by Pat Simmons
“Good morning, Mr. Thomas,” Rachel began. “We’ve had a chance to review the addition you requested for the common ground play area. Although the tunnel might enhance the overall appearance, the area is prone to flooding, and that would compromise the physical integrity of any walkway tunnel.”
She listened as her colleagues offered suggestions as they emailed design options. An hour and thirty minutes later, the call ended with a plan to review building codes and sewer locations. The easy way out was to tell the client no, he had agreed on the plans, but her company didn’t do business by telling clients no.
Rachel tugged strands of hair out of the braid—a childhood habit she still did when she was baffled about a problem or situation. Her doorbell rang. Nicholas. She had momentarily forgotten he was coming.
She opened the door with a cordial smile, then blinked. The person standing before her wasn’t Minister Nicholas Adams. The woman was as thick as the huge Bible she carried and was dressed in white from her bonnet to her stockings and shoes. Did Tabitha call for a hospice nurse? Did the agency send a different home health aide besides Clara? Who was this stranger?
“May I help you?”
The woman lifted her chin. “You called the church for a prayer warrior, and I’m here. Mother Jenkins, sugar. May I come in?”
Rachel frowned and stepped back. “I…I was expecting Minister Adams.”
“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, “they all do.” Then, with a no-nonsense expression, she asked, “Now, where is Mother Brownlee?”
What does that mean? Rachel wondered as she closed the door and led the way to the loft. Where Nicholas’s tone was soft and smooth, this Mother Jenkins’s voice boomed as if she were about to sing a song loud enough to raise the dead. Rachel cringed at the pun, but in this case, if it would prevent her aunt from dying, Rachel welcomed it. “She’s my aunt, not a moth—”
“Oh, praise God,” Mother Jenkins said when she saw Aunt Tweet, then she glanced over her shoulder and held her hand out to Rachel. “Aren’t you going to join us for prayer?” The side-eye she gave Rachel conveyed that there would be no opting out.
She came to the bedside, and Mother Jenkins clutched her hand. The woman had such a strong grip that when she yelled, “Jesus,” she practically crushed Rachel’s fingers.
Rachel cringed and bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain.
“Lord, we come boldly to Your grace, where we may obtain mercy and favor for our dear sister here, Mother Brownlee…”
Rachel picked her battles. She wasn’t about to attempt to correct her again that Priscilla Brownlee was an aunt and never a mother. However, the woman’s body language took “hold your peace” to a whole new level.
“In Matthew 8, we know that if You speak Your word and we believe Your word, Mother Brownlee can be healed, according to Your will… This is all about You, Jesus!” Mother Jenkins prayed with such power, Rachel trembled as she whispered her requests. Soon, the prayer ceased, and silence filled the room.
Rachel opened her eyes to see Aunt Tweet smiling. Rachel sniffed. It wasn’t as if she didn’t believe in prayer, but to see instant results was amazing. Yes, Tabitha was right: adding Aunt Tweet to a prayer rotation schedule was much needed, whether it was Nicholas or Mother Jenkins. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Thank God.” She patted Aunt Tweet’s arm, then looked at Rachel. “My job here is done. Keep praying and praising God, and everything will be all right.”
After walking the woman to the door, Rachel thanked her, then returned to see Aunt Tweet smacking her lips. “I can’t remember the last time I ate.”
“It’s been a while.” Rachel chuckled. “I’ll get you something, then freshen you up.”
The doorbell rang while Rachel was preparing soup. Why was she disappointed to see Clara? Rachel smiled at the home health aide while chastening her own thoughts. Did she really think it would be Nicholas after Mother Jenkins had already visited?
Whatever tug-of-war was going on inside her, Rachel had to stop it. Her sister’s wedding tape was starting to play with her head.
“How’s Miss Brownlee?” Clara asked, staring at her.
“Oh.” Rachel jumped and closed the door. “She’s having a good day. Go on back.”
Clearly, Nicholas had moved on to the next sick church member. Rachel doubted she would see him again, which was fine. Mother Jenkins was a good replacement.
Chapter 4
Dead. Nicholas didn’t realize his phone’s battery had died overnight at work, and he didn’t have his charger. Once at home, he powered up right away. He didn’t expect the first call he received would be from Mother Jenkins, who could be long-winded. He withheld his groan as he answered, craving sleep.
“I tell you, Minister Adams, you need backup when you visit these women. They’re all jezebels.”
“Now, Mother Jenkins—” Nicholas tried to interrupt politely. She was called Mother Jenkins instead of Minister Jenkins because of her no-nonsense manner that dared anyone to cross her. The older woman was not only a powerful prayer warrior, but she had also appointed herself Nicholas’s protector from all women—church ladies didn’t get a free pass either.
“You should have seen that woman in those skinny jeans and top—Mother Brownlee’s niece. Showed too much curvature, then those lashes were too long to be real. She was disappointed when I showed up outside her door instead of you…”
Really? Nicholas no longer tried to interrupt. So Rachel had been expecting him? It was a toss-up whether that tidbit amused or flattered him. Placing his call with Mother Jenkins on speaker mode, he checked his phone log, and sure enough, he viewed three missed messages, two from Mrs. Emerson at the church. This explained Mother Jenkins’s call.
His heart pounded. What was going on—not with Rachel but with her aunt? What happened to cause Rachel to call the church—or maybe it was her sister again. Nicholas needed to ask, but he had become too distracted with Mother Jenkins’s description of Rachel’s assets. He was glad she hadn’t slammed the door in Mother Jenkins’s face. That would not have been good.
“Excuse me, Mother Jenkins, how was Miss Brownlee?” He held his breath.
“The way God wanted her—alive and well,” she stated as if he should know.
Nicholas exhaled. “I’m sure they were both glad you visited.”
“Mm-hmm, but remember what I said, Minister Adams. That girl is too cute for her own good. I’m ready to go in with you, into the lion’s den, when these women are trying to dig their claws into you.”
He nodded as if she could see. “I’ll take your offer under advisement.” When Mother Jenkins paused to take a breath, Nicholas used that space to say goodbye. Besides the calls from Mrs. Emerson, the other one was from his brother. He listened to Karl’s message first.
Just as Nicholas had suspected. His brother needed a babysitter for his five-year-old twins because he and his wife had been invited to speak at a church. Again? The two were a “spiritual power couple” who fed the hungry, ministered to the sick, taught seminars, and more.
Whenever Karl and Ava were out of town, Uncle Nick was the default.
Both Adams brothers were ministers. There wasn’t much sibling rivalry between them, but how did his younger brother by four years beat him to the altar? It would be nice to have a special someone besides his family to share his life with.
If his chances were left up to Mother Jenkins, that wouldn’t happen in his lifetime, but she did have a point. Many of the women were fascinated that he was a minister. What they didn’t understand was that being a minister wasn’t glamorous. Nicholas wanted a woman to love who could be a wife, a mother, and a helpmate, like Ava was to his brother. In essence, Nicholas craved a Proverbs 31 woman.
At thirty-six years old, he was still waiting for that woman. Ladies always said they were waiting on their husbands. Men were no different
. “We’re waiting too,” he mumbled. Reining his thoughts in, he texted his brother that he was available to watch his nephews. Without a social life, of course he was available. He stifled a yawn.
Although his weekend began Friday morning, all Nicholas wanted was sleep. First, he slid to his knees to pray for Rachel and Miss Brownlee. Next, he petitioned the Lord Jesus for the well-being of the elderly everywhere, for the homeless, for fatherless children, and more until he realized an hour had passed.
In bed, his body was ready to succumb, but his thoughts were still on Rachel and her aunt; then their images faded as he turned over and fell asleep. He didn’t wake up again until an hour or so before the twins were set to arrive and turn his house upside down.
He grudgingly climbed out of bed and headed for the bathroom. He showered, dressed, then padded across the house to the kitchen. As he munched on a bowl of cereal, his thoughts turned to Rachel—again—and he thought about whether he should personally check on her. He noted the time and wondered if the church secretary was still in her office on a Friday evening at five thirty.
Mother Jenkins’s warning, which was warranted around single women, rang in his head, but he called the church office anyway. Surprisingly, the secretary answered cheerfully.
Yes! “Hello, Mrs. Emerson. I’m sorry I got your message late about seeing Priscilla Brownlee. Mother Jenkins said her visit went well.”
“Good. The niece, Rachel Knicely, called and wanted you, but I left a message and never heard back, so Mother Jenkins was the next contact.”
He nodded. Yes, protocol was to go down the list of ministers until one could be reached. “Did Miss Knicely leave a number?”
After a brief hold, she returned to the line. “Yes, she did.” She proceeded to give it to him.
After thanking Mrs. Emerson, Nicholas immediately called Rachel. She sounded like she was on the same sleep schedule as him. “Did I wake you?” he asked.
“Who’s calling?” Rachel’s voice was soft.
“I’m sorry for not identifying myself. This is Minister Adams—Nicholas.”
“Oh, hi.” She cleared her throat. “Yes, you did, but I’ve learned to catch a nap whenever I can.”
“I called to apologize that I didn’t get your message in time. It wasn’t Mrs. Emerson’s fault. My phone died, and I didn’t have my charger.”
“And I thought you were standing me up.”
Was that a tease, or was she serious? Either way, he was interested. “Never. I understand Mother Jenkins ministered to your aunt. How is she doing?”
When she was slow to answer, he braced for the worst.
“Why don’t you come and see her for yourself?”
What? Nicholas wasn’t expecting an invitation. Was his mind playing games with him, or was Mother Jenkins’s warning ringing true? “Thanks, but I’m babysitting this evening. Can I visit tomorrow?” His heart stopped, waiting for her answer.
“A minister who babysits.” She chuckled and he smiled, liking the sound of her laughter. He was honored to contribute to any of her happiness at this time in her life.
“They are my nephews, Kory and Rory, and I’m their favorite uncle.”
“Let me guess, you’re their only uncle, right?”
Nicholas grinned. “Yep.” He enjoyed talking to her when she wasn’t stressed out, but he had to go and prepare snacks for the twins. “Sorry to disturb you. If the Lord wills, I’ll see you tomorrow. Is noon too early?”
“See you then, Uncle Nick.” She laughed and ended the call.
Now, how did she know that’s what they call me? He liked her.
Less than an hour later, Nicholas answered the door and was attacked by his pint-size nephews who adoringly were a reflection of him as a boy.
“Uncle Nick!” Both boys vied for his attention, and Nicholas lifted the lightweights in one scoop.
Almost four years apart, the best revenge a big brother could bestow on his little brother was Karl’s sons being mini versions of Nicholas. It was payback for all the mischievous pranks Karl pulled as a child and for which Nicholas got the blame as the oldest.
As they grew older, the two became not just brothers but best friends. The Lord had called them into His ministry in the same year. Karl first, then Nicholas. Karl and Ava had been best friends in high school. Years after graduation, they started dating and married at twenty-seven. Ava always had Karl’s back.
Nicholas desired a relationship like that. “God, please remember me,” he whispered to the wind to carry to the Lord’s ear. He wanted a woman who would look beyond his title and love him for being Nicholas Adams. Where was that woman? It would put a dent in being his brother’s babysitter. He was creeping close to thirty-seven and still unmarried.
Suddenly, Nicholas’s quiet house turned into a playground. Besides his nephews’ favorite games, he made sure there was plenty of space to wrestle with them.
Ava shook her head and stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “You really do need to get a life. It’s Friday night, Brother-in-Law.”
“You mean a wife,” Karl said. “But if he does, there goes our free babysitter.”
Nicholas set his nephews on the floor, and they took off for the bedroom where they slept whenever they spent the night. Within minutes, the two five- year-olds returned, dragging out comic books, LEGO Junior construction pieces, remote control cars, and other gadgets Nicholas had stockpiled for their visits. He snickered, loving their energy and enthusiasm.
Ava anchored her fists on her hips and lifted her trademark mother brow. “Boys, put back every piece before you leave.”
“Yes, Mommy,” Kory said with a wide grin, and Rory mimicked his older brother by two minutes.
“Will you two leave already? Playtime is in full force!” Nicholas rubbed his hands together as if he were cooking up a scheme.
His nephews bought into the possibilities and shouted, “Yeah!” while bouncing up and down.
“Who’s ready for some fries and hot dogs?” Nicholas steered his nephews to the kitchen and waved good night to Karl and Ava. “Don’t stay out too late, lovebirds.”
“You need a lovebird. And I’ve been looking out for one for you.” Ava nodded with a knowing gleam in her eyes.
Nicholas cringed. He was done with blind dates. After two, he declined anybody’s else assistance. “Put on your dark sunglasses, Ava, and stop looking.”
“Come on, Uncle Nick,” Kory whined. “We’re hungry.”
“Boy, your mother fed you before we left home. Don’t start,” Karl warned, stepping into his daddy mode.
“You’re going to be late,” Nicholas reminded them.
The couple made their sons give them hugs and kisses, and they were out the door.
“I thought they would never leave.” Nicholas grinned and rubbed the tops of his nephews’ heads as they walked into the kitchen. Game on!
* * *
The next day, Nicholas stepped off the elevator and walked toward Rachel’s condo. According to the portrait Mother Jenkins painted of her encounter with Rachel, Nicholas expected a vixen to open the door and greet him.
That didn’t happen. He was relieved that Rachel was dressed in a blue sweatshirt with Fisk Bulldogs in gold letters. The pants matched and so did her blue socks. Mother Jenkins hadn’t called it right this time.
But it might have been overkill that she was sipping from a Fisk University coffee mug. Rachel smiled, and her gorgeous dimples appeared. They were soft and delicate, not as deep and defined as his. “Good morning.” Her eyes sparkled, but not in a seductive manner. She seemed genuinely happy. She stepped backed and allowed him to enter.
“Alumna, I assume?” He chuckled and admired the long lashes that Mother Jenkins had called fake. From his quick deduction, they were as natural as her beauty.
“You win a trivia point, and I�
��m proud to be.”
“And you should be.” He nodded. U.S. News & World Report had ranked Fisk University in the top ten of historically black colleges and universities.
“Jealous?” She jutted her chin and lifted a brow. “You?”
“TSU.” He pumped his fist in the air, and they shared a laugh.
There were more than a hundred historically black colleges and universities across the country, and Nicholas and his brother were proud of their education that came from one of them. They each received a lucrative job offer upon graduation, with degrees in accounting for Karl and business administration with a double minor in information technology and industrial electronics for Nicholas. Nissan Smyrna had snatched him up as if he were a first-round draft pick, and he had been with them ever since.
As he trailed Rachel to her aunt’s bedroom, he noticed her steps were lighter and her manner relaxed, a contrast to the frazzled woman who had slammed the door in his face earlier in the week. The only thing that hadn’t changed was her hair was pulled back from her face and trapped in a messy ball. Did the woman ever comb her hair?
At the top of the loft stairs, she turned around and graced him with another amazing smile. “See, prayer does change things, but I guess you already know that.” She turned back and walked to the bed. Her aunt was sitting up against a couple of pillows, asleep. “She’s still dozing throughout the day but has been waking up for a couple of days now.”
Rachel faced him, folded her hands, and her eyes misted. “I’m so grateful God was listening.” Then she turned to her aunt. “Aunt Tweet, Minister Adams is here to see you,” Rachel said softly, and the woman opened her eyes and looked around until she met his gaze. Rachel had her aunt’s eyes. That was where the seduction came from—those eyes.
Nicholas swallowed and sat. He was in double trouble. He was a sucker for pretty eyes. Stay focused, he chided himself as he felt Rachel watching him at the same time as her aunt was staring at him too.
