An Unlikely Match. Arlene James
“God can heal a broken heart, you know,” Ellie told Asher gently.
“Yes, of course, but—”
“But you must allow Him to do it. You must be willing. Because He surely has some lucky woman picked out for you.”
Asher lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
Ellie nodded. “She’ll admire all your sterling qualities.”
“What exactly is a sterling quality?”
“Well, in your case, confidence, kindness, intelligence. Plus, you obviously value family. And, of course, you’re handsome.”
“Handsome,” he repeated.
Then she ducked her head and confessed, “You have gorgeous eyes.”
His world tilted, leaving him clinging to the very edge of reason. What on earth was going on? He couldn’t be attracted to Ellie Monroe. She was too impulsive, too talkative, too…everything!
Especially too pretty.
From now on, he would be on his guard—stern, disciplined, wise—just as a man in his position ought to be.
But something told him that being on his guard might not be enough to combat the charms of Ellie Monroe.
ARLENE JAMES
says, “Camp meetings, mission work and church attendance permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He has blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic it still feels like courtship!”
The author of more than seventy novels, Arlene James now resides outside Dallas, Texas, with her beloved husband. Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade. She loves to hear from readers, and can be reached via her website at www.arlenejames.com.
An Unlikely Match
Arlene James
You have granted him the desire of his heart and have not withheld the request of his lips.
—Psalms 21:2
For Faith Itai Manase, adventuress, world traveler, nurse, friend, daughter of my heart.
I am so proud of you!
Love always,
DAR
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Letter to Reader
Questions for Discussion
Chapter One
Attorney Asher Chatam recognized a summons when he received one, though he could not imagine what legal advice his aunties needed so urgently that it would require his immediate presence. He shrugged out of his camel hair overcoat and surveyed the front parlor of Chatam House, the antebellum mansion where Chatams had resided for generations, including his maiden aunts, triplets in their seventies who had lived in the great house for their entire lives.
As always, Odelia first captured the eye. Wearing royal blue, she had anchored a crown of matching feathers in her fluffy white hair. Speckled, light blue beads the size of robin’s eggs dangled by golden chains from her earlobes, completing the theme of her costume. Hypatia, her sister’s polar opposite, in expensive bronze silk and a neat silver chignon, placed her delicate Limoges teacup on its matching saucer and graced him with a smile from her customary wingback chair. Meanwhile, Magnolia—known to her many nieces and nephews as Aunt Mags—garbed in her usual frumpy cardigan and shirtwaist dress, her iron-gray braid hanging over one shoulder, beamed her frank enjoyment of his surprise at the room’s occupants.
Kent Monroe, a pharmacist well past the usual age of retirement, was Odelia’s erstwhile fiancé from at least half a century ago. A barrel chest had long since given way to a serious paunch, now bisected by gray suspenders and shielded with a pale blue shirt, topped with a jaunty red bow tie that sat atop his jugular like a strangled cherry crowning a generous scoop of blueberry ice cream. After his failed romance with Odelia, it was generally assumed that Kent Monroe would forever keep a cordial, mannerly distance. And he most likely would have, in the normal course of events. But the normal course of events had been greatly altered.
Asher narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his baby sister. At twenty-three, a full fifteen years his junior, Dallas was as impulsive as her short, frothy hair was red. An inveterate romantic, she had sighed over Odelia’s failed engagement since girlhood, even going so far as to strike up a friendship with Ellen Monroe, Kent’s granddaughter.
“Dallas, I’m surprised to see you here.” If he had been called in on a legal matter, then why was his baby sister here?
“It’s Chatam House, Ash,” she retorted. “They’re my aunts, too.”
“Of course we are, dear,” Magnolia cooed in a placating fashion.
“And Ellie’s my best friend,” Dallas went on in a tone that a five-year-old would have punctuated by sticking out her tongue.
Ellie was the greatest surprise of all. Granted, he had last seen her on graduation day some two or three years earlier, but the pudgy, dark-haired baby doll of his memory had morphed into an astonishing beauty in that relatively short period of time. Next to his coltish sister, in her black jeans and white, long-sleeve T-shirt, Ellie looked lush in a simple, navy blue sheath belted at the waist. Her chin-length hair curled and waved about her Kewpie doll face and violet eyes. Everything about her, even her smile, seemed luxuriant.
Abruptly aware of the streaks of gray in his own chestnut-brown hair and the subtle lines that creased his forehead, Asher felt suddenly self-conscious. He had previously thought those streaks entirely suitable for a successful attorney approaching forty years of age. He’d noticed the faint wrinkles without concern only days earlier. Now, suddenly, they seemed ominous declarations of the fact that he was aging. His aching knee called attention to itself at that moment, and he very nearly turned and walked out, mentally fabricating excuses for his aunts.
He did no such thing, of course. At thirty-eight, he was still in his prime. Plus, he was a Chatam, after all, as well as a very busy attorney, too busy to pay attention to old aches and pains. His sudden weariness could be attributed to this being Friday, the end of a long week, the third in the too-short, often dreary month of February.
“Asher, dear.”
The sound of his aunt’s voice recalled him to his duty. Dropping his coat over the seat of an armless side chair, he strode forward to leave a kiss against her soft cheek.
“Aunt Hypatia. It’s good to see you. Is there an emergency?”
He could surely be excused for assuming such was the case. Though the aunties were a bit outdated in their mannerisms and sensibilities—Asher’s