Natalie’s stomach twisted. It seemed her dad had written poetry for everyone but her. Had he been mad or upset with her? Or had he sensed the same disconnection she’d felt since Las Vegas? “Do you still have it?”
“I don’t even know.” He twisted the bottle cap, and a puff of mist sprayed out the neck. His gaze bore into her as though reading one of his favorite books. “You ready to play checkers or is there something else on your mind?”
Natalie rolled her bottle of root beer between her hands, the condensation cool and moist against her palms. “Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you.” She pressed her lips together, willing her mouth to form the words.
“The other day when we were unloading cattle, you said Dad made you promise to take care of us. That you were with him when he died. You’ll probably think I’m crazy…” She stared up at the yellow water ring that stained the ceiling and took a deep breath. “Was he in a lot of pain? Was he scared—to die?”
Willard set his soda on the coffee table and reached for her hand. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. As far as I could tell, your daddy was ready.”
Natalie clung to his warm fingers, her own as cold as a December day. She searched Willard’s eyes and tried to see what he’d seen the day he’d found her father trapped beneath the fallen tractor. His straw hat lying beside him, his wrinkled forehead drenched with a clammy sweat. A tear trickled down her cheek.
“Did he say anything else?” She hated to ask. It seemed like such a selfish question, but she didn’t think she could stand another day not knowing. “About me, I mean?”
Willard nodded and his gaze reached deep into her own. “Your daddy’s exact words to me were…‘Take care of my little girl. Take care of my Natalie.’”
NINE
THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY, JARED CLUTCHED THE THICK HYMNAL AND waited for a response from the three elders in his office. Carl Ellis sat with his arms bolted across his chest, his back plastered to the chair. Bob Douglas rested his elbows on his knees, massaging his temple as though he had a headache.
“Come on, fellas, all I ask is that you take a look at this hymnal and see what you think. The publisher went to great lengths to mix the traditional songs with the new. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised at the result.”
George Hobart, a tall gruff man, leaned against the wall and rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. Too much change stirs up folks and makes ’em mad.”
“I’ve already talked to our organist, and she loves it.” Jared wished the others would share Mrs. Sanders’ enthusiasm. If he could win the elders’ approval, he’d take it to the women’s study group this afternoon and get their reaction.
Bob stopped rubbing his temple and looked up, his eyes glazed. “You’re already asking for a men’s Bible study breakfast. Maybe we should see how that goes before we add anything else.”
“If you want my vote, I say no,” Carl grumbled. “There’s nothing wrong with the hymnal we have. No reason to spend money on things we don’t need.”
Jared laid the new hymnal on his desk, knowing better than to push the case further. At least they’d approved his Bible study, albeit grudgingly. Maybe he’d try again another day. “All right, so we’ll schedule our first men’s breakfast next Friday. Shall we meet here or at Clara’s Café? She has a room in the back we can use if we want.”
Carl’s frown deepened.
“Most of us are at Clara’s every morning, anyways,” George said. “Sitting at a Bible study is a far cry better than listening to the local scuttlebutt.”
“That’s the spirit.” Jared smiled, careful to avoid Carl’s face. “Are we in agreement to meet at Clara’s then?”
George and Bob nodded. They turned to Carl.
The seconds ticked by.
“Don’t let me stand in your way.” Carl finally gave in. “I’ll have to check with my wife and see if we have anything going on that morning.”
George snorted. “We all know Ina Mae ain’t got nothing to say about you being at the café. You’ll be there, and you know it.”
Jared checked his watch and considered the matter closed. With just enough time to prepare for the women’s luncheon, he stood and opened his office door. “Gentlemen, thanks for coming in. I appreciate your help.” He shook hands with each as they passed by, then twenty minutes later he greeted the women as they filed in through the hallway with covered dishes. One meeting down, two to go.
NATALIE SMOOTHED HER HAND OVER HER DAD’S LEATHER SADDLE, recalling their many trips to the pasture to check cattle and fence. Worn to a shine, the saddle reflected her father’s diligent work ethic, which he’d handed down to her. Given a choice between mucking a stall or going to a movie, Natalie would reach for a pitchfork every time, which accounted for her entire afternoon spent in the barn. She’d rather clean stalls and tack than sort through her father’s paperwork in the house.
A good portion of the leather needed to be cleaned, so she searched the tack room for a tub of saddle soap and spotted some on her father’s workbench. When she removed the container from its cubbyhole, she noticed a thick envelope crushed behind. Curious, she pulled it out and examined the crinkled paper, yellowed with age.
Unmarked but sealed, the bulky envelope practically begged to be opened.
Wondering what might be enclosed, she lifted the seal with the tip of her fingernail and stared at the contents, too stunned to let out a gasp.
She reached inside and pulled out a wad of twenty-dollar bills bound by a thick rubber band. Her fingers shuffled through them.
One hundred bills to be exact.
Shaking with excitement, Natalie counted them again, the sweet scent of cash and good fortune floating to her nose.
“Five-hundred, six-hundred, seven-hundred…”
Natalie heard the school bus shift gears and roar into their driveway. Unable to keep from grinning, she stepped into the light of the barn entrance and called to Dillon after the bus pulled away. “Take your books to the house, then come here. I have something to show you.”
She returned to the stack of twenties, feeling as though she’d won the lottery. Could Mr. Thompson’s offhand remark about finding money in a shoe be correct? A giggle escaped her mouth as she considered whether her father might have stashed more money on the ranch.
Natalie had actually read newspaper accounts where family members found money from their deceased tucked between the pages of a book, stuffed under a mattress, or stashed in a flowerpot in the basement. The possibilities were endless. And this scenario went right along with the attorney’s statement about her father not trusting banks.
Dillon shuffled through the barn door, munching on a cookie. “How come Chelsey didn’t ride the bus tonight?”
Her fingers paused their counting. “She’s going to a youth meeting with Sarah.”
“I thought you grounded her?”
“Not entirely.” Natalie tore her gaze from the aged bills. “Don’t worry, Sarah’s a good kid.”
“Whatever you say.” Her brother finished the rest of his chocolate-chip cookie. “What did you want to show me?”
“This.” Natalie clasped the bills and fanned them in front of her. “Have you ever seen so much money?”
His eyes widened. “Where did you get that?”
She sank onto a nearby stool. When he came to her side, she brushed back his long bangs, only to have him comb them forward with his fingers. “Did Dad ever mention hiding money on the ranch?”
A shadow creased Dillon’s face, and she realized before he answered that he knew nothing. “Why?”
“Mr. Thompson suggested that he might have.” She showed her brother the empty envelope. “I found this hidden in the cubby over there, so I guess it’s a possibility. Do you know what that means?”
Dillon shrugged. “That we’re rich?”
“Not quite.” She chuckled. “But there might be more. I think we should go on a treasure hunt. We can each take a portion of the ranch—we
’ll dig through everything. Starting with this room.”
Dillon’s eyes transformed into animated twinkles. “This is cool—just like those reality shows on television.” He rushed over to the workbench and began shoveling through their father’s tools.
Natalie walked up behind her brother and turned him to face her. “It’s okay to have fun. Make it a game if you want. But it’s important that you don’t tell anyone what we’re doing. Not even Tom, do you understand?”
Dillon’s chin bobbed up and down. “How come we can’t tell anyone?”
Natalie took a moment before responding. “Let’s just say we wouldn’t want anyone to get any ideas.”
Her brother’s eyes lit with understanding. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.”
“Good. Trust no one.”
TEN
THAT AFTERNOON, JARED STOPPED BY CLARA’S CAFÉ TO SET UP THE arrangements for the men’s Bible study. He filed through the onslaught of school-aged children with their candy bars and drinks and grabbed the only stool available at the counter. The proprietor and another waitress were busy taking orders. He’d noticed that about Clara Lambert the first time he’d eaten here. She enjoyed serving her customers.
The auburn-haired woman greeted him with a smile. “What can I get for you, Pastor Logan?”
Still unaccustomed to the title, Jared studied the list of specials on the whiteboard. “I believe I’ll try your coconut cream pie today. That used to be my favorite, so we’ll see if my tastes have changed through the years.”
She chuckled and went directly to the display that held the homemade pies—all baked by Clara herself. “How do you like Diamond Falls? Are you getting situated?”
“I’m holding my first youth meeting tonight.”
“A word of advice—don’t let them know you’re nervous.” She set the pie in front of him, its fluffy meringue sprinkled with toasted coconut. “Are you serving snacks?”
Jared hadn’t given food a thought. “Should I?”
The woman nodded with certainty. “Al serves pizza out on the highway at the gas station. If you want to make a good impression…”
Needing all the help he could get, Jared needed Clara’s instruction. That evening, he picked up his order of pizzas and took them to the church. The sharp tang of pepperoni and mozzarella cheese hung in the air in anticipation. Of his three Wednesday meetings, this one scared him the most. Adults and children didn’t usually intimidate him, but teenagers were a whole different ballgame.
Five minutes to six, the youth began drifting inside. Once everyone arrived, Jared offered prayer, then greeted the teens as they filed through the pizza line. Two girls giggled at the end. One he recognized from church. The other was Chelsey Adams.
As they neared, he handed them each a plate. “It’s nice to see you, Chelsey.”
She nudged her friend and snickered. “You never told us you were a preacher.”
Jared shook his head and grinned. “No, I guess I didn’t. Forgive me, and welcome to New Redeemer.” He noted her casual attire, worn jeans tucked into lime green cowboy boots and a matching tank top. Tinted glasses perched on the top of her head. And she seemed almost giddy—unlike the frustrated girl he’d met before.
When the two passed by to get their pizza, Jared caught the distinct odor of beer on their breath.
He looked up at the ceiling and murmured a quick prayer for help. Why tonight? His first meeting with the teens? Jared ran through a list of options. He could drag the two girls to his office and call their guardians. Just thinking about adding to Natalie’s troubles made him cringe, but if he waited until the meeting was over, the girls would likely skip out. Either alternative made a mockery of his youth meeting.
He handed the remaining plates to a nearby youth leader and asked the name of Chelsey’s friend.
“Sarah Sanders,” the woman responded. “As in the daughter of Mrs. Sanders, the chairwoman of the women’s study group.”
Jared groaned.
“I need to make a few phone calls. Could you start the meeting without me?” he asked, glad that tonight’s program included a film.
“No problem. Is everything okay?” The woman’s brow dipped in concern.
He considered the two girls, and how their actions would affect those around them. “Everything’s under control. But I might borrow your husband for a while, if that’s okay.”
“Sure, whatever you need to do.”
Back at his desk, Jared set the receiver in its cradle and frowned at Dan Trevor, having informed him of what had happened. “I managed to contact your parents, Sarah, but no one answered at your house,” he told Chelsey as he studied both girls on the couch. “What were you thinking? Where did you get the beer?”
Sarah looked close to tears, but Chelsey’s gaze didn’t waver. She stared right through him, as though used to interrogation. Neither answered.
“I’m sure your folks will want to know the answer to that as well. It might be better if you tell us now,” Dan added.
Sarah’s face cracked, and the tears began to fall as she doubled over onto her knees. “My mom’s going to kill me. I can’t believe I let you talk me into this, Chelsey.”
Chelsey shot arrows at the girl’s head, and her lips pressed even tighter. “It was your dad’s beer, and you were the one who insisted we go to this stupid meeting. If you hadn’t acted so dopey, we wouldn’t have gotten caught.”
“Mom would have found out if we’d skipped. She knows everything that happens in this church.”
“Yeah, well, she knows about this now.” Chelsey shook her head, contempt oozing from her expression.
“Okay, so the two of you thought you’d have a little fun.” Jared stepped in to mediate. “You stole some beer and now you have to pay the price. How are you going to make this right?”
Blank faces stared back at him.
“What do you mean?” Sarah’s voice quivered as she rose from her stooped position.
“You’re both minors. Unless you walked here, which I highly doubt, you were driving under the influence, which is a Class C misdemeanor. The law didn’t catch you, but you did get caught. Now what are we going to do about it?”
Sarah shook her head vehemently. “We didn’t drive. Honest. Chelsey’s boyfriend dropped us off.”
“You gonna turn us in?” Chelsey chewed her thumbnail.
Jared exchanged looks with Dan. “That’s up to Natalie and your parents.” He decided to let the girls stew for a few minutes and waited at the entrance for the Sanders’ arrival. When he spotted their car, he took a deep breath and prepared himself for the next round.
Mr. Sanders went directly to his daughter and pulled Sarah up by the arm. “Pastor Logan said you’ve been drinking. Is that true?”
Tears gushed down Sarah’s cheeks as she nodded.
The man’s abashed face turned to Jared. “I apologize for my daughter’s behavior and for my wife not joining us. I’m afraid she’s not accepting this news very well.”
“I understand.” Jared imagined Mrs. Sanders would have a difficult time facing the members of the congregation once word got out about the situation.
“Where do we go from here?” Mr. Sanders asked.
“I have a suggestion.” Dan spoke from the other side of the room. “My wife and I could use some help with a project we’re working on. The girls could assist us with that, under Pastor’s supervision, of course.”
Jared nodded, wishing he’d thought of the idea. “They could help with Vacation Bible School as well. Does twenty hours of church service sound fair?”
“I don’t go to church,” Chelsey boldly stated.
Jared looked the girl square in the face, up for the challenge. “Well, maybe it’s time you start. Either that, or we can turn you over to the authorities.”
To this, she had no response.
“They have two more days before summer break begins. Shall we have them meet here after school tomorrow?” he asked Dan, and the man
agreed.
Jared jotted a few notes onto a sheet of paper and handed it to Mr. Sanders. “See that Sarah’s here on time.”
NATALIE PEEKED OUT THE KITCHEN WINDOW WHEN SHE SAW THE headlights shine into their drive. She pulled the plug to the dirty dishwater in the sink, hoping Chelsey had eaten. They had just finished supper, and Natalie didn’t want another mess to clean up. It had been a long night already—thanks to Tom, who was once again missing in action.
The man had impeccable timing. Some of the new steers had gotten out, and with Tom nowhere to be found, she and Dillon were left to get them back in the pasture. Why was their hired hand never available when needed?
She draped the wet dishtowel over the back of a chair and waited for Chelsey to come in, hoping her sister’s evening had gone better than her own. When Chelsey appeared at the door, Natalie was surprised to see Jared Logan right behind—and wearing a black shirt and clerical collar.
“What’s going on?” She directed the question to the man who continued to confound her. “You’re a preacher?”
Jared fingered his white collar. “I’m the new pastor at New Redeemer Church. Chelsey joined us for our youth meeting tonight. I tried to call, but couldn’t get any answer here at the house.”
“Dillon and I were out chasing steers.” She wondered why they needed to reach her. And why had Jared driven Chelsey home? Sensing they were about to drop a bomb, Natalie sank into the nearest chair. “I’ll ask again—what’s going on?”
Jared and Chelsey towered over her. “Your sister and her friend had a little party after school today,” Jared said. “Apparently, they found some beer at Sarah’s house and came to church tipsy. Sarah’s dad picked her up, and when we couldn’t reach you, I decided to drive Chelsey home myself.”
Natalie studied the man before her and noticed, of all things, how his dark shirt seemed to make his teeth gleam. Probably from the stark contrast of his white collar. She should have guessed that Jared was a preacher from all his talk about God. Embarrassment seeped from within that she’d poured out her heart to this man.
Seeds of Summer Page 5
