asked with a suddenly serious expression. Oddly enough, the young boy's face reminded her of all the old anxieties and paranoia from her past. The unexpected ache of it surged up from deep within her and nearly swamped her while her heart thudded ominously in her chest. She reached for the crucifix at her throat and held it. Lord, let me help this child.

Fighting to remain calm, she replied. "They only bite if you put your finger in front of their mouths. They think it's a carrot and they love to eat carrots."

James nodded. "Dogs don't like carrots."

"Correct, they like meat," she admitted.

* * *

David walked up to the screen door. He could see his son kneeling on the floor, patting the dog's head. The animal appeared to be a rather nondescript common mutt with a white and tan coat, thin and scrawny without the classic form of any pedigree.

He shivered despite the sweltering temperature as the old painful memories weighed down on his shoulders. He and Linda had a dog, a magnificent Irish setter, when they were first married. He had named it Blarney and had taught it to sit and beg and roll over. But Linda had let it out one day, because she couldn't be bothered walking it. Blarney got hit by a car and died.

He should have known then that a woman as irresponsible as Linda would never make a good mother.

David could see the back of Samantha's head from where he stood. Her honey-blond hair, lush and thick, like molten gold waves cascaded down her back. Samantha wasn't Linda. For a moment, he pictured himself caressing the burnished ripples of Samantha's hair before he thrust that dangerous image to the back of his mind.

He reminded himself that Samantha was a practicing Christian. With all their sanctimonious airs, they couldn't be trusted. Hadn't the minister told him that he shouldn't divorce Linda?

David knew he didn't have many choices at this point. Food and a bed for James and himself for two weeks was a good deal. Well, he could just as easily have a bed and food in prison, but then James would be back with Linda.

Bile rose in his throat as he thought of the way she had abused and neglected James.

No. She would not get their child again. Ever.

He reached for the doorknob. Immediately, the dog jumped up and ran toward him, snarling and baring its teeth.

Startled by such a vicious show, David held the door shut as the dog threw itself against the screen.

Samantha rushed over and grabbed the dog's collar.

"I'm sorry." Her troubled gray eyes met his only briefly. "Cassie doesn't like men. She's a marshmallow for anyone else."

David laughed. "You're telling me that dog will chew me to bits because I happen to be male."

"I would never allow her to do such a thing!"

David found it amusing to watch Samantha struggle with the scrawny mutt, trying to keep it in check while it continued to growl and snap. He could swear the dog was salivating.

"And how will you prevent her from making mincemeat of me?"

"I'll put her in my bedroom."

With that, she dragged the dog away. Another shiver went through David at the irritating sound of nails screeching along the tiled floor. Samantha shut the animal into a room and closed the door. Returning to the porch with her face beautifully flushed, she continued to apologize for her dog's antisocial behavior.

"There's a room in the lab building where you and James will sleep, but you have to eat here. When you do, I'll just keep Cassie locked up."

David shrugged. "Hey, I can understand that you would need protection out here, all by yourself."

"So will you stay, even if Cassie doesn't like you?" Her voice sounded strained and anxious.

"I'll give it a shot."

He noticed her shoulders shake slightly as her gaze went to the floor. David frowned. Was his help that important?

"Daddy, come see the television!" James shouted.

David opened the screen door and stepped inside.

Samantha wheeled around. "Oh yes, and I don't have any television in the lab, so you'll have to use the one in my living room." Though her voice was as soft as the breeze that blew against the linens on the clothesline, David heard a slight tremor in it. From the living room, they went to the kitchen and James skipped along behind the woman as if she were some Pied Piper playing a special tune that only children could hear.

David sighed deeply. He heard the tune himself. Samantha Lyons had some mysterious quality about her that made him want to know more about her--to spend time with her--to touch her--to listen to her hypnotic voice. She was attractive, but not gorgeous. She should have gotten braces on her teeth when she was a kid, yet that didn't matter. David had dealt with enough women to know that outer beauty didn't necessarily make for a nice disposition. Linda had been a cover model for all of the most prestigious magazines, but she had been impossible to live with.

* * *

Samantha's tour of the house turned out to be rather brief. David hadn't realized how small the cottage really was. A kitchen, a pantry/utility room, a living room, one bedroom, one bathroom, and a screened-in porch. No basement, no attic, no den.

A cooling breath of air fanned David's face as they stepped back out onto the porch, the best feature of the tiny house. Four wicker chairs and a low table formed a cozy seating arrangement.

Samantha sank down onto one of the chairs and David did the same. James crawled into his lap.

"So how am I supposed to catch the mosquitoes?" he asked.

"You stand outside and naturally, some mosquitoes land on you."

She gave him a tremulous smile and he blinked to prevent himself from being mesmerized.

"I have a straw-type device and you sort of suck up the mosquito--"

"What if I swallow it?" David interrupted.

"It won't hurt you."

He watched her long, thin fingers smooth out her gauzy skirt. Everything about her seemed so soft and feminine that he almost felt he could relax. He wrapped his arms more closely about James. No. He couldn't let down his guard. Not with her. Not with anyone.

He glanced outside at the endless miles of salt hay and at the blue water beyond that. It would be safe enough, he guessed. "Anyhow, then you put the live mosquito--because, of course, it must be live to test the pesticide--into a small cardboard trap--with a screen on it, so it can't get out. I'll do all the rest. It isn't difficult."

"So I'm a sitting duck. I stand outside, get eaten alive by bugs, maybe catch a few--"

"You have to catch a lot," she broke in. "This part of the study is very important. I have been breeding mosquitoes in the lab and testing the pesticide on them, but I need a control group, a totally unrelated batch of mosquitoes."

"Can't you just take your vacuum cleaner outside and draw in a million of them?"

Her archaic method sounded ridiculous to David.

"You would hurt them!" She frowned.

"Heaven forbid," he stated in a mocking tone.

Her eyes sparked flint at him. He leaned back in the chair, feeling the heat from her searing gaze. James sighed as his eyes began to close.

"It's extremely important research," she reminded him.

David didn't doubt that the earnestness in her face could convince Congress to appropriate trillions of dollars in funding for her cause. Then he reminded himself that right now, he and James needed a safe haven, and this could be an ideal situation.

"Okay, okay." He tried to sound apologetic. "There are nasty viruses and we must do something about it. So when do I start my human pincushion routine?"

"Tomorrow. Today is Sunday..." Her voice trailed off and she glanced into the distance.

Simply the thought of anything religious made him defensive and he stiffened. He had seen nothing but hypocrisy in his dealings with supposed "Christians".

"It doesn't matter to me what day this is," he said. "I don't believe there is a God."

She whipped her head around and stared at him with such surprise in her expression that he had an urge to touch the top of his head to make sure he hadn't sprouted horns.

"Not at all?"

With a voice that sounded hard and bitter, even to his own ears, he gave her his version of the world. "Everything that happens here on this earth is random. Good people meet up with terrible tragedies and very evil people do remarkably well during their lifetimes. Why would a god, who supposedly loved his creations, treat them so cruelly? Why would he make them suffer? The good guys don't win. Honesty is not the best policy. The clever liar will always have a better life."

He didn't add that women who are monsters get custody of their children. He couldn't say it because he knew he was guilty of not spending enough time with his own son. He should have known, but he had been too busy.

"I can understand how you might feel that way."

Her voice had such a tender quality to it that for a fleeting second he actually believed her and thought she might be capable of understanding his predicament. Then his better judgment returned and he glared at her, fully expecting her to clobber him with sermon number one, a compassionate plea aimed at getting him to come back to the fold.

However, she surprised him by not saying another word. The silence hung between them like the heavy atmosphere on the muggy afternoon. She turned her head to stare off into the distant, hazy horizon. He hesitated. She seemed so vulnerable for a moment. He noticed her hands tremble slightly and she bit her lip.

He shook himself mentally. She was probably feeling tainted by sitting in close proximity with a heathen. She might be regretting the fact that she had hired him.

He glanced down at James. His son had fallen fast asleep in his arms.

"I guess I better show you to your room," Samantha whispered.

Though he tried not to move suddenly, the moment he got out of the chair, James woke up again.

"Put me down, Daddy!" James insisted.

David sighed. From this point on, he knew James would be completely wired and impossible to deal with unless he got a nap.

Samantha led them across the yard to the lab building, a low concrete structure. She ushered them into a small hallway and then unlocked the door on the left. When she swung it open, David sucked in his breath as an overwhelming sensation hit him. The small, austere room reminded him of a cell--maybe it was the color of the walls, a sickly, institutional green, or maybe it was the cheap metal furniture. Or maybe it was a premonition. He struggled to recover his regular breathing rate and force down his fear.

Samantha crossed over to the small window and opened it. "I'm sorry it's so stuffy in here. I have a fan in the lab you can use."

Meanwhile, of course, James bounced into the room and opened the wardrobe along with every drawer. He lifted a black book out of one.

"What's this?"

"A Bible." Samantha answered.

James opened it. "There aren't any pictures."

"No. But there are lots of stories."

James frowned at the dull-looking book and dropped it back into the drawer. "Bunkbeds!" he squealed as he clambered up the ladder. "Can I sleep on the top?"

"Sure," David replied hoarsely.

"Look, I can touch the ceiling." James reached up with just his index finger.

"You're taller than your father, now." Samantha smiled.

"I am!" James looked ready to burst with delight.

David felt a painful squeeze around his heart at the unbridled joy in his son's face.

When Samantha showed them the tiny bathroom, James grabbed the faucet and turned it on full force. Water splashed out over the sides of the small bowl. "James! Stop it!" David roared. He slapped at James' hand and switched the faucet off. James' tiny shoulders shook and his face crumpled. David clamped his jaw together. He knew that James' tears would be next. Would Samantha decide that she had made a mistake in bringing him and his son here? However, Samantha simply turned to a small closet and got out a bucket and a sponge.

"This is Mr. Spongy, James, he can wipe up any mess." "Hello, James." Samantha, using a silly voice, folded the sponge in her hand and made it open and close like a mouth. One tear rolled down James' cheek, but he immediately started to smile. "Hi Mr. Spongy."

"I am so thirsty, James, can you help me drink up this water?" Samantha handed the sponge to James who eagerly tried to make it talk, too. Then David watched in amazement as she patiently showed James how to wipe up the mess.

Once that was finished, Samantha left them to settle into their new surroundings. James went back to the drawer with the Bible. He took it up to the top bunk with him and started turning the pages.

"The big lion ran after the little boy to eat him up." James made up a story for himself.

David went to the window and looked out over the desolate marshland. He could see nothing but miles and miles of short grass interspersed with narrow waterways stretching to the blue sea beyond. Would he be safer in a forest, or at the top of a mountain? He shrugged. For two weeks, this would probably be okay.

When he turned back to check on his son, he found the child fast asleep with the Bible beside him. David eased the book away and put it back into the drawer. Just the sight of the book irritated him. Based on it, he was destined to a fiery eternity. Well, better that than watch his young son suffer. He stood beside the bunk bed and listened to the child's even, light breathing. Suddenly, he felt wearier than he had in weeks. He lay down on the bottom bunk and soon drifted off into a deep sleep.

* * *

David woke up with a rumbling stomach. On the breeze drifting in from the window, he smelled the odor of frying onions.

"Hey, Daddy!" James shook his shoulder. "Miss Samantha said supper is almost ready."

"What?" David glanced at his watch and groaned. He had slept solidly for at least two hours. He sat up quickly and bumped his head on the bunkbed frame. Biting back a curse, he rubbed at the sore spot and slid carefully out of the bed.

"I helped Miss Samantha pick tomatoes," James said. "Only the red ones."

David continued to rub his head as he stumbled around groggily trying to find his shoes. After he located them under the bed, he sat down again to put them on.

"When did you wake up?" he asked his son.

"When I heard the fish man. He has a big boat." James smiled. "He could take me for a ride!"

David's heart rate sped up. "You are not to talk to strangers! And you will not get on a boat with a stranger, either."

"He's the fish man," James scrunched up his face. "He's not a stranger."

"I don't know him," David tried to explain in a calm manner though the sweat on his brow turned to ice. "He is a stranger to me."

"Miss Samantha says he's an old friend," James stated in a very matter-of-fact voice for one so young.

David combed his fingers through his hair while fear prickled along his shoulders. Who was the fish man? What if he had seen a news report about James? What if he called the police?

"The fish man gave me a minnow." James held up a tin can. "See, it's a baby fish."

David squinted into the muddy water. He could barely see the silver flash of the fish as it swam around the small container.

"Hey guys!" Samantha knocked on the door. "Supper's on the table!"

"Neptune, you stay here." James set the can down on the desk.

"Neptune?" David questioned.

"The fish man said that's his name," James explained. He grabbed his father's hand. "I set the table."

David's head reeled while he followed his son across the yard to the cottage. The kid had picked tomatoes, set the table, met someone, and acquired a pet minnow all while he had been dead to the world. He had thought this place would be totally isolated and safe. His nerves bunched into tight knots.

James led him around to the back door and they stepped into the kitchen. Though David frowned at the mismatched plates and utensils sitting on the table, whatever sat in the big serving bowl smelled heavenly and David's stomach rumbled loudly.

"I've got some lemonade," Samantha said as she drew a pitcher out of the refrigerator. "How does that sound?"

"Yummy!" James shouted as he scrambled into one of the chairs.

Samantha had changed into jeans and a green T-shirt. The green brought out the highlights in her honey-blond hair, and the jeans showed off the length of her legs. David's pulse started to race.

"I think I could use some coffee." He cleared his throat.

"Instant okay?" Samantha asked.

"Sure. Fine." David glanced around the kitchen. That was preferable to staring at Samantha. She had a potent effect on him but he sure didn't need any complications right now.

The kitchen, though small and cramped, nevertheless boasted an array of appliances, including a microwave oven and a washing machine. Then he noticed that one important item wasn't there.

"Where's the dishwasher?" he asked.

Samantha's laughter sounded light and beautiful. David fought against the ethereal quality in her voice. He realized he could enjoy listening to her.

And that was very bad.

"Since I cooked this meal, my dishwashers are you and James." She poured out the lemonade into two tall glasses and then reached into a cabinet for a mug. "But if you want to cook tomorrow, then I'll be the dishwasher."

"My culinary skills consist of boiling soup or zapping hot dogs in the microwave." David muttered.

"Hot dogs sound good." Samantha grinned. "Cassie would love that meal."

"So who's this fish man?" He knew his voice sounded gruff. His mouth felt like it had been lined with flannel.

Samantha filled up the mug with water and shoved it into the microwave. "Fish caught a huge shark, so he gave us a chunk of it. That's what I put into the soup."

"His name is 'Fish'?"

"An old nickname," Samantha explained. "I think his name is really Herbert or Henry or something like that. His father owned a fishery and that's how he got the name."

"Look, I don't want my kid talking to some crazy old fisherman--"

"Fish is not crazy." Samantha glared at him, her eyes full of flint sparks. "He's a dear, sweet old gentleman and my nearest neighbor."

The timer on the microwave beeped. Samantha removed the mug, stirred in a spoonful of instant coffee, and brought it to the table.

When she moved to sit down, David remembered his manners and gently pulled out the chair for her.

"Why...th-thank you."

Her face took on a rosy hue that only enhanced the wholesome freshness of her beauty. He heard her take in an audible breath before she went on.

"I'd like to say grace before we dig in."

David should have known that was coming. He sat down and saw James put his hands together.

"You don't have to pray, James," David whispered softly. "Just bow your head and listen."

"But I like to pray." James shot his father a puzzled look. "Kyle showed me how. He said you just have to ask God to fix things for you."

David clenched his teeth together. His son had a lot to learn about the world. God didn't fix things or change things or set things right. If He did, David and James wouldn't be running as if they were the ones who had committed a crime.

Samantha bowed her head and blessed the food, thanking the benevolent generosity of Fish and God. When she finished, she and James both said, "Amen."

"This is cioppino--fish stew, although this time I used shark, so I don't know how that will affect the flavor, but the tomatoes are getting ripe so quickly, and I had to use them up." She ladled out a portion into her bowl. "I didn't make it too spicy. I don't know if you and James like spicy things." She passed the bowl to David.

So far, he knew only that James liked fast food. That's all they had been eating.

"I like spicy food, but not too hot," he said. "Medium." The fish stew looked like manna from heaven as he dished out a generous portion for himself. It felt good to sit at a table and eat, rather than grab a bag from a take-out window.

"I like chicken nuggets," James piped up.

David spooned the stew into James' bowl.

"I don't want that," James pouted.

"It has your tomatoes in it," Samantha pointed out.

"Which ones?" James peered at the stew suspiciously.

"All of them."

David thought her eyes had a mischievous light in them as she answered James' question. A tiny glimmer of warmth spread around his heart. How ordinary this all seemed--like Samantha, warm, simple, and honest.

That last thought jarred him. No. She wasn't honest. She had hired him. He shoved that idea away and tried to keep his mind on more immediate concerns.

"Try Miss Samantha's stew, sport," David urged. "It probably has a lot more vitamins than chicken nuggets."

"Would you like to tour the lab after supper?" Samantha asked pleasantly.

"It's as good a time as any." He dug into the stew and savored a mouthful of sheer joy. What a difference there was between fast food and the real thing!

"Three of the women from Holy Redeemer will be coming over this evening around eight," she explained. "We have a Bible study every Sunday."

"Then I guess that will be the time for me to go out and catch some mosquitoes." He didn't mean to agitate her, but when he saw the tight lines around her mouth, he knew his remark had irked her.

"We'll be sitting on the screened-in porch since it's going to be a lovely evening. However, it won't disturb us if you sit in the living room and watch television."

"James will like that."

James nodded his head up and down enthusiastically.

David did not press his point. He did not intend to be anywhere near a bunch of churchwomen while they carried on about sin and judgement. Still, his irritation with all things holy didn't have any effect on his appetite. He had three helpings of Samantha's fish stew. James ate some of it, though he seemed fonder of the bread and butter. It was the best meal that either of them had eaten in weeks.

Afterwards, Samantha showed them how she wanted her dishes washed and wound up doing more than half of them in the demonstration. He and James mostly dried the dishes. It didn't seem like work. Samantha entertained them by humming a vaguely familiar tune. It sounded so light and happy that David felt compelled to ask her what song it was.

"Simple Gifts," she answered. "A hymn."

David turned the ends of his mouth down and shook his head. He should have known.

The tour of the lab proved to be a hit with James. He got to meet the guinea pigs: Max, Mocha, Pansy, and Kiszka.

"Kiszka?" David questioned.

"It's a Polish sausage," Samantha replied. "A big, fat Polish sausage. Doesn't Kiszka look like a big, fat sausage?"

"If sausages had legs," David commented.

Samantha gave him another of her golden laughs and David felt a tug on his heart. She had to stop doing that. He fought against the spark of hope.

"What do you use the guinea pigs for?" he asked.

"The female mosquitoes must have a blood meal before they lay their eggs, so the guinea pigs provide that," she explained. "They don't seem to mind too much-- as long as I give them plenty of carrots."

"Can I give them a carrot?" James asked.

"Tomorrow," Samantha promised. "It's nearly their bedtime and I have to show your father how to catch mosquitoes."

"Can I catch some, too?" he asked.

"But they'll eat you all up." She tickled James and he laughed.

"You can watch television for a while with Cassie. It's time for her favorite TV show--it's all about a dog."

"You let her watch TV?" James had an incredulous look on his face.

Samantha nodded. Her mood could only be described as infectious. David found himself daring a genuine grin. Where had she learned to handle kids so well? James had spent a lot of time whining as they had driven from place to place. Though he had to admit that all of their traveling had been boring, miles and miles of road interspersed with drab motel rooms and greasy take-out food. They had gone swimming a few times in the motel pools, but most of the time they had been constantly on the move. David feared someone would recognize them. He wondered how many people studied the "wanted" posters in the Post Office.

He had never done anything like this before in his life, but he didn't think he could have handled it any other way under the circumstances. James' safety came first.

Being with Samantha Lyons felt like a vacation. No doubt, James would make a fuss when it was time to leave this little haven. With a start he realized that he, too, would loathe parting from this odd research station in the middle of the wide- open marshes. If he could start all over again, he would like to get to know Samantha Lyons.

Sure. Like he needed to get involved with another woman. Who was he kidding? Besides, Samantha wouldn't have any use for a fallen man like himself. Or would she?

He narrowed his eyes and studied her as she led James out of the lab by the hand. It appeared as though nothing made her happier than entertaining his son. There had to be more to this generosity of hers, more than the fact that she needed help with her research.

Did it matter? He hated the running. He hated the mindless fear that gnawed at his mind in the darkest part of the night.

If Samantha Lyons was desperate for help, then he would help her. He knew he could not trust her, but for tonight and maybe tomorrow, he would not run. And neither would James.

Chapter Three

Samantha's heart beat rapidly against her ribs as she demonstrated the simple, though tedious, chore of catching mosquitoes. She could feel David's gaze fixed upon her, coolly appraising her as she stood surrounded by salt hay in the glow of the cottage's floodlight.

"That's all there is to it." She forced her voice to remain steady. "The mosquito lands on you, you suck on this tube and then blow the live mosquito into the trap. There's enough light to help you see what you're doing."

"It should also help the mosquitoes find me."

At his sarcastic remark, she bristled with indignation. After all, she was doing him a favor! Then her conscience stung her with the sharp twinge of truth. Without his help she didn't stand a chance of keeping her home. Abashed, she took in a ragged breath.

"This is a critical research project." She handed him the small trap and a clean tube. When their fingers touched, the warmth of him shimmered up her arm, a reaction she could well do without.

Being alone with a male employee in such a remote location wasn't the wisest plan, but then a few notes of happy laughter from the cottage drifted to her on the evening air. She reminded herself that she was doing this for James. The child needed some stability in his life and hopefully, his father would come to his senses with some encouragement.

"I'll watch while you try it." She swatted at the mosquitoes that had landed on her arms.

"Want me to get rid of the ones on you?" A devilish gleam shone in his dark eyes.

"No!" She took a step backward and tripped on a piece of driftwood. He caught her elbow before she fell.

"Hey, I was just teasing."

As he steadied her, Samantha felt a hot flush on her cheeks and yanked her arm away from him. Her composure crumbled as her pulse raced at his nearness.

"Please, hurry up. I have to see if you're doing this correctly. Then I have to get things ready for the ladies," she stated sharply, hoping that her face, turned away from the harsh glare of the floodlight, lay in shadow too deep for David to detect the high color that must surely be there.

He shrugged and got to work, deftly drawing a mosquito into the tube. In a matter of minutes, he became as efficient as anyone else she had taught to manage the task.

"This could get boring real fast," he commented.

"It's a vital link in a necessary study that could prevent the spread of infectious disease." She deliberately injected a serious note into her voice even while she stood there enjoying the little thrill that wound its way to her heart as she observed him.

"Are you always this dead serious about your work?"

His question caught her off guard and she stuttered.

"W-why, of course."

"Trying to win the Noble Peace Prize?" His mouth quirked up a notch in amusement.

"Um. Well, working with insects isn't usually the kind of earth shattering--"

"I was pulling your leg!" he interrupted and let out a deep, rich laugh.

"Oh." She smiled, enjoying his good humor even if it was at her expense. "It's just that I'm not a rocket scientist, after all."

"If you were, I'm sure there would now be astronauts on Pluto."

She frowned in confusion. He really didn't know her. How could he make such a preposterous assumption?

"How many of these mosquitoes do you want tonight?"

A flash of despair swept through her as she recalled his attitude about God. His negative opinion caused her to question the wisdom of hiring him.

"It-it is still Sunday," she reminded him lamely. "You don't have to do this until tomorrow."

"Hand me a few more of those cardboard traps." His expression turned grim. "I'd like to see what my personal best is."

She merely nodded and hurried back to the lab to gather several more traps. She chastised herself for acting like a schoolgirl with a crush. Nevertheless, she reassured herself that the feeling would quickly dissipate, and even if it didn't, the two weeks would fly by. She would most likely never see him again.

That thought brought on a stab of sorrow. Laden with traps, she walked slowly back to where he stood, magnificent in the glow of the floodlight, with his long shadow spreading out over the salt hay. Samantha closed her eyes for a moment and prayed for strength.

* * *

"How is the dear little boy?" Marion Gregory stepped in the door reeking of lilac cologne, dressed in a pastel polyester outfit that made her appear far older than her fifty years.

"He's fine." Samantha smiled. "He's asleep in front of the TV with Cassie right beside him."

"Do you think I would disturb him if I took a peek at his dear little face?" An ebullient sparkle glowed in Marion's eyes.

Agnes, Marion's mother lumbered in the door with her four-footed cane.

"Stop making a nuisance of yourself," Agnes scolded. "The poor thing's probably exhausted."

Marion's right eye twitched. "I suppose you're right, Mother."

"Of course I am." Agnes eased herself into her favorite chair. "Where's that extra pillow?"

Dear Lord, grant me patience, Samantha prayed as she hurried off to the linen closet for the requested pillow. It distressed Samantha to hear Agnes berate her adult daughter, but there didn't seem to be much hope for the situation. After all, Agnes had just turned eighty and perhaps it was all her aches and pains that caused her to be so ornery.

Returning with the pillow, Samantha tucked it behind Agnes' back.

"Fish stopped by with some spare shark for us to eat and gave James a minnow in a tin can. He told him that the minnow's name was Neptune."

Marion's shy smile looked wistful. "That dear, dear man--"

Agnes loudly cleared her throat. "Don't go feeling sorry for that shiftless old rascal. Besides, he's not of our faith."

Samantha caught the sharp look that Agnes delivered to her daughter. Marion's face turned pale.

"Fish is my nearest neighbor and a very good soul." Samantha countered. "And he is Christian."

"He's one of those other kinds of Christians." Agnes banged her cane on the floor with emphasis. Then she glared at her daughter again. "Did you do your preparatory reading?"

The nervous tic in Marion's eye jerked rapidly, but she spoke softly. "As you know, I worked late last night. Then this morning I had to make your breakfast, take you to church, make your lunch, and since you insisted on visiting the Pitts' sisters, I didn't have a single moment to myself."

"Don't give me your excuses." Agnes pursed her lips. "Your sister, Gracie, was always a much better student. Look how far she's gone with her education."

At that point, Winnie Dale raced in. The deacon's wife balanced a tray of cookies in one hand and a folder stuffed with a haphazard array of papers in the other.

"Honestly, I dropped the whole folder in the yard, but that nice young man out there helped me pick them up, though I doubt that they are in any kind of order now."

As the neon-colored chrysanthemums on Winnie's skirt went swirling by Samantha, her heart seemed to hitch up into her throat. The disturbing apprehension that the ladies would rain down condemnation on her because of David had gnawed at her all day, but Winnie had other things on her mind. "I thought I'd never get out of the house tonight. The kids bickered all day long." She ungraciously plopped her folder and the tray of cookies down on the coffee table and collapsed upon the wicker sofa.

"You should give them a sound spanking." Agnes' jowls shook with self- righteousness. "Spare the rod and spoil the child."

Winnie simply groaned and covered her eyes with her hand. "Do you have an ice pack, Samantha? I feel a migraine coming on."

"I'll get one right away." Samantha hurried into the kitchen.

"I'll help get the tea ready, then." Marion followed on Samantha's heels. As soon as they reached the kitchen, Samantha heard a deep sigh from Marion. "Mother really can't take this muggy weather. It makes her cranky. Dr. Peller and I both suspect that Mother is 'slipping'--just a bit mind you, but now and then she does forget things and behave in a rather irrational manner. Not enough oxygen getting to her brain, you know."

Samantha nodded and opened the freezer to root around inside for the ice tray. Marion went on chattering, freed from her mother's caustic reprimands.

"And I'm sure Winnie needs a vacation. It's hard enough raising three children, but she is on every committee from the Ladies' Altar Society to the Social Concerns Ministry."

"It must be rough being the wife of the deacon. He is overworked, too." Samantha located the tray and pulled it out. She popped out a few ice cubes and slipped them into a plastic bag.

"If we only had more young people at Holy Redeemer..."

Marion's pensive wish seemed to echo in the little cottage kitchen.

Samantha thought of her missing intern. Ginger Blaine swore that Clam Creek was stuck in a time warp.

"There aren't many jobs here, or amusements."

Marion opened the refrigerator and got out a carton of milk. "If someone would open the fish factory again..."

"Didn't Fish's father own that?" Samantha wrapped a soft towel around the bag of ice cubes.

"Yes, but after he died, nobody wanted to keep the place going. It was the lifeblood of this town."

"Why didn't Fish take it over? He still likes fishing."

Marion paused before she poured the milk into the pitcher on the counter. Her eye twitched again. "There were other things that happened--and well, perhaps that's all best left unsaid."

Samantha pouted as she filled the kettle and turned on the burner. She knew it wouldn't do her any good to press Marion for more information.

Everyone in town had welcomed Samantha as one of their own. They had generously given photographs to her, and the family who now lived in the house where her mother had grown up allowed her to walk through it. But when the citizens of Clam Creek had a secret, they kept it. The history of Fish's past was obviously one of those secrets. She couldn't help noticing the evasive action used whenever she mentioned Fish's name, which piqued her curiosity even more. She hoped that one day everyone would feel comfortable enough to reveal that privileged information to her.

A sad, little ache touched her heart. But what if she had to leave Clam Creek?

Her throat tightened as she pictured the place where her mother had been laid to rest in the cemetery behind Holy Redeemer. Samantha had replaced the simple stone that had originally marked the site with a more elegant one. Visiting her mother's grave every week had become part of her routine and she had plans to plant crocus bulbs there in the fall, if she was still here.

All her hopes would be destroyed if she didn't finish her research.

Marion startled her from her reverie by knocking over the sugar bowl as she placed it on the tray beside the pitcher of milk.

"Dear me, I'm such a ninny sometimes." Marion's hand trembled.

"No you're not!" Samantha hated to hear Marion demean herself. She righted the sugar bowl and dusted the small spill into the sink with a flourish. "There, see it's not a problem."

"There is something I wanted to talk to you about..." Marion's eye went into a frenzy. "I don't think it's safe to allow that man to stay here at the field station with you."

"B-b-but..." Samantha sputtered as she fought to keep the heat out of her cheeks. She had suspected that somebody would object, but they didn't understand the problems that faced her! "He's the only help I'll probably get!"

"He is a total stranger. You don't know him from the man in the moon."

"He's well-mannered and intelligent." Samantha poured boiling water into the teapot, and though her hand trembled slightly, she didn't spill any of the hot water. "Also very respectful. Anyhow, Cassie will keep him in line."

"Yes, but he'll be working with you in the lab."

"It's only for two weeks. He's an employee and I am twenty-five years old and very capable of watching out for myself."

"Some men have silver tongues, my dear." Marion carefully folded the napkins. Her eye had stopped its spasmodic jerking and her voice had a measure of steel in it.

Samantha realized that Marion's questions mirrored her own concerns. "I'll be very, very careful."

"Is he a Christian?"

Samantha froze and swallowed hard. "He--he says he doesn't believe in God."

"Hmmm." Marion placed four spoons on the tray in a neat row. "I suspected as much when I saw the way he behaved in the church basement."

"But you should have seen the way James folded his hands beautifully and joined me in the 'Amen' when I said grace at supper," Samantha hastened to add.

Marion's face brightened at the mention of the boy. "Let me sneak in real quick and look at him."

Samantha nodded. Marion had never married and had no children of her own, though she'd been blessed with a passel of nieces and nephews. Still, working at Dr. Peller's office as a receptionist and caring for her mother left her little time to spend with youngsters.

Samantha set her homemade ice pack on the tray along with everything else before Marion tiptoed back into the kitchen.

"He's the picture of peace," Marion cooed. "He's dreaming of angels, I'm sure."

"He's probably dreaming of dogs, guinea pigs, and little minnows," Samantha explained to her older friend. "I hope we have a few cookies left over tonight for him."

"Dear me, no." Marion looked horrified. "Winnie baked the cookies tonight and you know she can't cook to save her life. I mean, they always look so beautiful, but you take one bite and you know she must not have been paying attention to what she put into the dough. Even the birds won't eat the leftovers. I tried to be polite and ate a few more than I should have once and my stomach wasn't right for a week."

A chuckle floated up from Samantha's throat. Winnie hadn't been gifted with even a smidgen of talent in the culinary arts. She knew her Bible verses backwards and forwards, and she knew how to organize a meeting, but whenever she tried her hand at cooking, the results left a lot to be desired. It didn't surprise anyone that Winnie's husband had the look of an ascetic.

Samantha and Marion walked back out to the porch. Agnes had continued to spout off her views on parenting during their absence. Winnie lunged for the ice pack.

"Thanks for the advice, Agnes." Winnie smiled weakly as she applied the wrapped ice to her head, neck, and eyes. "Oh, this feels so much better."

Before Agnes could begin a different monologue about headaches, Winnie directed everyone in a rather strident voice.

"Turn to the reading for today and then Samantha, if you could start us off with the prayer tonight, I'll begin the discussion."

The women flipped through their Bibles to find the assigned page. Then Samantha poured the tea. She took a deep breath before she intoned the prayer.

"Dear Lord---" The phone rang.

Samantha went to answer it. The call was from the deacon, who asked to speak with his wife. Winnie wore a puzzled expression when she took the phone from Samantha.

"He can't handle those three, I know. But he doesn't usually interrupt me."

Within seconds, Winnie rushed back to the porch in hysterics. "Theresa stepped on a nail in the neighbor's yard and it went right through her shoe! Bob called the doctor but he hasn't called back yet."

"Dr. Peller left for a conference in Philadelphia," Marion explained. "He won't be back until Tuesday."

Winnie gasped. "Should we take her to the hospital?"

"She should be soaking it in Epsom salts," Agnes suggested.

"She had her tetanus vaccination, so I'm sure you don't need to worry about that," Samantha said, trying to calm the obviously distraught woman.

"Though there's still a danger of infection," Marion reminded her.

"My son, Andrew, nearly lost his leg after he stepped on a nail and the wound festered. Had red streaks going up his legs." Agnes pursed her lips.

Winnie paled. "Red streaks?"

"Blood poisoning." Agnes nodded gravely. "The doctors were certain gangrene would set in, but those doctors didn't know a thing about poultices. It was my poultices that saved him."

Samantha watched as Winnie started to shake. The deacon's wife let out a sob.

At that moment, David appeared at the screen door with the mosquito traps.

"Excuse me?" he asked. "Where do you want these?"

Samantha was just about to run for a box of tissues.

"In the lab."

"It's locked."

"Right." She shoved her hair behind her ear. Winnie wailed. Marion patted the emotional woman's hands ineffectively.

Samantha dug in her pocket and opened the door just enough to slip him her key ring. "Okay, it's the one with the black L on it. I know I showed you where to put the mosquitoes. Just be sure to lock the lab after you put them away."

"Sure thing." He glanced over at the mayhem with a sardonic look in his eyes. "Interesting Bible study."

Samantha glared at him as her temper flared, but then Agnes grew more vociferous in her explanation of exactly what went into a poultice, and Marion lost her patience. She yelled at her mother to stop, and her mother shouted back at her.

Samantha feared that the elderly woman would have a stroke right there on her porch.

Naturally, all the commotion woke up James and he wandered out to the porch rubbing his eyes.

"Is somebody crying?" he asked.

"Mrs. Dale's daughter stepped on a nail," Samantha told him, and then she suggested that it was time for him to snuggle into his bunk.

"Can I have a drink of water first?" he asked.

Samantha recognized the familiar delay tactic, but she went to the kitchen to get him the water. After he took a sip of water, he had to go to the bathroom, of course. When he emerged from the bathroom, he appeared to be fully awake and quite intrigued with all the hubbub.

Meanwhile, it had been decided that Winnie should definitely go back home to care for her daughter, but since she had become so terribly upset, nobody thought she should drive, even though she had driven both Agnes and Marion to Samantha's cottage.

Marion wrung her hands. "I do wish I had learned to drive when I was younger but there didn't seem to be any reason for me to do it then."

"You could never drive! You're too nervous!" Agnes pounded the floor with her cane.

Marion's eye twitched spastically.

"I--I'll be f-f-fine." Winnie sobbed again.

Samantha could feel a tight knot of tension bunching up on her shoulders. Driving through the marsh took a fair measure of skill and concentration. Driving through it in the pitch blackness with swollen eyes, bleary vision, and a migraine would not be wise. She covered her eyes with her hand.

At that point, she heard a knock on the screen door.

"The mosquitoes are all tucked in for the night," David announced. He dangled the key ring in his fingers.

Like a beast in a nightmare, Cassie came running and leaped at the door.

"Mrs. Dale's daughter stepped on a nail," James called out above the noise of the raging animal.

"I'm very sorry to hear that."

David's conciliatory tone sounded genuine to Samantha, though it was difficult to tell under the circumstances. She glanced at her watch. He had been gone fifteen minutes. That seemed rather long for a stroll out to the lab and back--unless he hung around outside for a while waiting for the excitement to die down.

Samantha grabbed Cassie's collar and dragged the dog along to her bedroom while struggling to dismiss her uneasiness about her new employee. David didn't look like the type of man interested in destroying two years of research. Or did he? Could he be the kind of man who had abducted his own son? Or could he be running from some other crime? That thought sent a shiver zinging up her spine. She had every right to be suspicious about him.

By the time she returned to the porch, David had joined the ladies.

"I heard part of this discussion," he explained. "I could follow you in my car while Samantha drives you all home. Then I'll bring her back. You other ladies will have to have an early evening but Winnie will be able to take care of her daughter."

"But Daddy." James crinkled up his nose. "You said there isn't any more gas in the car."

Samantha watched David nervously tousle his son's hair.

"That's right, sport. I almost forgot. It's a good thing you reminded me. Then we can have Samantha lead the way while I drive Winnie's car."

Samantha frowned. What if he was a car thief? What if she was being paranoid?

"What about James?" Marion asked. She dabbed at a few tears on her own cheeks. "The boy shouldn't be here alone."

"But Cassie is here!" James told her. "She's my new friend. And I've got Neptune, too!"

"You can ride with me, Mrs. Dale, and the other ladies," David suggested.

"Cassie is an old dog and it's way past her bedtime." Samantha spoke to the child. "I don't think she can stay up and watch you. Besides, who would be here to keep Neptune company?"

"Yeah." James frowned. "He'd be lonely."

Samantha offered up a silent prayer and then herded everyone along to the cars. She led the caravan slowly through the inky night along the marsh road. No streetlights had ever been placed along the dirt road, but Samantha had memorized the twists and turns quickly when she had first moved into the field station.

She thought about James as she wound her way through an extensive patch of tall reeds that hemmed in the narrow road. James had blurted out the truth about the lack of gasoline in David's car. The child might accidentally divulge more of his past while he stayed at the field station, if she managed to gain his confidence and get him alone for awhile.

Did she really want to know his whole unhappy situation? A little shiver of fear crept up her spine. Who was David and what had he done? By the time they reached Winnie's house, Samantha's thoughts had returned to the necessary steps that still needed to be documented before her research would be complete.

Getting out of her car to say goodbye to the ladies, she felt relieved to find that the deacon's wife had calmed down, though her eyes would be swollen for quite some time by the looks of them. Deacon Bob came to the door of his house carrying his daughter in his arms, and Winnie rushed to them. Marion, loaded down with Winnie's papers, and Agnes, still mumbling her advice, invited themselves into the house.

David carried his now sleeping son into Samantha's car and they headed back to the field station in silence.

Thoughts about her own young life intruded and left a bitter taste in Samantha's mouth. She doubted whether her own father had truly loved her. If he had, he would never have snatched her away from her mother. He had effectively stolen her childhood in the process of punishing his ex-wife. With the help of the people in Holy Redeemer, Samantha had begun to heal, but there were still times when she felt angry and depressed. The thought of leaving Clam Creek tore at her. Her last hope to remain there rested with David Halpern, but could she count on him?

She glanced furtively to her right and caught David's eyes fixed on her. Unnerved to find him staring at her, she quickly turned back to focus on the road ahead as her pulse raced madly. She tried to calm herself with the fact that David would soon vanish from her life. Then her heart twisted. And what would happen to James? Would the child get the proper nourishment? The proper rest? What should she, as a Christian, do? Her kindness, if she could call it that, had been motivated by her own needs.

What would happen if she reported David as an unfit parent to the authorities?

She needed to pray about this matter and confide in someone, but couldn't it wait for just two weeks?

"I need to make a phone call."

His voice, though hushed, still startled her in the quiet interior of the sedan. Her hands trembled as they gripped the wheel.

"Oh, okay, you can pay me back." She winced. No chance of that, he would be gone. "Or-or maybe we can make some sort of arrangement--" Her words trailed off. She seemed to be tripping over them anyway.

"Deduct the money from my paycheck," he suggested with a touch of exasperation in his voice. "It shouldn't cost more than five dollars. I'll make it brief. I want to let someone know where they can reach me."

Unexpectedly, a flood of optimism washed over Samantha.

"Okay," she found herself grinning in the darkness. Obviously, she had gained his trust. Then her heart sank. Getting someone to trust you and then destroying that faith by reporting him as an unfit parent could hardly be considered benevolent. Her concern for James continued to weigh on her mind. What would be best for him?

"I'd like to make the call in private," David stipulated.

"That will be fine," she assured him. "I need to make a few notes to myself in the lab before I go to sleep tonight. So why don't you call as soon as we get back."

"Thanks," he said.

* * *

After he had tucked James into bed, David made the call from the phone in the cottage. He left a message on his lawyer's machine, repeating the phone number where he could be reached three times. Slowly. Not that it would make much difference. If his lawyer had flown off to Hawaii, he wouldn't be hearing from him for a while. He had no choice but to stay put until his lawyer returned. At least, he and James wouldn't starve. He didn't particularly enjoy catching mosquitoes and being eaten alive by them, but the more he thought about the situation, he realized that he couldn't have gotten much luckier. The field station sat out in the middle of nowhere and relatively few people stopped in to visit.

Glancing out the window, he noticed that the lights were still burning in the lab. He certainly hoped he had caught enough mosquitoes for one day.

He went out to his car and dug around in the trunk for his shaving kit and a change of clothes. He would have to throw some things in the washing machine tomorrow. He had reached his last pair of clean briefs.

He noticed a light fog rolling in as he walked back to his room in the lab building. The mist carried with it the putrid odor of methane fermenting in the marsh. David covered his nose but it didn't help.

For the tenth time that day, he wondered why someone as intelligent as Samantha would choose to live here. The shops in town appeared to be small, offering little variety beyond the basics. Clam Creek didn't have a movie theater. Or a bar.

The majority of the citizens looked well beyond sixty.

He couldn't envision himself happy in a place like this.

He frowned, but he realized that he hadn't been happy in Connecticut either. Being a member of the country club grew tedious after a while. Shows, movies, restaurants--he'd been to the best and none of those diversions ever satisfied him. After separating from Linda and filing for a divorce, he had buried himself in his job, rising to the vice-presidency in record time. But what good had it done him?

He shook his head. He had made a desperate move to save his son and for tonight, at least, James could sleep peacefully.

He glanced up at the dark sky. The fog had obliterated the moon and constellations. Not one tiny, faint beam shone down on him. He had no star to make a wish upon.

He felt as if he stood at the end of the world in this god-forsaken swamp. It was the last place on earth anyone would ever look for him. He shrugged. He could be happy in a place like this if it kept James safe. He smiled.

* * *

David felt wonderful after his shower, almost human again. Sure, he had a few mosquito bites, but with his fresh shave and clean clothes, he really didn't care about a few itches. James lay in peaceful slumber on the top bunk.

Due to his long afternoon nap, David didn't feel very sleepy. He thought about watching television in the cottage, but he had already discovered the channel selection to be extremely limited. Samantha Lyons didn't have cable. He had checked through the shelf that held her small library of videos. However, none of the titles appealed to him; they were all kids' stuff. An odd collection for a grown woman, in his opinion.

Then he thought about Samantha, her natural beauty, and her gentle manner. Everything about her shone with the same light as her tumbling hair. He furrowed his brow. Obviously, she followed the dictates of her faith in her choice of entertainment, but there was more to it than that. She had some childlike quality about her--some innocence that most women her age had lost. He glanced out the door of his room and saw the lights still burning in the lab. He hoped his mosquitoes had survived capture. What if he had treated them a little too callously?

He turned to check on James again and found his child resting in such tranquil repose that his throat started to ache with love. He wanted only the best for his son. Unfortunately right now, the best happened to be hiding from Linda.

He slipped outside and walked around the yard. As he passed the window of Samantha's bedroom in the cottage, he heard a little guttural sound from the dog.

"Can't we be friends, Cassie?" he asked.

The dog snarled at him. It struck him funny for some reason. Perhaps a former boyfriend of Samantha's had messed up the crazy animal's mind. He decided that he would try to get the dog to like him, or at least tolerate him.

He thought of his own wonderful Blarney and the pain came back. Linda had a gift for ruining everything.

Trying to distract himself, David decided to see how his mosquitoes had fared. It would be interesting to watch Samantha at work. Would she morph into a mad scientist? An old hag with warts and a cackly laugh?

He strolled back across the yard. The swamp gas didn't bother him so much now; maybe he was getting used to it. He listened with interest to the evening sounds, even though he couldn't identify them all. Feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks, he sighed deeply.

He tapped on the screen door of the lab and saw Samantha sitting at her workstation in front of the computer. When she heard his knock, she swung around, looking startled. Then in a swift move, she hastily groped for the mouse to turn off the machine. But he had seen what she had been studying so intently. She had been online looking at one of the many sites with photos of missing children.

"D-david," she stuttered. "I thought you would go right to bed."

Her cheeks had a blaze of color on them and he could see her trembling, but he could not feel sorry for her.

At first, he simply stood there in shock, too frozen to do anything. However, anger fired up quickly. He opened the unlocked door and strode toward her. He had been a fool! A wretched, trusting idiot!

"Did you find my picture there? Are you going to call the cops now? Are you going to watch them throw me in jail and give James back to his mother?"

The pain almost swallowed him up.

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