Courting Hope Page 11

  “Welcome. Would your children like to go with me and the other kids? We have church for them downstairs.”

  At the blank looks, Hope repeated the question in Spanish.

  Carlos looked relieved as he touched his wife’s elbow and gestured for the kids to go, but Bonita eyed her carefully.

  “You can come with me and see what it’s like,” Hope said.

  That made the woman smile. “Sí.”

  Hope shepherded the kids toward the stairs. She chatted with Bonita in Spanish the whole way and found out they were newly employed by Chuck Stillwell. Stillwell Farms provided on-site housing for its migrant workers. Carlos and Bonita had arrived for the cherry harvest and were living at his farm until the fall.

  Throughout children’s church, Hope carefully repeated instructions in Spanish for the benefit of Bonita’s kids. Even though they spoke better English than their parents, it was still pretty broken. How brave these people were to travel so far to work in a place where they were unsure of the language.

  By the end of the service, Hope had taught the Sanchez children a simple worship song. And then she taught the rest of the class the same song in Spanish. They were finishing up the Spanish version for the third time when she noticed several parents lining the walls. Church was over, and she hadn’t even noticed.

  When the parents clapped at the end of their song, Hope’s heart swelled with pride. She watched as parishioners did their best to welcome the new family despite the language barrier. There was a lot of hand gestures and laughter that made watching so much sweeter.

  Hope loved it here. These were her people, her church, and she couldn’t be more pleased with the warmth they extended.

  “Gracias,” Bonita whispered as they prepared to leave.

  Hope told her about the parade and picnic in the park the following day. She jotted down her cell phone number on a piece of paper and encouraged Bonita to call her if she had any questions or needed anything.

  That earned her a hug from Bonita. “Sí, Sí. Gracias.”

  After everyone finally left, Hope went to work gathering construction paper and stuffing crayons back in their containers.

  “Thank you.” Sinclair stood in the doorway.

  She looked up. “For what?”

  “You were amazing with that family. I didn’t know you were fluent in Spanish.”

  His compliment spread through her like warm syrup. “You saw that, huh?”

  “I see everything you do here. You’re the backbone of this church.”

  She laughed. “I don’t know about that.”

  He walked toward her. “I do. And I don’t know what I would have done if you’d have quit.”

  “Yeah, me neither.” She thought about Eva’s party and the healing that had taken place there. She’d never have gone if she’d walked away from her job.

  Maybe God knew from the beginning how much she’d needed that release. How much she needed to renew Sinclair’s friendship.

  He stepped closer. “Hang in there with me on the building project, okay?”

  She searched his face. He still hadn’t decided, and she finally understood why. For once, Sinclair was not acting on impulse. Her mother was right. He truly wanted the best for their church, and that proved he had the makings of a fine pastor.

  Whether she liked it or not, the congregation and even the board would likely rally around whatever project Sinclair chose to support. For now, all she could do was hope and pray that he’d pick the preschool.

  “Okay,” she finally said.

  “Hope, I found this—oh! Sorry to interrupt.” Shannon stopped at the end of the tables, her face flushed.

  Hope’s voice tangled in her throat even as she backed away from Sinclair.

  Sinclair didn’t flinch, even though the tops of his ears were red. “Nothing to interrupt. I’m going to check my messages.”

  Hope watched him unlock the door and disappear down the hall into his office.

  “Wow, you guys really need to do something about that.”

  “What are you talking about?” Hope shoved the crayon containers into a wooden cubby.

  “Just kiss him and get it over with already.”

  “Shh. Can you be any louder?” Hope clenched her teeth and glanced into the office, but Sinclair was nowhere to be seen.

  Shannon giggled. “Is it that bad?”

  Hope wasn’t about to admit that it was worse. Way worse. “You’re impossible.”

  Shannon only laughed harder. “So I’ve been told.”

  This time Hope chuckled. She’d heard Shannon’s husband, Jake, say the same thing a hundred times. “So what did you find?”

  “An earring. Looks like yours.” Shannon extended her opened palm to showcase a silver hoop.

  Hope touched her empty earlobe. No wonder the kids kept whispering and laughing. She’d had the one-earring look going, pirate-style, and didn’t even know it. She slid the hoop back in place. “Thanks.”

  “No problem. Hey, would you mind chaperoning our youth group’s trip to the Cherry Festival? Something came up, and Jake’s parents can’t go. It’s this Thursday evening.”

  Hope didn’t have anything planned. Teenagers weren’t exactly her thing, but since the church’s youth were a small group, it might be fun. “Sure.”

  “Do you think Sinclair might be willing to go, too?”

  “Go where?”

  Hope looked up as Sinclair locked the office door behind him.

  “Traverse City. Could you help Hope chaperone the youth outing to the Cherry Festival?”

  Hope groaned. Why’d Shannon have to make it about helping her?

  “I should be able to do that.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  Sinclair turned toward Hope. “I got a voice mail from your parents.”

  “Oh?” Hope braced herself for bad news.

  “They’re coming to the church picnic.”

  She glanced at Shannon, and her friend’s smile widened with an I-told-you-so look.

  Hope nodded like the news wasn’t a big deal, even though her heart raced. “Great.”

  “Will you lock up? I’ve got to run. I received another dinner invitation.”

  “Where to?” Hope couldn’t help but ask.

  Sinclair gave her a pray-for-me kind of look. “The Stillwells’.”

  “Have fun.” Hope smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, we’ll lock up.”

  “Thanks.”

  Hope watched Sinclair bound up the steps.

  “Sounds like your folks might be coming around.”

  “Maybe.” Hope locked the door to the church.

  It was far too early to get excited.

  Chapter Eight

  Hope scooped a pile of greasy potato chips onto her plate next to a charred hot dog topped with mustard. Sheer bliss. She scanned the people lined up for a hamburger or hot dog at the grill. With half the church families in attendance, plus a dozen or so stragglers picked up from the LeNaro Fourth of July parade, Hope figured the picnic could be hailed a success.

  “I think Pastor Sinclair has started a new tradition with this Fourth of July picnic.” Dorrie Cavanaugh stood behind her and balanced three plates on her forearm.

  “You might be right on that one.” Hope reached out when one of the plates almost took a tumble. “Do you need help?”

  Dorrie laughed. “I’ve got it. Been doing this forever.”

  Hope spotted Hannah and Grace ogling the dessert table.

  “Thanks for keeping an eye on the girls. I don’t like leaving them home, but I don’t know what else to do.”

  Hope smiled. “They’re a big help around the office.”

  “They love to help, especially Hannah. Someti
mes she’s too old for her age, you know?”

  Hope nodded. She wasn’t sure what had happened to the girls’ dad. Dorrie didn’t talk about him, and neither did her girls. He was out of the picture. Out of their lives.

  “How’s it going with the building project?” Dorrie munched a chip while they perused the potluck table.

  “Getting there.” Hope glanced at Sinclair manning the gas grill like a pro, charming everyone with a kind word or joke.

  Dressed in a T-shirt, tropical print shorts and flip-flops, he didn’t fit the image of a typical pastor. He looked far too young and vibrant, but that’s probably what drew people to him.

  Even some guys she remembered from high school popped into line. A couple of them were married with kids, but they still teased Sinclair about becoming a minister and wearing glasses to play the part. One of them dubbed him Pastor Four-Eyes. Despite the good-natured ribbing, Hope heard respect in their voices, and a couple of the guys agreed to Sinclair’s challenge to come and check out a service.

  Dorrie noticed where Hope’s attention had wandered, and she joined in staring at Sinclair. “He’s doing a good job here. The girls love him.”

  Hope’s gut clenched. Dorrie wasn’t much older than Hope, and she was very attractive. Was she interested? “Yeah. He’s great.”

  “I think your preschool is in good hands.”

  Hope looked at her then. “I hope so.”

  Dorrie smiled and then lowered her voice. “You like him, don’t you?”

  “I—” Hope felt her cheeks blaze. There was no denying the truth, but she wasn’t going to announce it. Stealing Sinclair’s term, she managed to say in a wobbly voice, “We’re buds. We grew up together.”

  Dorrie only grinned wider. “Yeah, right. Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

  Not much of a secret, if it was so easy to guess. Hope gave an awkward laugh. “Thanks.”

  Dorrie gave her shoulder an encouraging pat. “He couldn’t find a better woman than you, Hope. If he can’t see that, he’s not worth your time.”

  Hope smiled. “Thanks, Dorrie. I appreciate that.”

  “It’s true. I better get over there before those girls touch every brownie.” Dorrie headed off toward her daughters.

  “Nice picnic, honey.” Her mom had just come from the grill, and she gestured toward an empty picnic table. “Go grab that table, would you?”

  Hope slipped onto the bench and waited for her parents. In no time, her father sat down and dug right into his food while her mom fetched them both cups of lemonade.

  “Thanks for coming,” Hope said.

  Her father shrugged. “A little hot, but a nice day for a picnic.”

  Her mom settled in next to her dad and took a quick sip of her lemonade. “Mrs. Larson says Sinclair is doing a fine job.”

  “He is.” Hope glanced at her father.

  If only they’d come to a Sunday service and hear the message, then they’d know Sinclair wasn’t the same reckless kid he used to be. He’d changed.

  Her father didn’t answer, but his gaze narrowed as he studied Sinclair. Maybe he was trying to see those changes. Maybe he’d give Sinclair another chance.

  And maybe Hope was full of wishful thinking.

  Judy Graves and her husband, George, joined them. After a bit of jostling to make room, Judy turned to Hope. “This picnic was a great idea.”

  “Not mine. Sinclair came up with it.”

  “Really? He said you were the brains behind it all.”

  “I organized the essentials. He carried all the heavy stuff.” Hope had purchased the items needed and then stored them in the church kitchen. Sinclair had delivered the goods to the park.

  Judy laughed and leaned toward her father. “They make a great team, those two.”

  Hope held her breath. Since when had she paired them up? Had Judy been talking to her mother, or did she see what Dorrie had so easily pointed out? Hope didn’t know which was worse.

  “Time will tell,” her father grumbled and cut off further comment by turning to talk fishing with George.

  Judy gave Hope an apologetic smile. She’d tried.

  Nothing more than wishful thinking.

  Hope finished her meal and then got up to toss her plate in the trash. Regardless of what her father thought, she had a picnic to help run.

  She headed for the grill. “How’s the supply of burger and dogs?”

  Sinclair scanned the shortened line. “I think we’ve got enough.”

  She peeked inside the large cooler, revealing only a couple packages of hot dogs floating on icy water, and didn’t agree. Letting the lid close with a soft click, Hope straightened. “I should make a quick run to the store.”

  He touched her elbow. “Don’t. When they’re gone, they’re gone. There’s potluck left to eat. Besides, we need to get the games rolling soon.”

  Hope nodded and looked around. “I didn’t see your parents at the parade. Are they coming to the picnic?”

  “Cherries are ripe. They’re working in the field today.” Sinclair’s mouth tightened.

  No wonder the Stillwells hadn’t come, and Bonita’s family was also a no-show. Due to the mild spring and especially warm start to summer, harvesttime had come a little early in cherry country.

  Sinclair tore open a package of hot dogs with more force than necessary, and they sprang to life, bouncing onto the grill.

  Hope jumped forward to catch a couple before they rolled off and hit the ground.

  “Thanks.” He served the few people left in line.

  Something bothered him. Maybe a fight with his brother? “Everything okay?”

  “Couldn’t be better.” He sloughed off her concern with a carefree grin and reached for the second package of dogs.

  “Forget it. You’ll have them in the grass.” Hope sliced through one end with a small knife before handing over the opened package. “Is Ryan giving you grief?”

  “No—well, maybe.” He sighed. “My place is here, right?”

  Hope searched his face. He had a lot of people to please, and it wasn’t his job to make everyone happy. Hadn’t Judy said the very same to her?

  “Of course it is. They managed before without you.”

  Sinclair turned the dogs. “They have, but I feel guilty not helping out. There’s a lot riding on this harvest for Eva. They lost a good portion of the crop in the storm a few weeks back. I can tell she’s worried.”

  “You can’t take care of everyone and fix everything. You said so yourself.”

  He smiled at her. “I can try, though.”

  Hope took in the weariness of his eyes. Sinclair was pulled in many directions, and she didn’t want to be one more responsibility on his plate. Not yet, anyway.

  “What?”

  “You’re doing a good job as our pastor.”

  His eyes brightened. “You’ve made it easy.”

  Hope snorted. “I’ve hardly done that.”

  He touched her hand. “Yes, you have, but thank you for saying so. Coming from you, it means a lot.”

  Looking back on their friendship, she’d always been the naysayer, nixing so many of his outlandish ideas. She gave his hand a squeeze.

  “Watch these, will you? I’ll get the games set up.”

  Hope nodded. She’d help him any way she could, even if it meant grilling hot dogs.

  * * *

  “Great picnic, man.” Jake Williams, Shannon’s husband, gripped his shoulder.

  “Thanks.” Sinclair winced. He’d helped all morning with the cherry harvest, and his muscles weren’t used to the abuse.

  “They’re lining up for the three-legged race. You better grab a partner.”

  “I’m going to pass.” Sinclair was in no mood to tie
his leg to someone else’s.

  He’d already joined the egg race and felt sticky from the summer heat that finally promised to diminish as the evening wore on. Wiping sweat from his brow with the bottom of his T-shirt, Sinclair gazed with longing at the narrow portion of Lake Leelanau, where kids splashed along the reedy shoreline.

  Spying Jim and Teresa Petersen getting ready for the race, he wished he’d had the chance to talk to them. He’d greeted them at the parade, but the rest of the evening’s picnic had flown by in a blur. Manning the grill had taken up most of his time.

  After the three-legged race, a few innings of softball ranked as the final game. He checked his watch. Only eight o’clock. It’d be at least another two and a half hours before the sky would darken enough for fireworks. He’d almost forgotten how late the sun went down in July up here.

  Grabbing a paper cup full of lemonade, Sinclair sank into a chair, perfectly content to watch the race from the sidelines. Jake and Shannon paired up, which promised an interesting sight considering that Jake towered over his tiny wife.

  “No three-legged race?” Hope approached with two wide ribbons in her hand and eagerness in her eyes.

  “You really want to do this?” Sinclair squinted from the late sunshine as he looked up at her. He was a mess, with grease stains on the front of his T-shirt and sweat soaked on the back.

  “Oh, come on, don’t be such an old man.”

  He should refuse, but one look at her and his willpower was toast. “Old man, huh? I’ll show you who’s the old man.”

  He followed her silently to the starting line, and his gaze traveled the length of her. She was dressed modestly, in a pair of long shorts and a sleeveless button-down top. He still wanted to kiss her. Had ever since Eva’s party. Wouldn’t that make the church picnic memorable, if he planted a good one on Hope right in front of everyone?

  He shook his head. There’d been a time when he wouldn’t have cared, but now he did. Kissing Hope was not going to happen. Not today, at least. He had to get the image out of his head. Yeah, maybe he had turned into a fuddy-duddy old man.

  At the starting line they slipped off their flip-flops and got into position. Hope pressed her leg against his. Her skin felt cool compared to the embers smoldering inside him. With their bare feet lined up, Sinclair noticed her toes.