by Shirley Jump
“People change, Jenna.”
Not everyone, she thought, thinking back to the whispers she’d overheard. Sure, there’d been people in town who had offered a helping hand here and there. Some who had donated clothes, others who had dropped off food at Aunt Mabel’s. But none of that made up for the whispers. “If I stay here, I’ll always be that girl,” she said. “And all I ever wanted to do was get away from being her.”
Stockton’s fingers grasped hers, and his deep blue gaze connected with her own. “You are always going to be Jenna Pearson from Riverbend, Indiana. And if you ask me, that’s a good thing. It means you have a history, a heritage and a hell of a lot of people here who would help you—if you’d just learn to ask.”
She shook her head. “You love this town. I don’t. So stop trying to sell me on how great Riverbend is.”
He was quiet, the moment stretching tight between them as a new elastic. “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”
Gratitude washed over her at the change in topic. Clearly, Stockton could see that holding Riverbend up as some Nirvana was never going to work with her. “Picking out decorations for the party. Meeting with the banquet hall to go over the linens and serveware choices—”
He waved off the tasks. “It can wait an hour or two. I want to show you something.”
“I shouldn’t—”
“You should. I have something I’d like you to see.” He grinned. “And no, it doesn’t involve ice skating.”
Jenna felt an answering smile curve up her face. Stockton had deftly moved the subject area away from disappointments. And back into something that coaxed along the fringes of her better judgment. “If I take any more time off, I won’t have a job.”
“One morning more, that’s all I ask.”
Damn, he was tempting. Everything about him was a temptation she should avoid because he came with strings, connections. Jenna didn’t want or need any of those, especially not in the short window she’d be in town.
She hadn’t intended to spend any time at all with Stockton, and she’d ended up cooking with him, ice skating with him, and now, making more plans. She wanted to say no, knew she should say no, but then her gaze strayed to his mouth, to his deep blue eyes that held real concern for someone he’d known for years, and she couldn’t seem to voice the right word. “What time?”
“Eight-thirty, on the dot.”
“I’ll be there,” she promised, though she had no idea what she was promising to do. But she had a bad feeling all she was doing was further derailing her plans. They may have gotten the menu planned tonight, but something far more intoxicating was cooking up between Jenna and Stockton.
Something she would put a stop to—at eight-thirty tomorrow morning.
CHAPTER NINE
STOCKTON HALF EXPECTED Jenna not to show up. He let himself into the restaurant a little after eight, drank his fourth cup of coffee of the morning, and waited for the caffeine to take away the sleepless night he’d had last night. He’d tossed and turned for hours, replaying that kiss they’d shared on the ice in his mind, over and over.
Hell, even now, the memory tingled down his spine. Kissing Jenna had been…wonderful. Sweet. Delicious.
It was the aftermath that fit a whole other category of adjectives. He should have thought it through first. Except, when it came to getting involved with Jenna Pearson, smart thinking had never seemed to be part of the equation.
He knew better. And still, he’d gotten wrapped up in her smile, her eyes, her touch. And then last night, he’d been drawn in by her vulnerability. They’d connected in that quiet moment, just like they had in the old days and for a while Stockton had thought they could go back. Be what they were before everything fell apart when she left for New York.
Except, if he was really honest with himself, he’d admit that things between them had been eroding day by day long before Jenna packed her bags. They’d had a lot of fun during those high school years, but they’d never really built anything solid. One big test—and wham, their relationship was over. And he’d chosen the flight to Italy.
If he’d needed a clear-cut sign that they weren’t destined to be together, that was it.
Then why did he keep on stirring up a hornet’s nest that had been dormant for eight years?
The front door opened, and Jenna walked in, bringing with her a gust of winter. “Good morning.” She might as well have been greeting the paperboy for all the warmth in her tone.
Clearly, he wasn’t the only one trying to avoid a repeat of what had happened on the ice. And trying to put last night behind them. The best way to do that, he figured, was to get right to the reason he had called her here today. The more he lingered, the more tempting it was to kiss her again.
Stockton grabbed his coat, and motioned to Jenna. “Come on in the back. We have some things to get before we leave.”
“Where are we going?”
“To see another side of Riverbend.” When she’d said all that about the town last night, his heart had gone out to her. He remembered those days, remembered the people who had talked about Jenna as if she wasn’t in the room. Hell, people still talked about the accidents that had claimed her parents’ lives, whenever Jenna’s name came up. He could understand her wanting to escape the mantle of being “that girl” but she needed to see the whole picture. Remember the other dimensions to Riverbend that existed then, and now.
He held the kitchen door for her, then directed her to take several foil-wrapped containers out of the walk-in refrigerator and put them into a box. She did as he asked, with only a confused glance in his direction. He added a bag of loose dinner rolls, then hefted the box into his arms and headed out the back door, with Jenna right behind him. Stockton loaded the box into the back of his Jeep, then held Jenna’s door before coming around to the driver’s side and starting the SUV. A few seconds later, they were pulling out of the restaurant’s parking lot and heading down Riverbend’s main street. The day was clear and crisp, giving the snow still on the ground a hard, crunchy shine.
“Your one-year anniversary party is tomorrow, you know,” she said.
“Yep.”
“I know I have a lot to finish up for that, and you probably have plenty to do for the meal, not to mention tonight’s dinner service. Whatever this is that you want to show me, can surely wait for another day. I hate to take up any more of your time.”
“I have time for this,” Stockton said. “I always have time for this.”
It took about ten minutes to get to their destination, an old ornate church on the corner of the east end of downtown. Stockton parked the Jeep, hopped out and headed for the back of the truck.
He thought she’d be surprised. Ask a few questions. Instead, she sat quietly in the truck and stared at the tall white spire. “They still run that here.”
It was a statement, not a question, but he answered it anyway. Still, he was surprised she recognized their destination. Had she been there before? “Yes.”
She got out of the truck, and went around to the back, waiting while Stockton opened the door and pulled out the containers. He hefted most of them into his arms, leaving Jenna with one small container and the bag of rolls. She held the door for him as they headed inside the warm, cavernous building.
As soon as the heavy oak door shut behind them, an older, heavy-set man strode down the aisle and toward them. He wore jeans, a black long-sleeved shirt with a white tab at the collar, and a broad, friendly smile.
Stockton balanced the box on one arm and shook the man’s hand. “Father Michael, nice to see you again.”
“Always good to see you, too,” the other man said. He gestured toward the large box filled with several containers of food. “Ah, Stockton, you bless this place so much.”
“It’s nothing, really.” Stockton shrugged, then nodded toward Jenna. “I brought along a friend today.” Before he could introduce her, Jenna was stepping forward and wrapping the priest in a warm hug.
“Fathe
r Michael. It’s been years since I’ve seen you.”
“And I you.” He leaned back and gifted her with a smile. “How are you?”
“Fine, just fine.”
Father Michael nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. Come, let’s bring this food downstairs. We’re still serving breakfast, but we can get this stored for lunch and then start service.”
As they headed down the aisle and toward a small door at the back of the church, Stockton turned to Jenna. “How do you know Father Michael?” As far as he knew, Jenna wasn’t Catholic and he’d never heard her mention attending this church.
“I’ve been here before.”
“To church?”
A small smile whispered across her face. “No. To the soup kitchen. Well, I don’t think they called it that back when I was young, but yes, my family has been here.” Her gaze drifted over the murals on the walls, the long rows of pews, the velvet tufted kneelers. “I think I told you we were poor.”
He nodded. “Your dad’s farm struggled, and you had it tough.”
“Tough doesn’t describe it.” She let out a long breath. “We had many dinners here, when I was little. Before we left, Father Michael always pulled my parents aside to ask them how they were doing. And if there was ever anything our family needed, it seemed to just appear, without us ever asking.”
Father Michael paused, his hand on the knob for the door that led to the basement hall. “I’m glad we were able to do what we could, Jenna. Your parents worked awfully hard out there, bless their hearts. You know farming. It can be a difficult field to make a living. There are times when the harvest is bountiful, and other times when it’s…lean.”
Jenna’s mind rocketed back, to the days in that low-slung white house far from downtown Riverbend. Surrounded by cornfields and to the rear, a herd of cattle that had dwindled more each year. Her father, working so many hours most days she didn’t even see him. Her mother, who went gray before she was thirty-five, worrying her days away. There’d been nights when dinner had been nothing more than a thin soup of root vegetables, and mornings when breakfast was a leftover heel of bread. Jenna had been young, and barely noticed anything except a rumbly stomach, but she remembered the worry, the tears, the long, long days without her father.
Was that what had driven her mother, over and over again, into the arms of another man? The constant struggle, the scrabble for the leanest of existences? Had that been enough to turn her from her family and to someone else she thought had loved her?
She could tell from the surprise on Stockton’s face that he had thought he knew everything about her. He knew almost everything—except the parts that she had pushed aside, because they were days she didn’t want to remember. She didn’t say anything more as they went through the side door and down the staircase to the basement of the church. Voices carried up the stairs.
When Jenna reached the bottom step and she took in the people around her—clad in layers and layers of worn clothing, their faces marred by dirt and their smiles filled with gratitude—her heart clenched. “It hasn’t changed that much.”
“Well, we have new furniture and a bigger kitchen,” Father Michael said with a smile, then sobered. “But sadly, no, the need hasn’t changed. It’s ebbed and flowed over the years, but there are always gaps that the government can’t fill. We have a few beds here now, not nearly enough, but still, we try to fill everyone’s needs in some way or another,” Father Michael said. “Whatever they need, and whenever they need it.”
Stockton excused himself from the group and headed over to the tiny kitchen to unload the food he had brought and store it in the refrigerator for later. The rest of the volunteers were busy setting up for breakfast.
“This place has also become a haven for some,” Father Michael went on. “A place for others who are down on their luck and need a way to fill their bellies, or their kids’.”
A dozen children sat at one table together, others huddled shyly against their parents. A few babies sat in carriers perched on overturned chairs being used as makeshift stands. There was a combined air of desperation and hope hanging in the air. But still, she heard laughter, joking, and saw more smiles than frowns.
She saw herself, so young her feet didn’t hit the floor. Her parents on either side of her, urging her to eat more. She remembered a much younger Father Michael, stopping by their table with a kind word for her father, a bag of groceries for her mother. But most of all, she remembered the people, the community that had sprung up here among the neediest of Riverbend.
She glanced at Stockton across the room and he flashed her a quick smile. He’d read her mind, and taken her to the one place that would remind her that there were good people in this town, too. Very good people.
“You were kind to my family,” Jenna said to Father Michael.
“Being kind is part of being Christian,” he said, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. Then he smiled. “And speaking of being kind, I better say grace so people can eat.”
She chuckled, and watched him walk to the center of the room. As he said grace, Jenna glanced around once more and realized those who were helping—everything from setting up the buffet line to handing out bags filled with what she assumed were toiletries—were people she recognized from town. Samantha’s aunt, who often worked with her niece in the bakery. Mrs. Richards, Jenna’s third-grade teacher. The husband and wife who lived in the little blue house across the street from Aunt Mabel. So many familiar faces, all working together in their efforts to help the less fortunate.
And not one of them—not the people here to help or the people here who needed help—looked at Jenna Pearson and whispered. Here, she was merely a welcome set of hands.
When the prayer was done, people rose, crossed to the buffet line and began loading up their plates with scrambled eggs, toast, fried potatoes and bacon. Stockton was on the other side of the line, serving eggs with a smile. Jenna slipped into place behind him, donning the apron and latex gloves another volunteer handed her, then took up the tongs for the toast and dispensed slices to the people passing her station. A few who knew her greeted her, asked why she was in town. She kept the conversation simple and the line moving.
This place had filled her when she was hungry, supported her parents when they were in need. Had Stockton been right? Had she purposely forgotten the other side of Riverbend because she’d been too busy nursing a hurt caused by a few bad apples?
“T’ank you,” said a little girl in a pink floral jumper that was too short for her skinny frame. She picked up the piece of toast Jenna had just laid on her paper plate and took a big bite, then smiled. “I love toast.”
Jenna smiled and added a second piece of toast to the girl’s plate. “Me, too.”
Her mother rubbed a gentle hand over her daughter’s blond locks, then the two of them moved down the line. The woman looked about Jenna’s age and Jenna wondered if perhaps she had known her back in school. As the line moved along, Jenna realized several of the people looked familiar, and that fact disturbed her even more. It was so easy to forget, to push aside the signs of those in need.
For so long, she’d been concentrating on her own business, on her own problems, never thinking about the others who had it worse. She’d forgotten that there was a bigger world outside her own, and that world had once supported her, and her family, with food and hugs.
And without judgment.
“Oh, my goodness. Is that you, Jenna Pearson?”
The woman’s soft voice seemed to be a blast from the past. Jenna paused in handing out toast and focused on the woman’s face. It took a moment before recognition made it past the worn, tired face devoid of makeup, the plain brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, the faded, gray jeans and sweatshirt. “Tammy?”
“Yep, that’s me.” She waved a hand over her thin frame. “Had a few tough times as you can see, but I’m glad this place is here.”
“Me, too,” Jenna said, and meant it. For people like Tammy Winchester, f
or the others in the room, and for her parents, having a refuge like this, even in a town as small as Riverbend, meant no one had to go without a meal.
“Things are looking up, though,” Tammy said, as she held her plate toward Stockton so he could add a serving of eggs. “I have a job interview next Tuesday.” She smiled. “Wish me luck.”
“Really? What are you interviewing for?”
Tammy smiled. “Anything they’ll hire me to do. I’m not picky.”
In high school, Tammy had been a part of student council, a member of the cheerleading squad, one of those women who had a ready smile all the time. The same smile was there, and Jenna was sure, so were the same talents. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. If I remember right, you were the star student on the debate team.”
A pleased look filled Tammy’s face. “You remember that?”
“Of course. You were the one the rest of the team relied on whenever we needed a quick, smart response.” Jenna smiled.
Worry creased Tammy’s brow. She picked at the edge of her toast. “Well, it won’t matter what I say unless I find something to wear. The church donates clothing items, but there’s really not a lot of businesswoman kind of clothes. Know what I mean? I’d love to wow them at this interview.” She glanced over her shoulder, saw the line backing up, and gave Jenna a little wave. “Well, I better get going. Talk to you later, Jenna.”
“Good luck at your interview.” Tammy moved down, and as the line progressed, and Jenna caught snippets of conversations, she realized Father Michael’s refuge was doing more than just feeding people. There was discussion about available jobs, tips on writing a resume, a mention of a class to show one woman how to use a computer.
“This is amazing,” Jenna said to Stockton as the line dwindled and the workers began cleaning up from the meal. “So much more than what I remembered.”
“The reach of this place expands every year,” Stockton said. “Father Michael really wants to make it about much more than food. He wants people to see this place as a resource. He and his team help people with everything, from finding affordable apartments to interviewing for a job. There’s not a lot of need in a town as small as Riverbend, at least compared to a city, but he makes sure that whatever need there is, it gets met.”