“Is this part of your ministerial duties?”
“Not exactly, but you can trust me.” Tony gently turned her shoulders, and his hands moved to her neck. His fingers slid inside the collar of her silk shirt, massaging her tense muscles.
“So this is what you meant.”
“What else?” He chuckled.
Several minutes passed before he felt her finally relax. With her eyes shut and a pleased smile on her lips, Claire looked like a cat that just drank a saucer of cream and was ready to lie in the sun.
“See,” he said softly under his breath, “there are some benefits to being in Millville.”
“And to being your fiancée?” She opened her eyes and tilted her head back.
His lips brushed her ear. “That, too.”
“You’re not playing fair.” Claire turned to face him, and in the dim light her eyes smoldered like burning coals.
“I’m not playing at all.” He gently brushed her mouth with his lips. “I like you.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck.
Tony pulled her close and did what he’d wanted to do all evening. He kissed her slowly, lingeringly. “You’re a wonderful woman, Claire. Don’t let your father or anyone tell you differently.”
Claire smiled. “And you’re a nice guy, Tony. This town would be crazy not to want you.”
“Crazy, huh?” Tony returned her smile. He had to admit he liked having her in his corner. In a way, he could see why the church council preferred married ministers. A supportive spouse by your side could be a substantial advantage.
He shoved the thought aside and reminded himself he could do God’s will, single or married.
“Actually,” he added, “what’s crazy is us acting like a couple of high school kids, kissing on the couch.”
“I doubt anyone would find fault with these simple kisses.” Claire peered at him from beneath lowered lashes. “They’re about as exciting as kissing your brother.”
“Kissing me is like kissing a brother?” His voice rose.
“Uh-huh,” Claire said, her eyes wide and innocent.
He turned her face to his and slipped his other arm around her, pulling her tight against him. This time when his mouth lowered to hers, he wasn’t content to brush her lips lightly, softly. The minute their lips met, he lost himself in the warm sweetness. His hand moved up, his fingers raking through her hair, pulling her closer still.
His heart raced. The creak on the stairs barely registered.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
Tony jerked back. His gaze darted to the doorway.
“The minister and the maid.” April stood in the doorway, a smug smile on her face. Her gaze shifted between Tony and Claire. “Sort of sounds like a bad romance novel.”
“It does have a certain ring to it,” he said lightly. “Although I’m not sure where the maid part comes in.”
“Didn’t Mom tell you?” April’s gaze shifted to Claire. “Claire is our new maid.”
Chapter Six
The pounding on the door matched the pounding in Claire’s temples. The headache she always got when she didn’t get enough sleep hit her full force. She pushed herself up on her elbows and craned her neck to see the clock. Six-thirty.
She groaned and plopped back onto the soft mattress, pulling the covers over her head.
“Claire, it’s Mrs. Sandy.” Despite the thickness of the hardwood, the woman’s voice carried easily through the door. “Are you awake?”
“I am now,” she muttered.
“Claire?”
“Just a minute.” She shoved aside the covers and swung her bare legs over the side of the bed. Her skin turned to gooseflesh in the cool morning air, and she clenched her jaw. What in the world could be so important that you’d have to wake someone in the middle of the night?
“Claire?” The rapping sounded again.
Claire’s head pounded a response.
“Coming.” She stumbled toward the door, not even bothering to grab a robe.
Claire fumbled with the lock, impatiently shoving aside a strand of hair that dared to fall forward and block her view. Just when she was ready to scream in frustration, the bolt sprang open with a click.
She jerked the door open, the sudden movement setting off a fresh wave of pain in her head.
“Good morning.” Mrs. Sandy beamed.
Claire’s stomach clenched. How could anyone abide such cheerfulness at such an early hour? “Is something the matter?”
“Matter?” Confusion clouded the woman’s face.
“You’re up so early.”
“Early?” Mrs. Sandy laughed. “I’ve been up for over an hour. I just took my first batch of cinnamon rolls out of the oven.”
For the first time Claire noted the tantalizing aroma that hung in the air. “Thanks, but I’ll eat later.”
The woman mouthed a protest, but Claire paid no attention. She needed sleep more than food. Her gaze shifted to the bed. If she was lucky, she could easily get in another four or five hours.
Claire started to push the door closed, but Mrs. Sandy’s foot stopped it.
“I don’t think you understand.” Mrs. Sandy smiled, but her gaze was firm. “I need you to help me serve this morning. The guests will start coming down around seven.”
Serving? As in servant? Claire cringed. It was true she’d agreed to help out in exchange for the room. She hadn’t had a choice. But she’d hoped the landlady would at least give her a few days’ reprieve.
As if she could read Claire’s mind, Mrs. Sandy’s gaze softened. “I know you were up late. And I hate to ask, but April’s not feeling well this morning, and I really do need the help.”
Plus, you did agree. The words hung unspoken in the air, and Claire knew she had no choice.
“I need to shower.” If she was lucky that could buy her a couple of hours.
“That’s no problem.” Mrs. Sandy glanced at her watch. “Ten till seven should be good enough. I’ll see you then.”
Without another word, Mrs. Sandy turned on her heel and headed down the hall.
Twenty minutes? Claire watched the retreating form in disbelief. The woman actually expected her to get ready in twenty minutes?
Claire managed to trim her hour-and-a-half morning ritual to twenty-two minutes. Her hair hung in loose tendrils down her back, still slightly damp from her brief shower. Her makeup had been reduced to the bare minimum—a little foundation, a dusting of blush and a few swipes of mascara.
Surprisingly, when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror on her way out the door, she liked what she saw. She looked younger than her twenty-eight years and…wholesome. A word she’d never thought of before in connection with herself, but one that in this instance fit perfectly.
Thanks to the three Advil she’d swallowed the minute Mrs. Sandy had left, the pain in her head had lessened to a faint twinge.
Claire pulled the door shut and glanced at her tangerine-colored checked shirt and khaki pants. She wasn’t sure what to wear. All she knew was she’d sleep on the streets before she’d ever let those ridiculous black and white outfits her father’s household help wore touch her skin.
See what you’ve done to me, Daddy? I hope you’re satisfied.
Claire swallowed hard and refused to give in to the wave of despair that washed over her. On top of everything, today was her birthday, and no one even knew it. She doubted if anyone would even care. After all, her own father hadn’t even mentioned it yesterday on the phone. In the past he’d always planned elaborate celebrations. But that was then and this was now. And she was looking at not only no party, but a day filled with physical work.
She shifted her eyes heavenward. Perhaps she’d been asking the wrong father for help. Since her earthly father had turned out to be such a disappointment, it might be time to turn to someone else.
Dear Father, You know how much I hate manual labor. Please help me.
Claire knew the prayer was self-serving. Most of her
requests were. But if you weren’t going to be honest when you prayed, what was the point?
Besides, He would know.
Tony rolled over and hit the alarm. He lay still for a moment trying to recapture the dream. A smile lingered on his lips. Claire. Her skin had been silky to his touch, her lips warm and inviting.
Outside his window a bird chirped its own wakeup call. He shifted his gaze and took note of the clear blue sky. All signs pointed to another beautiful day. The weather was more suited to June than mid-May.
Mid-May. Tony frowned. He jumped out of bed and headed across the floor in his bare feet. Flipping open his planner, he breathed a sign of relief. Thank goodness he’d remembered. Tomorrow would have been too late. He reached for the phone and punched in the number.
“Hello.” The familiar voice brought a smile to his face. He made a mental note to call the florist and order flowers.
“Mother, it’s Tony.” He dropped into the chair and put his feet on the desk. “Happy birthday.”
“Why, sweetheart.” Pleasure ran through his mother’s voice and made him glad he’d taken the time to call. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Why not? It’s May fourteenth,” he said. Despite her words, he knew she would have been disappointed if he hadn’t called. “Who else do I know that has a birthday today?”
Claire. Her image popped unbidden into his mind.
“I’m so glad you called. I know you must be busy,” she said. “How’s Iowa?”
They talked for a few more minutes, trying to arrange a time when his parents could come to Millville.
“The parsonage should be completely renovated by July,” Tony said. “Assuming everything goes as scheduled. But you’re welcome to come anytime.” Of course where they would stay if they came before the parsonage was complete was another matter. But knowing his father’s tight business schedule, he’d take them whenever he could get them.
“We’re anxious to see where you’ll be living.” His mother paused. “We’re going to be visiting Grandmama the last week in June. How about if we plan to spend the Fourth of July holiday with you?”
“That’d be great.” He’d definitely be settled in by then. Assuming the church officials hadn’t fired him first. “Why don’t you bring Grandmama with you?”
Grandmama was his mother’s grandmother and one of Tony’s favorite people. She lived in a little town by the Illinois-Iowa border. On his way to Millville, Tony had stopped and spent a few days with her.
“I don’t know, Tony. She’s ninety-six and doesn’t travel much anymore. I’m not sure how she’d handle the trip.”
“It’s not that far,” Tony said. “Besides, when I saw her she didn’t look a day over seventy-five.”
“I know now why she adores you.” His mother laughed. “She must have told me a dozen times how much she enjoyed your visit.”
“We had a good time.” He remembered how his great-grandmother’s eyes had sparkled when he’d taken her for ice cream and a drive around the town square.
“She told me she’d given you her ring.”
The ornate piece had been a love offering from his great-grandfather to his new bride. Crafted in the early part of the twentieth century, the large stone was brilliant and would have been perfect except for several tiny dark specks marring its clarity.
Grandmama called the specks trouble spots. Said all couples face problems in their married life and that for over seventy years the ring had served as a reminder to her to focus on the big picture and not dwell on the little problems.
“She insisted I take it,” Tony said. “I’ll give it to you when you come.”
“No, you won’t,” his mother said firmly. “She wants you to have it. One of these days you’ll find that special woman, and then you’ll need an engagement ring.”
Everyone thinks I’ve already found her.
Tony suddenly realized that although Claire was supposed to be his fiancée, he’d never given her a ring.
“I think that time is still down the road,” Tony said with a laugh. “And anyway the odds are, when I do find her, she’ll probably want a different ring.”
“When you find the right woman—” his mother paused as if choosing her words carefully “—I hope she’ll be the kind of woman who will appreciate and love Grandmama’s ring.”
“Maybe,” Tony said doubtfully. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”
“Miss, could I have a little more coffee?” A man at the far end of the table raised his cup.
Claire heaved an exasperated sigh and cast a pointed glance at the coffeepot on the warmer sitting two feet from the guy.
“On second thought—” he pushed back his chair and stood “—I can get it myself.”
“Ma’am.” A young mother close to Claire’s age motioned to her. “Justin spilled his orange juice. Could you get him another glass?”
The three-year-old boy beamed at Claire, not a hint of contrition on his chubby face. “More juice.”
At any other time she might have smiled. Or given some thanks that at least the woman had cleaned up the spill herself. But it had been a short night and a long morning, and at this moment Claire didn’t feel at all thankful.
She shifted her gaze to the woman and stared.
“We’re running late, so if you could hurry, I’d really appreciate it.” Unlike the man, this woman didn’t back down.
“We’ll get that juice for your son right away, Mrs. Andrews.” Mrs. Sandy’s voice sounded behind her.
She hadn’t heard the landlady come in. For a second Claire wondered how long Mrs. Sandy had been standing there. Then she decided she didn’t care.
“Claire, will you get that for me, please?”
Claire turned and met Mrs. Sandy’s gaze. “Of course.”
Her open palm slapped the door leading to the kitchen. Claire left the room without a backward glance.
Mrs. Sandy’s words may have been framed as a question, but there’d been no mistaking the message. Claire jerked the large plastic bottle of country style orange juice from the refrigerator.
How could her life have taken such a downward turn in such a short time? She’d considered telling the landlady it was her birthday, but she’d probably only hand her a scrub brush. The only thing she could hope was that it didn’t get any worse. She couldn’t take much more.
But through the course of the day she learned she could. If Claire wanted to be honest she’d have to admit that Mrs. Sandy hadn’t asked her to do anything she wasn’t willing to do herself. They’d worked side by side cleaning the upstairs bathrooms. Claire’s stomach churned just thinking about it. She’d done her best to skim the surface, but Mrs. Sandy’s eagle eyes had missed nothing.
The second time the landlady had made her go back and redo the shower, Claire had almost snapped and told the woman exactly what she could do with her job. Only the thought that she had nowhere else to stay made her bite her tongue.
And still the day continued to get worse. Claire sat in the overstuffed chair and tried to rein in her mounting anger.
Tony was five minutes late, and being kept waiting was the last thing Claire needed after the day she’d endured.
Today should have been special. Instead she’d been treated like Cinderella, with Mrs. Sandy playing the role of evil stepmother to perfection.
She glanced at the clock again. Seven minutes late. Her already tightly strung nerves quivered, her irritation fueled by the knowledge that while she’d been slaving away, Tony had been out enjoying himself.
When he’d sauntered into the kitchen around lunchtime Claire thought he’d been about to ask her to run errands with him. But when Mrs. Sandy mentioned everything she and Claire needed to get done before the barbecue, Tony had merely brushed a kiss across her forehead, murmured something about hoping she had a good day and left.
Good day? She snorted. Yeah, it had been swell.
The door creaked open, and she looked up.
> “You’re late,” she snapped.
“Hello to you, too.” Tony flashed her an engaging smile. “How was your day?”
She narrowed her gaze. He looked happy. Excited, even. Her irritation inched up a notch.
“Horrible,” she said. “How was yours?”
He shifted uneasily, and his smile dimmed. For a second Claire experienced a twinge of regret. She knew she shouldn’t take out her bad mood on Tony, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to stop.
“I have something for you,” he said. “Hold out your hand.”
She kept her hand at her side. “Unless it’s a million dollars, I don’t want it.”
“Claire, hold out your hand.” An edge of steel that she’d never heard before ran through his voice.
Who did he think he was to order her around? Claire glared at him, but he didn’t flinch.
She extended her hand palm up. He dropped a tiny box into her grasp, the dark velvet soft against her skin. Claire lifted her gaze. Her lips curved upward in a smile. “A gift?”
“I guess you could say that.”
His expression was wary, and she wanted to tell him not to worry. She adored expensive jewelry.
Claire flipped open the box and stared, stunned.
“It’s my great-grandmother’s ring,” he said quickly. “You needed an engagement ring so I thought this would do. Unfortunately it’s a family heirloom, so you can’t keep—”
“Keep it?” Claire glanced at the gem, disappointment squeezing her chest and making it hard for her to breathe. “Why would I want to do that? It’s not exactly my style.”
Tony’s jaw tightened, and the last bit of light faded from his eyes. “If you feel that way…”
“Really, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.” Awkwardly she cleared her throat, and a wave of guilt washed over her. She always had a tendency to say what she thought, but this time she knew she’d gone too far.
“It’s okay.” He reached for the ring, and she knew it wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot.
“Pastor, I’ve got everything arranged. They all…” Mrs. Sandy’s gaze shot to Claire, and her voice trailed off. “Hello, Claire. I didn’t see you sitting there.”
Redeeming Claire Page 6