Unlikely Hero

by Marta Perry

  “I won’t get hurt unless you scare me into falling. Now you’ve made me lose count.”

  “Lose count?” For a moment he looked confused. “Tables? I can tell you how many tables we have. You don’t need to kill yourself to find that out.” He held out his hand to her. “Come down, please.”

  “I can get down myself.” But when she took a step, the table that had seemed so secure began to slide.

  Brendan braced the table with his hip, grabbed her by the waist, and swung her free of the stack. For a moment she leaned against him, her hands on his arms. Her breath caught.

  No. No. She didn’t feel anything. She straightened, trying to think of something breezy. “You’re pretty strong, for a minister.”

  He let her go, leaning back against the door frame, and gave her a quizzical look. “Is there some rule I’m not aware of that says ministers are supposed to be weak?”

  “No.” She felt unaccountably embarrassed. “I mean, I don’t know. I suppose a strong minister just doesn’t fit my image.”

  “You mean the stereotype of the guy who went into the ministry because he couldn’t be successful at anything else? The person who only has to work an hour a week?”

  “Something like that.” He’d made her feel foolish, and she didn’t like that. “I don’t know enough about ministers to say whether that’s a stereotype or not.”

  He gave her the look that seemed to probe beneath the surface. “I take it you’re not a churchgoer, Claire.”

  “Me?” She dusted off the knees of her tan slacks. “Not likely.”

  “Why not?”

  The direct question put her on the defensive. “Haven’t you ever heard that you’re not supposed to ask people about their religion?”

  His answering smile was easy, but his eyes were serious. “I’m not interviewing you for a job, so that hardly applies, does it?”

  “I don’t know why you think it’s any of your business, but no, I don’t go to church.” If he wanted blunt, she could do blunt.

  “I’m a minister. We’re interested in things like that. Didn’t you ever go to church?”

  She shrugged, brushing past him. The storage closet was too small for conversation, especially with someone who didn’t seem inclined to respect her boundaries.

  “I went when I was small. My mother took me. After she died, no one bothered with that.” She shrugged. “I haven’t ever seen the need for it. Sorry if that’s not a polite thing to say to a minister.”

  “It’s honest. I’d rather hear honesty than the excuses some people come up with.”

  He followed her out of the closet. He was still standing too close, and his gaze was too intent on her face. She’d already decided she wasn’t going to let Brendan get that close, hadn’t she?

  “Well, that’s my story,” she said briskly. “Now, how many tables did you say you had?”

  “Twenty-four, counting the ones in the church school rooms.” He accepted the change of subject. “Why do you need to know?”

  Maybe she should have mentioned this little problem to Brendan before now. They were supposed to be working together, after all.

  “I’ve been trying all week to find a place for the reception. No luck. We don’t have enough time. Everything decent is already booked for that day.”

  “So you’re thinking of having the reception here.” He glanced around the social room.

  She nodded, frowning at the combination of beige carpet and beige concrete block walls. “It doesn’t have the ambience I’d hoped for, but it will have to do. If that’s all right with your schedule, that is.” He could throw a spanner in the works if it wasn’t.

  “That’s not a problem. What do Gabe and Nolie think about the idea?”

  She shrugged. “They want a celebratory meal with family and friends. They don’t care where it takes place.” She looked around again. “So we’ll have to make this room into something special.”

  “We?”

  “You’re cooperating with me on the wedding arrangements, remember?”

  Although if she were going to follow through on her resolution to stay clear of the Reverend, she ought to let him off the hook, shouldn’t she? For a moment the mix of feelings confused her.

  She shook her head. “Look, you don’t have to do anything. Stacy and I can handle this.”

  “Oh, I’ll help. I don’t know how to make centerpieces, if that’s what you have in mind.”

  He’d probably back out if she told him everything she had in mind.

  “That’s all right. The florist will take care of all that.”

  “We have a florist?”

  “Of course. You can’t have a wedding without a florist. Where do you think the bouquet comes from?”

  That lock of chestnut hair had fallen on his forehead again, making him look about sixteen. For an instant, her fingers tingled with the impulse to brush it back for him.

  “Believe it or not, Nolie and Gabe would be just as married if there were no flowers in sight.”

  “Maybe so, but they’re not going to be. Now, what about folding chairs?”

  She spun away. It was safer to look at the expanse of beige carpet rather than Brendan’s face.

  “Enough for eight at each table, with maybe a dozen extra. We used to have more, but they get borrowed for events and then don’t come back.”

  “That should do.” She scribbled the information down in the notebook she’d started with wedding arrangements. After the week she’d had—trying to juggle work, Stacy, and the wedding—if she didn’t make notes of everything she’d go crazy.

  “Tell me something,” Brendan said.

  She glanced at him and found he was watching her with a frown.

  “What?”

  “Why didn’t you just ask Siobhan for the information about the tables and chairs? She knows everything there is to know about the church.”

  She shrugged. “No reason. I didn’t want to bother her, that’s all.” She’d be just as happy if he’d leave that subject alone, but she didn’t suppose he would.

  “Bother her?” His eyebrows lifted. “I heard her offer to help you with the arrangements.”

  “Thanks, but I can manage.” She snapped the notebook shut.

  “Even if you can, that’s not the point.”

  “Of course it is. I’m just doing what Nolie’s family would do, if she had any.” Why couldn’t he let it go? “The groom’s family is responsible for putting on the rehearsal dinner, that’s all. I don’t intend to impose on them for anything else.”

  “You seem willing enough to enlist me.”

  He had her there. “Only because you’re the one who wanted to make a deal, remember? Besides, you’re going to marry them, so you’d be involved to some extent anyway.”

  “The family wants to help.” He had that look again— the one that said he’d keep digging until he understood what made her tick. “Why won’t you let them?”

  She managed to keep a cool smile on her face. “Because I don’t want any help.”

  “Why?”

  Exasperation made her lose her grip on her temper. “You sound like a two-year-old. Why, why, why? Just leave my motives alone and take care of your part of this wedding, Pastor.”

  Now she was the one who sounded like a two-year-old. In the middle of a tantrum.

  But Brendan shrugged, seeming to accept at last that he wasn’t going to get anything else from her. “If that’s what you want.”

  She turned away. His voice stopped her before she’d taken more than a couple of steps.

  “But at least you could be honest with yourself about why you need to close out the Flanagan family from planning this wedding.”

  “Okay, guys, hit the road. I need to lock up.”

  Brendan held the gym door for the few teenagers who’d hung around to talk after a game of basketball. Claire had been meeting with Stacy this evening, and maybe he had finished in time to talk with her.

  Claire had been evasive
over the last few days. That was his fault. He’d pushed her too hard the last time they’d talked.

  “Why don’t you let me have a key, Rev?” Rick Romero leaned against the door, one eyebrow lifted in a challenge. “I’d take good care of it.”

  “Sorry, Rick. I’ve lost too many keys that way.” He kept his voice friendly, but firm.

  “You mean you don’t trust us with a key.” Rick’s expression had darkened, his hair-trigger temper always ready to see offense whether intended or not. The other kids pressed behind him, primed to follow Rick’s lead.

  “If I didn’t trust you, you wouldn’t be here at all,” Brendan pointed out. He held his breath, knowing the issue could go either way.

  Rick glowered for another moment, and the situation hung in the balance. Then he shrugged, his smile flashing. “Hey, it was worth a try. See you later, Rev.”

  With a few careless waves, they were gone. He closed the door and locked it, aware as he did so of how futile the gesture was. There were a dozen easy ways into the building if someone really wanted to break in.

  He was taking a chance with those kids, walking a tightrope they didn’t even know existed. One instance of vandalism or thievery would be enough to bring the church board down on him with both feet.

  He switched off the lights and started toward his office. Would Claire stop by? She’d done that several times after meeting with Stacy, staying to share a soda and talk. He’d started looking forward to it.

  She probably wouldn’t tonight. He thought again of their conversation on Saturday. Ostensibly about the tables, it had ranged a lot further. He’d pushed too much, both about her faith, or lack of it, and her relationship with the rest of the Flanagans.

  If Claire had belonged to Jesus as a child, she still did, whether she believed that or not. God would not let go of her easily.

  Father, reawaken Claire to that knowledge of You that she had as a child. I’d like to be Your instrument with her, if that’s Your will.

  His worry eased with the prayer. Claire’s spiritual well-being was ultimately in God’s hands, not his. As for her attitude toward the family—well, he couldn’t pretend he understood it, but he’d like to.

  His steps quickened. The light was on in his study. Through the open door, he saw Claire sitting in the visitor’s chair, the lamplight making her hair glow.

  A wave of pleasure swept over him, startling him with its strength. He’d known he wanted to see her. He just hadn’t known how much.

  “Claire, hi. How did it go tonight?” He tossed his keys onto the desk and swung to face her.

  She looked up, and he knew something was wrong. Very wrong.

  “What is it?” He reached toward her instinctively. “What’s happened?”

  “Stacy.” Her eyes had darkened with what seemed to be a combination of frustration and anger. “She’s pregnant.”

  He took an involuntary step back and bumped into the desk, struggling to get his mind around the ramifications of that unexpected blow.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Sure?” She surged out of the chair as if she could no longer be still. The movement brought her close enough that he could smell the spicy scent she wore. “How can I be? Stacy’s sure. She says she took three different tests and they all came out positive.”

  “I guess that’s sure enough.” He ran his hand through his hair, then gripped the back of his neck. “This complicates things.”

  “That’s putting it mildly.”

  He wasn’t sure whether the edge in her voice was for him, for Stacy, or for the whole situation.

  “Honestly, Claire. I never suspected. I’m sorry I got you involved.”

  “You should be.” A bit of dark humor flashed in her eyes. “I thought I was just helping her get a job. I could probably do that, but I’m not qualified for pregnancy counseling.”

  Something flickered in her face as she said the words, gone so quickly he might have imagined it.

  “How is Stacy taking this?”

  She shook her head, her hair brushing against her cheek. “What do you think? She’s on a roller coaster. One minute she’s talking very sensibly about having the baby adopted by a family that can take good care of it. The next, she’s indulging in some rosy dream about Ted turning into a model husband and father. As if that’s likely to happen.”

  “Did you tell her that?”

  “I suppose you think that was a mistake.” Annoyance with him colored her voice. “But Stacy has to face facts. If Ted slapped her around just because he was frustrated about supper being late, he’s hardly likely to improve with a baby to take care of.”

  “They’re both so young.”

  He knew the statistics, only too well. The chance that Ted and Stacy could make a success of marriage, even if that were what both of them wanted, wasn’t very good.

  “She’s agreed to go for counseling with someone qualified to advise her, if I go with her.”

  He studied Claire’s face. In spite of her obvious exasperation, she didn’t look as if she intended to bail out at this point.

  “Are you sure you want to do that?”

  “No.” That honesty of hers pleased him. “But I will. Can you set it up?”

  He nodded. “I have some names I refer people to. I’ll check on who would be the best counselor for Stacy and get back to you. Has she told her mother?”

  Claire’s expression hardened. “It seems Mom took off on an extended trip with her latest boyfriend. Stacy doesn’t even know how to reach her.”

  “I guess this is up to us, then.” Without thinking about it, he reached out and took her hand.

  She met his gaze, and hers was serious and steady. “Yes, I guess it is.”

  They seemed to be making promises to each other—solemn promises that neither could break lightly.

  He inhaled, not sure how long it had been since he breathed. His fingers tightened on hers. Irrational as it was, he didn’t want to let go.

  “All right, then. I’d better tell Ted.”

  “What?” Claire looked at him as if she couldn’t believe her ears.

  “Ted,” he repeated. “He has to be told.”

  Had Brendan taken leave of his senses? Claire could only stare at him.

  “Why on earth would you think that? Do you want to give him another excuse to knock her around?”

  “Of course I don’t.” Brendan looked taken aback at her vehemence. “But Ted has every right to know he’s fathered a child.”

  “Right?” Her voice rose, and she snatched her hand away from his. What on earth was she doing holding hands with him anyway? “Ted doesn’t have any rights. He forfeited them the minute he hit her.”

  Brendan’s gaze didn’t waver. “I can understand how you feel, but the law might not see it that way.”

  She had to make him understand. She couldn’t let him put Stacy or the tiny life she carried in jeopardy.

  “What if you tell him, and he has a momentary urge to do the right thing and marry her? What if she does?”

  “She wouldn’t do that.”

  “She might.” I did. Her head throbbed with painful memories, battering at her like fists. I went back. I believed the promises. And I lost my baby as a result.

  The doors of memory were wide open now, and the dark pain came surging over her, blinding her to everything else. The small part of her heart that had never stopped grieving that little life, lost before it could even begin, wept bitter, salty tears.

  She took a breath, forcing the memories back. She would not let herself give in to them. They were the past, and she was all about the future.

  “Claire? Are you all right?” Brendan was looking at her as if he knew.

  No. He couldn’t know. No one could.

  “I’m fine.” She managed to get the words out, managed to detach herself from the pain. It had taken a miscarriage to make her see that he would never change—that she had to get out or die.

  She wouldn’t let Stacy pay that
high of a price if she could prevent it.

  “Look.” She put some force behind the word. “You’re talking about Ted’s rights, but it’s Stacy we’re trying to help here. Stacy is the injured party.”

  “I know that.” Brendan’s expression was troubled, his eyes dark and serious.

  Hoping he was wavering, she pressed on. “Besides, we don’t have the right to tell Ted. That’s Stacy’s decision to make, not ours.”

  And she’d do everything in her power to make sure Stacy didn’t decide any such thing.

  Three vertical frown lines etched themselves between his brows. “I’m counseling Ted. How can I withhold something like this from him?”

  She blinked, trying to absorb the words. “You’re doing what?”

  “I’m counseling Ted.” There was a thread of defensiveness in his voice.

  She didn’t know where to hit first. “You’re counseling the abuser. Don’t you think that’s a conflict? You can’t help both of them.”

  “They both need help.”

  “Ted is an abuser.”

  “Ted is also a troubled kid who needs my help. I may not like what he’s done, but that doesn’t mean I can turn my back on him. My ministry extends to Ted, too.”

  “Your ministry.” She threw the words at him. “What kind of ministry is that? I suppose you think they ought to whitewash everything and get married, just to do the proper thing.”

  If her words hurt him, he didn’t show it. “No, I don’t think any such thing. You know that.”

  She did, but she wouldn’t admit it, not when he’d let her down so badly. “You’re the one who got me involved with helping Stacy. And all the time you were undercutting what I was doing.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” He reached toward her, and she drew back. His hands dropped instantly. “I wouldn’t do anything to harm the good you’re doing with Stacy.”

  The pounding in her head had reached mammoth proportions. She’d like to believe him, but she couldn’t. And not just because of her own experience.