Ben stared down at Emily
He could see the freckles dotting her shoulders in the morning light. Was he ready to rejoin the world now, for her? Could they possibly have a future together?
A whimper from another part of the house made him ease out of bed. Covering Emily with a blanket, he slipped on his clothes and went out to the main living area. It was so her. Big, overstuffed couches covered in fabrics that resembled watercolors, high ceilings, warm wood floors. Chic but cozy.
Lady was scratching at the door that led to the foyer. “Hey, girl, need to go out?” Ben glanced over at the dog’s bed by the fieldstone fireplace—her puppies were out for the count.
After letting the dog out into the yard, he went into the kitchen to put on the coffee. While it brewed he studied the large, airy space. Granite countertops, brick walls hung with pots and pans, an island counter in the middle of the floor, a huge refrigerator covered with pictures. Smiling, he crossed the room to get a glimpse into Emily’s life. There was a photo of her and Lady, one of a dark-haired woman in dance wear, one of Emily and a man, arms linked.
Ben frowned. A boyfriend? No. The guy was too old. He moved in closer to get a better look. “What the hell…?”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to my new Superromance novel. I hope you enjoy this look at an urban soup kitchen. For years I’ve volunteered at a kitchen very similar to Cassidy Place, and I’m continually amazed at the staff’s hard work and belief that it’s our responsibility to help people less fortunate than we are. It’s truly a wonderful organization, and I’m glad I’m able to help out.
Several years ago I thought, “Wow, I’d like to set a book here.” How could I craft a hero who’s a guest at the kitchen, though, and a heroine who volunteers there? It took me a while, but I managed to create Ben, a formerly prosperous businessman, who’s lost his company and his self-esteem. At the soup kitchen he meets Emily, who has a connection to him that neither of them knows about. Before they discover it they’re involved, and nothing—even such a big surprise—is going to break them apart.
Emily and Ben are basically decent people caught in circumstances not of their making. It was a challenge to play out their journey to happily-ever-after. I liked both of these characters from the outset, and I hope you do, too. Though I don’t agree with some of their choices or actions—that makes for good conflict, right?—I do appreciate the predicament they’re in.
Please let me know what you think of the book. You can reach me at [email protected] or P.O. Box 24288, Rochester, NY 14624. Also, visit my Web site for updates on my work at www.kathrynshay.com or www.superauthors.com.
Kathryn Shay
A Time to Give
Kathryn Shay
To the staff and volunteers at Salem Soup Kitchen, in acknowledgment of your dedication and desire to help those in need.
Contents
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 ONE
STARING ACROSS THE DINING HALL, Emily watched the tall, muscular man stop and look up at the picture over the entryway. “I wonder what his last name is,” she muttered to herself.
“Best you get your mind off that one.” Alice Smith, the administrator who ran the Cassidy Place soup kitchen where Emily volunteered three nights a week, tossed out the warning as she refilled creamers and sugars. At 7:30 p.m., they were ready to close up for the night.
Emily liked this down-to-earth woman with her sturdy build, a tidy bun corralling her coarse gray hair. Though Alice worked tirelessly at feeding the impoverished, she could be tough when one of the guests got out of line, or the volunteers grumbled too much.
Emily’s grin was sheepish. “I didn’t realize I said that aloud.”
“You did. Anyway, what you were thinking is written all over your face.” Alice tucked a strand of hair that had escaped from Emily’s braid behind her ear. “For as long as he’s been coming here, he’s fascinated you.”
Emily turned her gaze back to Ben. “I guess he has. He’s different from the others.”
“Yeah, he is. He broods a lot, but I like that he pitches in around here. Most guests just eat and take off.”
“But, it’s more than his helping out. There’s just something about him that doesn’t quite fit.” She nodded across the room. “He always does that.”
Alice started to wipe the counter. “Does what?”
“Stares at that picture of Mick Cassidy over the entrance. Every Monday night when he comes in, he stops at it. His expression is almost sentimental. Nostalgic.”
“Odd. The old guy’s been dead for years.”
Emily changed the topic. She was all too familiar with what had happened to Mick Cassidy and his son, the one who’d founded the soup kitchen as a memorial to his father—not to mention the fate of the workers from Cassidy Industries who used to volunteer here.
Making small talk, she surreptitiously watched Ben as he approached one of the twenty long tables that were in rows. “He’s sitting down. I’ll go wait on him.” She grabbed a place setting and rushed off.
“Time’s almost up,” Alice called after her.
“I know. I’ll hurry.” She crossed the dining hall. The room was as huge as a gymnasium, with big windows, a high ceiling and scuffed hardwood flooring. Cassidy Place was housed in a wing of a beautiful old church on St. Paul Street and had character. “Hello, Ben,” she said when she reached him.
His gray eyes lit up when he saw her. Ringed with dark black, they were accented by thick lashes. After a moment, though, the light went out in them, like it always did. “Hello, Emily.”
She set silverware and a place mat on the table in front of him. “You’re later than usual.”
“Am I?”
“Hmm.” She fussed with the knife and fork, wishing she could crack that facade of his. “Busy today?”
Forcefully he shook out his paper. “Uh-huh.”
“At a job?”
“Yes.” He looked down and began reading.
“Where do you work, Ben? You’ve never mentioned it.”
He hesitated. “Construction jobs here and there.”
Since he’d finally answered a question about his circumstances, she dared another. “Then you can afford a place to live?” She’d worried he was homeless, like many who came to Cassidy Place. “You don’t…”
“Live on the street? No, not anymore.”
He raised the paper