“I guess I could use some help,” she said. “I have to clean this place up, and that shed is just the beginning. I want to put a lot of the items from the estate sale out there, on display.”

“Are you hiring an estate-sale manager?”

Her dark eyebrows shot up. “I hadn’t planned on that since this is what I do for a living.” She stopped and stared at the little cup.

“You work as an estate-sale manager?”

“No, but I run a vintage shop in New Orleans and an online shopping site. Vanessa’s Vintage.”

“Then you do know what you’re doing. We’re planning a rummage sale at the church in a few weeks, and one of our members used to be an estate-sale manager. She offered her services free to us. But we could coordinate things with your sale. Maybe hold them on the same day since we’re neighbors.” He stopped, waited a couple of beats. When she didn’t scowl at him, he added, “That is, if you’re okay with that idea.”

She glanced at the church, and then she looked down at the old wheelbarrow. “I don’t know. I hope I’ll be gone in a few weeks.”

“Forget I suggested it,” Rory said. “You have too much on your mind to add a church rummage sale to the mix.”

“It’s okay,” she replied, pushing at her shoulder-length wavy bob. “I don’t know what I’m doing, really. I mean, I know vintage and collectibles, but I’ve never done this before. But I always managed to figure things out on my own.”

He picked up the princess cup. “Well, now you’re not on your own. You have help. Starting with me.”

She stared over at him, her gaze moving from his face to the pile of broken dishes. “And what’s in it for you, Preacher?”

Chapter Four

“What do you mean?”

Rory tried the tactic he used whenever someone asked him a disconcerting question. And prayed it would work on Vanessa.

She gave him a surprised glance, her brow furrowing. “It’s a simple question. You’re offering to help me. You must have a reason.”

“Wow. Does there have to be a reason?” Not sure how to handle this kind of skepticism, he leaned his head down and gave her a smile. “Part of my job is to help others. Part of my nature is to be sincere about it.”

She actually blushed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I’ve had a trying day and I have trust issues.”

He widened the smile. “You think?”

She shook her head and shot him a wry grin. “I guess I should loosen up, right?”

“No. Don’t do anything on my account. This ain’t my first rodeo.”

She laughed at that. “You look too young and carefree to be a preacher.”

He thought of the man who’d obviously hurt her. “Ministers come in all shapes and sizes. And personalities.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

He stuffed the cup inside one of the deep pockets of his baggy work shorts and started picking up the broken dishes in an effort to distract her. “Hey, if you find me a broom and a dustpan, I can get this done a lot quicker. And then I’ll be happy to buy you a cup of coffee or a cold drink.”

“So you can work me over?”

That skeptical imp again, hiding serious pain. “Work you over?”

She started walking backward toward the big shed beyond the open gate to the backyard. “You know, telling me that God loves me and that He can make things better for me?”

“Of course,” Rory said, stooping to pick up the bigger pieces of shattered porcelain. “That’s part of my job, too.”

She turned and hurried. “At least you’re not trying to slip it under the radar.”

“Nope. I’m not that kind of guy,” he called after her. When she kept walking, he called louder. “What you see is what you get with me. It’s pretty much the same with God, too.”

He glanced up to find an older couple across the street with their dog watching him with a curious regard.

“Oh, hi,” Rory called. “Nice day, don’t you think?”

They nodded, waved and hurried away. The little dog, however, woofed a quick reply.

No wonder they’d moved on. He seemed to be talking to himself.

Worried that Vanessa had run off in the other direction, he stood and checked the open gate. Maybe she’d gone inside the house to find the broom and dustpan.

Rory cleaned up a bit more and then decided to check on Vanessa. He strolled through the open wrought iron gate and searched the big backyard. Lots of vintage patio furniture and nice palm trees and old oaks, but no Vanessa.

Turning toward the big shed she’d talked about, Rory went to the open French doors. “Hey, Vanessa, you in here?”

He found her standing at a table, her hand on an open book. A photo album from what he could tell.

When he moved toward her, she whirled, her gaze locking with his. “I’m sorry. I...I can’t find the dustpan.”

Rory walked over to where she stood. “Do you want me to leave?”

She nodded and then she shook her head no. “I...I don’t want you to leave but...I can’t... I’m not ready for this.”

“Not ready for me and my poor attempts to comfort you? Or not ready to clean out this house?”

“Not ready for...accepting that my mother is gone,” she said. Then she sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “I’ll clean up the mess out front later. You...you don’t have to hang around.”

Rory wasn’t going to leave her like this. “Nonsense. You go in the house and have a good cry or make yourself a cup of tea or eat ice cream. I see the broom over there, and I can use the lid off this old box as a dustpan. I’ll clean up the broken things out front.”

She gave him a confused stare, her eyes misty with a raw-edged pain. “You don’t have to clean up my mess.”

Rory wondered how many times she’d said that to other people. “I don’t mind.”

She nodded, grabbed the photo album and pushed past him for the door. But she turned once she was outside. “Thank you, Rory.”

He nodded and smiled at her. “Hey, listen. Grief is a sneaky thing. One minute you’re doing fine and the next, you want to punch something. Or...break dishes.”

She smiled through her tears. “I guess I’ve done that already today.”

She turned and ran toward the house, her flip-flops hitting against the steps up to the back porch. He watched her until he heard the door slam.

Rory tore off the box top and took it and the broom back up to the sidewalk and began to clear away the debris. But in his heart, he wanted to go inside that house and help clear up the debris of Vanessa’s broken heart. Because he didn’t have enough prayers to give her the kind of comfort she craved and needed.

And yet, he knew the comfort of God’s love.

So he prayed anyway, until he had the yard clean again.

He’d have to keep working on the woman sitting inside, crying over an old photo album. And he’d have to do it in a gentle way that would help her to heal.

* * *

Vanessa wished she hadn’t fallen apart in front of the preacher. Now he’d really want to talk to her. She only wanted to sit here and stare into space. But she had so much to take care of before she could go back to New Orleans.

Her fingers touched on an old photograph of her mother with Vanessa on a beach blanket, forcing her to remember the good times. They’d been few and far between, but she had brief flashes of laughter and sunshine and a warm feeling.

A feeling of being loved. Had she forgotten the good and focused too much on the bad? The pictures in this album only showed smiling faces and what looked like good times.

Why were there never any pictures of the bad times? Never any proof of how she remembered things? No, those things had been hidden away, swept underneath the heavy carpet in a facade that was hard to pull away.

A soft knock at the back door brought her head up. Vanessa wiped at her eyes and shut the old photo album. Then she rushed to the door and opened it to find Rory standing there with two ice cream cones.

“The truck came by,” he said, smiling. “I like chocolate and I got you caramel-vanilla. But if you don’t want it—”

She grabbed the waffle cone and took a small nip. “Oh.”

“I take that as a yes.” He ate some of his and glanced around. “Nice house.”

“Come in,” she said, her mind still on the caramel-vanilla.

He stepped inside, and Vanessa realized no one had been invited inside this house in a long time. Shame and embarrassment hit at her with the same freezing intensity as the ice cream sliding down her throat. The built-in cabinets on each side of the enormous fireplace were true to the Craftsman style of the house. But the shelves were practically groaning with old books and side-by-side knickknacks. Not to mention stacks of newspapers and scraps of all kinds of fabric remnants lying here and there in front of the shelves.

“It’s a mess,” she said, lifting her free hand in the air. “One room at a time. I keep telling myself that’s how I’ll get it done.”

Rory glanced around, his gaze settling on the folded blanket and bed pillow she’d left on the couch. She didn’t want to explain that she’d slept in here last night.

But Rory didn’t mention what had to be obvious. Instead, he said, “So...are you going to sell off everything in here?”

“Not everything all at once,” she said. “I have my online vintage store, so I’ll place some of the items there.” She ate more ice cream, the cold sweetness making her feel better. “And if you’re serious about me having the estate sale when you have the church rummage sale, then I’ll probably get rid of a lot of the bigger pieces there, since shipping them is kind of costly.”

“Of course I’m serious. If you don’t mind staying a week or so longer than you planned. We hope to hold it sometime in May, but I’ll pin the committee people down on an exact date.”

“That would help,” she replied. “A deadline will force me to stop procrastinating and get this over with.”

And what could a few more weeks hurt? She could handle this. She had to get this house on the market, and she couldn’t do that until she had it cleaned up and spruced up.

“Then it’s settled. We can go over the details in the next week or so,” he said. “The church members will appreciate having the draw of an estate sale next door.” He walked around, studying the house. “This place has good bones, you know.”

And a few good memories. She needed to focus on those, instead of the bad ones she’d experienced here as a teenager.

“It is a classic house,” she admitted. “It needs someone to love it enough to save it.”

“I think you’re right,” Rory said, his warm, sunny gaze moving over her face.

Vanessa tried to ignore how his nearness made her feel kind of gooey inside, so she forced herself to see it from someone else’s perspective. Her mother had been an artist, dabbling in collages and mixed media. Cora Donovan Tucker never threw anything away. So every nook and cranny, every shelf and table, held what her mother had considered treasures. A feather here, an old button there. Tarnished jewelry with missing rhinestones, old purses with worn handles, books of every shape and size, yellowed with age. Clothes, dishes, trinkets. Cora had collected husbands in much the same way. Tarnished, washed up, broken people. Losers, except for Richard. He’d been a true Godsend.

Her mother had always been a work in progress. But even ravished by two strokes and unable to speak, Cora had died with a peaceful look on her face. Thankful that she’d made it to the nursing home in time to be with her mother at the end, Vanessa wondered what she’d left unsaid.

Rory picked up an object here and studied a piece of art there. “Interesting collection.”

“A lot of stuff, huh?” she said, wondering what Rory really thought. Wondering why she’d let him in. Really let him in.

“Yes.” He munched on his waffle cone. “But that’s not your fault. And you don’t have to go through it alone.”

“Do you mean clearing away this clutter or grieving?”

He gave her that blue-eyed stare that left her feeling light and heavy at the same time. “Yes.”

“I don’t need a lot of help,” she replied, panicking. The cold ice cream burned at her stomach. She imagined him being here every day, watching her, checking on her, asking her pointed, preacher-type questions. “I can handle this, Preacher.”

He didn’t speak. He kept munching on his cone. Finally, he finished chewing and nodded. “I don’t doubt that, but why should you have to do this alone?”

“Why are you so determined to make sure I get help?”

He seemed to accept that she was turning ugly again, and Vanessa felt ashamed at herself. “I’m sorry. I guess I need some more time to process this.”

“Okay.” He finished his ice cream and went to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. “And I should leave you alone to do this in your own way.”

If he noticed the dishes everywhere or the half-eaten sandwich she’d left on the counter, he didn’t blink. Instead, he dried his hands on a butterfly-embossed dish towel and walked over to where she stood holding a melting ice cream cone.

“Appetite gone?” he asked, taking the cone from her.

“Yes.”

He took her ice cream and went back to the sink and dropped the dripping cone inside and washed his hands again. Then he came back to stand near her. “You do what you need to do. We’re all here, though. Remember that. Miss Fanny next door—she knew your mom. She’s willing to help, and she’s willing to listen.”

“I don’t need anyone to listen to me,” Vanessa retorted, needing him to leave. Needing to be away from his soft, sweet gaze. “I... I’ll figure this out.”

“I believe you will.”

“But you’d like it better if I opened up and told you all my troubles and my fears?”

He started backing toward the door. “No, I wouldn’t like that better. I wouldn’t like that at all. But what I would like is for you to stop seeing me as the enemy and let me be your friend.”

“I can’t do that,” she said, tears burning at her eyes. “I don’t think you’re the enemy, but I can’t be your friend, Rory.”

He held a hand on the doorknob. “Or you can’t let me be your friend? Because I’m what you consider a pushy minister?”

“That’s part of it. That especially, and you being so nice and not being a pushy minister in the way that I know, is really messing with my head.”

“I wish you’d reconsider things,” he said, “but I understand. I’ll see you soon, I guess. You know where to find me if you need me.” He opened the door, but turned back. “But you need to understand, I didn’t come over here today to badger you. I came because I saw someone in need. That’s my nature as a human being, not only as a minister. Sometimes, people tend to overlook that I’m as human as they are.”

And then he was gone, just like that.

For a split second, Vanessa wanted to run after him and tell him all of her troubles. But she had to be strong. She had to fight that notion with all her being. She’d told a minister her innermost secrets before, and that man had used her fears and her insecurities against her. Never again.

She’d been taking care of herself for a long time now. Why should that change? Why should she believe a sweet-talking preacher who brought her ice cream and made her feel safe?

She rushed to the sink and turned on the hot water and watched as the caramel-vanilla ice cream melted into nothing. Her confusing thoughts about Rory had to melt into nothing, too. Because growing close to him would be a bad idea all the way around.

Why should she believe him? Why did she want to believe him?

Because Rory was different. She could tell that. He’d never been through the type of horrible, mortifying things she’d endured. He was happy and settled and well-rounded and content.

He didn’t know the kind of pain she knew.

Did he?

Chapter Five

Rory sat behind his desk, a spot he tried not to occupy very often. He much preferred being up and about, talking to people one-on-one. Paperwork always made him antsy and tired, but today was Monday.

Paperwork day.

He signed a few more checks and went over some notes for the committee meeting he had to attend later in the week. Then he checked his watch. Blain and Rikki were coming in today to go over the last-minute details of their upcoming wedding.

Thankful that they’d managed to get past her family’s alleged criminal activities and that Blain had saved her from some nasty people, Rory was glad that Blain, a detective, had fallen for Rikki, the daughter of a reputed Mafia boss. Rikki had made peace with her family since she’d found out her powerful father had truly mended his ways long ago, and Blain had made peace with his father, a retired sheriff who’d helped him crack the case.

Rory’s heart warmed at the harmony all around him. Another win for the good guys.

Now he was in charge of yet another wedding. He’d married off Alec Caldwell and Marla Hamilton right before Christmas of last year. They were thriving.

He wanted that for Blain and Rikki, too.

He might even want that again for himself one day. But he tried not to think about the past or his own heartache too much. Rory didn’t talk about that time in his life. He’d been so happy, so ready to start his career as a minister. But then, his life had changed in one quick heartbeat.

People would be surprised to know he’d had to crawl out of his own dark place.

He stopped reading over the budget report and glanced out the office window, across the street to the Craftsman cottage. And wondered for the hundredth time how Vanessa was doing. She hadn’t come back to church yet. But it had been only a week. He’d hoped she’d come yesterday, but he hadn’t seen her in the congregation. He hadn’t talked to her since the day he’d helped her with the pile of broken dishes. But he kept that little kiddie cup she’d almost tossed right here in his desk drawer so he could return it to her one day.

When she was ready.

He had a good vantage point to keep an eye on her. He’d seen her coming and going, taking boxes to the trash, loading her tiny car with bags of stuff. She was busy. She was avoiding him. Maybe she was avoiding the whole world.

He’d also seen her staring off into space, sometimes up at the house, sometimes out toward the lake. And a couple of times, over toward the church.

He prayed she’d walk over and see him one day soon.

In God’s own time.

Some people believed you had to rush right in and grab people by the lapels to convince them that God loved them. Rory preferred to let people come to that notion on their own.

So he prayed them into taking the next step. And he’d been doing a lot of praying for Vanessa lately. She was going through a deep pain, no doubt. No one here really knew he’d been through that kind of pain. Not even his best friends.

Rory wanted to keep it that way. He couldn’t let people see beyond his good-natured, friendly attitude. He’d hidden that side of himself away for so long, it didn’t match anymore.

He’d scare people and confuse them if he told them about the man he used to be. Not that he’d ever been scary. But he didn’t want to go back to that dark spot in his soul. Ever. He’d come a long way to get to this place, and he liked his work and his life. No way did he want to go back.

And yet, when he saw his friends finding true love, he wanted to go back. He wanted to fall in love again. But at times, the bitterness reared its ugly head, and he felt envy and anger pushing at his hard-fought-for peace.

So he understood what Vanessa was fighting.

A knock at his partially open office door brought Rory out of his musings. His secretary, Barbara Rowan, peeped inside. “Hey, you awake in here?”

Rory grinned. “Barely. It’s too pretty outside to be in here pushing a pencil.”

Barbara, petite, with a brown bob and a blunt attitude, put her hands on her hips and gave him a mock stare, her flamingo lapel pin blinking at him in shades of pink bling. “Well, I feel so bad for you, stuck in this stuffy old office. But you have company. Blain and Rikki are here.”

“Oh, right.” Rory glanced at the clock again. “Send them in. This will make my day better.”

Barbara nodded and opened the door wide. “Here they are.”

Rory grinned at seeing Blain and Rikki holding hands, smiles on their faces. “Hello, you two.”

Blain shook his hand and Rikki hugged him. “We’re here for the premarital counseling you suggested,” Rikki said.

“Did I suggest that?” He chuckled and motioned to the floral chairs across from his desk. “So a few more weeks, huh?”

Blain nodded, his dark blue eyes moving over his bride. “Yes. Wedding here in the church and reception out at the Alvanetti estate.”

“Got it marked in red,” Rory said. “Any questions?”

Rikki gave Blain a sweet smile. “How do we get past everything we went through? I mean, I’ve forgiven my family but...how do Blain and I keep my family issues out of our marriage?”

Blain squeezed her hand and glanced at Rory. “We want to make this work. We love each other but sometimes the world can get in the way.”

Rory loved his friend Blain and he liked Rikki, too. So he leveled with them. “It’s not easy. But loving each other is the first line of defense. Loving the Lord helps. Your faith is important, and that shows with you two. Be open and honest with each other, of course. Seek help when you need to. I’m always here for either of you, and I won’t repeat anything said in this room. But you need to talk to your families, too. And other friends you can trust.”

He glanced out the window and saw Vanessa getting into her car. She was wearing a colorful patterned sundress and tall, strappy sandals. When he glanced back at Blain and Rikki, Blain was giving him a one-eyebrow-lifted knowing stare.

Rory tried to cover. “And...uh...you should be honest with your families, too. Don’t hold grudges. Talk things out. Remember the good times and try to get past the bad.”

He groaned inwardly. He was talking in clichés today.

After a few more questions, he went over the wedding arrangements with them and gave them some pamphlets and books to read. They both asked more questions, and Rory said a prayer with them. “I think you two will be fine.”

Blain glanced at Rikki. “Can you visit with Barbara for a minute? I need to ask Rory something.”

“Sure.” She gave him a brown-eyed smile, her long dark hair flowing around her shoulders. “Already keeping secrets.”

“It’s more guy stuff,” Blain said. “Regarding my bachelor party.”

“Oh, right.” She grinned at Rory and went into the reception area.

“What’s up?” Rory asked, his mind still on Vanessa. “You know we’re having a low-key party out at the camp house, right?”

Blain laughed. “Yes, I know all about that, surprises not withstanding.”

“Okay, did you need something else?”

“Are you scouting the house across the street for a reason?”

Blain was on to him. “I might be since it’s going up for sale soon. I’ve always liked that house, and it’s near the church.” He shrugged. “I’m outgrowing my tiny one-bedroom apartment.”

“Right.” Blain rolled his eyes. “I was referring to the woman living there, not the house. Preacher, do you have your eye on Vanessa Donovan?”

Rory didn’t want to squirm underneath the scrutiny of Blain’s eagle-eyed gaze. “She’s in a bad way, so I’ve tried to befriend her. Offer her my help and advice.”

Blain nodded. “It’s amazing. All these years, I’ve never seen you go beyond being friends with a woman. You don’t even date. But since Vanessa rolled into town, you’ve seemed distracted.”

“How do you know that?” Rory asked, affronted. “You haven’t been around me that much when women are nearby.”

“Relax,” Blain said. “I saw you on Easter Sunday, and Alec told me you and Vanessa seemed chummy at Easter dinner at his house.”

<1 2 3 4 >

На страницу:

Перейти

3 из 4