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  The Great Expectation © 2003 by Ginny Aiken

  Mattie Meets Her Match © 2003 by Kristin Billerbeck

  Harmonized Hearts © 2003 by Lynn A. Coleman

  Spring in Paris © 2000 by Peggy Darty

  The Garden Plot © 1999 by Barbour Publishing, Inc.

  Mix and Match © 2003 by Bev Huston

  Name That Tune © 2003 by Yvonne Lehman

  Sudden Showers © 2000 by Gail Sattler

  Test of Time © 2000 by Pamela Kaye Tracy

  Print ISBN 978-1-63058-711-6

  eBook Editions:

  Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-63409-411-5

  Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-63409-412-2

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.

  Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

  Published by Barbour Books, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683, www.barbourbooks.com

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  Printed in Canada.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  The Great Expectation

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Mattie Meets Her Match

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Harmonized Hearts

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Spring in Paris

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  The Garden Plot

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Epilogue

  Mix and Match

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Name That Tune

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Sudden Showers

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Test of Time

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Epilogue

  THE GREAT EXPECTATION

  by Ginny Aiken

  Dedication

  To the best support system:

  Elizabeth, Karl, and Natalie, critiquers extraordinaire;

  Ivan and Shiloh, Greg, Geoff, and Grant, the best kids in the universe;

  Goldie and Buffy, my creative canine contributors; and as always, to George, who didn’t realize that first computer was a Pandora’s box in disguise.

  They sing to the music of tambourine and harp; they make merry to the sound of the flute.

  JOB 21:12

  Chapter 1

  Present-day—Miami, Florida

  Honestly, Rissa,” Ty said with a grunt. “Are you packing rocks in Bertha the Beast?”

  Marissa Ortíz glanced at her fellow musician. “Quit griping, Tyrone Carver. We’re a string quartet, and I play a bass. Bertha’s no heavier today than she was yesterday.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Ty countered, as his six-foot frame handily maneuvered the unwieldy instrument. “You have me to haul the Beast around.”

  Rissa gave her best friend—well, one of her three best friends—a knowing look. “Want to trade jobs? I can give you the schedule roster anytime, anywhere.”

  Fear widened Ty’s hazel eyes. “Don’t you dare. You know how much time it’s taking me to compose—”

  “Don’t try to pull that one on me. I know what your secret project means to you and how much time you’ve committed to it, but the truth is, you just can’t be bothered with schedules, keeping track of dates, times, or locations. As long as you lock info in your head, you’re fine, but where would that leave the rest of us?”

  Clattering footsteps prevented Ty’s response. “In the dark,” chirped Eva Alono, hugging her violin case. “We’d never know where or when we were expected to perform.”

  The lights in the dim Sunday school classroom suddenly went on. “The Lord did say, ‘Let there be light.’” Viola player Tristan Reuben acknowledged the others’ groans with a profound bow, then turned to Rissa. “Is this lug complaining about dear Bertha again?”

  Rissa arched a brow.

  As the others laughed, she winked and grinned. “I still love him—even though he’s a nut bar.”

  Eva chuckled. “You should know. Me? I just want to know where you pack your candy calories—you’re wispier than fog.”

  With another wink, Rissa tossed her hair over her shoulder and struck a dramatic pose. “I’m blessed.”

  As she said the words, she wondered if she would ever feel that blessing deep inside her heart. She recognized the gifts the Lord had given her, and she’d developed them so she could use them to His glory, but was she truly blessed?

  She thought of her family, her world-renowned harpist mother and late grandmother, her Nobel Prize nominee physicist father. A father who hid in his office at East Central University of Florida and a mother whose physical disabilities and uncertain mental state kept her, if not hidden, then certainly unavailable.

  Pushing back the imminent self-pity as she always did, Rissa reminded herself that God loved her, that she and her fellow quartet members made up a loving family since they’d met in college, and that she’d recently found herself the perfect companion.

  Soraya.

  What joy the lovely Afghan hound brought her each and every day, how loyal she was, how unconditional her love. The dog’s innate goodness made Rissa’s decision about pet care during the quartet’s upcoming twenty-one-day South American tour even tougher.

  “Earth to Rissa,” Ty called. “Is there intelligent life under those beautiful curls?”

  She ducked away from his approaching hand and strove for a scrap of dignity. “Enough, already. The Altamon
te wedding’s this Saturday, and today’s my only chance to rehearse—I’m giving ten hours of back-to-back lessons over the next three days. Let’s get to work.”

  Eva’s perusal intensified. “What’s wrong?”

  A rueful smile curved Rissa’s lips. “I can’t hide anything from you, can I?”

  Hurt flickered in and out of Eva’s eyes. “Do you really want to?”

  “No, Silly,” Rissa said, patting her friend’s shoulder. “It’s just that—well, it’s kind of dumb for me to worry, but …”

  “Okay, kid,” Ty ordered, “tell Big Brother what’s wrong. And don’t give us any more of that ‘it’s dumb’ stuff. I’ve been wondering what put the flagpole in your spine and the tight smile on your mouth.”

  Rissa gusted a sigh, then grabbed her nearly waist-length hair, twisted it, and drew it into a knot at the base of her neck. “I can’t believe you guys. The FBI could use you—”

  “Quit stalling,” Tristan said, concern on his face.

  “That’s right, Ris,” Eva concurred. “You don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders. We’re here—you know, ‘A friend loves at all times, and a brother’—or a sister—’is born for adversity,’ “she quoted from Proverbs 17:17.

  “Okay, okay.” Taking a deep breath, Rissa forced her shoulders to relax. “You guys are right. I am stressing about this next tour. Mom … well, she’s not doing well these days. Her pain meds are failing her, and you guys know what that does to her state of mind. And Dad …”

  A murmur of sympathy rippled through the friends. Rissa held up her hand to ward off further pity. “That’s just part of it. You guys remember Soraya’s breeder, right?”

  All three nodded. “Mrs. Gooden decided to retire a few months ago and sold her entire operation. That wouldn’t have been half bad, but you guys won’t believe who she sold to.”

  Expectant silence followed.

  “Well?” Ty asked. “Who has enough cash to buy all that property and those luxe kennels?”

  Rissa worried her lower lip, shook her head, and finally shrugged. “None other than the infamous, unethical, and slimy Jason Easton, attorney-at-law.”

  Eva frowned. “The shark? The one from that millionaires’ firm? What’s he doing with pampered pooches?”

  “You know as much as I do,” Rissa said, “but not as much as I intend to learn.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Tristan. “The guy doesn’t stand a chance. The hypermeticulous Marissa Ortíz is on the case. She’ll sniff out even the most minute vestige of slime, clean it up, and have the place running by the book in less time than it takes to sneeze.”

  “Hey!” Rissa jabbed her pal on his solid shoulder. “If I weren’t careful, we’d never make any of our bookings. You guys don’t pay much attention to details.”

  “Yep,” he countered, “none of us is particularly neurotic about minutes, dates, and stuff like that. That’s why we love you so much.”

  “That’s beside the point,” Ty said. “I want to know what Rissa’s planning in that overzealous little mind of hers.”

  “I’m just checking it out,” she said with a nonchalance she didn’t feel. “I know how Mrs. Gooden ran the place, and if anything’s not as it should be, I’ll make sure the ASPCA and the police learn all about it. Less than one minute after I do.”

  “How’ll you know if he’s really running a decent show or not?” Tristan asked.

  “That’s why I’m going there,” she said. “I bet he’s the kind of absentee owner who buys an operation as a tax write-off, hires out the dirty work for peanuts, and then rakes in as much as clients will shell out. After all, he’s the one who got that … that Elliott-what’s-his-face—the SEC crook—off a year ago.”

  She thought back to the splashy trial of the man who’d cooked the books at a snooty investment firm. “Southwycke!” she exclaimed. “Elliott Southwycke, who’s now living in a mansion in the Bahamas. Jason Easton’s the one who got him off on some shady loophole or technicality or some other slimy lawyer thing.”

  Ty gave her a narrow-eyed stare. “So you’re going out there loaded for bear.”

  “Yes, and that’s why we have to finish the gabfest. The Altamontes are paying us a nice chunk of change to waft their daughter up to the altar and then triumphantly march her down the aisle a high-society matron.” She rummaged through her black leather portfolio and withdrew a well-thumbed Vivaldi score. “Thankfully, they chose ‘Spring’ for the processional, Pachelbel’s ‘Canon’ as background, ‘Amazing Grace’ for communion and the lighting of the unity candle, and finally, ‘Lohengrin’ for the recessional. We know all that and only need a run-through. Once we do the sound check in the sanctuary, we’re done.”

  They then plied their craft, the art that soothed and brought them joy and comfort in times of turmoil. Rissa reveled in the sparkling notes of “Spring,” put her whole heart into praising the Father with her music, and thanked Him for this, the one blessing she had no trouble identifying.

  If only she could as easily identify anything questionable in the kennel at the mercy of the shady man now at its helm …

  Two hours later, Rissa turned her geriatric yet still strong European station wagon into the palm-lined drive of SilkWood Kennels. The place looked no different than it had four months ago when she’d retrieved Soraya after the quartet’s last trip. Then again, looks could be, and often were, deceiving.

  As she pulled up to the yellow-stucco office building, however, dismay swam in her stomach. She counted three teens—one walking a gorgeous brindle Affie on a leash, while another danced to the rhythm in his earphones as he hosed the chain-link-fenced run closest to the parking lot. The last one stood not ten feet from the faded gold hood of her car, a quizzical look on his face.

  “D’you bring it?” he asked as Rissa opened her door. “I thought it’d been sent overnight.”

  She stood. “Bring what?”

  “You know. The …” He blushed under his deep Florida tan. “The … stuff.“

  Oh, no. Matters were worse than she had imagined. Drug dealing was the order of the day. Well. Not only had SilkWood lost a regular customer, but they’d also gained themselves an imminent visit from the authorities—as soon as she called them.

  Hoping to extract more incriminating info from the shaggy-haired kid, she played along. “No. Was I supposed to?”

  Overlong wiry arms swung upward. “I don’t know. All’s I know is that Jase’s all bent out of shape about the delay, and you don’t even have—” Again, his flushed golden-olive skin highlighted his chiseled features. “You don’t have the stuff with you.”

  In the interest of gaining the unsuspecting canary’s confidence and subsequently getting him to sing, she went for the basics. “So. What’s your name?”

  He narrowed dark, lushly lashed eyes. “Why?”

  She strove for nonchalance. “Just being polite.”

  Evidently she hid her ulterior motives well. “I’m Paul,” he said. “Who’re you?”

  In the further interest of her budding investigation, she opted for veracity and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Paul. I’m Marissa. Are you new around here?”

  “Yeah. Jase needs help, and I would do just about anything for him.”

  No doubt. Most addicts were under their dealers’ total control. Poor child. She wondered how she might help him leave his destructive lifestyle. “You must know and love dogs a great deal.”

  Paul gave her a wry grin. “Nope. Never had one, but I sure am learning fast.”

  Inexperienced and ignorant, to boot. Poor dogs. “Afghans are wonderful, aren’t they?”

  “At least they’re not rat-sized yapping dust bunnies.”

  Rissa laughed at his patent disgust. Loud rumbling on the gravel drive then caught their attention. A parcel delivery truck stopped behind her station wagon and a sandy-haired man leaped out, holding a package embellished with FRAGILE stickers.

  Paul grinned. “Finally.”

  “Ar
e you the new owner?” the driver asked Rissa, staring at her as though she’d oozed out from some disgusting mire.

  She read his name tag. “No, Sean. I’ve been a kennel customer for some years now, and I came today to meet the shys—Mr. Easton.”

  Sean studied her, then reached into the truck’s cab for a clipboard. “If you’re not the owner, then who’s signing for this?”

  Paul stepped forward. “They gave you the … stuff? Freeze-dried and all?”

  Sean shrugged. Then the teen’s words seemed to register. “Freeze-dried?”

  Paul blushed even more. “They’d have to, otherwise it wouldn’t be any good by the time it got here.”

  Marissa frowned. What kind of drug were they dealing? She’d never heard of any that required freeze-drying. Before she thought of a clever way to ask, Sean glared at the box.

  “If I’d known what it was,” he grumbled, “I might have … oh, dropped it—accidentally, of course.”

  Huh?

  Paul reached for the unprepossessing box. “Gimme that. If Jase heard what you just said, he’d call and report you.”

  “Some of us have principles.”

  Paul rolled his eyes. “Shoulda known you’re one of them.“

  “And proud of it. What you guys do here is unethical.”

  “You’re nuts.”

  Rissa’s gaze ping-ponged between the two. What was going on?

  “Really?” asked Sean. “I bet this is twenty- maybe thirty-year-old sperm—”

  Her eyes popped wide open.

  “And I bet the donor was the bitch’s late great-great-granddaddy,” Sean added. “Inbreeding leads to nasty mutations. Besides, aren’t there enough dogs around already? Why do you guys have to make more?”

  Relief left Rissa lightheaded. “You mean … that’s just a specimen for breeding?”

  Both turned and glared.

  “What’d you think it was, lady?” Paul asked in disgust. “I sure haven’t spent the last three hours out here to work on my tan. Jase runs a breeding kennel, you know.”

  She waved a hand before her face, needing every drop of humid Florida air she could dredge up. She shrugged. And waved some more.

  Finally, when she found the starch to firm her voice, she said, “If it’s so important, then sign and take it to Mr. Easton. I’ll go with you, since I did come all the way out here to meet him.”