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serving as a high-ranking social secretary. She received her customary call from Robert Warner, the executive director of the foundation, in whose hands true power rested. The call was filled with pleasant words regarding what she should be doing that day, what the next day’s meeting would discuss and any small tidbits that Bob chose to pass on. There was, in fact, little substance to the conversation. But it had been that way for months. Why should Deanna be frustrated by it now?
    She wrote ten more letters to add to the growing stack, kept up with other personal correspondence to one friend or another of Larry’s who had dropped her a note, then made several phone calls on minor foundation business. She picked up the novel she’d bought the day before and read for an hour before dinner, then for several more after dinner, before bathing and retiring to begin again the next morning.
    But this would be Thursday. Tuesdays and Thursdays held a special place in her heart. Though the afternoons were spent at the Hunt International offices several blocks away, the mornings were her own. Few people knew that she spent them in the pediatrics ward of the Atlanta General Hospital, talking with, reading to or sometimes simply holding those children whose parents could not be
there. It filled a special need of hers and she would have given up almost any other activity before she gave up this one. There was an added lightness to her step when she entered the hotel dining room Thursday morning and took her regular table.
    â€œGood Morning, Mrs. Hunt.” Frank welcomed her with a half bow and a smile. “How are you today?”
    â€œJust fine, Frank.” Deanna cocked her head in the direction from which she’d just come. “Was that a slice of honeydew I just passed?”
    The waiter grinned. “It was.”
    â€œMay I have one? And an order of cinnamon toast, please?”
    â€œWith honey?”
    â€œWithout honey.” She cast him a humorous look that recalled the previous day’s chiding and enough was said Frank moved off, clearing the way for her to see to the far corner near the window. Instantly her senses came alive. He was there again, that tall, auburn-haired man, looking at her with that same profound expression that took her breath away. It hadn’t occurred to her that he’d return—she hadn’t allowed herself to think it. Yet there he was! Was he a guest at the hotel?
    Fascinated by the unspoken depths of the stranger’s gaze, Deanna couldn’t look away. His presence tugged at her, evoking sensations of silent communication she’d never experienced before. His eyes said “Good morning” and hinted at a smile when hers returned the greeting. “Who are you?” he asked wordlessly, and “Where are you headed?”
    â€œHere you are, Mrs. Hunt” A gleaming china plate bearing a generous wedge of succulent green melon was slid into place before her. Startled, Deanna snapped her attention back.
    â€œOh! Thank you, Frank,” she murmured, then
breathed deeply to steady her pulse as she watched the waiter carefully set down a plate of toast with its heat-saving silver dome.
    Who was that man? Deanna opened her mouth to ask Frank, but shut it just as quickly and let the waiter leave without another word. Only then did she scold herself for her foolishness. If Frank hadn’t known the stranger’s name he could easily have discovered it. Deanna often made similar requests when she couldn’t find the name to fit a face she recognized.
    But this was different. He was different. Hadn’t she known it from the start? Though Deanna willed herself not to look up again, his face was indelibly etched in her mind. It was a strong yet gentle face, sun-touched and manly. Today his suit was of a lighter shade, a misty gray that emphasized the dark thickness of his hair and the even darker, deeper awareness in his eyes. Today the