“Great-nephew, actually.” Ben’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Mara Zimmer, meet Hope Community Church’s new pastor, Jacob Durand.”

Jacob’s mouth quirked as he watched her digest and finally—though he figured grudgingly—accept his great-uncle’s words.

With much dignity, she climbed out of the tub, set down her brush, wiped her hand on her jeans and stuck out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Pastor Durand. Welcome to Hope.”

“I’m only here temporarily, until a permanent pastor can be found,” he stated, wanting to make sure everyone realized he would not be staying.

Their palms met, his fingers curling around her slender hand. Though her skin was rough with cleanser and hard work, her small hand fit neatly within his and with surprising strength.

A strange spark traveled up his arm.

Must be an allergic reaction to the cleanser, because she certainly wasn’t his type.

grew up in a small town nestled in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. To entertain herself, she created stories in her head, and when she put those stories to paper, her teachers in grade school, high school and college encouraged her imagination. Living in Italy as an exchange student whetted her appetite for travel, and modeling in New York, Chicago and San Francisco gave her a love for the big city, as well. She also coached gymnastics and taught in a preschool. She enjoys walks on the beach, hikes in the mountains and exploring cities. From a young age she attended church but it wasn’t until her thirties that she really understood the meaning of a faith-filled life. Now living in Portland, Oregon, with her college-sweetheart husband, two wonderful children, a rambunctious Australian shepherd and a fat guinea pig, she feels blessed to be able to share her stories and her faith with the world. She loves to hear from readers at P.O. Box 19555, Portland, OR 97280.

A man’s gifts make room for him, and bring him before great men.

—Proverbs 18:16

Thank you to Pastor Rob Anthony of Riversgate Foursquare Church in Portland, Oregon, for patiently answering my questions and for your family’s dedication to the Lord. Any mistakes in this story are purely mine.

To my grandmother, Lorraine: I love you.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

“The commitment is for six months.”

Jacob Durand gripped the arms of the green leather chair. Dread slithered through him and settled in the pit of his stomach. “Six months! You want me to go to Washington State for six months?”

Leland Campbell steepled his graceful hands on the expansive oak desk. His lined face took on a settled expression and his dark eyes assessed Jacob. “Yes, I do.”

As a boy, Jacob had squirmed beneath that intense stare, but now he sat straighter and met it head-on. “I thought we had this all worked out. I’d come on board here as a junior associate pastor.”

“I’ve been praying about that. You know I would love to have you on staff at Shepherd’s Way. But I need you to do this for me first.”

Leland sat back, and the black leather captain’s chair silently moved with him. “I received a call from my brother Ben a few days ago. Actually, on the day of your graduation from seminary. It seems the pastor of their community church has gone home to be with the Lord. They are in need of an interim pastor until a permanent replacement can be secured. I want you to go.”

Jacob recognized the expression on his grandfather’s face. Pastor Leland Campbell had made up his mind, and nothing would make him budge.

All of Jacob’s plans skittered away. Disappointment oozed through his veins. Through four years of college, two years of grad school and three years of seminary, he’d looked forward to finally working and learning from his grandfather. He glommed on to the first excuse that came to mind. “I’m not ready to pastor a church on my own.”

“Nonsense. And I doubt you’ll be there for the whole six months. I’m sure a permanent replacement will be found sooner than that.”

Mentally scrambling, Jacob asked, “What will the associate pastors of that church think, having someone so young and inexperienced assigned to lead their church?”

“You will gain experience, Jacob. Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks.”

Jacob stared at the full bookcases behind his grandfather. His heart raced as he examined the thought of leading a small community church. Terrifying, thrilling. A perfect opportunity to prove to his grandfather, to his father—and to himself—that he was ready to be up front.

This just might be a good thing. It would certainly accelerate his plans. Readjust and forge ahead. His plans lined up again. “All right. I’ll go.”

The pleasure in his grandfather’s expression made Jacob determined to do a good job. Leland Campbell had been Jacob’s hero since he was a child. Jacob wanted to be just like his grandfather, much to his father’s criticism.

It wasn’t so much that William Durand had disapproved of the church or his father-in-law. He’d wanted his only son to follow in his footsteps, to take over the successful business he’d started before Jacob was born.

That wasn’t Jacob’s dream, and the opposing goals between father and son created tension in the relationship.

Jacob rose to leave, his mind whirling with all the details that he’d need to take care of before heading north.

His grandfather came around the desk and put a hand on his shoulder. “Remember, Jacob. Don’t put God in a box. He can do more than you can imagine.”

Three days later, Jacob stared at the cedar-sided box of a structure that housed Hope Community Church in the small Pacific Northwest town of Hope, Washington. Majestic cedars provided shade for the lush green lawn and meticulous flower beds.

A far cry from the state-of-the-art world of Shepherd’s Way located in the heart of the marina district in San Francisco.

With a sigh of resignation and a reminder to himself that his time in Hope was a means to an end, Jacob climbed from his SUV and headed up the walkway. He took a moment to absorb the outdoors. Fresh April air filled his lungs, revitalizing in its crispness. The only sound he heard was a distant bird. A calm peacefulness filled his soul.

He opened the wood door of the church. Stale air hit him as he stepped inside. The dark, small vestibule had one lone table that supported a single unlit candle in a pewter holder. The inner sanctuary was equally dark. Heavy damask curtains covering the floor-to-ceiling windows were drawn closed.

Jacob gamely drew back one curtain to allow sunlight to brighten the room. Surprisingly, no dust rose to tickle his nose. At least the place was clean.

Wooden pews, enough for a hundred people, give or take a few, filled the narrow building. The platform at the front was raised a few feet up with wooden stairs on one side. A podium and an organ with a matching bench was the only furniture on stage.

Jacob sighed again. “Well, this should be interesting.”

The squeak of a hinge reverberated through the quiet sanctuary. A short, heavyset older woman bustled out from a room to the right of the platform. She stopped, blinking owlishly at him from behind her thick tortoiseshell glasses.

Her lined face broke into a wide smile. “You must be Pastor Durand! You look just like Ben. At least, how he looked as a young man.”

She hurried over and touched his arm. “I say, it will be nice to have some new blood here in Hope. Don’t get me wrong, old Pastor Anders was a good man. Just rough around the edges and well, old. Like me.”

She laughed, a trilling sound that echoed in the church. She gave his arm a pat. “Here now, I’m doing all the talking and I’ve yet to let you get in a word. My husband Ed tells me all the time I talk too much. If I do, then it’s just a gift the good Lord has seen fit to give me.” She took a breath.

Amused, Jacob interjected. “I am Pastor Durand.” He liked that sound of that, but quickly amended, “I’m only here temporarily. And you are?”

She beamed. “Grace Stephens. I’m the church secretary.”

A dry laugh escaped as he compared Grace to his grandfather’s secretary, Carol. There would be no stiff and formal greetings from Grace. “That’s wonderful. Can you show me my office?”

Little creases appeared between her gray eyebrows. “Your office isn’t here in the church. It’s next door in the cottage.”

“Cottage?”

“Where you’ll be staying and where you’ll have your office. Pastor Anders didn’t like traipsing over here every day, so he moved his office into the front bedroom of the cottage. It’s set up real nice.”

Jacob vaguely remembered seeing a small house set off to one side of the church property. He pointed in the direction from which she’d emerged. “Then what’s back there?”

“Why, my office. If you want to call it that. And Sunday School rooms and the restroom. Would you like a tour?”

Not yet ready to orient himself with this new, unplanned life, he shook his head. “Later. For now I’ll just head over to the cottage. When would it be a convenient time to meet with you and go over the services and other information I need before Sunday?”

Her brows rose nearly to her hairline. “You want to meet with me?”

“Well, you are the secretary.”

She grinned. “I’m the church secretary. I keep attendance, handle the finances, make sure that we have greeters and ushers for services. I attend all the baptisms, birthing and weddings to record everything for prosperity. I distributed the sermon notes that Pastor Anders gave me on Sunday morning. I take all the calls for the church and direct the calls to where they need to go. I—”

Jacob held up a hand, cutting her off. “What about the associate pastors? And helping to organize the sermons?”

“Oh.” She waved a hand. “You want to talk with Mara.” She tapped her index finger against her lips. “Let me think. Hmm. I don’t know when she’ll be back in. She’s already been here this week. I could look up her number. I’m sure I have it. If not, I could tell you where she lives. It’s not far, just a few blocks.”

“Why don’t you look up her number and get back to me?”

She brightened. “I’ll do that. And I’ll arrange for a church council potluck at my house on Saturday evening.” She clapped her hands. “What a wonderful excuse to have my house cleaned.”

She beamed at him. “Your uncle Ben is on the council along with my Ed and Dr. Hanlin. And there’s Luke Bryer—he’s a teacher over at the high school—and Martin Lessing—he owns the drugstore downtown. And I know I’m forgetting someone….”

“That’s fine. I’m sure you’ll work it out,” he said. “I’m going to head over to the cottage right now.”

“Good, good. I’ll start making arrangements.”

Jacob watched her disappear back from where she came. He shook his head in bemusement. Yep, this sure wasn’t anything like his grandfather’s church.

He went back to his car and grabbed his cases then headed the short distance to the cottage. The small country-style house was quaint in a storybook kind of way.

Yellow with white trim. Empty flower boxes sat beneath the windowsills. Sheer curtains covered the double-hung windows.

He pulled out the key he’d received in the mail, but realized the door was slightly ajar. He pushed it open and stepped across the threshold into the entryway.

The smell of cleaning products burned his nostrils. A rhythmic noise came from down the hall. He set his stuff by the antique sideboard. An old fedora with a red feather sticking out of the band sat on the scarred top as if waiting for its owner to swing by and pick it up on the way out the door.

The living room of the cottage was homey with mission-style furniture. The light taupe-colored walls were covered with photographs. Several were reprints of old photos, probably from Pastor Anders’s past. There were three beautiful Ansel Adams landscapes dominating the living room wall above the worn leather sofa.

The strangeness of stepping into someone else’s life squeezed the air from Jacob’s lungs. Thankfully, he’d only be filling this role on a temporary basis, then he could start his own life on staff at Shepherd’s Way.

As Jacob followed the sound toward the open doorway of the bathroom, he glimpsed the bedroom to his right and the kitchen to his left. The brief glance gave the impression of a clean and tidy house.

He stopped abruptly in the doorway of the small green-and-white-tiled bathroom. A petite woman, wearing worn, baggy jeans and a red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows, bent over the rim of the claw-foot tub. Her whole body moved with the force of her arms as she scrubbed the inside of the tub. Short brown hair curled around her head in disarray.

Jacob cleared his throat. “Hello.”

The woman screamed, the sound echoing painfully in his ears. She jumped into the tub and whirled around to face him, her legs braced apart and her cleanser-covered scrub brush pointed at him like a rapier.

Her wide, gold-colored eyes glared at him with a mixture of anger and panic.

She wasn’t a classical beauty, but it was kind of cute the way she held her weapon out as if ready to do battle.

“Who are you!” she demanded.

Even with the added height of the tub, she barely reached his shoulders. The oversize work shirt and shapeless jeans emphasized her small stature. She reminded Jacob of a hobbit from Tolkien’s tales.

Jacob coughed into his fist to hide a smile. It was a minute before he could speak. “I’m Pastor Durand. And who are you?”

Her weapon wavered a bit. “You…you can’t be our new pastor.”

He leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. “And why not?”

“You’re…” She emphasized her words with a sharp jab of her brush in the air, spraying the walls with cleanser-loaded water. “You’re too…too…young.”

“I didn’t realize there was an age requirement. I’m twenty-six, by the way.”

That wild hair curled into her face and she pushed it back with an impatient swipe of her forearm, leaving a smudge of green cleanser on her face. “I don’t believe you.”

He raised a brow. “You don’t believe I’m twenty-six? Do you want to see my driver’s license?”

She made an exasperated noise. “I don’t believe you’re our new pastor. The new pastor isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

He shrugged. “It didn’t take me as long to get here as I had anticipated.”

“And…and he’s going to be older, more experienced.”

Her words scraped along an already touchy nerve.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you. I hope it will be years before I need a walker.”

She scowled harder at him. “Where else have you pastored?”

There was a knock on the front door, then a deep, booming voice called out, “Hello? Jacob, are you here?”

Saved by the cavalry. “Back here, Uncle Ben.”

Ben Campbell came down the hall. His tall frame ate up the narrow space. Younger than Leland, Ben was nearly as tall and more rugged looking. Living in the Pacific Northwest, with all the opportunities to be outdoors hiking, hunting and camping probably did that to a person. Things Jacob realized he’d have the chance to do before he returned to the city.

Ben pulled Jacob into a bear hug. “Hi there, nephew. I saw your rig out front.” For a moment the air was squeezed from Jacob’s lungs, then Ben let go and stepped back. “It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you, too, Uncle Ben. How’s Aunt Abby?”

“Good, good. She’s anxious to see you. You made good time.”

Jacob nodded and glanced at the wild woman standing in his bathtub. “I did. I guess I should have warned…someone I’d be here tonight.”

Following Jacob’s gaze, Ben’s dark eyebrows rose slightly. “Mara, honey. What are you doing in the bathtub?”

She waved her brush at Jacob. “You know him? He’s your nephew? Our new pastor?”

“Yes. Great nephew, actually. And yes.” Ben’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Mara Zimmer, meet Hope Community Church’s new pastor, Jacob Durand.”

Grace had mentioned something about a Mara. There couldn’t be two people with such an unusual name. Jacob’s mouth quirked as he watched her digest and finally—though he figured grudgingly—accepted his great-uncle’s words.

With much dignity, she climbed out of the tub, set down her brush, wiped her hand on her jeans and then walked directly to him with her chin held high. She stuck out her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Pastor Durand. Welcome to Hope.”

“I’m here only temporarily, until a permanent pastor can be found,” he stated, wanting to make sure everyone realized he would not be staying for long.

Good manners dictated that he accept her offered hand, regardless of the fact that gooey cleanser still clung to her skin.

Their palms met, his fingers curling around her slender hand. He was afraid to squeeze for fear he’d break those fragile bones. Though her skin was rough with cleanser and hard work, her small hand fit neatly within his with surprising strength.

A strange spark traveled up his arm.

Must be an allergic reaction to the cleanser, because she certainly wasn’t his type.

He pulled his hand back and subtly wiped his palm on his denim-covered thigh. “It looks like you’re pretty much done in here, and the rest of the house looks great. Thank you, Mrs. Zimmer, I appreciate the effort.”

She tucked in her chin. “It’s Miss. And you don’t owe me a thank-you. This is my job.”

“Job?” So she wasn’t just a caring soul wanting to welcome the pastor.

“Yes, job.”

She spun on her heel and picked up a black organizer from the sink counter that he hadn’t noticed before. She flipped open the book and held it in front of her. “My schedule is as follows. I clean the church building on Mondays, which is your day off.”

That was news. “Is it?”

She glanced up. “Yes, it is.” She returned her attention to the book. “I—”

“What if I don’t want Mondays off?”

A little crease appeared between her unshaped eyebrows. “Pastor Anders always took Mondays off.”

“I’m not Pastor Anders, now am I?”

He heard his uncle make a noise, but Jacob was too interested in Miss Zimmer’s reaction. He liked the way her pert little nose flared slightly as if she smelled something distasteful.

“You can take any day of the week off. I don’t care. I clean the church on Mondays.”

“Why not Thursdays?”

Her finely sculptured jaw tightened. “I clean the church on Mondays, the cottage on Thursdays. This is the way it is done. My schedule is very tight and I need to stay on track. I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t come barging in and try to change things.”

He took offense to that. “Barging in?”

It wasn’t as if he’d jumped with joy at this detour in his plans. “I don’t need you to clean the cottage while I’m here. I’m perfectly capable of picking up after myself.”

Those amber eyes sparked with indignation and a bit of desperation. “You don’t want me to clean the cottage? But I’ve always cleaned the cottage.”

Uncle Ben laid a hand on Jacob’s arm. “Go with the flow, Jacob. Let her do the job the church pays her to do.”

“Fine.” He relented, not liking the fleeting look of defeat in those magnificent eyes before she lifted her chin and haughtiness entered. “The cottage on Thursdays.”

She gave a sharp nod. “Ben, let Abby know I’ll be there tomorrow as always and if she wants the refrigerator defrosted this week to leave me a note.”

She began gathering up her supplies. “Sorry I can’t stay and chat, but I’ve a schedule to keep and the mayor’s wife is hosting a quilting bee tonight.”

Jacob and Ben stepped out of the way as she swept past them and out of the cottage, taking the buzz of energy with her.

Bone-deep exhaustion flooded through Jacob. His muscles were stiff and needed to be exercised. He’d take a long run later.

There was a slight throbbing behind his eyes. He’d driven most of the night and day with only a few stops. He hadn’t wanted to waste time. He just wanted the next few months to go by as quickly as possible.

Ben clapped him on the back as they moved into the living room. “Wow. I’ve only seen Pastor Anders take on that fireball and come out unscathed. Everyone else in town pretty much leaves Mara be. Sad story that girl has.”

Ben’s dark eyes narrowed. “You look beat. Abby will want you to come for dinner.” He checked his watch. “We’ll eat around six. That’ll give you a few hours to unwind and relax.”

“Thanks, Uncle Ben.”

After his uncle gave him directions to their house, he left, and Jacob headed straight for the phone to call his grandfather. Carol told him in her crisp, distant way that Leland was in a meeting and couldn’t be disturbed. Jacob held on to his irritation at being put off and asked to have his grandfather return his call as soon as possible.

As he hung up, it slammed into him just what Grace Stephens had said about Mara. He’d have to ask Miss Zimmer for the information he needed about Sunday services. With a groan he sank onto the couch.

So that meant he was going to have to deal closely with the wild woman who’d brandished her scrub brush so deftly. And for some reason, he actually looked forward to sparring with her.

Which didn’t make any sense, but nothing in the past few days had gone as he’d planned, so why should this be any different?

A boulder-sized lump of dread sat heavily on Mara’s chest, but she ignored the sensation.

Life wasn’t for the faint of heart, and the road she traveled was full of hard work. But someday she’d reach the end.

Someday she’d find redemption, then she could pick and choose her path. Then maybe she’d find the happiness and connections she longed for. But until that day came, she’d do what needed to be done.

Today she was scheduled to work on the project she’d started nearly six months ago.

Transcribing Pastor Anders’s sermons and memoirs from his scribbled notes to the computer set up in his office.

Correction. Pastor Durand’s office. In the cottage.

How much hassle would moving the computer cause?

She regretted she hadn’t brought up the project when they’d met yesterday, but he’d flustered her with his sharp wit and heavy-lidded, watchful eyes. If his scrutiny hadn’t been so intent she would have said he had puppy-dog eyes.

But there was nothing soft and squishy about the man. It had taken everything in her to get out of there with some semblance of dignity.

And worse, he seemed to find her amusing. Though she’d caught anger in his brown eyes when she’d questioned his age.

The man was far too young and handsome to be a pastor. Granted he was two years older than she. But she felt ages older than twenty-four. Still, a tall, lean-muscled twenty-six-year-old pastor with a strong square jaw just wasn’t appropriate.

He didn’t resemble what she thought a pastor should look like. Approachable, harmless. Good-natured with a ready smile. That certainly wasn’t Jacob Durand. There was something dark in his eyes, something forbidden.

She’d expected, wanted, the new pastor to be like Pastor Anders. A man in need of an assistant. Older, willing to have her serve him and the church.

She needed to be of service. But somehow she doubted Pastor Durand would understand as Pastor Anders had. He’d helped her through the worst years. Kept her from spinning toward depression with his suggestion she could find more useful ways of serving God than wallowing in self-pity.

That’s when realization had come to her. If she wanted God’s forgiveness she needed to earn it.

Her organizer lay on the farm-style kitchen table in the middle of the living room. She closed the book with a decisive snap, which dislodged a stray garnet-colored bead. The bead rolled off the edge of the table and landed in the green shag carpet. She plucked the bead from the fibers of the carpet and set it in the box with the rest of the materials she used for making jewelry.

Time to finish what she’d started. She slipped into her brown leather walking shoes and briskly set out for the pastor’s residence. There were no cement sidewalks, so she walked on the paved road past the manicured yards of her neighbors. She admired the well-kept houses and wished she had the extra funds to fix up her house.

But that wasn’t a priority.

At the door of the pastor’s cottage, she hesitated. She could hear the strains of guitar music coming from inside. Apparently another difference between the old pastor and the new.

Maybe she should have called, warned him she was coming over. She squared her shoulders. She had a job to do, and he was just going to have to let her do it.

She rapped her knuckles loudly on the door. The music stopped. As she waited, she wiped the bottoms of her shoes, dirty from the road, on the shoe rug she’d bought for Pastor Anders last spring.

Sudden tears sprung to the backs of her eyes. She missed the old coot. He’d been gruff and set in his ways, but she’d loved him like a grandfather. He’d become the closest thing to family she had in the world.

Heavy footfalls sounded behind the door. Mara quickly forced her sadness down and blinked to clear the tears.

The door opened. Pastor Durand stood on the other side wearing light-colored sweatpants with a matching sweat jacket unzipped to reveal a white T-shirt. The edges of his dark brown hair appeared slightly damp and his running shoes were rimmed with mud. Mud she suspected he’d tracked throughout the cottage.

He cocked his head to one side. “Miss Zimmer, what can I do for you? Today isn’t Thursday.”

“I know that,” she snapped, then promptly clenched her teeth. Not the best way to go about gaining his cooperation. She put on what she hoped was a pleasant smile. “Actually, I am scheduled to be here today.”

His intense eyes darkened with annoyance and disbelief. “Really? What for?”

“I need to use the computer. I’ve been working on a project Wednesdays and Fridays from nine to noon. I’ll just slip into the office, and you won’t even know I’m here.”

“I doubt that.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “So, you want to use the computer in my office.”

She blinked. “Yes. But…” She made a hopeful face. “I could move the computer to my house and then return it when I’ve completed my project.”

Amusement now danced on his face. “Doesn’t the computer belong to the church?”

Her hope that he’d go for the offer wobbled. “Yes. But the work I’m doing is for the church.”

“You don’t have your own computer?”

“No.” She didn’t explain that her budget wouldn’t allow for the expense.

He shrugged. “I may need the computer at some point.”

The hope took a nosedive and crashed with a burn in her stomach. “Then I guess I need to continue to work here.”

He studied her for a moment, and she had the strangest urge to primp. She lifted her chin.

The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth and determination solidified on his handsome face. “Grace tells me you helped the late pastor organize for services. I could use some help, as well. And since Uncle Ben and Aunt Abby are busy with the feed store, I could use a tour guide. Someone to show me the ropes of small-town living. In exchange, I’ll give you unlimited access to the computer.”

Wariness kicked up its heels in her chest. She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need unlimited access. Just Wednesday and Friday mornings.”

He laughed, a deep, rich sound. “Whatever. Is it a trade?”

Mara tugged on her bottom lip with her front teeth. She did need to finish the project as a way to honor Pastor Anders, and helping Pastor Durand would count a lot toward the debt she owed God.

She made up her mind. “Yes. We have a trade.” She opened her organizer. “I’ll find time in my schedule to help you get acquainted with Hope and the church.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Her cheeks heated. “Can I get to work now?”

“By all means.” He stepped aside and motioned for her to proceed.

She crossed the threshold and entered the cottage. The smell of rich coffee permeated the air. A portable CD player sat on the dining room table surround by stacks of CDs, and a guitar sat propped up in the worn, brown leather recliner in the living room.

“Would you like some coffee?” he asked as he shut the door behind her.

She ran a hand over the brim of Pastor Anders’s hat, remembering how he always wore the hat tapped down low over his ears whenever he left the house.

“You miss him,” Pastor Durand said.

She looked up and found him watching her. The open, caring expression on his face made her heart pause. To hide her discomfort at knowing he’d glimpsed her grief, she answered his first question. “Coffee would be fine, thank you.”

Without comment, he went to the kitchen, and she went into the office. Nothing had changed as far as she could tell since the last time she’d worked in here. The metal desk that had come from the old high school before they remodeled dominated the west-facing wall.

The computer with the seventeen-inch screen and wireless keyboard sat off center to the stack of spiral notebooks that she was laboriously working her way through. Over forty years of pastoring was compiled in those journals.

A priceless collection of a man’s life.

Mara heard the clang of the cupboard closing, the clink of a cup being set on the counter-top.

“Do you take cream or sugar?” he asked from the kitchen.

“Black, please,” she called back, feeling awkward to have him waiting on her. How was she going to concentrate with him in the cottage?

She sat and tried to focus on the task in front of her. Going through the routine of turning on the computer, opening the top notebook and finding the place where she’d last left off eased some of the tension that had settled on her shoulders the moment Jacob had answered the door.

The fine hairs on her arm tingled with awareness and the tension tightened in her shoulders again seconds before Jacob stepped into the confining office.

“Here you go,” he said as he set a cup of steaming coffee on the desk beside her.

“Thanks.” She opened the file on the desktop.

“What are you working on?”

He had a right to know. “I’m taking Pastor Anders’s sermons and turning them into a book.”

He arched a brow. “He was that good?”

“Pastor Anders loved the Lord passionately. Yes, he was good.”

“I have a lot to live up to, then.”

Was he being sarcastic? A quick glance showed her there was something in his expression, an uncertainty that tugged at her. Was he nervous about Sunday’s service? “I’ve transcribed more than half of his sermons. You’re welcome to look at them and use one as an example. I’m sure he would have been honored.”

“I might do that. Though they do equip us young pastors with outlines in seminary,” he teased.

She found it impossible not to return his disarming smile. “I’m sure they do. How long ago did you complete seminary?”

His jaw tightened. “Two weeks ago.”

“Oh.” He was brand-new at this. She made a few clicks on the computer and then the printer hummed as it spit out paper. She grabbed the sheets and handed them to him. “Here. Have a look at these.”

“Thanks. I won’t be here very long, you know. A permanent pastor will be found soon.”

A strange sense of disappointment shot through her. “So you said. I’m sure you’ll do fine while you’re here. God wouldn’t have brought you here without a purpose.”

He backed up, an odd expression on his face. “I’ll let you get to work.”

Mara sat there staring at the closed door for several seconds after he left. She shook her head, marveling that God would send such a young man to pastor their community. A man who obviously didn’t want to be here.

Not her concern. She had enough on her plate without worrying about Pastor Jacob Durand.

She turned her mind to the work at hand. Just as she was getting into the words she was typing, a noise caught her attention and she froze.

The lyrical notes of the guitar washed over her. She closed her eyes and let the tune flow through her. She recognized the chords, could visualize the placement of her fingers on the keyboard in accompaniment.

He was very good on the guitar.

Rats! With much effort she pulled herself out of the music. How was she supposed to concentrate when he was playing the guitar so beautifully and everything inside her ached to harmonize to the music filling the air?

For an hour she battled to stay focused on the words her fingers were typing. Finally, silence reigned. Mara breathed a sigh of relief.

Then moments later, music from the CD player invaded the stillness. She recognized the tunes of a popular contemporary Christian rock group.

A smiled tugged at the corners of her mouth. They shared the same taste in music. This she could work to as background noise.

She lost herself in the work at her fingertips. When a loud knock on the door broke her concentration, she was startled to realize it was already noon.

The door popped open and Jacob stuck his head inside. “I’m making myself a ham-and-cheese sandwich. Would you like one?”

“Oh, no. Thank you. That’s not necessary.” She deftly saved her work and shut down the computer.

“Maybe not necessary. But you do schedule yourself a lunch, right?”

“Yes. Of course.” She grimaced at the defensiveness in her tone. She doubted he’d think a ten-minute lunch break would suffice. She wasn’t expected at the Hilty house for another hour.

Usually, she spent the hour between commitments running errands for the church or replenishing her cleaning supplies. Today she didn’t have any errands and she was all stocked up. The slight cramping in her stomach made her hesitate. The bagel and yogurt she’d had for breakfast had filled her at the time. Now she was hungry.

“Come on.” His engaging grin made her pulse jump. “You’ve been working hard for the past three hours. You deserve a break. Let me make you a sandwich.”

She consulted her schedule book as a means to stall. She didn’t have a good excuse not to stay.

“We need to discuss our arrangement,” he said. “Schedule time for you to show me around.”

The coaxing tone in his voice prodded her to accept his invitation. After all she had agreed to his deal. “Okay. But I can make my own sandwich.”

“Not in my kitchen,” he stated, and walked away.

Slowly, Mara left the office, and for some reason resentment simmered low in her belly. This was Pastor Anders’s home, not his. But Pastor Anders was gone. She had to accept that.

“There are casseroles in the freezer,” she said as she took a seat at the round kitchen table.

“I saw that.” He opened a jar of mayonnaise. “Mayo?”

“Sure.”

She liked the way his hands moved with fluid grace. She’d like to watch him play his guitar. She forced that thought away and made herself focus on assisting him instead. “You can help yourself to the casseroles.”

He slapped a pile of ham on the bread. “Did the hospitality crew make them for Pastor Anders?”

“Hospitality crew?”

“That’s what my sister and I call the ladies in the congregation who are generous with their cooking.” He glanced her way as he put the sandwiches onto plates.

Heat blossomed in her cheeks. “No, the ladies of the church didn’t make them. Though I’m sure they would have been happy to.”

“You?” he asked, extending a plate toward her.

She looked away and took the plate in front of her. The sandwich spilled over the sides with ham. She’d be stuffed for days.

“Yes. Pastor Anders wasn’t much of a cook,” she said, hoping Pastor Durand didn’t hear her stomach rumbling with hunger.

He opened the refrigerator. “I have lemon-lime soda or bottled water.”

“Water’s fine.”

He came to the table with his plate and two bottles of cold water. “You sure took good care of him. Were you related?”

“No.” A pang of sadness crimped her heart. “Though I would have liked to have had him as a grandfather.”

He bit into his sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “Grandfathers are pretty special.”

She picked up her sandwich. “You speaking from experience?”

He grinned, his whole expression lighting up. “Yes. I admire my grandfather. He’s the pastor of The Shepherd’s Way Church in San Francisco. When I’m done with my interim assignment here, I’ll go on staff with him. The church has a congregation of over five thousand, with three services a week. Occasionally, his sermons are televised.” He tilted his head back and took several long swigs of water.

From the pride and awe in his tone, Mara guessed Pastor Durand saw his grandfather as some kind of hero. “Is he your maternal or paternal grandfather?”

“My mom’s dad.” He took a long swig of water, nearly emptying the bottle.

Mara liked his strong jaw. Liked the angular line of his nose and chiseled cheekbones. He had nice thick hair, the color a walnut-brown that matched his puppy-dog eyes. Eyes that were watching her with interest.

She blinked and realized she’d been staring.

Quickly turning her attention to her sandwich, she asked, “What do your parents think of you following in your grandfather’s footsteps?”

“My mom’s fine with it. As long as her children are happy, she’s happy. My dad had hoped I’d go into business with him. The high-tech industry doesn’t float my boat.”

The hint of tension in his tone piqued her curiosity.

“In college I majored in business, but I really enjoyed the psychology and sociology classes more. I thought briefly about going into a profession that utilized those studies, but I really want to be like my grandfather. I want to reach the masses with God’s word.”

“Pastor Anders once said that change came by touching one heart at a time.”

He lifted a challenging eyebrow. “Big change can come from touching many hearts at once.”

Mara shrugged, not sure she agreed, but what did she know? She was just a small-town girl with no experience in the world outside Hope. “As long as hearts are being touched, I guess the venue doesn’t matter.”

“But you don’t believe it?”

She supposed her look gave her away. “I’ve never been out of Hope, so frankly I don’t know.”

He gave her a thoughtful look. “Tell me about your family, Mara.”

An anxious flutter rippled through her. She sighed. “You might as well hear it from me.”

She wasn’t sure what slant the gossip would take. Besides, she’d learned that the truth kept people at a safe distance. As if somehow her family’s scandal would rub off on them or something equally silly. Whatever the case, she needed to keep a safe distance from the all-too-attractive pastor. Emotional attachments only ended in pain. She didn’t want any more pain.

“My mother’s dead, my father was arrested for her murder and then acquitted when her death was ruled an accident.”

“I’m so sorry.”

The sympathy in his light-chocolate-brown eyes scraped across her soul. She didn’t deserve sympathy. She sought the comfort of her organizer. Nothing had changed since she’d last checked it.

“Where’s your father now?”

Her shoulders slumped. Another death she was responsible for. More pain she had to live with. “He died eight years ago from a heart attack.”

He sat forward again, concern and compassion softening his expression, making her want to cry. “Man, that’s tough. Uncle Ben had said you had a sad story. I didn’t image how sad.”

Anger sliced a jagged path through her nerves, chasing way the weak tears. She knew the town pitied her. They shouldn’t pity her, they should hate her.

With jerky movements, she flipped open her planner. “Since I cleaned the cottage on Tuesday, I have a few hours available in the morning tomorrow that we could work on organizing you for Sunday’s service.”

Skimming her finger over the pages, she continued, “Friday afternoon has some free time. Saturday is pretty crammed, though.”

She looked up to find him studying her. She resisted the urge to squirm. “What would be good for you?”

“What about tonight?”

She glanced at the note she’d written herself for the evening. Four orders. And complicated ones at that. “No, tonight won’t work.”

“Do you always live your life so scheduled?”

Cocking her head to one side, she stared at him with disapproval. “You have a problem with organized people?”

“Organization is one thing, but chaining yourself to a schedule is another.”

Tucking in her chin, she stated succinctly, “It makes life easier.”

“What about spontaneity? That’s not something you can schedule, is it?”

She pulled a face. “I don’t have time for spontaneity. Do you want to choose the time or do you want me to?”

Jacob liked the kaleidoscope of greens, golds and browns swirling in her steady gaze. There was something about the stubborn jut of her chin that he found charming. She was so different from the city girls he’d become used to. His ex-girlfriend Karen had been polished and sophisticated, requiring only the best in life. And his sister, well, her motto was image is everything. Needless to say she was normally impeccably done up at all times, even during her bad days.

“Pencil me in for both days,” he said.

“Both?” Her raised eyebrows were nearly hidden by her wild curls. “You do realize Hope is a small community. It won’t take too long to show you around town.”

He could just bet she’d drive down Main Street and call it good. “I don’t want the two-dollar tour. I want to meet the people. Get a pulse on the community.”

Even though he wasn’t going to be staying long, he wanted to do a good job while here.

Her nose twitched. “You sound like a politician.”

That would have pleased Karen to no end. “I’m just a man who loves God.”

She smiled, drawing his attention to her mouth. She really had a nicely shaped mouth when it wasn’t all tight or scrunched up. Her hair wasn’t nearly as dark as he’d first thought. The wild curls were more of a chestnut color.

Today she wore an oversize tan blouse, which she left untucked from her light khaki pants. An outfit his sister would gag over.

He suppressed a smile as he watched Mara block off time in her schedule book. He doubted she realized that she’d hugged the book to her like a shield as she told him of her parents’ deaths. He wanted to believe she’d dealt with the tragedies. Mostly because he didn’t want to become emotionally involved with her when they’d be seeing so much of each other.

And because he knew she wouldn’t appreciate him trying to help her.

But Jacob would appreciate her help. “Do you have the name and numbers for the associate pastors?”

She slanted him an odd look. “There are no associate pastors.”

Tension pulled at the muscles in his shoulders. “Who’s been filling in since Pastor Anders passed on?”

She pushed a curl away from her forehead. “We haven’t had services for the last few weeks.”

“What about when Pastor Anders went on vacation or was sick?”

She looked at him as if he was a dense child. “Pastor Anders never went on vacation. And he never was too sick to preach.” Her expression turned sad. “Except the last few weeks before he passed away.”

“How did he die?”

“The doctors said lymphoma. No one even suspected. He never said a word or showed signs of pain. He just started to slow down over the course of a few months. The man was eighty years old so I thought slowing down was a good thing.

“One day I came to see him, see what errands he needed done and he was sitting in the recliner with his eyes closed. He said, ‘Mara, girl. I think its time to go to see Doc Hanlin.’ He was admitted to the hospital that day. He died a few weeks later.”

“That must have been hard for you.” Jacob didn’t even want to think about the day when his own grandparents or parents would go to be with the Lord. His chest hurt with sympathy for Mara.

“Yes.” She closed her planner and picked at the edges with short, unpainted nails.

“Did he have any family? Children?”

She gave a negative shake of her head. “No. His wife died forty years earlier and they’d never had kids. I think that was one of the reasons he took such an interest in me when my mother and later my father died.”

“That was good of him. I’m sure he meant a great deal to you.”

Her sad smile and little sigh made Jacob want to wrap her in his embrace and offer her some comfort. He resisted the urge. He didn’t know her well enough to be sure she wouldn’t see his gesture as some sort of advance.

Jacob refocused. “Is there a worship director? A youth pastor?”

“Well, Grace plays the organ on Sundays. And there’s a real nice couple who’ve started up the Sunday School classes.”

He felt his stomach sink. He’d assumed there would be a team of pastors just like in his grandfather’s church. Why hadn’t Grandfather mentioned the lack of staff when he’d sent Jacob to Hope? “So I’m it.”

“You’re it.” Mara stood, her black organizer clutched to her chest. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jacob rose, amazed his legs could hold him with the shock he’d just been given. “Tomorrow.”

He walked her to the door.

She hesitated at the threshold where she tilted her face and peered at him with those amazing eyes. “You’ll do fine, Pastor Durand.”

He wished he shared her confidence. “Call me Jacob.”

“I don’t know if being that informal is a good idea.”

Arching an eyebrow, he asked, “Why?”

Tugging on her bottom lip with her teeth, she seemed to be searching for words. Finally, she said, “It seems disrespectful to call you by your first name.”

Hoping to put her at ease, he grinned. “Respect comes through attitude. Whether you call me Jacob, Jake, like people did in college, Pastor Durand, or Durand won’t make a difference in the respect I have for you—and won’t make me feel disrespected—because I know you have a pure heart.”

The stricken expression in her eyes confused him.

“I’m sorry. Did I say something to offend you?”

“No. No, I—” She swallowed. Her grip on her organizer tightening. “I need to leave now.”

“Okay.” He touched her upper arm. She trembled beneath his palm. “You’re sure you’re all right?”

With a slight stretch of her mouth that wasn’t really a smile, she nodded. “Bye.”

He watched her hurry down the walk and out onto the road. She didn’t look back, but he thought he saw her wipe at her eyes. Probably just pushing those wild curls out of her face. Odd girl, likable though. Definitely would make living in Hope interesting.

He closed the door and picked up his guitar but didn’t play. “Okay, Lord. I know You have some plan going on here. But You didn’t prepare me for this.”

No pastoral staff, no help. Just him. Whew!

He picked out the chords to “Amazing Grace.” Three years of seminary, tucked away in a classroom studying the Bible, had given Jacob a deeper understanding of God and His word. But the few practice sermons in front of his classmates weren’t going to cut it.

If Jacob were a different sort, someone like…his dad, or Karen, or Mara, with her little black organizer and her uptight need to stay scheduled, he’d be hyperventilating about now.

As he played the melody over and over again, he sought peace in the tune, sought peace in God.

He couldn’t forget that this was his chance to prove himself worthy of his grandfather’s church that much faster. A means to an end.

He only hoped Mara’s prediction came true.

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.

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