Her Small-Town Hero

by Arlene James

  She made a face. The last person she needed to be spending time around was Holt. “Oh, but we’d have to switch out the car seat and all that,” she said, thinking quickly. “We’ll just meet you there. Easier that way.”

  “If you say so,” Hap told her. “We’ll try to save you a place, but don’t be late.”

  She thanked them, said the appropriate goodbyes and closed the door. Ace smacked the tabletop with one hand and reached for the cereal bowl with the other. Even as she hurried over to finish feeding him, she wondered if she really should go to church today. She couldn’t seem to keep her mouth shut around Holt, and the more he knew about her, the more likely he was to disapprove. Keeping her distance seemed the best course, but really, how much trouble could she get into attending a church service? Besides, she’d already agreed to go.

  In all truth, she wanted to go. She couldn’t help being curious and even a little hopeful about it in a way that she couldn’t quite peg. Her only experience with church had come during those summers with Aunt Jane, but she’d always felt somewhat out of place in a congregation comprised mostly of elderly folk, and those services had been nothing like what she saw on television, which tended to leave her with more questions than answers. Knowing Grover, however slightly, and Hap and Ryan and Holt, she felt instinctively that the First Church would be different from anything she could imagine.

  It seemed foolish not to satisfy her curiosity, which had grown since she’d prayed for help just before she’d seen the Help Wanted sign here at the Heavenly Arms. Seemed like the least she could do after that was sit through a worship service, even if she’d have to do it in short sleeves and with Holt breathing down her neck.

  “You two have done enough,” Holt complained, waving his grandfather and brother toward the church door. “If you’d let me handle it, I’d have convinced her to ride along with us.”

  “Bullied her, you mean,” Ryan corrected with a grin. “What’s with you two, anyway?”

  Holt ignored that last comment, making a sharp, slicing motion with his hand. “Just go on and save us a seat. If you can.”

  Where was the woman, anyway? As the others hurried into the church, Holt turned back to stand sentinel on the sidewalk.

  So Ryan wanted to know what was with the two of them, did he? Only that Holt’s every instinct told him Cara Jane had secrets that were potentially harmful to him and his family.

  With a grimace, he admitted to himself that it was more than that. His head fairly buzzed every time he thought about her, bringing up emotions that he’d believed long buried. No one else needed to know these things, though. Once he’d uncovered her secrets, then he would decide whether or not to discuss his concerns with anyone else. That seemed fair to everyone. He wouldn’t worry Hap and Ryan that way or cast undue suspicion on Cara Jane.

  While scanning the area for her little car, his gaze snagged on a small figure striding toward him on the other side of the street. Correction. Two small figures, one carrying the other on her hip. He’d know that sleek, pale, moon-gold hair anywhere. The dress, however, caught him completely off guard. Putting a hand to the crown of his hat, he clamped his jaw to keep it from dropping.

  Beneath her usual denim jacket, she wore a swingy little flowered confection that flipped and swirled about her shapely knees in flashes of vibrant pinks, oranges and purples as she walked. Coupled with the jaunty bounce and flip of her shoulder-length hair, the effect was nothing short of mesmerizing.

  As she drew closer, he saw that her toes were bared by sandals, purple sandals with high platform soles and ankle straps. How she’d walked all this way in those shoes, he couldn’t imagine. Moreover, not a stitch of that outfit could be deemed appropriate for this gray, chilly weather. She had to be freezing her toes off, but my, what toes they were, dainty and shapely and breathtakingly female, like everything else about her.

  She hurried toward him, Ace clutched against her side with both hands. Holt went to meet her, torn between shaking her and draping her with his coat. He settled for sliding an arm across her shoulders and a scold.

  “What is wrong with you? Wearing that in this weather? I mean, isn’t it pretty cool up in Oregon? Don’t you have any warm clothes?”

  She stopped and shrugged free of him, frowning. “Yes, it’s cool up in Oregon.” Tugging at the bottom of her jacket, she sniffed and turned her head away. “Maybe I’m impervious to the cold. Maybe I got so used to it up in chilly Oregon that I don’t need such heavy clothing as you.” She leaned sideways slightly and attempted to hitch Ace up a little higher on her hip while holding her skirt down at the same time.

  Irritated as well as intrigued, Holt reached over and plucked the boy out of her grasp. He weighed more than Holt expected, too much for her to constantly carry around, and she clearly didn’t like letting go of him, but Holt didn’t particularly care at the moment. She had just lied to him through chattering teeth. But they didn’t have time to discuss it now.

  “If we don’t get inside, we’ll be standing through the service,” he told her, not bothering to moderate his tone.

  She clamped her teeth together, slashed a look at Ace and marched forward, arms swinging. Holt caught up in one long stride, unwilling to watch her walk away from him in that swishy skirt.

  The opening strains of the gathering music reached his ears as they stepped up onto the broad stoop that fronted the building. At the same time, Ace reached up and grabbed the brim of his hat, tugging it down. Frowning disapproval at the boy, Holt removed the hat and used it to wave Cara Jane forward, his hand coming to rest in the small of her back as they pushed through the double doors into the church.

  The place, as anticipated, was packed, and the congregation had already risen to sing the opening hymn. Ryan tossed them a wave from their usual pew up near the front of the building, but just then Agnes Dilberry scooted her brood down and made a place for them on the back row. Cara Jane reached up to take Ace into her own arms again, whispering that they would sit in the rear of the building so she could slip out in case he fussed. Holt didn’t bother hissing back that she could always take Ace to the nursery in the other building. He already knew that she wouldn’t let the kid out of her sight unless she had no other choice. Instead, he crowded into the pew next to her and accepted the open hymnal that Agnes passed to him, her eyes full of curiosity and speculation. Holt nodded his thanks.

  Ace made a grab for the book and caught Holt by the wrist instead. Then the little fellow just sort of leaned and crawled his way right back into Holt’s arms. Dismay flashed over Cara Jane’s face, but Holt shifted the boy to his other arm to keep her from taking him back. Mama had to learn to let go sometime, and besides, the kid obviously liked him. Maybe she’d loosen her grip some after this.

  She took the hymnal from him and held it open for them to share. He edged closer and resisted the urge to slide his arm around her. For one thing, he still held his hat in that hand, and one of the Dilberry scamps already eyed it covetously. For another, it surprised and alarmed him how natural the impulse felt. Befriending her until he knew that she posed no threat to his family was one thing; letting himself get caught up in something too personal for his own good would be nothing short of insanity.

  Holt trained his focus straight ahead, the boy held tight in the crook of his arm, and tried not to think about how pretty she looked in that flowered dress with her pale hair flipping up against the tops of her slender shoulders and her dainty toes peeking out of those ridiculous shoes. She needed a good coat, he decided, preferably one that covered her from the top of her head right down to the ground.

  Cara glanced around, surprised to find the church on the smallish side. The large, rectangular, flat-topped two-story brick annex in back made it feel like a larger place from the outside, but the inside told another story.

  Constructed of pale wood from floor to ceiling, including the pews, the room felt somewhat bare, despite the many bodies crowding the unpadded pews. Only the bright, greeni
sh-blue carpet covering the raised platform at the front of the building and the swirls of green, gold and blue glass in the tall narrow windows lent color to the space, while the crisp white altar, lectern and three armless chairs on the platform gave it a pristine feel. A brass cross stood upon the altar and before it sat a low, fresh arrangement of yellow carnations, white mums and ivy in a simple basket. Overhead hung airy fixtures of gleaming brass with tapered, frosted bulbs.

  A young woman with light hair rolled into a tight knot at the nape of her neck enthusiastically played the dark, upright piano to one side of the dais while a tall, thin, pale man followed along on an acoustic guitar. The voices of the congregation, including Holt’s smoky baritone, literally filled the space to overflowing, much to her son’s delight.

  Ace bounced in the crook of Holt’s elbow, waving his little arms as if directing the cacophony of notes. His blue eyes danced in time to the music. That alone made Cara smile. The man at her side did not.

  She should have known that she couldn’t escape Holt just by refusing a ride in his truck. Determined to ignore his high-handed manner and enjoy herself, Cara drank in every face, sound and gesture.

  After the song, they sat for prayer, announcements and more music. An older couple warbled a duet to prerecorded accompaniment. Ace stood on the edge of the pew between Holt’s legs, Holt’s hands fastened securely about his waist, and jigged up and down to the tune, alternately clapping and laughing. At some point Holt had slipped off his leather jacket and draped it over the end of the pew. He tried to balance the hat on one thigh while wrangling Ace. Cara quickly realized that if she didn’t rescue the hat, she’d surely have to buy him another. Ace seemed so happy that she didn’t want to bother him. Instead, she tugged the hat into her lap, placing it crown down as Holt had done. Shortly thereafter, she traded the hat for her son as Ace threw himself sideways into her arms.

  She knew a moment of extreme embarrassment when the offering plate came by a little later. First, she hadn’t thought to bring so much as a nickle with her, and second, Ace latched on to the polished brass platter with feverish possession. While her face glowed hot and she tried to pry his little fingers from the rim, Ace squealed his baby delight and hung on for dear life, threatening to spill the contents onto the floor. Holt came to the rescue, plucking the plate from Ace’s determined grasp with a chuckle and then Ace himself from her lap. Cara telegraphed her thanks with a wan smile. Holt just grinned and shook his head. She found that grin disconcerting. Somehow his frowns and glowers seemed easier to deal with.

  They spent the remainder of the service passing boy and hat back and forth between them until the action became so mechanical that Cara barely noticed, her attention riveted by the sermon. Grover Waller turned out to be unlike any preacher Cara had ever heard. He didn’t preach so much as converse, and the conversation did not proceed one-sided, either. Those in the congregation often spoke up with a hearty “Amen” or a simple answer to a question posed from the pulpit.

  “So that we know,” Grover said at one point, “that Christ went to the cross as a sacrifice for the sins of…who?”

  “Me,” said one fellow.

  At the same time, someone else called out, “Everyone!”

  A veritable chorus of “Amens” accompanied both. Nodding, Grover lifted his Bible and read from it.

  “‘He Who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him freely give us all things?’”

  Grover went on reading, but Cara’s mind had begun to whirl with so many unanswered questions that she didn’t catch much more of it.

  Finally, Grover finished up with, “‘For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor heights, nor depth, nor any other created thing, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.’”

  Cara leaned forward, trying to soak in what seemed to her to be a mountain of knowledge contained in this one sermon.

  “Do you get this, brothers and sisters?” Grover asked, laying down the Bible. “Nothing created can keep us from the love of God and the salvation that comes through His Son Jesus. What can then?”

  “Sin,” someone called.

  “Our own unconfessed sin,” Grover confirmed with a nod, “and our unbelief. Just that and nothing else.”

  Cara sat back with a whump. She believed, or at least she wanted to, but how could she believe in what she didn’t really understand? And how could she confess what she must keep secret? She shook her head, so many questions crowding together inside of it, and felt the familiar weight of her son’s hand on her cheek. Turning her head slightly, she puckered a kiss into his very sweaty little palm.

  She realized suddenly that she should have peeled off a couple of his layers once they’d settled onto the pew, but she’d been so cold herself it hadn’t occurred to her that Ace would quickly overheat in his warmer clothing. Practically shoving the hat at Holt, she pulled Ace onto her lap, but as soon as she began to tug off his outer layer, he started to buck in protest. It quickly became obvious that he would not give up even one layer without a fight. Exasperated, she did the only thing she could do. She stood and stepped over Holt’s long legs into the aisle, heading for the exit.

  Holt automatically drew his legs back when Cara Jane rose and stepped past him into the aisle. Only as she started for the door did he realize that she actually meant to leave the building, and only when she glared down at him did he realize that he’d reached out to stop her. Ace chose that moment to really kick up a fuss, squealing as he tried his best to squirm out of his mother’s grasp. She made a dipping catch of Ace’s suddenly eel-like body and surged forward, leaving Holt no option but to let go of her forearm. With heads turning from every direction, Cara Jane quickly slipped out of the building. Holt caught sight of Ryan’s questioning gaze, shrugged and made his own escape as rapidly and unobtrusively as possible.

  He paused on the broad stoop to cram his hat onto his head and toss on his coat. Cara Jane was already crossing the street when he stepped down onto the ground, but he loped off after her, surprised by how fast she could move with a squirming, howling Ace clasped to her chest. She’d covered half a block before Holt caught her.

  “What’s wrong with him?” he asked.

  “He’s overheated.”

  She kept walking, neither remonstrating with her son nor so much as glancing at Holt himself. He began to wonder why he’d come after her. Then he realized that her steps had begun to flag. When she heaved in a great breath of air, he reached out and snatched Ace out of her arms. Three things happened simultaneously: Ace shut up like a faucet turning off and reached up for the brim of Holt’s hat, while Cara Jane stopped in her tracks.

  Holt jerked his head back from Ace’s questing fingers, coming to a standstill. This battle had to come sooner or later, he mused, might as well be now.

  “Nope,” he said firmly to the boy. Ace reached upward again. Holt shook his head, eluding those chubby but persistent hands. “No way, my man. Hat’s off-limits.” A third time he eluded capture of the hat brim by intercepting Ace in mid-grab. “Can’t have the hat. No.” Ace stared him in the eye for a moment, then crammed his hand into his mouth. Holt shifted around to face Cara Jane, dodging yet another attempt, this one somewhat wet. “No, and by the way, yuck.”

  Cara Jane hid a smile behind her hand. Once more Holt and Ace engaged in a mini staring contest. Finally Ace subsided with a sigh, his head sinking down onto Holt’s shoulder. Triumphant, Holt addressed the boy’s mother.

  “I believe we have reached an understanding. I keep my hat, and he keeps his slime.”

  She threw out a nicely rounded hip and parked a hand on it, gray eyes sparkling. “Yeah? What’s that rolling down the front of your jacket then?”

  Holt looked down at the drool sliding down the front of his leather coat, at which point Ace reached up and neatly plucked the hat
off his head by the brim. Proving too heavy for him, it promptly dropped to the ground. Chortling, Cara Jane lifted Ace from Holt’s loose embrace and settled him onto her hip once more. Properly chastised, Holt swept up the hat and returned it to his head in one fluid movement, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the front of his coat clean. Falling into step beside Cara Jane, he wagged a finger at Ace.

  “I’ve got your measure now, bud,” he teased, “and you aren’t to be trusted.”

  Ace grinned and lunged for him. Holt caught him with one arm and lifted off his hat with the other, while Cara Jane groaned, “Oh, brother. Here we go again.”

  “This time I’ll trade you,” Holt said. Holding Ace in the crook of his arm, he plopped the hat down on Cara Jane’s head. She couldn’t have looked more adorable if she’d tried.

  “That’s the trouble with babies,” she said, rolling her eyes upward, “they pick up bad habits in a heartbeat.”

  Holt laughed. “Guess we did sort of set a standard back there, passing him back and forth like a sack of sugar.”

  She nodded and put her head down, the hat brim hiding her face from him. “You didn’t have to follow us,” she said. “I got him there, I can get him back on my own.”

  Holt shrugged. “The service was almost over anyway.” He looked back, wondering how long before those doors opened and spilled people out. She shot him a wry, doubtful glance that made him say, “You’re looking very pretty today. Cold, but pretty.” Good grief, he was flirting with her, and now that he’d started he couldn’t seem to find a way to stop. He eyed her head and quipped, “I especially like the hat. And the shoes.”

  She sputtered laughter, drawling, “Thanks. So glad you approve since someone told me they were inappropriate.”

  He hung his head at that. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap earlier. It’s just that I see you standing around shivering all the time in sleeveless tank tops and now sandals and I have to wonder why.”