Free A Stranger's Wish by Gayle Roper Page A

I’ll get you yet.”
    I grinned. “Not if I can help it.”
    As we ate our lunch, we talked about the morning’s message (he talked; I mostly listened as I hadn’t been able to pay much attention) and after that I shared how much I was enjoying my first weekend at the Zooks’. Then I found myself wanting to know more about what he was doing when not rescuing damsels in distress.
    “What are you teaching?” I asked.
    “A class in practical Christian living and one in night school on pastoral counseling.”
    “And the rest of the time?”
    “I’m opening a counseling center through the church. I like teaching, and it’ll help me until I get established, but my heart’s in counseling.”
    “Like me and painting and teaching.”
    “You’re a painter? I didn’t realize that. That’s great.”
    “You sound like you actually mean it.”
    “Of course I do. Don’t most people?”
    “No. People tend to view it as a hobby at best, or at worst, a waste of time.”
    “Are you good?”
    I looked at him carefully and saw that he really wanted to know.
    “Yes. I think I am. I may never qualify for the American Watercolor Society, but my work is good and constantly getting better. I have some paintings for sale at the Country Shop, and I’m talking with a couple of local galleries about handling some of my work.”
    Clarke nodded as we rose to leave. “It’s too bad it’s so hard to make a living from things like writing and painting, but there’s no money in either unless you’re famous.”
    Suddenly the nebulous wisp of recognition that had been bothering me took form. I stopped in the middle of the aisle and turned to face him.
    “You!” I managed to say before he walked full into me.
    The jolt caused me to lose my balance, and he grabbed me around the waist to keep me from falling. For a split-second we leaned against each other. Then he let go, casual, smiling. He seemed much less affected by our collision than I was.
    “Have you any pressing plans for this afternoon?” he asked before I could say anything.
    “I suppose not.”
    “Want to go for a train ride?”
    “Strasburg Railroad? I’ve never gone, but our kindergarten class goes there every year…are you really Clarke Griffin?”
    “It’s great fun for adults too.” He grinned at me. “Yes.”
    We got in the car and were quiet as Clarke maneuvered onto the road. Then we both spoke at once.
    “They forgot the J .”
    “Do you know my book?”
    We smiled at each other.
    “You first,” he said.
    “They forgot the J on the cover. It just says Clarke Griffin.”
    “So you do have my book,” he said with satisfaction. He tried to be casual. “Do you like it?”
    “Fortunately, I can be completely honest and say yes. Of course, I’m only on page thirty-two.”
    A little boy’s smile when he gets the new red bicycle he wants for his birthday had nothing on Clarke’s. I leaned back and looked at him speculatively.
    “What?” he said.
    “ It’s Up to You is your first book, and it’s recently been released. Am I right?”
    “How did you know?”
    “I recognize the symptoms. You’re afraid to let your pride show for fear people will misinterpret it. You can’t believe you’ve actually written something that people will pay money to read. You’re afraid people won’t like it. And you’re concerned about being able to handle both the criticism and the praise.”
    He looked at me suspiciously. “Don’t tell me you write too.”
    “No. It’s just that I react that way whenever someone buys one of my paintings.”
    We looked at each other with pleased understanding as we pulled into the parking lot at the Strasburg Railroad.
    The railroad runs through the Lancaster County countryside from Strasburg to Paradise. We found seats, and while we waited for the ride to begin, we watched a young family in the seat ahead of us. The two small boys wore engineers’ hats, undoubtedly from the souvenir shop.
    Suddenly the locomotive’s