Chapter 6

"Reschedule my meeting with the board for later this afternoon and ask Mr. Higgins to send me the report on the software company prospectus."

"Sir?"

He had been jotting down notes as he fired off instructions to her. Adina Jones was a widow, who had lost her husband five years ago. The Lord had not blessed her with children and as far as she was concerned, it was just as well. The company was her child, and the man seated at the baronial desk her responsibility.

She had been working at Davenport Industries for almost thirty years and it was home. She secretly admired the young man who had taken over from his uncle. Evan Davenport was cut from an entirely different cloth and was a man of incredible integrity.

"What is it?" Placing the tip of his index finger on the line he had been reading, he looked over at her impatiently.

"Well…," she cleared her throat delicately, wondering how to commence. Her boss was usually as sharp as a tack, but for the third time today, he seemed to be more than a little off.

"Ms. Jones?" The note of impatience was evident in his deep baritone.

"Your board meeting is not until tomorrow and Mr. Higgins already sent you the report."

He held her gaze for a few pulsing seconds as if questioning the logic of her sentence. She barely managed to contain her surprise when color seeped into his skin and the look of embarrassment on his face was priceless.

"Yes, right." Putting aside the folder, he picked up a paperweight that had been passed down to him from his father.

"Would you like a cup of coffee?"

Evan started to refuse but nodded instead.

"Thanks."

"If course, sir. It's past lunch time also. Might I suggest that a ham and cheese sandwich be sent up from the kitchen?"

"Thank you. That is all for now."

With a prim nod of her neat coif, his assistant rose and left. Minutes later, she came back with the sandwich and a carafe of fresh coffee.

"Thank you."

Evan waited until she had closed the door before pouring a cup of the excellent coffee. He was not in the mood for beverage, and he was certainly not hungry. What he was couldn't be defined by mere words.

He had abruptly left the quaint little cottage, a wonderful setting for the exquisite woman and almost ran to his vehicle. He had spent several minutes cruising the area, until he had finally shown up at his aunt's.

The afternoon had been pleasant enough, but his concentration had been shot to pieces.

He could not take his mind off her. The way she looked as she stood there surrounded by the incredible beauty of nature. She had reminded him of a barefoot nymph. And the comparison had startled him.

He was waxing poetic, something else he was not accustomed to being. But Cassandra Daley brought out the best in people. It was not just him. He had noticed the way people gravitated towards her. She had a smile for those around her. She was kind and compassionate and made everyone feel wanted.

Talking to her had delighted him and when she toed off her boots and wriggled her toes in the lush grass, he had wanted to follow suit. Taking a healthy sip of the coffee, he put away the cup restlessly. He could not settle.

And he wanted to hear her voice. Before he could change his mind, he picked up his personal phone and dialed the number of the church office. If the pastor answered, he was going to take it as a sign that he should not have called in the first place.

But her melodious voice came over the line and he had to close his eyes to try and settle his heart.

"Russell Baptist Church, this is Cassandra speaking."

"That's quite a mouthful."

He heard her startled gasp and imagined the look on her exquisite face. He wondered if she was pleased to hear his voice.

"Mr. Davenport. How nice to hear from you."

"I see you recognize my voice. I am going to take that as a good sign. Don't you think that it's foolish to be standing on ceremony? My name is Evan. And yours is Cassandra."

"You are absolutely right. What can I do for you?"

"I called to apologize for my abrupt departure yesterday."

"You said you had to rush."

"Yes." Leaning back in the chair, he stretched his legs out. "Supper with my aunt. She is my only living relative."

"It's wonderful that you take the time to go and see her. I am sure it's appreciated."

"And what about you? How did you spend your afternoon?"

"Gardening." Her laughter reminded him of butterflies flitting around in the garden and pleasant days in the summer sun. Shaking his head in irritation, he waited for her to elaborate. "I had some seedlings to plant and some thyme to transplant."

"You also have a vegetable garden?"

"More like a vegetable patch." Her laughter came again and filled him with peace. "I started out planting some herbs for cooking and have gotten a little ambitious. But the Lord has been smiling on me or rather on my efforts, because they are thriving."

"You think this is his doing?"

"Of course it is. He sends the rain to water the plants and get the soil ready for reaping. Are we going to have our usual disagreement over religion?"

"I have gotten quite fond of it." He admitted and much to his surprise, he meant every word.

You said you like art."

"I do, immensely."

"Jackson is having a private showing at the end of the week in his studio uptown. I would like you to accompany me."

He waited while she paused and found that he was holding his breath.

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

Picking up the paperweight, he hefted it in his left palm and stared across the room. The office was oppressive, the furnishings too heavy for his taste. He had stepped in when his uncle died and had been meaning to make some changes, but he kept putting it off. He also realized that he would like her opinion on the color scheme.

Beige and cream to him were not colors and they were also depressing. He had a feeling that the woman he had become so fascinated with, would suggest something in emerald green or sunshine yellow.

"It's just two people taking in something they appreciate. The place will be filled with patrons of the art, so we would not be alone. If you don't think it's a good idea…?"

"I would love to be there," she told him softly.

"Good. Good." Her acceptance had him spinning mentally in confusion. "I -er- I have taken up enough of your time. I will call you later in the week and let you know the details."

"Thank you Evan." Her cultured voice calling his name had such a profound effect on him that at first, he could not respond.

"I believe that should be my line," he murmured gruffly. "Goodbye Cassandra."

He hung up before he could make a fool of himself and for the next few minutes, felt as if he was drifting on a cloud. Shaking his head ruefully, he picked up the folder and tried to get back to work.

*****

"My dear, are you all, right?"

Cassandra looked up startled, jolted out of her reverie. "I am sorry. I didn't realize you had returned. How was Brother Carlton?"

Pastor William gave her a strange look as he came further into the small office.

"Doing much better. You seemed a million miles away just now. Anything wrong?"

Cassandra hesitated a second before responding. "Are you busy?"

"Come into my office." Turning towards the doorway, he left her to follow.

"Is this a closed-door meeting?" He asked as he went behind his desk.

"No!" Shaking her head, she perched on one of the overstuffed chairs facing him. For the first time in her life, she was suffering from acute confusion. Evan had asked her what she did after he left, and she had not been exactly truthful.

She had sat there gazing dreamily at nothing in particular and wishing he had stayed longer. Rubbing her palms on the edge of her pink and blue skirt, she looked at the man she considered to be more than just her pastor. "I received a phone call from Evan Davenport."

"I see." His expression did not change, but the two words had a wealth of meaning behind them. "I hope he is not calling to ask back for his check. We already cashed it."

"No." She shook her head and nervously lifted one slender hand to her throat. "He invited me to a gallery opening. Jackson Colby."

The man's eyebrows lifted. "You love that sort of thing."

She nodded. "And I have wanted to meet Jackson Colby for as long as I can remember." She laughed nervously. "I recall the first time I saw a painting of his. I was in college and a group of us pooled together to go to this art showing.

There I was, standing in the lofty gallery and staring at this clash of colors that shocked the senses. It was so beautiful that it took me several minutes to move away. I wanted that painting so badly, that I had to ask the Lord for forgiveness for my obsession."

"Was it an obsession?" He asked her kindly, studying her face.

"It most definitely was!" She laughed again; her head bent. "And I am going to have to pray about something else."

"We always have things to pray about."

"This is something specific." She looked over at him. "I am attracted to him."

"I am assuming we are not talking about the famous Jackson Colby."

"No." Cassandra shook her head. "Oh pastor, what am I doing?"

"You are being human."

"He is out of my league. We argue about religion because of his views on the Lord. I sensed there is something profoundly sad about him and every time I am with him, the time just seem to go by so quickly." Her finger was drumming restlessly on her thighs.

"It's not our place to try and save anyone." He reminded her, more than a little troubled about her confession. He had told Marjorie his fears and that he did not want to see her get hurt.

He knew she was an adult and more than that, she was an exceptionally beautiful woman, not just on the outside. Cassandra Daley had a heart of gold and deserved the very best.

"I know."

"And you know how I feel about seeing someone not of the faith."

Leaning against his desk, he gave her his full attention. "But you are a very smart woman, Cassie. I have seen the way you conduct yourself and I am so proud of you." He paused, wondering how to continue without sounding as if he was condemning her.

"Evan Davenport is a man of the world, and I don't want you to be tempted to do something you will regret." He sounded like a bloody hypocrite preaching to her.

She was good and pure and followed the dictates of the Bible to a T. He was the one who had strayed from the path he had chosen, or the one that had been chosen for him. He was certainly not in any position to dispense advice, not of this kind anyway. "But I trust you," he added with a faint smile.

"That's it though." She admitted with a tiny smile, her eyes shadowed. "I am not sure I trust myself. He is…" Moving backwards in the chair, she closed her eyes briefly as she struggled to find the right words.

"Ever since I met him, there is something about him that I cannot seem to fight." She shook her head ruefully. "I am not sophisticated, and I don't want to be. I love who I am in Christ. I am confident in his love for me and know that I am guaranteed that love for the rest of my life. I love my life.

My church family means the world to me and this job is something that refreshes me. No two days are the same." She smiled at him gently. "We are imperfect beings loved and cherished by a perfect God and I live in constant fear of disappointing Him."

"My dear." Pastor William clasped his hands loosely on top of his desk, a frown touching his brow. "We will ultimately disappoint our perfect God, just by being.

Our sinful nature will always fight with the Holy Spirit." He looked down at his hands and felt the anguish almost overwhelming him. He had spent an inordinate amount of time with a woman who was not his wife and was not guilty.

It had taken everything in him to pull out of her loving arms to go home to a very cold and uncaring wife. She had been asleep when he got home. And had not even stirred when he walked into the room and stood there staring at her still form.

"Life has a way of throwing us curve balls we never saw coming." He looked at her and had a feeling that she knew what was happening between him and Ingrid and what was taking place with Marjorie. But he did not dare ask her. He lived in dread of disappointing her.

She was his daughter. He had not been the one to plant the seed, but he felt as if he had. She was so dear and precious to him that he could not bear it if she looked at him with loathing.

"I have always wanted to call you, dad."

His blue eyes brightened with tears, and he had to look away to compose himself.

"You did."

"Until Darcy and Ingrid started to…"

"They did not think it was proper." He smiled at her sadly. "Would you pray for me, my dear?"

"Always." She gave him a solemn look that almost broke his heart. She was so wise beyond her age, that he was confident that she was going to be okay.

He would be praying for her as well. He had no business approaching his heavenly Father after living so blatantly in sin. But she was the innocent party, and he knew the Lord would not punish her because of him.

"Go on your date my dear but proceed with caution." A frown touched his brow. "Evan Davenport is experienced in ways of the world and…," he shook his head. "I am sure you will do what's right."

"I don't think it's really a date."

He smiled at that. "I have a feeling it's the beginning of one."

*****

Evan stood in front of the mirror and stared at his image. He was frustrated and annoyed at how nervous he was. It was not a date.

He had been silently repeating those five words repeatedly, but the more he did, the more he realized he was fooling himself. He spent the remainder of the week vacillating between despair and hope, wondering if he would receive a phone call to say that she was not coming. That it was all a mistake.

But Friday had crept up and the day had ended without the dreaded phone call. Unable to resist the urge, he had called her with the details instead of just sending a message. He had fooled himself into thinking that he was being thorough and leaving nothing to chance.

And he had changed outfits three times. This was not him! Dragging off the blue and gray sports jacket, he went with the first one he had picked out. The navy blue would go great with the khaki dress pants and powder blue shirt.

Turning away from the mirror, he strode purposefully towards the armoire where several selections of colognes were lined up neatly. Before he could spend the time trying to decide which one to spray, he picked one at random. He had started to spritz some at his throat when he realized what he was doing.

Putting the expensive bottle of scent down, he frowned at himself in the mirror. He was no gauche schoolboy and had never been even when he was thirteen.

He had to grow up pretty fast to keep up with his dad and uncle. Now he was perspiring copiously and shaking from nerves. This was not a date, he repeated it firmly, wanting it to become a mantra until it resonated inside his mind.

But no matter what he told himself, he was excited to see her again and couldn't wait.

*****

"You are not helping."

"Of course, I am." Marsha was seated on the edge of her bed, enjoying every minute of her usually unflappable friend's obvious nerves. "You said it's not a date?"

"It's not!" Cassandra insisted. Standing in front of the mirror, she peered at herself and wondered if she was showing cleavage. She did not want to give him any ideas and besides, a man like Evan Davenport was accustomed to beautiful women, models, actresses, lawyers, a judge…

"What am I doing, Marsha?" Turning away from the mirror, she sat next to her friend, pulling the full skirt of her russet color dress around her knees.

"You are being human." Her friend told her firmly, admiring the heavy dark brown curls tumbling free around Cassandra's face. Big gold hoops were at her lobes, and she was wearing russet colored lipstick. "You are following your heart."

Cassandra gave her a dry look, a pensive expression on her face.

"Or I am reading too much in an invitation to an art gallery. He might just have an extra ticket and remembered me mentioning that I paint." She rubbed her hands together absently. "Besides, we cannot be together.

He is Evan Davenport, and I am Cassandra Daley. I am a child of God, and the Bible clearly states that we should not be unequally yoked. Here I go again, overthinking. He is probably just looking for a friend. Or it amuses him to hook up with a church chick." She grimaced when her friend burst out laughing.

"Church chick?"

She shrugged. "Or whatever the term is. I should have said no."

"You still can." Her friend pointed out. "But you won't."

"I won't. I like him a lot. I have spent the entire four days looking forward to tonight. It's not just the chance of meeting a man who has been my hero for a long time. It's being with Evan, talking to him, arguing with him and his beliefs." She shook her head. "I should be witnessing to him, telling him about the love of God, leading him to…"

"Or you should relax and go with the flow."

Her eyes flared. "What does that mean? If he invites me to his fancy apartment, I should just go with him?"

"Honey, you happen to be the most responsible person I know." Taking her hands, Marsha stared at her. "What's really bothering you?"

"All my life, I have been determined to be good. When dad died and mom married that man, I was so unhappy, and I prayed that God would do something about it. When they died, I blamed myself and wondered if I had inadvertently caused the accident.

Did I wish for it too hard?" She shrugged. "I know that's silly, and we have been told that things happen for a reason. When Pastor and his wife took me in, I swore to myself that I would never do anything to disappoint them, that I was going to make them proud."

"And you did. You made something of yourself despite the difficulties you had as a child. People admire you and want to be you. Nothing is wrong with you being attracted to someone who is not of the faith."

"There are some very nice and unattached males in the church."

"There are, but I always knew you were going to end up with someone extraordinary." Marsha shook her slightly. "Go to this gallery opening, forget about everything else and just have fun. You obviously like the guy, and I am not saying you should let go of your Christian principles, but you deserve to have some fun."

"I am scared." She whispered.

"Of what?"

"I really like him, Marsh. From the very first day I met him, there has been this feeling in the pit of my stomach. I have tried praying and asking the Lord for direction, but I am not hearing back from him, in regard to this topic."

"Which simply means that the Lord is not displeased. Who knows what He has planned for you and Evan Davenport."