Free Second Time Around by Nancy Moser

thinking about Holly?”
    Bingo.
    She sat up. “Do you regret not taking the chance Wriggens gave you? I know your reason was Andrew—and a fine reason he is, but—”
    “No, no.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    He laughed. “Would you please stop being so insightful, intuitive, in—”
    “Incapable of accepting bunkum as the truth?” She traced his left eyebrow with a finger. “It’s okay to be human. And it doesn’t hurt me one bit to know you’d like to go back and stop your wife from being murdered. You loved her deeply. That’s a good thing. I’m not threatened by that love. I’m inspired by it.”
    “I can’t imagine you being threatened by anything.”
    She stopped tracing and looked to the ceiling. “Hmm. You’re probably right about that.”
    “I am in awe of your confidence.”
    She faced forward, putting her feet next to his on the coffee table. “Don’t be. I’m too arrogant and egotistical to be threatened by anything. But if I were truly a nice, wise older woman, well then… I suppose I could offer you a list of fears and foibles.”
    He squeezed her shoulders. “You are a nice woman, often wise, and I’ve told you our age difference means nothing to me.”
    “I have aged well.”
    It was an understatement. No one would ever guess Cheryl was in her late forties. As Mac got older himself, he’d come to realize how little age meant. It was a state of mind. And Cheryl’s mind put most twenty-year-olds to shame.
    He continued his compliments, meaning every word. “You’re a wonderful woman. An amazing woman. An astounding woman.”
    She reclaimed her spot, snuggling against his chest. “You spoil me.”
    “It’s my joy.”
    They breathed in unison a few minutes. Then she said, “I really should be going. In fact I’m leaving right now.” She did not move.
    He smiled against her hair and held her tighter.
    “Oh, Mac,” she whispered. “I’m having a tough time leaving.” She kissed a button on his shirt. “I wish I could stay.”
    Oh yes. He wanted her to. “I’d like nothing better.”
    “See?”
    “We’ve talked about this, Cheryl. We both want to do this right. What God is bringing together—”
    She slapped his chest and sat up. “Let no hormonal people put asunder. I know. I know. I hope He appreciates our sacrifice.”
    Mac stroked her hair behind her ear. “He does. And He’ll bless it when the time comes.” He caught himself. “I mean if the time—”
    She wagged a finger at him. “Uh-uh, Alexander MacMillan. You said when. Is that a proposal?”
    It was. In a way.
    “I’m waiting.”
    He kissed her cheek. “When it’s a proposal, you’ll know it’s a proposal.”
    “Promise?”
    “There will be no question.”

FIVE
With man this is impossible, but not with God;
all things are possible with God.
Mark 10:27
    Kansas City
    Alexander MacMillan stepped into the limo, his cell phone to his ear. Dealing with Chief Administrator Wriggens was arguably the hardest part of his job. The man needed constant reassurance—and monitoring.
    The driver closed the door and Mac settled in for the ride that would collect the winners for their final press conference. Earlier today he’d picked them up from the airport—David Stancowsky flying in from Bangor, Vanessa Caldwell flying in from Atlanta, and Lane Holloway flying in from Malibu. All were safely ensconced in the Regency Crown Center, a lovely hotel that went out of its way to cater to these Time Lottery elite.
    The limo pulled into traffic. A light snow was falling. “Things are progressing, John,” he said into the phone. “So far, so good.”
    “You call this good?” Wriggens said. “Last week, when the press initially pounced on the winners, I had high hopes for some extraordinary publicity, not just exterior shots of their homes or the incessant third-person rehash of their past accomplishments—or lack thereof. I wanted interviews with them, not segments of This Is Your Life or insipid