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organizing as she tried hard to forget the mesmerizing man that had left her home over an hour ago. She concentrated on getting the rest of her things from her vehicle and trying to get organized.
     
                  But the repairs did worry her. After a little while, she calmed down, and almost regretted slamming the door in Hamilton's face. She could tell he was a good contractor, knew his stuff. And he was kind to her. She could tell he was genuinely concerned about the bump on her head. 
     
                  It wasn't the first time her pride had gotten in her way, and probably wouldn't be the last.
     

 
    Chapter 6
     
                 
                  Hamilton Steele drove his pickup truck down Magnolia Lane toward the freeway.  He smiled as he thought of Miranda Colbert.  She was a pistol, and he liked that. Not realizing his little white lie would send her into a tizzy, he decided he'd try to apologize appropriately once she calmed down. He knew the type of apology he'd like to extend to her.
     
                  It was clear she knew houses; he could tell by her comments and questions about the repairs. He should have been more clever in his response to  why he wanted to know if she had a husband.  But he had to reel himself in, somehow, and it was the only thing he could think of. She was a client, and he had to be careful not to cross that line. 
     
                  But she was no ordinary client. There was something about her. He said a silent prayer for God to guide her to him, help him get to know her, see if she were the one he was to have a life with.  He was ready for his wife. Could Miranda be the one?
     
    _______________
     
                  His contracting business was growing by leaps and bounds. He had brought on two subcontractors knew soon he'd need a third.  Hamilton decided he'd keep this service as an integral part of his development business once things took back off.  He liked being in the field again, meeting with people. 
     
                  As he took the third exit off 85-South to Antioch Glen, he smiled as he turned down the pristine road leading to Ms. Elliott's homes. Large houses he'd conceptualized years ago nodded at him as he drove down the crepe-myrtle filled lane.  Ms. Elliott's place was one of the last few smaller dwellings on the block. Her little tin roof stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the towering new developments. There was something special about the little houses though. It did tug at your soul, he admitted to himself. He drove slowly on down the road and pulled into her driveway.
     
                  Maybe today he'd convince her to move into the senior development.  The house was on its last leg and she would not accept anything from anybody for free. She was stubborn, but maybe today she'd listen.
     
                  Hamilton loved his work, but this was a far cry from the days he was used to. Up until almost a year ago, he had grown accustomed to getting up before the sun, sliding in his Benz and driving downtown. The cleaning crew would just be leaving when he'd slip his security card into the slot of the steel door of the tall, glass commercial building. The doorman would greet him as the stainless elevator doors would open and take him to the top floor of Steele Development. He had built the company from the ground up in his twenties, right out of college. And he had almost lost it all in the market.
     
                  After not being able to raise the cash to carry his development firm, under his own steam, until the market recovered, he was stuck. He had to sell off shares at a loss and ditch non-performing assets. After three of his largest lenders called in their notes, he couldn't recover without ditching projects in mid-stride at rock-bottom prices. The banks simply weren't lending, and most of his colleagues were in