LITMIR.BIZ

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project. He’d jumped at it. After Greg’s death, he left his heart in Detroit and moved to Seattle, built a life there. Women came and went, but no one captured his heart. He left the problem in God’s hands—he hadn’t known what else to do.

      Now, project completed, he was back home where he belonged, and the same problem faced him. How could he be Joanne’s friend when he wanted so much more?

      Donna Angelo stood inside the bedroom door and looked at her stepdaughter nestled in bed. Connie’s deep breathing assured Donna she was asleep. Her heart eased at the sight of the child so warm and cozy. Donna hadn’t felt warm and cozy for a long time.

      She stepped into the hallway and closed Connie’s bedroom door. If her husband came home tonight with too much to drink and more ranting, she hoped Connie wouldn’t hear the noise. The child needed to sleep in peace—something rare for their household.

      No matter how many times Donna waded through the details, she could never figure out when it had happened. She guessed their problems had begun slowly and built into a frightening undertone in their relationship.

      Donna’s hands trembled as she headed down the long hallway to the kitchen. She wanted to have Carl’s plate ready when he arrived, hoped that the scent of food would make him less irritable. She rubbed her upper arm, feeling the tenderness resulting from last night’s fiasco.

      Most every evening, Carl arrived home late. Sometimes he smelled of liquor, but she’d learned not to say anything. He always insisted his business had kept him out late. She never understood why the owner of a trucking company didn’t have someone who worked the night shift.

      Then, when she caught sight of his duffel bag filled with hundred-dollar bills, she’d begun to wonder if the business fronted something illegal—but Donna knew better than to ask questions.

      Yet tonight she had questions, not about his business, but about a restraining order she’d found in an old metal box in a basement storage closet. Why had his first wife obtained an order to keep him away? Had he knocked her around, too? Finally she decided the order had to mean Carl and his wife had separated. Yet Donna knew that Carl had been a widower. Nothing made sense. She wasn’t sure she could hold back her curiosity—although if she had any brains, she would.

      The garage door rumbled open, and Donna hurried to the refrigerator. Before the door had opened, she’d popped Carl’s meal into the microwave. She hoped he would be in one of his rare good moods tonight.

      When the back door opened, she glanced toward the sound.

      Carl lumbered inside and tossed his keys on the counter by the door. “What you gawkin’ at?” he asked.

      “Nothing.” She rubbed the bruise on her arm and studied his expression. Then she turned away to pull his salad from the refrigerator.

      What had happened to the man she’d met? Carl—a widower with a small child—had swept her off her feet. Her heart had gone out to the little girl. Connie had seemed so timid, and Donna had realized the loss of a mother must have been devastating for the child.

      When they’d met, Carl had shown Donna a good time. Though unpolished in many ways, he knew about fine restaurants and bought her expensive gifts, and before she knew it, he’d asked her to marry him. The courtship had been too short, Donna realized now.

      The buzzer sounded on the microwave, and Donna opened the door and carried the plate to the table. Carl didn’t look up. He grabbed the fork and speared a hunk of beef.

      “Get me a beer,” he said between chews.

      Donna opened her mouth to tell him he shouldn’t drink so much. Then she closed it. One of her Christian friends had told her how much better her life had become since she and her husband had accepted Jesus, and Donna longed to share that with Carl. If he stopped drinking and developed a personal relationship with the Lord, maybe he’d stop pushing her around.

      Knowing today wasn’t the day to make the suggestion, Donna retrieved the beer, snapped open the lid and set it beside his plate. She pulled out a chair and joined him, hoping he’d ask about Connie.

      For a father, Carl showed little interest in his daughter. And that wasn’t all that bothered Donna. She could handle being pushed around, but sometimes he got rough with Connie. Nothing terrible, but just too threatening, and Donna felt fear each time she thought about what he could do to a six-year-old.

      Carl finally lifted his head and focused on her. His eyes narrowed. “What’s bugging you?”

      “Nothing. I just thought we’d talk.”

      “About what?”

      “Anything, Carl. Talk like most husbands and wives do. Tell me about your day.”

      He snorted and dug into another piece of meat. “You want money, I suppose?”

      She did. She wanted lots of money. Then she could take Connie and go far away where no one could find them. “No. That’s not what I was thinking, but it would help if I had a little pocket money.”

      “I earn the money, and I pay the bills,” Carl said. “If you need some cash, ask me. Don’t I give you enough for groceries.”

      Donna knew she was on dangerous ground. “Yes, but if I need clothes or—”

      “Why do you need clothes? You don’t go anywhere.”

      That wasn’t what she wanted. “A credit card would be nice.” She held her breath.

      Carl’s hate-filled eyes sought hers. “You women are all alike—money-grubbing, unappreciative wenches. You and my mother. She drove my father to drink, and then he’d take it out on…”

      The determined set of his jaw warned Donna she was in trouble. His hand snapped out, but she ducked back and he missed her.

      “I don’t need anything, Carl.” Her voice pierced the air, and she feared Connie could hear them. “I—I just wish you’d come home earlier so you could spend time with Connie. She hardly knows you anymore.”

      “That’s your job. Why do you think I married you?”

      His caustic remark felt like a punch in her belly, and Donna drew back. “I thought you loved me,” she said, now realizing her belief was a fairy tale.

      “You thought wrong,” he spat. “You’re the housekeeper and baby-sitter. I don’t even want to look at you.”

      She calculated he wasn’t drunk tonight, just spiteful and he hadn’t hit her. Now seemed her best chance of having her curiosity answered about what she’d seen in the basement. “I found a paper in the basement today.”

      His head shot upward. “What kind of paper?”

      “A restraining order—a permanent order to keep you from going near Connie and her mother. What was that about? I thought you and—”

      His fist smashed down on the table, lifting the plate from the surface and sending his butter knife clattering to the floor. He snatched it up and pointed it at her.

      “Carl, I’m just confused. You said you were a widower, but if you and she weren’t together, then why do you have custody now?”

      He leaned across the table and poked the knife at her chest. “Are you stupid? Her mother’s dead—and that’s where you’re going to be if you don’t quit snooping. Why were you in the basement? Stay out of there.”

      “I’m sorry. I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for my stuff, and I have to go there to do the laundry.” The look in his eye frightened her. “I suppose the question was stupid. Where else would Connie go but with her father?”

      “Connie can go to her grave with you for all I care. You’re both a weight around my neck. Women are worthless.”

      He eased the knife away from her chest, and Donna caught her breath. Another question about his name nudged her, but she wouldn’t ask, not if

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