by Jenna Mindel
She hadn’t counted on the intensity shining from his eyes and wished he’d go away already. “Not today.”
He looked relieved. Sinclair needed her to stay.
He needed her.
She didn’t care for the fleeting warmth that swirled through her at the thought. Not one bit.
He returned to the corner of her desk. “What are you working on?”
She gave him her most intimidating glare, but he stayed put. “I’m updating our website with your bio as the new pastor.”
“Where’d you get the information?”
Hope kept typing. If she ignored him, maybe he’d go away. “From your résumé.”
“Keep it short and to the point, okay?”
Hope looked up at him then. “You want to proof this?”
“No.”
“Fine.” Hope waited for him to leave.
“Okay then, good.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “We should probably have a staff meeting this week. There’s a receptionist, right? And a janitor?”
“Both are part-time. Shannon Williams works a few hours a day and covers lunch hour phones, but her baby was sick yesterday. She and her husband also volunteer their time with the youth. Walt comes in the afternoon since he works another job in the morning. And Judy’s here every morning. But then, you probably already know that since she’s on the board and interviewed you. We’re a big ol’ staff of five, not including you.”
“You know everyone’s schedule better than I do. Let me know when you want to meet.”
Hope bit her lip. She’d always scheduled meetings for her previous pastor, but it wasn’t easy taking direction from Sinclair. Hope was too used to telling him no.
When they were kids, he used to egg her on to do things she knew better than to do. Like when she was fourteen and they’d jumped off the LeNaro Bridge with inner tubes to float down the river. She’d split her lip on the air stem. Hope fingered the now tiny scar. Her parents had pitched a fit because she’d needed five stitches.
The word no hung on the tip of her tongue.
“Problem?” He waited for her acquiescence.
Hope came back to the present. “Nope. I’ll let you know by the end of today.”
He finally slipped off her desk. “Good. Can I review the annual budget and the financial report for the building project?”
“I’ll email them to you.” Hope shoved a slip of paper his way. “This is your church email. I’ll also set up a shared calendar schedule that we can both access.”
“Cool.” His finger touched hers as he tried to grab the note.
Hope quickly pulled her hand back. The phone rang again, shattering the awareness that tingled through her. Answering on the second ring, she breathed easier when Sinclair walked toward his own office.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Larson, what was that?” Hope hadn’t heard a word.
While she chatted about dessert possibilities to welcome Sinclair after Wednesday night’s service, Shannon slipped into the receptionist desk. She gave Hope a wave and craned her neck to get a peek at their new pastor.
Finally off the phone, Hope jotted down her to-do list for tomorrow’s errands. She’d have Walt set up a couple of tables at the back of the sanctuary for refreshments, and she’d pick up cookies from the bakery in town. Mrs. Larson would see to the punch. They already had a supply of cups and napkins in the church kitchen.
“Wow, Hope. He’s cute.” Shannon had been trying to fix her up since they’d met. “Is he single?”
Hope shrugged. “He’s not married.”
“Girlfriend?”
“I don’t know.” Hope didn’t care to know.
Really, she didn’t.
“We’ll have to find out.” Shannon stood. “Come on, introduce me.”
Again, Hope shook her head. “Look, I grew up with him. I’m not interested, so you can forget whatever you’re thinking.”
Shannon looked at Sinclair and then at her. “Hmm. So you two have a history. This should be very interesting!”
* * *
The next day, Sinclair slumped in the kitchen after polishing off an evening snack. The house belonged to his sister, Eva, now, and she shared the place with her friend Beth. And his parents were staying through the summer. It was pretty spacious for an old farmhouse, but felt cramped. Sinclair wanted a place of his own. He needed to be by himself. After three years of living in crowded staff quarters for the orphanage school in Haiti, Sinclair longed for quiet. When things settled down, he’d look for something.
He ran his thumbnail along a groove in the old oak kitchen table where he’d eaten hundreds of meals as a kid. Meeting the congregation had not gone as planned. They seemed like a warm group of people. But after his message had landed with a wet-bag-of-cement thud, he wondered if he’d gotten his calling all wrong.
“You look tired, Sinclair. How was your first midweek service?” His mom rubbed his shoulders.
He was glad his parents hadn’t been there to witness his failure. “I’ve had better.”
“Want to talk about it?”
He shrugged.
His staff didn’t take him seriously. Hope spoke to him only when necessary, and Shannon, the receptionist, acted like she knew something he didn’t. Walt, the maintenance guy, thought he was too young, and tonight he’d blown his first message delivered from the pulpit. Three days into his first week as a pastor, and the job was nothing like he’d expected.
Wednesday night services were less formal than Sunday, so he’d thought he could be more...honest. He’d definitely made an impression, but if the blank stares were any indication, not the kind he’d wanted.
Had his congregation missed the whole point of his tales of Haiti? He might have driven it home too hard that they had so much while the people he’d served in Haiti had next to nothing. He’d probably been too graphic, but folks should know the truth.
With a sigh, he confessed, “I think I shocked a few people tonight.”
Rose Marsh slid into the seat across from him. “Maybe they need to be shocked. It’s never a good thing to get too comfortable in the pew.”
He smiled at his mom. At only five foot two, she was a powerhouse of opinion who didn’t believe in beating around the bush. She didn’t stand for sulking, either. “Maybe you’re right.”
“You know I am.” His mom flashed him a cocky grin. “I understand Hope Petersen works with you.”
Sinclair lifted an eyebrow. He hadn’t told anyone in his family. “How do you know?”
“Judy Graves. I ran into her at the grocery store earlier this week. How’s that going?”
He shrugged again. Hope did her job well. At the welcome reception for him after the service, people had swarmed around her. She had that effect on him, too—drawing his attention like a honeybee to its hive.
“Sinclair?” His mom had an amused look on her face.
“It’s a little rough around the edges, but we’ll work through it.”
“Maybe you should bring her to Adam and Eva’s engagement party.”
As if she’d go. “I don’t think so.”
His mom leaned forward. “She used to have quite a crush on you, you know.”
That was news to him. Hope used to laugh at his many breakups with girls and say she wouldn’t wish him on her worst enemy. “Hope? No way. I drove her nuts. Besides, Ryan might have a hard time with that. Too many memories.”
His mom grasped his hand. “It might be good for Ryan to see Hope. It’s time he moved on. Sara’s been gone a long time now.”
Sinclair understood why his brother had shut down. He functioned like part of him was missing—his better half. Sara Petersen had been a lighthearted soul who looked for fun in everything she did. From the time they were teens in the same youth gro
up, Sara had drawn out his serious younger brother and made Ryan laugh like no one else could. The two had dated for years. When she’d died they were engaged, but they might as well have been married. They’d been inseparable.
“I don’t know, Mom. I can’t even talk to him anymore.”
She patted his hand. “You weren’t here when he needed you, son. Ryan won’t let that go.”
“Why can’t he see that I was needed in Haiti, especially after the earthquake?” Sinclair had run away by going on a church mission trip a week after Sara’s funeral. Once he’d been in Haiti and seen the needs of the orphanage school, he’d stayed. Ryan hadn’t forgiven him for it.
“Don’t give up on him. Ryan needs you even if he won’t admit it. God has brought you home where you belong, Sinclair. Just hang in there.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
He didn’t feel like he belonged here, not in his childhood home at least. God had brought him back, that much he knew. But the time spent in Haiti, coupled with the reason he’d gone there, made it hard to feel comfortable anywhere.
* * *
“Hope, can you come into my office?” Sinclair looked troubled the next morning as he filled his coffee cup.
“One sec.” Hope hit Save on her computer.
He returned to his office, which was across a small corridor. Hope could see him from her desk, and she’d caught his eye several times that week without meaning to.
Sinclair had given her an interesting sermon to outline for Sunday. He wanted copies stuffed into the bulletins passed out before the service. So far, she was impressed by his preparation. Sinclair must have finally left behind his bad habit of procrastinating on studying until the last minute.
Shannon wiggled her eyebrows. “Sounds serious.”
“Please stop.” Hope stood and headed for the pastoral office.
She couldn’t block the unease that crawled up her spine with each step she took. What could Sinclair want? They’d pretty much kept their distance the past few days.
Leaning against the doorway of his office, Hope forced herself to relax. “What’s up?”
“Come in a minute, would you?”
Hope slipped into one of the two chairs in front of his desk and waited. His window was open and she could hear birds chirping in the crab apple tree outside. A warm breeze that smelled like summer blew in and rustled loose papers sitting on Sinclair’s desk.
He gathered them up and stuffed them under the file labeled “Church Budget.” A much fatter file containing all the information for the building project sat next to it.
Her preschool.
Clearing his throat, he looked at her. “I want to ask you something, but I need you to be completely honest.”
“Okay.” Hope waited.
He looked at her then. “Don’t answer right away. Give it some thought.”
She wiped her palms on her khaki skirt. “What is it?”
“This is going to sound so stupid.” He ran his hand through his brown hair, which had been sun-streaked blond in places. And then he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. A nervous habit he’d picked up. She’d never seen Sinclair nervous until these past few days. “I need to know, from someone whose judgment I trust...”
“Yes?” Hope leaned forward. Would he listen to her ideas for the project?
“Last night’s message—what did you think?”
Hope blinked a couple times. “What?”
“The service, my stories. Did I come on too strong?”
“Hmm.” Hope hadn’t expected such a question. She’d never expected Sinclair’s confidence to be shaken, either. And clearly he didn’t feel confident. It made her want to smile. Big-time.
Instead, she stalled. “Why do you ask?”
“I got a lot of blank stares.”
Hope didn’t want to soothe him, but she couldn’t lie, either. She’d been blown away by the harsh realities the Haitian people faced. Sinclair had been working at an orphanage that had swelled like a tidal wave after the earthquake. He’d witnessed devastation and death. Still, between the massive graves for the dead and the violent looting, she had a feeling that last night’s message only scratched the surface of the horrors Sinclair had seen. Listening to him, Hope knew how easily he could have been killed. The reality of Sinclair gone forever had brought an unwanted ache deep in her chest.
She narrowed her gaze. “You didn’t exaggerate?”
He shook his head.
“I think you made some people uncomfortable, and you’d better be ready to hear about it.”
He nodded, but he didn’t look like she’d given him the answer he’d wanted. Well, Hope wasn’t about to pat him on the back for scaring her congregation with his experiences in Haiti. Sure, he’d met a lot of needs and served like any God-fearing person should, but running off to Haiti three years ago had been one of his wild-hair whims. He’d jumped at the chance for adventure. He’d jumped at the chance to run away from her, Ryan and every reminder of what had happened to Sara. He’d run away from his part in it. She wouldn’t applaud that.
“You think I shouldn’t have gone there.”
What did he want from her? Hope shifted, but his direct gaze pinned her like a paper leaf on a classroom bulletin board. “To Haiti? Or last night’s message?”
“Both.”
She didn’t want to answer that. She might let it slip how hard it had been for her after Sara had died. Despite blaming him, she’d needed him then. “All I know is that you’ve seen some crazy stuff.”
“Real crazy.”
By the shadows that glazed his eyes, she feared he might tell her just how crazy. Her throat dry, she whispered, “Why did you come home?”
“I couldn’t keep running from what had happened. God led me home to face Ryan, your parents. Even you—especially you.”
Hope took a deep breath but tears threatened. She fought the clogging of her throat. She didn’t want to get into this. Not now. Not at work. “Don’t.”
“I won’t. But eventually we have to.”
Judy’s words about holding on to her grudge echoed through her mind. It was easier to blame Sinclair than herself. If only Hope had been there. If only she hadn’t gone shopping, Sara might still be alive.
He dipped his head to catch her attention. “Subject change?”
She sniffed. “Please.”
“Tell me about this building project. Why a preschool?”
Hope couldn’t lay open her dreams without figuring out where he was coming from and what he had planned. “Judy said you wanted a youth center.”
“The board would like to eventually hire a youth pastor. To do that, we have to reach the teens in this area. A youth center might draw them to our church.”
Hope gritted her teeth. “Shannon and her husband do a fine job with the youth.”
“Yes, they do. But their time is limited. Especially with a new baby.”
“The preschool has already been approved by the board.”
“Before your minister retired a year ago. Things change, Hope.”
Dread settled in the pit of her belly. “Are you changing the plan?”
He didn’t answer right away. If they dropped the preschool, what then? There’d be no reason for her to stay. How could she face Dorrie when she’d promised to do everything she could to push the preschool through?
“Sinclair?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out. What’s a little preschool going to do for this church?”
Hope felt her hackles rise, but she feared letting him know how much this little preschool meant to her. “It’s all in that file. The preapproval for a commercial loan, the bids. Once the pledged money is collected, we should be able to break ground.”
“This is ol
d data. The preapproval expired. The circumstances changed the day your previous minister left.”
“But Judy—”
“She’s in favor of the preschool. Some of the other board members aren’t so sure.”
Hope gripped the edge of the chair. Judy hadn’t described it quite that way. “Why do we need a youth pastor when we have a gracious couple who volunteer? Our teens are a very small group, and we’re not even in town.”
“That’s true.”
“The enrollment projections for a preschool were conservative, but there are a lot of young families in the area who responded favorably to sending their kids.”
“There are good day cares around here.”
Hope forced a deep breath. “We’re talking about early education from a Christian worldview. There’s a huge difference.”
“I know you put a lot of work into this. You were a big part of the project committee and kept the ball rolling, from what I heard. What I don’t know is why it’s so important to you.”
“Because I have a degree in early childhood education and I want to run that preschool.” She’d let the words slip out before she could catch them.
Understanding spread across his face, but then his brow furrowed. “Makes sense.”
What didn’t make sense was that she’d let him know her dream before she could trust him with it. Trust was a moot point with Sinclair Marsh. He’d always done what he wanted.
A quick knock on the doorway of his office saved Sinclair from having to elaborate any further. A tall, barrel-chested man stood in the doorway.
“Hey, Chuck.”
“Am I interrupting?” Chuck Stillwell, board member, large commercial cherry grower and the church’s biggest financial supporter, stepped into Sinclair’s office.
“Not at all. We’re done here.” Hope bounced out of her chair and left the room.
* * *
Sinclair watched her walk away as if she couldn’t leave fast enough. Refocusing his attention on Chuck, he asked, “What can I do for you?”
Chuck closed the office door. “Do you mind?”
“Of course not.” What else could he say?
“Your message was a little strong last night.”
