To Heal A Heart (Love Inspired) Read Online Free PDF Page A

any better,” he heard himself saying, “I saw her again.” So much for keeping quiet.
    “Her?” Vernon echoed, forehead beetling.
    Marian clasped her hands together. “The girl on the plane! The one with the pretty name.”
    “Piper Wynne,” Mitch confirmed. “Turns out she works just down the street from me, but that’s all I know about her. And that’s all I have to say on the subject.”
    “For now,” Vernon qualified with a flourish of his pipe. “Well, well,” he mused, inserting the stem between his lips again.
    Well, well, indeed, Mitch thought, looking at his mother’s shining eyes. He couldn’t help wondering how long they had kept silent, waiting for him to be ready to love again. It was to be expected from his mother, but his father had shown great restraint and respect. Thinking of his garrulous, take-charge father biting his tongue for only God knew how long stunned Mitch.
    He cleared his throat and softly asked, “Have I told you two lately how much I love you?”
    Vernon removed the pipe from his mouth, smiled and looked down, brushing at imaginary lint on his thigh. Marian’s hand closed tenderly over Mitch’s forearm.
    “It’s always good to hear,” she said softly.
    Mitch sat back and lightened the moment by asking, “What’s for dinner?”
    His mother hopped up and headed to the kitchen, answering him over her shoulder, “Your favorite, of course—chicken potpie.”
    Vernon waited until she was out of earshot before confiding, “When I asked, she told me leftovers.” He stuck the pipe between his teeth and winked. “Glad you came over.”
    Mitch just smiled.
     
     
    Piper bit off a chunk of sandwich and momentarily turned her face up to the sun, eyes closed. The air felt like silk today, thanks to unusually mild temperatures and a steady breeze that blew the pollution southward. Chewing rapidly, she looked down at the folded newspaper in her lap, her gaze skimming an article on the so-called megachurches in the area. Suddenly a shadow fell across the newsprint. When it failed to move on, she glanced up.
    Mitch Sayer stood in front of her, smiling, a hot dog cradled in a waxed wrapper in one hand, his suit coat draped through the crook of his other arm.
    She lowered the newspaper to her lap. “Hello again.”
    “Hello.” He lifted his eyebrows as if for permission to snoop. She nodded slightly, and he tilted his head to get a look at what she was reading. “Looking for a church?”
    She thought of it more as preparing to look. “Starting to.”
    “I’d be delighted if you’d try mine.”
    She made no reply to that beyond a tight smile, but somehow she wasn’t surprised to find that he was a practicing Christian.
    “May I sit?” He indicated the stone bench that she was occupying.
    She pulled her nylon lunch bag a little closer. “Sure.”
    Mitch tossed his coat over the end of the bench and sat, biting into the hot dog. She saw that he took it covered in chili, cheese and jalapeño peppers.
    “You really do like the spicy stuff, don’t you?”
    He looked over his meal and said, “This one’s mild. I forgo the onions when I have a meeting too soon after lunch.”
    She grinned. “Considerate of you.”
    “Even murderers and thugs can smell,” he quipped. Seeing her shock, he apologized. “Sorry. Little jailhouse humor. I forget it’s not always appropriate.”
    She shook her head. “No, it’s all right. You said you were a lawyer. I just didn’t think…”
    “Criminal law,” he supplied, and she nodded.
    “I figured corporate something or other.”
    “I’m a defense attorney,” he told her forthrightly. “Dirty job, but someone’s got to do it—someone who actually cares about justice, preferably.” He bit off a huge chunk of the chili dog.
    “And that would be you,” she hazarded.
    He nodded, chewing, and swallowed. “I do, actually.” He waved a hand. “I consider it more of a calling than a profession, which is not to say that I don’t