âRick, would you be able to talk
to my son?â Cassie asked.
âEver since his dad died, heâs been struggling. I canât seem to reach him. But you might.â
Rickâs heart swelled with compassion for this motherâs hurting heart.
âPlease?â she whispered.
âI donât know that it will make any difference, Cassie, but I promise Iâll do whatever I can to help Noah,â Rick said. âThe offer is open to you, too, if you want.â
She shut downâthere was no other way to express it. âThank you, but I donât talk about the past. I appreciate whatever you can do for Noah though.â
It was a warning. Back off. And yet Rick knew he was going to have a hard time doing that. Her husbandâs death had affected her whether she admitted it or not.
Donât get involved, his brain chided again.
Sheâs hurting, his soul answered. Am I not here to help others? How else can I make amends for my past?
He lifted his head and found a pair of beautiful brown eyes watching him.
Staying focused on his goal definitely wasnât going to be easy.
Chapter One
âMy dadâs d-dead.â
Rick Salinger ignored the December snowscape outside to study the face of the stuttering boy slouched on the train seat next to him. Theyâd been talking for the past half hour.
His heart ached for both Noah and his father, but at the moment he felt most saddened by the knowledge that Noahâs father would never get to see his son grow and change. That sadness came from the knowledge that Rick would never get to see a son grow and change, either. He would never have a family. Because he didnât deserve one.
âMy d-dad stole f-from our ch-church.â Noah rubbed one eye then put his glasses back in place. âTh-then he k-killed himself. M-mom said he was t-too a-ashamed to t-tell us.â
Rick wanted to hug the kid, but Noahâs rigid expression said he wouldnât tolerate that.
âMy f-father died r-running away. And now thatâs wh-what weâre d-doing, too.â
âRunning away?â Rick stared at him, surprised by the disgust in the boyâs voice.
âMy m-mom calls it s-starting over,â Noah muttered.
âThatâs way different than running away.â Rick frowned when the boy shrugged. He tried a different approach. âYou and your mom must miss your dad, Noah.â
âM-my mom m-maybe. She c-cries when she th-thinks I c-canât hear her, but I d-donât cry for him.â Noahâs fingers tightened around his iPod.
âIâm really sorry,â Rick told him sincerely. He suppressed a groan. What an inane remark. âThatâs not much help, is it? But you can pray about it.â
âI donât p-pray,â Noah said, an edge tingeing his voice. âN-not anymore.â
âThatâs too bad because God hears the prayers of His kids,â Rick said softly.
âMaybe He h-hears but He d-doesnât answer.â Noah turned his head away.
âGod always answers, Noah.â A yearning to help this angry, fatherless boy swelled deep inside Rick. âYou know, a lot of us make mistakes that we wish we could undo. But that doesnât mean God doesnât hear our prayers.â
âThen wh-why doesnât He m-make things d-different?â Noah demanded.
Rick had asked himself that same question a thousand times, mostly whenever he was reminded of his last days as a stockbroker, right after heâd made that last, greedy, too-speculative gamble and lost his clientsâ money. Seniors, single parents, a fund to help the needyâtheyâd all put their trust in wonder broker Rick Salinger. And because he was so desperate to prove he was better than the no-account street kid heâd been, heâd skipped the due diligence and invested in a scheme that cost them everything.