A newspaper tucked beneath her arm, Anne said, “Andrew Noble called while you were conferencing with that new family.”
Eric reached for the telephone. “Should I call him back?”
Anne shook her head. “He only wanted to thank you again for chairing the youth-group committee for the upcoming fund-raiser.”
Every year the Noble Foundation held a picnic to raise funds for charitable groups. Eric was thrilled because this year the fund-raiser was earmarked for orphanages in Africa.
“Considering it’s a project close to my heart, I’m glad to do it. And the kids at the youth center are full of ideas. A good bunch, too.” He already knew most of them from his Sunday school class at the Chestnut Grove Community Church. Grabbing a pen, he scribbled a note to get snacks for tonight’s meeting. Teens worked better when food was part of the deal. “Did Andrew mention if he or Rachel had found a cochair?”
The new international adoption program was taking a lot of his time. Add his already busy schedule, church and an occasional night out, and Eric wasn’t sure he could swing the full responsibility of organizing the youth’s portion of the fund-raiser. He hoped that Andrew and his cousin Rachel would soon pick a cochair for the event.
“Andrew says Rachel has someone terrific in mind and is awaiting a call back.” Even though the pregnant Rachel was on bed rest, she remained involved with foundation work by telephone and computer.
“Did he say who?” Not that it mattered. Eric would work with anyone who desired to help his kids.
“You’re going to like this.” Anne placed the newspaper on the desk in front of him and tapped a picture. “If Rachel can convince her, this is your cochair.”
Eric looked down at the newspaper photo. All the air whooshed out of his lungs.
Samantha Harcourt. The woman he couldn’t forget even if he wanted to. The woman who disturbed his dreams and whose memory sent waves of humiliation flowing over him. He’d nearly made a fool of himself in Africa. Had actually prayed for God to send her back after that first amazing day. Had spent many late nights standing outside the orphanage, listening to the call of the jackal, and wishing he could forget her.
But how could he?
Now that he was back in the States, he found her picture was literally everywhere. Billboards, magazines. Sam Harcourt, ad model for Style Fashions, the hottest trend in America.
As a man who’d lived most of his adult life in Third World countries, he’d had no idea the sweet missions’ worker was a top fashion model.
Once he’d discovered her identity, he’d felt like a total idiot. He’d also understood why she’d never returned to the orphanage. She wasn’t a missions’ worker at all. Like celebrities everywhere, she loved publicity and what better press than to say she’d worked among the poor, starving orphans of Africa?
Wasn’t this photo proof enough? He remembered when she’d asked one of the kids to take it. She had both arms wrapped full of children, Matunde and Amani in her lap. The unfinished orphanage served as background.
A souvenir, she’d claimed. Yeah, right. Publicity, plain and simple.
He hissed in a slow, anxious breath.
Sam Harcourt was back in town.
Lord forgive him, but he prayed Sam would be too involved with herself to serve as his cochair.
Eric faked to the left, then bounded down the court, dribbling past two boys, both determined to slay him in their weekly game of Eric and the girls against the guys. Tonight was the first meeting of the picnic committee, but important things like basketball had to come first. He was ready to go up for the short jumper when the girls on his team suddenly gasped and stopped playing.
“It’s her,” Gina squeaked. “It’s Samantha Harcourt.”
Eric’s heart stumbled. So did his feet. Sam was here.
He hoped that didn’t mean what he thought it meant.
“Walk!” Caleb Williams blew his whistle, clapping his hands for the ball, but Eric forgot all about the game.
He stared at the entrance of the Youth Center. A tall, gorgeous blonde had come into the room, accompanied by her sister, a young mother Eric knew from church.
“I didn’t know she was back in town,” Gina gushed, eyes sparkling with admiration. Every teenager in the place was staring, drop-mouthed. Eric worked hard not to do the same.
Get it together, Pellegrino. You know what she really is. Another rich girl gone slumming.
Wasn’t that what everyone back in his college days had said about Katrina before she’d dumped him for the country-club set? The same warning applied here.
“Is she going to help out in the center?” Nikki, another of the youth group, asked with that same sound of adulation.
Eric’s lip curled, even while his traitorous heart slammed against his rib cage. “I think she’s here for the meeting.”
“No way,” one of the kids said in hopeful disbelief.
“Way,” he admitted, trying not to show his reluctance. “Rachel Cavanaugh asked her to work as my cochair.”
He was not too happy about it, but he knew better than to say anything negative in front of a bunch of teenagers. In truth, he was ashamed of his negative reaction, but he’d been burned before. With Sam, he’d had no warning and she’d left her mark on him.
Gina, the shy, quiet one of the bunch, stared at Eric. “You know her?”
Though the rest of them were sweating like pigs, the slender teen wore a baggy sweater.
“Know her?” He shook his head. “Not really.”
Which was perfectly true. The beautiful, compassionate woman he’d met in Africa clearly did not exist, and he felt like an idiot for building up this fantasy that she was his one and only, sent by God. Man, what a joke.
“If she helps with the fund-raiser, maybe we can get her to stick around here and help with other things.” As youth director, Caleb was always on the lookout for more adult volunteers.
Eric stifled a protest. More time with Sam was the last thing he wanted. If he wasn’t so committed to the work in Africa, he’d drop out of this fund-raiser himself.
“Maybe she’ll start a fitness class,” Gina said hopefully. “Models are usually great at staying in shape, and some of us need to work out more.”
Eric found the remark amusing. Gina didn’t have an ounce of fat on her.
“Whoa baby!” seventeen-year-old Jeremy murmured. “If Sam starts a class, I’m joining.”
To everyone’s amusement, Gina elbowed her boyfriend in the ribs.
When the nonsense died down, Caleb nudged Eric. “Are you going to welcome your helper?”
“Do I have to?” he asked and instantly regretted the reflexive response.
His friend shot him a strange look. Eric flushed, embarrassed to have Caleb see him so discombobulated. He needed to lope out the side door and get his head together.
“Eric,” Sam called, the perfect smile lighting her face as she crossed the distance between them. “It really is you. I couldn’t believe it when Rachel said we’d be working together again.”
Eric’s stomach sank to his toes. So, it was true. She had agreed to cochair. Dandy.
“Hello, Sam,” he said coolly, mouth tight. “How’s