Читать книгу Courting Hope - Jenna Mindel - Страница 11

Chapter Two

The next morning, Sinclair rushed through the office entrance. He had a box of his sister’s cherry almond scones ready for a peace offering. He glanced at the clock on the wall and grimaced. Nine-thirty. He’d wanted to make it in by nine.

Hope stood near the coffeemaker, looking pretty in a filmy blue top over a white skirt that kissed her knees. The girl he remembered wore shapeless clothes that hid everything. Part of him wished for the old Hope who didn’t have this power to distract him.

He stepped forward, but kept his voice soft. “Morning, Hope.”

She finished stirring creamer into her coffee before turning to glare at him. “How could you do that?”

He didn’t bother with the pretense of asking what she meant. He knew. “I had to face them.”

“Did you really? On your first day? You couldn’t let Judy’s news sink in a little and give them a chance to process it?”

“They deserved to hear it from me.”

“So you go on a search-and-destroy mission to make the Petersens bleed all over again?”

He set the box of scones on her desk. Did he get it all wrong? He’d prayed so hard before making the decision to go to Hope’s house. He’d wanted to clear the air and offer his remorse. Show them that he meant business and was serious about his calling. Looked like he’d botched it. “I’m sorry.”

She made a rude sound. She’d always been able to make him feel like an idiot.

“I’m trying to do the right thing here.”

Her shoulders drooped and all the fight blew out of her as quickly as it had raged. “I wish I knew what that was.”

He stepped forward to touch her shoulder, but he let his hand drop to his side instead. He’d lost the right to offer her comfort when he’d lost her as a friend. When Sara had died.

“They want me to quit.”

“Your parents?” Of course that’s who she was talking about.

She nodded but wouldn’t look at him.

He’d seen a glimmer of softening in Teresa Petersen’s eyes last night. There was hope for forgiveness yet. But he couldn’t rush. That had always been his problem. He rushed too much.

“You still do everything your parents want you to?” He didn’t mean to lower his voice, but his challenge came across pretty clear if the scowl on Hope’s face was any indication.

She still toed the family line. Always responsible, Hope had a servant’s heart that could be taken advantage of. Sinclair regretted that he’d been on the using end far too many times in the past. He remembered calling on Hope for a ride home after he’d partied too hard on summer break. He’d even asked her to pick out Christmas gifts for his mom and sister a couple years in a row. And she’d done what he’d asked because she was a giver instead of a taker like him.

She looked at him with wide eyes. “Who do you think you are?”

The blue of her top made her eyes an icy gray color that looked translucent. Protective and fierce. Sinclair couldn’t look away.

The phone rang, interrupting the moment, but he ignored it. He remained focused on her. “I’ve known you longer than I haven’t.”

“You don’t know anything.” She reached for the phone. “Three Corner Community Church, how may I help you?”

He watched the graceful way she cradled the receiver between her chin and shoulder while she grabbed a pad of paper and a pen. He didn’t know this new Hope who appeared completely in charge. The urge to get to know her on a very personal level took him by surprise. He didn’t want this attraction to Hope. It complicated everything—but what could he do?

“Yeah, he’s right here.” Hope caught him staring and her cheeks colored. “It’s Judy. She’s headed out of town for a couple of days and wants to know if you need anything before she goes. You can take it in your office.”

“Here’s fine.” He sat on the edge of her desk and reached for the phone.

Hope gave him a pointed look. She wasn’t handing over the call until he moved off of her desk.

Without looking away, he slipped from the edge and accepted the phone. “Hey, Judy...”

Hope peeked inside the box of scones and smiled. Finally, a glimpse of his old Hope.

Reassuring Judy that he’d get the budget and building plans, he cut the conversation short. “I’ll be fine. Thanks. Have a safe trip.”

He leaned forward, catching a whiff of Hope’s flowery perfume as he hung up. “I know you like scones.”

Hope looked annoyed. Obviously pointing out her weakness for baked goods hadn’t scored him any points. She grabbed a scone and then pushed the box toward him.

“They’re from my sister.”

“How is Eva?” Hope took a bite.

“Engaged.”

Hope headed for the coffee station and grabbed a napkin. “Good for her. I didn’t see anything in the paper.”

“It’s pretty recent. She’s marrying the guy who bought the orchard.” Sinclair followed her and helped himself to coffee.

“I’d heard that your parents sold and moved. How are they?”

“Here for the summer to help bring in what’s left of the harvest.” He’d returned home after severe thunderstorms had ripped through area orchards. His sister was determined to salvage a decent crop, and he’d do what he could to help.

Hope nodded. “They must be glad you’re home.”

“Yeah.” He bit into a scone, but the flavor was lost when he thought of his brother’s cold reception. His family had eagerly welcomed him, but not Ryan. More amends to be made. Sara Petersen had been Ryan’s fiancée.

“Well, thank you for these.” Hope settled into her office chair with a look that said she was determined to get back to work.

Sinclair didn’t want their conversation to end. He used to pour his heart out to her when they were kids. Breakups with girlfriends, trouble with his father, dreams about his future. He used to tell Hope everything. Back then, she’d been more than a sympathetic listener. More times than not, she’d tell him flat out that he was wrong and make him see the other side. She gave him balance.

He didn’t feel too balanced around her today. Giving her his best pleading look, he asked, “Does this mean you’re not going to quit?”

* * *

Hope stared into Sinclair’s eyes and didn’t answer right away. She liked holding her employment future over his head. Even though she’d never quit, she wanted to punish him. As if it’d matter.

She hadn’t counted on the intensity shining from his eyes and wished he’d go away already. “Not today.”

He looked relieved. Sinclair needed her to stay.

He needed her.

She didn’t care for the fleeting warmth that swirled through her at the thought. Not one bit.

He returned to the corner of her desk. “What are you working on?”

She gave him her most intimidating glare, but he stayed put. “I’m updating our website with your bio as the new pastor.”

“Where’d you get the information?”

Hope kept typing. If she ignored him, maybe he’d go away. “From your résumé.”

“Keep it short and to the point, okay?”

Hope looked up at him then. “You want to proof this?”

“No.”

“Fine.” Hope waited for him to leave.

“Okay then, good.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We should probably have a staff meeting this week. There’s a receptionist, right? And a janitor?”

“Both are part-time. Shannon Williams works a few hours a day and covers lunch hour phones, but her baby was sick yesterday. She and her husband also volunteer their time with the youth. Walt comes in the afternoon since he works another job in the morning. And Judy’s here every morning. But then, you probably already know that since she’s on the board and interviewed you. We’re a big ol’ staff of five, not including you.”

“You know everyone’s schedule better than I do. Let me know when you want to meet.”

Hope bit her lip. She’d always scheduled meetings for her previous pastor, but it wasn’t easy taking direction from Sinclair. Hope was too used to telling him no.

When they were kids, he used to egg her on to do things she knew better than to do. Like when she was fourteen and they’d jumped off the LeNaro Bridge with inner tubes to float down the river. She’d split her lip on the air stem. Hope fingered the now tiny scar. Her parents had pitched a fit because she’d needed five stitches.

The word no hung on the tip of her tongue.

“Problem?” He waited for her acquiescence.

Hope came back to the present. “Nope. I’ll let you know by the end of today.”

He finally slipped off her desk. “Good. Can I review the annual budget and the financial report for the building project?”

“I’ll email them to you.” Hope shoved a slip of paper his way. “This is your church email. I’ll also set up a shared calendar schedule that we can both access.”

“Cool.” His finger touched hers as he tried to grab the note.

Hope quickly pulled her hand back. The phone rang again, shattering the awareness that tingled through her. Answering on the second ring, she breathed easier when Sinclair walked toward his own office.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Larson, what was that?” Hope hadn’t heard a word.

While she chatted about dessert possibilities to welcome Sinclair after Wednesday night’s service, Shannon slipped into the receptionist desk. She gave Hope a wave and craned her neck to get a peek at their new pastor.

Finally off the phone, Hope jotted down her to-do list for tomorrow’s errands. She’d have Walt set up a couple of tables at the back of the sanctuary for refreshments, and she’d pick up cookies from the bakery in town. Mrs. Larson would see to the punch. They already had a supply of cups and napkins in the church kitchen.

“Wow, Hope. He’s cute.” Shannon had been trying to fix her up since they’d met. “Is he single?”

Hope shrugged. “He’s not married.”

“Girlfriend?”

“I don’t know.” Hope didn’t care to know.

Really, she didn’t.

“We’ll have to find out.” Shannon stood. “Come on, introduce me.”

Again, Hope shook her head. “Look, I grew up with him. I’m not interested, so you can forget whatever you’re thinking.”

Shannon looked at Sinclair and then at her. “Hmm. So you two have a history. This should be very interesting!”

* * *

The next day, Sinclair slumped in the kitchen after polishing off an evening snack. The house belonged to his sister, Eva, now, and she shared the place with her friend Beth. And his parents were staying through the summer. It was pretty spacious for an old farmhouse, but felt cramped. Sinclair wanted a place of his own. He needed to be by himself. After three years of living in crowded staff quarters for the orphanage school in Haiti, Sinclair longed for quiet. When things settled down, he’d look for something.

He ran his thumbnail along a groove in the old oak kitchen table where he’d eaten hundreds of meals as a kid. Meeting the congregation had not gone as planned. They seemed like a warm group of people. But after his message had landed with a wet-bag-of-cement thud, he wondered if he’d gotten his calling all wrong.

“You look tired, Sinclair. How was your first midweek service?” His mom rubbed his shoulders.

He was glad his parents hadn’t been there to witness his failure. “I’ve had better.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He shrugged.

His staff didn’t take him seriously. Hope spoke to him only when necessary, and Shannon, the receptionist, acted like she knew something he didn’t. Walt, the maintenance guy, thought he was too young, and tonight he’d blown his first message delivered from the pulpit. Three days into his first week as a pastor, and the job was nothing like he’d expected.

Wednesday night services were less formal than Sunday, so he’d thought he could be more...honest. He’d definitely made an impression, but if the blank stares were any indication, not the kind he’d wanted.

Had his congregation missed the whole point of his tales of Haiti? He might have driven it home too hard that they had so much while the people he’d served in Haiti had next to nothing. He’d probably been too graphic, but folks should know the truth.

With a sigh, he confessed, “I think I shocked a few people tonight.”

Rose Marsh slid into the seat across from him. “Maybe they need to be shocked. It’s never a good thing to get too comfortable in the pew.”

He smiled at his mom. At only five foot two, she was a powerhouse of opinion who didn’t believe in beating around the bush. She didn’t stand for sulking, either. “Maybe you’re right.”

“You know I am.” His mom flashed him a cocky grin. “I understand Hope Petersen works with you.”

Sinclair lifted an eyebrow. He hadn’t told anyone in his family. “How do you know?”

“Judy Graves. I ran into her at the grocery store earlier this week. How’s that going?”

He shrugged again. Hope did her job well. At the welcome reception for him after the service, people had swarmed around her. She had that effect on him, too—drawing his attention like a honeybee to its hive.

“Sinclair?” His mom had an amused look on her face.

“It’s a little rough around the edges, but we’ll work through it.”

“Maybe you should bring her to Adam and Eva’s engagement party.”

As if she’d go. “I don’t think so.”

His mom leaned forward. “She used to have quite a crush on you, you know.”

That was news to him. Hope used to laugh at his many breakups with girls and say she wouldn’t wish him on her worst enemy. “Hope? No way. I drove her nuts. Besides, Ryan might have a hard time with that. Too many memories.”

His mom grasped his hand. “It might be good for Ryan to see Hope. It’s time he moved on. Sara’s been gone a long time now.”

Sinclair understood why his brother had shut down. He functioned like part of him was missing—his better half. Sara Petersen had been a lighthearted soul who looked for fun in everything she did. From the time they were teens in the same youth group, Sara had drawn out his serious younger brother and made Ryan laugh like no one else could. The two had dated for years. When she’d died they were engaged, but they might as well have been married. They’d been inseparable.

“I don’t know, Mom. I can’t even talk to him anymore.”

She patted his hand. “You weren’t here when he needed you, son. Ryan won’t let that go.”

“Why can’t he see that I was needed in Haiti, especially after the earthquake?” Sinclair had run away by going on a church mission trip a week after Sara’s funeral. Once he’d been in Haiti and seen the needs of the orphanage school, he’d stayed. Ryan hadn’t forgiven him for it.

“Don’t give up on him. Ryan needs you even if he won’t admit it. God has brought you home where you belong, Sinclair. Just hang in there.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

He didn’t feel like he belonged here, not in his childhood home at least. God had brought him back, that much he knew. But the time spent in Haiti, coupled with the reason he’d gone there, made it hard to feel comfortable anywhere.

* * *

“Hope, can you come into my office?” Sinclair looked troubled the next morning as he filled his coffee cup.

“One sec.” Hope hit Save on her computer.

He returned to his office, which was across a small corridor. Hope could see him from her desk, and she’d caught his eye several times that week without meaning to.

Sinclair had given her an interesting sermon to outline for Sunday. He wanted copies stuffed into the bulletins passed out before the service. So far, she was impressed by his preparation. Sinclair must have finally left behind his bad habit of procrastinating on studying until the last minute.

Shannon wiggled her eyebrows. “Sounds serious.”

“Please stop.” Hope stood and headed for the pastoral office.

She couldn’t block the unease that crawled up her spine with each step she took. What could Sinclair want? They’d pretty much kept their distance the past few days.

Leaning against the doorway of his office, Hope forced herself to relax. “What’s up?”

“Come in a minute, would you?”

Hope slipped into one of the two chairs in front of his desk and waited. His window was open and she could hear birds chirping in the crab apple tree outside. A warm breeze that smelled like summer blew in and rustled loose papers sitting on Sinclair’s desk.

He gathered them up and stuffed them under the file labeled “Church Budget.” A much fatter file containing all the information for the building project sat next to it.

Her preschool.

Clearing his throat, he looked at her. “I want to ask you something, but I need you to be completely honest.”

“Okay.” Hope waited.

He looked at her then. “Don’t answer right away. Give it some thought.”

She wiped her palms on her khaki skirt. “What is it?”

“This is going to sound so stupid.” He ran his hand through his brown hair, which had been sun-streaked blond in places. And then he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A nervous habit he’d picked up. She’d never seen Sinclair nervous until these past few days. “I need to know, from someone whose judgment I trust...”

“Yes?” Hope leaned forward. Would he listen to her ideas for the project?

“Last night’s message—what did you think?”

Hope blinked a couple times. “What?”

“The service, my stories. Did I come on too strong?”

“Hmm.” Hope hadn’t expected such a question. She’d never expected Sinclair’s confidence to be shaken, either. And clearly he didn’t feel confident. It made her want to smile. Big-time.

Instead, she stalled. “Why do you ask?”

“I got a lot of blank stares.”

Hope didn’t want to soothe him, but she couldn’t lie, either. She’d been blown away by the harsh realities the Haitian people faced. Sinclair had been working at an orphanage that had swelled like a tidal wave after the earthquake. He’d witnessed devastation and death. Still, between the massive graves for the dead and the violent looting, she had a feeling that last night’s message only scratched the surface of the horrors Sinclair had seen. Listening to him, Hope knew how easily he could have been killed. The reality of Sinclair gone forever had brought an unwanted ache deep in her chest.

She narrowed her gaze. “You didn’t exaggerate?”

He shook his head.

“I think you made some people uncomfortable, and you’d better be ready to hear about it.”

He nodded, but he didn’t look like she’d given him the answer he’d wanted. Well, Hope wasn’t about to pat him on the back for scaring her congregation with his experiences in Haiti. Sure, he’d met a lot of needs and served like any God-fearing person should, but running off to Haiti three years ago had been one of his wild-hair whims. He’d jumped at the chance for adventure. He’d jumped at the chance to run away from her, Ryan and every reminder of what had happened to Sara. He’d run away from his part in it. She wouldn’t applaud that.

“You think I shouldn’t have gone there.”

What did he want from her? Hope shifted, but his direct gaze pinned her like a paper leaf on a classroom bulletin board. “To Haiti? Or last night’s message?”

“Both.”

She didn’t want to answer that. She might let it slip how hard it had been for her after Sara had died. Despite blaming him, she’d needed him then. “All I know is that you’ve seen some crazy stuff.”

“Real crazy.”

By the shadows that glazed his eyes, she feared he might tell her just how crazy. Her throat dry, she whispered, “Why did you come home?”

“I couldn’t keep running from what had happened. God led me home to face Ryan, your parents. Even you—especially you.”

Hope took a deep breath but tears threatened. She fought the clogging of her throat. She didn’t want to get into this. Not now. Not at work. “Don’t.”

“I won’t. But eventually we have to.”

Judy’s words about holding on to her grudge echoed through her mind. It was easier to blame Sinclair than herself. If only Hope had been there. If only she hadn’t gone shopping, Sara might still be alive.

He dipped his head to catch her attention. “Subject change?”

She sniffed. “Please.”

“Tell me about this building project. Why a preschool?”

Hope couldn’t lay open her dreams without figuring out where he was coming from and what he had planned. “Judy said you wanted a youth center.”

“The board would like to eventually hire a youth pastor. To do that, we have to reach the teens in this area. A youth center might draw them to our church.”

Hope gritted her teeth. “Shannon and her husband do a fine job with the youth.”

“Yes, they do. But their time is limited. Especially with a new baby.”

“The preschool has already been approved by the board.”

“Before your minister retired a year ago. Things change, Hope.”

Dread settled in the pit of her belly. “Are you changing the plan?”

He didn’t answer right away. If they dropped the preschool, what then? There’d be no reason for her to stay. How could she face Dorrie when she’d promised to do everything she could to push the preschool through?

“Sinclair?”

“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. What’s a little preschool going to do for this church?”

Hope felt her hackles rise, but she feared letting him know how much this little preschool meant to her. “It’s all in that file. The preapproval for a commercial loan, the bids. Once the pledged money is collected, we should be able to break ground.”

“This is old data. The preapproval expired. The circumstances changed the day your previous minister left.”

“But Judy—”

“She’s in favor of the preschool. Some of the other board members aren’t so sure.”

Hope gripped the edge of the chair. Judy hadn’t described it quite that way. “Why do we need a youth pastor when we have a gracious couple who volunteer? Our teens are a very small group, and we’re not even in town.”

“That’s true.”

“The enrollment projections for a preschool were conservative, but there are a lot of young families in the area who responded favorably to sending their kids.”

“There are good day cares around here.”

Hope forced a deep breath. “We’re talking about early education from a Christian worldview. There’s a huge difference.”

“I know you put a lot of work into this. You were a big part of the project committee and kept the ball rolling, from what I heard. What I don’t know is why it’s so important to you.”

“Because I have a degree in early childhood education and I want to run that preschool.” She’d let the words slip out before she could catch them.

Understanding spread across his face, but then his brow furrowed. “Makes sense.”

What didn’t make sense was that she’d let him know her dream before she could trust him with it. Trust was a moot point with Sinclair Marsh. He’d always done what he wanted.

A quick knock on the doorway of his office saved Sinclair from having to elaborate any further. A tall, barrel-chested man stood in the doorway.

“Hey, Chuck.”

“Am I interrupting?” Chuck Stillwell, board member, large commercial cherry grower and the church’s biggest financial supporter, stepped into Sinclair’s office.

“Not at all. We’re done here.” Hope bounced out of her chair and left the room.

* * *

Sinclair watched her walk away as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. Refocusing his attention on Chuck, he asked, “What can I do for you?”

Chuck closed the office door. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” What else could he say?

“Your message was a little strong last night.”

He braced himself for the complaint Hope had predicted he’d receive. “It’s easy to forget how sheltered we are up here.”

Chuck looped his hands around one knee and leaned back in his chair. “That’s not where I was going. The truth isn’t always comfortable, but sometimes it has to be said. Can I be blunt?”

Again he nodded. He wouldn’t expect anything less from the guy, who was something of a blowhard.

“I know you’ve got a heart for missions. And that’s good. But I’m interested in what goes on in this community, not some faraway place. I want to save you the trouble of asking me to support your school in Haiti, or any foreign missions for that matter.”

Sinclair forced his mouth closed before he said something he’d regret. He had to think like a pastor now and respond the same way. In bible school, the motto had been that good pastors didn’t react—they listened.

He sat a little straighter. “I hear you.”

Chuck’s eyes narrowed. “Hearing is fine, but doing is better. I get hit up for money all the time. I don’t need my minister looking to me for a donation every time I turn around.”

“Fair enough.” He’d never ask the guy for a dime.

“But the idea of a youth center to bring in teens isn’t bad. I’d like to get my nephew up here as soon as he graduates from bible school. He’d be a big help to you as a youth pastor.”

Sinclair knew where this was going, and it registered why Chuck had pounced on his suggestion of a youth center. “What about the preschool? It’s been approved before, and many, including you, have already pledged financial support.”

“Until you’ve collected those pledges, I say we keep our options open.”

Nice tangle. Sinclair could push for Hope’s preschool or succumb to Chuck’s pressure for a youth center to validate hiring a youth pastor—namely, Chuck’s nephew.

He spotted the building project file on his desk and nearly sighed. Either way, he’d let someone down.