Unlikely Hero
Marta Perry
Executive assistant Claire Delany's experience with teens?Only when she'd been one. Yet somehow she was teaching a rowdy group of them how to apply for jobs. It wasn't her idea of a good time, but in exchange Pastor Brendan Flanagan would help her plan the wedding of her best friend and Brendan's cousin. Claire had confused feelings about the handsome, opinionated Pastor Flanagan.She didn't want a family, or even religion. So why was she pouring out long-held-in feelings to Brendan? And why was he gaining a stronghold on her heart?
“If I help Stacy, you’re going to owe me big-time. You will cooperate with my plans for Nolie and Gabe’s wedding.” Claire was confident she knew what they wanted.
Brendan held out his hand for Claire to shake, his face serious but with a smile lurking in those changeable eyes. “Only if they agree. That’s the other part of our deal.”
“Fine. They’ll agree.”
“I told Stacy you’d be at the church tonight around nine.” He got off her desk. “And we’re having dinner with Nolie and Gabe at the Flanagan house at six. We can find out then what kind of wedding they really want.”
She glared at him. “For a minister you’re something of an opportunist, you know that?”
He grinned. “For a businesswoman, you’re something of a do-gooder, Ms. Delaney. Maybe we bring out the best in each other.”
“Or the worst.”
He headed for the door. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
MARTA PERRY
has written everything from Sunday school curriculum to travel articles to magazine stories in twenty years of writing, but she feels she’s found her home in the stories she writes for Love Inspired.
Marta lives in rural Pennsylvania, but she and her husband spend part of each year at their second home in South Carolina. When she’s not writing, she’s probably visiting her children and her beautiful grandchildren, traveling, or relaxing with a good book.
Marta loves hearing from readers and she’ll write back with a signed bookplate or bookmark. Write to her c/o Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001 New York, NY 10279, e-mail her at marta@martaperry.com, or visit her on the Web at www.martaperry.com.
Unlikely Hero
Marta Perry
Trust in the Lord with all your heart; do not depend
on your own understanding. Seek His will in
all you do and He will direct your paths.
—Proverbs 3:5–6
This story is dedicated to Alice Dyne, with love
and thanks for all she does for others.
And, as always, to Brian.
Dear Reader,
I’m so glad you decided to pick up this book and I hope my story touched your heart. The faith struggle Claire and Brendan went through on their way to a happy ending meant a lot to me.
I found it fun to relive the excitement and stress of planning a wedding. I don’t think there’s anyone who doesn’t have a story to tell of all the things that went wrong!
I hope you’ll write and let me know how you liked this story. Address your letter to me at Steeple Hill Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10279, and I’ll be happy to send you a signed bookplate or bookmark. You can also visit me on the Web at www.martaperry.com, or e-mail me at marta@martaperry.com.
Blessings,
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter One
“You’re wrong, that’s all.” Claire Delany had a fleeting doubt about speaking that way to a minister, but dismissed it. No clerical collar would deter her from saying what she thought.
Not that Brendan Flanagan was wearing a clerical collar. She glanced at him as he held the door and then followed her from the church gym into a hallway that had classrooms on either side. Gray sweatpants and a navy sweatshirt, battered sneakers, disheveled chestnut brown hair tumbling onto his forehead. Only a hint of gravity in his lean face and hazel eyes suggested that he had anything more serious than a game of basketball on his mind.
“Maybe I am wrong.” Brendan’s voice, a baritone rumble, was mild. “But when Gabe asked me to officiate, I understood him to say they wanted a small, quiet wedding with no fuss.”
“Gabe may have said that—” she tried the no-non-sense voice she was known for at work “—but I know what kind of wedding Nolie has dreamed of all her life. I don’t want her to give up her dream wedding just because they’re so busy right now with the new project.”
The grant her best friend had recently received would let Nolie and Gabe expand their service animal project to many more disabled people. She understood how important that was, but Nolie shouldn’t have to sacrifice having a memorable wedding because of it.
Brendan came to a halt next to a bulletin board covered with orange and yellow construction paper leaves, printed with what she supposed were children’s names. She stopped, too, swinging to face him. He was tall, like all the Flanagan men, and even the two-inch heels she wore for work didn’t give her enough height to confront him.
He was probably good at intimidating with his height, those keen eyes and that air of authority that went along with being a minister, but she wasn’t going to let him force his views onto her, no matter how self-assured he was.
“Nolie is my closest friend,” she said firmly. “If she doesn’t have the time right now to handle the wedding arrangements, then I’ll be happy to take care of them for her.”
Brendan raised an eyebrow. “Gabe is my cousin as well as my friend and parishioner. And I intend to listen to what he says they want.”
He had her on the parishioner business. Gabe was a member of Brendan’s church. Nolie probably would be soon, as well. Her friend was being absorbed into the big, noisy Flanagan clan at a rapid rate, and Brendan’s church was obviously an important part of their lives.
As for her—well, her mother had taken her to church when she was a child, but after her mother’s death, her father hadn’t set foot inside a church with her. Other than attending a wedding or two, she’d followed his pattern. Religion was a foreign country to her, one she didn’t have any interest in exploring.
She tried another tack. “Maybe Gabe just doesn’t care. A wedding is more for the bride, anyway.”
Brendan’s eyes weren’t the Irish blue of his Flanagan cousins. Instead they were a mutable hazel, and at the moment they looked as remote, green and frosty as an Alpine lake.
“A wedding is a solemn event in the spiritual lives of two people, not an excuse for a party.”
Now he really was putting on his minister hat. She was tempted to point out that the wedding decisions weren’t really up to him, but he’d simply turn that argument back on her. They weren’t up to her, either, until Gabe and Nolie agreed with her suggestions.
She’d already seen how close all the Flanagans were. The only way to win this was to have Pastor Brendan on her side. Then she could present Nolie with a fait accompli instead of a what-if.
“I’m not talking about turning the wedding into a riot, Pastor. Just making it beautiful and memorable. Surely you don’t have any theological objections to that.”
The sudden flash of humor in his eyes startled her. “Not theological, no. But we might not agree on what beautiful and memorable is.”
“We won’t know unless we try, will we?”
He studied her face for a long moment, as if wondering what lay beneath the surface. His steady gaze began to make her uneasy. She didn’t have a smudge of mascara on her nose, did she?
“Fair enough,” he said finally. “Let’s take a look at the sanctuary and talk about what you have in mind.”
His tone made it clear he was reserving judgment on her view of the wedding. That didn’t matter. She’d swing him around to her way of thinking.
Brendan led the way back up the flight of stairs she’d come down. When she hadn’t found him waiting in his office for their appointment, she’d followed the sound of thuds, bumps, and jeers to the gym, where he’d been playing basketball with a scruffy-looking bunch of teenagers.
Strange as it seemed, she’d apparently have to negotiate with the minister to get what she wanted. No, what Nolie would want. Failure wasn’t part of her vocabulary. She and Nolie had a kinship that went deeper than friendship or sisterhood, and she’d give Nolie the wedding of her dreams even if she had to go through Brendan Flanagan to do it.
But she’d try a milder tactic first. She’d always found it useful in business to establish some sort of mutual ground. She glanced at him as they walked through another long hallway, this one lined with stained-glass windows. The brighter light picked out the fine lines fanning out from the corners of his eyes, suggesting that he took his responsibilities seriously.
“Was that some kind of a youth group you were working out with in the gym?”
He looked startled, as if he’d forgotten about those kids. “No, not exactly.” He hesitated before going on. “This neighborhood has changed since Grace Church was built a hundred years ago. A lot of kids in the area don’t have a church to call their own, or any place to hang out except the street corners.”
“I’ve seen them.” She frowned. “Frankly, most of the kids I’ve noticed hanging around the street corners aren’t ones I’d care to invite into my church, if I had one.”
“Reaching out to people who need help is the church’s business.” His look was faintly disapproving.
Claire stiffened. Whether he was a minister or not, he didn’t have the right to disapprove just because she’d voiced her opinion.
Be agreeable, a little voice cautioned in her mind. You want to gain his cooperation, not put his back up.
“I guess Suffolk isn’t just an old-fashioned market town anymore,” she said.
He nodded, as if Claire were a pupil who’d gotten an answer right. “That’s the problem exactly. People still think this is the kind of place where everyone has the same values, but it’s not. Suffolk has become a mid-size city with a few city problems no one has figured out how to deal with yet.”
“And you’re the man to deal with them.” She tried to keep the skepticism out of her voice.
“I’m trying. With God’s help.”
That was the sort of thing a politician might say, except that in Brendan’s deep voice, it sounded genuine. If he insisted on bringing God into the discussion, she was definitely out of her depth. A Sunday school class when she was seven or eight hadn’t prepared her for a debate on religious issues with a minister.
Well, that wasn’t why she’d come here, in any event. She wanted his cooperation with the wedding. Aside from that, she didn’t care how many juvenile delinquents Brendan let take advantage of him.
He opened a paneled oak door at the end of the hallway. They stepped into a vast, echoing space, dimly lit by a bank of recessed lights at the front.
“This is the sanctuary. By the way, I draw the line at live doves let loose in here.”
The glimmer of humor he showed again reassured her. Maybe he wouldn’t be too difficult to deal with. “Not even one or two?”
“Not even.” He fumbled along the wall for a light switch, and the overhead chandeliers came on with a blaze of light, making the sanctuary spring to life. “As you can see, there’s a center aisle. I’m told wedding planners like that.”
Claire looked the length of the sanctuary. The cream walls were accentuated with walnut arches and wainscoting, and a burgundy carpet crossed the front and swept up the aisles.
“It’s perfect.” She could visualize Nolie coming down that center aisle, past pews decorated with flowers and ribbons. She could almost hear the murmurs of appreciation.
No, that wasn’t a murmur. It was a stifled sob.
Brendan seemed to hear the sound at the same time she did. He spun toward a pew half-hidden by one of the columns. What she’d taken for a coat thrown over it was actually a woman, huddled into herself on the cushioned seat.
No, not a woman. This was barely more than a girl, wearing threadbare jeans and a tattered T-shirt. Her long dark hair hung down to screen her face.
Claire took a step forward, and then stopped. This wasn’t any of her business.
“Stacy?” Brendan knelt next to the kid, his hand gripping the pew’s carved arm. His voice was soft with concern. “What’s wrong?”
Obviously he knew the girl, and he’d shifted into minister mode. All his attention was concentrated on her, as if he’d forgotten Claire was there.
That was undoubtedly her cue to back away. Even though she didn’t want to put it off, their wedding consultation would have to wait until another time.
“I should leave,” she said.
The girl looked up at the sound of her voice, her hair falling back from a too-thin face. Claire’s heart seemed to stop and then resume beating in slow, threatening thuds. The kid’s cheek was puffed out, and one eye had been blackened.
It wasn’t just the obvious signs of abuse that turned her stomach and made her want to flee. It was the look in the girl’s eyes—frightened and accepting all at once, like a dumb animal that couldn’t escape.
She knew the look. It was the one she used to see in her mirror.
Brendan put his hand gently on Stacy’s and fought down the tidal wave of black anger that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t give in to the anger. That would make him no better than the person who’d done this. He had to concentrate on her.
“What happened, Stacy? Did Ted do this to you?”
Stacy’s boyfriend was the likely culprit. The girl’s mother seemed to play little role in Stacy’s life, as far as he’d been able to find out the few times Stacy had stopped by the church with some of the neighborhood teens.
“No!” Her response was emphatic, and her hand flew up to shield her eye. “Ted wouldn’t hurt me. He loves me.” She jerked away from him, as if ready to flee.
“Right. I’ll bet you walked into a door.”
Claire’s voice startled him. In his concern for Stacy, he’d forgotten she was there.
He frowned at her. Sarcasm wasn’t what Stacy needed at a time like this.
Claire was looking at the girl, and something in her gaze gave him pause. She looked—he couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was almost as if she saw something familiar in Stacy.
He gave himself a mental shake. Claire was all chilly edges and expensive sophistication, from the top of her shining mahogany hair to the tips of the shoes that had probably cost more than he’d made last month. She couldn’t have anything in common with one of his lost street kids.
“Yeah, that’s right. A door.” Stacy snapped the words at Claire, but she leaned back against the pew, her impulse to run apparently vanishing. “I was clumsy.”
Something unspoken seemed to pass between her and Claire.
“Easy to do in the dark,” Claire agreed. She leaned over, touching Stacy’s chin to tilt her head back for a better look. “You ought to get some ice on that shiner.”
Her voice was matter-of-fact, almost cool, but Stacy appeared to respond to it. She nodded. “Yeah. Guess so.”
Brendan sat back on his heels. Nothing in his brief acquaintance with Claire Delany had led him to believe she could relate to anyone outside her yuppie world, but he couldn’t deny the evidence of his own eyes.
“We can get some ice in the kitchen,” he said. “But it seems to me you need a place to stay tonight. Someplace where you won’t be walking into any more doors.”
Stacy shrugged. “I’ll be okay. I could just sleep here.” She patted the cushioned pew.
He could imagine the reaction of some of his parishioners if they learned he’d let a kid spend the night in the sanctuary. He’d already heard some sharp comments about letting neighborhood teens use the gym.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said gently. “There’s a shelter—”
“No!” Stacy shot upright, clutching her jacket with both hands. “I’m not going to any shelter. I can take care of myself.”
That was just what she couldn’t do, but she’d never admit it.
“Look, Stacy, you need a safe place.”
“No shelter.” Her mouth set in a stubborn line, and she grabbed the back of the pew. “I better get going.”
“Wait.” He put his hand on his arm. He couldn’t let her walk away. “Just give me a minute, okay? I need to talk to Claire about something.”
She gave him a wary look, but something in his expression must have allayed her suspicion. She nodded, subsiding back onto the seat.
He straightened, taking Claire’s arm to draw her back to the doorway. “I’m sorry about this.” He lowered his voice. “I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our conversation.”
That determined jaw of Claire’s seemed to get a little firmer. “I suppose so. What are you going to do with the girl?”
He kept his voice soft. No need for Stacy to hear. “Find a safe place for her to stay tonight. One of my parishioners will take her in, I’m sure.”
“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 boundaries. 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?”
“Fine. They’ll agree.” She was confident she knew what Nolie wanted, and Gabe was so in love that he’d do anything that made Nolie happy.
“Then I guess you have a deal, Ms. Delany.” Brendan held out his hand, his face serious but with a smile lurking in those changeable eyes.
She put her hand in his, her apprehension stirring. That wave of warmth hit again. Being prepared didn’t seem to prevent it.
She had to catch her breath before she could speak evenly. “All right, a deal. When do you want me to get together with Stacy?”
“I told her you’d be at the church tonight around nine. Usually some of the kids stop by then, and that’ll make her feel safer.” He got off her desk. “And we’re having dinner with Gabe and Nolie at the Flanagan house at six. We can find out then what kind of wedding they want.”
She glared at him. “You were taking an awful lot for granted, weren’t you?”
“We both get what we want. What’s wrong with that?” He gave her an innocent look she didn’t buy.
“For a minister you’re something of an opportunist, you know that?”
He grinned. “For a businesswoman, you’re something of a do-gooder, Ms. Delany. Maybe we bring out the best in each other.”
“Or the worst.”
He headed for the door. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”
Brendan had been trying to figure out Claire’s opinion of the Flanagan family throughout the whole meal, and he didn’t quite have it pegged yet. He forked a bite of his Aunt Siobhan’s excellent apple crumb pie into his mouth and watched while Claire parried Uncle Joe’s questions about the inner workings of Gray Enterprises.
Claire’s polish and sophistication would probably make her at home anywhere, but she definitely hadn’t wanted to attend this family dinner. She’d come, because he hadn’t given her much choice if she wanted his cooperation with the wedding, but she seemed to be doing a great job of resisting the famous Flanagan charm.
He glanced around the long oval table that had been the scene of countless family dinners over three generations of Flanagans. The crowd was smaller than usual tonight, out of deference to the fact that Gabe and Nolie were supposed to be having a quiet evening to plan their wedding.
Only Seth, the brother who came next after Gabe, sat at the table, coaxing his toddler son to try a bite of apple. Davy grinned, snatched the apple slice, and rubbed it through his fine, red-gold hair.
This had been home to Brendan for so long that he sometimes managed to forget his earlier life. Sometimes, but not for long. His father had been Uncle Joe’s brother, after all, and an innocent phrase or gesture could bring that past surging back.
Joe held center stage at the moment, as he so often did, while Siobhan watched him, quietly smiling. He’d turn soon to his favorite subject.
“And did you know that all the Flanagans were members of the Suffolk Fire Department, Ms. Delany?”
“I’ve heard something about that, yes.” Claire’s gaze met Brendan’s. “I guess Brendan broke the family tradition, didn’t he?”
“You’d think that, but you’d be wrong,” Joe said triumphantly. “Brendan might be a minister, but he’s also the chaplain of the fire department.”
Claire’s eyebrows lifted. “Yes, he told me. He’s talented, isn’t he?”
“That’s our Brendan. And he doesn’t just go through the motions. He’s a fully qualified firefighter, too. I’d count on him to take the hose in just as much as I would Gabe or Seth or Ryan.”
“Leave me out of it,” Gabe said. He smiled at Nolie, and the love that shone between them was so bright it hurt to look. “I’ve got another full-time job now.”
“And a good one it is, too,” Joe said quickly.
After an accident on the job left Gabe prone to seizures that ended his career, they’d all feared he’d never be himself again. Then Nolie and the service animals she trained had given him a new purpose in life.
Max, Gabe’s seizure alert dog, lay beside his chair. Gabe and Nolie were totally involved in expanding her services to give more people a fresh start.
They all owed a great deal to Nolie. Brendan wondered, not for the first time, at the strong bond between Nolie and Claire. They seemed such total opposites. Nolie was all warmth and caring, more comfortable in jeans working with her animals than anywhere else.
Claire didn’t look as if she ever wore anything as casual as jeans. Even the clothes she’d chosen for a simple family dinner, black slacks and cream silk shirt, declared that. Against the shirt, her hair was a helmet of burnished copper.
He’d have guessed Claire was the type of woman to have few women friends, obsessed as she seemed to be with her career. Whatever the secret to her bond with Nolie was, Gabe probably knew it, but Gabe wasn’t telling.
“Let’s take our coffee into the living room and be comfortable,” Siobhan suggested. “We can talk about the wedding there.”
Brendan slid his arm around his aunt’s waist as they got up. “That was a wonderful meal.” He kissed her cheek. “As always.”
“You should know,” Seth gibed. “You’re always here.”
“I’m invited,” he retorted. “What’s your excuse?”
Since young Davy chose that moment to throw a bit of apple at his father, Seth didn’t respond. Brendan escaped to the living room.
Seth would get his revenge at some point, of course. That was part of being more like brothers than cousins.
Joe was giving Claire the grand tour of the wall that was covered with fire department photos and citations. He glanced at Gabe, who rolled his eyes. There was no sidetracking Uncle Joe when he got started on his favorite topic.
“That picture is me and my two brothers when we joined up, more years ago than I care to remember,” Joe said, gesturing to a faded black-and-white photo. “We thought we were pretty hot stuff the first time we put those uniforms on.”
Claire leaned closer, studying the picture as if she really were interested in Flanagan family history. “Which one is Brendan’s father?”
His stomach clenched, but at least she’d asked Joe, not him. Joe pointed.
“That’s my brother John, Brendan’s dad. He was a year younger than me.”
And a million miles different in temperament. But probably his uncle was able to remember some of the good things about his little brother.
Claire took a step or two along the wall, looking at one citation after another. Nobody could fault the Flanagans when it came to courage. They had more than their share of citations attesting to that.
“Distinguished Fire Service Award,” Claire read. “John Patrick Flanagan.” She glanced at him. “This was your father’s.”
He nodded. “The highest award given by the department.” He was pleased that his voice sounded so level.
“I should think you’d want to have this in your office,” she said. “Or your home.”
How he kept his expression steady he wasn’t sure. What was it with this woman? How could she manage to put her finger right on the sore spot and push?
“Aunt Siobhan keeps the awards,” he said lightly. “I wouldn’t want to leave a hole in her display.”
He carried his coffee to a chair and sat, only to discover that Gabe was watching him with concern. Okay, maybe he wasn’t hiding his feelings as well as he thought, at least not from Gabe, who knew him better than anyone. But Claire would never guess.
He glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry to interrupt the grand tour, Uncle Joe, but maybe we’d better get started on the wedding arrangements. I have to be back at the church by nine.”
Uncle Joe nodded, but Gabe gave him a quizzical look. “I thought we’d already decided. A simple, quiet ceremony, just family and a few friends. Nolie and I are too busy with the expansion project to do anything else.”
Some of his tension eased. Surely Claire would see that they had to do this Gabe and Nolie’s way.
“Claire has some other ideas—” he began, but Claire interrupted him.
“I’m the closest thing Nolie has to family.” Her voice was determined. “I want to give her a real wedding with all the trimmings. She’s only going to do this once. It should be a day to remember.”
He waited for Nolie to insist that what she wanted was the simple ceremony Gabe had talked about.
“Claire, I can’t let you do that,” Nolie said, her blue eyes troubled. “It’s too expensive, and besides, we just don’t have enough time. We’re so busy with the farm we can’t take care of all those arrangements.”
“That’s why I want you to let me do it.” The firm set of Claire’s jaw suggested that neither money nor time would deter her. “You should have a perfect wedding.” Her look softened. “You and Gabe deserve it. Let me do this for you—it would be my gift to you both. Please.”
Gabe looked horrified for just one instant. Then he looked at Nolie and obviously saw what they all saw— that moment of sheer longing before she closed the door on the idea and shook her head.
“I agree,” Siobhan said unexpectedly. “So there’s not much time. So what? Goodness knows we’ve put on plenty of parties on a moment’s notice in the past. A wedding’s far more important.”
If Aunt Siobhan had gone over to the enemy, they were really in trouble.
“The ceremony is the important thing,” Brendan said, but he had the sinking feeling no one was listening to him.
Siobhan, Claire and Nolie were suddenly all talking at once, and words like “shower,” “flowers” and “lace” floated to the surface like spray tossed up by a wave.
He met Gabe’s gaze. Gabe gave a rueful grin. “Forget it, Bren,” he said. “We’ve been outvoted. I guess it’s going to be a wedding with a capital W.”
“I guess so.”
Claire cast him a triumphant look, as if she’d heard his capitulation over the babble of voices.
It appeared he’d be spending a great deal of time with Claire over the next month. That idea seemed to be making him feel ridiculously cheerful.
Claire walked slowly from the church parlor, where she and Stacy had been talking, toward Brendan’s study. She shouldn’t feel so at home in the church after only a few days. After all, she hadn’t been in a church before that for twenty-some years.
Nevertheless, here she was going in search of the pastor, just like any one of his faithful parishioners. Brendan would probably be as horrified at that thought as she was.
But she wasn’t really looking for his advice, was she? After all, she knew more about what Stacy was going through than he ever could. Still, she felt compelled to check in with him.
The study door was propped open, and as soon as he saw her, Brendan came toward her, hand outstretched in welcome. “How did it go? Is there anything I can do?”
She didn’t want to admit the pleasure she felt at the sight of him. “At least she’s given up the attacking door story and admitted Ted hit her.”
“That’s good.” He studied her face. “You look all in. Takes something out of you, doesn’t it?”
She nodded. He couldn’t know just how much. “I don’t know how you manage to do this all the time. Of course, I suppose your regular congregation doesn’t present problems like this very often.”
He gave a short bark of laughter. “You don’t know much about congregations if you think that.” He gestured her toward a chair and opened the small refrigerator under a microwave on the opposite wall. “A cold soda?”
“Sounds good.” She watched as he popped the lids on two soda cans. Some tall men were awkward, but she’d already noticed that Brendan went about the simplest tasks with an easy economy of movement. He carried the soda to her, then folded himself into the chair opposite her, rather than going back to his seat behind the desk.
“So every day you get up and come to work and deal with other people’s problems,” she said, unaccountably curious as to what made him tick. She understood people who were motivated by ambition. What motivated Brendan?
“Pretty much.” He took a gulp of the soda. “That’s what being a minister means. Of course, it also means I get to share their joys.”
“Does it balance out?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes.”
“You’re a fount of information.”
He grinned. “Sorry. You’re asking me to evaluate my whole ministry in a few words. I don’t think I can do it that easily. Can you describe your job that way?”
Could she? “I think so. Basically my job is to help Harvey Gray run the corporation. Anything he wants, I get. Any problem he wants solved, I solve.”
“You sound like a guardian angel. I don’t suppose you’d like to come work for me, would you?”
“I doubt you could meet the salary requirements.”
“Probably not. Is that why you do it? The money?”
“In part.” She’d always prided herself on being honest about what drove her. She wouldn’t change just because Brendan might think less of her. “Partly it’s the challenge. And mostly because it’s the way to the top.”
“The top of what?”
“The top of the heap.” Okay, she didn’t know how to explain this to him. “The place where you’re the boss. Where no one else can tell you what to do or control you. Ever.”
He was looking at her with a sharpening of interest that made her a little uncomfortable. “That’s what you want? To be where no one else can ever control you?”
Why did those particular words come out? “Well, it’s more being the boss,” she said quickly. “No other woman has ever been where I am with Gray Enterprises. I plan to break a few more traditions before I’m done.”
Did he believe her? She wasn’t sure. She’d have to be more cautious around Brendan. He had a way of pulling things out that was almost scary.
“Anyway, about Stacy, I wanted to bounce a couple of things off you.” Keep the conversation on Stacy, not herself. “She seems to like staying with your aunt and uncle. Do you think that situation is going to last?”
“Probably.” The faint lines around his mouth deepened. “Joe and Siobhan have a good record when it comes to taking in strays. They took me in.”
“They what?” She looked at him blankly. She’d known he was close to his cousins, but she hadn’t known this.
“My parents died when I was thirteen. I went to live with Joe and Siobhan.”
“I’m sorry, I know what it’s like to lose your parents.” Well, her father wasn’t dead, but he might as well be, for as little interest as he took in what happened to her.
He nodded, as if accepting that they had something in common, surprising as that was. “Anyway, like I said, they have a good record.”
“You weren’t a stray.” The words were out before she thought he might be offended. “You were a relative.”
“It still can’t have been easy.” His brows knit, and he seemed to be looking into that past. “They already had five kids, but they made me feel like one of their own. And now they have Seth’s little boy. If they can cope with all that, they can handle Stacy.”
“I hope so.” Much as she hated to admit it, the Flanagan family would probably be good for the girl. “Anyway, Stacy says she wants to get a job, so I can help her with that. Trouble is, she doesn’t really have any marketable skills.”
“I had a thought about that.” He said the words a bit diffidently, as if thinking she wouldn’t like an idea if it came from him. “What if we gave Stacy a job helping with the wedding?”
She turned it over in her mind. She wouldn’t have expected Brendan to come up something so practical. “That’s really not a bad idea.” Well, that sounded condescending. Would she ever reach the point that she could just talk to the man in a normal way? “I could certainly use an extra pair of hands, and I don’t mind paying for it.”
He nodded, apparently not taking offense at her response. “Good. If Stacy’s supporting herself, she’ll be less likely to fall into old patterns.”
Something about his calm assurance annoyed her. “What’s going to keep her from going back to Ted the first time he shows up and sweet-talks her?”
Heaven knew, she’d made that mistake often enough.
It’ll never happen again, Claire. I swear. I love you. Don’t leave me. It’ll never happen again.
And it hadn’t. Until the next time.
“Nothing will stop her from going back but her own good sense,” Brendan said slowly. “However much you or I might want to help her, some decisions she has to make on her own.” He leaned forward. Their knees were almost touching, and he took her hand in his, his gaze very intent on her face. “You can’t let yourself feel too responsible.”
He was a fine one to give that advice, with the responsibility he seemed to feel for everyone around him. “I want to make sure she doesn’t get hurt.”
“If you make the decisions for her, that’s hurting her. That’s controlling her, just like Ted tries to do.”
“Not with fists.”
“But controlling, just the same.”
Much as she hated to admit it, he might have a point. “Okay. I guess I get that. How did you get so smart?”
“Painful mistakes, believe me. Some things they can’t teach you in seminary. You just have to stumble through on your own.” His fingers tightened on hers, and his gaze grew suddenly serious. “I don’t want to involve you in anything over your head, Claire. If you need to step back from Stacy, I won’t argue.”
Here was her chance. All she had to do was say regretfully that she couldn’t handle it.
“I’ll see it through.”
What was she saying? She wanted out, didn’t she?
Maybe Brendan’s idealism was contagious. Either that, or she just plain couldn’t say no to the man.
Chapter Three
“What on earth are you doing? You’ll hurt yourself.”
The sound of Brendan’s voice startled Claire so much that she nearly slid off the stack of folding tables she’d found in the closet off the church’s social rooms. She steadied herself and then turned carefully to look at him. Faded jeans and a gray sweatshirt made him look younger than she knew him to be.
“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.
“That’s not true, Brendan. It can’t be.” The words tasted bitter. “Because if you really believed that, you’d have told me what you were doing.”
He stared at her, the color of his eyes almost black. He didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t, because there wasn’t one.
The closeness she’d felt such a short time ago was gone entirely now, replaced by a chasm. Wide and deep and dark.
Chapter Four
Brendan hung up the phone after leaving a message for Claire. It would probably qualify as a miracle if she called him back. The two days since their disastrous exchange about Stacy and Ted had been enough time to kick himself a thousand times about the way he’d handled that situation.
He leaned back, his desk chair squeaking in protest. No use telling himself that he’d been too shocked by the revelation to respond tactfully. If he had that conversation to do over again, he wasn’t sure he’d do any better, no matter how much time he had to prepare.
He’d unintentionally burned bridges between them, personal as well as spiritual. She wouldn’t forgive him easily.
“Do you have a minute?”
He nearly toppled over backward at the sound of Claire’s voice. He righted his chair. It would probably help not to act like a total idiot just because she was here.
“Of course. Come in.” He couldn’t help the flood of pleasure at the sight of her, but he could try to contain it so that she wouldn’t know. He gestured toward the phone. “I just left a message for you.”
And apparently miracles did happen.
“I know.” She held up a palm-sized cell phone and then dropped it into the leather bag that was slung from her shoulder. “I’d left the office already, so I thought I’d stop by instead of calling.” Her tone was as cool and remote as if he’d called to sell her insurance. “You have some information for me?”
His mind scrambled for the reason he’d called her, swamped by the sheer surprise that she was actually in his office again. Information. Yes, he had that, as well as a suggestion, and both things were going to require a little tact. Correction, a lot.
“I have the counselor’s name and phone number here somewhere.” He shuffled through the papers that covered his desk, even though he knew exactly where the information was. “Please, have a seat.”
Claire hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking at the visitor’s chair as if she’d never seen it before. Then she swung her bag off her shoulder and sat down, dropping the bag lightly beside her feet.
Today she wore a pale cream jacket over a green shirt. The combination turned her eyes the same mahogany color as her hair, and she looked cool and elegant in spite of the fact that it was the end of the workday and the June sunshine had brought the outside temperature over eighty.
Focus. Figure out how to approach her about this. Don’t let how she looks distract you.
Good advice. Now if he could just manage to take it, he might handle this situation better.
“Here’s the counselor’s card.” He rounded the desk to take it to her. No point in having a piece of furniture between them when he hoped to sway her to his way of looking at things. He sat in the other visitor’s chair, watching as she frowned at the card.
“You’re convinced this woman is the best person for Stacy? I haven’t ever heard of her.”
“Would you expect to have heard of her?” It seemed unlikely that someone like Claire would have had any experience of Suffolk’s counseling community.
She shrugged. “People talk.”
He took a breath, trying to find the right way to phrase what he had to say about the counselor. Please, Father.
“I’ve referred people to her in the past with good results. And the other mental health professionals I’ve worked with speak highly of her, particularly in the area of pregnancy counseling for teens.”
Some emotion flickered in her eyes and was gone. “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“There’s something else you should know about her.” He was walking on eggs, trying to gauge her reaction. “Ms. Fielding is a qualified counselor, but she’s also a Christian who counsels according to Christian principles.”
Actually, her reaction wasn’t that tough to figure out. She stiffened, her fingers tightening on the leather bag strap she still held as if she’d like to swing the purse at him.
“What exactly does that mean? That she shares your concern for the abuser?”
They’d ricocheted right back to their earlier argument. “Beth Fielding will be Stacy’s counselor. You don’t have to worry about her having a conflict of interest.” The words she’d used to him echoed in his head. “I’m sorry you feel as if I do.”
Claire’s jaw tightened. “It’s not a question of how I feel. As long as you’re trying to help Ted, you’re risking Stacy’s well-being.”
Was he? He’d struggled with that question since their battle, but he still didn’t have an answer.
“Stacy comes first with me,” he said carefully. “Her situation is urgent. But I can’t ignore Ted’s problems. Whether he knows it or not, he needs help, too.”
And you think you’re the one to help him. The voice jeered at him from the back of his mind. How could you help him? You couldn’t even help your own father.
“Why do you have to be the one to help him?” Claire’s question was like an echo. “Why don’t you send him to someone else?”
At least he knew the answer to that question. “He wouldn’t go to someone else. It’s not easy to get these kids to open up to you. They’re used to being let down. One mistake and they’re gone.”
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