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It was an image that made Catherine laugh. “Oxnard is on the coast, and it has a beautiful marina.” She was delighted Joyce had been so captivated by Shane Shephard that she hadn’t pried into her work at Lost Angel. A scrub jay swooped down to sit on the back wall, and she made a mental note to purchase a new bird feeder.
“Oh, like a nurseryman would own a yacht,” Joyce scoffed.
“Stop making excuses. Did he ask you out?”
Joyce brushed a crumb from her blouse and waved her beautifully manicured nails. “Just for coffee, but I told him I was late for an appointment.”
“Which you now regret?”
Joyce shook her head. “Regret is too strong a word, but I’m definitely ambivalent.”
“I can appreciate ambivalence,” Catherine mused quietly without confiding her own dilemma. She handed over Shane’s card. “Why not call him?”
Joyce slid the card back into her pocket and gave it a light pat. “I’d be too embarrassed to make any sense.”
Catherine shot her a skeptical glance. “Your field is interior design. Tell him you need a variety of plants for a new job.”
Joyce took a moment to consider the suggestion. “While it’s not very original, I suppose it would work. But still, he’s too young and scarcely what I’d call substantial.”
“So what? You can provide for yourself, and he might surprise you,” Catherine chided.
“Oh, I’m surprised all the time, but it’s never good.” Joyce sat back in her chair, but she gripped the arms tightly. “Here I am trying to avoid trouble, like Shane Shephard surely is, and you’re out looking for it at Lost Angel. One of us has to be misguided.”
Catherine considered Joyce a dear friend. She’d been there for her when Sam had died, even slept at her house that first terrible week so she wouldn’t have to wake up alone. But there were times, like today, when Catherine wondered if the only thing they truly had in common was an address on the same street.
“Please don’t misunderstand me,” Catherine warned softly. “I had such a marvelous life with Sam, but now I need to do something that matters on my own. Lost Angel provides that opportunity.”
Joyce rose and stretched her arms above her head. “Well, what I need is a man who’ll take care of me because I’m sick to death of making ends meet on my own. Why don’t we go into Pasadena’s Old Town tonight? It’ll be noisy and crowded, but it sure beats staying home alone. We can just walk around, eat at one of the new restaurants, maybe go to a movie.”
Catherine stood to walk her friend to the side gate. She actually enjoyed being home alone, but her nights were simply a comfortable blur. Perhaps it was time to make some changes in her weekends.
“I remember a place filled with scented candles. Could we go by there?” she asked.
“Of course,” Joyce exclaimed. “I didn’t mean we wouldn’t shop. Walk up to my house at seven and I’ll drive.”
“I’ll see you later,” Catherine promised, but as she bathed and dressed that night, she wondered if Luke Starns ever dated any of Lost Angel’s volunteers. If so, she sure hoped Beverly Snodgrass wasn’t among them.
Monday morning, Luke was back at his desk to tackle a fresh batch of grant applications. At noon, he left his office and purposely ignored the giant calendar where volunteers penciled in their time. While he’d struggled all weekend to suppress thoughts of Catherine Brooks, he’d eventually come to the depressing conclusion that she would probably not be coming back. He just didn’t want to verify the fact by searching for her name.
None of their conversations had gone well, and even worse, he’d begun to suspect he might be to blame for discouraging some of the other sophisticated women who’d failed to honor their initial commitment to Lost Angel. It was an uncomfortable supposition, and he did his best to shake it off as he crossed the courtyard and joined the lunch line in the hall.
He ate with the kids several times a week. Mabel usually served spaghetti with a fresh green salad and garlic bread on Monday, and it was one of his favorite meals. As he approached the counter, he joked easily with the kids in line, and then Catherine Brooks handed him a plate and, shocked, he nearly dropped it.
“Mrs. Brooks? I had no idea you possessed any culinary skills,” he exclaimed in surprise. With a bright yellow oilcloth apron over a pale green shirt and matching jeans, he thought she looked not merely efficient, but awfully cute as well.
“I can dice fresh vegetables with the best of them,” Catherine responded playfully. “Apparently I failed to check that box on my application. Would you please add it for me?”
“Be glad to,” Luke replied. Rather than slow the line any further, he hurried away, but as soon as he’d taken a chair at the nearest long table, Nick Bohler dropped down beside him.
“Man, she was flirting with you!” Nick exclaimed. “What’ll you do if her husband shows up here looking for you?”
Luke feigned a rapt interest in his spaghetti and twirled it around his fork. “She’s a widow, so there’s no danger of that.”
Nick snorted. “Then you’re in more danger than you think. Want to talk about it this afternoon in our group?”
Luke readily grasped Nick’s warning, but laughed it off. “No thanks. How’s the job search going?”
“Please,” Nick groaned, “I’m trying to eat. Everything is especially tasty today, isn’t it? Must be the new cook.”
