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to put toward my son’s medical care—I don’t know where I would have been without Compassion for Families. What I’m saying is that I’m not some expert event planner. I’m just a woman who cares because I know how much this charity means, how important it is.”

      Natalie said nothing. What could she say? Telling this woman no—after she had poured her heart out—was almost impossible to do.

      “I’ve made some calls,” Penelope went on. “And the prices to hire a person to pull off an event like this are quite frankly astronomical. More than the organization can afford right now. But I do have a connection to one of the players on Cleveland’s NFL team—he went to school with me. He said he would be happy to help out. And when I heard you were in town—and knowing how giving and loving your aunt was—I thought it wouldn’t hurt to reach out to you, as well. With two celebrities heading up this event, I think we can pull it off and raise more money than ever.”

      The woman was making it harder and harder for Natalie to say no. But she wasn’t ready to commit. Not with Callie injured, and her uncle still grieving, and knowing the kind of time commitment an event like this required. So she said, “I do appreciate the fact that you’re even considering me. I’m quite honored. And as I said, the cause is clearly worthy and one that is near to my own heart, as well. But how about I think about it, let you know?”

      Penelope emitted a little sigh. “That’s the best I can hope for, that you’ll consider it. I do hope you will let me know soon.”

      “Definitely,” Natalie said.

      Penelope then gave Natalie her home and cell numbers. “I’ll await your call, then.”

      “Sure. I’ll let you know either way.” Natalie had always hated waiting for a response from someone and hearing nothing. “There may be some other way that I can help out, even if I can’t commit to seeing this fundraiser through to its end.”

      “Great. I’ll talk to you soon.”

      * * *

      All Natalie could think about the rest of that day and all through the night was Penelope’s call. Penelope had made a great point—that the money people gave to charity often went to the bigger, older, more established organizations.

      The truth was, Natalie knew how to fundraise. She had made it her life’s mission in San Antonio. How could she not offer her help to Compassion for Families?

      Besides, she was going nowhere soon. With Vance and Olivia now engaged—and shacking up together in the home she’d shared with Vance for all she knew—where was she going to go? Back to San Antonio, where she would no doubt suffer more media scrutiny? No, it only made sense for her to lie low in Cleveland until the story about her and Vance’s marriage finally died down.

      Not to mention the fact that she wanted to be in town in order to continue the search for her mother with her sisters.

      That fact had sealed the deal, and by the next morning, Natalie had made her decision. While she expected and hoped to put one hundred percent of her time and effort into finding clues that would lead to her mother, it certainly wouldn’t hurt to spend some time helping Penelope with her fundraising efforts. The truth was, event planning came easy to Natalie, because she had done it so often. And as Penelope had said, athletes and athletes’ wives and other people in high-profile positions were able to get tasks done more efficiently, simply because they had connections to people who had more financial resources.

      After breakfast, Natalie called Penelope.

      “Natalie?” Penelope said without preamble.

      “Yes, Penelope. It’s me.”

      “You’ve made a decision?”

      “I have,” Natalie said, and paused. “I really love what you told me about Compassion for Families and I’m more than happy to help out.”

      “Excellent!” Penelope exclaimed. “And timing couldn’t be more perfect. Remember I told you about the football player friend of mine who is also going to be helping me with this cause? Well, he’s coming into our office today, and this would be a great chance for you to come and meet him. In fact, he’s on his way right now. Why don’t you come to the meeting? With the gala date only six weeks away, there’s no time to spare in getting started.”

      “You want me to come in now?” Natalie asked with hesitation.

      “Unless you have another obligation right now.”

      “No, I’m free now,” Natalie decided. There was no real reason she couldn’t head in to the office and meet this man she would be working with. As Penelope had said, there wasn’t a moment to spare.

      “Excellent! Let me give you the address, and I’ll see you soon.”

      Natalie scribbled the address on a piece of paper. “I’m on my way.”

      “I can’t wait for you to meet Mike Jones,” Penelope added.

      Natalie’s stomach lurched at the mention of the name. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

      “Mike Jones is the football player I was talking about. My friend from school. He’s a sweetheart, and real easy on the eyes. You’ll like him.”

      Suddenly, Natalie’s brain was scrambling to try to come up with a reason to do a one-eighty and tell Penelope that she could no longer meet her, no longer volunteer her time.

      Yeah, I bet you looked just like a little angel when you were born, and that’s what your mama named you.

      “As in Michael Jones?” Natalie asked for clarification.

      “Yes, that’s him,” Penelope said. “Oh, you know him?”

      Natalie’s hands tightened on the receiver as she closed her eyes. “No. I’ve just…heard of him.”

      “Excellent.” Penelope couldn’t sound more pleased. “All right. See you soon.”

      Chapter 4

      The entire drive to the Compassion for Families offices, Natalie felt as if she had a bowling ball sitting in her stomach. At least ten times she contemplated—and dismissed—the idea of turning around and heading back home.

      How silly are you being? she asked herself as she parked beside a sleek BMW. What—are you incapable of working in a professional capacity with a man like Michael Jones?

      That was the thought that had her getting out of her car and making her way up the steps of a large, older home with a wraparound porch. Clearly, this was not only the home where the families in need resided, but also the building that held the charity’s offices.

      Natalie drew in a breath as she stood before the door, then reminding herself that she was acting like a schoolgirl, she opened it.

      She was immediately greeted by a woman who had to be Penelope—a five foot nothing African-American female with a short afro, light brown skin and a sprinkling of freckles on her nose.

      “Natalie Hart,” the woman said, extending her hand. “I’m Penelope Rand. So nice to meet you.”

      “Nice to meet you, as well,” Natalie said. Then she looked beyond Penelope, in the direction of a woman who was crossing the far end of the hall with a tray of cupcakes.

      Penelope turned to follow Natalie’s line of sight. “That’s Cynthia. She’s one of our staff members. She bakes the most extraordinary desserts.”

      “The house certainly smells lovely,” Natalie said.

      “Would you like a cupcake?” Penelope asked.

      “No, I’m fine.” Natalie waved off the suggestion. “Leave them for the children.”

      “All right, then. This way.” Penelope gestured to the door on the immediate right.

      Natalie started into

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