Mended Hearts by Ruth Logan Herne Page A

you’d like to try a couple for me, I’d value your opinion, sir.”
    Mixed emotions crossed his face, a hint of hope and pleasure marked with surprise. “Like, free?”
    Hannah’s laugh drew the woman’s attention. “Absolutely free. The only way we find out what works for people is a good old-fashioned taste test, so you’re my current guinea pig.”
    He smiled as he reached forward. Her banter had eased the hopeless expression she thought she’d seen. “I’ll try this and this.”
    â€œPerfect.” She nodded his way, then offered the tray to the woman. “How about you? Can you be tempted as easily as your son?”
    â€œStepson,” the woman corrected too quickly.
    Hannah felt the swift bite that took the wind out of the young man’s sails. She wanted to give the woman a piece of her mind, but that would only make matters worse. The boy kept his gaze trained on the candy, but Hannah could read the set of his shoulders that said he couldn’t wait to be old enough to be out of his current situation.
    Holding the plate out, Hannah wrestled the Holy Spirit’s attention with an SOS. Cover him, Lord, soften him, shelter him, guide him, give him Your grace, Your courage, Your temperance, Your strength. Take this boy by the hand and the heart and carry him through whatever darkens his path.
    The boy shrugged and sent a sheepish look Hannah’s way as he headed for the door. “I’ll tell you which ones I like next time I come in.”
    Hannah nodded with appreciation. “Thank you…?” She ended the sentence on an up note, wanting his name.
    He stepped outside and the door swung quietly shut behind him.
    The woman sighed, tired, bored, rude. Hannah longed to smack her, but reminded herself she needed to cut the woman some slack, although right now that was the last thing she wanted to do.
    â€œMy husband tolerates far too much. If it were up to me he’d be doing more manual labor to teach him a lesson or two.”
    Hannah fought off a sharp retort, knowing it wasn’t her place. Her heart went out to the boy. “Oh, he seems all right. Fairly normal for a young teen. What’s his name?”
    â€œDominic.”
    â€œNice. Strong.”
    â€œIt’s his father’s name, handed down like some sort of crown. Ridiculous, really. Can you pack me a pound of mixed caramels, too?” she asked, pointing down the display case. “I’m hosting a dinner tomorrow night and chewy caramels might quiet some of the more annoying wives.”
    Hannah bit back words and nodded, filling the box quietly, not daring to speak.
    The woman made a show of surprise at the final tally, handed over a debit card with obvious reluctance, then left the store in her designer shoes, her attitude a cartoon depiction of the fairy-tale stepmother.
    Except this was real life and Dominic was on the receiving end of that harsh attitude.
    Help him, God. Guide him. Soften the days, gentle his nights. Don’t leave him alone, please.
    Another customer walked in, followed by another. The late September day highlighted autumn’s dance of color, summer’s verdant green becoming fall’s rainbowed majesty.
    Hannah used to welcome fall, embracing the seasonal changes, the excitement of a new school year, ripe with opportunity. New classes, different students, fresh opportunities. Now she confronted the capricious season, willing herself through the beauty by way of prayer and self-therapy methods her psychologist taught her.
    Day by day.
    Seeing this boy’s sorrow and angst, hearing the disdain in the stepmother’s voice and seeing the kaleidoscope of color in the trees beyond the east-facing stores on Main Street drummed up a lot of memories.
    But she disengaged herself from each twinge, taking care of customers and praying for strength, wishing for equilibrium, wanting more than anything else to move the clock back five