by Marta Perry
“And what about after that? A bed for the night doesn’t solve the problem.” Something he couldn’t interpret shadowed the deep brown of Claire’s eyes.
“It gives us time. By tomorrow she’ll be ready to talk with me.” He hoped.
Claire’s face tightened. “By tomorrow she’ll run right back to the person who gave her that shiner.”
“That’s a pretty cynical assessment.”
“It’s a practical one.”
There was some undercurrent in her words that he didn’t quite get. “Anyway, I’m sorry about this.” He touched her hand lightly in mute apology.
Claire looked up at his touch, something startled and wary in her gaze, and then she took a step back. She glanced past him to where Stacy slumped in the pew.
“Take care of yourself, Stacy.”
She smiled at the girl. His breath caught. That smile transformed Claire’s sharp face for a moment, turning her into someone lively and caring.
“Thanks for understanding,” he said, shaking himself out of it.
She nodded and pushed open the door behind her. “I’ll check in with you tomorrow morning. I have to get going on the wedding. We only have a month.”
Caution stirred. “We’d better talk with Gabe and Nolie before making any decisions.” We? How had he gotten into this, anyway?
“Of course.” Her smile suggested that she was taking his cooperation for granted. “We’ll do that.”
The door swung shut behind her, and he tried to dismiss an uneasy feeling. He’d managed nervous grooms, tearful brides and overbearing mothers in his time. He could surely handle one determined best friend.
In the meantime, he had Stacy to take care of. He’d better find a parishioner to take her for the night. Then he could—
Well, then he could try to find Ted. The black anger roiled again, under control but always there, always warning him of what he could become if he weren’t careful.
Please, Lord. He didn’t need to form the rest of the prayer. God had heard it often enough from him.
Stacy wasn’t the only one who should probably wait until tomorrow to discuss this.
“Come on, Stacy. Let’s get that ice for your face while I make a few calls.”
He had to focus on Stacy’s needs right now. Even as he told himself that, Claire’s unexpected smile blossomed again in his memory, softening the jagged edges of her personality and turning her into someone he wanted to know better.
Maybe, if it meant seeing that smile more often, working with Claire on the wedding wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all.
Claire swatted at the insistent alarm clock with a groan. She hadn’t gotten her usual eight hours, thanks to Pastor Brendan and that girl. Stacy’s battered face had refused to be dismissed from her mind. Even after she’d fallen asleep, the image had intruded on her dreams.
She pushed herself out of bed, toes curling into the plush carpet, and padded across to the bathroom. Those bad dreams hadn’t haunted her in a number of years, until last night. Her reaction to the girl had proved they weren’t banished entirely.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to be involved in the situation any further. Helping people like Stacy was Brendan’s business, not hers.
The only problem was that she could understand something Brendan never would about how that girl was feeling right now. He thought a safe place for the night and a good talk would change Stacy’s life.
He was wrong. She could tell Brendan that, but she didn’t intend to. No one in Suffolk knew about her past except Nolie, and that was the way she wanted it.
She showered and dressed for the day with quick efficiency, her morning routine down to an exact science. She’d never been late in all the years she’d been Harvey Gray’s assistant. She wouldn’t give her boss a chance to think he could get along without her.
She went down the steps, running her hand along the smoothly polished railing. The extra little touches of finely turned woodwork and custom fittings had sold her on the town house, and she hadn’t regretted that decision for a moment. A rising young executive needed a proper setting, and each time she made a mortgage payment, she reflected on the value accruing.
She glanced at her watch. She was early, and Brendan’s church was on her way. She may as well stop and see when they could meet again about the wedding. She could make a fresh start at persuading him she knew what she was doing.
The ten minutes it took to drive to the church was just long enough to make her wonder if that was really why she was going in person instead of calling. It wasn’t because she wanted to know what had happened to Stacy. And it certainly wasn’t because she wanted to see Brendan Flanagan again.
She parked at the curb and walked briskly to the office wing. She’d be quick and businesslike. That was the way to deal with him.
No one was in the outer office. Apparently Brendan’s secretary didn’t come in this early. She knocked on the door to his study and it swung open. Brendan sat tipped back in his chair as if he’d been there all night. He righted the chair at the sight of her, running one hand through disheveled hair that was the same glossy brown as the horse chestnuts children collected from beneath the tree in the town square in the fall.
“Claire. What brings you here so early?”
“Did you spend the night here?” She probably shouldn’t ask such a personal question. They weren’t friends. It wasn’t her business where he spent his nights.
He got up, stretching, the movement making her aware of the long, lean strength of him. “Only part of it.”
No, Brendan Flanagan was definitely not her image of a minister. His worn jeans and navy sweater, combined with that certain tough something about his jaw, made him look more like a firefighter, like the rest of his family.
“Ministers keep odd hours, then. Maybe you should have gone into the family business instead.”
“Firefighting? Some days I think it might be easier.” He shrugged. “That’s in my blood, anyway. I’m the fire department chaplain.”
“I didn’t realize.” Although she wasn’t surprised, now that she thought about it. All the Flanagans were involved in firefighting, and it seemed to be a source of family pride.
“Won’t you sit down?” Brendan gestured toward the black vinyl armchair that sat in front of his gray metal desk. His congregation certainly hadn’t put much money into furnishing the minister’s office. The wall of books behind him was undoubtedly the most expensive thing here.
“I’m on my way to work.” She reminded herself of why she’d come. “Let’s just set another time to get together about the wedding.”
“Sure thing.” He flipped open a desk calendar and slid on a pair of black-rimmed glasses to consult it. “But I still want to talk with Gabe and Nolie about this first.”
Obviously he didn’t intend to take her word for what Nolie wanted. “Fine.” She bit off the word. “I’ll give Nolie a call after I get to the office. Maybe we can get this cleared up today, so I can get going on things.”
She turned, then hesitated and reversed. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. “How’s Stacy? Did you find a place for her last night?”
“Yes. She stayed at my aunt and uncle’s house.”
She might have known. The Flanagan clan seemed to stick together on everything. “Have you had that talk with her yet?”
“Not exactly.” Something wary and cautious shadowed his eyes, making them look more gray than green.
She could interpret that look. “Something went wrong. What?”
“Nothing. Well, not exactly.” He so clearly didn’t want to tell her that it was almost funny. “Aunt Siobhan called. When they got up this morning, Stacy was gone. So was fifty dollars from my uncle’s wallet.”
She’d been that desperate once. The memory of it made her stomach churn. She forced the feeling away, angry at Brendan for making her remember. “I hate to say I told you so, but—”
He frowned. “Look, sometimes these kids have to test the boun
daries. She’s trying to figure out if we’re people she can count on. She’ll come back.”
“I hope you’re right about that, Pastor.”
But she didn’t think he was. In Stacy’s position, she probably would have used the money to run. Or maybe she’d have gone right back into the bad situation. That had happened more often than she wanted to recall.
“But you think I’m wrong.” He studied her face intently, as if he’d looked beneath the skin to her inner heart. “Why are you so sure?”
The sick feeling was back. Being around Brendan brought out all kinds of strong feelings, and she didn’t want any of them.
“That’s just another situation where you and I don’t agree, I’m afraid.” She pushed the subject away. “I’d better get going.”
“Wait a second.” He held out one hand, smiling at her. “I’ll make a deal with you.”
She frowned, searching for immunity to the masculine wallop that easy smile contained. The Flanagan men seemed to have more than their fair share of male magnetism.
“What kind of a deal?”
“We both think we know what Gabe and Nolie want. If you’re right about Nolie really wanting a big wedding, I’ll help you pull it off.”
She looked at that. She didn’t see a catch. “A deal has to have two sides. What’s the other one?”
“If I’m right about Stacy, then you’ll give me a hand with my teens.”
She stared at him blankly. “Your teens?”
“The kids you saw last night.” Sudden enthusiasm made his eyes sparkle. “I’m trying to help some of them learn to apply for jobs. You’re an expert at the business world. Seems as if you were made for the project.”
“Oh, no.” Words couldn’t express how little she wanted to do that. “I’m not a do-gooder. Besides, I’ll be too busy with the wedding.”
“Not if you’re right. If you’re right, I’ll be helping you with the wedding.”
She was right. So what did she have to lose?
“What do you say?” His eyebrows lifted in a challenge. “Do we have a deal?”
“All right. We have a deal.”
“Fine.” He held out his hand, as if to seal the bargain. She took it, and his fingers closed on hers, generating a wave of warmth that dumbfounded her. For an instant Brendan looked startled, as if that warmth had hit him, too.
She pulled her hand free and looked at her watch. “I have to go. I’m going to be late for work.” That was something else to chalk up against him.
The less she saw of Pastor Brendan, the better. He had a way of upsetting her equilibrium, and she didn’t like things getting out of her control.
So why had she just made a deal to work with him on the wedding arrangements? And with his group of juvenile delinquents, too?
Well, that part of it wasn’t going to happen. Unfortunately, she knew she was right about Stacy.
As for Brendan— She took a deep breath. Whatever effect the man had on her, she’d just have to ignore it until it went away.
Chapter Two
Claire frowned at her computer screen. The report she was compiling seemed to have lost its charm. The dry recital of statistics and probabilities faded into a background for Stacy’s troubled face.
Or maybe for Brendan’s, looking at her with that quizzical smile of his.
She swung away from the screen, exasperated. It was bad enough that Brendan had made her late for work for the first time in—well, ever. It was worse that he kept intruding on her concentration now that she was here. Work was too important to let anything else interfere with it.
No woman had ever risen to the level of assistant to the president of Gray Enterprises, until she’d managed it. She wasn’t about to stop there, either. CEO. That had a nice sound to it. Harvey Gray wouldn’t want to stay active in the company he’d founded forever. There was no reason why his trusted right hand shouldn’t become his successor, if she played her cards right. Then she’d be safe.
Safe? She rethought her choice of words, appalled. Safety had nothing to do with it. She would never let herself be a victim again, regardless of her position. It was just that encounter with Stacy that upset her.
She glanced around her office, with its Berber carpeting and built-in walnut shelves. When she moved up the ladder, she’d have mahogany, and the door with the frosted-glass window would be replaced by a solid one.
Those little nuances spelled out one’s relative importance to the company. She didn’t have to be content with a cubicle any longer, and if the frosted glass served to isolate her from colleagues, that was just part of success.
A tap at the door startled her. She frowned at the shadow behind the frosted glass before taking a quick look into her pocket mirror. It was probably just her secretary, but it wouldn’t do to be caught looking less than her best.
“Come in.”
But it wasn’t her secretary. Brendan Flanagan, his clerical collar looking decidedly out of place in the capitalist confines of Gray Enterprises, popped his head around the door.
“Hope I’m not disturbing you.”
He was, but she could hardly say so. “How did you find me?” Actually, that was silly. He could have asked Nolie, if he wanted to know anything about her.
He let the door swing shut and crossed to the desk. “I knew you worked for Harvey Gray. Harvey is one of my parishioners.”
So maybe he wasn’t as out of place here as she’d assumed.
“I didn’t realize.” She gestured to the visitor’s chair, which was placed at a distance from her desk—a careful calculation to preserve her air of authority. “Sit down.”
Instead of taking the seat she’d indicated, Brendan propped himself against her desk, intruding into her space. She edged her chair back an inch.
“What brings you here?”
And why was she letting his presence make her feel uncomfortable in her own office? She glanced around the room, mentally contrasting its elegance with the Spartan surroundings of Brendan’s office. This room never failed to assure her that she had it made.
He pulled something out of his suit pocket and put it on her pristine blotter. A fifty-dollar bill.
She stared at it, uncomprehending. “What’s that?”
“It’s from Stacy.”
“Stacy.” That brought her gaze to search his face. “She’s turned up?” She hadn’t realized until that moment that she’d actually been worrying about that ungrateful kid.
Brendan leaned toward her across the desk, his smile inviting her to join him in celebrating. “An hour ago she walked into the church, apologizing. I told her she owed my aunt and uncle the apology, not me.”
“All of you, I think.” She was more relieved than she’d have thought possible. After all, she barely knew the girl, and that was the way she planned to keep it. “I guess that means she’s going to let you help her.”
He lifted an eyebrow, as if she should know the answer to that. “Not exactly.”
“What do you mean, not exactly?” A sense of foreboding gripped her.
“Stacy wants to talk. I figure she can be your first project.”
She could only stare at him, appalled at the very idea. “Project? What on earth are you talking about?”
He waved the bill again. “Our deal. Remember? You agreed that if I was right to trust Stacy, you’d help out with my teens.”
She couldn’t have agreed to any such thing, could she? “I didn’t.”
“You did.” His lips twitched. “You’re not by any chance trying to get out of our deal, are you, Ms. Delany?”
Of course she was. Her mind scrambled frantically for an excuse he’d accept. “You asked me to help them prepare for jobs, that’s all.”
Not deal with abuse. Her stomach clenched.
“If Stacy thought she could get along all right on her own, she’d be less likely to stay in a bad relationship.”
He was more right about that than he probably knew, but that didn’t mean she could
do this.
“Stacy wouldn’t want to talk to me. I wasn’t even nice to her.”
“Oddly enough, that seems to have made an impression on her. She said you were real.” He shrugged. “As opposed to me, apparently.”
“Does that bother you?” She jumped at the chance to turn the subject toward him, but he just shook his head.
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Stacy. And the agreement you made.” He leaned toward her across the desk again, his eyes so intent they seemed to probe her soul.
She drew back, putting a few more inches between herself and that magnetic gaze. “I’m not a social worker. I can’t help her.”
“You don’t know that. For some reason, Stacy seems to relate to you.”
Because the girl sensed that Claire had once been where she was? Nonsense. She couldn’t possibly.
“That’s very flattering, but I’ve got my hands full already with my work and the wedding. I can’t take on anything else.”
“You said you would.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he had her, and they both knew it.
There was still a way out of this. If she told Brendan about her past, he’d trip all over himself apologizing for trying to involve her in something so painful to a person with her history.
She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t give him a reason to look at her with pity. Nobody got to pity her.
She came to a reluctant conclusion. “I just have to talk to her, right?”
He shrugged. “I think your conscience will tell you what to do from there.”
If he only knew. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Pastor. My conscience is pretty elastic after a number of years in the business world.”
“I trust you.”
Really, that smile of his ought to be outlawed.
“If I do this, you’re going to owe me big-time.”
“What do you want?”
“We both know that. You cooperate with my plans for the wedding.”
“Only if Nolie and Gabe agree. That’s the other part of our deal, remember?”