A House Full of Hope

by Missy Tippens

  Ann shook her head.

  “I’m sure you saw who was at church yesterday in that expensive suit.”

  “Mark Ryker?” Ann asked.

  She nodded, eyes gleaming. “So do you think the bad boy has truly made good? Because I’ve heard some stories about him that—” She gasped when her gaze landed on Hannah. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about the family connection. You and your mom must’ve been shocked to see him.”

  “Shocked. Stunned. Blown away.” Angry.

  Ann gave Hannah a sympathetic look, almost as if she could see through to the true emotions darting around inside Hannah.

  Olivia grimaced. “Well, I imagine the next news I have won’t be pleasant, then.” She leaned in as if sharing a secret. “Mark Ryker is staying. He’s taking a long vacation.”

  “You don’t say,” Jeannie said. “I wonder what he’s really doing here. Hannah, your mama must be in a tizzy.”

  A long vacation? Her heart slammed against her ribs, and the room seemed to tilt. She took a deep breath to try to steady herself. She’d made so many improvements in her children’s lives in the past month. How long before he’d force them to move out?

  Ann touched Hannah’s cheek with a warm hand. “You okay, honey?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I better get back to work.” She couldn’t tell anyone her situation. Couldn’t reveal that Mark was trying to help his dad financially, trying to make sure he moved back into his house.

  She couldn’t tell anyone how seeing him again made her revert to old feelings of insecurity…to feeling as if she didn’t matter.

  She tried to shake off the crazy adolescent angst as she pushed through the coffee-shop door.

  And slammed into Mark Ryker.

  “Whoa!” Mark grunted as someone plowed into his chest right as he yanked open the coffee-shop door.

  The someone looked up. Hannah.

  Silky black hair brushed his hands where he held her by the shoulders, trying to steady her. “You all right?”

  Bright green eyes—shocked green eyes—stared up at him. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t see you.”

  So beautiful. So sweet-smelling… He snatched his hands off her and shoved them into his pockets. “Totally my fault.”

  She didn’t say anything. Just stared into his eyes, as if trying to read him. Then the wide-eyed look gave way to skepticism…or maybe pure dislike. “I hear you’re sticking around awhile.”

  “News travels quickly. The only person who knows outside my office is my dad.”

  “In this town, you’re news.”

  He winced and rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. “I assume I’m not to take that as a compliment.”

  “Take it however you like.” She swung her hair away from her face, going for a show of bravado.

  He’d seen the move in boardroom dealings before. Never got to him at all.

  Till now.

  Like a punch to the gut, he realized the bravado covered pain. Pain he’d caused.

  He didn’t want to make her feel that way. Didn’t want to upset her world any more than he already had. But he had to be truthful. “I’m taking a month of vacation time. Thought I’d try to help Dad with the house.”

  Her creamy ivory skin blanched. Then pink infused her cheeks. “Why?”

  “As I explained before, I plan to make sure he’s well cared for before I leave. Since he’s not cooperating, it may take a while.”

  “Have you got a year of vacation time? Because that’s the minimum we’re staying in the house. I won’t let you uproot my children.” She took a deep breath as if preparing to blast him further, but instead turned and stalked toward the bank.

  Mark pressed his forehead, trying to stave off a headache. Then he pushed open the café door.

  The place was more crowded than he’d expected for a weekday. Most of the tables held at least one person. A group of young mothers with babies in strollers sat in some cushioned chairs in the corner.

  He couldn’t even remember what the building had housed when he’d been in high school. Maybe a dress shop?

  Before he approached the counter, he noticed most eyes settled on him.

  Oh, man. Awkward.

  He smiled, then hustled to place his order.

  The pregnant woman with Gabe stood behind the counter. “Welcome to my café. I’m Faith Reynolds. Relatively new to Corinthia.”

  He shook the hand she offered and introduced himself. “I grew up here. Went to school with Gabe.”

  “He told me.” She glanced away, as if afraid to meet his eyes. Might reflect her husband’s disdain.

  His headache throbbed anew. Forget the decaf. “I’ll have a large black coffee. The strongest you’ve got.”

  As she handed him the mug, she said, “I hope you and Redd can work everything out and have a nice visit.” Compassionate greenish-blue eyes told him she might know a thing or two about difficult family relationships.

  “Thank you. I’ve got a lot to make up for.”

  “Returning home is a start.”

  He accepted her small peace offering with a nod and searched for Ann.

  “Oh, Mark, over here!” Miss Ann waved from a table near the window. “Come join us.”

  There was no “us” about it. His approach sent the other women scattering with flimsy excuses, as if he had a contagious disease. “Sorry to break up the party.”

  “I’m sorry they were rude.” She took his hand to guide him into the seat beside her. Her soft, age-spots-speckled hand was as warm as the kindness in her blue eyes. Kindness he could use at the moment. “So, I hear tell you’re going to be staying in Corinthia a while.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m taking a month off.”

  “Well, goodness. Have you saved up that much time?”

  “Truth is, I haven’t taken any vacation. So this is new for me.”

  “Good for you. But since you’re here long-term, you can’t stay at the Gunters’. It would get too expensive. Not to mention lack of privacy.” She took hold of both of his hands and squeezed. “Come stay with me in my big, lonely house. Keep me company. I won’t take no for an answer.”

  The tight grip of her hands, and the fact she gave him a “don’t you dare defy me” stare, kept the refusal at bay. Surprisingly, he welcomed the idea. “I’d be honored to accept the invitation. On one condition.”

  “No, sir.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I insist you let me do any work you need done around the house. Lawn mowing, painting, repairs. I’m pretty handy, like my dad.”

  She gave one last squeeze, then let go. “Deal. Plan to move in tomorrow afternoon. I’ll make you a nice home-cooked meal and one of my caramel cakes.”

  His mouth practically watered at the thought. He winked at her. “I look forward to it.”

  Maybe things were looking up after all.

  One look at the woman across the street, and Mark’s good mood evaporated like raindrops on a sizzling summer sidewalk.

  Donna Williams. Sitting on the same bench Mark had occupied earlier to check his email. Staring a hole through him while Hannah’s children played in the center of the town square, out in front of the courthouse.

  Time to face the music.

  He crossed the street as she gathered Hannah’s children under her wing, as if he was some villain who might make off with them.

  “Hi, Mr. Mark,” Becca called as she ran up to him, beaming. “We’re going to the library.”

  “Sounds fun.” He greeted the other children, then nodded to Donna. “Mrs. Williams.”

  The two youngest looked so much alike. He realized they were twins. An ache tugged at his chest as the boy pulled on one pant leg.

>   The girl tugged on the other. “We’re going to check out books.”

  “I’m getting the biggest book ever.” The boy let go of Mark’s leg, stretched to his tiptoes and held his arms wide. “This big.”

  The older boy, with his unruly sandy-brown hair, looked from Mark to his grandmother and back. As if he sensed the tension.

  Donna pulled the little ones away from Mark. “Children, why don’t you all hold hands and walk on over to the library. Do what Becca tells you to do. I’ll be there in a minute. After I talk to Mr. Ryker.”

  He realized his teeth were clenched and forcefully relaxed as the kids grabbed hands and scampered off, Becca acting like a proud mother hen.

  Donna crossed her arms, her disapproving glare like a blast of frigid air across the sidewalk. “Why aren’t you gone yet?”

  Not only had he hurt Sydney years ago, but now his presence must dredge up old pain. “I’ve decided to stay, maybe do some work on the house.”

  “So your father can move back in?”

  “I admit, I don’t like the idea of my father living in a garage apartment with those steep steps and his bad hip. Especially when he’s nearing retirement.”

  Donna threw her arms out to her sides. “I warned Hannah. Told her to stay away from that place. From associating with you Rykers.” She took a step closer and pointed a finger in his face. “Don’t you dare hurt my other daughter, too. You just need to go on back to the city. Your daddy can take care of himself.”

  Tell her, Mark. She might listen. “Actually, Mrs. Williams, I’ve come to try to make amends with my father. And hope you, too, will forgive me for getting Sydney involved with a bad crowd. With alcohol.”

  She stepped back, and the firm composure crumbled. “I don’t know how you have the nerve to even ask. You have no idea what your actions did to my family.”

  “Hannah told me. Please believe me when I say I had no idea the pain I’d caused.” He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked skyward for some divine help. “God has changed my life. I’m so very sorry for hurting your family.”

  “You think you can just blow into town and say you’re sorry? And that’ll fix everything? Well, I’ve got news for you. Nothing will ever fix the mess you made.” She took two steps but then stopped. “Stay away from my family.”

  As she stormed down the street, Mark trudged to his car.

  Maybe some sins were too hard for people to forgive. He was probably just wasting his time by trying.

  But God had brought him this far. He would keep praying God would soften their hearts.

  Meanwhile, he would get to work on his dad’s house.

  Chapter Five

  Hannah appreciated the few moments of peace her tree-lined driveway afforded. Especially when she was limp as a dishrag after the day she’d had at the bank. Especially after the earful her mother had just given, informing her she’d warned Mark away from their family.

  She sighed as they chugged along, wondering how slowly she could drive, how long she could stretch out the quiet before the kids would notice.

  The thought brought a smile. She looked forward to a nice evening at home with her children. She’d cook something healthy—maybe make the chicken-casserole recipe from the church ladies’ cookbook. Then she’d make sure she had fifteen minutes alone with each child to hear about their day. To make each one feel special.

  “Look, a car,” Tony called as they drove into the clearing.

  “And there’s Mr. Mark,” Becca said, opening the door a nanosecond after they’d come to a complete stop.

  “Becca, hold up.” What in the world?

  Mark Ryker. In her side yard, sanding something that lay across a sawhorse, almost punishing the wood.

  Or himself.

  His sweat-soaked T-shirt strained across broad, muscular shoulders. His old, faded jeans were streaked with dirt. Her traitorous heart thrilled at the sight.

  She must be crazy to find this man attractive.

  The kids spilled out of the car, calling his name. She followed, not nearly as excited to have him there.

  While the kids surrounded him, chattering a mile a minute, he looked right at her. Anger or hurt—or both—filled his eyes when he first spotted her. Then he quickly covered it. He looked away and spoke to the kids. But she’d seen the raw emotion.

  The stubble of his beard gave him a dangerous look, and she could feel his tension. He might be a well-off, successful business owner, but she would not want to run into him in a back alley. Rumor had it that he’d lived on the streets for a while. She now had no trouble believing it.

  She drew closer, determined to hurry the children inside. And to hurry him away.

  Becca tugged on Mark’s shirt and pointed to her siblings. “Mr. Mark, you don’t know all their names. This is my brother Tony. He’s seven.”

  “Nice to meet you, Tony.”

  “Hi.” Tony didn’t look up. Instead, he rubbed his hand over the wood, checking out Mark’s work.

  “And this is my brother Eric and sister, Emily.” Becca puffed up proudly. “They’re both six.”

  He squatted down in front of the two of them and looked back and forth. “Let me guess. Twins?”

  Emily squealed, “You’re right.” Then she threw her arms around his neck.

  Not to be outdone, Eric launched himself into the other outstretched arm. “How could you tell?”

  Hannah would have been bowled over if they’d thrown themselves on her. But strong as a tree, Mark stood firm. “Could be the fact that you look a whole lot alike. Or maybe that you’re both six years old.”

  Emily giggled. “You’re smart, Mr. Mark.”

  Hannah’s chest constricted. The kids were starved for a man’s attention. Needed their dad. But why did they have to be so taken with Mark?

  “Time to go wash your hands, you four. I’ll even let you help me with dinner.” She handed Becca the key.

  Peals of joy affirmed her offer. Cooking proved enticing enough to pull them away from the mysterious Mr. Mark and into the house.

  “I’ll be finished here soon. Will get out of your way,” he said as he wiped the shoulder of his shirt across his face.

  “Sanding the shutters?”

  “Yes, and painting them. Most needed securing anyway.”

  Though the prospect of having the place look half- decent tempted her, she wasn’t going to encourage the man to hang around. Not when having him nearby made her pulse scatter. Not when looking into those beautiful golden eyes did strange things to her insides. And certainly not when her children were as drawn to him as she was. “Well, I need to go make dinner.” Fighting the urge to turn and run, she nodded goodbye.

  He nodded back and returned to his work, apparently taking her mother’s warning to heart. She had little sympathy for most of her mom’s gripes, but in Mark’s case, Donna was justified.

  As soon as Hannah had changed into shorts and a T-shirt, she rounded up the kids and explained the recipe. They would boil the chicken, then shred it for the casserole. She pulled out a large pot and went to the refrigerator. Butter, sour cream…

  She rooted all the way to the back of the shelves. “You’re kidding me. I thought I laid out chicken to thaw.” She wanted to slap her forehead as she remembered she hadn’t found any chicken in the freezer yesterday. And had never gone to the store.

  She groaned.

  “I didn’t really want chicken anyway,” Becca said, probably trying to make Hannah feel better. Then again, chicken never thrilled Becca.

  “What are we going to do?” Tony asked.

  Hannah blinked back tears. She rarely had time to prepare wholesome home-cooked meals like good parents should. Tonight she’d counted on it. But had failed again
.

  “Can we have pasghetti again?” Emily asked.

  Hannah sighed and shook her head. “No, sweetie. I imagine the others are sick of spaghetti.”

  Becca darted out of the kitchen. “Be right back.”

  As Hannah put all the other ingredients away, heavy footsteps—and the click of dog nails—sounded down the hardwood floors of the hallway, coming toward the kitchen.

  Hannah sucked in a breath. When Becca came in holding Mark’s hand, followed by Blue, she let it out in a rush.

  “Rebecca Lyn, did you disturb Mr. Mark while he’s working?”

  “I hear you need to make a run to the grocery store. I’ll be glad to go get that chicken.” A crooked smile conveyed he knew she was not happy with her daughter at the moment.

  “Oh, good. I don’t want watery pa…spaghetti again,” Eric said.

  Hannah tried not to huff or roll her eyes. Or cry from embarrassment. “No, but thank you for your offer. We’ll make do.” With peanut butter and jelly. Again. Once more, tears threatened. She shooed the dog away and then yanked the loaf of bread out of the cabinet—a reason to turn away from Mark. She was a horrible mother.

  “I promise, it’s no bother,” he said. “I’m cleaning up now.”

  Becca jumped up and down in excitement. “Let him, Mom. Then he can come back and eat with us.”

  The blood drained from Hannah’s face clear to her toes, leaving her dizzy.

  “Oh, no, I can’t impose. I’ve got to go back to the inn and pack. Ann Sealy has invited me to stay there while I’m in town.”

  “Please, Mr. Mark? I really want chicken tonight.” Becca flashed a smile in Hannah’s direction, trying to butter her up after having stretched the truth.

  “I can make a quick trip for that chicken. It’s up to your mom.”

  “No.” She would not be beholden to the man. Realizing the refusal had been snippy, she added, “Thank you, though. We’ll make sandwiches.”

  “Gross,” Eric and Emily said at the same time, as if on cue.