Читать книгу A House Full of Hope - Missy Tippens - Страница 10

Chapter Three

After a Saturday-afternoon attempt—and failure—to speak with Redd, Mark knew it was sunglasses-off time. No matter what happened with his relationship with his father, he had to let the town of Corinthia know that Mark Ryker was a changed man. And that he owed that change to the grace of God.

So on Sunday morning, he put away the sunglasses and donned the one suit he’d packed—more out of habit than because he thought he’d need it. He drove his rental car to the small church his mom had dragged Mark and Matt to when they were children.

Growing up, their dad had worked all the time and their mother had taken charge of raising the kids and seeing to their religious upbringing. Of course, Matt, the sweet, obedient child, had gone to church willingly. Mark had been another story.

He hoped his mother was looking down from heaven, seeing that her insistence and persistence had given him a foundation to fall back on years later, after his life fell apart. After he hit rock bottom and realized he could either die, or he could ask for help to climb out from under the guilt, anger and self-destructive behavior.

As the church came into sight, the thought of how far he’d come nearly overwhelmed him. He blinked back tears and, for probably the thousandth time, thanked God he hadn’t gotten addicted to the alcohol he’d used to numb the pain. And that he’d hit bottom while at the New Hope Mission. With God’s help, the staff and volunteers at the shelter had saved Mark’s life.

The white steeple of the Corinthia Church loomed bright and welcoming. Mark parked and approached the old redbrick building. As he walked in the door, the organist struck up the hymn “Amazing Grace.”

How appropriate. He had to smile at God’s sense of humor. With that smile locked in place, he searched for familiar faces.

Of course, the first person he saw was Hannah with her four children. And another woman beside her who—

He stopped in his tracks, his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. The woman was Hannah’s mother, Donna Williams.

Hannah didn’t look up. She was busy whispering—fussing over the two youngest kids. As he forced himself to continue down the aisle, he vaguely noted neither husband had attended. He would need to make time to speak with Donna, to apologize to her, as well. Maybe after the service.

As if Donna were a bloodhound smelling trouble, she looked right at him. It took her about two heartbeats to recognize him, but then her eyes flared wide. She froze in place, staring, her eyes lasering fury his direction. Her face reddened, and he feared she might explode with a torrent of words. Words she’d probably wanted to say to him years ago.

He moved on, hoping to avert a scene with Donna. When he glanced to the right, old Mr. Jay from the bank gave a polite nod. Then Mark spotted his dad up front in what used to be his mom’s favorite spot, next to the organ. So he has come around and now attends church. This eased some of Mark’s fears, and he started down the aisle toward Redd.

But about halfway, he stopped. What was he thinking? This was not the setting to approach his dad again. He would embarrass him. So he turned to the back to find a seat.

A dumb move that meant he had to face everyone he’d passed.

Gabe Reynolds, who’d gone to high school with Mark, sat with a teenage girl and a woman Mark didn’t recognize. The woman, pretty, pregnant and apparently his wife, smiled kindly. Gabe merely nodded.

Two rows farther, Miss Ann Sealy, one of his favorite people from Corinthia, sat with a young man who looked familiar. Maybe her grandson. She waved but had a blank look, as if trying to place him. He’d thought of all the people in town, she would’ve been the one to give him a profuse welcome.

His chest tightened as he realized how few people would even know him now. And of those who did, how they might view him with distrust.

Shame scalded Mark’s face as he searched for the closest available seat. As he was sitting, he heard a commotion—Donna yanking her purse off the pew and stomping toward the door. Right before she exited, she glared at him.

After the door banged closed, he couldn’t help but look at Hannah. She stared after her mother, mouth covered, eyes wide. When she turned to him, her hand dropped and eyes narrowed. Her scowl said she blamed him for the outburst. He could imagine her thoughts. How dare you darken the doors of our church?

Well, the Williamses had spoken. Mark figured others might also. Probably wouldn’t matter that he was a new creature in Christ. How could the people of Corinthia ever see beyond the reckless boy who’d caused his brother’s death, hurt Sydney Williams and then skipped town?

He tried to focus on the service, but couldn’t get beyond the fact he was an outsider in his own hometown and might never be able to make amends. Yet God’s Word and the music penetrated the worry. He eventually relaxed into the pew, felt God’s peace wash over him. This was where God wanted him. He wouldn’t give up.

After the service, Mark strode toward the front to catch his dad before he left. When Mark reached the end of the pew, he waited for Redd to look up, to ask him to sit so they could talk. Who was he kidding? His dad raised his chin and stared straight ahead.

May as well have slapped up a sign that said Not Welcome Here. Still, he had to take a chance. “I’m glad you’re attending church, Dad. Mom would be pleased.”

Redd grabbed the pew in front of him for support as he stood. Then he looked at Mark with utter scorn. “Your mother and I worshipped together here for years. But then, you wouldn’t know that, would you?” He limped away, his squared shoulders a shield against his wayward son.

The jab hurt. Physical pain knifed Mark’s chest.

No, he wouldn’t have known that. And he would regret it the rest of his life. Would regret that he hadn’t come home sooner. That he hadn’t come before his mom died.

He rubbed his chest, trying to ease the pressure. Don’t go there. Think of the future.

Of course, he had no idea how to approach his father again in that future. Maybe the pastor could help. While Mark waited for the crowd to thin, he shook a few hands, drawing encouragement.

Miss Ann approached with a grin on her face. “Welcome home, Mark.” She’d aged over the years, but her sky-blue eyes and extreme Southern drawl hadn’t changed a bit. “You caught me by surprise this morning. Didn’t recognize you at first.”

“Thanks, Miss Ann. It’s good to be here.” An exaggeration. But it was nice to be following God’s lead for a change.

“If you don’t have plans for lunch, please join me and my grandson, Daniel.” She pointed across the room at the man who’d been sitting with her. Then she puffed out her chest proudly. “He came to visit me this weekend and to meet with Pastor Phil. He’s graduating from seminary soon.”

“I wish him well.” Touched by her kind invitation, he considered it briefly. But he had business to attend to. “I’d love to have lunch, but I need to speak with the pastor myself.”

“Oh, you’ll like Phil. He’s been here a few years and is a good counselor.” She suddenly reached out and hugged him. “You take care, now. Your mama would be so happy to see you at church.”

He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the same sweet perfume his mom had always worn—White Shoulders. Sudden tears stung the back of his eyes. He pulled away, cleared his throat. “Thanks, Miss Ann.” He waved and hurried outside. No use in letting memories get him all choked up. No time for regrets, for worrying about something he couldn’t change.

“Good to have you with us today.” The pastor, who looked to be in his late forties with graying temples and a few smile lines around his eyes, stood alone on the church steps wiping perspiration from his brow with a handkerchief. He tucked it in his pocket and held out his hand. “I’m Phil Hartley.”

“Nice to meet you, Reverend Hartley. I’m Mark Ryker.”

“Oh, I see the likeness to Redd.” Kind eyes encouraged Mark to speak up. It was as if the pastor could tell he’d been hanging around. “Please call me Phil.”

“Thanks, Phil. Do you have a minute?”

“Sure. Let’s get out of this hot sun and go to my office.” He led the way through the sanctuary and along a hallway decorated with kids’ artwork, all centered on the theme of Jonah and the big fish. Apparently, the church still held vacation Bible school in the summer.

A sudden memory of arguing with his mother about helping with Bible school made him cringe. He’d told her he and Matt would rather work with their dad at the hardware store than with those wild kids.

She’d seemed hurt but had relented.

If only he’d known then what that rebellion would cost. If only he’d known how a rickety fishing boat capsizing in a pathetically small lake could change his family forever.

“Have a seat.” Phil gestured to a grouping of three chairs set up in the corner of the room, obviously for meetings or counseling sessions.

“I won’t keep you long. But I need a favor.” He proceeded to tell Phil a little about his family background.

“You had a twin who died?” Phil’s head tilted as if he was confused. Apparently, no one had ever told him the story.

Mark nodded. “It was my fault. I took him fishing, the two of us alone, knowing he couldn’t swim. He died of complications from the near-drowning.”

Pain filled Phil’s eyes, and it caused an echoing pain in Mark. “Oh, man. I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t talked about this in years. Had to force words that didn’t want to come. “My parents tried not to blame me. But I knew they did. And I buried the pain with alcohol. With rebellion. And unfortunately, dragged Sydney Williams into it.”

“So that’s the reason for Donna Williams’s animosity toward Redd?”

With a wince, he confirmed it. “We started dating, and her family wasn’t happy about it. I admit I’d fallen into a bad group of friends. Tried to pull her away from them when I saw she had a drinking problem. But it was too late.”

“So what happened?”

“I ran. Just wanted to escape it all. Took off and didn’t look back for years.” By the time he tried to make contact, his mother had died. Too little, too late. The story of his life.

His old life.

Mark forced the corners of his mouth upward. “But I’m in a better place now. Found God again. And felt led to come home to make amends.”

“Did you and your parents ever make peace?”

“No. Now Mom is gone. Dad won’t speak to me. And—” He snapped his mouth shut before he broke down and embarrassed himself.

With fingers steepled under his chin, Phil nodded. “So you’ve tried to apologize to your dad?”

“Yes. I’m here because I need your help in reaching him.”

Phil leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles. “I know Redd’s a stubborn man, but I think he’ll come around.”

Mark’s dad had always been stubborn. Stubbornly driven to build his hardware business. Stubbornly driven to punish Mark for Matt’s death. “In case he doesn’t, I want to at least help him financially. Did you know he’s renting out his house to the Hughes family?”

“Yes. Also heard he’s in a bit of a financial pinch. His store has had a rough time since the mega home- improvement store opened up not twenty miles from here.”

Oh, man. He hadn’t heard that news. “I’d like to make a deposit to his checking account. But I’m afraid Hannah Hughes will balk. She seems protective of him and…well…she doesn’t think much of me.”

“I don’t know how I can help. We’ve already tried to give him assistance after his hip surgery, and he was offended.” Phil shook his head. “Yet Redd’s continued to donate funds to our youth program even as he’s struggled.”

Out of nowhere, Mark’s throat constricted. It seemed he didn’t know his dad at all anymore. Had God changed Redd, too?

“Stubborn, proud man.” Mark stood and walked across the office to stare at a painting on the wall—more to distract himself than to admire the art. “If I give you cash, could you take it to the bank, tell Hannah you’ve received an anonymous donation and ask her to deposit it into his checking account?”

“No harm in trying.”

The tension that had invaded Mark’s shoulders the moment he’d approached his dad that morning eased away on a big exhaled breath. He turned back to face the pastor. “Thanks, Phil.”

“This is generous of you, you know. I hope your dad realizes the man you’ve become.”

Phil might think the gift was generous, but Mark owed his dad so much more. If all went well tomorrow, maybe he could set up an arrangement with Phil. A way to continue helping.

But would Redd accept the help if he found out Mark was the donor?

“Okay, I’m it. You better hide really well,” Hannah called to her children Sunday after lunch as they squealed and scattered around the grassy front yard. She covered her eyes and started counting slowly.

The past couple of years, Hannah had only wanted two things. A bigger home for her kids—check—and the certainty that each of her children felt important and special.

But being a single working mom made that difficult. She struggled to make time for each one. Had dropped her volunteer position with the church youth group. Made Sundays family time.

“Don’t peek,” Tony called from somewhere behind her.

“Nine and a half. Ten! Ready or not, here I come.” She opened her eyes just as Emily’s head disappeared behind the rocking chair on the porch.

She grinned as she started rattling bushes and jumping behind trees. “Where is everyone?”

A giggle sounded at the side of the house. Within five minutes, she had found everyone, saving Emily for last.

Redd, who’d started closing Hometown Hardware on Sundays a few years earlier, gave a wave as he lumbered across the yard, his uneven gait making him rock side to side. His graying hair had once been dark blond like Mark’s. And he’d probably been as handsome as his son in his younger days. But his wife’s death six years ago had aged him. Deep wrinkles formed brackets around his mouth and frown lines between his eyes. The smile that lit his face when he saw the kids gave Hannah an inkling of what he’d looked like years before.

When Emily spotted him, she squealed and ran to hug him, dark hair flying in the wind. Eric followed closely and grabbed on to Redd’s other leg.

He hobbled across the yard, pulling giggling kids along with him. “Well, now, I seem to feel a bit heavy today. Must’ve eaten too much lunch.”

Becca, in her standard pink T-shirt and denim shorts, grabbed her belly and doubled over, laughing. “Mr. Redd is so silly.”

Tony, usually reserved, actually smiled. “He’s teasing, Becca.”

Her children loved Redd. And the man seemed to enjoy them, as well. In the beginning, she hadn’t been too sure about their extremely close neighbor relationship. With the Ryker-Williams family history, she’d worried how he might feel about them being there. But from the beginning, he’d been solicitous, almost as if he still felt guilty for his son’s actions.

Admittedly, she’d felt awkward at first. But she’d come around to the fact that Redd had been as hurt by Mark as her family had.

“Okay, you two. Don’t hurt his hip. Let go of Mr. Redd so we can talk.”

The twins pouted—for about five seconds. Then they raced off, calling Becca and Tony to come play another round of hide-and-seek.

Redd looked off into the distance, but his eyes didn’t seem to focus on anything in particular. “I guess you’ve seen that Mark has returned to town.”

Her stomach dropped at the mention of his name. What if Mark had talked him into moving back in the family home? “Yes.”

“I’d rather him not know I’m renting out the house, if there’s any way around it.”

“I’m afraid he came by yesterday.”

He ran a hand over his chin, rasping against whiskers, looking troubled.

She gently touched his arm. “Are you okay?”

His chin rose as he watched the kids. “I’m fine.” Then he looked into her eyes. “You?”

He tried to act cool on the outside, yet he had to be a mess on the inside. Meanwhile she stewed, worried and angry. “I’m okay. Shocked, but okay.”

“Still can’t figure out what he’s doing here. Says he wanted to come apologize. But now he’s hanging around.”

Yes, it was unnerving, to say the least. And she felt sure he’d stayed to try to uproot her and the kids so his dad could move back into the house.

“He seems to be concerned that you’re in the garage apartment.” She wrapped her arms around her waist and watched him closely for his response.

He shook his head and huffed. “I’m fine over there. Don’t worry about me.”

Yes, but could Mark change his mind? “Well, I guess we can hope Mark’s motives are pure.”

Redd gave a snort but didn’t comment further. “I sure hope your sister doesn’t find out he’s back, even if it is just for a visit.”

Goodness. Hannah had thought so much about her own situation with the kids and the house that she hadn’t considered Sydney hearing about Mark being in town. “Yeah, me, too. She’s still got a few more weeks in rehab.”

Regret crawled across Redd’s ragged features, drawing his mouth into a frown. He shook his head and plodded toward the garage, hands in his pockets, head down. As if carrying a huge weight. He stopped partway across the yard.

“I know the kids in the youth group miss you, but you made a good choice to spend Sundays with your little ones. They grow up too fast.” Regret tinged his voice, and his pain jabbed her heart.

“You’re right,” she said, wishing she could say something more, something to comfort him.

He’d lost one son. And, really, the other, as well.

Now Mark was here trying to butt into his dad’s life. The man might end up hurt all over again.

“Mom, I’m hungry,” Tony called. “Is it time to eat yet?”

“Not yet, sweetie. But why don’t you come inside and help me decide what to cook?”

Maybe if she finished unpacking, she wouldn’t feel so unsettled, so worried about losing the house. She would finish the last boxes that night, even if she had to stay up to the wee hours.

Mark had the money in hand by noon on Monday. When he arrived at the church, he climbed out of the air-conditioned car. The muggy afternoon air nearly sucked the breath out of him. He’d forgotten how miserable it could get in early June in Georgia.

Carrying an envelope of cash left him unsettled. After years of living on the streets, he’d become hyperalert. Cautious. Now he caught himself glancing around, waiting for someone to jump him.

He laughed it off and flagged down Phil as he spotted him walking through the parking lot.

“Oh, hi, Mark. Is that the money for your dad?”

“It is.”

Phil nodded toward the bank, which sat across from the old brick courthouse with its newly refurbished white cupola. “Come on, walk part of the way with me.”

As they crossed the street, Mark said, “Did a little research at the courthouse this morning. Dad owes back taxes. This will cover that debt, plus the larger home repairs.” He handed over the envelope.

A flash of concern drew Phil’s brows together. “You know, Mark, I’m all for doing good. But I hope Redd won’t be angry when he discovers the deposit.”

“Surely an anonymous donation will save his pride.”

“We’ll see soon enough.” He gave Mark’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll have the receipt anytime you want to come pick it up.” He nodded toward Faith’s Coffee Time Café. “Miss Ann Sealy often spends her mornings over there with her Bible, visiting with friends…if you think you could use a friendly face.”

As the pastor walked inside the bank, Mark decided Phil was very insightful. He did need a cup of coffee and a friendly face even more.

Movement flickered in his peripheral vision as he turned toward the coffee shop.

A little dark-haired girl stood on the sidewalk, craning her neck back, looking up at him. “Hello.”

“You’re Hannah’s daughter.”

She pushed her pink glasses higher up her nose, and stared at him with earnest brown eyes. “Yes. And you’re the man who was lost.”

He bit back a grin. No point in trying to convince her otherwise. “I guess I am.” He forced a serious look on his face. “So what are you doing today?”

“I’m bored, so I’m walking to the library.” Her pigtails swung in her face as she took off a backpack, unzipped it and pulled out a card. With a wide grin, she proudly held it up for him to see. “I have my own library card.”

“Impressive.”

She stuffed it back inside. “Where are you going?”

“To get coffee. Are you with your mom?” He glanced around, hoping Hannah was with the girl so she wouldn’t find out about the deposit.

“No, I’m staying at my nana’s, and she let me play outside.” She crossed her arms and squinched up her nose. “I should probably ask her if I can go to the library.”

“Yes, I imagine she’d be worried if she can’t find you.”

She sighed as if very disappointed to have to delay her visit to check out books. “I guess you’re right. Bye, Mister, uh…”

“Mark. Just call me Mark.”

A shy smile lit her studious face and made her bright eyes sparkle. “I’m Becca.” She ran toward the church, crossed the street at the corner and then ran toward a group of older redbrick duplexes. She disappeared between two buildings. He assumed her grandmother—Donna—lived nearby.

Becca didn’t seem to have noticed Mark walking with Phil. But he still didn’t like the idea of Hannah’s daughter seeing him near the bank. The last thing he needed was for Hannah to find out where the money had come from and tell Redd.

“Becca, please put down your book while we’re eating.” Hannah had managed to prepare a dinner of spaghetti and salad, though she never had located the box of kitchen supplies that held her colander. Dinner had also been delayed by her mother’s half-hour rant about her fury over Mark’s return.

As if Donna storming out of the church hadn’t been indication enough.

“This spaghetti is watery,” Becca said as she stuck a bookmark in the novel. “I wonder why.”

“No mystery there. I can’t locate the box with my pasta strainer.”

Becca made a check mark in the air with her finger. “Aha! Problem solved.”

Hannah smiled at her daughter. “So what are you reading?”

“Do we have to hear about one of her stories agaaain?” Eric whined through a mouth covered in tomato sauce.

“That’s okay, Becca. I want to hear,” Emily said, but then followed the sweet remark with a punch to her brother’s arm.

Ignoring the whole exchange, Tony-the-bottomless-pit, with his tousled brown hair and squeaky-clean face, bent over his plate, totally focused on shoveling in the pile of plain noodles he’d insisted on that night.

Though parenting by herself left her drained sometimes, Hannah wouldn’t trade a moment spent with her children. “Let’s all be nice. Becca, you can tell us about your new book. Then it’s Tony’s turn to talk. Then Eric’s, then Emily’s.”

Becca’s face lit with a smile as she pushed up her glasses and jumped right in with a complete plot summary. Then after she finished, with a dribble of spaghetti sauce on her chin, she added, “Oh, and I met Mark today. You know, the man who was lost? He and Pastor Phil were walking downtown while I was going to the library.” She looked up to see if her story had attracted their attention.

Normally, Becca’s asides wouldn’t faze Hannah, but this one grabbed her by the throat. Phil had deposited a large anonymous donation into Redd Ryker’s account that day. So Becca’s information could mean Mark was the donor. It would make perfect sense.

“So did Mark say what he was doing with Pastor Phil?”

“Nope. He just asked if I was with you. And told me his name.”

Goodness. She certainly hoped Donna hadn’t made a scene. “So did Nana talk to him, too?”

“Um…well…” Her face turned red as she stared into her plate. “Nana didn’t know where I was.”

“Rebecca Lyn Hughes, what were you doing running around the square by yourself? And why didn’t your grandmother tell me?”

She blinked her big brown eyes. “Well, I didn’t think about asking. I was bored and started to go to the library. And then when Pastor Phil went into the bank, I stopped to talk to Mark.” She broke from her hurried explanation long enough to gasp for a breath. “And I didn’t think about asking Nana until Mark said I should. So I went back to the house to ask her if I could go to the library, and she took me. And I got my new book.”

“Well, young lady, I’m afraid you’re going to lose some of your freedom the rest of this week for breaking the rules. You can’t play outside alone until Saturday.”

Becca stared at her novel, as if wondering whether the unauthorized first trip to the library had been worth it. “Maybe I can do some reading at Nana’s house.”

“Certainly. No more wandering off.”

They finished their meal, and after putting Becca in charge of the younger kids with instructions to unpack the last of their toys, she ran next door to Redd’s apartment.

When he answered the door, he smiled. “What a nice surprise. Come in.” A table behind him had a plate and glass on it.

“I’m sorry to disturb your dinner. But I was wondering if you could possibly watch the kids for about thirty minutes while I…uh, run to town?” To see what his son had been up to. “After you eat, of course.”

“Well, I reckon that’d be okay.”

“You’ll be fine. They’re occupied with unpacking the last box of toys.” She’d never been so pushy in her life, and her face burned hot now. But she had to find out what Mark was up to. If Redd had enough money, he might boot her family out of his house—if not now, then possibly at the end of the one-year contract, before she could afford to buy or build. She knew good and well she’d never find another rental house big enough that would fit her budget.

“I’m nearly finished. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

The poor man. She hated to hit him up for child care just because he was close by, but desperation necessitated it. Now she needed to hurry home to change clothes.

Change clothes?

Disgusted with herself for even worrying about it, she marched across the yard and told the kids the plan. Once Redd arrived, she sent them back to organizing their rooms, gave him her cell-phone number and then left.

Remaining stealthy was difficult in a small town. But she did her best to cruise by the B and B and check license plates without alarming the owners or guests.

Luckily, she found Mark’s rental car parked out front. Of course, now she had to go inside and ask for him. Mr. and Mrs. Gunter knew everyone in town—including Hannah’s mother. If Donna found out her daughter had come around to visit Mark Ryker, she would throw a fit. Or worse, do something irrational to punish Hannah.

She plowed ahead, intent on telling the man to quit meddling in his father’s affairs and to go away. Helping Redd was one thing. But sneaking around, using money to manipulate him to do something he claimed he didn’t want to do—like moving back into the house—was a different matter.

A sign on the front door of the old Victorian home said to enter and ring the bell on the desk. She followed the directions, then waited. Every creak made her jump. Still, no one came.

She knew there were four guest rooms. She could start knocking.

No. Too awkward. So she tapped the little silver bell again, louder this time. Still no response.

Instead of heading toward the guest rooms, she first searched the living areas. When she reached the dining room, she heard voices outside. She peeked through the screen door at the back porch and found Mark sitting on an oversize rocking chair, holding a coffee mug. He and two other guests chatted with the Gunters.

Evening social hour.

Fighting the temptation to flee, she squared her shoulders. She would not waste putting herself through that awkward request for babysitting by chickening out.

She pushed the door open. “Hello?”

Though she tried her best to smile and look at the owners, her gaze automatically darted to Mark, whose rocking motion stilled the moment he spotted her.

“Oh, Hannah, dear,” Mrs. Gunter said from the chair beside Mark, in her thick German accent. An energetic seventy-year-old, she always wore cotton dresses covered with an apron…and knee-high stockings, the tops of which showed just below the hemline. “Come join us for cookies and coffee.”

“Thanks, but I can’t. I stopped by to talk with Mr. Ryker for a moment.”

“Oooh?” Mrs. Gunter said, with a hopeful lilt on the end of the word.

Mark hopped up, leaving his chair to rock back and forth without him in it. “What can I do for you, Mrs. Hughes?” Though concern drew his brows downward, his voice sounded perfectly calm and…well, perfect.

How could he infuriate her so, even in that smooth tone of voice? And where had his Georgia accent gone anyway? Had he purposefully hidden it? Was he ashamed of his past?

He should be ashamed of his past, accent or not. “I need to speak to you about something—privately.”

“You talk in the garden.” Mrs. Gunter stood and shooed them down the back steps. She pointed toward a path that led into a garden surrounded by holly hedges.

The sun was heading below the horizon as Mark followed her farther along the path dotted with pink-and- yellow lantana, pots of geraniums, beds of petunias. At the last event she’d attended at the Gunters’, a bridal shower, she’d thought the garden lovely, peaceful. But now, with the crescendo of frog calls, the oppressive, flower-scented air and closeness of Mark as he trailed behind her, right on her heels, the shrubbery closed in, smothering her.

At the first bench, she stopped and turned to him. “I know you donated the money for your dad.”

“And how could you have come to that conclusion?”

He was calm and cool and totally irritating. And those eyes…a woman could lose herself in those eyes.

She sat on the rough stone bench, mainly to get away from him. “Becca saw you outside the bank today.”

He sighed as he sat next to her. “I was afraid of that. I really want to keep this anonymous. So please don’t tell my father.”

“You’re afraid he’ll reject the donation if he finds out it’s from you?” As soon as the words left her mouth and she saw the hurt on his face, she regretted her question.

“I’m sure he’ll reject it. He wants nothing to do with me—which I understand. But I don’t want him to struggle when I’m able to help.”

Pity tried to worm its way into her heart, but she stood firm. One time, many years ago, she would have fallen for his spiel, for his generosity. At one time, she would have thought him attractive.

But this man had ruined Sydney’s reputation, started her on the road to alcoholism and then, when he realized what he’d done, vanished. She would not feel sorry for him.

“I don’t plan to tell your father. The deposit is simply bank business as far as I’m concerned. But if you try to make my family move before we’re ready, then I may have to reconsider.”

He raised his brows with what appeared to be humor. “Does your husband know you’re here threatening me?”

A flash of pain shot through her. Though it had been two years since his death, hearing someone say your husband still hurt. “My husband passed away. I’m simply taking care of my family the best I can.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry for your loss.” Genuine regret drew his brows back down from their teasing height and made him frown. Then he looked away.

If he’d had half a care for the people of his hometown, he would have known about Anthony’s death. The tree frogs seemed to lapse as awkward silence settled around them.

“So how long do you plan to live in Dad’s house?” he asked.

“Two to three years. I hope to buy or build as soon as possible.”

He seemed to consider whether he could tolerate his dad living in the garage for a few years. She wished she felt better about it herself. She’d been dealing with guilt since she’d watched Redd move out of the only home he’d ever known, watched him climb those steep garage stairs several times a day. She clung to the fact he’d said he was tired of rattling around that big old house, hoping it wasn’t strictly a financial decision. Now she couldn’t help but wonder if Redd had been truthful.

Mark stood and casually rested his hands in the pockets of his khaki pants, almost as if he’d rehearsed the genteel country-club look. “The house needs a lot of repairs. Maybe I could stick around and help.”