Читать книгу A Time of Hope - Terri Reed - Страница 10

Thursday morning Mara showed up driving an older red Jeep. Jacob opened the passenger door and immediately the smell of cleaning products assaulted his senses.

He glanced in the back and saw a huge white tote full of cleaning supplies. “Why don’t we take my car?”

She stared at him blankly for a moment. “Is something wrong?”

“I’d be more comfortable if I drive.”

With a shrug, she said, “All right.”

She put the Jeep in Park and climbed out, but not before grabbing her black planner. Didn’t she go anywhere without it?

Jacob led the way to his black SUV and held open the passenger door for Mara. As she climbed in he caught a faint whiff of flowers coming from her mass of curls. Apparently she hadn’t cleaned a house yet today, thankfully.

She wore baggy jeans and a long-sleeved blue T-shirt that hung on her, covering any suggestion of curves. Not that he was looking. But he did find it interesting that she wore such unappealing clothes.

“Which way?” he asked, once he had the car’s engine purring.

“Left for about a fourth of a mile then right for three blocks then left again. That will drop us onto the north end of Main Street.”

Only a half-mile long, the town of Hope wasn’t what he’d expected. Though nothing like the city of San Francisco with its towering concrete and glass buildings and ornate turn-of-the-century homes, he’d expected wooden sidewalks, rustic storefronts and a slow-paced world. Instead, he found a bustling little town with a personality all its own.

Colorful flags hung suspended over the road by barely visible wire. Large picture windows flanked every door of every shop and restaurant on both sides of the street, giving the occupants a wide view of those passing by either on foot or in cars.

“Park there.” Mara pointed to an empty space in front of a bakery at the south end of town.

He parked and they climbed out.

“We’ll walk up this side, make a loop by coming back on the other side.”

Amused, he leaned against the side of his car. “You have it all planned out, don’t you?”

“We have to be efficient. I’ve only got an hour to spend with you this morning. I have two houses to clean before coming back to clean the cottage.”

“Well, I’m hungry. Let’s get a pastry.” He walked past her and into the bakery. The most delicious smells greeted him as he entered. Cinnamon and sugar. Banana bread. His stomach rumbled.

He could feel Mara’s tension as she stepped up beside him at the counter. A tall, blond man in his early forties wearing a white apron over jeans and an orange T-shirt greeted them. “Hi, Mara. Sir. What can I get for you?”

“I’d like a sticky roll and a latte, please. Mara?”

Her lips were pressed tight. “Nothing for me. But make his to go. Rob, this is our new pastor. Pastor Durand, Rob Ferguson.”

Rob offered his hand with a huge smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Pastor Durand. Grace said you’d arrived.”

Jacob shook his hand over the counter. “Likewise. Do you own the bakery?”

Pride shone bright in Rob’s expression as he moved to get Jacob’s order. “My wife and I do. We’ve been in Hope for about ten years now.”

“Wonderful. What brought you to Hope?”

Rob handed Jacob his cup of coffee and a small bag containing his roll. “We wanted a safe, small community to raise our three kids in.”

“It seems you found it. Where did you move from?”

Mara gripped his elbow. Her eyes flashed gold. “We don’t have a lot of time,” she whispered.

He frowned. Boy, she was a taskmaster. “Right. It was good to meet you, Rob. I’ll see you on Sunday?”

“We wouldn’t miss it.”

“Great. We’ll talk more then.” Jacob let Mara steer him out the front door. “Whoa, slow down. Your hour isn’t up yet.”

She made a face at him.

“Here, hold this.” He handed her his coffee cup. He tore off a piece of his roll and popped it into his mouth. “That is good.”

He tore off another piece and held it out to her. “Here.”

She backed up a step. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, come on.” He waved the sugary sweet beneath her nose. “You know you want to.”

He could see the indecision in her expression. He waited. Finally, she shook her head and looked away. He popped the piece in his own mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those type who only eat carrots and steamed broccoli.”

She handed him back his cup and started walking. Her pace brisk. “I usually eat bagels, yogurt, granola. Healthy stuff that won’t clog my arteries. What’s wrong with vegetables?”

He fell into step with her. “Nothing. I like vegetables. But not in the morning. I’d much rather have something sticky and sweet.”

He ducked into a sporting goods store. Through the window, he watched the expression of frustration settle on Mara’s face as she realized he wasn’t with her. She certainly was on a mission to keep moving. She marched into the store and anxiety came off her in waves.

He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze of reassurance before engaging in a conversation with the owner, a nice older gentleman with lots of information on the lake activities that drew the summer tourists.

He left that store and went into the next and the next. Each time, he engaged in a conversation with the person manning the store. And with each stop, Mara’s tension grew. Jacob had no intention of letting her be late for her next appointment, but he wasn’t going to rush, either. He was keeping track of the time.

When he’d pulled her into the ice-cream parlor, for a second he thought she was going to keel over.

“It’s not even lunchtime yet!” she exclaimed when he offered to buy her a sundae.

He shrugged and ate his hot-fudge-and-caramel sundae with gusto.

At the drugstore he shot the breeze with the pharmacist for a few minutes while Mara sat impatiently in a chair.

As they left the drugstore, Mara glanced at her watch.

“Relax. It’s okay if we don’t make it all the way down the street. I’ll come back later.”

She stopped and glared at him. “Why am I here with you? You’re perfectly capable of doing this on your own.”

With that she headed back the way they’d come toward his car. For someone with short legs, she could sure move. With a grin he followed along. “Hey, wait up.”

She stopped, her tennis shoe tapping on the sidewalk.

He caught up. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s just that you’re like this big unpredictable kid, and I don’t have time for it.”

He grinned. “I promise I’ll be good.”

She eyed him warily. And he gave her a coaxing look that his sister and mother could never resist.

Her mouth scrunched up. “Don’t think you can manipulate me with your good looks and those puppy-dog eyes.”

He didn’t think she’d meant to compliment him, but his ego puffed up a bit anyway. “I like you. You don’t let anything get past you. How about while I drive you back to the cottage, you tell me about Hope?”

“Why? You’re only here temporarily,” she shot back.

“True.” He’d give her points for boldness. “But while I’m here, I should give my all, right?”

She blinked, clearly flustered. “Right. Fine.”

She started moving again. Only this time she adjusted her stride and went at a more reasonable pace. “Hope started out as a single fruit stand. Two local farmers decided to cash in on the new road leading to the lake by selling some of their goods. The stand became so popular, they added a restaurant.”

She pointed down the street to a lone log-cabin-style building set back a ways from the road just past the town proper. A big sign in the shape of a pie read Katie’s. “Best eating place around.”

“How long has it been there?” he asked.

“Since the late eighteen hundreds. The Wenatchee Valley is the undisputed heart of apple country in the state of Washington. Over Labor Day weekend the whole valley holds a big harvest bash, called Family Farm Fest. The local apple, peach and pear growers set up stands at the fairgrounds.

“There are pie-baking competitions, pie-eating competitions, pie-throwing competitions. One year Lars Henderson ate so many pies he had to be rolled out on a stretcher. The whole valley turns out for the event, as well as some tourists who drive over from Seattle or Spokane.”

“Ooh. I love pie. All kinds.” But he wouldn’t be here to taste any.

“We’re big on festivals. In fact, the Apple Blossom Festival is in a few weeks.”

“Will there be pie?”

She laughed. “Of course.”

“Good. My mouth is watering already.”

“Let’s see. What else would you be interested in? We have one school that used to go all the way to twelfth grade but about nine years ago the town council decided to build a regular high school. That created some more jobs, which we needed.”

They reached his SUV and he opened the door for her. Mara slid in, liking his gentlemanly manners. She hadn’t had much opportunity to be around men. Her father had barely talked to her most of the time after her mother’s death and Pastor Anders…well, she opened doors for him, not the other way around. Her housekeeping clients were courteous. She couldn’t fault anyone’s treatment of her.

But somehow Pastor Durand made her feel…she didn’t know how to define how he made her feel. Younger, freer.

And it wasn’t just her that he treated well. He’d been warm and friendly with everyone. People opened up to him in ways she’d never seen anyone do with Pastor Anders. Maybe it was the age difference.

Or maybe that Pastor Durand exuded such a fun and carefree presence that made him likable and easy to talk to. He asked questions and listened with attention to the answers. Just as he was listening to her ramble on about the town of Hope.

“Here we are,” he said, as he pulled his car next her old Jeep. He got out and came around to open her door. “Thank you, Mara. I do appreciate you taking time to help me get acquainted with the town.”

She clutched her organizer and climbed out. She didn’t feel she’d helped at all. “You’re welcome, Pastor Durand.”

“Jacob,” he reminded her gently.

Her throat tightened. He’d said she had a pure heart. He wouldn’t say that if he knew the truth. Not comfortable using his given name, she ducked her head.

“So, we still on for Friday?” he asked, relieving the tension.

“I have you penciled in,” she answered, and climbed inside her Jeep.

He moved closer, looped an arm over the top of her open car door and the other arm on the roof of the car. He crowded her senses with his presence. His smooth-as-chocolate eyes were so kind, yet mischief seemed to lurk at the edges.

Though he dressed conservatively in navy Dockers and a starched white, button-down shirt, she could feel his energy straining to be unleashed.

She started the engine. “Was there something else?”

He gave her a slow grin that she could feel all the way to her toes. “Nope.”

“Okay, then.” She tugged slightly on the door handle.

He shifted as if startled that he was blocking the way. “Friday. Don’t forget.” He shut the door and stepped back.

As she drove away, she glanced in the rearview mirror and watched his tall, athletic form disappear inside the cottage. How could he eat that much junk and still look so good?

Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. She wasn’t likely to forget about Friday.

On Friday, Mara raced home from her early-afternoon cleaning appointment at the Clarins’ house. She was hot and sweaty and nervous and expected at the cottage in a half hour.

Pastor Durand hadn’t been at the cottage when she’d returned yesterday in the late afternoon to clean as scheduled. And to her surprise, he’d cleaned up the dirt he’d tracked in the day before.

In fact, the whole cottage was tidy. Since she hadn’t much to scrub, she’d cleaned the oven, just in case he decided to heat up a casserole.

Then this morning, when she’d arrived to work on the computer, he’d been on his way out, dressed in jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, looking young and carefree. They’d set a time to meet later. She hadn’t seen him since.

She didn’t know what to expect from him today. Another leisurely stroll down Main Street? At least this time she’d be mentally prepared to roll with his unpredictable ways.

She showered and changed into lightweight powder-blue pants and a tunic-style white cotton sweater. The phone in her room on the bedside table rang just as she finished brushing her teeth. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mar, Donna here.”

Mara rolled her eyes. As if she wouldn’t recognize her childhood friend’s voice. “Hey.”

“So, you going to give me the scoop or what?”

Mara sat on the bed and propped the phone between her shoulder and ear while she put on her tennis shoes. “Scoop?”

“Sue called. Said she’d heard from her aunt, who’d heard from Tina who works at the bakery that you were showing the new pastor around town yesterday. And…he’s to die for.”

Mara tied off the bow on her laces with a little more force than necessary. To die for! Please.

“Well?” Impatience simmered in Donna’s voice.

“Well, what? Yes, I showed the new pastor around town for a bit yesterday.”

“So is he good-looking or not?” In the background Mara could hear a baby crying. “Oops. Missy’s awake. Why don’t you come over?” Donna pleaded.

“Can’t. Have plans, but I promise after church on Sunday, I’ll come by.”

Donna huffed into the phone. “Promises, promises.”

Mara closed her eyes against the mild disappointment in Donna’s voice. The crying got louder. Donna must have picked up the baby.

“Sunday. I gotta go,” Mara said.

“Okay. But you’d better come over!”

“I will.” She hung up and then quickly made a note in her organizer to go see Donna.

Mara paused in front of the mirror in her bedroom and cringed. Her damp curls stuck out in all directions. In her top bureau drawer she grabbed a stretchy headband.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought about taming her hair, and the fact that she wanted to now made her hands shake as she slipped the wide navy band over her head. How she looked shouldn’t matter. It never had before. Before a certain young pastor barged into her life.

To die for! Give me a break.

Donna would get a kick out of knowing that Mara was fiddling with her hair. A pang of envy pierced Mara’s heart. She forced it way. She was truly happy for Donna. Her friend had married a good man and now had a baby. Mara loved her godchild, even though she wasn’t quite comfortable with the little girl. Babies were fragile and unpredictable.

Tucking the band behind her ears, she grimaced at her reflection. She wasn’t sure which was worse—her curls unbound and flying all over the place, or pushed back into a sort of ring around her head. The tightness of the band made her decision. She yanked the thing off and threw it onto her twin bed.