Touched by Angels Page 0,82

his hand across the counter.

Her father hesitated before peeling off the protective plastic glove from his fingers and exchanging handshakes.

"This is my daughter, Hannah."

"Actually, I've met Hannah before," Joshua said, his gaze resting on her.

Hannah tensed, afraid Joshua had completely lost his patience with her and was about to reveal the truth.

"She's delivered lunches to my office a number of times. Hannah's a wonderful young woman."

"Thank you. Naturally her mother and I share your opinion." Her father placed his arm affectionately around her shoulder. "Where's your office?"

Joshua told him.

"So you're an attorney."

Hannah noticed that her father's voice had gone a shade cooler and wondered if Joshua had sensed the difference himself.

"I was recently made a partner in the firm," Joshua explained proudly.

"Congratulations."

"I'm rather pleased myself." Joshua's gaze returned to Hannah.

It must have been the warm way in which he regarded her that prompted her father to continue the conversation.

Generally he didn't spend a lot of time chatting with customers.

"We have reason to celebrate as well," he said, gently squeezing Hannah's shoulder. "Our daughter was recently engaged."

Joshua's smile dimmed somewhat. "Then congratulations are in order."

"Thank you," she said without emotion.

"My wife and I feel truly blessed to have our daughter. She's our greatest joy."

"Dad, please, I'm sure Mr. Shadduck doesn't want to hear all this."

"Nonsense. You do my heart proud. The world is a better place because of you."

Hannah was embarrassed, and she was certain Joshua found all this amusing.

"She's a lovely girl," Joshua told her father.

"She'll make a beautiful bride, don't you agree?"

"Oh yes," Joshua was quick to concur.

"I'm sure my wife and I will be sending out wedding invitations to a select few of our most valued customers. Now that the date's been set we can start making up the guest list."

Joshua said nothing, but his eyes narrowed fractionally.

"Daddy, I don't think - "

"The wedding date for your daughter has been set?" Joshua interrupted.

"Yes, we decided that only last night, isn't that right, sweetheart?"

Hannah nodded miserably.

"June sixteenth," her father informed him.

Joshua's gaze didn't leave hers. "Congratulations, Hannah," he said. "I'm sure you and your young man will be very happy." Having said that, he turned and walked out the door.

Chapter Fifteen

Trey didn't dislike New York. If anything, he was pleasantly surprised. He'd expected it to be the concrete jungle he'd read about, with treeless, crime-ridden streets. He was confident there was plenty of crime, but he hadn't seen any. And even in the heart of Manhattan he'd noticed an abundance of trees.

If he had any complaints, it was the noise. He wondered how a man was supposed to sleep through all that racket. The traffic outside his hotel never ceased - horns honking, brakes screeching. And he was bombarded by an array of sounds he could never hope to identify; he heard them all, even twenty stories up in his hotel room.

The city had its own clamor, nothing like the sounds in the country: the cry of a lone wolf, the hoot of an owl as it flew with the moonlight bouncing off its wing . . . Trey imagined that given the opportunity, he'd become accustomed to city noises. But there was a snowball's chance in hell of his ever living in New York City. No, he was a country boy, and like John Denver, he thanked God for that. Too much more of life here and he'd have men with nets chasing him through Central Park.

An early riser by nature, Trey was up and out the door just after dawn, heading for the hole-in-the-wall doughnut shop across the street from the hotel. The hotel served a decent cup of coffee, but there was no way he was going to pay a buck fifty for a two-bit cup of coffee. The doughnut shop was more to his liking, although he couldn't say that anyone had been all that friendly. He'd been coming in for coffee and a doughnut every morning since he'd arrived, and no one had said much of anything to him.

The same people were there every morning, too. Some businessman who drank his coffee and shared his company with the financial section of the newspaper. A lady who came in wearing tennis shoes and walked out in high heels.

Trey sat at the counter, sipping his coffee and watching the short-order cook, a rotund fellow with a prickly disposition, fry an order of hash browns. A waitress who looked to be in her forties bustled around refilling coffee.

Actually, Trey realized, he wasn't in the mood for