Legacy of Love. Christine Johnson

surprising warmth. “Stay curious. If not for curiosity, Mr. Carter would never have found King Tutankhamun’s tomb.”

      A thrill ran through her. Brandon had just compared her to Howard Carter. Maybe he would help her follow in the man’s footsteps.

      “I want to do that, to find a lost tomb like he did,” she gushed, the words coming out so quickly that they jumbled together.

      He smiled, and a dimple appeared in his chin. “Maybe someday you will.”

      Anna caught her breath. He’d practically promised to help her.

      Chapter Six

      Brandon got out of his automobile and peered at the unimposing two-story house that served as a parsonage. The place looked strangely quiet, considering Sunday dinner was about to take place. The pastor had indicated the entire extended family would be attending. True, Hendrick Simmons’s automobile was still parked at the carriage house, but Brandon expected to see one or two other cars here.

      Not so.

      Brandon hesitated at the foot of the steps, wondering if Pastor Gabe had taken ill or was called away on emergency.

      “There you are,” called out the youthful minister from the front door. “Come on in.”

      Despite the icy December day, Pastor Gabe dressed in shirtsleeves, rolled up to the elbow, much more informal than Brandon expected for Sunday dinner.

      He mounted the steps with care, using the handrail to ensure he didn’t lose his balance. “I expected to see a car or two in front of the house.”

      Gabe held the door open for him. “You’re the first to arrive.”

      “I am? It’s almost two o’clock.”

      “The others will be here soon.”

      Brandon stepped over the threshold and into a Christmas fantasy. Every wall, shelf and table was decorated with greenery, ribbons and bows. The parlor contained some of the finest mahogany furniture that money could buy. A large tree graced the far corner, covered with garlands and crystal ornaments that looked like they’d come from Tiffany. The overpowering scent of cloves must be coming from the apple-shaped golden pomanders. The room reflected high society on a small scale. That certainly did not fit the minister’s casual dress and manner. The church must be doing very well indeed.

      “Mr. Landers.” An elegantly dressed, willowy woman approached with a radiant smile. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you. Gabe has told me so much—all good. May I take your coat?”

      “Pardon my manners,” said the pastor. “Brandon Landers, this is my wife, Felicity, the joy of my life.”

      The man’s tender smile made Brandon’s heart ache. His mother and father had once shared that tenderness, before Father let business consume his life.

      A baby’s wail sent Felicity upstairs with an apology. “Little Genie—that’s our daughter, Eugenia Louise—must be hungry.”

      That left Brandon alone with the minister and a lad of perhaps ten or eleven who watched solemnly from the sofa, a storybook on his lap. He was dressed in the finest boy’s suit New York could offer.

      “This is my son, Luke,” Gabe said. “Luke, meet Mr. Landers. He’s opening a bookstore in town.”

      The boy closed his book, carefully set it on the end table and stood to shake his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

      Brandon was charmed by Luke’s manners. Too many parents these days let their children run wild, without the slightest attempt to teach discipline and good behavior.

      The boy had his father’s dark curls but otherwise didn’t resemble either parent. The dark skin couldn’t have come from that porcelain-complexioned wife. And Pastor Gabe looked to be in his late twenties. His wife was even younger, too young to be the boy’s mother.